The next thing Geoff knew, everything around him began to take form again, except his surroundings looked ever so slightly different. If he had had the mental capacity to put these differences into words, he would have said that although his location looked the same, the people around him were different, the traffic going over the bridge he was on was different, and the weather was different. Where it had been a bright sunny day a moment ago, now the sky was overcast, with a light drizzle coming down from above.
If Geoff’s mind had been firing on all cylinders (or even on half a cylinder, for that matter), he would have realized that this was the moment he was waiting for, when he had traveled back in time to yesterday.
Everything had come full circle.
Unfortunately, Geoff didn’t realize that, because thanks to the pill Jennifer Adams had forced him to swallow, he couldn’t remember a thing. He had no knowledge of what had just happened, no memory of who he was, and in general, his mental state was comparable to that of a small, underwatered pot plant.
“My God!” a voice said. “Is that who I think it is?”
“It is!” another voice said. “That’s Geoffrey Stamp!”
“Where did he come from? And what’s the matter with him?” came another voice.
“Looks like he’s drunk,” somebody said.
Geoff spun around on the spot trying to focus on the source of the voices, but he wasn’t having much luck. Instead, he decided it would probably be best for everyone if he just collapsed on the ground and closed his eyes, which he did rather impressively, spooling his body across the pavement as though someone had just let all of the air out of him.
As his vision faded to black, the last thing he heard was a single voice shout out, “Somebody call the police!”
Which they did.