Abandoning Anarchy (The Lost in Time Duet #2)

by Kamery Solomon

  The tears spilled over my face, my tired and battered emotions unleashing in an instant. The strength of the reaction was so much that I couldn’t get the words out to share he had gone. However, as I expected, my soul sister understood without me having to say a single thing.

  “Oh.” Pausing, she stared at me, chewing on her lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Laughing through the tears, I nodded, pulling her into another hug.

  Her arms wrapped around me, comforting me this time, her fingers rubbing my back as she let me cry and silently vent out everything. After a while, I was sure she was hot in her coat and wishing we could sit down, but she never said a word, letting me set my own pace and take what I needed from her.

  “Sorry,” I whispered, breaking away finally. “I didn’t mean to cry all over you.”

  She smiled, shrugging out of her coat and laying it across the couch. “That’s the best kind of cry. The one that gets to play out on its own time.”

  Kicking her shoes off, she padded around to the other side of the seat, patting the cushion beside her as she settled in, tucking her feet beneath her. “Come tell Em all about it.”

  Frowning, I folded my arms, not sitting yet. “You aren’t mad at me anymore?”

  She sighed, rubbing her face. “No,” she answered decisively. “I overreacted and blew things out of proportion. Obviously, you really are engaged to this August guy. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be dragging him around everywhere. I would expect anyone you shared that kind of relationship with to know things about me.”

  “I’m sorry I sprung him on you,” I hurried to say. “And that he brought everything up so suddenly.”

  She held up a hand. “I’m the one who needs to apologize, Olive. I threw a fit and took forever to get over it.” Snorting, she rubbed her face. “I was ready to come home after a day, but I was so worried you didn’t want me here that I stayed away.”

  “Oh, Em.” My features fell as I sat beside her, melting into the couch and the comfort of her presence. “No. You are always welcome, even if we tried to kill each other.”

  That made her laugh, her posture relaxing further as she propped her elbow on the loveseat and rested her head in her hand. “Good to know. Now, what’s going on with you?”

  Staring into her eyes, I felt the truth bubbling up inside me, fighting to break free and confide absolutely each piece of it in her. Fear struggled to hold it back, forcing it down, scolding it for trying. Then, in the darkest corner of my mind, hope lit up, whispering I had nothing to lose if she didn’t hear me out. August was already on the warpath, trying to put history together. Telling Emilia the truth could help me if she believed me enough to be on my side.

  The story was outlandish, though, and would be hard to swallow. Maybe, if I tweaked a few things, I could tell her the truth without actually sharing it.

  Swallowing hard, I adjusted my position on the couch, settling in for the long haul. “I had this crazy dream,” I whispered, my mouth going dry. “And it didn’t make any sense. If you hear me out though, I promise I’ll explain the best that I can.”

  Concern covered her face. “A dream has you this upset?”

  Shaking my head, I sucked in a deep breath. Then, haltingly, I began to share the truth of my past with her. It was easier to start with the accident, expounding on what happened in the seventeen hundreds and how I’d returned.

  Surprisingly, she didn’t interrupt me, her features passive and calm, save her furrowed eyebrows. I could tell she was analyzing everything I said, though, looking for extra meanings since she believed it to be a dream. It wasn’t until I mentioned how everything had changed that she spoke up, a touch of disbelief in her tone.

  “What do you mean?” she pressed. “Different how?”

  Pursing my lips, I took a moment to breathe, knowing this part was going to be the hardest to hear. “Before . . . Before I traveled to the past in the dream, I mean—you and Dan were together. And Jacob was alive.”

  Her mouth snapped shut, eyes closing for a beat as she let out a long sigh through her nose. The statement had hit her hard, but I couldn’t tell if she was accepting it or getting pissed at me for bringing her family up again.

  “My parents were dead,” I continued, trying to fill in the silence as I ignored the panic filling me at her reaction. “And a few political things were different. Gabriel’s plan must have worked because the Mercers weren’t in control.”

  Staring at me, she folded her arms. “So, in your dream, you left this life, went to the past, and when you came back it was all just like it is now? You sound like you think that’s a bad thing? Is something going on in your life that you’re hiding from me?”

  “No,” I responded quickly. “It sounds crazy—”

  “More than crazy,” she agreed.

  Hesitating, I leaned away, trying to gather my scattered nerves that wanted nothing more than to run and pretend I’d shared nothing.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything,” I muttered. “But now August is gone, and I needed someone to talk to. It’s all so real to me. Like it actually happened.”

  Emilia sighed, rubbing her face. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing,” I pushed. “Just forget it.”

  “I’m not going to forget it, Olive.” Her hand grasped mine, a weak smile on her face. “What are best friends for, if not to share your weird dreams with? And even if it did happen—”

  “It did, Em,” I promised, my voice quiet. “It really did. I went back in time and fell in love with August, and when I came home, everything was ruined.” Tears filled my eyes as my grip tightened, the sorrow I’d shoved aside for how horrible her life had turned out surfacing at last. “Jacob was such a sweet little boy,” I muttered. “So full of life and light. You would call me, and I could hear him laughing in the background. When I spent Christmas with you, he shared his favorite books with me and told me to eat my vegetables.” Leaning over, I put my elbow on my knees, covering my eyes. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Emilia. I don’t know what I did, but I am so, so sorry. I could go and try to make it right, but I don’t understand how. I don’t get what I did.”

  There it was. The truth had finally broken free, surfacing with the guilt and sorrow I felt.

  I wasn’t aware of what I had done. Somehow, I was directly responsible for the loss of her child’s life. If I went back in time, there was no telling what I would need to do to set it all right. I could do everything in my power to make sure life turned out exactly how it was, and I could still screw it up.

  Going back in time could make it worse. How many more families would I destroy? How many parents would I steal from their children? In my attempts to right history, how many lives would become null and void because I thought I had a right to mess with them?

  I thought I’d cried everything out before, but the tears kept coming. Big, fat droplets of moisture cascaded through my fingers, dripping onto my lap, my shoulders shaking as I sobbed and sobbed.

  “I’m so sorry, Em,” I muttered.

  “Olivia.”

  Surprised at the amount of feeling in her voice, I looked up into her tear-filled eyes, shocked to see the acceptance on her face. Before I could say anything, she’d pulled me into another tight embrace, holding me as we both cried, our sobs petering out into sniffles and throat clearings a few moments later.

  Breaking apart, I stood and grabbed the box of tissues off the kitchen counter, bringing them to her and taking one for myself.

  As she shook her head, she grabbed one and wiped under her eyes, confusion mixed with the understanding. “It was just a dream,” she whispered. “A wonderful, terrible, crazy dream. Maybe Jacob was showing you what could have been, yeah? Or you had some bad Mexican food or something. Let it go and move on with life, okay?”

  Nodding, I wiped my face, disappointed that my sharing hadn’t helped as much as I’d hoped. I still felt like I was lying to her, which made me fe
el even worse about the child she’d lost.

  Before she could say anything else, her phone buzzed on the table. Glancing over, she frowned. “Who is messaging me in the middle of the night?” Reaching over the couch, she grabbed the device, staring at the screen. “It’s Dan,” she said in surprise, staring at me. “He’s asking me to dinner tomorrow.”

  Several pounds lifted from my shoulders. Apparently, my attempt to get them to meet with each other earlier had worked. Dan was reaching out. It couldn’t have come at a better time.

  My resolve to try and set things right strengthened. A chance remained for my best friends to find happiness. I could fix their relationship and repair what Time had torn asunder, all without traveling.

  If August was going to do what he thought was best, then I should too, shouldn’t I? It was frustrating, realizing we were working against each other now, but I knew more about my life than he did, and therefore had a better chance of setting it right.

  Breathing deeply, I looked at the crumpled letter on the floor, accepting we would eventually meet again. He’d said he would return. We would have to see where we stood when that happened.

  Scooting closer, I leaned my head on Emilia’s shoulder.

  “What do I say?” she asked, showing me the waiting keyboard.

  Smiling, I closed my eyes. “Say yes,” I muttered. “You and Dan are supposed to be together. Time knows it. I know it. You know it. We’ll work on the rest as it comes.”

  Bitter cold snapped at the tips of my ears and nose, seeking to steal what little warmth I’d managed to burrow around myself. The chunky scarf wrapped around my mouth and neck was worn thin, but, combined with my heavy, brown jacket and cap, it was enough to keep me from feeling thoroughly frozen. Not for the first time, I found myself wishing for the expertly threaded stockings of the future, dreaming of toes that remained toasty as my knee-high boots slushed through the mud and muck of the New York City streets. It had become so unbearably cold that the Hudson was frozen from side to side, unfortunate individuals attempting to traverse its slick surface each day.

  Darkness pushed in on all sides, even more snow than we’d received since the year began sprinkling from the sky. Every now and then I heard a cough from the houses, curtained windows hiding glowing hearths and candles, as well as the people cowering from the elements inside. A few slaves remained outside, desperate to finish their work and retire for the evening. Some headed from the prison in the park, their visit with whoever was incarcerated ended at sundown.

  As a pair of them hurried by, I heard them whispering in hushed tones and thick accents about someone with the pox, causing me to instinctively lean away. The sickness was running rampant, nearly every building sheltering at least one unfortunate individual. I considered myself lucky to have remained in good health, through the extra precautions I’d learned in the twenty-first century—washing my hands regularly, for the most part.

  Eight weeks. Eight weeks I had been here, blending into seventeen forty-one, keeping my head down, and second-guessing my decision to leave Olivia in the future without saying goodbye.

  This was not the city I’d known in Olivia’s time. In the future, it would be a vast metropolis, filled with budding minds and opportunity, as well as buildings so tall they appeared to touch the heavens. Millions lived there, rushing every which way, creating a center for arts and economy that rivaled the creations of my wildest imaginings.

  Now, it was nothing more than an overgrown village with a couple thousand people. It reeked of sickness and filth, there was hardly enough food or provisions for everyone, and there was a constant state of unrest over fears of a Spanish or French invasion, not to mention a possible budding slave rebellion.

  It was the last of those things that had brought me here—well, Charlotte Mercer here. The imprisoned were rising up in other provinces, tales of a bloody revolt in the Caribbean frightening all those without colored skin. Sometime soon, it would reach a head in the city, and the young woman had traveled through time to observe it in person. If what I was told was correct, the incident would be mostly forgotten by history, leaving many questions for those who wished to understand it better.

  Whereas Gabriel and his father were in the business of changing the past, Charlotte and her mother wished to preserve it without bias. When they first began traveling, it was to quietly take notes and watch history unfold undisturbed. Over time, their mission became skewed by the intentions of their male line.

  Breathing a sigh through my scarf, I glanced ahead, looking for the inn I knew was only a few buildings down. I’d procured a room there when I first arrived, but spent the days making myself busy with menial tasks, so as to not draw more attention to myself than necessary.

  Most of the work I did was at the barracks, brushing down horses. Despite the fact I was not currently acting as a soldier, it was among my brothers at arms that I felt the most relaxed. It had seemed like I would be more comfortable in a time before I was born than one so far ahead of my own, but that turned out to be wishful thinking. No matter what I did, I felt out of place and as if I were doing something wrong. The work also helped to keep my mind off the future and the mistakes I’d made there.

  Leaving Olivia had been the hardest thing I’d ever done. There was no time to say goodbye, no chance to explain why I so desperately felt I needed to set everything right. I’d been refusing to push her, without realizing I was putting myself closer to the edge with each passing second. It was the revelation that we were both missing from the past that drove me to hasty action. In the two months since we’d last seen each other, I remained steadfast in my resolve to set things right. However, I wished I’d at least spoken with her in person. The blow of my departure was surely more stinging coming from Miss Mercer. Unfortunately, the time loops were on their own schedule, and I was forced to heed it.

  An uncomfortable feeling began to brew in my stomach as I thought of my past and future travels. Miss Mercer—Charlotte, as she’d asked me to call her—had left me with a device that would listen for sound markers and a map to where other loops could be found. Unable to come with me because she had already been to this time, she’d given me everything she thought I would require, as well as instructions on how to get back to her and Olivia. I was going to have to go through two extra loops, spending an additional week in the early thirteenth century, before I would be able to hold my love again.

  Nudging my anxieties aside, I allowed myself a self-indulgent beat to think of Olivia without any outside measures pressed upon me. The remembering of her lips on mine, her body breathing against me as we slid together beneath soft sheets, quickly placed me in an area of discomfort. My pining for her was like that of a flower denied the sunlight it needed to survive.

  It was more than lusting for her that hurt me, though. The intimate memories of our relationship were near and dear to my heart, but none were so precious as that of the sound of her voice, or her laughter echoing through the trees. I often found myself picturing her beside the creek on the Anderson farm, her hands darting over paper, fingers dipped in the paints I’d made for her. I lay in bed at night, imagining the way her eyes would light up when they saw me, praising the curve of her cheek, dreaming of her long locks between my fingers as she read some fanciful story to me.

  I missed her companionship and love dearly, feeling as if I’d not only abandoned her in my quest but that I’d left a part of myself behind.

  I did not know how much longer I would be able to survive without it.

  The door to my inn materialized before me, and I knocked my boots on the siding, kicking off what snow and mud I could before entering.

  “Evening,” the innkeeper said from his chair before the fire, puffing away on his pipe.

  “Good evening,” I replied warmly, removing my scarf and hanging it on the hook beside the door. “How’s the tobacco?”

  The elderly man made a noncommittal grunt, reading through the daily leaflet printed by a local shop.
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  “Any news?” I pressed, desperately wishing for some company besides my own for a change.

  “Just more negroes caught stealin’,” he replied, burrowing further into his seat as a sign of wishful solitude.

  Nodding, I chewed on my lip. It appeared everything was happening according to plan.

  “Very well.” I sighed, heading toward the hall and my room at the end of it. “I should like to give you early notice. My stay will be ending within the week.”

  Surprised, the innkeeper looked over at me, his glasses sliding down his nose as he glanced over the top rim. “Is everything not to your liking?”

  Holding my hands up, I laughed, shaking my head. “Not at all, good sir,” I assured him. “Alas, my time in New York is coming to an end. That is all. I have quite enjoyed your accommodations and will recommend you warmly to anyone asking.”

  The old man grinned, easily charmed, and nodded. “Very well. I thank ye for letting me know.”

  Taking my leave, I hurried away, shutting myself in my room and pulling out the calendar I’d been given by Charlotte.

  March eighth was circled in red, the words “Fort George” written in the same color. In only three days’ time, the building would be burned to the ground, and the slaves of the city would take the blame.

  And a young Charlotte Mercer, unaware of who I was or what my story entailed, would be there to watch it unfold.

  My days of waiting were almost over.

  As the minutes slowly ticked closer to the evening of interest, I found myself compulsively going over every item carefully packaged and brought with me. The listening device that was supposed to hear the singing of time loops had a number of lights and levers on it, giving the simple machine an overcomplicated look. I’d kept it carefully bundled in my clothing for the second era I would be visiting, hoping no one would find cause to rifle through my things and name me as some kind of witch.

  My thoughts returned to Olivia often, wondering if she had felt as out of place and—at times—frightened as I did here. It was strange to know the future and say nothing. Many wars would ravage this land over the centuries. While it was unlikely that one person could say or do anything to change that, I often shied away from the idea that I was in the wrong by keeping my silence.