Springback

by Jana Miller

  She gave me a warning look, like I was being an embarrassingly nagging parent.

  “Are we ready?” Jake asked, his breathing heavy.

  I hated that I had to let Janie do this, and watching Jake, I hated that we had to let him do it too. But I finally said, “Yeah. Ready.”

  Once again we closed our eyes, and I felt Janie’s presence in the strands almost at the same time as Leah and Jake’s. She can do this, I told myself.

  “After three,” Leah murmured. “I’ll count it.”

  I nodded my encouragement to Janie then closed my own eyes and accessed the Ring, pushing into the electric pain of it.

  Immediately I felt Leah there, and then Jake’s presence after that—somehow I could tell the difference between them. We waited as Janie’s presence flickered once, twice—and then she was there. Pride swelled in my chest, and it hit me that this meant that for the first time in decades—almost a hundred years—two Stoneman descendants were working with two Wright descendants to enter the Ring of Time. It felt significant.

  “One,” said Leah.

  As expected, the strands hurt like crazy. They sparked; they buzzed; they electrocuted my mind. I felt Janie flinch.

  “Two…”

  Then there was a grunt, and I opened my eyes just in time to see Jake collapse.

  * * *

  “Jake!”

  “He shouldn’t have tried it.”

  “Is he breathing?”

  “Jake!”

  Leah turned him onto his back and was checking for breath when I heard the rumbling approach of an engine. I turned and saw a motorcycle nearing us, and without thinking, I ran to the road.

  “Rob!” I exclaimed as soon as I recognized the rider.

  He dropped his helmet on the ground as he stumbled off his bike. “You guys okay?” he asked.

  “We are, but Jake’s not. We crashed, then we tried to enter the Ring even though he was injured.”

  Rob cursed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “We shouldn’t have let him—”

  He just shook his head. “If he’s anything like me, you couldn’t have stopped him,” he said as he strode toward Jake. “How long has he been out?”

  “Just barely. We were about to stop time and he just—fell over.”

  “He’s breathing,” Leah reported. “But he looks really pale. I think the hit to his head was worse than we thought.”

  “He needs to get to the hospital,” Rob said.

  “Do we have time?” Leah asked.

  “Hope so,” he answered. “Lillian won’t be able to pull for a little while.”

  “What happened?” Leah and I asked at the same time.

  “I boosted her up and into the window, telling her how we were sure it was in there, then I took off. She must have looked for the amulet for a few minutes before she realized I’d left, because she didn’t rewind right away. But from the size of that last springback and the feel of the cords, I’d say she went back farther than she should have—probably farther than she meant to—so she won’t recover enough to pull for a little while at least, even if her repeat ends.”

  For a moment I enjoyed the thought of Lillian being ditched in that little museum, maybe even passed out from her huge pull, before I noticed that Rob was breathing heavily and finally looked at him closely. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He pressed a hand to his side. “Crashed my bike when she pulled.”

  “What?” Leah exclaimed. “Rob, are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he grunted. He gestured to Jake. “Better than this guy, anyway.”

  I couldn’t imagine how he could be better than Jake after crashing a motorcycle. He obviously hadn’t hit a tree like we had. “You should get checked out at the hospital too,” I said.

  But he was shaking his head before I’d even finished. “Not until after we enter the Ring.”

  “You want to do it now?” I asked, alarmed. “Before we take Jake to the ER?”

  Rob shook his head. “I guess it’s possible that we get into the Ring and back out in no time and everything will be great, but if anything goes wrong—with the Ring or with all of us—I don’t want him stuck here alone. We’ve definitely got to get him taken care of before we try.” Rob’s voice was tight, and I detected a quaver in it. “No telling what will happen to him if something goes wrong with that”—he gestured to the amulet in Leah’s hand—“when he’s already unconscious.” My heart broke a little bit for Rob. How would it be to lose your son when you were just getting to know him? The three of us gathered around to help Rob get Jake to the car.

  It took several tries to get him in, then several tries to start the car and maneuver it away from the tree, and then we were off.

  “Where’s the nearest hospital?” Leah asked, and Rob looked it up for her. “Ten minutes away.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief that there was one so close, even in little Show Low, Arizona, as Rob gave Leah directions.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with your son?” the doctor asked, barely masking his incredulity. “He’s in critical condition. His brain is literally shutting down.”

  I could see the anguish in Rob’s eyes; it was the same I was feeling in my gut. “I know,” he said. “I won’t be gone long. There’s something I have to do.” The doctor seemed to be about to protest, but Rob insisted, “I think it might help him.”

  The doctor pulled back a little, his face a mask of confusion as he no doubt wondered what Rob could possibly think he could do that would help his son. But whatever strange thing he could come up with that Rob might go do, I was certain it was nowhere near as unbelievable as what we had planned. “Well, I strongly recommend you return as soon as possible,” he said firmly. “There’s not a lot we’re able to do at this point, but we’ll do what we can.”

  “I understand,” Rob replied, wincing as Lillian picked that exact moment to yank the strands and hit us with another springback. I steadied myself against the wall, wondering what her motive was at this point. There was no way she could go back far enough to stop us from getting the amulet, since she’d have to pull us all the way back to the museum. Was she just that sadistic? Or had she found something in the journal and switched tactics?

  Rob’s voice was strained, Leah squeezed her eyes shut, and I tried to take deep breaths as we all tried to mask the jolt of pain that shot through us yet again. “Come on, girls.”

  Janie put an arm around me to keep me steady as we turned to go. I thanked the gods of pain pills that she could walk all right, and the gods of rewinding she wasn’t feeling the springbacks even after accessing the Ring. Apparently I’d been right, and she wouldn’t start feeling them until she actually pulled the strands.

  I ached to stay with Jake, or to explain to the doctor that we really could help him. But I couldn’t even say that with certainty. “Just a second,” I said to them, and snuck back into Jake’s little ER cubicle.

  His face was pale and still, no hint of the exuberant personality and optimism hiding behind those closed eyelids. He’d somehow become like a brother to me—a second best friend—and I could hardly bear to look at his body, so still, hooked up to beeping machines and IVs. I refused to say goodbye, even though a part of my mind insisted that I should, just in case. Instead I swallowed and took his hand, grateful it was at least warm. “We’ll fix it,” I whispered. “Then we can rewind all of this and—” and what? Go back to how things were before? I didn’t think that was exactly what I wanted. I’d been afraid of everything before—afraid of messing up, afraid of having to rewind, afraid of not rewinding. Afraid of making friends, afraid of not making friends. Afraid of not doing everything exactly right, afraid of losing people I loved.

  I was tired of being afraid. “We’ll fix it,” I repeated. Then I pulled a healing crystal—clear quartz—out of my pocket. “We’ll fix it, and we’ll go back to living. And we’ll just—we’ll do things.”

  I put the crystal in his
hand, closed his fingers around it, and walked out of the room, ready to repair the Ring of Time.

  * * *

  “I really think we should call Allison,” I said when we were back on the highway.

  Rob shook his head. “We’re going to fix it,” he insisted. “We would be scaring her out of her mind, for no reason.”

  “He’s dying,” I choked out. “She deserves to know!”

  “Chloe. Look at me.” I reluctantly did. “He is not going to die,” he said emphatically. “We’re going to fix the Ring. It won’t even take a second, because time will be stopped.”

  “But—”

  “And if the worst happens—if we can’t fix it—we can find a way too rewind far enough.”

  I took a shuddering breath. “We could tandem pull,” I said in a small voice.

  “I’m not sure what that is, but yes. We could do that. I know I’ve been a crappy dad, but I will not—absolutely will not—let my son die.”

  I pressed my lips together for a second, then I nodded.

  It was dark when Leah pulled off the highway at the first county road she found, barreling down the dirt road in her banged-up car, determination in her eyes and movements.

  “This is probably far enough,” Rob said as we approached another dirt road. Leah took it, and after less than a mile she pulled off at a random spot.

  She pulled the amulet out of her pocket again when we were all out of the car, our phone lights turned on to illuminate what we were doing.

  We again drew the X and the square, placed the amulet at the center, and took our places at the corners.

  “You remember what to do, Janie?” I asked.

  She took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

  We all closed our eyes again, and almost immediately there were three other presences in the Ring. It was strange to feel Rob’s presence in Jake’s place—an aching kind of strange.

  Leah counted to three, and we all stopped time.

  Instead of the electric shock I’d experienced every time I’d accessed the damaged ring in the last few weeks, this time I was welcomed with a hum. The strands glowed. And then—time burst open.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I felt the hum from the amulet in front of me, and then the strands that stretched infinitely in either direction suddenly seemed to shrink down, to the point where I could see that they really were part of a ring. And then the entire ring was in front of me, moving down to where the amulet lay, and then it grew to encircle the four of us. I could feel the four anchor points, feel the intersection at the amulet, and I could see . . .

  So much more.

  I could see how the Ring worked. No—I could feel how the Ring worked. I was inside it. Or more accurately, the glow and the hum were inside me. I was a part of the Ring. It was like I’d come home.

  All these years, this had been a part of me. But compared to this, the strands had been a distant copy—accessed clumsily through a fog. I saw how accurate my mind had been to call them “strands.” Because where before I had visualized thousands of cords, I now saw that each cord was made of millions of infinitesimally thin strands. Strands of the most perfect, delicate silk.

  And there was nothing wrong with them.

  I stared, and I felt the strands, and I saw the glow, and I knew the Ring was perfectly intact.

  Had we fixed it just by—entering it? Was that all we’d had to do?

  But that didn’t feel right. The ring had been an absolute disaster; I was sure of it. There was no way that our mere presence here could be what it had needed.

  It must have been the amulet. The Káti—the one thing.

  Tentatively, I reached for a strand that hummed invitingly. I tugged on it experimentally—the smallest of tugs—and it moved effortlessly. What was more, only that single strand moved—not the whole ring, like every other time I’d ever rewound. What would happen if I pulled while we were all in the Ring? If I only pulled this one strand? I tugged a little harder, and my body was pulled gently backwards in time—at an incredible speed. In what would be called the blink of an eye if time were actually passing, we were back at the museum, then in the car, and then I was home.

  Startled, I tugged the other way and returned to the present—where I was, at least for the moment, existing in the Ring of Time—and I let go. I certainly didn’t want to repeat even a second of the last day. Or the last month, really.

  I didn’t want to relive anything at all.

  Wait. There was something. The one thing I’d always yearned to go back and fix.

  I had worked seven years to get over it; I’d given up the idea, knowing that nobody should meddle with time that much.

  Still, the possibility nagged at me. That one little tug had felt so easy, so right. Nothing like the clunky yanking of cords I’d always done, but more like sliding gracefully through time. Like it was meant to be.

  Maybe I could—but how long would it take? What would happen?

  I pulled again, more deliberately this time, and slid back at least a month. Time sped in front of me and I moved through it effortlessly, not really feeling anything, not really seeing anything yet still perfectly aware of exactly where I was. I glided through Christmas and then past a birthday, and then another, and I was speeding effortlessly toward a past I’d been reaching toward for seven years. I could get there, practically without even trying. I could do it. I thought of the healing crystals we’d been using. Wasn’t one of them meant to help me see clearly, to trust my intuition?

  Euphoria spread through me as I saw it all with complete clarity. I could save Max. Because that’s what it meant to be a Master of Time.

  I wondered if the others had discovered this amazing development or if they were just poking around, wondering why the strands seemed fine. I wondered if Janie was okay. I would miss this older version of her if I went through with these rewind; she’d be six when I let time start again, and I’d be nine.

  It would be a lot of years to relive, but we’d have Max. No tragedies would plague our family’s happiness, and no secret rewinding abilities would intrude on my life.

  Right?

  I supposed I would still have the ability, at least dormant inside me, waiting for something to happen to bring it out, and so would Jake, only he wouldn’t remember it. Leah and Lillian would still be rewinding, and Lillian—would still end up trying to become a Master of Time. To go back far enough to possibly destroy my family.

  But that wasn’t my responsibility. And if I never got my ability, she’d never think she needed to go back and stop us. It would be fine, because I’d fly under the radar. I already knew that nothing as tragic as Max’s death would happen in the seven years I’d be repeating—at least, in the original timeline there hadn’t been anything like that.

  Would I still remember everything? Would I feel like a sixteen-year-old living a 9-year-old’s life? Would I miss Jake and Leah, and even Gene?

  Would anybody figure out what had happened to Gene?

  The closer I got to my moment of truth—the more intensely I could see the grief in my family’s faces every moment—the younger I got—the less I was sure of anything. The less clear my choice became.

  Would Leah, Janie, and Rob remember this? Would they be aware of my rewind and realize what I’d done? I wasn’t sure if this was technically a tandem rewind or not, since I’d only pulled the one strand and I didn’t feel them with me.

  But even if they did remember it, they would agree it was the right choice, wouldn’t they? Wasn’t it worth it? This sacrifice would redeem me. I had to give up something, didn’t I?

  Suddenly I was living through Max’s funeral, and then we were at Lake Powell—and I stopped.

  I didn’t let go of the strand. I didn’t restart time. I just held it, and I stared into my brother’s big blue eyes as he looked up at me, not minding at all that I’d just tripped over our sand castle. His trusting, loving, innocent eyes, always accepting of me, never acting like I’d let him down.


  Of course, if I did this—if I let go of the strands now and made sure to stay with him—he wouldn’t know what I had done for him, but I would.

  And I would also know that I’d left Lillian with the chance to become a Master of Time with limitless power, because she would never stop trying. I would know that I’d abandoned Jake and Leah, and I would always wonder if the new path I was on was the right one. Would Jake and Leah even meet if I took this path? Could I become friends with either of them, knowing as much as I knew?

  Because I would know what was going to happen a lot of the time, but I would be terrified of what might happen, especially to Max and Janie, all of the time. I would consider it my lifelong responsibility to keep them safe. It wouldn’t wipe away any of the guilt I’d felt all these years, and if I knew myself…it might even amplify it.

  Plus, if I remembered everything, I would still know how to rewind time. I wouldn’t even be erasing that from myself, like I’d always wanted to. And I would remember it all, the good and the bad, as I relived seven years of my life. If I really wanted to do this the way I’d imagined it, I would have to ask Janie or Leah to do it for me. But then one of them would be stuck with the knowledge, the memories, the responsibility, the ability—and still with Lillian.

  Was it really Max I was trying to save...or was it myself?

  As I looked into his face, I realized what was in his expression: it was forgiveness. And for the first time in seven years, I let myself feel the forgiveness that this sweet little boy had undoubtedly given me from the very start. And I heard his adorably perfect little voice.

  Dat’s otay, Toey.

  And I knew what my intuition was really telling me. He wouldn’t expect me to sacrifice anything for him—especially if it meant putting other people I loved in danger. I knew he wouldn’t want me to do this.

  Maybe it really would be okay.

  If time hadn’t been frozen, I would have squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my lips together for a moment, soaking in his words as the tears came.