The Children Who Time Lost

by Marvin Amazon

  Fear struck me with every step I took. I had never broken the law in my life, and I was just about to commit a serious crime. But under the circumstances, I didn’t see that I had any other choice. I crouched when I reached their car and edged to the passenger door. I heard shouting from the house. Then four shadows entered a lighted room. I placed my hand by the door’s handle. Please be open. It was a well-known fact that law-enforcement officers didn’t lock their doors. It seemed irresponsible, but then again, who would be stupid enough to break into them?

  I held my hand still and heard a click. The door swung open. During the car’s weekly inspection, they would identify me by my fingerprints, but hopefully I’d be long gone by then. I climbed into the front seat and placed my hands against the metallic glove compartment. It flashed red. Damn. Why would they lock this and not the car?

  I tried again, but the red light returned. I gritted my teeth and bit my bottom lip. The house door slammed open. One of the officers stepped out. He fiddled with a computer tablet as he walked without looking up. I swallowed and looked right. There were bushes ten feet away, but I wouldn’t make it to them in time. I eased the door shut and leaped into the back. I lay flat on the floor, but the tight space hurt my shoulders.

  I heard the door click open, and the officer sat in the passenger seat and pressed a few buttons. The entire interior lighted up. A bright blue light on the floor shone in my face. I moved my hand over it and kept still. The radio crackled, and then a mechanical voice that sounded like a Kyso’s came through. The officer listened in silence. It sounded like gibberish to me. The voice just talked about codes and vectors. After a few minutes, he turned the radio off and fidgeted. Then I heard a click and a rattling sound. He had opened the glove compartment.

  He rummaged through it for a while. I wasn’t sure if he was taking things out or putting stuff back. He closed it a few minutes later, but I didn’t hear a second click. Please be open. He opened the door and I heard him place a foot on the ground, but then he stopped.

  I grimaced in fear as I waited. Then I heard the door close, except I could still hear him shifting in his chair. What’s he doing? He continued fidgeting until I saw part of his head leaning toward the backseat. My face shook and sweat dripped down my forehead. He stared at the backseat for a while before his head disappeared.

  I prayed he would go, but bright white light filled the car. My legs had gone numb, and I shifted. Then I heard the familiar slithering sound. He’s one of them. The shadow of the organisms that had covered the alien’s body filled the car. I heard shuffling again and the snarls of the creatures. I held my breath and lay still. I heard loud sniffing every other second. He probably sensed I was there but couldn’t be sure.

  My lungs tightened, and I felt as if I were going to pass out. The slithering grew louder. I could hear the organisms banging against the dashboard as the alien moved. I couldn’t hold my breath any longer, and I sucked in air through my nose. The alien had a putrid stench like compost in the making. I fought against the heave trying to burst through. Then the smell vanished and the slithering stopped. I couldn’t see the snake-type shadows on the car’s roof anymore. The door opened, and footsteps followed, growing fainter by the second. I sat up and saw the now human-looking officer entering the house.

  I gasped and opened the door. I wanted to vomit, but nothing came out. I gagged for a few seconds before feeling slightly better again. I opened the front door again and hoped for good fortune. This time, I got a green light when I placed my palm against the glove compartment. I opened it and rummaged through it. I saw lots of paperwork on small glass tablets and a couple of flash grenades, but I still hadn’t found the binoculars.

  I glanced at the house but didn’t see the light I’d seen before. Where are they? It didn’t matter. I had to find the binoculars or my plans wouldn’t succeed. I continued searching but found nothing, and no one had left the house either. I threw everything from the glove compartment to the floor. It didn’t matter that my prints were everywhere. They’d know I’d been there eventually anyway.

  Then I found the binoculars. They were silver, with a blue lens and even lighter in weight than the tablet. I placed them in my jacket pocket and returned the things I’d thrown to the floor. I was reaching for the door handle when the house door opened again. I didn’t move.

  The officers marched outside, holding a tall muscular man by the neck. They stopped a few yards from the house and spoke to him, their backs to me. The man frowned at the pavement. A woman stood beside the officers, trembling with fear. I crept out of the car and eased the door shut. Then I crouched and tiptoed back to my vehicle. The officers walked the arrested man back to their car and lifted off. I waited until the woman had returned to the house before I started the engine.

  I docked the Mercedes in the last free parking pod a hundred feet above Fifth and Grand. The right side of the car was sucked into place against a magnetic metal station. I was lucky to get a dock without a roof and a clear view of L.A.’s skyline. I looked deeper into the tunnel-like parking structure, which ran maybe a mile deep. I saw people coming up sky elevators from the ground and onto a wide platform that led to their cars. I switched my lights off and sat for a few minutes. No one gave me a second look as cars flew past mine and out of the lot. Even the Lypsos that escorted some older drivers to their cars didn’t stare at my Chrysler’s license plate.

  I studied the buildings in front of me. I put the tablet on my lap and stared at the skyscraper on my screen. It was five hundred feet high and had a bright blue neon light running down the right side from top to bottom. I looked into the dark skies again, this time with the binoculars. A number of buildings filled my line of sight. I turned the silver knob on top of the binoculars and marveled as I saw through the walls of the building in front of me and into a brightly lighted living room. A mother and daughter sat on their floating sofa, watching TV.

  I turned the knob again and saw a building in the distance, past the first one and beside a number of other similar-looking buildings. This one was over five hundred feet tall and was constructed of sterling silver. Still not the one I sought. I wound the knob some more and went past the walls into yet another living room on the twenty-fifth floor. When my binoculars penetrated past this building, I nearly screamed with excitement. I’d found it.

  The light that ran down the side was thicker than in the Internet images. I shifted my angle a bit lower. It was hard to pinpoint floor numbers from my distance, but then I saw her. She stared out of the window of what I guessed was a forty-fifth-floor apartment with a glass of red wine in her hand. There was no doubt in my mind that it was Angela, the seemingly pleasant Lotto coordinator. I’d always been a firm believer in innocent until proven guilty, but it would have taken a pretty stupid person to not figure out what was going on under her nose. Either way, Angela was very much part of my plan to get the answers I needed.

  I held the binoculars steady, waiting for her to make a move. But then I caught sight of someone else, just behind her. The baggy trousers made me think it was a man. But the report on the Internet said she lived alone. Her head blocked my view of the person’s face.

  I wound the knob right and the view shifted past her. The man’s back was to me, but then he turned around. It was the large bald man who had spoken with Lorenzo outside Suzanna’s apartment building. Just as I thought—she is involved.

  The man said a few words to Angela, but she didn’t turn around. She just stared out the window as if she were worried about something. But it wasn’t a look of fear. What’s your game, Angela? The man approached her and held up a piece of paper. She gave it only a passing glance and returned her gaze outside. The man threw the paper to the ground with venom and seemed to shout at her, his arms flailing. She stared at him, smiled and walked out of the living room.

  I quickly twisted the binoculars and followed her through the wall. She walked into the bedroom and rummaged through her wardrobe. She stopped when she found a
sheet of paper. As she studied it, I zoomed in. The writing was too small for me to read except for a name. I gasped and nearly dropped the binoculars out the window. The name was Michael Galloway. Galloway—that was Dylan and Tristan’s surname. But what was the connection? I wound the knob some more and zoomed in on the smaller text. I saw the number 2013.

  I rubbed the bridge of my nose and looked through the windshield. I didn’t know what to make of it. Why so much focus on 2013? Something big must have happened then. But who was Michael Galloway, and what did he have to do with it? Was he related to Tristan and Dylan? Either way, he was now a solid lead in finding Dylan. I pulled out my tablet and opened a new Web browser, but the screen flickered and went blank. I grunted and shook it a few times, but nothing happened. The battery was dead.

  I put it on the seat and looked through the binoculars again. Angela was waving goodbye to the bald man. She stood by the door after he’d left, worry on her face. Then she shut it and placed her cell’s headset in her ear. Something about the name Michael Galloway and the conversation with the bald man seemed to have startled her, and I had to find out why, but that wasn’t the reason for my reconnaissance mission.

  I waited for nearly twenty minutes before she got off the phone. She walked into the kitchen and drank some water, but she still wasn’t doing what I needed her to do. It was nearly twenty past midnight when she walked into the bathroom beside her bedroom and relieved herself. I watched with twitching hands, waiting. Williams had changed when he used the bathroom, and I figured that if Angela was one of them, she would be changing right about now. She flushed and washed her hands. Her body had not gone through any type of metamorphosis. From what I could see, she was very much human.

  I pushed a large button beside the air brake in the middle of my car’s dashboard and a countdown appeared on the center console. I fired the engine and waited. After the count reached zero, my car was released from its dock.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I switched the Chrysler’s headlights off after landing on the corner of South Figueroa Street. It was 1 a.m., but a few people still roamed the streets, most of them on their way to being very drunk. I placed the binoculars and the gun in my jacket pocket and stepped out of the car. I walked a quarter-mile before reaching Angela’s building. It was spotless, with silver walls that looked like mirrors.

  I peered in through the lighted lobby. I didn’t spot a single Kyso inside, only a doorman who drifted in and out of sleep. The situation looked to favor me, as Kysos would most likely know who I was. However, I still suspected that those who were after me had not circulated a warrant to the central databases. They probably feared what I’d say to unprepared ears. I stopped and thought about doing just that, but I couldn’t risk any harm befalling Dylan because of my actions. The only way to save him was by going back to the past, which was illegal. And involving the authorities would make that impossible.

  I pressed the lowest button on the touch screen beside the door. The doorman twitched but didn’t wake up. I pressed it again. He stirred and jolted up, as if prodded with a stun gun. He stared at the door for a moment and pressed a button on the table.

  “Can I help you?” he said in a croaky voice.

  “I’m here to see Matthew Nicholas.”

  He tapped the touch-screen computer in front of him. I knew the name would check out. I had been thorough with my research.

  “Matthew Nicholas,” he said. “On the forty-ninth floor.”

  The buzzer sounded and the door opened. I walked in and gave him a brief smile. He was already drifting back to sleep. Good. He’ll make a terrible witness. I rode the elevator to the forty-fifth floor and got out. I saw a number of round glass panels in every corner of the ceiling. Cameras. I swallowed and headed right.

  The corridor was quiet and long. It reminded me of the haunting corridor I’d walked through in 2108, except that I didn’t have the feeling of hope I had back then, hope so savagely torn away from me. I reached apartment 4510 and stood with my back to the wall beside the door. Then I pulled out my pistol and shielded it with my legs.

  I knocked three times and waited. I heard footsteps approaching. My hands twitched. The footsteps stopped. She must have reached the door. I waited. Patience, Rachel. I knew her curiosity would get the better of her, but time was ticking. Then I heard a door open to my left. I was running out of time. I stepped in front of the door, raised my gun and aimed at the center. There was only silence on the other side.

  “I know you’re there, Angela,” I said.

  More silence.

  “From here, a shot will tear the door apart and disintegrate you. I suggest you open it.”

  Still nothing.

  The neighbor’s door was now open, but no one had walked out. If they saw me, they would call law enforcement and it would be all over.

  “I swear, I’ll kill you right now. Even if you walk away, I’ll shoot this door down and come for you. You know I’ll do it. I have nothing to lose anymore.”

  A young boy, no more than twelve, stepped out of the neighboring apartment and waited. I quickly dropped my gun. He stared at me. I smiled at him and waved. He smiled back and ran into the apartment, calling out to his mother. I heard movement from Angela’s apartment.

  I raised the gun again. “Don’t even think about it. Remember, I’m the one with nothing to lose. But I’m sure you do.”

  I heard a click and the door eased open. Angela stood in front of me in only a black dressing gown and sandals. Her hair was wet. I flicked the gun twice and she backed into the apartment. After I entered, I directed her to the living room.

  She walked in without speaking and continued drying her hair with a white towel. After sitting down, she reintroduced the same annoying smile she had when we first met.

  “Oh, Rachel,” she said. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

  I went to the window. The skyway looked clear. No traffic enforcers, no cars flying toward us. I turned around. “God has nothing to do with it. You and whoever you’re working with destroyed my life, and now I want it back. Where is my son? Where did your people take him?”

  She shrugged. “How am I supposed to know that? I only arrange for you to get to the future safel—”

  “Don’t give me that,” I yelled. “There’s no way you didn’t know what was going on. I just don’t get why you’re helping them. You’re human, for Christ’s sake.”

  Her eyes widened. “So it’s true what they say. You did receive a video from Tristan.”

  I just stared at her.

  “But what I don’t get is how you know I’m … But of course, you’ve been watching me.” She scratched her head. “Wow, Rachel Harris, the woman everyone said was too frail to even travel out of the country alone, doing investigative work.” She clapped twice. “But I’m afraid you’ve hit a brick wall. I don’t know what they’ve done with Dylan. I don’t know anything. I’m at the bottom of the food chain.”

  I smiled. “But I bet the guy who was just here isn’t.”

  She looked at the floor.

  I stepped toward her. “That’s right. I know he’s pretty important. I saw how your people were with him when he went to my friend’s building. Who is he?”

  She didn’t answer. I walked toward her. “Get up.”

  She looked at me.

  “Now.”

  She rushed to her feet.

  “Bedroom.”

  She hurried to the bedroom and stood by the bed. I kept the gun on her and opened her wardrobe. A bright white light shone inside it. I saw the same sheet of paper she’d looked at earlier. The name Michael Galloway was definitely on it, as well as “2013.”

  I held the paper up. “What does this mean? Who is Michael Galloway?”

  She shrugged.

  I stepped forward. “Don’t give me that. I saw you come in here and look at it. Who the hell is he? Has he got anything to do with Dylan?”

  “You tell me. You watched the video. He’s only a name
. None of us know about him. Don’t you think that if he was as important as Tristan said, everyone would?”

  I frowned. She’d given me information I didn’t have. She must also have known what was on the video. I now had no doubt that Michael Galloway had a big part to play in all this. I flicked the gun. “I need your laptop.” She gave me a blank stare. I extended the gun and hardened my voice. “Now.”

  She nodded and picked up a black laptop from the floor.

  I nodded toward the corner wall, away from the door. “Stand there, but leave your hands where I can see them.”

  I booted up the laptop and searched the Internet for the name Michael Galloway. A number of results came back, but most were quotes by Michael Galloway from papers, articles and books. None went into detail about him. I didn’t even know if they were referring to the man whose name was on the sheet of paper. I searched for almost twenty minutes before I saw an article he’d written, first published on June 30, 2013, and then re-issued in 2017. It was titled, “We are not alone.” I leaned closer to the screen and heard Angela fidget. I glared at her and raised the gun. She held her hands up.

  “I just need the bathroom.”

  I faced the screen again. “When I’m finished.”

  The article talked about the possibility of alien life on Earth and included a number of strong theories. It mentioned the great earthquake of 2013 and the giant crater the American government had found in the Nevada desert, created by the meteor believed to have caused the disaster. I frowned at the wall. I remembered the incident well. Although I was only a child at the time, I remembered what my father told me years later, about the mood of the nation after it hit. About how weak the economy became and the despair that followed.

  The article spoke about many unexplained things that started happening after the incident—people randomly combusting, electrical outages that occurred without warning. But the most significant development, which occurred three years after the meteor had struck, was that women could no longer give birth. I’d heard on the news and from my parents that no one could explain the mass infertility. But Michael’s paper was suggesting that aliens had something to do with it. Maybe this is what Tristan was trying to tell me. Maybe he wanted me to know the truth. Either way, Michael Galloway was probably the only person who would believe my story. Him being from L.A. also made it better for me. I’d get to go back to familiar surroundings.