by Lanie Bross
Corinthe crossed her arms. Even from several feet away, he could see that she was shivering.
“Maybe—maybe you should call that grief counselor.” She dropped her eyes. “The one the hospital recommended. I think I still have her card.”
He crossed the room and grabbed her shoulders. She cried out. For a moment, she looked frightened of him.
“Tell me the truth,” he said. He knew he was gripping her too tightly, but he couldn’t make his fingers unclench. “Where’s Jasmine?”
“She’s gone,” Corinthe said. She put a hand on his chest and eased him back. She was breathing hard. They both were, as though they’d been running. “You know that, Luc. You were the one who found her body near the rotunda.”
Luc turned away, now certain he was about to be sick. Bile rose in his throat. He finally understood. He hadn’t gone back in time—he’d gone forward. He’d leapt into a future where Corinthe was back and Jasmine was dead.
He rushed to the bathroom and slammed the door. He gripped at the counter, allowing the anger to build up inside him.
He took Jasmine’s ring out, its little circle cutouts glinting dimly in the overhead bathroom light. She used to fidget with it when she talked, twisting it around her finger.…
How could he live in a reality where Jasmine was gone?
But how could he leave Corinthe behind, knowing he might never see her again? Finding her alive, touching her again, brought him joy unlike any he’d ever known.
He could not—he would not—trade one for the other.
This was not their fate.
This was not his fate.
“Luc?” Corinthe was hammering on the door. “Luc, please let me in.”
He straightened up and put the ring back in his pocket. His eyes were rimmed with red. He sloshed some water into his hand and drank it, then slugged back the dregs of a mini bottle of mouthwash, not bothering to spit.
He wasn’t done. He would fix this, too.
He took a deep breath. His stomach no longer felt like it was trying to digest a dictionary. He could do this. He swung the bathroom door open.
Corinthe swiped at her eyes quickly. “Luc, please talk to me,” she said in a quiet voice that broke him. He wanted to stay. He wanted to hold her again and tell her it would be all right. “I’m scared.”
Luc took her face in both hands. He had to duck a little so they were eye to eye—but just a little. They fit together perfectly. “I can’t explain this to you,” he said, his voice hitching. “But this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
Corinthe wrapped her hands around his wrists. He could tell she was fighting the urge to cry again. “The counselor said … she said you might be in denial.”
“This isn’t about denial.” He kissed her nose once, lightly. “Trust me. This is about acceptance.” He took her hands in his, twining their fingers together.
“I—I don’t understand,” she whispered, searching his face, as if she could read the answer to a puzzle there.
He didn’t reply. Instead, he kissed her: a desperate kiss, a fierce promise that he would find her again.
They walked down the hall, hand in hand. She had obviously given up arguing with him. Now she was silent. He could feel her body trembling. She seemed so different from the fierce Corinthe he had first met, the girl with the wild eyes and the secret smile and the knife clasped so easily in her hand.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the butcher block on the counter.
In one fluid movement, he grabbed the large serrated knife and wrapped it in a tea towel. He tucked it in his coat pocket, thinking only of revenge.
“I love you,” he said to Corinthe. “More than anything in the world.” More than almost anything, he amended silently. He wouldn’t sacrifice Jasmine’s life so that Corinthe could stay.
He knew that he could find a way to get them both back. He had to.
He stopped at the door. His chest ached. His throat ached. It was like the pain of taking a deep breath in the cold, a sudden slicing in his lungs. If he failed, this might be the last time he ever saw Corinthe. “I need you to wait for me. Will you do that?”
She had started crying again. “Luc, please. Whatever you’re going through … whatever’s going on … you can tell me. Stay here. We’ll get through it together.” Her eyes were a soft violet, the exact shade of the sky in Pyralis. He wondered whether she still thought of her old home. She had given all of that up for him. Now he was leaving her. He had a moment of doubt—but the thought of Jasmine dead, gone, was unbearable. Impossible.
“This isn’t the end,” he said. “I’ll come back. I promise.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. Her lips brushed his neck. They were so soft and warm. She smelled like the best kind of summer day. “But come back soon, okay?”
Luc counted to three. He inhaled her, memorized the way she felt in his arms. His eyes were suddenly blurry with tears, and he knew if he didn’t go now, he’d never be able to walk away. He pulled away, wiping his eyes quickly with his forearm.
“I promise,” he said. He didn’t look at her again. Just turned and took the steps at a jog. After a minute he heard the door click behind him. It took all the strength he had not to turn and go back to her, start pounding on the door, tell her he loved her and wanted her to stay.
With each step he felt sicker and sicker. And then angrier and angrier.
What kind of universe did he live in, where choices were impossible, where people didn’t get to be happy, where loved ones died?
He moved quickly, head down, as if depending on momentum to take him away from Corinthe. Each time his heels hit the pavement, he imagined the street cracking, fissuring under his weight. He wished he could destroy everything, the whole house-of-cards universe and its crazy rules.
He caught himself sympathizing, momentarily, with Miranda, and then immediately felt guilty. Even though he was tired, he started jogging, just to get some relief from the tension in his body and his head. He’d always liked to run. The ragged sound of his breathing drowned out the thunderous noise in his head, the thought of Corinthe’s eyes and the softness of her touch.
Luc headed back to Mountain Lake Park, figuring that since the Crossroad had spit him out there, he’d be able to find a way back in. He nearly stumbled on a group of kids from his high school lying on the grass, the remains of a picnic spread out on a patchwork of beach towels and blankets. Even from ten feet away, he could smell the cheap, sugary wine.
Luc ducked into the treeline, not wanting to be seen. He hurried along the edge.
“I just can’t believe it,” a familiar voice said. “Just last week I gave her a ride to school. And now Jasmine is gone.” Karen swirled the red wine around in her clear plastic cup.
“It’s not like you knew her or anything,” Lily said.
Luc clenched his fists. God, she was such a bitch.
Karen’s shoulders stiffened. “She was Luc’s sister, Lily. Can you imagine what he’s going through right now?”
“You weren’t too worried about him at your party,” Lily said.
Luc watched Karen pour the rest of her wine over Lily’s plate of pasta. The rest of the group oohed, laughing as if Karen had done something hilarious. She got up to leave, and a small affection for her tugged at Luc’s chest. Karen wasn’t a bad person. She had made a couple of bad choices, but so had Luc.
Maybe when this was over and he’d set things right, he would tell her he wasn’t angry—that he didn’t blame her. Mike got up and followed Karen, pulling her toward him into a hug. There was nothing else to see.
Luc turned away quickly, grateful he still had his sweatshirt. He tugged the hood over his head and felt for the knife in his front pocket. He headed the long way around to the banks of the pond where he had been deposited by the Crossroad. But there were no irregularities here. Nothing that even seemed vaguely out of place. Was it possible that the entrance had been sea
led somehow already? The only other Crossroad he knew of was the angel on Market Square, but that was all the way across the city. At this time, when all the people downtown were getting out of work, it would take at least forty-five minutes to get there. Forty-five minutes in a world where Jas, his little sister, who used to make him have tea parties with her stuffed bears, was dead.
Then a memory tickled the back of his mind. He had brought Jasmine back through the Crossroad at the rotunda, the one at the bottom of the lagoon.
Was it still there?
Up the hill, two people—a boy and a girl, maybe a little older than him, both of them wearing white shorts and white T-shirts and scuffed Chucks—whacked a ball back and forth on a tennis court. Both of them were awful. Both of them were laughing. Luc watched as the girl leaned across the net and kissed the boy when she went to retrieve a ball. Near the pond, a group of kids was playing tag barefoot. A boy knelt by the water and sent a scattering of crumbs toward the feeding ducks.
Luc felt a sudden tightness in his chest. Wrong. This time, this place was wrong. He knew it. How come no one else could feel it? When he went back to the tunnels of time, what would happen to this future world? Would the boy and girl ever get their round of tennis? Would the ducks get fed?
He turned away from them. Not his problem. Still, the guilt weighed on him. He started running again. Down West Pacific, then down Lyon toward the Bay. He didn’t stop running, even when he reached the Palace of Fine Arts. It was a beautiful day, and the paths were crowded with families and tourists. He dodged past them, pulling off his heavy sweatshirt as he ran. He tied it around his waist as sweat trickled from his back.
He slowed, breathing hard, and followed the curved, column-lined pathway to the lagoon. He hoped there were no cops around. He had no idea whether it was legal to swim here, and here he was, about to dive into the water. Fortunately, there weren’t too many people by the lagoon. Luc ducked behind a group of shrubs that extended partway into the water so no one would see him and shout. The water was freezing and rapidly filled his socks and shoes. Mud squelched under his feet.
When he was knee-deep in the water, he took a deep breath and submerged.
His clothes were heavy and his shoes waterlogged. Every stroke was difficult. He kept his eyes open, even though the water was a murky green and he could barely see a few feet ahead of him. He scanned until fire burned in his lungs. Finally, he surfaced, taking another deep breath of air. Dimly, he heard shouting—someone must have spotted him—but he didn’t care, just went under again, kicking with iron-heavy legs down toward the bottom.
The water grew warmer. That wasn’t right. He kicked deeper, feeling the ache in his shoulders and lungs. And then the water wasn’t water anymore but air, thick and colored. He could breathe. A current rose up from beneath him and pushed him toward the lights like a giant watery hand. His body reacted instinctively and he inhaled, even as his mind rebelled against the unnatural feeling of sucking in water.
When he emerged, he was in the Crossroad.
He didn’t hesitate. He took the knife from his sweatshirt, letting the towel he had wrapped it in fall away. He began to saw at the membrane separating the Crossroad from the tunnel. Anger fueled his movements until he was thrusting the knife in again and again, opening up long gashes in the wall that would heal over itself almost immediately.
But he wanted to destroy it—to shred it to pieces. Sweat poured off his face and his arm ached, but he didn’t stop. Luc stabbed furiously, dragging the knife down until he had opened up a hole big enough to climb through.
No more mistakes.
He’d fix everything this time, or rip the tunnel apart trying.
She was dead. She was in heaven.
Then she remembered that (1) she didn’t believe in heaven, and (2) dead people didn’t think about being dead. Jasmine sat up, groaning a little. Her body was tingling and her head hurt, but other than that she was okay. Unscathed.
How was that possible? Her fingers instinctively flew to her chest. She fumbled, feeling for a cut, a bruise, some indication that she’d been stabbed. Nothing. But she remembered the Executor descending on her like some giant bird of prey; she remembered the feel of the knife and the darkness.…
The darkness.
Suddenly, Jasmine understood. Time. Time had jumped at just the right moment. For once, it had saved her. Spared her.
She stood up, feeling dizzy. Ford and the Executor were gone.
What if it never ended? What if she kept jumping all over time for the rest of her life?
She pushed to her feet, trying to get her bearings. The beauty of this twilight world was seductive; the sweet smells and vibrant colors were a part of her. She knew now that the nectar of this world flowed through her veins.
But this wasn’t her home. San Francisco was her home. I swam through this, she remembered. This was how she would get home. She surveyed the landscape and paused on the river, watching as marbles passed in its swift current. They looked so familiar, like the one she had. She pulled hers from her pocket and held it up in the light. Was that an image swirling inside? Or was it only her imagination?
Why did the marble seem to vibrate, as if it were alive suddenly?
Apprehension crawled along the back of her neck and Jasmine turned. No one was there that she could see.
She shoved the marble back into her pocket, not confident in her ability to hold on to it and swim, and dove into the river. She thought of summer trips to Lake Tahoe. Of splash fights with Luc, and sunbathing on rocks for an entire afternoon.
The river in Pyralis felt crisp; she swam into its depths until she couldn’t tell which direction was up. She was almost out of breath, but she wasn’t scared. Andromeda, Apus, Aquarius, Aquila. She listed constellations in her head, as she’d learned to do from Luc, as she always did when she needed to focus. Aries, Auriga, Boötes.
Her dark hair pooled around her and brilliant colors danced at the edge of her vision. She was swirling—caught up in a current and flying across the universe. Her heart squeezed.
She broke through the surface of the water and inhaled a deep, sweet breath.
The rotunda stood before her.
Jasmine jogged around the building, thinking that in the past three days she’d done more running than in the rest of her life combined. When she saw Luc again—she pushed away a tiny voice that corrected, if she saw him again—he’d make fun of her for turning into a jock. She tried to swallow back the lump in her throat. She would give anything—anything—to rewind, to go back to how things were: sitting on the fire escape counting stars while Luc busted her for smoking clove cigarettes and put her in a headlock, as if she were still five.
But then she would never have met Ford.
She paused, trying to get her bearings. The museum grounds were overgrown; the sign that normally marked the entrance to the park was missing. Even the hiking trails weren’t where they were supposed to be.
What the hell was going on?
She finally made it to the street and started toward the bus stop. Cars rumbled past—first some old, junky VW Beetle, then a dust-blue Cadillac, then a car as big and boxy as a boat. Then another old VW Beetle.
Jasmine stopped. The world seemed to go still for several seconds as fear crawled down her spine.
All the cars were older. No. Not just older. Old. Classic. Like in that picture of their mom as a young girl, sitting on the hood of her mother’s lemon-yellow Mercury sedan.
Her breathing sped up. She’d been skipping around in time—there was no longer any denying it. But only by a few days at a time. Could she have jumped even further—could she have gone back decades instead of days? Hot tears burned her eyes, and she didn’t try to stop them. What the hell would she do now?
Luc didn’t exist. Her father was probably only a small child—wherever he even was—and Ford? She had no idea how to find him again.
A young woman wearing flared jeans and platform shoes as high as weddin
g cakes strolled down the street holding hands with a guy dressed almost entirely in tie-dye. They shot Jasmine a troubled look. She suddenly realized how out of place she was, in her deep purple band T-shirt, tight jeans, and sneakers. She fought a growing sense of panic. What if time didn’t shift again?
What if she was stuck here, forever? She’d probably get chucked in a mental institution. Or worse, she’d be forced to start wearing tie-dye.
She sat down on the curb and tucked her head between her knees, fighting a surge of nausea. Andromeda, Apus, Aquarius, Aquila.
Jasmine didn’t hear the car until a quick horn burst jerked her out of her thoughts. When she looked up, a long yellow car had stopped next to her. A young girl who looked around Jasmine’s age leaned out the window.
“Are you okay?” the girl asked, reaching for the radio to turn it down. The girl’s stick-straight dark hair hung from under a large white sunhat that seemed way too big for her face.
“I … I’m not really sure,” Jasmine answered honestly.
“Climb in, I’ll give you a ride.” The girl smiled. She had a nice smile. Trustworthy. Jasmine felt a rush of relief. She figured that back in the day, people didn’t have to worry about ax murderers. And something about this girl made her feel safe right away. She knew one thing: she didn’t want to be alone right now. “I’m Ingrid,” the girl said as Jasmine slid into the car. She was grateful that Ingrid didn’t comment on her outfit.
“Ingrid. That was my grandmother’s name,” Jasmine said. “I’m Jasmine.” The vinyl seat felt hard under her legs and there were little cracks in the upholstery. She automatically reached for the seatbelt and was shocked that there wasn’t one.
Fortunately, Ingrid didn’t notice. She was pulling out onto Presidio. They looped around the bus terminal to head back toward the Marina. “Jasmine, like the flower. That’s a pretty name,” she said.
Up close, Jas could see that Ingrid’s skin was blotchy and her eyes pink, as if she’d been crying. There was a handkerchief balled up next to her. An actual handkerchief. “So … where to?” Ingrid asked.