*** This time travel story was originally published in Deep Magic and Escape Pod.  I've updated it to reflect today's era!  You can listen to the podcast version, read by Mur Lafferty, by clicking the story link. *** 

1.

On the night she turned thirty-nine, Jane sat on her narrow bed, watching TV and drinking alone. She'd gone through a bottle of wine and was mostly through a second bottle. Tomorrow morning would be painful.

Or she could stop worrying about tomorrow. The ibuprofen in her cabinet kept popping into her mind. Jane wasn't sure if all those pills chased by alcohol would be enough to end her life, but the idea of looking up how to commit suicide online seemed just too pathetic.

The front door of her tiny apartment creaked open.

Jane leaned forward, peering through her bedroom doorway. A black wine bottle stood on the floor, with a placard dangling from its silver ribbon.

Her gaze immediately went to the deadbolt. It was in place, as she'd left it.

Jane shut the TV off and listened for noises from the hallway. All she heard were the sounds of Boston traffic outside. Several weeks ago, after she'd come home to find her boyfriend screwing a skanky-looking chick on her couch, she'd had the locks changed. No one could have gotten in.

Yet the bottle sat mysteriously on the wooden floor.

At last, Jane crossed her apartment, checking every shadow for an intruder.

She picked up the bottle. The placard had gilded letters, making it a potentially expensive gift.

Tabula Rasa

Warning: There Is No Return

Jane flipped the placard over twice, but nothing else was written on it.

She listened, alert for any noise. Mystery had never been much a part of her adult life, and it gave her a strangely excited feeling. If the warning label meant something like poison, it seemed like a more dignified way to go than pills and alcohol.

Her reflection on the black surface of the bottle was disturbingly clear. There she was: Plain Jane, a frumpy woman with a double-chin and acne scars.

She unscrewed the cap and popped the foil underneath. A stringent smell wafted up, making her wrinkle her nose and salivate at the same time.

"Happy birthday, Jane," she told herself, and swallowed a mouthful.

2.

Jane gagged on the sour taste in her mouth. She was so dizzy, she'd fallen ... but she was sitting in an office chair, with no memory whatsoever of leaving her dark and quiet apartment.

Florescent lights beat down on her, and the familiar voices of a call center surrounded her. None of this was possible. She was back at her old workplace. It was a workday, late afternoon, judging by the angle of light. Ultimata Insurance had laid her off months ago, yet here she was.

A man rapped his knuckles against Jane's desk. "I gave you the files you needed, right?" Her old boss, Moore, didn't bother to wait for a reply. He was always in a hurry. Jane barely started to nod before he rushed away.

The walls of her cubicle looked exactly the way she remembered. There was the photograph of herself and mom. There was the generic Ultimata calendar, flipped to October 2013 ... Jane double-checked the year. 2013 was a full two years before the company downsized. If this was October 2013, then she was still employed.

And still dating the jerk, Aaron.

Her fists tightened, and she realized that her hand was clamped around the black wine bottle. She might lose her job more quickly this time, if they saw that. She hid it beneath her desk.

"Jane!"

Jane swiveled to face Stephanie, who worked in the cubicle across from hers. Stephanie was slim with bouncy golden hair, and never deigned to speak to plain Jane.

Stephanie hurried across into Jane's cubicle, giving a sneaky look both ways before crossing. She beamed at Jane. "Did I just see you sneak a bottle of wine under your desk?" she asked in a low voice. "Holy crap, Moore didn't even notice!"

Jane searched for a good, attention-deflecting explanation. "It's a gift."

Stephanie's look became sly. "Oooh. For your boyfriend. Is this your anniversary?"

Jane shrugged, unequipped to answer. She wanted to study the wine. Tabula Rasa. Blank slate. But instead of erasing her memories, it seemed to have stuck her in one. She blinked at her computer monitor, then Stephanie. But Stephanie had never entered her cubicle before, she was fairly certain. This all felt far too real to be a hallucination. She glanced down at herself, and was thrilled to recognize her white floral-print blouse, which she'd ruined with a grease stain. This was 2013, before the grease stain.

She decided to roll with it, and see how events played out. "Yes, our anniversary's tonight," she lied.

Stephanie grinned. "How long have you been with him?"

Jane was surprised by Stephanie's interest. When she answered, she fully expected Stephanie to return to her own cubicle, but it seemed Stephanie wanted to talk about relationships. She'd just started dating a man whom she had doubts about, and wanted advice. Jane told her it was better to be alone than with a man who didn't respect her.

"Yeah, that makes sense." Stephanie gave her a little wave. "Well, I'd better get back to work, but thanks for the advice."

The remainder of the workday passed without mishap, although Jane kept eyeing the clock on her monitor, wondering when–or if–she would wake up in September 2015.

She had trouble remembering the details of the insurance claims she was supposed to be updating. Instead of cross-referencing data, she kept checking the news online, verifying that it was indeed October 2013. U.S. Federal Government shutdown. Saudi Arabia rejects a seat on the U.N. Security Council. The news gave her a weird sense of deja vu. Was this stuff really new to everyone around her? She wanted to ask Stephanie about more recent world events, such as the Greek debt crisis. Would Stephanie look at Jane and say, "You're crazy," or would she laugh?

Eventually, five o'clock rolled around. Stephanie wished Jane a happy anniversary and a cheerful, "See ya tomorrow!"

Jane kept expecting this hallucination, or whatever it was, to end. But the office was clearing out.

She had nowhere to stow the black bottle, so she wrapped it inside her light jacket as best she could, and hurried outside. Colorful leaves against a deep blue sky confirmed that this was indeed October, not January.

She walked to the T-stop and waited, trying to not smell the familiar stink of urine on the brick wall. A sick feeling bubbled in her stomach. Aaron would be on her couch when she got home. Unshaven, unemployed, alcoholic Aaron. Jane didn't want to deal with him. Part of her would be pathetically grateful to see him, especially knowing that he hadn't met his next girlfriend yet. But how could she forget the sight of him cheating on her, in her own apartment? Jane wasn't good enough for him. He'd made that clear.

The train doors parted, and Jane joined the crowd, taking the first seat that opened up. She studied the mysterious bottle as the T rattled its way across northern Boston. No label on its black mirrored surface. Why had it chosen a seemingly random day in 2013? Why not a more momentous occasion in her life?

She traced the gilded letters of the placard. People gave her strange looks, but she didn't care.

Tabula Rasa. Jane vaguely remembered learning that term in middle school. It was supposed to apply to newborn babies, she thought. A baby was born with a blank slate, ready to receive every experience with no prejudgment whatsoever. A baby could become any sort of adult–lucky thing–but adults like Jane faced a far more predictable future, narrowed by years of layered experiences.

There Is No Return.

Goose-flesh rose on Jane's arms. She looked around the train car, seeing it afresh for the first time. This was really October 2013, this was really her life ... but her fellow commuters had never seen her study a wine bottle, before. Stephanie had never been friendly to her, before. Jane was creating a new future for herself. And she could not return to her old future. Her depressing thirty-ninth birthday was erased forever, existing only inside her mind. One swallow of Tabula Rasa had made her thirty-seven again.

She gripped the wine bottle for the rest of the commute, unwilling to let it out of her sight.

3.

As Jane approached her apartment, she imagined dirty dishes piled in the sink, and dirty laundry strewn across the floor. Most of it would be Aaron's mess. The thought of confronting him made her shoulders tighten.

She sat in the stairwell to collect her thoughts. The black bottle's surface gleamed under the yellowed bulbs.

Jane wondered how far she could reshape her future, from here. Ultimata Insurance would still downsize her out of a job. Aaron would undoubtedly still cheat on her.

Maybe she didn't have to confront Aaron. Maybe she could erase him entirely from her life. If one swallow took her back two years, perhaps she could return to a time when she was happy.

The cap of the bottle unscrewed as easily as before. Jane closed her lips around the bottle's neck.

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

4.

The absence of various aches could only mean youth. Jane felt as if she could run a marathon. She ran her tongue over solid and healthy teeth. She was thin, with long legs drawn against the car seat in front of her. A duffel bag sat beneath her feet.

The red upholstery brought up feelings akin to love. She was in Luke's car. Luke, the Harvard-bound kid, before he died in a car crash.

"Holy cow." The redhead boy sitting next to her gaped. "Where'd that come from?"

Adrenalin flooded Jane's veins. She screwed on the cap and tried to hide the bottle, struggling to remember the redhead's name. Joe? Jason? Something like that. He was a skinny stick, not yet filled in to the width of his shoulders. Jane had dated him for a week or two. Was that before now, after now, or now now?

"What?" Karen twisted around to look at them–an incredibly young Karen.

"She has a wine bottle!" said the redhead boy.

"Damn, girl!" Karen giggled. "Swiped from your mom?"

Jane recalled how devastated Karen was after the accident in which Luke died. The couple had both been accepted to Harvard, but Karen took a year off and went to Stanford, instead.

All Jane could manage was a weak smile. She dreaded seeing Luke's face, when the last time she'd seen it was at his open-casket funeral. This was like living a movie where she knew the plot. Worse, it was like riding in a car driven by a ghost. How could she look Luke in the eye, knowing when his life would end?

Would he believe Jane, if she warned him?

"Can I have a sip?" Karen asked.

"Me too," said the redhead. Jane remembered him as a weak kisser, almost afraid of girls. She'd secretly been envious of Karen and Luke. But what was this redhead's name? This would be embarrassing, if she failed to remember.

Green forest rolled by on both sides of the highway. They must be on their way to Hampton Beach. 1990s-era cars and SUVs passed them. The sky was a shade of blue she'd nearly forgotten. Her teenage friends had shaggy or curly hair. She had no idea what month this was, or even what year. Cell phones must not have been invented, yet.

Unexpectedly, tears threatened. Had Jane truly erased her older self from existence? Were those entire two decades of her life washed down the drain? A big, fat waste that clogged her memories?

"Whoa." The redhead boy brushed his hand over Jane's barely covered thighs. "Major goose bumps. Are you all right?"

Jane wasn't ready to deal with a day at the beach with her high school friends. She wanted to be alone, to think things through.

"I'll share." She managed a shaky smile. Her own youthful voice startled her. "But I'll go first."

She unscrewed the cap and licked the edge of the bottle. Just a taste.

5.

The shapes around her darkened bedroom were achingly familiar. The glowing readout of her nightstand clock showed 3:37AM.

Jane heaved a big sigh of relief.

The bottle was noticeably lighter since her jump from age thirty-something to teen-something. She suspected that once the contents were gone, there would be no replacement, and she'd be stuck in whatever year she ended up.

This is 1996, she told herself. It might be 1997, but the difference seemed minute.

Tomorrow, or perhaps a few days from now, she'd go to the beach with Karen, Luke, and the redhead boy. And she would deal with it. She'd refrain from taking a sip of Tabula Rasa, no matter how much she wanted to escape. From now on, she would only move forward. She had a chance to redo all the mistakes in her life. This was a gift.

She capped the bottle and stuffed it in the place her mother was least likely to check; her underwear drawer.

*** This story is concluded in the next part. ***