She looks around. Though only a handful of people are on the sidewalk, it’s apparently too crowded for her. “Do you have someplace we can talk? Private?”
“I have a room.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
__________
UPON ENTERING MY room, Lidia looks around with disdain. “This is the best you can do?”
This is the version of her I know.
“They didn’t ask for an ID or credit card,” I say in my defense.
“So what? I have a whole pocketful of credit cards now. I stay anywhere I want. You want me to get you a better room?”
I turn my back so she doesn’t see my annoyance. “This works for me.”
The bed squeaks as she lowers herself onto it. “Suit yourself, I guess. More your caste level anyway.”
There’s no disdain in her tone. She’s only stating the facts as she knows them, which makes me seethe even more than I would if she were trying to goad me. But I bottle it up as I pull over the rickety wooden chair that normally sits near the window.
“What have you been doing this whole time?” Lidia asks.
If her supervisor had come to find me, I’d confess that this whole new world is my fault, but I can’t say it to Lidia. The person I really wish for is Marie. If my old instructor were sitting here with me, we could figure this out together. We could—
“Marie. Did you find her?”
Lidia looks confused. “Your old trainer?”
“Yes.”
“Not that I know of. Was she on a mission?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Well, if she was, she’d have to have been pretty far back to still be around.”
“What do you mean?”
“So far, everyone we’ve found was at least as far back as the eighteenth century when things went wrong. I think the most recent Rewinder was in 1769. Bernard and I were in 1648. When were you?”
I lie without hesitation. “Seventeen fifty-one.”
“See what I mean?” She begins to pace, which, in my room, means a four-step loop between the front door and the bathroom. “Unless we find someone who was on assignment more recently than 1769, then whatever happened must have occurred within a few years either side of that point. Bernard says that since society moved slower back then, it’s possible the change event happened before 1769.” She snaps around and looks at me. “Nothing weird going on where you were, was there?”
I dive even deeper into my lie. “I wasn’t there more than an hour. Just checking grave markers. Didn’t even talk to anyone.” This is a standard step when rewinding a family history.
“Where were you?”
The last cemetery I checked pops immediately to mind. “England. Outside Southhampton.”
“With your supervisor?”
“No. I do solo missions now.”
Her eyes narrow. “Oh, really. How nice for you.”
After a few seconds, she resumes carving a path across my floor.
I let her make a couple of passes before I ask, “Do you really think a Rewinder did this?”
She looks at me as if I’m the stupidest person on the planet. “Look around you. Everything’s changed! History shifted! Who the hell else could have done it?” She takes a deep breath. Her tone’s more controlled when she speaks again, but it’s still infused with anger. “Bernard and I are going to find whoever it is, and once that person has fixed this mess, they’re going to pay for what they’ve done.”
“What if you can’t find them?”
“Oh, we’ll find them.” She looks at me. “And you’re going to help us.”
“Me? How?”
“By finding out exactly when the break occurred.”
“That might be impossible.”
“Of course it’s possible. No one knows history better than us. The others are already working on it so one of you will track it down. When we know where the point is, we’ll go back and fix it ourselves if we have to.”
She’s right. Someone’s going to figure it out, and when that happens, I’ll be exposed.
“We could end up making it worse,” I say, trying to come up with anything that will delay the inevitable.
She stares at me as if trying to read my thoughts. “Are you saying you like it here?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all. This isn’t home. It’s a mistake.” To me, every word that comes out of my mouth sounds fake, and I’m sure my attempt to deflect attention is doing the exact opposite.
But her face relaxes as she says, “You’re right. It is a mistake. That’s why we need to fix it.”
“I’ll, um, do all I can.”
“Yes, you will.” She pulls open the drawer of the narrow nightstand by my bed, shifts the Bible that’s inside, and then shoves the drawer shut. “Isn’t there any paper in this place?”
I pull a sheet from my satchel. “Here.”
She takes it and stares at me. “Not going to do me any good without something to write with.”
“Of course.” I give her my pen.
Using the nightstand, she scribbles something on the paper and then hands it and the pen back to me. She’s written a location number and the date May 12, 1702.
“When you have something, report here. The point is well before when we think the change occurred. We’ll use it for our safe zone when we change everything back.”
“It may take me a little while to figure out.”
“You have four days.”
“That might not be enough.”
“If it isn’t, we’ll reassess. But I’ll be leaving right at the deadline, so if someone does find the answer, then whoever’s not at the meeting point when I arrive will be left behind. I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you’re still here when we fix the problem.”
No, she didn’t.
“You have until Friday at noon, East Coast time,” she says. “What is that? Eight o’clock here?”
“Nine,” I say.
“All right. Nine a.m., then. Are we clear on everything?”
“Yes. Very clear.”
“Good. Then I’ll let you get to work. See you in the past.” She whips out her Chaser and winks out of my room.
I sit in my chair, staring at the space where she was, half expecting her to reappear and point an accusatory finger at me.
The sudden desire to be anywhere but this room is what finally gets me to push off my chair. I fold Lidia’s note and shove it in my pocket. My fingers touch another scrap of paper. When I pull it out, I see it’s the message Iffy left me.
Her address.
A place that’s not here.
Something’s coming! Iffy’s words.
Something came, all right.
I shove my few possessions into my satchel, pull it over my shoulder, and leave my dingy hotel room for the last time.
CHAPTER TWENTY
USING A MAP I purchase near my hotel, I make my way to the address in Hollywood from Iffy’s note. There, I find a three-story house with green wooden siding and a large, dimly lit stone porch.
As I walk up to the door, I wonder if I’m making a mistake. Maybe I should find another hotel and lock myself away until I can figure out what to do. But I can’t stop myself from knocking.
A beautiful woman of African descent opens the door. “Hello,” she says with mild surprise. “Something I can help you with?”
“I’m sorry to bother you. I think I might be at the wrong place,” I say.
“Who are you looking for?”
“A girl. Her name’s Iffy.”
“Not the wrong place. What’s your name?”
“Denny.”
“Of course it is.” Turning slightly, she calls, “Carl, can you tell Iffy her guest is here?”
From somewhere inside, a male voice says, “Sure.”
The woman opens the door wider. “Come in, Denny.”
She leads me into a large living room that features a wide stone fireplace. The couch and chairs a
re leather while the small tables are stained dark brown. A blonde woman is sitting in one of the chairs, probably ten years younger than the woman who answered the door.
“Catherine, this is Denny. Iffy’s friend.”
The woman smiles as she rises from her chair and holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Denny.”
We shake.
“And I’m Marilyn,” the first woman says. “Please have a seat.”
I sit on the couch but perch near the edge.
Marilyn takes one of the overstuffed chairs. “So, you’re Denny?”
“Uh, yes.”
“She described you well.”
“She what?”
Marilyn smiles as she reaches forward and pats my hand. “It was all very innocent. Don’t worry.”
“She told you about me?”
“Only that she made a new friend and that you’d be stopping by tonight.”
“What do you do, Denny?” Catherine asks.
“Do?” I say.
“Your profession.”
“I’m a…student.”
“Oh. Which school?”
The only answer I can think of is one I saw on a sign at the library. “University of Southern California.”
That garners raised eyebrows from both Marilyn and Catherine.
“My, USC. You must be a smart one,” Marilyn says.
“Or rich,” Catherine throws in. “Let me guess—business school?”
My lies have been coming so fast and thick that I feel the need to say something closer to the truth. “History.”
“That’s…interesting,” Marilyn says. “What do you plan to do with that?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you graduate. What kind of job do you get with a degree in history? Teacher?”
I’m saved from burying myself under even more lies by the arrival of Iffy and a man I assume is Carl.
“Hi,” she says as I shoot to my feet.
“Hi.”
The awkward silence that follows is broken by Marilyn. “Perhaps we should give you two the living room.”
“That’s okay,” Iffy says. “We’ll go to my room.” She waves for me to follow her.
As we leave, Catherine says, “He’s cute, Iffy. Nice catch.”
“Leave them be,” Marilyn chides.
Once we’re out of the living room, Iffy grabs my hand and guides me up a set of stairs, all the way to the single room at the top of the house on the third floor.
The ceiling slants in either direction from the high point in the middle, convincing me this was once an attic. The shortened walls to either side are lined with bookcases stuffed to overflowing. A mattress lies on the floor at the far end under an opened window, the only other piece of furniture being a dresser near the stairs.
She leads me to the mattress. “We can sit here.”
As I lower myself, I say, “So I guess you knew I was coming.”
An uncomfortable nod.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “You’re not crazy.”
“You don’t know me very well.”
She’s right about that.
“The something I warned you about happened, didn’t it?” she asks.
Instead of answering, I say, “I came because you said there was a room.”
Her lower lip slips between her teeth and she looks away.
“There is a room, right?”
She half nods, half shrugs.
“Can I use it? Who do I need to talk to? Marilyn?”
“Uh…”
“What?”
“Well, um…”
“There isn’t a room, is there?”
She shoots me a worried glance that tells me everything I need to know.
“Dammit,” I mutter and push myself to my feet.
She jumps up and puts a hand on my arm. “There was one, I swear. Marilyn rented it out to a couple of guys this morning. They’ve been moving their stuff in all day.”
I start walking toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“To find a place to stay.”
“You can stay here. I’ll sleep downstairs on the couch. I’ve done it before.”
I shake my head. “I’m not kicking you out of your room.”
“Please don’t go. Not yet at least. Just…” She rubs a hand across her eyes. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
I stop and turn to her. “I told you, you’re not crazy.”
“Then what’s going on?” she says, looking as if she’s on the verge of a breakdown. “Why do I know where you’re going to be? Why do I know you’re in trouble? Why do I feel you?”
My training demands that I say nothing, but in reality, what will it hurt? Once the twelve-second gap is eliminated and Richard Cahill is allowed to report Washington’s position, Iffy will either be entirely erased or live a life under empire rule in which she never meets me. As I think this, other thoughts begin stirring in my mind, the ones I was having at the library earlier today. I shove them away before I have time to acknowledge them.
I walk back to her. “I know why.”
“Tell me, then. Please!” Whatever she’s been using to hold herself together crumbles and she begins to cry. “I want to understand.”
I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t even be thinking about doing it. I should be turning around and walking out. I should already be on the stairs.
I pull her into my arms. I can’t think about what I should be doing, I can only think about what a bastard I’ve been. All this time I’ve been focused on how our connection affects me, not what it’s doing to her.
When her body begins to relax, I lower us to the mattress again. She sniffles a few times, and then looks at me through watery eyes, waiting.
“You’re not going to believe me,” I tell her.
“I will.”
“You won’t.”
“I’ll believe anything you say.”
She’s probably telling the truth but I need to ease her into it. I need to ease myself into talking about it. “Tell me about your name first.”
“My name?”
“Are there a lot of others named Iffy?”
That gets a laugh out of her. “I got it in high school, from someone who used to be a friend.”
“Not your parents?”
“My given name is Pamela.”
“That’s pretty.”
“For a soccer mom, maybe.”
I’m not sure what a soccer mom is but I get the larger point. “So, why Iffy?”
She thinks for a moment. “My friend and I had been in school together since third or fourth grade. One day she blew up at me, said she’d had enough of my waffling.”
“Waffling?”
“Yeah, said she was sick of me not being able to make a decision, that I was iffy on everything. She started calling me that, and it wasn’t long before others did the same. It used to make me so mad. I couldn’t wait to go to college where no one knew me and I could be Pamela or Pam or anything else.”
She pauses. “The thing is, the bitch was right. I was horrible at making decisions. By the time I left home after high school, I was so used to hearing the name that I kept it. Decided to use it to help me be better.”
“And has it?”
“Still a work in progress, but getting there.” She tilts her head and looks at me. “The old me would have never come looking for you. She would’ve hidden in her room, hoping the feeling would go away. Your turn. Why is this happening? Why you?”
__________
HOW DO YOU tell someone you’re a time traveler? Not from the future, but from the now? Only the now you’re from is real and the one the other person knows is an imposter.
I start at the beginning, with my selection to join the Upjohn Institute, and lay it all out from there.
Iffy is so quiet that I think, contrary to what she said earlier, she doesn’t believe a word. Why should she? If someone had come up to me before I joined the institute an
d said the same, I would’ve thought the person was insane.
After a while, she begins asking questions, having me fill in gaps in my story. When I come to my encounter with Cahill, I carefully explain what should have happened and then what did. She falls silent again, and I take this to mean she’s having a hard time following, so I start explaining it again.
“I got it,” she says, stopping me. “You created a delay that resulted in him being killed and Washington being allowed to live. That’s when everything changed.”
“Yes.”
I tell her of my mostly unconscious time in New York, and my escape to what I thought would be New Cardiff.
“I didn’t want to believe at first that I’d caused the change, so that’s why I went to the library, hoping to find it was something else.”
“You must have figured it out fairly quickly, though,” she says.
I nod.
“Then why didn’t you go back and fix it at that point? I mean, all you have to do is keep yourself from entering the tavern, right?”
I nod. She’s understood it all perfectly.
“Then why haven’t you gone yet?”
“I…I guess I want to know more about this world first. It’s so different than where I’m from. I want to know it better.” I take a moment, and then say, “Do you believe me?”
“You still haven’t told me why we’re connected,” she says.
I hesitate, then pull my satchel over. From inside, I remove my Chaser. “This is what you’re really connected to.”
“What is it?”
“A Chaser. It’s what allows us to travel through time.”
As if fearing it’d shock her, she carefully touches it before taking it from me. She turns it every which way until she’s inspected the whole thing. “Why would I be connected to this?”
I tell her about how the Chasers work, about companions, the sharing of the pain of travel, and the subtle mental connection between the machine and both of the users. “When my original companion disappeared, it chose you for some reason.”
“But why?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I’m not a scientist or an engineer, so I don’t really know the details on how all of this works, but I do know the link between machine and companion is made, from the human side, on a cellular level. You call it DNA here, I think. You know what that is?”
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