Rewind

by Carolyn O'Doherty

  I turn away and race toward the safety of the Sick. I’m terrified Buck will somehow appear before I can reach the Center. People step back when they see my blood-smeared clothes.

  “Are you all right?” a man asks.

  I ignore him, leaping up the Center’s wide steps to ring the front bell. The door camera’s red eye blinks over my head. Eternal seconds pass before an electronic buzz tells me someone has punched the code to open the door.

  Charlie’s mouth goes slack when I stumble inside.

  “What happened to you?” he asks.

  The freeze monitor is beeping. I push the door shut behind me. When I hear the click of the lock resetting itself, I sag against the wood.

  “They tried to kill me,” I pant. “Call Mr. Ross. I need to …”

  “Alex!” Yolly’s voice echoes across the tiled foyer. “What’s going on? KJ got back ten minutes ago, babbling about Dr. Barnard’s computer being broken.” She stops when she sees me. “Oh my God.”

  “It was a trap.” Relief at being back in the Center returns the shivers that started in the workshop. “The guy who called Dr. Barnard about a plaque. It was a set-up—they didn’t have anything for us to pick up. The men there took me to a back room and they …”

  A lump rises up in the back of my throat. I swallow. Just picturing Buck turns me into a quivering mess. Yolly comes over and wraps an arm around me. I turn my head and bury my face in her shoulder.

  “Slow down,” Yolly says, patting my back. “What plaque are you talking about?”

  “Jack gave me the message,” I say. “When he called Powell’s.”

  Yolly tilts my head up so she can see my face. There’s a frown creasing the space between her brows.

  “The one KJ said you got?”

  “Yes!” The relentless beep of the freeze monitor is making my head hurt. I can’t figure out why Yolly is looking so confused. I try explaining more clearly.

  “Jack called and said Dr. Barnard needed KJ to fix his computer and that I was supposed to go pick up some plaque.”

  “Alex.” Yolly places her palm against my forehead. “Dr. Barnard doesn’t send spinners off on errands by themselves.”

  “I know. But Jack said …”

  Jack’s face dances before me. Was KJ right? Was this Jack’s idea of a joke? I cradle my swaddled arm against my chest. No, the message was real, the people at the store were expecting me. I suddenly remember Jack telling me that he worked with people who were more important than Ross. He couldn’t mean Sikes. Could he?

  “Jack,” I say, just as Jack himself descends the staircase.

  “Dr. Barnard wants to know who set off the monitor.” He catches sight of me and halts, one foot hovering above the last step. “What happened to you?”

  Rage like I’ve never felt fills my face with heat. I clench my fists.

  “The men at the trophy shop,” I say. “The place you sent me.”

  Jack’s gaze flicks to Yolly.

  “I didn’t …,” he says. “I never sent you anywhere.”

  His denial hits me like a slap. I lunge toward him, wanting to scratch the composure off his lying face. Yolly grabs my arm to restrain me. When her hand closes on my bound wrist, I scream.

  “What is it?” Yolly looks down at my arm. My homemade bandage has unraveled, exposing my bare wrist. Yolly’s head jerks toward the guard station, where my name must be scrolling across the monitor’s small screen.

  “Where’s your leash?” she demands.

  “I told you.” Tears of pain well up in my eyes. “The guy tried to kill me. He cut the leash off so you couldn’t trace me.”

  “Leashes don’t have a trace.” Yolly turns back to me. Her face has gone soft, the frown replaced by an expression of deep sadness. With one hand she reaches out and smooths a strand of wet hair off my cheek.

  “Alex, if you’re not feeling well, you need to tell someone. You can’t just run off in the city and—what is it?”

  Tears are pouring freely down my cheeks and I’m pretty sure from the wooziness threatening my ability to stand up that I’m turning something way past pale.

  “My arm,” I moan.

  Yolly unwraps the remains of my jacket. The final layer sticks to my skin and I whimper when she rips it free. Yolly draws a sharp breath. Dried blood smears the skin on my forearm, framing the raw mouth of the incision. My wooziness takes a turn for the worse.

  “Oh, honey,” Yolly says. “Charlie, call Amy. Tell her I’m bringing Alex in and she’ll need a room. And turn off that wretched monitor.”

  She slips an arm around my shoulders, hooking her hand under my armpit.

  “Come on. Can you walk?”

  Jack hurries forward to take my other arm.

  “Alex, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into my ear, so only I can hear. “Dr. B. told me to keep the errand secret. I’d never have passed the message if I thought you’d get hurt.”

  If I felt even slightly less shaky I would punch him.

  “Leave me alone,” I hiss.

  Jack drops my arm as Yolly helps me to the elevator. He stands there as the door closes, body hunched over as if the blow I wanted to deliver had actually landed in his gut. The elevator creaks upward. Fear, pain, anger, and confusion battle for dominance inside me. I lean against Yolly’s warm bulk, trying to think. My advantage, as always, is time. It’s been only minutes since the men attacked me. Plenty of time to track them down in a rewind.

  “Damn sickness …,” Yolly mutters, “stupid … should have known … so unpredictable.”

  Sickness? Yolly thinks I’m sick? I want to protest, but I’m so tired the effort doesn’t seem worth it. The door opens, and I let her half-carry me down the hall to the clinic.

  Amy meets us just inside the door. “What’s going on?” she asks.

  Yolly holds up my arm. “She’ll need stitches.”

  Amy shakes her head. “Put her in the exam room. I’ll go make up a shot of lidocaine.”

  Dry paper crackles as Yolly helps me up onto the exam room’s padded bench.

  “Lie down,” she says.

  I collapse onto the thin foam. My head hurts, the inevitable ache claiming its due as the adrenaline leaves my system. Yolly dampens a cotton swab and starts wiping the dried blood from my arm.

  “Everyone has a hard time after a bout of sickness,” Yolly says. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You can always come talk to me if you’re feeling depressed.”

  I nod. I don’t get why she keeps talking about the sickness, but I’m glad she isn’t threatening to get me in trouble for freezing time.

  “You have to call Ross,” I say.

  Yolly sighs. “Alex.”

  Amy walks in with a tray loaded with the supplies she needs to stitch me up. She sets it down and pulls on a pair of rubber gloves. I keep my gaze firmly fixed on Yolly so I don’t have to watch.

  “I can lead him back to the trophy shop.” The smell of iodine fills the small room. I try not to flinch while Amy cleans my wound. “I’ll rewind it for him, and he can identify the men who attacked me.”

  “Not now, Alex,” Yolly says.

  “My arm’s not that bad. I can still go on a mission.”

  Yolly shakes her head. I swallow my frustration.

  “Then send someone else,” I say. “KJ will go.”

  The outer door to the clinic slams open and a voice roars from the waiting room.

  “Where is she?”

  Amy winces. I’m glad she hasn’t started stitching yet.

  Yolly squeezes behind Amy to get out of the exam room. “Dr. Barnard?”

  “Is Alex here?” He’s still yelling. I’m surprised he sounds so upset. He’s certainly unemotional about us dying.

  “Yes,” I hear Yolly say. “I’m afraid she slashed her wrist. Amy will keep her here for a while, until we’re sure she’s not going to hurt herself again.”

  Hurt myself? A sharp jab tells me Amy has injected the numbing agent. Is that what they think? That
I cut my arm myself?

  “Stop wiggling,” Amy says.

  Dr. Barnard bursts into the exam room. The straggly hairs around his bald head stand out like an attacking dog’s ruff.

  “What happened?”

  “Jack called me with a message,” I explain, for what feels like the twentieth time. “He said someone called you about a …”

  Barnard makes an impatient noise and in that instant his distraught state takes on a whole different meaning. The blood drains from my face. My cheeks prickle. What if Jack was telling the truth? What if the message he gave me really did come from Barnard?

  “They beat me up,” I say. I choose my words carefully. Did Barnard send me to the trophy store on what he thought was a legitimate errand? Or did he know that Sikes’s men would be waiting for me?

  The safe feeling that has comforted me since I heard the front door lock evaporates. My eyes flick around the tiny room. Amy holds my arm in a firm grip. Barnard’s body blocks the door. Even without a leash there is no way out.

  Yolly’s head bobs behind Barnard’s. She speaks softly, but I can still hear every word.

  “The sickness must be causing hallucinations,” she murmurs. “Alex claims she got paged at the bookstore, but KJ didn’t hear anything, and he wasn’t there when she talked on the phone. When did you last adjust her dosage?”

  Dr. Barnard isn’t listening. He moves so close to me that Amy has to stop stitching.

  “How did you get away?” he asks me.

  My mouth goes dry. “They said they were going to kill me. He cut my leash off. I … I …”

  “What. Did. You. Do.”

  A new terror stalls my tongue. I’m sure Dr. Barnard knows I can change things in frozen time. Did Buck call him? Or … my mind wheels through possibilities. The tracker. That’s how they knew I was at Powell’s. Barnard could have watched the monitor, following my progress all the way to the trophy store. The tracker would have winked out when I froze time and reappeared a half block from the Center. My mouth opens without making any sounds. Barnard stands so close to me I can smell the bitter scent of old coffee on his breath.

  “I ran away,” I manage. The words come out in a whisper.

  Barnard’s lips press together so tightly they disappear.

  “Amy,” he snaps. “Go get a syringe. I need to test this girl’s blood right now.”

  15

  I WATCH, HELPLESS, AS AMY SCURRIES OVER TO A supply cabinet. Yolly is staring at Barnard, confusion stamped across her features. None of us say anything. The tiny exam room is so crowded with bodies it feels like there isn’t enough air for us all. When Amy turns around, her face is pale. I remember Ross telling her they could never trace her faked test results and wonder if that’s true. Amy must be wondering the same thing. Her hands shake so much she can’t rip open the package holding the needle.

  Barnard extracts the syringe himself. He swabs my arm above the half-stitched gash and plunges the needle into the vein at my elbow. Blood, dark and rich, fills the tube of the syringe with my secret. My mouth goes dry. Once the test is complete, whatever Ross is giving me will be exposed. Barnard will grill everyone to find out how I got it, and the way Amy looks now I can’t imagine her standing up to Barnard for longer than it takes her to draw breath. Ross will be ruined. And I …

  Barnard slips the needle from my skin and presses a cotton ball over the prick in one smooth motion.

  “Yolanda.”

  Yolly starts.

  “Take her arm,” he says, “and don’t let go of her. I don’t want her freezing time alone.”

  “Freezing time? What difference … ?”

  “Just do it.”

  Yolly wraps one hand around the bare skin of my unhurt arm.

  Barnard points to Amy. “I’m sending Charlie up with a leash. I want her leashed, in a room, with the door locked. She’s to stay there until I say she can be released. Is that clear?”

  The two women nod dumbly. Barnard walks away, carrying with him the bloody evidence that will guarantee my imprisonment for the rest of my short life.

  Amy’s face has gone dead white. She keeps shooting glances at Yolly while stitching up my arm. I know they want to talk but won’t as long as I’m there. I don’t mind. Their silence gives me space to think. Shannon has described the blood tests to me before. She says you have to pour the sample into a vial and add a few drops of a separating solution. Then you have to swirl the mixture for at least five minutes to engage the chemicals and let it sit for five more. After that you smear some on a slide and run it through the chronotin analyzer, a buzzing little metal box that looks like a miniature copy machine.

  Ten minutes. I check the clock. 2:46. Say it takes Dr. Barnard thirty seconds to get to the lab room and maybe ten seconds more to mix up the solution. Ten minutes for the chemical reaction and he’ll be putting the sample in the analyzer no later than 2:57. That gives me until 2:56 to figure out a way to stop him.

  Amy’s fingers move methodically through her task. Prick, pull, snip. My skin slides together into a neat seam. I try not to fidget. 2:49. Yolly’s hand squeezes my other arm. Not only will I have to get away from her, I’ll have to cover up the fact that I’ve frozen time. The impossibility of my task makes my head hurt worse than the stitches. 2:52.

  “That should do it.” Amy pulls off her gloves and rubs a hand over her forehead, which is damp with sweat. Yolly touches her shoulder.

  “You feeling OK?” she asks. “You look kind of pale.”

  Amy mumbles something about Barnard yelling at her and starts picking up the bits of bloody cotton and thread. I look at the clock again. A plan is forming in my head, but unless these two start moving faster I’m going to run out of time.

  “I’ll do that,” Yolly says to Amy, “you go get the room ready.”

  Amy trails off toward the sickroom.

  “You don’t have to hold my arm,” I tell Yolly as soon as Amy leaves. She casts me an uncomfortable look.

  “Dr. Barnard was very explicit,” she says. One-handed, she dumps the leavings Amy collected into the trash. Her movements are awkward and painfully slow. The clock counts down another minute. My knee starts jiggling. I could try to wrench my arm from Yolly’s grasp. Is it worth it? She’s pretty strong, and if it doesn’t work my aggressiveness will make her distrust me.

  Yolly tosses the last of the garbage and lets out a long sigh. “Let’s go set you up in a room.”

  I slide off the exam bed. Yolly keeps a firm grip on my arm as we leave. 2:54. The main clinic door opens. Charlie is here with the leash. This is it. Game time.

  “Will you let Amy take me in the room by herself?”

  It takes all I have not to scream the words. Yolly hesitates.

  “Please,” I say. “It’s just that last time I was sick I was here with you, Yolly, and going back in together will make it feel like it’s happening all over again. Like the worst days of my life are being endlessly rewound.”

  I’m babbling. Even to myself the excuse makes no sense, but Yolly’s face crumples. She blinks hard and strokes my arm with her free hand.

  “Of course, dear. I understand.”

  She calls for Amy. Charlie walks toward us, looking nervous. I lower my head, doing my best to look meek and harmless. Amy’s hand replaces Yolly’s. She takes the leash from Charlie and reaches for my unhurt wrist, but I’ve already started walking, pulling her with me as I step into the cheerless sickroom. The door closes behind us. No one locks it.

  “Let go of me,” I say, keeping my voice barely over a murmur. Amy shakes her head and reaches for my wrist again. I raise it over my head.

  “If you don’t, Barnard is going to find out you faked my blood tests.”

  Amy gasps. “What do you mean?”

  There’s a clock over her head. 2:55. One more minute.

  “Let go of my arm,” I say, “for five seconds, and I’ll cover for you.”

  Her grip loosens, but not enough. “How?” she asks.

>   I shake my head. The clock is ticking relentlessly forward.

  “It doesn’t matter, but it has to be now.” I pull against her hand. Her fingers tighten.

  “I can’t.”

  “You can.” I stare into her eyes, forcing my will into her. I could freeze time and take her with me, but then what? She has no reason to keep my secret. I play my last card.

  “It’s what Mr. Ross would want you to do if he were here.”

  Amy’s mouth quivers. “Carson?”

  “Close your eyes, let go of me, and count to five. Right now.”

  Amy’s eyelids flutter. Her fingers loosen. I pull my arm free and yank time to a halt.

  The world stops. Amy stands before me, eyes closed, looking scared. I memorize my position, checking the set of my feet, the angle of my head, and move away—carefully—so I don’t bump her. The sickroom door opens at my touch. I pull it wide, inching around Yolly and Charlie who are standing just outside. When I gain the waiting room, I check the clock again. 2:56.

  Adrenaline makes me run when I don’t need to. I charge back to the empty exam room and grab up the materials I need—a clean syringe, a rubber tie, and a handful of cotton balls—then race to where Dr. Barnard stands in his narrow lab. The green light of the chronotin analyzer sends out a weak beam. My heart squeezes painfully until I see that Barnard is still holding the tube with my blood. His other hand is stretched toward the counter, fingers inches from an eyedropper. I’ve made it with seconds to spare.

  The fragments of my plan flutter around my brain like bits of paper caught in a windstorm. I grab at the scattered pieces, forcing them together as I race through the Center’s silent halls. Already, I can feel time pulling at me; my injuries aren’t going to allow me much time to hold on. I find KJ in the third place I try. He’s in a storage room, putting away a box of computer supplies. Snatching up his frozen hands, I melt and refreeze time as fast as I can manage the commands.

  “Alex!” KJ’s body jerks. “You can’t just appear like …”