Finn dropped his arm and pulled away. He couldn’t possibly be hearing her right.
“It’s true. It’s what she is now. She cares only about her own goals. She wants to control the timeline in entirety. She breaks away from the Doc and the Others. No one is able to control her. Don’t you see? This is the only way. It’s the only way you both survive.”
His mind played a quick movie of a little girl running and laughing, images of a sweet curly-haired toddler framed around their house. These were the memories he had of Faith. She couldn’t possibly have turned into someone who would kill her own family.
“Why? Why would she do that?”
“I wish I knew why people break, Finn. I don’t have that answer. But I know you need to do this. You need to do it for me and your father, and also for Faith—and you absolutely need to succeed.”
Chapter 22
Finn willed his frozen fingers to curve around the cold, hard metal of the doorknob. They hovered over it, refusing to clamp down. His body knew what was coming next and wanted no part of it. It was impossible to erase cellular memory.
“You can do it,” Mom whispered. “This time remember what I told you about holding on to the thread. Think only about that day at the quarry. Focus. If you can find the strength to believe in it, without trying to reason it out, you can make it.”
The hollows of her cheeks were still visible, and she seemed more than a little afraid for him. He wondered how dangerous this really was—and how much was she holding back to make sure he’d do it. How many lies would she be willing to tell to save him and Faith?
“What if I miss the node?”
“You won’t. Keep thinking about that day. Remember the details. The node will grow larger as you concentrate and you won’t miss it. Just make sure you concentrate on that day.”
He reached into his pocket and felt for his meager arsenal. Gran’s note, the grounding stone, and the skeleton key ring.
The light of the lantern flickered, making the knobs look as if they were jumping back and forth in the bark of the tree. For a moment he was afraid they were insubstantial things that would disappear if he didn’t reach out at that second and grab hold.
“Now, Finn! You can do this.” Mom’s voice, cracking with the effort of the yell, stunned him into action.
He reached for both of the knobs this time and held on with all his might.
The white light took over, a stark contrast to the black of the night. He closed his eyes, but this was the kind of brightness that burned through eyelids. His knees buckled but he held on to the knobs, pressing his cheek hard against the tree and feeling the carving of the knobs dig into his palms. He imagined the palms of his hands being seared with a leaf garland tattoo. The feel of the bark against his face faded as the white blaze grew. He could no longer feel the ground below his knees. It was like being too close to a star, he thought, only there was no heat. It was just the light and its horrific sound, like the fabric of the universe being ripped in two. Finn desperately wanted to cover his ears, but he wouldn’t dare try to take his hands off the knobs. He wasn’t even sure if he could physically move in this space.
The vicious jolting began and Finn tried hard to find the thread Mom had mentioned. He couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t feel for it with his hands. He began to look for it in his mind like she’d said. He forced himself to look inside instead of outward, and what he found there was both frightening and breathtaking. There were many, many threads! They were everywhere in front of him, reaching out in all directions like millions of arteries and capillaries. He had no idea which one to grab on to. He began to panic and felt his heart beating hard within his chest as the roar of the light became more insistent.
No, Finn! he thought. Go back inside yourself. Think about the day. Think about Faith.
And as he thought about her laugh, her small hands and the color of her hair in the sun, one fiber out of the millions that lay before him began to glow and pulse. His mind soared closer to it and locked on. The roar became a muffled background thrum and he was no longer aware of any physical sensation. Gone was the feeling of his eyelids straining to keep out the light, or the pressure of his hands gripping the knobs of the tree. All that was left was the smoothness of the thread. More of a fiber—he reminded himself to mention this to Mom. It was smooth like silicone, if you could somehow feel silicone inside your brain. He slid effortlessly and quickly along it, thinking only of Faith’s smiling face and belly laugh.
I’m coming to get you, Faith. I’m not going to let them have you.
Chapter 23
He felt occasional bumps, but they were small and inconsequential. A strong force continued to pull him toward his destination. He knew it was there, he could feel it like a gravitational pull. He gained speed as he went. Deep inside himself he also knew that the thread went on forever. He was still on the small piece that was his own lifetime, yet he sensed in his bones that beyond that, the thread would somehow feel different. That he could distinguish it. It was a strange kind of knowing, sitting at the base of his brain with no prior experience to explain it.
Finally the descent ended.
Finn could feel his body again. His eyes were still tightly shut against the bright light, only now, that light was warm. He was lying on his back in the grass, face up, his skin still cold from the mountain peak in winter, but quickly warming to the summer sun.
A cricket chirped close by and a bee buzzed past his nose. He pushed himself up on his elbows and opened his eyes. He was in a clearing in the woods—which woods he couldn’t be sure. He hoped he was in the right place. His clothes were still cold from the snowy mountaintop, but the sun in the sky here was so hot that he could see steam coming off his wet jeans.
He stood up and got his bearings. He was on the mountain, right above the quarry. Up where the Fletchers lived. It didn’t mean he’d found the right year, but at least he was correct geographically.
If he could do what Mom asked of him, he knew the chances of her returning with him were nonexistent. She would stay with Faith. It would take time to change the past, to change what Faith became. Only, how much time did Mom have? Thinking about the hollows in her cheeks made him shudder.
Deep down he also knew that she wasn’t telling him the whole truth.
Suddenly he heard the unmistakable high-pitched squealing of children playing. He got up and moved closer to the tree line.
He knew those voices. He knew that laugh. It tugged at him through the years like a lasso around his heart. He followed it without thinking, peering through the bushes.
There was the quarry. He was deep in the brush on the highest point of the cliff, the narrow edge of the rectangle farthest from the road. Three figures—two children and a man—perched far below him on the lowest ledge of marble blocks. He couldn’t distinguish features from this far away, but he didn’t need to.
He found the dirt path that wound around the cliff, and followed the voices down toward the water. He emerged from a new vantage point, much closer.
He saw himself first. A toddler. It felt like he was in the wrong place. As if his consciousness had been thrust out and shoved onto the bank of the quarry. It was a bit like an out of body experience, yet the little boy’s body was completely foreign. It seemed impossible that he had ever been that small. The surface of the greenish water was sparkling in the sun, just as he remembered it, and Finn watched in fascination as his younger self dipped his hand into a plastic bucket full of the water, held his dripping wet hand up, and studied the way the sun glinted off the droplets. He recalled the memory from the other side, holding up his small hand and feeling complete joy in discovering something new about the way water and light worked together. This was the happy memory that had stuck with him, the memory before it all went bad.
Finn forced himself to blink.
Faith laughed and inched closer to young Finn. She sat sitting cross-legged on the marble slab with him. It was Faith, right there in front
of him. She was there in entirety. That was what surprised Finn the most. He could see all of her, whereas in his memories she was always made up of fragmented snapshots: a closeup of her fingers, smiling eyes, a small mouth laughing at him. He was never far enough away from her to get the full picture.
Now, here she was in front of him to see all at once. He was an exile on the banks, watching the joy from afar. He wanted so badly to be closer. He had the sudden urge to pick her up and hug her and tell her he loved her. Tell her that all the years without her had felt so wrong. That twins aren’t meant to be separated. He felt like the protective older brother now, even though they were the same age.
He was transfixed by both of them. It was like a movie he couldn’t tear his eyes away from. Where tiny Finn was quiet and contemplative, tiny Faith was loud and joyous. Her giggle rose up over everything else, and her small arms continued to toss water in the air as high as she could get it to go. Finn watched his younger self cup both hands and dip them down into the bucket, then bring the little well of water up over his head and let it dribble into his hair.
Faith exploded into giggles again.
He had remembered her laugh perfectly. The little memory flashes he carried with him floated in and out of his subconscious. Sometimes it was a round face smiling conspiratorially, waiting for him to do the next thing to make her laugh. Nearly all of his memories were of her smiling or laughing, and now as he watched the scene below it became clear why. He was the one responsible for putting that smile there. Now he remembered. She had been his audience and he was her clown. This was as surprising to Finn as if someone had told him the earth was flat—and just as incongruous. He had no clue how to make anyone laugh now.
They had been a team. She had to be good—no—she was good. Finn began to feel ashamed at himself for second-guessing Mom. She was right. He had to save her, save her from Doc and Aunt Billie and whomever else was involved.
He tried not to think about what it would mean for his life. It didn’t matter right now.
Faith’s squeals of delight brought Finn back to the urgency of this moment. He looked around to see if he was alone in spying. Miraculously, no one else was nearby. He had forgotten how quiet the quarry could be when he was little, before the internet found it and tourists started flocking in.
Behind the twins, an impossibly young, slimmer version of Dad leaned against one of the marble slabs, absent-mindedly smiling at both children. Dad had that same detached look Finn knew so well, as if he were focused on something far away. No, not detached. Finn could see something else in his face now. He was on guard. Vigilant. Protecting them.
That concentration, the constant preoccupation, it was fear. His father’s eyes were studying the scene. Scanning the tree line, scanning the water. All those times when he was so preoccupied with work began to make sense. He studied history to protect his family. This was his father’s real job. Part of Finn wanted to run over and hug him and apologize for every mean thing he’d ever said—for every time he’d thought that Dad was letting him down.
A deep sadness began to grow inside him as he realized what his father’s future looked like. Even if it was for the best, it was now Finn’s own actions that would break his family apart.
He was going to take Faith away.
Chapter 24
Finn tried to imagine how to approach the happy scene. He could walk right up and talk to Dad. Would Dad even recognize him? He hoped Mom had explained at least some of what would happen.
Taking a deep breath, Finn left the path and cut through the trees. It was a noisy descent, but he figured it was better than sneaking up on them.
Dad saw him right away. His hand went to his side—a reflex, the kind of thing people did when they were armed. Finn froze and put his hands out where his father could see them. He had never known his dad to carry a weapon of any kind, ever.
Their eyes met and Dad’s hand relaxed. They stood ten feet apart now, staring at each other. Seconds that felt like an eternity. It wasn’t that Dad actually looked that much younger—he looked very much the same, only less beaten down.
“You don’t look anything like I expected,” Dad said. He stepped closer and Finn fought the urge to step backwards. His father’s scrutinizing stare was too focused, too intense. “You look like your mother’s family. You’re tall.”
Finn could only nod. He had no idea what to say.
The children noticed him now and came toward him with curious looks on their faces. It hurt to look his younger self in the eye. A physical pain shot through his head, like he was chewing on tin foil. He focused on Dad instead.
“So it worked then,” Dad said. “You were able to get to her?”
“Yes. It wasn’t easy.” Finn wished he could explain that first trip, but the words failed him. Dad looked away from him back toward the children. Faith and young Finn were doing that thing that children do when a stranger appears. They were cautiously standing behind their father, peering at big Finn like he was some kind of exhibit at the museum.
“I’m supposed to—”
Dad cut him off. “I know the plan, and I’m afraid I’m not on board. I’ve always trusted your mother about these things, but this seems too extreme, even for her.”
Finn figured his dad had the same misgivings he did, but he couldn’t let on that he felt them too. This wasn’t the time to have a philosophical discussion.
“She told me I had to hurry. I’m sorry, but I think she’s right. I think I’m here for exactly this reason. I realize now, for as long as I can remember I’ve felt angry and guilty about—what happens today.” He nodded his head ever so slightly in Faith’s direction. He couldn’t say anything more specific in front of them, even if the children wouldn’t yet understand. “I was wrong, Dad. I think it has to happen, and it was supposed to be me all along.”
Dad’s eyebrows rose in shock. It occurred to Finn that this was the first time anyone had called him Dad. The Finn behind his pant leg right now would still be calling him Daddy. Maybe that was what shook him.
“She told me to show you this.” He held the ring out in his upturned palm. Faith went up on her tiptoes to get a better view of what he was holding. Young Finn stayed hidden behind his father.
Dad reached out for the ring and took it from Finn’s hand before he had a chance to protest. He turned it back and forth between his fingers studying it.
“She gave you this?” It was a question tinged with incredulity. It annoyed Finn. Why wouldn’t she give him something as important as the key to the portal?
“Yes, and I need it if we’re going to get back.”
Young Finn stepped forward now, his eyes boring into big Finn’s brain. Finn focused on the boy’s small protruding belly instead. His belly, round and childlike. New memories flooded his field of vision and he did his best to push them aside.
“Hello, Finn. Hello, Faith. I’m a friend of your mother.”
He instantly wished he hadn’t addressed his younger self. The memory was almost too much to experience alongside the present reality. It was easier not to talk to him. Whatever he said echoed back in his own mind, a long-ago fuzzy impression. It was beyond disorienting.
Finn could sense Dad tensing up next to him. Still, he crouched down and looked Faith in the eyes. He wasn’t very good at talking to little kids. Gabi was the one who was good at that, the way she got the younger kids at the theater camp to follow her around like the pied piper while her mother manned the phone. Finn tried his best to channel Gabi and looked Faith right in the eyes. At least her memories wouldn’t instantly be implanted in his brain.
“Do you think we can be friends?”
The child shook her head slightly and hid further behind her father’s legs. She couldn’t possibly know what he was there for or what it would mean for her life, but she was afraid of him anyway. Smart girl. Finn wondered what kind of enemy she could grow to be.
“Listen . . . Finn.” His father stumbled over the name. Finn�
��s younger self looked up at Dad questioningly. “I think she’s missing something, some vital piece of the puzzle. There has to be another way. I won’t let her go.”
At that, Faith looked at her father and stepped back. A frightening understanding was growing on her face. She was only a toddler, but she knew the word “go” and she didn’t know this big tall boy in front of her. She began to cry. A quiver of the lip first, and then she grabbed fistfuls of her father’s pants and sobbed.
“Faith, calm down.” Dad knelt beside her. “It’s okay. Daddy’s not going anywhere.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, Finn thought. Daddy wasn’t.
Dad looked back at Finn. “You can see it, can’t you? It’ll be far too traumatic. It’s an unnecessary plan for a disaster that may not even happen.”
“It happens. Today.” Finn looked away toward the water. Unbidden images of a child floating in green water came to his mind, but that wasn’t right anymore. What happens is someone takes her. They’ll tell young Finn it was a drowning.
Why didn’t Dad know all this? “Didn’t she tell you?”
It was Dad’s turn to look away. “Sometimes she doesn’t tell me things. We both agreed it’s better that way.” His eyes widened. “This must be why she stayed home today. She couldn’t stomach this.”
“But she’s relying on us.” Finn began to look around nervously. He had no idea who would be coming for Faith, but he wanted to be long gone before they arrived.
“Who? Who does it?” Dad’s question was insistent and angry.
Finn realized he was without the details necessary to sway his father. “I don’t know who specifically . . . but it’s Doc you can’t trust.”
Dad’s mouth twisted up at one corner. Finn didn’t know if he was absorbing this information or formulating a plan to get the children away from him. His next question came out of the blue.
A Time Traveler's Theory of Relativity Page 14