The bottles were tucked against the far wall of the hotel room, finally empty. The three of them had spent the better part of an hour wiggling all the papers out and laying them neatly across the bed in pairs. Each one was an address: one in that strange language, and a corresponding one in English.
Ava, for her part, was fuming. Someone was directing them along, pulling their strings like puppets, and she hated the feeling. Although, she admitted to herself begrudgingly, the puppeteer was proving helpful. But why all the tricks? Why not show themselves, if they wanted to help so badly?
“No, father, we haven’t been back!” Abe was practically yelling into his cell phone as he spoke to Charlie. “Ava hasn’t either! Of course she hasn’t. We’ve been together the whole--then why did you bother putting them back in the bloody bottles!?” He rolled his eyes. “She didn’t--” He stopped abruptly. “Perhaps.” He glanced at Ava suspiciously as he hung up.
"He thinks we’ve been back?” Ava always thought the old man seemed senile.
“Just you,” Abe replied. “He swears you had him translate these. And he suggests...that you may have arrived by time travel.”