Time's Divide (The Chronos Files Book 3)

by Rysa Walker

  “Yes. He’ll meet us at Katherine’s at midnight.” I look back at Dad. “Trey will run out that door in less than a minute. If he doesn’t show, wait ten more seconds and then go. Get back to Briar Hill. The police will be here really soon.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have to get Prudence. Simon and Conwell are dead. Connor—” I shake my head because I can’t say it. I can’t. But they both know. Dad gulps and squeezes my hand.

  “Awww, Kate, no . . .”

  “I’m going back to pull Conwell and Simon’s keys. Hopefully their bodies will vanish like Saul’s did. It will make explanations a lot easier.”

  Other-Kate looks doubtful. “I don’t think that will work. They all vanished because there was no CHRONOS in that timeline. But when you stopped the Culling, we shifted again. CHRONOS might still happen in this timeline. And June said Simon and Conwell’s dad was one of the historians.”

  “They’re brothers?”

  “Well, half brothers. Conwell isn’t Pru’s son. He’s one of the offspring Simon or Edna convinced to join. If CHRONOS exists in this timeline and Pru is under a key . . . then Simon probably still exists.”

  I fight the urge to kick the tire. So much for a quick and easy cleanup.

  “Go,” I tell Dad. “I love you. I’ll be at the cottage when you get there.”

  I roll the key back one minute and jump into the hallway where I met Prudence earlier. Letting myself through the door with the access badge she gave me, I turn down the smaller corridor. Trey is in the doorway with his rifle pointed into the library. I know this will give him a wicked double memory. Still, it’s better than him being caught in the hallway with an assault weapon.

  Simon’s voice comes through the doorway, “. . . kept her safe for you, man! Just like I promised.”

  Sneaking up on Trey in this situation seems like a horrible idea. We’re in a hurry, though. I just hope he’s not as jumpy as Charlayne when she’s holding a gun.

  I whisper Trey’s name, and he does startle, but his finger doesn’t pull the trigger.

  “Oh, God. Kate. Something’s wrong. Connor—”

  “Shh. I know. Give me the rifle and go, okay? I’m . . . I’m safe, I swear. The police are coming. Dad’s at the entrance waiting for you.”

  He starts to hand me the gun. “Um . . . fingerprints.”

  I glance down. He’s wearing the same kind of dark gloves that Charlayne and Ben were wearing earlier.

  While I seriously doubt that it matters at this point, I pull the sleeve of Dad’s shirt over my hand and grab the barrel.

  “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

  “Yes. Just run!”

  “Love you.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head and takes off.

  From inside the office, I hear Kiernan saying, “. . . told you that years ago.”

  I should just blink out. I need to get both of these guns out of the building before I do anything else. And the expression on Trey’s face as he said Connor’s name gave me my answer.

  But I can’t leave without checking. I move two steps forward to where Trey was standing and lean to the side so I can see. Simon is there. Prudence is there, sprawled out with her hair fanned over her face. Deactivated CHRONOS medallions cover that patch of carpet, along with one that remains bright blue.

  No Connor.

  I drop Trey’s rifle and my Colt off at Estero, and then I roll the key back to 9:39 again. As soon as I see Earlier-Me and Kiernan disappear with the vials, I blink into the darkened room near Conwell’s office. Kiernan wanted to come back with me, but police will be crawling all over this place at any moment. It will be hard enough explaining the situation if Prudence and I are still here when they arrive, and that’s doubly true if Other-Kate’s right and we’re stuck in the room with two dead bodies. Adding Kiernan to the mix will just complicate matters.

  Conwell’s key is attached to him by a long gold chain tucked inside his shirt. I slip my fingers under the chain at the back of his neck and quickly work it around until I can unfasten the blood-slicked clasp. The key comes away from his body dripping. I fight back a wave of nausea, hoping the blood will vanish along with his body.

  But Other-Me was right. Conwell’s corpse is right where it was a moment ago, and I now have even more of his blood on me. I guess it’s possible he’s hiding a spare somewhere on his body, but I don’t have time to check.

  Prudence moves slightly as I approach the spot where she and Simon are sprawled on the floor. I lift Simon’s hand to grab the medallion underneath. It’s still warm and slightly damp from his grip. And just like Conwell, Simon’s still there when I pull the key, still bleeding all over the carpet.

  Connor’s key is a few inches away. It’s lying at an odd angle, not flat like the others. A small black rectangle is taped to the back.

  It looks like . . . a thumb drive?

  There’s noise in the outer hallway. I’m pretty sure that the same federal agents who yelled at Trey are now in the building. They don’t call out the warning this time, probably because there’s no longer an armed man outside this door.

  Prudence moans, pulling herself up onto one elbow.

  “Can you use the key?” I ask her. “We need to get out of here.”

  “No,” she replies. “I can hardly see. Just . . . shapes. My head hurts . . .” She puts one hand up to her forehead, which now sports an angry red circle that looks like a burn. “Can’t believe the Rat Bastard shot me.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s dead. Conwell, too. I grabbed both of their keys, but they didn’t disappear like Saul did earlier. Do you know if they’re wearing backup keys?”

  She thinks for a second, and then she smiles. Her lips are twitching, however, and it almost looks like she’s going to cry. “Simon, maybe. But Patrick didn’t have a spare. They wouldn’t have allowed it. That means Tate is safe. CHRONOS exists in this timeline.”

  Although I have some very mixed feelings about CHRONOS existing, I’m glad for Tate. Now I need to get Simon’s spare and find some way to get us out of here.

  I’ve tried not to look at Simon too closely, but now there’s no choice. I have no idea where he stashes his spare key, and I really don’t want to have to do a physical search. One of my bullets entered the back of his neck. Either my other bullet or Kiernan’s must have hit his torso, because there’s a separate pool of blood near his stomach. His body is sprawled in a slightly different position than before, closer to Pru’s foot than her arm, so at least one of the bullets Trey fired from the hallway—or rather, would have fired if I hadn’t just intercepted him—must have hit him, too.

  “Pru, if Simon has a spare, where would it be?”

  “Sock, maybe? Or in his boxers?”

  Ick. Double ick. Definitely trying the socks first.

  “Where’s Deborah . . .” Pru begins as I tug off one of Simon’s boots.

  “Deborah’s on her way home.”

  No key in that sock, so I lift the other boot.

  Still no key. But we do have voices in the outer hallway again.

  Flipping Simon’s body over, I grab for his belt and am about to unbuckle it when I notice an odd square shape outlined by his blood-soaked shirt. I rip it open to reveal a bandage about three inches below the bullet wound. The edge of the adhesive is slick with blood.

  I wipe away the blood with my sleeve and finally pry one edge up. Something brushes against my shoulder. Before I can react, Simon’s hand is wrapped in my hair, yanking me downward.

  I bite back a scream as my head hits the floor.

  Trey’s bullet must be the one that actually killed Simon. Even though the carpet is soaked with his blood, Simon has still got one hell of a grip on my hair.

  And I no longer have a gun. Pivoting my body around, I plant a kick into Simon’s wounded side. He grunts but doesn’t let go.

  “Kate? What’s going on?” Pru yells.

  A door slams in the hallway.

  “He’s alive.” I kick agai
n, connecting with his leg this time.

  “Federal agents!” a voice yells from the hallway. “Come out with your hands up.”

  A third kick doesn’t connect at all, but Simon’s fingers slip through my hair to the floor. As I sit up, I see Pru holding a CHRONOS key in one hand and a bloody bandage in the other. Beyond her are two very confused men in SWAT gear pointing their guns directly at the two of us.

  I nod toward the glass door. “We were attacked! Two men.” I press the bandage that was holding Simon’s spare medallion against his bullet wound.

  “Are you wounded?” one of them asks, glancing at my shirt, which is covered not just with fresh blood but with darker splotches of dried blood. Neither of them moves toward the door.

  “No, I’m trying to stop his bleeding, but it’s not working. And Sister Prudence is hurt.”

  “I can’t see,” Prudence says. “Call 911!”

  A third man and a woman, also in SWAT gear, are now in the room. “We’ve already called,” the woman says.

  “Isn’t anyone going after them?” Pru screams, and the first two men finally take off into the courtyard.

  The woman kneels down next to Simon. “He’s still breathing.”

  Prudence’s expression is odd, like she can’t decide whether to be relieved or disappointed. When the two officers move on to check Conwell, she tosses Simon’s spare key into my lap.

  As I shove it into the side of my bra with the other two, it occurs to me that Prudence has remarkably good aim for someone who can’t see.

  The medical team arrives a few minutes later. Simon is on a portable gurney and out the door first. Then one of them comes over to us, stopping first at me, no doubt due to the blood.

  “My niece is fine,” Pru says. “They used some sort of weapon that caught me in the face. I can barely see.”

  He takes her pulse, examines the odd wound on her head, and uses something to look into her eyes. “Get another gurney,” he tells one of the others. “You’re showing symptoms of shock, okay? I’m going to roll up your sleeve to take your blood pressure.”

  When he sees the key embedded in her arm, his jaw falls open. “What’s . . . what’s that?”

  “It’s my key,” Prudence says matter-of-factly. “I didn’t want to lose another one. Are we going to ride in an ambulance?”

  After Simon and Prudence are gone, I’m the only one left to question. I repeat the story about two men breaking in, but I can tell the federal officers are suspicious. There’s a flurry of activity near Conwell’s body, and I see them dropping the knife into an evidence bag. I really should have remembered to cart that out along with the guns. Kiernan’s prints are on it, although even if they happen to be in some database, which I doubt, they’d have a hard time pinning the crime on someone born in 1885.

  The female officer comes back over. “Are you carrying any weapons, Miss Keller?”

  I could kick Prudence for giving them our actual names. I have no ID on me. I could have just blinked out. But no. They ask for names, and she gives them. She even referred to herself as Prudence Pierce, complete with a driver’s license that showed Katherine’s address.

  “No,” I tell the officer. “I don’t have any weapons.”

  “I’m sorry, but I need to verify that,” she says.

  It’s not a thorough search, although I suspect one may be coming soon. They won’t find any weapons, but they’ll find the other medallions I’m carrying—Connor’s with the thumb drive attached, another one covered with Conwell’s blood, and two covered with Simon’s. They’ll probably find gunpowder traces on my clothing and skin as well.

  And since Prudence gave them Katherine’s address, that’s not all they’ll find. When the woman goes off to some other task, I pull out my key and check the stable point in the foyer. It’s dark, but I roll forward a few minutes at a time, and sure enough, three men in dark uniforms, similar to the ones in this room, are in the house about twenty minutes from now. Which means they’ll probably find the body in the van. And my fingerprints on the door handle.

  “What is that thing?”

  I pull my eyes away from the key to see one of the younger agents who has been left to watch me. He nods down at the medallion.

  “Religious medal. I’ve just seen two men die, and my aunt is injured.”

  “I don’t think that other guy is dead,” he remarks, still watching me.

  “Maybe. But I thought he was.” I wait a moment and then say, “It’s hard to pray with you staring at me.”

  That does the trick. When he turns away, I check the stable point in my room. It’s dark and empty now, but the bathroom door is closed, and I don’t think I closed it. If they conducted any sort of search, they found the clothes covered with blood, Julia’s blood, in my bedroom.

  I switch to the stable point in the library. The room is no longer filled with blue light.

  None of the officers who were in the house could have seen the light from the medallions. The only way they’d know the keys in Connor’s device were more than just odd jewelry in a display case is if someone told them to look for them.

  Prudence? I don’t think so, although her giving the address makes me wonder.

  Or maybe Paula Patterson?

  I can’t erase any evidence they may find in the house, but I can keep them from getting those keys.

  I tuck the medallion back into my shirt. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  The man looks over his shoulder, annoyed. “You can wait.”

  “No. I can’t. I’ve been waiting. The bathroom is right in there.” I nod toward the small room where I hid earlier. “If you don’t want this crime scene contaminated with additional bodily fluids . . .”

  He huffs and escorts me past the officers, including the sole woman in the bunch, who are currently zipping Conwell’s body into a bag. For a moment I think he’s going to call her over to accompany me, but he glances inside. It’s just a toilet and a sink, so he steps aside for me to enter.

  As soon as the door is closed, I yank out the key and roll the time back one hour. The library is dark . . . still no keys.

  I roll it back another half hour. Still dark.

  I roll it back to 8 p.m., when Dad and Connor left to come to the cottage. Still dark.

  Then I scan back slowly, stopping at 7:52, which is the last time the room is lit. I pan toward the device and see Connor. He gives one last, sad look at the bookshelves and the computers, then pulls the keys that project the CHRONOS field around the house. And with that one simple act, all of the works that existed in a pre-Cyrist world—history, literature, art, even a few science and technology volumes—are now gone.

  It’s the exact same thing I was about to go back and do, but I still want to scream.

  A tap on the door reminds me that I’ve got other problems to address. I wait a moment, then flush the toilet and run the sink.

  When we’re back in the main room, the older agent comes over. The look in his eyes tells me he’s decided my story does not compute. “When did you say you arrived at the temple, Miss Keller?”

  “Around nine thirty,” I repeat. “I came in with Sister Prudence. My aunt.”

  “Which entrance?”

  I’m tempted, so very tempted to answer his question by using the key around my neck to take the same route out that I took in. But I just tell him what I told the others. “The back.”

  “And why were—” There’s a buzzing sound from his jacket. He answers, gives me one quick glance as he listens, and then puts the phone away. “She’s clear. Take her home.” There are a few raised eyebrows until he adds, “POTUS orders.”

  The female officer drops me at Katherine’s just before eleven. I have to feel around the underside of the porch swing for the extra house key Connor taped there, because Charlayne has my keys. And then I listen to the woman lecture me on why it’s a bad idea to hide a key outside and grumble about having to leave a minor alone when the house is dark and empty. If not for the
fact that the president herself just vouched for me, Mom and Dad would probably be getting a visit from Child Protective Services bright and early tomorrow morning.

  BETHESDA, MARYLAND

  September 11, 10:21 p.m.

  Daphne’s not a fan of activated CHRONOS keys, so she steers clear when I first blink back to Dad’s cottage. But she waits only a moment before coming over. She must have been nervous here in this strange place all alone.

  Bensen’s van, with Mom and Katherine, will be here in about ten minutes. Dad will pull up with Trey and Other-Kate about five minutes after that, and this tiny room is going to be very crowded until after eleven, when the coast should be clear for us to move to Katherine’s. I jumped in early because I need a few minutes to just be. I don’t even turn on the lights, just sit on the floor with my back against the sofa and sink my face into Daphne’s fur.

  The cottage smells like stale Taco Bell. And even though I showered and changed at Katherine’s, I must still smell like blood, because Daphne keeps sniffing me, and every now and then she gives a sad little whimper.

  Or maybe she knows. She’s going to miss Connor so much. And as happy as I am to be able to tell Katherine that it’s over, that Saul is dead, and the Culling did not—will not—happen, I dread telling her that Connor is gone.

  When the van pulls into the parking area, Charlayne gets out first, hurrying to the door with her hand tucked inside her black windbreaker. I guess she’s on point or whatever they call it.

  I’d planned to open the door for her, but I just back up, one hand raised and one on Daphne, and let Charlayne use the keys I gave her. I’ve seen enough bullet wounds for one day.

  When she sees me, she waves for the others. Then she drops the gun onto the couch and rushes over to pull me into a hug.

  “Oh, thank God, Kate! Your dad called and said you went back in. We were all so worried.”

  I hug her back. Hard. No, she’s not my Charlayne. It’s not the same history, and my memories of the other Charlayne will always be just that—memories. But this version is close enough. She’s my friend. Maybe not my BFF, but it’s something to build on.