CHAPTER TEN
Three-nine-two-eight. These are the last four digits for the locator number of Kane’s house in Echo Park.
Sure, some of the digits that come before the final set could be different, meaning his destination was someplace else entirely, but I think it highly unlikely. He’d expected us to materialize in Los Angeles. The coincidence that he’d want to arrive somewhere else in the city with the same last four numbers is too much to believe.
“He’s going home,” I say and explain how I know this.
“Why would he do that?” Iffy asks.
“No idea. But we need to get to LA. How far away are we?”
“I’m not sure. A couple hundred miles, at least.”
That’s a problem. After we deduct the cost of our meal and a tip, we’ll be left with only a dollar. I know prices are considerably lower in this time period, but I can’t imagine that’s enough to get both of us all the way to Los Angeles.
I start pulling everything out of my satchel and setting the contents on the seat between us. Med-kit, my notebook, a ballpoint pen that I’m not sure has even been invented yet, RJ’s makeshift charger, my useless cell phone, Kane’s knife.
“What are you doing?” Iffy asks.
Though the bag now appears empty, I run my fingers along the bottom. There’s a lip under which I used to hide whatever time-appropriate money I was given by the institute when I went on missions. Since my last mission for them had been to eighteenth-century America, I had been given several Spanish dollars, the common tender of the time. I used some in those first weeks after I found myself in a changed 2015, but surely there were still a few left. My finger touches nothing until it’s almost at the end of the space. I pull out what I find. Not a few coins, as I’d hoped. Just one.
“Denny? What are—”
Iffy cuts herself off and quickly slides the knife behind her back.
“Two country farm specials,” Winnie says as she approaches our table carrying plates in each hand. She sets one in front of Iffy and then the other in front of me. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Everything looks great,” I say, “but I have a question.”
“Shoot,” Winnie says.
“You wouldn’t happen to know the best way to get to Los Angeles, would you?”
“Straight south on the highway. Can’t miss it. Big city. Lots of people. If you reach the ocean, you’ve gone too far.”
“I mean, is there a bus or something like that we can catch here?”
Her brow furrows. “No car?”
“It, um, broke down. But we need to get back to the city today.”
“Today? Well, I believe the bus comes through between twelve thirty and one. You should check with Marsha over at the Dow Motel. She’s got the schedule. Won’t get you into LA until later tonight, though. A lot of stops between here and there.”
“Do you happen to know how much a ticket costs?”
Another furrowed brow. “Please tell me you have enough to pay for your food.”
“Of course.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the two dollars Mr. Graves gave us.
Winnie relaxes. “I don’t know how much the bus is these days, but if that’s all you have, I don’t think it’s going to be enough.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Holler out if you need anything,” she tells us and then heads off to help a customer who’s just arrived.
“Are you trying to get us arrested?” Iffy asks as she pulls the knife from behind her and shoves it in the bag.
“You heard her. We need money. I’m trying to find something we can sell.”
Iffy looks at the things I’ve piled on the seat. With a frown, she shoves her hands into her pants pockets and pulls out some change, several bills, her ID, her phone, and her key chain.
She has twenty-seven dollars, but every bill bears a maker’s date that’s at least sixty-plus years in the future and is useless here. After she tucks them back in her pocket, she hands me the coins.
“Check those. We might get lucky.”
She starts doing something with her keys while I quickly go through the change. The earliest date is on a penny from 1978.
When I tell her this, she says, “Hold onto them. I’m not sure what the vending machine situation is here, but if we run across some, those should fit.”
As I put the coins in my pocket, I see that Iffy has detached the trinket that’s been connected to her key chain since I met her. It’s a character from a Japanese cartoon—Mikasa from Attack on Titan Iffy told me when I asked once. It’s also not called a cartoon, but an anime, I believe. The figurine is about an inch high and is wearing a brown jacket and white pants crisscrossed with what I assume are supposed to be leather belts. It’s actually quite detailed.
Iffy shoves everything I’ve removed from the satchel back inside the bag, then says, “Move over to the other side.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
As I slip out from the table, Iffy follows right behind me, taking the satchel with her.
Before I can sit again, she says, “Give me the two bucks.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Like you said, we need money.”
I have no idea what her plan is, but I give her the dollar bills and then watch her walk over to the counter. The dining area is starting to fill up, and Iffy has to wait a minute before Winnie can get to her.
I then watch Iffy hand one of the dollars to the woman. A few moments of conversation is followed by Iffy placing the Mikasa figurine on the counter. The waitress picks it up, clearly fascinated. After the two exchange a few more words, Iffy reaches into my satchel, pulls something else out, and sets it down. Unfortunately, she’s positioned so that I can’t see what it is.
Winnie glances at the item but leaves it on the counter and calls back into the kitchen. The cook comes out a few seconds later. He’s a man about the same age as our waitress, though clearly has sampled more of the restaurant’s dishes. He picks up the item to examine it closer, and I now see that it’s Kane’s knife. The man opens it and inspects both sides, then he carefully touches the sharp edge. With a shrug, he says something to Iffy, puts the knife down, and returns to the kitchen.
Winnie, on the other hand, holds on to the Mikasa and gives back the dollar Iffy had paid her for our breakfast and adds a second bill from the register.
When Iffy returns to the table, she looks disappointed. “We’re up a dollar, and breakfast is free. I was really hoping to sell the knife. The waitress said there’s a store down the street that might buy it.”
I’m not so keen to get rid of our only weapon, however.
We leave the diner after the town has woken up, and in less than an hour, we have held on to the knife but sold the Spanish dollar for more than enough to cover two tickets on the 12:40 bus to Los Angeles.
Winnie wasn’t joking about how long the ride south would take. Traffic in 1952 seems to travel slower than it does in 2015. It also doesn’t help that the highway is only two lanes and in need of repair. And then, of course, there are all the promised stops we make on the way.
Both Iffy and I try to sleep as much as we can. She is considerably more successful at it than me. I’m not only plagued by my six-foot height, but also by my stitched-up leg. For the most part, the constant throbbing is bearable, but it’s when the bus bounces over a pothole or a crack in the road that the pain shooting out from the wound temporarily blinds me.
The bus finally arrives at the downtown Los Angeles Greyhound Bus terminal located on the corner of E. Sixth and Los Angeles Streets at just after 10:00 p.m. While the area looks just as crowded as the downtown from our home time, what’s missing are the tall skyscrapers that dominate the area in 2015. Though I noticed a few buildings in the distance that might be ten or so floors high, most aren’t any more than five or six.
Iffy and I join the line exiting the bus and then work our way through the building to the street. T
he night is cool, but it’s nowhere near the frigid temperatures we experienced in Lone Pine, and the clothes we’re wearing are adequate enough for now.
“How far away is Echo Park?” I ask. While I would rather not walk, if the house is close enough, doing so would save money.
“Three or four miles at least. Maybe more.”
So much for that idea.
At the curb are several bright yellow taxis. Curvy, bulbous things, with signs mounted behind the trunks advertising such places as Atlas Tires and Rexall Drugs. While some drivers sit inside their cabs, others are leaning against fenders, talking with each other. A few are wearing yellow hats with black bills, though the majority are bareheaded.
The driver at the front of the line perks up when he sees us. “Need a lift?”
My plan had been to catch a city bus, but a taxi would be faster.
“How much to Echo Park?” I ask.
“A buck and a quarter. A buck fifty. Depends on where exactly you’re going.”
We have $3.20 left. The ride will eat up almost half of that, but a quick glance at Iffy tells me that we are both thinking it’s worth it.
We climb into the back and drive off.
As we go through the north end of downtown, I see a building I finally recognize—the city hall building. It towers over all the other structures we’ve passed, making it the giant of LA. Funny how later, after all the skyscrapers go up, it will be the one that looks small.
We’re heading west on Sunset Boulevard when our driver asks, “You got an address?”
I know the address to Kane’s place, but I don’t want to stop right in front, so I only give the name of his street.
“Vestal Avenue? Where’s that?”
I try to remember some of the other roads in the area, and say, “Echo Park Avenue and Baxter. Do you know where that is?”
“I ain’t driving on Baxter,” he says.
I’m not sure what his objection to it is, but I say, “That’s fine. You can just drop us right there at the corner.”
Several minutes later, we turn down Echo Park Avenue and drive into the narrow valley where Kane’s future house is located. Coming into the area this way instead of jumping right to his house gives me a better sense of the neighborhood. It feels almost as if a small, quiet town has secretly moved in a stone’s throw away from the center of LA.
The taxi pulls to the curb in front of the Elysian Heights Elementary School.
“Echo Park and Baxter,” he says, nodding at the intersection just ahead. “A buck thirty.”
We give him a dollar fifty, and as soon as we’ve climbed out and closed the door, he pulls a quick U-turn and heads back into the city.
“Which way?” Iffy asks.
I think for a moment. I’ve seen a map of the area only on my phone, but unfortunately here, where there’s no signal for my cell to grab on to, the device is just a glorified camera and flashlight.
I point across the street to where Baxter disappears behind the house at the corner. “That way, I think.”
I take the lead, and as soon as we turn on to Baxter, I realize why the cabbie didn’t want to drive on it. The road is very steep, and we lean forward to stay vertical. Thankfully, we only have to go up one block before we reach Vestal.
I look down toward his house and see that most of the dwellings are dark. Not Kane’s, though—or more accurately, not the house that will one day be Kane’s. The first-floor windows are all lit up, as are several on the second floor.
We cross over to Kane’s side and head down until we reach the base of the stairs.
“Wait here.”
Iffy grabs my arm. “What are you going to do?”
“Just take a look.”
Reluctantly, she lets go. “Be careful.”
As I move up the steps, I crouch farther and farther down so that my head stays below the level of the front yard. This is not something my thigh particularly enjoys doing, but I clench my teeth and ignore the pain.
When I’m as high as I can go without exposing myself, I pause a few seconds and listen. The drone of distant cars plays like background music on a loop. Somewhere a few blocks away, metal hits metal—the lid of a trash can closing, I’m guessing. A dog barks and then another and another, each successively farther away, like a message is being passed on. From the house, though, I hear nothing.
Very slowly, I raise my head until the home comes into view.
A shadow plays across the ceiling in the front room, but I can’t see what’s causing it.
I need to get closer.
Looking back at Iffy, I pat the air and mouth the words, “Stay there.” Before she can try to stop me, I take the stairs the rest of the way up, and slink across the yard to the corner of the house.
I press my ear against the sideboard, and for the first time, I can hear something inside. Music. Instrumental, I think, but too low to follow the tune. I hold my position, hoping I might hear voices or movement, but there is only the wispy sound of instruments, sometimes there, sometimes not.
The front windows are just a few feet away, but though I want to look inside, it would be risky. Better to save it as a last resort.
I look down the side of the house. A chimney rises up the wall five feet from my position. I lean so I can see around it, and spot two windows between the fireplace and the house’s back corner: a small one, higher on the wall—a bathroom, I think—followed by a larger one, though not as large as those at the front of the house.
I sneak along the building until I’m just a few feet away from the bigger window. The music is louder now. I was right about it being an instrumental, though I don’t know the tune. My knowledge of music in my new world is even worse than my knowledge of cars.
I move out from the wall enough so that I can see a sliver of the room inside. From my exploration of the house in 2015, this should be the kitchen and family room. It doesn’t appear to be as bright as the front of the house, but it’s not dark, either. Somewhere inside a light is on.
I take an arcing path that will put me in a direct line with the window, but far enough away that little to none of the illumination spilling through the glass should fall on me. When I reach the apex of the arc, the room inside comes into full view.
Immediately I freeze.
The renovation that will turn half of the space into a family room has not yet taken place, so for now there is only the kitchen and a small eating area, with a countertop separating the two. The rest of the future space is walled off, creating some other room beyond. What’s captured my attention, though, is not the house’s layout, but Kane.
He’s near the counter, angled partly toward the front of the house, but I can still see his lips when they begin to move. Whatever he says does not come through the glass. A moment of stillness is followed by a nod and a few more words, and then he turns all the way toward me and walks in my direction.
I hold rock still, resisting the instinct to drop to the ground. Several feet from the window, he veers to his right. He is almost, but not quite, out of sight. If I were to move I’d risk drawing his attention, so I hold my position.
Finally he turns and walks in the other direction. When he reaches the far end of the room, he heads into the hallway that leads to the front of the house.
The second he’s out of sight, I let out a breath. That was too close.
I need to get back to Iffy. Now that we know for sure that Kane is here, we can work out a plan.
With the kitchen currently unoccupied, I don’t need to worry about being seen, and head straight for the house. My intention is to duck down when I get there and then retrace my steps back to Iffy, but as I get closer to the window, I catch sight of something on the table in the eating area that stops me.
My chaser. It’s just sitting there, waiting.
Unable to stop myself, I inch forward until I am right next to the window so that I can confirm I’m not seeing things.
It is a chaser, though I’m now not
sure if it’s mine, because sitting just on the other side of it is a second, almost identical box.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The house, the ground, the night, it all sucks away from me in a rush. Even my skin feels as if it’s being pulled from my body.
A second chaser.
That can only mean there’s another rewinder close by.
Who? Do I know him?
And how did Kane know to come here to meet whoever it is?
I’m struggling to come up with even an implausible theory to explain what’s going on when I feel my arm shake.
“Denny?” Iffy’s voice, so far away. “Denny, what are you doing? Someone might see you.”
As I blink the world slowly returns around me—the stars first and then the grass that I seem to be sitting on and finally the house that’s propping me up. At least I’m not still standing in front of the window.
Iffy is beside me, her face tense and scared.
“Denny, snap out of it,” she whispers. “We can’t stay here.”
I nod and push myself to my feet. We sneak along the house, then quickly cross the front yard and hurry down the steps. Though we can no longer be seen, I don’t feel safe. I lead Iffy to the closest intersection and turn onto the new road.
I slump down on the edge of the sidewalk next to an empty lot, my feet in the dirt.
Iffy sits beside me. “What happened? Did you see something?”
I nod.
“Kane?”
I nod again.
“Did he see you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
I hesitate. “The chaser.”
“You saw it?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s, that’s great! Do you think we can—”
“There were two.”
She appears confused. “Two what?”
“Chasers.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure. I know what a chaser box looks like.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t.”
I take a breath. “Sorry.” I’m not angry at her. I’m just frustrated and confused.
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