Bus Number Eleven

Saturday, 1 October 1994, 9:45 a.m. – Great Ormond Street Hospital (GOSH), London

POV: Oliver

"Right, all packed! Dr Whitmore will be here in a minute," said the nicer of the nurses as she gently ruffled his hair. "We're going to miss you."

"Thank you, Mrs Scott. I'm going to miss all of you too," Oliver said as he hugged her.

"Oh, Emily will—"

"No, Emily is the exception!" he interrupted. "I'm glad to be rid of her."

He said it with such a serious expression that Mrs Scott burst out laughing.

"Take care of yourself," she said before leaving the room. "And may God protect you."

"God…" Oliver repeated quietly.

In his previous life, he had never believed in God. The subject had never been particularly important to him. He'd had an aunt who was deeply religious, but if anything, she had only reinforced his decision not to believe in God. At least not in the same one she did.

On the other hand, he couldn't exactly explain away his current situation anymore. Something had to be out there, otherwise he wouldn't be here. Christianity just didn't seem particularly helpful when it came to explaining what had happened to him. The Bible said something about the dead rising again—or at least he thought there was something like that in there. He certainly didn't remember anything about reincarnation and travelling more than thirty years into the past.

Wait a minute. Buddhists believed in reincarnation, didn't they? And didn't practically every webnovel about reincarnation and isekai come from China?

Damn. They'd known all along. Buddha was real!

Knock, knock, knock.

The door opened and Dr Whitmore walked in.

"I see you're ready." Oliver nodded and waited for him to continue. "The person in charge of Mill Grove, Sister Margaret, is already on her way to pick you up."

Oliver nodded again. By now, he had learned that it was better to say a little less around Dr Whitmore. The man was simply too observant. But as he nodded, Oliver suddenly caught on one particular word.

Dr Whitmore was already continuing. "Before she gets here, I'd like to—"

"Sister?" Oliver interrupted him. "What do you mean, Sister?"

"Didn't Mr Harris tell you that Mill Grove was originally a Christian children's home?" Dr Whitmore asked, looking at him curiously.

"No, he didn't," Oliver said, suddenly agitated.

Damn it, that changed everything. What did people in a Christian children's home do if they realised there was something seriously abnormal about him? A four-year-old claiming to actually be thirty-five and from the year 2026 probably sounded possessed enough even without religion getting involved. And if this whole reincarnation thing was real, who was he to say exorcisms weren't real too?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Oliver?" Dr Whitmore asked.

"I don't want to go!"

"I'm afraid that's no longer an option." Dr Whitmore looked at him with concern.

"No."

Dr Whitmore studied him.

Oliver folded his arms. "Absolutely not."

"Oliver—"

"I am not going to a Christian children's home!"

What Oliver failed to notice was that the door behind him had already opened.

"Oliver, I really don't think—"

"No! I'm not going to a Christian children's home!" He remembered his train of thought from earlier and grabbed onto the only argument that came to mind. "I believe in Buddha!"

"That's interesting."

Oliver froze. The voice hadn't come from Dr Whitmore.

***

Great Ormond Street Hospital Bus Stop

POV: Sister Margaret

Two people could hardly have been more different. Young and old, small and tall, Buddhist and Christian—fire and water. And yet they had at least one thing in common: neither of them wanted anything to do with the other.

The last few minutes had made that abundantly clear, and yet here they were, standing together at a bus stop and waiting for the bus that would take them to their shared home.

When Margaret had set out for the hospital that morning, she had expected many things. Oliver had not been one of them. A four-year-old boy who had lost his family only days ago and then proceeded to argue with her about Buddha certainly hadn't been on her list.

Four years old, Margaret reminded herself. Whatever was going on with this boy, it wasn't normal.

She watched him from the corner of her eye. He was standing in front of a large poster, his eyes moving across the words as though he were reading them. At least, that was what it looked like. More interestingly, he had stopped the exact moment he realised she was watching him.

With any other four-year-old, Margaret probably would have simply asked. After their first encounter in the hospital, however, she had decided that Oliver required a slightly more careful approach.

She still remembered asking him how he even knew who Buddha was. Until that moment, he had stood in front of her with his chest puffed out, staring straight into her eyes as though he were prepared to defend his religious convictions to the bitter end. Then she had asked the question, and Oliver had collapsed like a house of cards.

"My mum."

Margaret hadn't pressed him. Not when the boy had lost his mother only a few days ago. But she had remembered the answer.

She took a deep breath. "I forgot my glasses," she began, pulling out the bus ticket and holding it out to Oliver. "Could you tell me which bus number we need?"

***

POV: Oliver

Oliver stared at the large Pink Floyd poster beside the bus stop, and only now did it feel as though he truly understood that it was 1994.

It wasn't the first time he had left the hospital since waking up here. He had seen newspapers, old cars, advertisements and more than enough other things to prove what year he was in. But this was different. One of the men on that poster would die long before Oliver himself had died in his first life.

For the first time, he truly understood what knowing the future meant, and it frightened him. What would that knowledge eventually turn him into? When was it acceptable to let someone die when you knew you might be able to prevent it?

Oliver had always considered himself a fundamentally good person, but right now he was discovering that his moral compass had started spinning in circles.

"I forgot my glasses," he heard the old bat beside him say. "Could you tell me which bus number we need?"

Annoyed, Oliver took the ticket and started looking for the number before suddenly freezing. Imaginary beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he slowly looked up from the ticket.

"You don't wear glasses, do you, Sister Margaret?"

"No."

Oliver stared at her for a moment. "Bus number eleven," he finally said and handed the ticket back.

"Thank you."

It had been a mistake. He should never have left the hospital with this woman.

Damn it. This woman is even worse than Dr Whitmore!