“Now,” Robin says, turning back to the man as she pulls pencil from pocket. “Let's get this sorted out.”
Balancing the pencil a few inches in front of his face she begins to speak. Soft words, spoken slowly, repeated often, and he's under. She speaks directly to the lost future, explaining the situation, presenting the options. With a click of her fingers the trance is broken, leaving two identical men on the wall: one real, the other of mist.
“Where am I?” the real man asks.
“You're safe.” Robin turns to the girl. “Here, why don't you take him back inside see if you can find him a stiff drink.”
As the girl leads him away, Robin turns to the future. She smiles at him as the mist begins to dissipate.
“Same time next year?”
