John tried to block the assaulting spray, only seconds too late. He stumbled and fell backward hitting his head on a gravestone knocking himself out cold.

He awoke as cold rain droplets pattered gently on his face. The wailing mother attempting to drown out the words of a preacher issuing graveside service jolted John into action.

The darkness had gone and he wondered how he had lain here for so long. As he stood, his head throbbed and he felt to inspect the damage from the fall. Glancing back to the mourners, he decided he may have a concussion.

They were dressed as if they’d stepped out of the 1800’s. The ladies were in their high waisted dresses, and veiled hats. The men wore breeches, waistcoats, and even tophats. This funeral was upperclass.

What was he thinking? John shook his head to clear it. He glanced to the nearest gravemarker, Thomas Jonathan Alexander II, 1706- 1814.

”..always remember Master Alexander,” the preacher was finishing.” At that point, John’s world went black again.