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Summary
Whitaker laughed too, mostly because it felt like he might cry if he didn’t. “Sir, I’m really, really lost… You said you’re Michael Robinavitch.”
“The only one that I know of,” Robby answered.
Whitaker opened his mouth then, and he had expected to say something profound or impactful or revealing. Instead, the words that hissed through the breath caught in his lungs didn’t feel like his own.
“Where are you?”
“Uh, UPenn. Fisher Hassenfeld College House, Room 314.”
Whitaker nodded like that made any fucking sense at all. “What time is it?”
“It’s 3:06 on July 14th–.”
Same day. Same time.
“-- 1995, baby.”
“... 1995?”
***
Whitaker agrees to house-sit for Robby while he's away. He gets a little more than he wanted from the deal when he finds the phone next to the man's bed, unplugged and ancient, tends to ring late at night. While his connection with his boss is fizzling in Dr. Robby's absence, Whitaker leans on the voice on the phone to fill the void he's left behind.