Word count: 3441

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐎 the ground, the rough pavement scraping her knees and hands. 

She could hear the crackle of the vortex overhead. She lifted her head and squinted her eyes, only to watch it close and leave behind a clear evening sky. 

She furrowed her eyebrows as she got to her feet and looked around the alleyway she had landed in. The building to her right was made out of brick and had a faded cartoon advertisement for milk that decorated it on the far end. Behind her, was a television and radio place.

Everything looked rather old-fashioned, so something told her that they had travelled far back into the past. While she had no clue how far back, she was glad that this trip was at least far more successful than both her and Five's first attempt at time travel.

One thing, however, that wasn't there, was the rest of the Umbrella Academy.

"Five?" she called out worriedly, slowly spinning on her heel as she looked around for any sign of life. "Diego? Vanya?"

No response.

Where were they? There were about a million possible answers to that question, and she had no idea how to find out which one it was.

They could've been scattered to different places; they could've been scattered to different times; they could've been trapped within the vortex somehow; or the worst . . . She didn't want to think about the worst.

"Shit," she muttered to herself, running a hand through her hair and trying her best to detangle the knots that had formed with her fingers. 

She put her hands on her hips as she slowly turned in a circle, trying to think of something as her eyes roamed around the unknown area. She stopped when she saw a small flurry of movement in the window of the television and radio building. 

There had been someone—a man, it seemed—who had been watching her but he had quickly moved the orange curtain to cover the window as soon as she saw him.

Her eyes then trailed up to the top right of the building and her eyebrows furrowed; there was some sort of satellite and picture system that sat on the rooftop, with about four different satellites set up, and a camera that was set on a tripod, directed straight at her.

That was suspicious.

Her eyes on the window, whose curtains had since then remained unmoved, she walked up to the door. On the rusting door was a dirty sign that read:

MORTY'S AM/FM
TELEVISION RADIO
SHIPPING & RECEIVING

On the right of the door was a gold plate that had the name of the owner: Mortimer Gussman D.D.S. The same name was carved at the top of the stone that outlined the door.

Elizabeth put her hand on the metal doorknob and tried to twist it. It was locked. With a sigh, she looked around to see if anyone was near, and, upon seeing no one, she then pushed her hand out to the side. 

Once the portal was ready to go, she stepped through and entered the building.

There was a set of black stairs that she started to creep up, and she soon reached the landing, whose hallway carried two doors.

There was a regular door on the sidewall and another right in front of her. This door had a window, although the insides were hidden with the use of blinds, and the same name was printed on the middle of the window.

She walked up to this door and bent her knees slightly, trying to peek through the blinds, but saw nothing.

She sighed and knocked on the window, and, almost immediately, the door to her right burst open to reveal the man she had briefly seen. He had a thin frame, and was quite taller than her, with mousy, brown hair and frantic blue eyes. He wore a nervous expression as his gaze was set upon her, and he swallowed. 

His eyes glanced at the stairs to see if anyone was with her before he breathily questioned, "What do you want?"

"Hi, I'm selling cookies for my girl scouts group," she improvised, plastering a wide smile on her face. "I was wondering if—"

The door slammed shut.

She exhaled as she looked at the wooden door in front of her. One way or another, she needed to find out what this guy was doing with that satellite system.

After making another portal, she stepped through it and arrived in the kitchen of the man. 

The walls were teal, but most of them were covered in brown cabinets that were filled with dishware. There was a pot on the stove and a few clean dishes rested next to the sink. Further led to the living room, although there was no door or wall separating it.

The man was only a few feet away from her and jumped in fright as soon as he realized that she had appeared. 

She watched in amusement as he scrambled to open the drawer of the counter beside him and pulled a dull knife that would make Diego laugh.

He pointed the knife at her, his voice quaking as he gestured to where the portal had just been moments before. "How'd you do that?"

"Uh . . ." She crinkled her nose as she shrugged. "I don't really have time to explain."

He continued questioning her, "You from the Pentagon? Huh?"

Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows, shaking her head as she answered, "Definitely not."

His eyes widened with every word. "CIA? FBI? KGB?"

"Do I look like I belong in the CIA or KGB?" she scoffed as she gestured down to herself. This was about the only time her seventeen-year-old body was useful.

She walked past him, not really caring as he jabbed the knife at her (it wouldn't be the first time she was stabbed, anyway). She stopped in the living room and looked around, her eyes squinted as she took in the room.

It was quite the mess in there as if the man didn't care in the least about cleanliness (which he probably didn't). There was an orange couch on the left, which had a blue-and-yellow plaid blanket sprawled over it. A dental chair sat in the far back, with a lamp that hung over it. There were multiple desks that were placed on the left, all covered in a mess of papers and random objects.

She then noticed the hundreds of newspaper clippings of supposed alien activity on the wall, and then the set-up of many radios on the right.

Ah, so this man was insane.

Although, this did give her an idea.

She turned around to face him, raising her eyebrows as she questioned, "You ever heard of Area 51? Roswell?"

The man lowered his knife as he let out a small chuckle. He turned around in his spot, throwing the knife onto the desk beside him and clapped in excitement. 

The terrified look on his face changed to a joyous one as he exclaimed, "Hot damn! Whoo! See, I always knew we weren't the only ones. See, Eleanor thought my head wasn't screwed on tight, but . . . but it's all true, yeah? UFOs, crop circles . . ."

"Well" —she folded her arms, a small smile on her face— "the truth is out there."

He started to walk towards her, his hands outstretched. She took a few steps backwards with wide eyes as he spluttered, "Tell me, wh . . . why is it always anal probe?"

She did not have an answer for that.

"Well, that's just . . . the best place to look." She crinkled her nose at her words. Gross. "Hey, by the way, what . . . what day is it?"

His eyebrows furrowed as he shrugged and answered, "Tuesday."

"No, no, like . . . ," she sighed as she shook her head, "month, day, year."

"Oh." He nodded. "March 14th, 1963."

"1963," she breathed out. Cool. Racism was still a huge thing. "Listen," she began as she crossed the room, inspecting the weird objects that rested on the desks, "all those contraptions on the roof, you built those, right?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, sure did," he confirmed with a nod as he trailed along the other side of the desk. "Yeah, I've been tracking anomalies in . . . in the atmosphere. Just waiting."

Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows as she looked at him and asked, "Waiting for what?"

He shrugged slightly, gesturing towards her as he responded, "For you. For all of you."

"What . . ." She squinted her eyes as she looked down at herself before looking back at him and questioning, "What do you mean?"

"Well, it all started in 1960, the year the Silvertone Omega was released. I was in the middle of a sale when something very . . . strange happened. So, for the past three years, I've witnessed four energy surges in that alleyway out back. Same thing every time. A bright blue light" —he made a grand gesture with his hands— "then something appears."

She could feel hope beginning to form inside of her as she leaned forward and urgently questioned, "Did you get a good look at any of them?"

He gestured towards a board that was a few feet away from her, and she walked over to it with squinted eyes. 

She quickly spotted the black-and-white photos for each surge, all pinned in order. She had to squint slightly to make out the figures, but soon, each person became clear: Klaus, Allison, Luther, and Vanya. 

But where were Five and Diego?

"Yeah, the first one." He nodded as he pointed towards it. "And then the big sensitive one."

"Sensitive?" she echoed as she turned to him.

"Yeah, cried a lot, kept coming back to the alley, sat around for hours calling a woman's name. Uh" —he looked around, trying to think of the name for a few moments before he snapped his fingers in realization— "Allison!"

"Luther," Elizabeth breathed out as she looked back to the photos, which indeed showed quite the large figure. 

"Uh, the others came too," the man continued, "off and on over the years, looking for each other."

"Okay." She sighed, frowning as her eyes scanned over the photos. "What did you say your name was?"

"I, uh, I didn't," he said nervously as she looked at him. "Elliott—uh, Elliott Gussman."

"All right, Elliott Gussman. My name's Elizabeth Yang, and I need your help to find these people," she instructed, pointing towards the photos as she raised her eyebrows at him.

"My . . ." His voice faltered slightly as he pointed to himself. "My help?"

She nodded. "Your help."

"I . . . Okay." He nodded quickly, his chest puffing up slightly. "I'll help you. You—I guess you don't have anywhere to sleep . . . Here" —he gestured for her to follow him to a room that was down the hall— "you can take the guest room."

The room was quite simple, with a blue double bed, a small dresser pushed on the left, and an empty desk on the right. He slapped the doorframe as he sighed, "This is . . . This is where my wife—well, ex-wife—slept right before . . . Right before the divorce."

"Oh . . ." She nodded slowly, an awkward expression quickly settling on her face as she glanced at him. "Sorry . . . ?"

"Eh, it's been some time," he said dismissively with a small chuckle, waving a hand through the air. "Well . . . I'll let ya get to it. I'm just down the hall."

Elizabeth closed the door behind him as he left, and sighed as she sat down on the bed.  

She was relieved that, at least, four of her family were okay. Well . . . , alive, at least. Assuming that they haven't died since they arrived. But she was sure that they were fine. Except Klaus being alone in the 1960s was a little worrying—hopefully, Ben was with him.

She laid back on the bed, her head hitting the soft pillow as her lips pressed together in thought. Where were Five and Diego?

It seemed that the past kept on repeating itself. She and Five would confess their love to each other, kiss, then, boom, time-travel, separation. She could only pray that this separation wouldn't last twelve years.

She could only assume that the vortex hadn't dropped them off yet. She and Elliott just needed to keep an eye out, and, hopefully, the two of them would be dropped off anytime soon.

Why did time always have to fuck shit up?

—✩—

A couple of days later, Elizabeth dragged the board across the room, the wheels squeaking against the ground as she pulled it in front of the coffee table. 

"All right, Elliott," she sighed as she placed her hands on her hips. "You ready?"

"Ready, Freddy." Elliott nodded as he sat down on the orange couch, his hands tightly clutching a notebook and pen. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he scanned over the pictures.

"Great. Let's start with the first arrival." Elizabeth walked up to the first set of pictures, pointing toward the kooky man she loved dearly. "Klaus. Description: fair skin; beautiful blue eyes and long eyelashes; curlyish, brown hair; tall and lanky; batshit crazy; probably maybe high—"

"C'mon, Elizabeth." Elliott stopped writing as he raised his eyebrows, the hint of an amused smile on his face. "This is the '60s, he's definitely high."

"Yeah, definitely high." She nodded with a small sigh. "Uh . . . What else . . . Talks to himself a lot" —she wasn't going to explain the ghost situation— "and has a tattoo of the word 'Hello' on one hand and 'Goodbye' on the other."

" . . . Goodbye . . . on . . . the . . . other . . . Okay, got it." Elliott nodded as he looked up at her, a small smile on his face. "Next."

"You're such a better student than most of them," she sighed happily, fondly gazing down at the notes he was making (as messy as they were). "Next, Allison, or Alli. Description: absolutely gorgeous; curly, blondish hair; dark skin; super tall; could be passed off as a supermodel; charming . . . Also, I guess it's worth mentioning that her throat had been slit, so that might affect her voice or something."

"She . . ." He blinked before shrugging and writing it down. "All right. Next?"

"Next is Luther. Description: absolute giant; makes dumb decisions; super muscly; acts like a stupid, whiny baby sometimes; makes dumb decisions; I'm pretty sure he and Allison are in love, maybe, it's a theory; light brown hair; makes dumb decisions; blue eyes; and" —she tapped her chin, thinking for a moment— "did I already mention that he makes dumb decisions?"

"Yeah, uh" —Elliott tapped his page as he counted— "three times."

"Good." She gave a curt nod before pointing toward him. "Write it a fourth time."

He nodded quickly as his pen scrawled across the page. "Next."

"Then, Vanya." Elizabeth folded her arms, a small frown making its way to her face. "Description: also very beautiful; short, much shorter than me; straight, brown hair; fair skin; kinda reminds me of a cute, little mouse; also, very dangerous, but only sometimes."

"How is she dangerous sometimes?" questioned Elliott with furrowed eyebrows as he jotted all this down.

"It's . . . a long story," she said awkwardly as she crinkled her nose. She wasn't sure how willing Elliott would be to find Vanya if he knew that she had caused the apocalypse—well, the one in 2019, anyway.

"All right." He shrugged as he flipped to the next page, the rustling paper ripping slightly from his rough movement. "Next!"

"Now, we'll move on to those who haven't arrived. First, Diego." Elizabeth sighed at the thought of him. "Description: short, black hair; tan skin; has a long scar on the side of his head; brown eyes; has a stupid face that is somehow lovable; carries hella knives."

"Hella . . . knives—your friends sound . . . strange." Elliott scrunched his face as he leaned the notebook against his knee and wrote down all of her words.

She gave a small shrug as she agreed, "Yeah, they're pretty weird."

"I'll take it." He tapped the end of his pen on the page. "Next."

"Lastly, Five." She gave a small smile as she ran a hand through her hair. "Description: a little taller than me; wearing a uniform similar to mine; beautiful green eyes that you could get lost in; medium, black hair that is the softest thing ever; the most adorable smile with the most adorable dimples; very cute face—"

"Are all these extra details necessary?" Elliott scrunched his nose as he examined the words he had written down.

"Yes. Continue writing," she ordered as she pointed down to his page. "Where was I . . . Ah, yes, very cute face; attractive voice that makes your heart flutter every time you hear it; hands that give you butterflies every time they touch you; lips that you want to kiss every—"

"No—I—" He gave her a disapproving look as he looked up at her. "Elizabeth, I'm not writing that down."

"What? Why?" Elizabeth exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips. "This will help you!"

He shook his head, a repulsed look on his face as he told her, "Everything was fine until the eyes."

"There were only two things before that!" she pointed out.

"Yeah," he sighed deeply as he looked down at his writing, "and then you started listing all the gross stuff."

"What, hair and voices are gross now?" she scoffed, tilting her head.

Elliott raised his eyebrows. "When you talk about them like that, yes!"

"Okay, okay, fine." She held her hands up in defence, nodding slowly as she walked over to him and sat down in front of him on the coffee table. "I'll give you an actual description."

"Thank you," he sighed in relief as he scratched the description out with the pen and moved on to the next page in the notebook.

"Uh . . ." Elizabeth thought for a moment, squinting her eyes up at the ceiling as she crossed one leg over the other. "A little taller than me; wearing the same uniform as me; yada yada yada; green eyes; cute face; dimples; skinny knees; black hair."

"I'm not writing down the 'cute face' part." He shook his head as he wrote down the other parts of the description.

She frowned. "It's vital information."

Elliott paused and looked up to her, doubt written across his face as he questioned, "Is it?"

"It is," she confirmed as she nodded sternly. "Write it down."

"Fine." He shrugged as he added it to the list. "But if he doesn't have a cute face, I'm holding that against you."

Elizabeth folded her arms as she dismissively answered, "Whatever, I'm not wrong."

"We'll see," he muttered before finishing the description with a flourish as he dotted the period. "Done."

"Great." She clapped her hands together and instructed, "Study it a couple of times, maybe even rip it out and keep it in your pocket. If you ever see anyone out on the streets that match that description, you know what to do."

"Yep. Scream at them to follow me, or yank them by their shirt and drag them all the way here." Elliott nodded seriously as he ripped the few pages out of the notebook and began to fold them.

Elizabeth stared at him. "Or . . . just tell them I'm here and looking for them?"

He shook his head as he pointed out, "They won't believe that."

"I mean" —she shrugged— "if you know my name and their name and everything . . ."

He waved a dismissive hand through the air. "I think my method works just fine."

"All right. Although, the second option will be difficult with Luther." Elizabeth crinkled her nose as she imagined the lanky Elliott attempting to pull Luther. "So, for him—scream."

"Got it." Elliott gave her a thumbs up with one hand as he used the other to tuck the papers into the pocket of his jeans.

"Hopefully, we'll be able to find them." Elizabeth nodded before looking towards the window. "And, hopefully, the other two will arrive soon."