Later that day, Jeff had finally managed to rinse the taste of soap out of his mouth. He had suffered through the soap, then through a long timeout in the corner, and finally through hours of time laying on his race car bed while grounded in his room. His parents had come home and given him a stern lecture on using bad language and locking his door.
They had spaghetti for dinner. He ate his small plate of cut up spaghetti while feeling a bit silly sitting on a booster seat. There was no desert for him.
After dinner, he took a few minutes to search around the house to see if the Chronivac had relocated itself somewhere. He checked every computer in the house, but it was nowhere to be found.
At 8 p.m. he was sent to brush his teeth and go to bed. He had to be up early for daycare tomorrow.
Lying on his bed in his cartoon covered PJs, he stared at the ceiling. In the dim light of his nightlight, he watched a dinosaur mobile drift around lazily above his head.
"Twelve years," he heard a little boy say. "Twelve years to go." The boy sounded very young, barely more than a baby. Somehow, whenever he moved his lips, the boy spoke. He hated that boy.
"Twelve years."
The boy sounded so very sad.
THE END