by Jill Cooper
****
Mom drops me off at the door and apologizes for having to work late again tonight but promises to come to the doctor with me in the morning. Once inside, I rush up the steps and snoop around. Only one room has a closed door. When I peek inside, I see a few nice pieces of furniture, one of them a desk with a computer on top.
Bingo.
Stepping in, I close the door behind me and sit behind the desk. Thanks to knowing my dad’s birthday, I get in the computer easily. Note to Mom, you really need to diversify your passwords.
A check of her email shows the same results as before, and with a quick system scan, I find her confidential files—system schematics for memory storage, extraction, and drawings I can’t even begin to understand. They seem to be a bunch of molecules and atoms drawn out in some drafting program. The only label I see is the name John. Must be code for something, but why use Dad’s name if she thinks he tried to kill her? Maybe Mom was pining for a life lost.
I’m about to leave when my search for Patricia finally returns a file folder buried in the system. The name Archive catches my attention. Mom went to great lengths to hide it from the casual searcher. Opening the file, I find a string of documents with an assortment of dates. None of the file names are red flags to me, so I’ll have to go through them one at a time. Starting with the oldest seems like the best idea. I organize by date and am surprised how far back they go.
Ten years.
I open what turns out to be an email, and my breath catches in my throat. It is dated exactly two weeks before Mom’s attempted murder.
Or her actual death.
Patricia,
You’ve been a dear friend for so long. It pains me to write this letter to you. I respectfully, and with a heavy heart, must hand in my resignation.
Lara is still so young. John and I have been fighting more. I have promised to give our marriage one more chance. And to honestly do that, I am going to need to take a step back in my career.
I hope you achieve everything we’ve brainstormed all those late nights. I know how important it is to you and the world to find an end to violence.
I’ll make sure my current contract is completed, but after that I will be moving on. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me over these last few years.
Miranda Crane
I sit and stare at the screen as if doing so will get it to leap up at me and explain what this all means. Mom was ready to leave Rewind two weeks before her death. Two weeks! That couldn’t have been a coincidence. What if they didn’t want to let her go? What if she knew things she shouldn’t, and the only way to deal with that fact was to make sure she never talked about them, and then, when their assassination attempt fell through, they framed my dad?
Is it too far of a stretch? Was the Senator, Donovan’s mom, actually capable of murder?
I need to find out more about this woman, but quietly. I don’t want to spook her or Donovan. There is no way I can afford for them to realize I’m onto them. She’s a United States Senator for goodness’ sake. If I’m wrong, I will burn.
But if I’m right … God, if I’m right it’s going to take more than a few emails to prove it. Still, they are all I have, so I continue exploring them. Perhaps Mom is keeping this folder in case she needs leverage against Patricia James? I doubt she realizes how dangerous the woman is.
Senator,
Clearly their relationship wasn’t as chummy as it used to be, but why? What happened between them to cause a rift, and if there is a rift, why is Mom still secretly working for her?
Senator,
My assistant Delilah continues to use the memory program to find candidates for the John project. We are only a few months away from human testing.
The next one:
Miranda,
Start human testing immediately or I’ll find someone who will.
The memory program was a cover for the John program. I assume now that unlocking the brain’s ability to time travel off the grid, away from police scrutiny, is the John project, and the memory storage program is nothing but a cover for their research. A way to find participants. Humans are nothing more than guinea pigs to these people. The Senator was clearly upset with Mom, but why? Was Mom becoming resistant to the work? She wanted out once. Is it possible she wanted out again?
Another email from only a few weeks ago. The subject is simply You? It contains an attachment of a news article from Reuters.
“Reporter Found Dead”
After asking questions about Rewind’s ethics, Joyce Meyers, an investigative reporter, was found dead of an apparent suicide in her bathtub late last night. Calls from her neighbors alerted the police to screams heard earlier that day, and they worried for her safety.
Ms. Meyers, famous for asking probing questions of Rewind lead scientist Miranda Montgomery at a press conference last week, defended herself by saying she had a source who had proof that Rewind was conducting illegal research. She refused to give up her source when asked, saying to do so would put her source’s life in harm’s way.
A suicide note was found at the scene and a police investigation is currently ongoing.
Who was her source? Mom?
It’s clear Mom thinks Senator James is capable of murder, practically accusing her of it in her email. Whatever is going on, I need to find out more about Joyce and the Senator.
My head rages with pain, and my hands flutter to my temples. I grunt, feeling the onslaught of another memory barreling toward me. When we collide, my eyes snap open, and I grip the edges of the desk. The memory floods me.
****
I’m sitting at the same desk, only my dress is short and my hair straight. My hand is using the mouse, moving all the confidential system files over to an empty folder—systems, theories, blueprints. Plus the science behind what Mom is trying to do to the human mind. As the files are copied, I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is coming. I’m on edge, nervous.
I find a video in the archive folder I didn’t see before. Clicking play, Mom’s face comes into focus. She appears nervous, scared, and when she speaks, her words chill my heart.
“If I have an accident, if I end up dead, let this serve as proof that Senator Patricia James, my colleague and old friend, had a hand in it.” Her hands shake as she wipes a strand of hair from her face. “I dare not let on that I know how dangerous she’s become, but I am going to finish my current project and then, God help me, take my family and get out of the country. Hide. If I live that long.”
Mom blinks back tears. “Jax, Lara, no one knows how scared I’ve been the last few months, and I have to keep it that way or put their lives in jeopardy.” She takes a deep breath. “I never should’ve listened to Patricia. Never.”
She goes on to reveal what I’ve already deduced—the memory program is nothing but a cover. The Senator convinced her to start illegal testing on a project hidden from the US government. She wants the technology for herself, to improve the country and put herself in power.
“I used to have the same goals.” She swallows hard. “But I wanted it to help people like my Lara. Like myself. Victims. Patricia wants it for herself, and that can’t be allowed. So once I’m done and safely out of the country, I’ll send this video and be done with her once and for all.”
The video ends there, and I sit for a moment, unable to believe what I’ve heard. My investigation into Dad’s conviction had unearthed information I hadn’t suspected, and now I’m caught up in something dangerous, something I can’t handle on my own. But what choice do I have? If I tell Donovan, I might lose him forever, and going to the police might get Mom, Jax, or Dad killed. I have no choice.
I copy the video over and pull a small flash drive out from the side of the computer once it’s done. That’s it. It’s time.
Time to deliver the evidence.
****
My eyes open as the memory fades.
Was I Joyce Meyer’s source? Did I get her killed.
If so,
did Lara know that? And why was she snooping in Mom’s office in the first place? I have a reason. What was her reason?
I need to find out.
The front doorbell rings, stopping me in my tracks. I make sure everything appears as I found it then rush to the door. It chimes again rapid fire, as if someone fell asleep on a church organ. My spirits lift when I see Rick on the other side.
“Rick,” I say with surprise.
He wears a slight smile and peers over my shoulder into the foyer. “Wow, looks pretty fancy in there.”
I blush and laugh out of nerves. “Well, you know… ahem …I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Not as surprised as I am,” Rick admits. “When you weren’t in school, I knew something might be wrong. Or, you know, you might need notes for Mr. Johnson’s history class. I have it third period, and I know you’re in the fifth.”
So he kept tabs on my schedule. “Thanks. That’s real nice of you. Sure, I’d love some notes.”
I step aside and let him in, making sure I secure the front door before I lead him into the living room. He looks around the place as he perches himself on the edge of the sofa.
“Sofa’s don’t bite,” I say with a smirk.
“Huh? Oh.” He chortles and sits back. “Sorry. I feel like I’m dirtying the place by being here.”
“You’re not.” I pause and bite the inside of my cheek. “Want a drink? I mean juice, soda. Oh, bite me.”
He stares at me for a moment, and we both burst out laughing. Fishing inside his bag, he pulls out a few sheets of paper and hands them to me.
“Wow.” My eyebrows rise. “I’m surprised there are actual notes. Here I thought they might be an excuse. To come in.”
Rick smirks. “You caught me. Guess I wanted to see how things were with your dad and everything.”
I shrug and shake my head. “I saw him, and it led to more questions than answers, and he acted like … I was a stranger.” I bite the inside of my lip. “Guess I am. Here. Hell, I’m even a stranger to myself.”
“Sorry. Has to be rough.”
“Like sandpaper.” I tuck my hair behind my ears. “I found a key hidden in the back of my wallet, but I don’t know what it opens.”
“Can I see?”
Fishing it out of my purse, I hand it to him. He turns it over and holds it up to inspect. “Looks like the one I used to carry for my locker at the Y. I don’t know why you’d go there, though.”
Maybe because I didn’t want anyone to see what I put in it. I take the key back and study it again, noticing 63 is engraved in the center. My mind flashes to white.
I glance fearfully over my shoulder before shoving a blue duffle bag inside and locking the door. I hurry, nearly running, to get to the pool before anyone sees me.
I’m back with Rick again. Why was I so afraid? Is it all related to the Senator and the death of the reporter Joyce Meyers? It's time to find out.
“Anything else?” Rick asks.
I shrug. “I might be on to something.”
“Oh?” He sits up straighter.
I lean forward to tell him about what I found, but then the front door slams. “We’re home!”
“My sister and brother,” I explain. “I’m in here!” I bellow.
They stop in their tracks at seeing Rick. Mike’s face is untrusting, his lips drawn together in a line, while Molly smiles shyly.
“This is Rick, an old friend.”
“Are we still going to the mall?” Molly asks.
“Oh, sorry.” Rick stands up. “I didn’t realize you had plans.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m glad you came by.” I stand up, glancing between the kids and Rick. “Why don’t you come with us? We’re going to take the T and then get dinner. It might be fun. Right?”
I turn to the kids, who seem unsure, but then they nod. Expectantly, I face Rick and tug anxiously on my fingers. “Come on, it’s a free meal.”
“I’ll come, but I won’t take your money. I’m not a pity case.”
My face falls. “I know that. I was just trying to be nice.”
He bends down to the kids and winks at them. “Last one to the curb is a rotten egg!”
He takes off running, and the kids chase after him, but I remain in place for a moment. I can’t shake the feeling that Rick is different, that he isn’t the boy I knew, but I shake it off as nerves and run after them.
“Wait for me guys!”
Chapter Twelve
All the way to the mall, Rick engages the kids, and I watch as they open up to him—Molly with her wide eyes and Mike with his science jokes. I can’t shake the feeling that something about him is different. Maybe it’s nothing, and I’m on edge because of my growing feelings for Donovan. Maybe I’m looking for reasons I can’t be with Rick.
I buy the kids the Happy Meals they want, and after everyone eats we head to the jewelry store. We let the kids wander ahead but only far enough to enjoy a little freedom. As we walk I read the sale signs, and when Rick suddenly takes my hand with his clammy palm, I jump at the unexpected affection.
He bites his lip, and his eyes look like a wounded puppy’s. “Is this something you don’t want?”
“No, I—” I don’t know what I’m feeling. “I wasn’t expecting it. We can’t let the kids see.” I pull my hand back, and there’s no mistaking the disappointment on Rick’s face.
He falls quiet. I want to explain, but first I have a necklace to pick out and birthstones to order. I pay with my credit card and accept the receipt, so we can pick up the purchase in a week. I wonder what will happen between now and then, but I manage a smile and drop the receipt into my purse.
Molly talks about dresses, and Mike talks about sports on the way through the mall toward the entrance. They pause when we stop to let them ride the carousel. They are so excited and have such giant grins on their faces that I can’t help but feel better.
“Look at me, Lara!” Molly giggles, holding her arms over her head.
I take out my phone and snap a picture before I turn to Rick. “I’m sorry about earlier. I like holding hands with you. Things are complicated.”
“You think I don’t know that? I haven’t thought about you in years.” The words sting. “You were someone I knew once. But then you showed up on my door with a look in your eye I never thought you’d have.” He takes a deep breath. “And now I can’t stop thinking about you.”
My mouth falls open as he wipes a stray hair from my face. “You’re telling me everything I want to hear. But—”
“When you moved away, my life sucked.” Rick opens his heart up to me, but all I can think about is Donovan.
How can he be saying this to me when I’m with someone else? And why do I care so much? I barely know Donovan, but that doesn’t mean I want to hurt him.
“I was crushing on you bad, and you were my best friend,” he went on. "Then…” Rick shrugs. “I had no one. But now you’re back,” he says, running his hands through my hair. “The Lara I loved as a kid has come back to me, so how can I stay away? How?”
He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a square plastic bag, and hands it to me. When I turn it over, I see a purple lollipop ring. Is it possible he’s kept it all these years?
I glance up at him. “Oh, Rick …”
He leans in and whispers with a quiet passion. “Why not leap at the chance? We’ll solve this thing with your dad. Figure it out. Together.” He clasps both his hands over mine, and I can’t fight it anymore.
I close my eyes, and he kisses me. The kiss is perfect. It makes my heart sore, but something feels fake, wrong. His speech couldn’t have been more what I wanted, but inside me something is breaking. When we pull away, our eyes meet, but despite everything I desire, I don’t see that look in his eye. I don’t see anything familiar.
“Are you sure—?”
“Is this what you mean by old friend?”
I gasp and spin around. Donovan is standing there with his hands in his pockets.
/> “It’s not what you think. Don—”
“Not what I think?”
He’s snarling and his hands are coiled. Behind him I see a posse of guys all using the same dress code of expensive jeans and finely pressed shirts. The natives are starting to circle, and I need to get Rick out of there before Donovan goes primeval.
Rick backs away, obviously sensing the danger, and I put my hand on Donovan’s chest.
“It’s not like that. We are old friends. Things got out of hand. Don, you have to believe me.” I don’t know why I care so stinking much, but the tears in my eyes say I do.
Donovan grunts. “Old friend, huh? Looks like it from his ripped jeans and nasty janitor’s top. Late for work, Rick?”
Rick snorts and throws up his hands. “Whatever, man. You think you own her? You don’t. Sorry your ego got bruised, but she can make her own choices. Call me when you’re free of this guy, Lara.”
He turns and walks away, but Donovan charges, punching him in the back. Rick sprawls to the ground onto his chest and slides along the floor. Donovan charges with his fists clenched, and I scream, grabbing at his arm to slow him down.
Behind me, the music stops. The twins are going to get off the carousel and see everyone fighting. It’ll scare them, and Mom will never let me take them out again. Terrified, my mind spins. My feet dig into the tile as Donovan’s friends laugh. I tug on his arm as hard as I can, grunting under the strain.
“Don, please. The kids are here.”
He freezes at my words, and his face turns to stone. Rick gets up and shakes himself off. I try to apologize with my eyes, but his are ablaze with fury. I’ve seen it before, and things are going to get worse. The boys stare each other down.
“I think,” I start carefully, “we should go our separate ways now.”
I wrap my hand around Donovan’s strong bicep, aware how wrong this is, but it relaxes his body. Kids around us are as waves in the ocean, bouncing and parting. I turn to find the twins when I hear a scream.