Kemet sat at the edge of the bed Lily had offered him—still not quite understanding how a bed could be this soft, or why the ceiling above him hummed gently with cool air. His fingers grazed the fabric of the sheets again and again, as if grounding himself to something real.
Downstairs, he could hear the hum of the dishwasher, the low murmur of a television, and Catherine pacing on the phone. But here in this small room, tucked away behind suburban stillness, the world was quiet enough for thoughts to speak.
"So…" Lily said, seated across from him on a cushioned chair, notebook on her lap. "You're telling me… you came from 1800s. And somehow, you ended up here, in 2025."
He nodded slowly and said " If you explanation is right, yes."
"And now you know… slavery ended. A long time ago. Black people are free now. Well—not everything is perfect, obviously. But things are… better."
Kemet's jaw tightened slightly. "Better," he repeated, not as a question, but like he was trying on the word for the first time.
She watched his eyes trace the shadows on the wall.
"There's still racism," she said honestly. "Still problems. But we go to school together, we eat together, work together. Some of my best friends are Black. We try. That's what I mean."
He exhaled slowly, then nodded. "Ma used to say one day the chains would melt. That the earth would wake up. I thought maybe she meant death. I didn't know she meant… this."
Lily leaned forward, curiosity burning in her voice. "But how did you get here? Do you have… powers or something? Like, some kind of supernatural gift?"
Kemet tilted his head, confused. "Powers?"
"Yeah, like magic. Or… like you can bend time."
He chuckled softly, the sound cracked and worn. "No, miss—I mean, Lily. I ain't no wizard."
"Then how?"
He rubbed his hands together, the memory surfacing like an old scar. "It was the forest. The dogs were close. I ran toward the trees where the moss grows thick. Then I saw light. A shimmer between two trees. Looked like the world was breakin' open. I reached for it… and everything felt warm. Like it knew me."
He looked up at her.
"Next thing I knew, I was standin' in the middle of the street. Metal monsters screamin'. Lights everywhere. People with pale faces movin' so fast. I thought they was chasin' me."
"You mean… cars and people?"
Kemet nodded. "I started runnin'. My heart was screamin'. But what scared me most…" He hesitated, frowning. "They didn't care. The white folk, I mean. They didn't even see me. One looked at me like I was air."
Lily's face softened. "That must've been so confusing."
"It was," he whispered. "In my time, if a Black boy ran past a white man and didn't bow or beg, it was his last breath. But these people just kept walkin'. I didn't know if it was mercy or madness."
Lily tapped her pen on her notebook, deep in thought. "So the portal… it just appeared? Like a glitch in time."
"I don't know what a 'glitch' is," he said gently.
She smiled faintly. "You'll learn. Maybe… you're not the only one it's ever happened to."
Kemet's eyes flicked to the window. The moon was rising over Ravenbrook. Somewhere, deep in the trees where the old land still whispered, that portal may still be pulsing.
"Maybe the earth remembers what we try to forget," he murmured.
The morning sun poured through the half-open blinds, casting soft lines across Kemet's face as he stirred awake. The sound of birds was familiar. But the quiet roar of distant cars, the occasional thump of music from a passing truck, and the gentle hum of electronics reminded him that he wasn't in his world anymore.
Catharine had left for work early, leaving Lily in charge. She came into the room holding a bundle of clothes and a cautious smile.
"These might fit you," she said. "They're my dad's old stuff. He doesn't visit anymore, so…"
Kemet took the clothes with a nod, inspecting the fabric like it was made of gold. Jeans, a T-shirt with some strange cartoon on it, and socks that felt like clouds. "So many colors," he muttered.
"Yeah," Lily laughed. "You've only seen homespun linen and cotton, right?"
He nodded as he slowly changed behind the folding screen she brought in. "We had work clothes. Stitchin' done by hand. Threads were rough. These… these are smooth."
When he stepped out, she stared at him for a beat too long.
"You look—normal," she said, then quickly added, "I mean, you blend in. You could walk down the street and no one would think twice."
"I used to want to disappear," Kemet replied softly. "Now I do, and it feels… empty."
She didn't know what to say to that.
Later that afternoon, Lily brought him into the living room and sat him in front of the television. She handed him a small black object with buttons.
"This is a remote. You use it to change channels."
Kemet looked at the screen where animated people moved and danced. "It's a box full of stories?"
"Yeah, kinda. Some are real, some are fake."
She flipped to a documentary on slavery. His eyes widened as he saw reenactments of chained men, heard voices speaking about plantations, auctions, and rebellion.
"That's my life," he said after a long pause. "But here… it's just pictures."
Lily turned off the TV. "It's hard seeing it like that?"
"It's hard seeing it ended," he said. "Like it never mattered."
Lily knelt beside the couch, meeting his gaze. "It did matter, Kemet. It changed the world. That's why you're important. You're living proof."
He studied her face. "You talk like you carry the pain too."
She hesitated. "Maybe… not in the same way. But I care."
They sat there in silence, something deeper beginning to flicker between them.
The morning light spilled into the living room as Lily rushed around, stuffing books into her backpack and adjusting her hoodie. She paused at the doorway, where Kemet stood barefoot, eyes quietly tracing the patterns on the tiled floor.
"I have to go to school," she said. "But I'll be back early. Maybe we can go for a walk… or the mall."
Kemet nodded, though he still wasn't quite sure what a "mall" was.
"I promise I'll come back. Just… don't open the door for anyone, okay? And help yourself to anything in the kitchen."
He nodded again, offering her a faint smile.
Then she was gone.
At first, Kemet wandered the house like a ghost. Everything was still strange: blinking lights, boxes with voices, shiny doors that hummed when opened. He passed by a wall-mounted calendar and stared at the dates—blocks of gibberish to him.
But the one thing that drew him back like a spell was the TV.
He sat before it, remote in hand, and began pressing buttons. Channels changed. Colors danced. One moment he watched lions chase prey across golden plains. The next, people in black suits arguing in tall glass buildings. Then came singing, cartoons, laughter, news, more laughter.
It was like magic.
"This box," he whispered to himself, "is a world."
He was transfixed.
Hours passed. He didn't eat, not out of distraction but instinct. On the plantation, meals were not rights—they were permissions. No one had told him he could eat, so he didn't. Hunger stirred in his belly, but old habits wrapped around him like vines.
He noticed the vacuum robot around midday. A small disc, moving on its own, humming as it picked up crumbs and dust from the floor. Kemet stared at it for a long time, unsure if it was some kind of creature.
At first, he avoided it.
But later, when it bumped gently into his foot and turned to find another path, he crouched beside it with a frown.
"Hey there, little one."
The machine didn't respond, but kept rolling across the floor. Kemet watched it for a while, then gently scooped it up and carried it to the couch.
"You been workin' all day. Take a rest with me."
He set it down beside him and leaned back, eyes never leaving the shifting colors on the screen.
The sun was starting to fade when Lily returned.
She walked in, expecting maybe to find him exploring—or even gone—but there he was, in the same spot, eyes wide, vacuum bot beside him like a loyal companion.
"You… haven't moved?"
Kemet looked over at her, blinking like he was waking from a dream. "I stayed with the stories."
Lily walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge. "Did you eat?"
He hesitated. "You didn't… permit me."
She stopped in her tracks. The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, not seeking pity, just truth—hit her in the chest.
"Oh, Kemet…" she whispered.
She didn't want to overwhelm him with her sadness, so she just crossed the room and flopped down next to him. But something blocked her—she looked down.
The vacuum bot.
"You brought this up here?" she asked with a small laugh.
He nodded. "It was cleanin' all day. Didn't stop. I thought… maybe it's tired."
She chuckled and shook her head. "It's not alive, you know."
Kemet looked at her, confused. "But it's workin'. It ain't restin'. Isn't that alive?"
She hesitated. "It was… made for that. It's programmed to clean."
His expression shifted. His voice came quieter, deeper.
"That's what the masters used to say too," he said. "That we were made to work. That was our purpose."
Lily's heart sank.
The hum of the vacuum bot—still whirring faintly beside them—suddenly sounded colder.