by Holly Hook
And then, there's a figure in black walking past us.
I grab Simon's arm. It's him. Isabel's father. The skull on his hat shines silver in the dull light and the swastika on his arm band glares out at me like a twisted eye. He has his arm around his wife, who drags her feet down the pavement. My stomach turns. Isabel and her younger sister walk behind them. Isabel's still wearing her blue and white dress and her hair's stringy like she's in need of a shower. Her sister fares no better, with red cheeks. They're tired. That might work to our advantage.
I hand the butterfly to Simon. He nods at me and faces the street. We'll have to meet her up there. Follow her until there's a point we can get her alone.
"We should stay out of sight for now," I say. "I don't want Isabel's father to think we're following them."
"Good idea." I can't miss the nerves in Simon's voice.
The two of us creep up around the back of another warehouse. There's more noise up this way. A car motor. We're headed into the city. There's more people. That might be good. Or bad.
“Fence,” I say. The wooden fence towers over us by several feet. It separates the warehouse from a row of what look like apartments behind it. There's a hole near the bottom. I get on my knees and crawl through. The ground's like a rock on my knees. At least it's not muddy. We'll attract attention if we're dirty.
Simon comes through right after me. I help him up. He grimaces at me. “I'm not in the mood to get shot again.”
“I hear you.” He took that bullet on the ship. More than once, I realize. Isabel's father has shot him before, too. I can tell he's trying to mask his nervousness and he's failing. “Look, I'll try to get Isabel away from her father.”
“You don't have to.”
“I will. You shouldn't have to take all of this.”
“But her father might have heard our descriptions.”
He's right but I can't let that stop us. Everything depends on this. Everything. If Simon and I fail, we will never see my family again.
I crane my neck to look around the second warehouse. Isabel's father stands out in merciless black and surgical silver. They're walking into what looks like a store. There are clothes on display inside the doorway, flowered dresses and jewelry. I can't read what the word above the doorway says, but there's another swastika nailed above it. People mill around like it's no big deal.
Isabel enters the store. She stops for a moment to feel the skirt of a dress on display in near the front. Her parents must need to get the family some clothes after their trip. Her mother's got one suitcase. They probably left in a hurry to get away from the war. She's got no idea what she's standing in, what her father really is, what she's supporting.
Her innocence is about to die screaming and I hate that.
I pull the butterfly out of my pocket. I'm holding her memories, her Timeless ones that nothing can ever erase, in my hands. I know how to approach Isabel with this.
“Let me go alone,” I say.
"No." Simon takes my arm. "We agreed that I should go."
"Forget it," I say. "I'm going. I don't look as threatening as you do. I'm another girl."
"But at least let me come in with you."
"Okay. Deal. We just don't talk until we get Isabel out of there."
I look down to make sure my skirt is dry. I grab the fabric and sniff. Salty and musty, but I imagine no one getting off that cramped ship smells the freshest right now. We'll blend right in.
Simon and I cross the street. It's getting busier. Suitcases and luggage roll down pavement. Tired feet drag bodies past. A jeep drives towards the docks, full of soldiers in bullet-gray helmets. I keep my chin up, trying to look natural.
The store's cramped. There's a little kid crying somewhere in the back. People push around each other, grabbing at the coats on the racks. I have to squeeze around a rotund lady wearing a thin blue dress that's not right for this weather. How many of these people left home with the clothes on their backs?
There's Isabel. She's standing next to her mother and her sister, sifting through some bright red coats. Her eyes are tired, the blue in them drained to a dull gray. It's like she's not even there. Her mind's elsewhere, lost.
Her father's not with them, at least.
I nod at Simon to tell him to stay back. He returns it and disappears towards a rack of men's coats. Sifts through them. Good. We're blending in.
I pull the butterfly out of my pocket. It glimmers yellow, green, blue in the dull light. I find a glass case of jewelry nearby, stand near it, and pretend I'm looking it over. Nobody's standing over here--everyone's busy picking up vital things--but Isabel's gaze falls towards me. A little bit of life flickers in her eyes as she catches a glimpse of the butterfly. I don't blame her. It is beautiful beyond any of the jewels and necklaces in here. It's probably the first pretty thing she's seen in a long time.
I wave her over. Isabel glances at her mother, who's still picking through kids' coats, and walks over to me.
My mind goes blank. We won't be speaking the same language until I feed her Timeless memories back into her.
“Here,” I blurt before I realize what I'm doing. I hand her the butterfly. Crap. What's the German word for here? I hope it's close to that.
Isabel takes the butterfly as another woman brushes past us. There's no confusion coming over her face, only wonder. Either she hasn't heard me or the word's pretty much the same in both languages.
She looks up at me. Before she can ask any questions, I point to my hair. Right now we're just a couple of girls looking at jewelry after a long trip, but my heart pounds. We changed history. Isabel never became Timeless now. How can her memories still be in this thing? Simon had better be right that Timeless memories are immune to being wiped no matter what.
And I'm still here even though Isabel never pulled me out of that icy ocean. Why am I still here? I should be back to human already if Timeless Isabel never pulled me away from the Titanic. My mind's about to explode. I'll think about it later.
Isabel's fixing the butterfly to her hair. She figures out the clip and winces as it rubs against her scalp. The red light blinks. It's starting.
She catches her breath. Stands there, completely still for what stretches into half a minute. A young couple push past us, bags heavy with clothes. It's like Isabel's frozen here while the world keeps going.
Then she turns.
Faces me.
Her eyes are full of life, of fear, of memories.
“Julia,” she says.
It takes all of my restraint to hide my relief.
It's worked.
Isabel's Timeless memories survived us changing history after all. Simon was right about that. Arnelia has come through.
I know it's not wise for me to talk here. Isabel doesn't press me to speak. She looks around the store, checking every corner and every display. Simon's walking over, weaving through families. I give him a thumbs up. He smiles and steps over a little kid on the floor, picking at a fallen tag.
“Isabel?”
A tall, leering figure in black and silver looms behind her and blocks Simon's way to me.
Her father.
He holds his hat against his chest like he's trying to hide the silver skull. He pats her on the shoulder. Her mother stands behind him, bag in hand. They've made their purchases and they're ready to leave.
A new look comes over Isabel's face.
Revulsion.
She squints like she's trying to swallow worms. Her face darkens and she looks down, ashamed to meet my gaze. Her shoulder flinches. The air gets heavy with her pain.
Right along with her Timeless memories comes the truth about her father, the one she was happy not knowing, the one that there was no way to filter out.
Her father says something, probably along the lines of are you ready to go? Isabel takes a breath like she's trying to calm herself. She's at a crossroads. She could go with her family right now and forget about us. It would be easiest for her. Is she angry at me for gi
ving her these memories back? She should be. Now she has to go the rest of her life knowing her father's a monster and the cause she supported is vile.
But she lunges for me and seizes my arm.
“Come on,” she says, pulling me towards the door.
“Isabel!” her mother shouts.
We're running now. Simon joins us at the door, weaving around a cart of shoes. There's no going back. Isabel's crossed the line, the point of no return.
The three of us break out onto the street, where another convoy of troops is rolling past. They ignore us but we draw the stares of the thickening crowd.
“Keep running,” Isabel says. She lets go of my arm and we're sprinting our way up the street. “We need to find a rift somewhere. There must be one.”
“Not much chance,” Simon says. I remember him saying something about there being one every ten miles or so. “We'll need to open one. It'll take all we've got.”
I remember Simon saying something about it taking two or more Timeless to open a rift quickly. Isabel can't help with that now. It's up to me and Simon and I've never done it.
We split, going around a caravan of families pulling luggage. Simon and I rejoin and Isabel comes up behind us. She's breathing heavy. There's no way she can keep up with us now.
“We have to slow down,” I say.
Isabel catches up, jogging. Her father shouts her name again from behind us. “I can't look at him again,” she says. “We need to hide.”
The road splits ahead past a small clock tower. The crowd's thinner. I smell pastries. I search for a building we can run into. A bakery. A restaurant. “In there,” I say, pointing. If we're lucky, her father won't see us ducking in.
The three of us dodge in under bells and frills. It's quieter in here. Curvy chairs sit up against tables with purple cloths. A tired family sits in one booth and a waiter stands with a cloth hanging over his arm near the entrance to the kitchen. We're in a French-style restaurant. The waiter smiles and gestures us towards one of the tables. Isabel says something to him in German. One of the words sounds like minute. The waiter nods and Isabel leads us towards the back. We're headed to the bathrooms.
“Everyone in,” Isabel says, holding the door open to what I'm guessing is the women's restroom. "The two of you will need to open the rift in here. We have to disappear. My father's out there. And it's rude here to use a bathroom in a restaurant if you're not a customer." She speaks the last sentence like she's just trying not to think about her dad. I can't blame her.
The bathroom door swings shut behind us. I scan the room to make sure there aren't any feet in the stalls. We're clear.
"I've never opened one before." It's like we never even changed history. This is the same Isabel that we left back in the Hub.
Simon grabs my hand. "It only takes two of us to do it. Just imagine that there's a hole opening in the air. We both have to focus at the same time. It doesn't matter where we land at this point."
I hear the chimes of the door open. I'm hoping it's just another tired family walking in, but then I hear two men talking. One of them says Isabel.
"Hurry!" she hisses.
I stare at the wall and at the sink. There's an ugly flower vase there. I imagine there's a hole ripping open right in the air, gold and shimmering. My hair stands on end like the air's charged. Something's starting to happen, but the space between us and the mirror stays clear.
"I mean it," Isabel says. "He must know we're in here."
I tune her out. Focus. The air's ripping apart. There's a hole opening right in front of us. I have to believe that. I must.
The space ripples gold. The vase disappears behind it. Simon gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. We're doing it. We're actually doing it. I'm helping to open a rift and we're going to escape.
Footsteps approach and stop outside the door. It's Isabel's father, waiting outside for her to come out. At least he has the decency to not barge in.
Sparkling curtains swish in front of us. The rift's alive. I nod at Isabel, afraid it's going to vanish any second. "Come on."
"Where is it?" Isabel searches the bathroom, gaze darting back and forth.
She's human and can't see most rifts anymore. I forgot. "Here!" I point towards the mirror.
She leaps away from the door like she's afraid it's going to burst open and crush her. I slap my hand on her back and shove her into the gold curtain. She stands there for a moment, swathed in glitter, and vanishes.
There's a loud knock on the door. "Isabel!" The waiter must have told Isabel's father that his daughter ran in here with two strangers, one of them a guy. That door's not going to stay shut for very long.
"Now," I say, pulling Simon towards the rift.
He doesn't need convincing. We both jump at the same time. The air crackles. Gold sweeps around us, gentle and caressing. The door to the bathroom flies open and--
We're falling. The gold roars around us. I scream, but this time with victory. We did it. The first part of our plan is completed.
And then we land.
The cold air of the Hub wraps around me. I fall with a grunt. My hands meet the crystal floor and pain sears across my palms. Simon does the same next to me.
I seethe until the pain goes away. Simon gets on his knees and pats me on the back. "Are you okay, Julia?"
"I think so. That wasn't a graceful landing."
He's silent next to me. I don't like that. Somewhere close, Isabel breathes heavily.
"You've got to get up." Simon's serious now. Very serious.
The tone of his voice sends sickness through my insides.
I stand.
The Hub's not the same as we left it.
There's angry red light glowing behind all the crystal. Simon stands there, the crimson glow on his face casting weird shadows under his eyes. It's almost like there's a skull in front of me, not my soul mate. Isabel waits behind him, her hair reflecting fire. The doorway that we just came out of--one now labeled Northern Germany, 1945--spits gold sparks down onto the crystal floor like it's enraged. I jump away. The rift inside still swishes, but it's faster now like it's suffering from some kind of spasm.
"Simon, what's going on?"
The entire hallway's this way. The gold curtains still wave inside all the doorways, but they look bloody in the glow now, evil almost. A few of them shoot sparks. Others still look normal.
"Whatever it is, I hope we hurt Time," Simon says. "It deserves to suffer."
"We changed history," Isabel says. "Time must not be happy with us. I've never seen the Hub do this before. Well, I suppose that technically this is the first time I've seen the Hub." She shakes her head and rubs her hand over the butterfly that's still clipped to her hair. "I have memories of things that never even happened now. I remember meeting Frank here. Learning English from him. Having to track you, Julia. You outsmarting Time. I even remember going to see Arnelia and working this plan out." Her voice shakes. There's no going back now and we all know it.
Then she lunges forward.
Hugs me.
"Thank you." She hugs me so tight I can barely breathe. "You saved my mother and my sister. You have no idea how long I have--or would have--waited for this moment." I can feel her holding down sobs.
"It was...no problem," I lie. "I'm glad they're safe." Then a horrible thought hits me. "Wait--when Simon and I stay human in our old time, we'll never go Timeless and stop the Gustloff from sinking. Isabel, you'll end up in the same place all over again!"
"She's right." Simon steps closer and slaps his hand to his forehead. "We didn't think this out well enough. Julia and I will be fine, but what about you? This isn't fair."
Isabel takes off the butterfly. There's a grave expression on her face. The shadows grow deeper under her eyes. "I've thought of this. That's why you need to put your memories on Arnelia's device and I need to give them back to you on the Titanic." She hands me the butterfly. "Then the two of you need to stay alive in 1912. If you do that, you should both stil
l be alive in 1945." She glances at both of us in turn. "Who said that you need to be Timeless to stop my family from boarding the Gustloff in the first place?"
"Oh." I get it. "You need me to take all these memories so I'll know that once 1945 rolls around, we should find you and stop you from going to your death." I exchange a glance with Simon. I'm glad we're talking about something other than the altered Hub. "We'll be like, fifty at that point."
"That's okay," Simon says. "We can do it. We'll have over thirty years to plan. We might even be able to find you before the war starts. Don't worry, Isabel."
"We'll find you," I say. "We're not going to let you down. Especially after this."
She smiles but I can tell she's worried. It's there in her eyes, which look dark gray in the bloody light. Next to her, the Germany rift ejects a fresh round of sparks. They land by her feet and she flinches. I wait for her to jump back, but remember that she can no longer see most rifts. "You might want to move. Some of the rifts are doing strange things," I tell her.
I go to put the butterfly on, but Isabel holds up her hand. "Don't erase my memories. If I go find you on the Titanic, I will need the butterfly again. Traveling to 1912 will block my memories. I'll need a way to get them back." There's pain in her voice. She knows I'm about to see things she's not proud of.
I put on the hair clip. Tap the butterfly's head once.
My scalp tingles. There's an instant headache that starts on top of my head and gets more intense until it makes me wince. But after a few seconds the pain fades and I'm left with a buzzing sensation that covers my whole hairline.
"Ladies," Simon says. He sounds like he's a million miles away. I stand there, waiting for the buzzing to die down as this thing copies my life into its memory.
I catch flashes. Isabel, five years old, sitting on a picnic blanket with her mother and father. Her father's in a regular suit, not an SS uniform. Isabel, sitting next to a tutor and learning piano. She and her parents listening to the radio in the living room. There's a Nazi flag hanging above their fireplace. A photo of her father on the mantel in his uniform. I can feel the past Isabel's pride. Her present revulsion.