Undead and Unfinished

by Davidson, MaryJanice

“Sure it does. Otherwise, what would be the point?”

  “Yeah. Why would the devil want to fuck with people just for the sake of—”

  “Okay, okay, you made your point. Really loudly, as usual. Come here so I can hit you in the face so we can time travel some more.”

  “I just wish that was as cool as it sounded.” I straightened and faced her. “Sock it to me. Literally, I guess.”

  “Nah, watch!” She gave me a gentle shove . . . and the knob turned! “See?”

  “You are getting the hang of this!” I wouldn’t deny it; I was happy for her and delighted for me. “Damn, Laura! Niiiiice!”

  “Yeah, I figured it out after we came back from rescuing Nick.”

  “Well, that’s—wait. What?”

  “I just wasn’t completely sure I didn’t have to smack you . . .”

  “Nice try. Remind me to accidentally kick you in the shins for a couple of hours.” The door swung open, and we stared into the abyss. “Onward and upward.”

  Chapter 62

  Okay. This is ... anticlimactic.”

  Laura had never spoken truer words. We were in a small cement-lined room, maybe twenty by twenty. No windows. Sizeable double doors . . . metal doors, on either end of the room. There was nothing in this big, boring room except the two of us. No table, no chairs, no carpet. Not even a shoe bench.

  We looked at each other. Laura shrugged, and I stepped forward to try the doors closest to us. They opened with identical pneumatic hisses, efficient and chilly, like the back-to-school sale at Kohl’s.

  We could see a corridor lined with doors and, at the end of the corridor, another set of doors, these made of some sort of dark wood. Cherry, maybe, or mahogany.

  Laura and I looked at each other again, and this time, we both shrugged. I extended an arm to open the wooden door, but that opened on its own, too. The place was crawling with electric eyes.

  We stepped into a gorgeous office, and the first thing I saw was the enormous dark wood desk. It took up half the plush office, practically.

  The second thing I noticed was the woman sitting behind the desk.

  I was sitting behind the desk.

  Chapter 63

  Oh, you’re here. Finally,” the other me said with a disapproving tone.

  “Uh,” I said, because as God (or Laura’s mom) was my witness, I had no idea what to say. At all.

  “I thought I remembered us arriving a day earlier.” The other me sighed. “But you’re here now. I guess:”

  Laura was looking at me, and then at me. And I was looking at me, too. I looked the same—same blonde hair, same red lowlights. Same thirty-year-old face. I was wearing a steel gray sheath dress with a sharp, square neckline. No jewelry . . . not Erin’s necklace, nothing.

  No engagement ring, no wedding ring.

  “You look . . . nice.”

  “And you stink,” Other Me said, opening a drawer and rummaging through it. “Ye gods. I can’t believe I didn’t take five minutes in one of those time streams to hose off. The Mississippi River was right there in one of them, and I didn’t take so much as a quick dip.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I snapped back, and Laura’s hand flew up to pinch her lips. But her shaking shoulders told the story and restored some of my equilibrium. “So, where are we?”

  “Don’t you mean when?”

  “Are you going to tell us, or do we have more of your stand-up to listen to?” Yep, I was a real bitch. Times two.

  “You’re in Minnesota, of course. I’m entirely too attached to this part of the world,” Other Me muttered. “Though I did try to like Hawaii before things got chilly.” She had taken a sort of computer thingie out of her drawer—it was flat, like a pad, and only about eight inches tall and five inches wide, like a Kindle, but complex. No plugs and no buttons. Now she was sliding her fingers across it, talking to us without looking up. So rude. “It’s July third and if memory serves, you’re here to observe, panic, raise a ruckus, be irritating, ask many unnecessary questions, start a couple of fights, judge our way of life without suggesting how we might improve, then depart vowing to save the world. As you can see,” Other Me said, laying her weird electric-pad computer thing aside, “you failed. Because I remember being here, talking to me. I remember you.” She pointed at Laura and finally showed an expression that resembled warmth: she smiled. “I remember being dismayed at what I found here, and I remember swearing to find a way to fix it. As you can see, I didn’t.”

  Neither Laura nor I could think of a thing to say.

  “Since you now know you can’t fix anything,” Other Me said hopefully, “maybe you can skip all the nonsense and just return to hell. Which reminds me.” Another warm smile for Laura. “Say hello to your mother for me when you get back.”

  “Okay,” she replied, wide-eyed.

  “I’m kind of in the middle of things right now,” Other Me said, running distracted fingers through her fabulous highlights. “But I’ve arranged for a tour. And for your many pointless annoying questions to be answered.”

  “Well, gee whiz, I didn’t get you anything.”

  “Yes, very funny.”

  The big wooden door opened and a gorgeous guy poked his head in. “Hi, you rang? Oh!”

  “Yes, they’re here, finally, could you . . . ?” Other Me was back at work, not looking up from her thing-that-wasn’t-a-Kindle.

  “Sure,” Gorgeous Guy replied, and grinned at us. “Come on, I’ll give you the fifty-dollar tour.”

  “My mom always called it the nickel tour.”

  “Mine, too!” Laura said, brightening. “My adopted mom, I mean.”

  “Well, inflation,” he said, and ushered Laura and me back out into the hallway.

  Chapter 64

  Okay! So, what can I tell you guys?”

  “How about your name?” Laura asked. “I’m Laura, and this is my sis—”

  Gorgeous Guy burst out laughing. “Oh, jeez, I know who you guys are. Or maybe you didn’t notice that she looks exactly like the busy lady in the office.”

  “It hadn’t escaped me,” Laura admitted.

  He was looking from her to me and me to her, and his grin was so open and sunny I had a terrible time not smiling back. But most of me was still stumbling around in shock, mentally speaking. There was a lot of info to take in, and there hadn’t been much time to do it.

  Our tour guide was taller than both of us, a good two inches more than Laura (yeah, my sis: prettier, smarter, thinner, taller . . . bitch!), and slender, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He was wearing khaki pants and a blue T-shirt, practical clothing that didn’t disguise his flat stomach and (I assumed, and would check out the first chance I had) awesome butt.

  He was pale—not sickly or unhealthy, but the guy hadn’t been getting a lot of sun, which made his shock of black hair seem darker and his blue eyes bluer. His jaw bloomed with dark stubble, but despite the slight beard, he gave off an air of youth and exuberance and—it was hard to explain—good times.

  Some people, they just seem cheerful all the time, and when you’re around someone like that, it’s hard to stay worried or grumpy.

  “Come on,” he teased. “You guys can’t figure out who I am? You both know me, back in your when.”

  So he knew us (obviously) and knew we were time traveling. (Also obviously, since Other Me had clearly prepped him.) But who could we know who was around now—when—ever now was—but who also—also—

  “Holy God!” I cried. It was the hair, really. That shock of black hair, startling on someone so fair-skinned. It was the first thing I’d noticed about him.

  About my brother.

  “BabyJon!”

  “Aw, man.” Gorgeous, grown-up BabyJon covered his face, then dropped his hands and shook his head. “I outgrew that nickname a while ago, Mom.”

  “Mom?” I nearly yelled.

  “Okay, technically you’re my big sister—like you’re Aunt Laura’s big sister—”

  “Aun
t L—”

  “—but I grew up calling you Mom. But if that’s freaking you out, since I’m still shitting in my crib where you come from—”

  “That’s a weird way to put it,” Laura said.

  “Look, I’ll try to master the whole toilet thing as quickly as I can, but bottom line, right now in your when, I’m suffering the heartbreak of fecal and urinary incontinence.” He threw up his hands. “I’m owning it, okay? Don’t judge.”

  It was too much. I burst out laughing. And Babyjon—Jon, I s’pose—joined me. It was kind of nice. I remembered it for a long time, because it was about the only nice moment we had the ninety minutes we were there.

  Chapter 65

  So what year is it? It’s got to be at least twenty years past our present,” I said, eyeing my brother/ward/guide. ”You’re grown, and you’re not a vampire.”

  “I don’t have that sickly, pale, irritated look, huh?”

  “Bingo. So maybe . . . 2030? More?”

  “Uh . . . well, that’s a logical assumption to make, but—”

  “Oh, God. You’re aging horribly and it’s only been ten years, right? I’m sorry. You look terrific. Not creaky or elderly at all. Do you have a vitamin deficiency?”

  “There’s no way to ease you into this—”

  “You do have a vitamin deficiency! Why isn’t Other Me doing something about it?” I looked at Laura. “Maybe we should bring him back with us. That heartless cow is letting her son and brother walk around with a vitamin deficiency!”

  “—except to just say it. It’s 3010.”

  “Thirty-ten what?”

  “The year,” Laura said, appalled. “He means it’s the year 3010.”

  “No it isn’t. Come on!” I laughed and pointed at my tall, handsome son. “He’s not a vampire! So he can’t be a thousand and—”

  “—seven,” Jon added helpfully.

  “Exactly! So ... aw, shit. You aren’t yanking our chains, are you?”

  “Sorry.”

  “But how—jeez.” Other Me looked the same. Other Me looked exactly the same. It was all true. I was going to rule for five thousand years. In this when, I was a fifth of the way through it already. No wonder I was distant and severe and dressed in gray and superbusy! (It didn’t explain the lack of wedding jewelry, though.) “But Jon, how are you even alive?”

  “I can’t tell you, Mom. I’m sorry. Other Mom was pretty clear about that. It’ll mess up the time stream and/or bring about ultimate Armageddon. And also, she’ll get really, really pissed if I blab.”

  “Is it because of your power? How you can’t be hurt by anything paranormal?”

  He shrugged and sounded apologetic. “Sorry, Aunt Laura. Other Mom made me promise. You remember the really, really pissed part, right?”

  “Oh, come on,” I protested. “You’re a grown man! Very grown, I guess. So you don’t have to—”

  “Um, I know you aren’t talking your son into disobeying one of you when we don’t know anything about him or his powers or her or what she’s up to,” Laura said in all one breath.

  “Damn your common sense, Antichrist,” I swore.

  “It does get kind of annoying,” Jon said apologetically. He smiled again. “Look at it this way: you’ll be able to look forward to at least one surprise, right?”

  “Is that why there aren’t any windows? And why everything’s steel or cement except for Other Betsy’s office? Was there a nuclear war?”

  “Oh, no,” Jon said hastily. “Nothing like that.”

  “Then what?”

  “I guess I should just show you.”

  “Oh, argh. I’ve seen this movie,” I said, trailing after Laura and Jon. “It’ll be a blasted landscape crawling with radiated mutants, and the only thing to eat will be Twinkies. And Sno-Balls,” I added, remembering the second-awesomest zombie movie ever, after Shaun of the Dead,

  “Zombieland reference,” Jon said, nodding.

  “How do you know that? That’s a thousand-year-old reference!” I looked at Laura. “I can’t think of a single movie from a thousand years ago.”

  “Uh ... Betsy . . .”

  “Don’t say it.” You know how you don’t know how stupid something is until you hear yourself say it? That happened to me a lot.

  Jon had stopped at the other end of the hallway, the big empty boring room Laura and I had appeared in first. He went to the other set of metal doors and waved his palm in front of what I thought was another cement block but obviously wasn’t (in the place in time I came from, cement blocks didn’t beep and flash tiny lights).

  The doors opened, and Laura and I threw our arms over our faces. Not because of the radiation or to dodge mutants.

  It was so bright. It was unbelievably bright. The sun was shining on an endless expanse of snow. We looked, and I could see Laura’s eyes were actually streaming from the brightness. There was only snow. No buildings that we could see. No light poles, no telephone lines. No trees. No cars, no houses. Just snow, snow everywhere.

  July 3, 3010.

  Chapter 66

  What the hell happened?”

  Laura was beyond speech; she just pointed at me and nodded vigorously. The message was clear: what she said!

  “Sorry.” Jon ducked his head and shut the outer doors. We’d found out there was an enormous glass wall between us and all the snow—apparently it was forty below outside. So enormous it was a floor-to-ceiling window. So clean and clear, neither of us realized we were standing behind eight inches of glass. Glass from the future (duh), because I didn’t think we had glass like that where I came from—or rather, when I came from.

  Apparently hardly anyone ventured outside, what with the three-figure windchill, but they still liked to look. I wondered if Tina and Sinclair could enjoy the view or had to be content with looking out that big thick window at night.

  Most of the complex we were in was underground. Other Me was the boss and ran the whole show. I figured Sinclair and Tina had to be around here somewhere, too, plotting to open a nationwide chain of tanning beds.

  “Sorry,” Jon said. “I can’t go into it. Mom made me promise.”

  “But don’t you want us to try to fix it? Jon, we could go back and fix it! You won’t have to live underground like a big, gorgeous vole!”

  Jon looked at me, and I don’t think I’d ever seen a more sympathetic look on a face. “I’m sorry, Mom. There’s—I don’t mean to talk down to you. It’s just that there’s a lot going on here that you’re not going to understand. And a lot I can’t tell you even if you could understand.” Then: “Vole?”

  “Okay, great, thanks for the tour. Are you allowed to tell us how long we’ll be here?”

  Jon looked a little taken aback at the abrupt mood shift. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure. It was a shock, you know, eight seconds ago, but we’re rapidly adjusting. Right, Laura?”

  Laura gave me a maybe-you-should-lie-down look.

  “So answer the question, Jon-Jon . . . how long are we here for? Do you know?”

  “Uh ... never call me that, please. And a couple of hours, I think. Not overnight or anything. Why?” Jon gave us a puzzled smile. “Is there somewhere you’re supposed to be?”

  “No, but you should go find out where we’re supposed to sleep,” Laura said. “In case we want to nap.”

  “Are you sure? I was gonna show you the soft-serve ice cream machine in the main kitchen. And we still make tons of smoothies,” he assured me.

  “Who cares?” I cried. Smoothies? To channel my hero, Liz Lemon, “What the what?” How about instead we figure out how to fix the world? Just for funsies? Smoothies. Jesus.

  “Oooh, it’s a date!” Laura cried. I don’t think I’d ever seen her look more rapturous. Man, there were all sorts of disturbing things to fear in the future. “Go on, now. Find out where we can nap. Seeing the decimation of the planet has tuckered us out. Right, Betsy?”

  Well, no, in fact I was pretty sure Laura was having some sort o
f nervous breakdown. It’s a date? Ew, she was his aunt. And his sister! Which definitely qualified for a double ew. But I shrugged and managed a yawn. “Yes, I’m exhausted what with all the . . . not napping lately. In fact, technically I haven’t slept for at least fourteen hundred years.” Or showered! Gah, what was happening to me?

  Jon dashed off to do Laura’s bidding.

  “What was all that? Unless you really are tired. Is it awful if I care more about a shower than the eternal frozen waste-land in our future?”

  “Betsy, what if we do it?”

  “Do what?” I stopped trailing after her, and she stopped and turned around.

  “What if we cause this? Caused, I mean, past tense. In their past, not ours. You heard Other You. She remembers this. And she remembers going back and trying to fix it. But she didn’t.”

  I blinked, thinking it over. “Maybe that’s why nobody’s telling us anything.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But who can’t resist you, ever?”

  “What, is that a riddle? Because there’s the shoe buyer for Macy’s. And there’s Detective Nick, postchomp. And Jon Davidson of the Blade Warriors. And—”

  “In this time line, idiot!”

  “Oh, that’s nice, demon spawn! I—” I shut up for a second. Then, hopefully, “Sinclair?”

  “Right! So let’s go find him. I’m sure you can bash through his defenses with a dazzling display of your utter lack of wit, then do something inappropriately sexual and bend him to your will.”

  I would have liked to hotly deny what she’d just said, the demon-spawned jerk, but it’d be (a) a waste of time and (b) undeniable. “But he’s got Other Me for that stuff.”

  “Yeah, and what about her?” Laura looked annoyed. “Chilly and distracted and sort of distant. She never even said Jon’s name, just that someone would give us a tour. She’s like a CEO who doesn’t know any of the secretaries’ or mail guys’ names. Future you is more or less the kind of executive you hated working for when you were alive.”