The Next Together

by Lauren James

  > Subject allocation “MATTHEW” timed out

  > Intervention in progress

  > Mission failure

  > Searching for the closest match

  > … searching …

  > Male match found in adjacent space thread

  > Transferring male candidate

  > File loading …

  He gasped. Matthew’s eyes fluttered open and he focused on her, breathing hard.

  “Matthew?” she asked, heart in her throat. He had died – she had watched him die – but here he was, alive in her arms. She could feel his heart stuttering as his chest pressed against hers.

  “K–Ka—” he choked, coughing up blood. He cleared his throat. “Katy? You died… What’s happening?”

  She stared at him in shock as he struggled to stand. There was no rip in his clothing, and no wound on his chest.

  Crimea, Ukraine, 1854

  Katy was standing on the riverbank in the midst of the Crimean battle, with the dead Highlander at her feet, and she remembered everything – every moment throughout history that she and Matthew had been together and then been torn apart. She couldn’t fathom how she’d ever forgotten it. It was so obvious and clear, including the way Matthew had come back when he had died in 1745. Panic rose inside her, and then arms were wrapped around her, pulling her back to reality.

  “It’s all right,” Matthew murmured. “You’re safe – it’s over. I’m here.”

  “You died,” she bit out, shuddering against him, and he brushed a hand down her spine.

  “Not this time. You’ve got me – it’s all right. I’m fine.”

  “Do you remember? Please – tell me you remember too, that it’s not just me. Tell me that I’m not going mad or…!”

  “I remember.” His voice was quiet. “I died. I was shot. In the cathedral. I remember.”

  She sighed, felt steadied, and pulled herself back together. She could do this. Matthew was with her, and all her imaginings were real, but they were going to be all right, so long as they got out of danger now.

  “We need to run,” Matthew said as though reading her mind. “As fast as we can. Can you do that, Katy?”

  “Yes.”

  “One, two, three,” he murmured, and then Matthew was pulling her along and away from the river and the battle to where the air was clear and the ground wasn’t soaked in blood.

  She paused, orienting herself. They headed towards a stone outhouse. Inside, it was empty. Dust had settled over everything like in a long-deserted tomb. She barricaded the door behind them and then dropped to the floor with a sigh of relief.

  Matthew was safe. He was alive.

  > Time-landscape 1854 out of danger

  > Threats still remain

  > Surveillance will continue until subjects are safe

  CENTRAL SCIENCE LABORATORIES, WEST MIDLANDS, ENGLAND, 2039

  Inside CSL, Kate and Matt stared silently at the small metal sign that labelled the office as belonging to K. GALLOWAY, JUNIOR RESEARCHER. For once Kate couldn’t think of anything to say – not even a trace of witty banter.

  She had been here before.

  She knew she had, except she definitely hadn’t.

  Either she was going crazy or something else was going on. She opened her mouth to ask Matt if he was feeling the same way, but the words wouldn’t come out. She couldn’t say something that would make her sound insane.

  Matt twisted the handle and pushed the door open with a long creak. The sun had set and the room beyond was dark except for their narrow torch beams. Dust motes floated as they disturbed the air.

  Kate’s gaze was focused absolutely on the cardigan on the back of the desk chair. It had faded to a pale cream from the force of twenty years of sunlight, but the knitted pattern was still obvious in the fabric. She brushed her hand over it, feeling the threads beneath her fingertips. Her breath caught. This was Katherine’s. She had been right here, working in this very room: emailing flirtatious comments to her husband, writing lab reports, worrying about the bacteria, shrugging off her cardigan and leaving it behind at the end of a busy day.

  She forced herself to look away, to where Matt was pulling open the desk drawers.

  “There’s nothing here,” Matt said.

  Kate peered over his shoulder. The drawers and filing cabinets were all empty.

  “Someone must have destroyed all their work after they were killed,” Kate said.

  They looked at each other, horrified. Their whole trip had been for nothing. There was nothing in the room that told them anything more about the death of the woman who had signed the documents they had read.

  “Matthew’s office should be near by,” Matt said, trying to be optimistic. “There might still be something there.”

  “Wait,” Kate said. She gently wrapped a fox ornament from the desk in the cardigan and then put both of them in her rucksack.

  When they found Matthew’s office, the door was locked. Sighing wearily, like a man preparing himself for imminent death, Matt rammed the door with his shoulder to try and break the lock. Surprisingly, it was successful.

  “Wow. I thought that only worked in films,” she commented as he rubbed his shoulder gingerly.

  “I think it was a pretty cheap lock. It’s only an office door,” he said. “God, that hurt so much more than I thought it would.”

  “Matt, you delicate flower, this was your chance to show me how much of a man you are. Why are you spoiling it?”

  He grinned. “After you, my dear.”

  It was a wreck inside. Papers were scattered everywhere, along with the splintered remains of a desk and chair. Worst of all, there were dark black stains on the walls. Kate drew in a horrified breath. They were unmistakably blood splatters.

  “Matt…”

  He took her hand. “I guess this is where it happened, then.”

  Kate closed her eyes, feeling dizzy. She could picture the moment they had died, so vividly. She felt sick. “This is where we – they – died. They really were shot.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Folios/v7/Time-landscape-2019/MS-160

  CENTRAL SCIENCE LABORATORIES, WEST MIDLANDS, ENGLAND, 2039

  Kate hadn’t actually believed that Katherine and Matthew had been shot in 2019 until she saw the bloodstains. She had hoped to find that they had secretly escaped, or even died in some freak accident at the laboratory.

  “We have to hope they managed to get some evidence and leave it for us to find before they were caught,” Matt said, squeezing her hand before releasing it. “Something that will help us to prove they were innocent.” He picked through the wrecked office, shoving the broken furniture into a pile.

  “You think they might have hidden something here?” Kate asked.

  “Why else would they be in Matthew’s office? It’s not near any exits.” He rummaged through the destroyed desk drawers in quick succession.

  “I guess that makes sense…” she said, and then shook herself. She had to help. “We want a phone, right?”

  He nodded. “Or a camera.” He was still moving quickly, scanning through the filing cabinet drawers before hurriedly moving on.

  “Matt, slow down. We don’t have to rush. You aren’t going to find anything like that.”

  “No,” he said distractedly. “I’ll find it. I just need to work out where I – he would hide it. When I see the place, I’ll know. It’s not anywhere here.”

  She watched him thoughtfully, remembering how she’d felt in the loft, how she’d gone straight to the hidden laptop. “Close your eyes. Think. Where would you hide it, if it were you? You’ve got barely a minute. Someone is outside the door, forcing their way in. Where do you hide something small, something precious?”

  Matt stood still for a moment. When he opened his eyes, his gaze went immediately to the printer. He flicked up the lid. Then, looking like he had forgotten to breathe, he reached inside and carefully pulled out the ink cartridges. In the last slot, hidden in the shadows, was a mobile phon
e. He let out a giddy breath, before turning to Kate with a look of such triumph that she almost couldn’t meet his eye.

  “You went straight to it!” she said. It was happening to Matt, too. It wasn’t just her with an eerie sense of déjà vu.

  He shrugged. “It just felt right, you know?”

  “You are brilliant.” Kate kissed him, hard and determined, not letting go for long seconds. When she pulled back, he looked a little stunned, and she kissed him again, just to see the expression once more. He wrapped an arm protectively around her waist and pulled her closer.

  “That was leg-flickingly good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss below her ear. She collapsed against him, and then pulled the phone out of his hands.

  “All of my kisses are leg-flickingly good,” she said.

  She examined the bulky phone curiously, before pulling off the back of the casing. Behind the long-dead battery was a memory card. After pulling it free, she slid it into place in her tablet and projected the footage, which was blurry and pixelated, onto the bloodstained office wall.

  Folios/v7/Time-landscape-2019/MS-171

  Carlisle, England, 1745

  At the back of the cathedral, away from the meeting, Katherine stared at Matthew’s skin, at the smooth place where the wound should be. His skin was unmarked. When she looked up, Matthew was crying.

  “Matthew?”

  “You died,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I left you. I thought I’d lost you. I forgive you. I forgive you for everything. I can’t lose you.”

  “I never died, Matthew. Why do you think I died?”

  “We were in the Crimea. You were hurt when the rocket hit. I watched you die.”

  “Crimea?” she gasped. “What rocket? There haven’t been any rockets. The city is under siege and you were trying to protect Durand and you were shot. Matthew, you’ve been hurt. You’re imagining things.”

  He stared at her. “I don’t know who you are, but you aren’t my Katy. Who are you? Where am I?”

  “What? We’re at home, in Carlisle.” There was no flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Carlisle. You’ve had a terrible shock. I don’t know what happened, but you somehow escaped death. I think you should sleep. When you wake up, everything will make sense.”

  As they left the cathedral, it was clear that Durand and his supporters had won the argument. They were preparing to retreat to the castle, to barricade the entrance and prepare for the Rebels’ attack.

  Katherine couldn’t bring herself to care as she led Matthew away. When they arrived at her aunt’s house, he looked nauseous, so she left him sitting on her bed and went to fetch some water. She returned to find him bent over, clutching his stomach.

  “Are you all r—?” she began, but before she could finish he had thrown up on the floor. She stayed still, watching him heave until there was nothing left to come up. She knew she should comfort him but couldn’t bring herself to touch him. Eventually he sat back, looking exhausted. She passed him the water. He gulped it down gratefully, before collapsing back on the bed while she stooped to clear up the mess on the floor. By the time she had finished he was asleep.

  He was curled in a ball, a pained expression on his face. She didn’t know what to think. Matthew had been shot – the blood proved that. He’d died in her arms. Then suddenly he’d healed, but he thought they were in the Crimea. Katherine didn’t even know where that was.

  Now she had the chance to look at him more closely she could see that there were small changes in Matthew’s appearance. He looked slightly older – there was a definition to Matthew’s face that hadn’t been there before, like he’d grown into his features. His hands were smoother and free of the calluses that always made Katherine shiver when they brushed against her skin. He looked fragile compared to earlier in the day and softer, like he’d spent his life indoors, not working with horses. His hair was shorter too and cut in an unfashionable hairstyle that she had never seen before. When he had spoken, his accent had been different. It was still Scottish, but seemed less thick, more relaxed and English.

  They were all subtle changes, but they still made the hair on the back of her neck rise. She didn’t know what they meant, but she knew that this wasn’t her Matthew. It was something else. Something had taken his place, pretending to be him. The thought scared her.

  She fled from the room in horror. She couldn’t let herself think about what this meant for her Matthew. She couldn’t think that he had died, not yet. But where was he? How had he just … vanished? And how had this thing taken his place?

  She went to one of the spare bedchambers, leaving the creature to sleep, and laid under the cold blankets stiffly, her mind running endlessly over the way she’d watched the life disappear from Matthew’s eyes and then reappear in a horrifying, unnatural way. She lay awake for a long time, but eventually morning came and she knew she had to move. She had to go back to the thing that was lying in her bed. She felt more nauseous and terrified with every step she took towards the room. She pushed open the bedroom door slowly, not sure what to expect. The thing was still sleeping, so she placed the palm of her hand against its shoulder, shaking it. It opened its eyes and peered up at her, blinking.

  “Kit?”

  “My name is Miss Finchley.” Her voice sounded hollow.The thing with Matthew’s face looked hurt for a moment. Then it sat up, rubbed its eyes and pressed its fingers to its temples as if it had a headache. It was watching her carefully, and her cheeks hurt from keeping her feelings of repulsion off her face. Her stomach clenched in fear. The thing smiled at her hopefully, but she ignored it.

  “Katherine…” it murmured in a voice that was so close to Matthew’s she couldn’t stand it.

  “Don’t call me that,” she said fiercely. “I don’t know what you are, but you aren’t my Matthew. What are you?”

  It didn’t answer, just stared at her incomprehensibly. “I’m Matthew Galloway. I don’t know what’s happening.”

  “If you’re here … where’s my Matthew?”

  It didn’t reply, just looked at her. She knew what the look meant, though. He’d gone. Her Matthew wasn’t coming back, and she was left with this thing that appeared to be him but wasn’t. She turned and ran. The tears were streaming down her face. She dropped onto the bed in the guest bedchamber, barely able to stop herself screaming into the pillow.

  > Intervention in time-landscape 1745 may not have had the desired effect

  > Although there is still a subject allocation “MATTHEW”, the progression of the relationship is now increasingly unlikely

  CHAPTER 24

  Folios/v7/Time-landscape-2019/MS-160

  Carlisle, England, 1745

  It was late afternoon before Katherine found the courage to face the thing again. It was staring blankly at the ceiling when she entered her bedroom. It turned to her, eyes brightening, and she couldn’t help but freeze. She was surprised to see that its skin was red, dark with an unhealthy shininess like it had a fever. The room smelt strongly of vomit.

  “Hello,” it said, uncertain and a little afraid.

  “Hello. Do you need anything? Any food or water?”

  It hadn’t eaten its breakfast. It shook its head. “Just… Can you tell me where I am?”

  “You’re in Carlisle. On the border of Scotland and England. We were in the cathedral, and you were shot. Then you weren’t. That’s all I know. What do you remember?”

  “I remember being in the Crimea with my – my friend Katy when she was shot in a battle and died. Then everything went black and I woke up in a cathedral on the other side of the world, and a woman with Katy’s face is treating me like a monster.”

  She couldn’t even process what he was saying. She swallowed. “What do you think happened?”

  After a long pause, the thing closed its eyes, frowning heavily as if in pain. Then it replied in a heavy tone. “I was hoping you’d know. It seems such a coincidence that someone who looks like me should be in Ca
rlisle with someone who looks so much like my Katy. And surely we’d have run into each other before now? My family is from near Carlisle, just across the border.”

  “You look so similar to Matthew, like you are brothers. Twins! But even if you were twins, that wouldn’t explain how you suddenly appeared. Do you think it was magic?”

  The thing that wasn’t her Matthew rubbed its head. “I don’t understand why anyone would want to pull me across the world to replace a dying man.”

  “Maybe they were trying to be kind. Your Katy died; my Matthew died. They bring us together so we aren’t alone?”

  “It’s possible. I’m not sure I’ll thank them for it, though.”

  Katherine agreed. There was no possible way this man was a replacement for her Matthew. She didn’t know what to say. “How are you feeling?”

  “Bad. I was vomiting all morning and I have a terrible headache. I think I have a fever.”

  “Do you need anything? I could get a doctor?”

  “No. Thank you. Hopefully it’ll pass soon.”

  She nodded, and they were quiet again. After a moment, to break the silence, she said, “You told me you were in the Crimea?”

  “I’m a journalist for The Times. I’m reporting on the war.”

  She gaped at him. “In the Crimea? I didn’t know the Jacobites were attacking anywhere other than England.”

  “Jacobites? What have they got to do with it?”

  “We are at war with them, like you said.” She frowned. “That’s why Matthew was shot, because the Rebels are attacking the city.”

  “I meant the war with the Russians.”

  Katherine stared at him, open-mouthed. She hadn’t heard anything about that. “Are you sure? You aren’t just confused, after the shock?”

  He nodded decisively. “I’m sure. We’ve been at war with Russia for months now. I don’t know how you haven’t heard about this.” After a moment, he asked, “Did you say the Jacobites are attacking England? Again? What does the king want this time? And what a time to choose, when England is at war with Russia? First the Scots refuse to help in the war, leaving England alone, and then they attack us? Really?”