So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy)

by Rachel Carter

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  He smiles. “You should go talk to Peter.”

  Of course, Peter. I had forgotten about him overhearing me. I need to make it right.

  “I’ll be here at midnight,” Wes says, stepping away. He half smiles, then disappears into the trees.

  Finding Peter isn’t as easy I thought it would be. I check inside the house, around the yard, and then I start to search the woods.

  I eventually spot his small, dark head behind a boulder. I walk through the underbrush until I’m facing him. He won’t look at me, just looks straight ahead into the forest. I can see faint tear marks running down his face. My stomach clenches tight.

  I crouch next to him. I’m still holding the folder, and I set it down next to me on the damp ground so I can rest both hands on my knees.

  “I shouldn’t have said what I did. Your father isn’t a bad man.”

  He tucks his face into the side of his shirt. “Then why did you say he was?” It’s hard to make out the muffled words.

  “I was angry. But I’m not anymore.”

  He peeks out at me with his green eyes. “Why not?”

  “Because I remembered that your dad is a big war hero. And that he’s kind and a good husband and a good dad.”

  Peter nods and turns his face a little more toward me. “He plays airplanes with me and he always lets me win.”

  I smile. “That sounds like a good dad to me.”

  Peter lifts his head. “Are you sorry for saying that about him?”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “And you didn’t mean it?”

  “No way.”

  He sighs and the movement makes his whole body lift and then fall. I hold back a smile. “Then I guess I can forgive you,” he says. He scampers to his feet and grabs my hand. “I want to show you the other bird’s nest I found.” He tugs at me and I laugh, rising to my feet. I almost forget to snatch up Dean’s file before Peter pulls me farther into the woods.

  Later that night, I sit on the edge of Dean’s old bed, studying his quilt and waiting for midnight. Mary is in the next room, probably asleep by now. The thought of leaving her and everyone else is a physical ache inside of me. I had no idea that I could become so attached to someone in such a short period of time. But I promised Wes I’d go tonight, and I can’t stay in the past forever. I miss my parents. I miss Hannah. And of course, I miss my grandfather.

  Leaving the Bentleys, especially Mary, will hurt. If only there was a way to bridge these two time periods so that I could have all of the people I love in one place.

  I pull on the clothes I arrived in: tattered Levi’s jeans and a thin button-down shirt. I grab the file I stole from Faust’s office and the file Wes gave me and tuck them both inside my shirt.

  I glance at the clock next to Dean’s bed. It’s almost time for me to go, but I find that I can’t just run away. I have to at least say good-bye to Mary. I slip into the dark hallway and knock quietly on her bedroom door. “Who is it?” I hear her whisper through the thick wood panel.

  “It’s me. I need to talk to you.”

  “Come in!” Her voice is hushed and excited. I press my lips together, hating how much I know I’m going to disappoint her.

  I ease the door open and shut it softly behind me. Mary is sitting on the twin bed closest to the window. The lights are out but the blackout curtains have been pulled back, and the full moon illuminates the room.

  “I couldn’t sleep either.” Mary giggles, but when she sees my face, her smile fades. “Lydia, what’s wrong?”

  I cross the room, to sit next to her on the bed. “There’s something I have to tell you,” I start.

  “Okay,” she says slowly.

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Lydia, you’re starting to scare me. Why are you dressed like that? What’s going on?”

  “I have to leave.” I say the words quickly, afraid I won’t be able to get them out.

  “What are you talking about?” She laughs softly.

  “I’m leaving here. Tonight.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re not.”

  “I am. I’m so sorry.”

  “But I don’t understand; this is your home. Why would you leave?”

  “I have to go. I wish things could be different, but this isn’t my home. Not really.”

  “What are you saying?” Her voice rises, and she reaches forward to grasp my arm. I gently pry her fingers off me and take her hand in mine.

  “Mary, I don’t think we’ll see each other again.”

  “Why? Tell me why, Lydia.”

  “I’m …” I turn away from her, looking out the window at the shadowy lawn. In the far corner I can see the dark mounds of Mrs. Bentley’s garden. I think of the dirt slipping loose and dry between my fingers. “I’m eloping. With Wes.”

  “Really?” She squeezes my hand in hers, her voice dropping to a whisper.

  I nod. “Really.”

  “You can have the wedding here, though. We’ll have a big party and everything.” She smiles tentatively.

  I look away. “No, we need to go now. Wes is getting shipped out. There’s no time.”

  “So get married quick and then stay with us when he goes.” She’s so insistent, so eager. I knew she would be, but somehow it makes it worse. I wish that I didn’t have to lie to her again.

  “We want it to be private, just us. Neither of us has any real family. We want to make one together. And I’m going to … train as a nurse and follow him overseas. Like you. You inspired me.” And it’s true. I’ve never met anyone like Mary before. She’s so open and bright and vibrant, and I hope I take a little bit of that with me when I leave.

  “But we’ll write. Come back after the wedding,” she pleads.

  I blink away the tears that threaten to fall. “I’ll try.”

  “Lydia, I don’t want you to go.”

  “I know, but I have to.”

  She sits back, tears gathering in her eyes. “Wes is really the one?”

  I think of how it felt to kiss him in the woods and it’s easy to say, “He is.”

  “So you fell in love with a soldier and now you’re running off with him. You really are like the Lydia Bennet in Pride & Prejudice.” Mary smiles, though I see the tears streaming down her cheeks in silver tracks. I smile back, tasting salt on my tongue. And we sit there in the moonlight, crying and smiling at each other.

  “If you have to go, then you have to go.” She struggles with the words. “Though I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “I know.” I squeeze her hand again. “Will you tell your parents that I left, and why? That I said thank you—for taking me in, and trusting me when they didn’t have to. And that I’m sorry I’m leaving like this.”

  “I will.”

  “Thank you for believing me from the beginning. You fought for me, and I know that’s why your family helped me.”

  “I knew you were trustworthy.” She smiles. A familiar guilt settles in my stomach, as heavy as stone.

  “Mary.” I hesitate, searching for the words. “You’re going to be happy. In the future. You’ll get what you want … I know it.”

  “Are you a fortune-teller now?” She laughs a little.

  “Something like that.” I look over at the clock near her bed. Only a few minutes till midnight. Time to go.

  “Will you let me climb out your window?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll miss you.” My voice cracks on the words.

  “I’ll miss you too.” She leans forward and I rise to meet her, and the two of us hug tightly and don’t let go for a long time.

  “You’re wrong, Lydia,” she finally says. We stay locked, our cheeks pressed tightly together. “You do have family. You have me.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Wes is waiting for me a few yards down from the Bentleys’ driveway. He sees my face and doesn’t say a word as he opens the passenger door of the army jeep. I slide into the vehic
le and clench my hands in my lap. I hardly pay attention as Wes gets in and starts the engine. Instead I gaze back at the Bentley house, the windows black and hidden. “I can’t believe I’ll never see them again,” I say softly. Wes brushes his fingers against mine before he shifts into gear and pulls onto the road.

  We drive through the streets in silence. I don’t want to talk and am consumed by thoughts of what I’m leaving behind and what awaits us in the Facility. Wes keeps glancing at me, sensing my dark mood. Finally he pulls over, parking on the side of the road just out of town.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  He turns to me. “Are you okay?”

  I press my lips together and shake my head.

  “I’m sorry that you have to leave them.” His voice is low. “But this isn’t your time. You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “I know.” I take a deep, shaky breath. “But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.”

  He watches me try and collect myself. “I don’t know what it’s like to have a family.” His voice is so quiet I barely hear him.

  “You don’t remember your mother at all? Or your father?” I turn to face him.

  “Sometimes I think I do. The sound of a woman’s voice. Arms around me. But who knows if it’s even real.” His face changes, hardens. “They’re gone now, and I’m alone. I do what I have to in order to survive.”

  “You’re not alone anymore.” I reach out and touch his hand. He flips it over, so that he’s cradling my fingers in his.

  “I can’t remember the last time another person was kind to me.”

  My heart is in my throat as I listen to his words.

  “I live in the Facility. I have no friends. I don’t even have my own bed …”

  “Don’t you have anything that belongs to you?” I ask.

  He hesitates, then pulls away from me. He reaches into the collar of his shirt and tugs out something gold. It’s a pendant on a chain, and he slips it over his head. “Just this.”

  I pick it up from his outstretched hand. I’m holding a small gold pocket watch. The decoration is plain, a leaf border and thinly etched lines. I notice that the time is frozen at a few minutes after four o’clock.

  I turn it over in my hands. The moon is bright through the window of the jeep, and I can just make out the inscription on the back: With Love, WLE.

  “What does this mean?” I ask, rubbing my thumb over the tiny letters.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.”

  I look at him in surprise. “They let you keep it? When you were taken?”

  “No.” He pauses, and I know the memory isn’t one he’s comfortable with. “I wasn’t wearing it when they took me. One of the first round of sessions I had was on forgetting my past. Anytime I remembered my old life they would …” He doesn’t finish.

  “What?”

  He looks away from me, his eyes shadowed. “You don’t want to know, Lydia. And I don’t want you to.”

  My stomach turns over as I picture the room full of lost children, knowing what will happen to them, if it hasn’t already.

  “I’m sorry.” I squeeze the watch in my hand, more determined than ever to get to Dean and stop the Recruitment Initiative. I can’t save Wes from his memories, but I might be able to save others from the same fate.

  “Training lasted two years,” he says. “Once that phase was over, they started to send us on missions. I started time traveling. I would report back to a scientist or general in one time period and then I’d need to do something else. The head scientists stay connected to each other by using the recruits as their go-betweens.”

  “Throughout all of time?”

  “Certain periods are more active than others. I’ve never traveled past twenty fifty, or before nineteen fifty.” He looks at me. “At least, I hadn’t before you.”

  I smile.

  “After I was doing missions for a year, they sent me to New York to find out what would happen if some small event was changed. I don’t even remember what it was anymore. But I was out doing reconnaissance when I realized I was near my old home in the subway station. And I just thought, if I go down there, no one will know.”

  His eyes are sort of glazed, and I know he’s reliving it: the fear, the thrill rushing through him. I touch his arm in an effort to bring him back to the present. He jerks a little and his eyes clear. “I went in and got the necklace and I’ve kept it ever since,” he finishes quickly.

  “A moment of defiance.”

  His gaze locks on me. “One of them,” he says slowly.

  I feel my cheeks heat up, but before I can ask him what he means, he takes the watch from my hand and lifts the chain back over his head, tucking it beneath his shirt again.

  “We need to go.” He glances at me one more time before he starts the engine and pulls out onto the road.

  When we’re close to Camp Hero, I crawl into the back of the jeep, pulling an oil-stained blanket over me. I listen as Wes speaks quietly with the guards, and then we rattle and bump through the uneven roads of the base. In what feels like no time at all, we’ve reached the south side of the park.

  I stay still and silent as Wes pulls the truck over. His door opens and closes, and in a few moments he’s yanking the tarp back. I blink and take his hand when he offers it to me.

  We jog through the trees until we reach the vent again. “It’s the quickest, safest way in,” he tells me as he pushes the heavy metal covering aside.

  This time Wes drops down first, and catches me as I lower myself after him. It’s dark and musty inside. I take shallow breaths. The smell of bleach and acid hangs in the air.

  Wes leads and I follow. Somehow he’s graceful even when he’s crawling through an air duct. The thought makes me smile.

  We’re only inside for a few minutes before he stops over a metal grate. He yanks it up and shoves it to the side, then lowers himself into the hole. I follow, trusting him to catch me as I fall.

  The room isn’t lit, and it’s hard to see where we are. I sense Wes standing in front of me and I step closer to him. From the smell of cleaning supplies, I would guess we’re in a supply closet, and I wonder briefly if it’s the one I ran into by mistake a few days ago.

  “Why are we here?” I whisper.

  I feel, rather than see, Wes walk to the door. “The vents don’t access Dean’s office. I discovered that when I snuck in to get you that folder.”

  Wes opens the door a crack and light spills into the small room. He motions me forward.

  The hallway is empty, and we inch along the side, keeping close to the wall. I hear the sound of a door opening, and Wes puts his hand out, stopping me. I hold my breath. We stand there, frozen and listening, but no one comes.

  We continue through another door and down a short flight of stairs. I think I might recognize some of the hallways we pass through, but it’s hard to tell—everything looks the same. White concrete, gleaming metal doors, wide tiles covering the floor. We pass through another door. Pause to wait for a sound of footsteps to pass. Go. Stop again. Go. Another door.

  Sweat glides down the center of my back, and my hands shake against my sides. We enter a silver corridor that I know I’ve never seen before. The floor, the ceiling, everything is metal. Dozens of doors line each side.

  I jump when I hear the sound of someone moaning. I think it’s coming from one of the doors near me and instinctively turn toward it. Wes shakes his head and grabs my arm. He leads me down the hallway and out into another white hall. “What was that?” I whisper.

  “Cells,” he replies under his breath.

  I shudder. We turn a corner and then Wes points to a narrow door on the right. I step forward, but Wes pushes me gently behind him. He opens the door to Dean’s office quickly and slips inside.

  Dean is hunched over a large desk with his fingers pressed against his temples. The room around him is gray and bare. I notice that he’s wearing a black uniform that matches
those of the other guards in the Facility.

  Dean bolts upright when he sees Wes. “What—”

  He notices me and goes still.

  “Lydia. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Dean.” I step forward. Wes stays by the door, keeping watch. “We don’t have much time. I need to talk to you.”

  “What’s going on?” he demands. “Who are you?”

  There’s a gun lying on the surface of his desk. Dean’s fingers twitch. Wes has his eyes glued to the weapon.

  I take a step forward. “I’m here to warn you. I know about the Montauk Project. And about the Recruitment Initiative. It’s not what you think.”

  “You are a spy.” Dean’s face twists; his voice is grim.

  “No. I’m a time traveler. And I’m your great-granddaughter.”

  His mouth falls open as I tell him about stumbling into the time machine and ending up in 1944.

  “Peter is my grandfather. I’m a Bentley, and I have something really important to tell you.”

  His face is white, ashen. “Prove it.”

  “What?”

  “If you are who you say you are, then prove it.”

  My mind races. “How? I can tell you something that happens in the future, but you won’t know if it’s true or not yet.”

  “Tell me something about Peter. Something only he and I would know.”

  I desperately try to think of a memory involving both of them. “He hates peas,” I blurt. “He’s always hated them, because he said that once you made him canned peas when his mother wasn’t home and that he put cold butter on them to try to make them taste better, but they turned into cold gray-green mush. You wouldn’t let him get up from the table until he finished. After that he couldn’t eat them without throwing up.”

  Dean’s eyes widen slightly. “How do I know he didn’t tell you that story in the past few days?” Though I might have shaken him, he isn’t convinced.

  “He has a scar,” I say frantically. “On his stomach. His appendix ruptured when he was only three. It’s in a straight line, next to his belly button.”

  “You could have seen that anytime.”

  I look helplessly at Wes. He meets my eyes briefly. There’s a steadiness in his eyes that makes me start to think more clearly.