'Priorities, it's all about priorities,' John said as he looked at the photo laid on his bed. Grimacing, he squatted down a little while holding onto the bed frame. At last he could hear the voices in the photos again, but that was it. No movement, no spiralling into the abyss, no vortex of terror--just voices.

Three days ago he'd realised he could hear them again, and after weeks of ruthless exercise, he was finally able to walk unaided to his bedroom door and back. Every hour he got up and completed ten squats, ten calf raises. The strength in his legs was returning, but this didn't help him with the Blink.

'What's changed?' He asked the photo. 'What's different?' For a few seconds he waited, as if for an answer, but none came. He cast his mind back to when he was little. 'What did I do different? Why did it change? When did the magic change?' He balled his fists in anger, but resisted the urge to swear. The gnawing pain in his stomach and mind was lessening with each day, he was getting over his pain killer addiction. The useless feeling he now had was getting him down, and he found his hand reaching out towards the pill tub on more than one occasion.

He lay on the bed, searching his now clear mind for the answer. 'When did it change?' Then he slapped himself on the forehead with the heel of his palm. 'John! You absolute Muppet! It was when you touched the album.' Some people said talking to oneself was a sign of insanity, but John had found the opposite to be true. Now that he was lucid, he found himself doing it more and more. Then again, some crazy shit had happened in his life since his childhood days. Maybe he had been crazy all along.

With determination he shuffled to the door but hesitated as he reached for the handle. He knew he had been a dick. In his memories it was as if he were listening to another person, he was sure he would never have talked like that if it hadn't been for Grimsol. With an apprehensive breath, he opened the door and made his way downstairs.

The sounds of Mam doing something in the kitchen twisted his guts with nervousness. Likely making him something to eat, he reasoned. Dad was in a video conference, chatting to seven people sat around a desk--sure looked important. John leant against the doorframe and watched his father put forth ideas of how to take the company to greater profitability. When at last his dad noticed him there, it was because all the board members had stopped talking and were staring at John. As if in slow motion, he turned his head. A smile grew on his face, and John remembered the day he had saved his dad's life.

'John!' Dad said as he walked forward. 'Son, you're standing... I mean you're walking. Oh my God, this is fantastic, this is--' He didn't get the words out, John ran-shuffled to him and clamped him into a bear hug.

'I'm sorry Dad,' he said, his voice choked with emotion. 'I'm so sorry...I've been a moron. I'm so...so sorry.' As John looked up, he saw his mam standing in the doorway, slack jawed. John beckoned her over, into the hug, and they stood sobbing together until enthusiastic applause from Dad's computer broke the high emotion in the room and brought smiles to everyone's faces.

Dad turned to the large tele screen as if embarrassed by the show of affection. 'Thank you, everyone.' He patted John's shoulder, squeezed Mam's hand. 'I need to finish off here, guys,' he started to explain to Mam and John, but the CEO interrupted from the television screen. 'Nonsense, Dan. It's been years. This is a big breakthrough for your family. Take the day. We'll call you in the AM.' A tear came into Dad's eyes, and he said, 'Thank you--' but his board had disconnected from their end. 'Cup of tea anyone?' he asked.

'I'd love one, Dad,' John said as he plonked himself down on a rather comfy sofa. Mam sat down beside him and grabbed his hand. 'When did you start walking, John?'

'Three or four days ago Ma, I'm so sorry for all...'

She put her hand up and shook her head. 'What's done is done John; it's so good to have you back. Your eyes look clear, and your face isn't so gaunt anymore either. Maybe shave the beard when you have a chance, eh?'

John laughed. 'Yeah Ma, it's a tad itchy. I wonder what I look like underneath it,' he said as he rubbed at it. Dad walked in, with a tray of tea and some biscuits, placed them on the coffee table, and sat on John's other side.

John took a biscuit and nibbled at it. 'Dad, do you remember when I was little, and we used to look at the photo album? You know, the one with you dressed as a gorilla?'

Dad nodded. 'Yeah, of course son, you used to love looking at the photos. You'd laugh for hours as you flicked through the--'

'Do we still have it?' John asked, quicker than he'd intended.

Dad screwed his face up. 'Yes, I think it's in our bedroom.' He looked at Mam, who nodded.

'Yes,' she said 'it's in our closet, in a white box.'

John fidgeted with his fingers. 'Do you think I could look at it?' he smiled. 'You know, to like err...Get all the memories back?'

A look of realisation dawned on Dad's face. 'Yes of course, we can look at them together if you like. It would be nice to--'

'Would you mind if I looked at them myself first?' John cut in.

'Of course,' Dad said, 'That's no problem son. I'll bring it to your room later.'

'I want it now,' John said again rather more harshly than he'd intended. 'I'm sorry Dad, I didn't mean to snap. It's just I want to get things clear in my head; I want to make sense of things before I talk to anyone else. Is that okay?'

Dan smiled. 'I'll get it now; do you want to look at it here or in your room?'

'My room is good for me,' John said as he stood up.

'Okay,' Mam said, 'You get the album Dan, and I'll get our son back up to his room.'

It wasn't long before John sat on his bed, looking at the album on the table top. He ran his hands down his face as he stared at the thing. 'If this doesn't work, I'm screwed,' he said to himself as he stood up again and tottered over to the album. He hadn't touched it since his Dad had placed it on the table nearly two hours ago.

'Come on Finnie,' he said to himself. 'Man up, touch the goddamn book!' With trembling fingers he reached down, he was about six inches when the spark hit him.

His body twitched fast, and his jaw clenched so hard John thought his teeth would crack. The spark that connected John to the album grew thicker--leaving the smell of ozone in the air--and shook John to his core. Spit bubbled up and flew from his mouth as he jittered so fast the room became a blur. And just as fast as it had started, it stopped. John took a deep breath and collapsed.

It was dark when he woke up. He pushed himself to his knees. 'You may as well sleep on the bloody floor, John. The amount of times you've woken up here is ridiculous.' John grunted as he pushed up from the table and stood on unsure legs. He limped over to the boxes which contained the photos and listened, no sounds came out.

'This could be a good sign, John!' he said as he rubbed his hands together. He took a photo out of the box, it was one from a few days after he'd got knocked over. There lay his younger self--the self he remembered, not the thirty something cripple he was now--all bloodied and bashed up. His eyes moistened as he thought about the years he had lost. Soon it was forgotten as he plunged into nothingness, assaulted by the sudden urge to vomit.

No wind caressed his face as he shot forward, but he could feel the speed getting faster as he tracked through the darkness. There was no exhilaration like it had been when he was young. This time he was Blinking to save people. This time people depended on him. He grit his jaw in determination as he sped downwards, towards where the photo should be.

A dark shape hit him, knocking him sideways and off course. A voice boomed in the darkness. 'You are not welcome here. Leave now.'

Mid-flight, or fall, John turned and saw what seemed to be a hoard of dark shapes, blacker than the abyss surrounding him, chasing him down.

'Faster, I need to go faster!' He concentrated on the photograph with all the will he could muster, not daring to look back. A clawed had grabbed at his foot, he felt its talons drag down his shoe. Just then, he arrived and punched out with both fists as he hit the photo hard. The film around the photo enveloped him, surrounding him in a warmth and familiarity for just a second, and then he was skidding face down along a hospital corridor, coming to a halt with the tip of his nose touching high, shiny red heels.

'Are you okay?' the woman wearing the shoes asked. 'You took quite a fall there; you shouldn't run in the corridors, not when patients are around.

John stood up and faced the nurse--her hairdo and uniform giving her occupation away--and straightened his clothes while mumbling an apology. The nurse nodded and walked by. With a cautionary look behind him, John carried on down to the reception area. 'What the hell were those things?' he looked around and shivered, then a smile spread on his face. He'd done it! He'd Blinked!

At the reception area, people bustled in and out, and John leaned against a coffee machine to plot his next move. The doctors, nurses, and patients mulling around, entering, and exiting from various points filled the space with a gentle hum.

'Excuse me.'

John jumped out of his daze, and as he looked down he saw Mam. The younger Mam he loved.

'Excuse me,' she said. 'Do you have any change? This machine won't accept notes.'

John looked down in horror.

Oh fuck! Of all the people to meet!

He shook his head. 'Err no, sorry. I don't have any money on me,' he said, not daring to make eye contact. His mam shrugged.

'Okay', she said. 'Bloody machine, you would think they would have them maintained in a place like this wouldn't you?' She muttered more to herself than anyone else as she rummaged about in her bag.

John caught a glimpse of his face in the shiny black plastic of the coffee machine. Mam wouldn't recognise me, for God's sake I wouldn't even recognise me looking like this. God damn early Neanderthal man, that's me!

John took a deep breath. This can't be coincidence.

'So,' He said 'why are you in here?'

His mam looked up at him. 'My son John, he was knocked over ten days ago.' Tears welled up in her eyes. 'Damn silly bugger ran straight out into the road! What on earth was he thinking?' She looked up at the ceiling and wiped her eyes. 'I'm sorry, I just haven't come to terms with it all just yet.'

John put his arm on her shoulder. 'It'll be okay, I'm sure he's a tough kid.'

She smiled. 'He is tough, but they are saying there is no brain activity. The doctors want to turn off the machine that is keeping him alive.' She welled up again. 'They want us to make that decision sooner rather than later, they want us to let go of our son. They want...'

John rocked back on his heels, this was news to him. 'No! Don't let them turn it off! Jesus! I'll...He'll die without it.' He almost shouted and gripped his mam's shoulder a bit too hard.

'I will not let them!' she said as she wriggled from his grip. 'He's my son! I can't just abandon him, I bloody won't abandon him, ever!'

John's head was spinning. Turn off the bloody machine? What were the doctors thinking? Idiots!

'Don't let them turn it off Diane, John will pull through, have faith. Just keep that bloody machine bleeping.' John turned on his heels and made his way back down the corridor.

'How do you know my name? Hey! You! Who are you?' His mam shouted behind him.

John carried on limping off as fast as he could, not daring to look back.

John sat in a chair in a different waiting room, with his head in his hands.

What is going on here? Turn off the bloody machines! I'll die...won't I? What happened in the past to change it? If they turned off the machines I wouldn't be here now. Bloody hell! Time travel is a mind stumper!

'I was running,' he said to himself. 'Death visited me and I was running, after the first date with Sam. What changed? I was going to see Marty, damn it! What changed?'

He looked up at the telescreen in the waiting room. 'Lord of the Rings, the Two Towers' was playing. Gollum was on the screen. John almost smiled, Gollum used to freak him out as a kid. He remembered back to his dad reading The Hobbit. 'What has it got in its pocketses?' His dad would say. John sat up as if hit by a lightning bolt.

'What has it got in its pocket? A fucking lottery ticket! That's what's in its bloody pocket!' John's mind spun as he tried to remember where the ticket was, then it came to him. It was in the pocket of the Jacket he wore when he was run over. He made his way back to the reception; the pain in his leg was getting worse. John rubbed at his knee, he hadn't walked this far before.

'Hi,' he said trying to put on a charming smile from underneath the beard. 'I was in here a few weeks ago, I got knocked over.'

'Oh, I'm sorry to hear about that.' Said the receptionist.

John smiled again. 'It's no problem; you all fixed me up good. I was wondering where my clothes may have been put. I mean the ones I had when I was knocked over. They were covered in blood, so I was wondering what the hospital may have done with them.'

She put her pen to her mouth. 'Hmmm, I think they might have been incinerated if they were covered in too much blood. They would be a Biohazard you see. But I think that's after two weeks in case the police want the clothing for some reason.'

John smiled and looked at her name tag. 'Thanks Emily, you've been a great help.' He turned to walk away, then spun back around. 'Oh yeah, sorry. My brother is still in here, he got knocked over at the same time. I think they have moved his room; John Finnie is his name.' He half laughed. 'I can't find the little sod anywhere.'

Emily typed something on the screen. 'No, he hasn't been moved. He's still on intensive care, ward two room seven.'

John raised his eyebrows. 'Stupid me, I was going to ward one! Okay,' he said as he limped away. 'Thanks.'

#

He stood outside the room, John could hear the machine breathing for him and the familiar beeps of the machines keeping him alive. Taking a quick peep inside, he noticed his mam and Sam. Samantha had a hold of his hand, stroking it with a tenderness that made a lump appear in his throat. Get a grip Finnie, get a bloody grip!

He looked back in, Samantha was saying something to his mam, then she got up and opened the door. 'You'll need change. The machine doesn't accept notes.' His mam called after the girl.

'Okay Di, thanks.' Samantha called back.

Sam walked down the corridor with John following behind. As they walked past the nurses' bay he lifted a clipboard from the countertop. 'Excuse me,' he said as he got parallel to her. Samantha looked straight at him.

'Yes?' she said.

'Are you visiting a....' He flipped a page on the clipboard. 'John Finnie?'

Sam nodded. 'I am. Why do you want to know?'

John nodded, trying to look all official. 'Good, good. The neurological head doctor would like a word with a Mrs Diane Finnie and her husband. Are they around?'

'No,' said Samantha 'it's just me and his mam Diane today. Mr Finnie is at home watching their daughter.'

John looked up at a clock on the wall. 'Ah, it's no problem as long as one parent is here. Your appointment is at three thirty at neurology, which is right now. Hmm...I suggest you get her there pronto.' He moved a little closer. 'Between you and me, I heard they found brain activity and want to talk through the options.'

Sam sprinted off without even saying thanks.

John, you clever bastard! He sat on a plastic chair cross legged and facing out of the window as his mam and Samantha ran down the corridor towards the neurology ward. He waited until they were out of sight then made his way back to where his unconscious self lay, on the bed.

He looked at his face, the one he remembered. 'Stay strong John. I know you're in there somewhere. Please hang on kid.'

He opened the cupboards in the room one by one looking for his bag of clothes, in the fourth one he found it. A clear plastic bag zip tied at the top, a contents list was pressed to the side.

'Jacket x 1, shoe's x 1, t-shirt x 1.'

He grabbed the bag and left the room, he made a beeline to the window again as him Mam and Samantha strode back up the corridor.

'Stupid bastards!' He heard his mam mutter. 'And what did this man look like Sam?'

John limped off fast back down past the reception and towards the exit. He almost faltered when he heard Sam's voice shouting.

'You! Hey you. You with the beard! Stop right there mister!'

He pushed through the revolving door, out into the open. He turned to see his mam Samantha and a security guard running towards him. John hopped into a taxi, he leant forward.

'Ardmoor Village please,' he said, and the taxi sped off. John looked out of the rear window as he clutched the bag. His mam and Samantha stood on the path watching him leave, talking to the security man and pointing.

John relaxed and settled back into the seat. 'Do you have a pen mate?' he asked the taxi driver.

'Sure,' he said as he passed one back.

John ripped open the bag and took out the contents list, underneath the last item he added a few words.

Lottery ticket, top left hand jacket pocket.

'Just in case,' he said to himself as he patted the bag.

It had been so long since he had been here, and it was only one day. But John found their house with ease. 'Wait one minute,' he said to the taxi driver.

'Whatever buddy, the meter is running,' came the reply as he got out.

John limped down the path to his house, dumped the bag on the doorstep, and rang the bell. He was halfway towards the taxi when he heard his dad shouting for him. John looked up, saw the single star, and Blinked out.

He landed heavily on the floor of his bedroom. The photo was on the bed. Things were different, by what he remembered when he Blinked back he was always holding or looking at the photo. But the Blink worked, and it was time to get back Sem.

© Steve Ford and Joy Cronjé 2018