by Holly Hook
“Actually, that's a great idea,” I say, The song changes to one about driving around all day. It's Oldies night. Monica hangs out here at the Branch quite often. If we're lucky, she might be here, playing the dance game with her boyfriend, Trey. I remember the time he tried to jump around on it and laugh.
I glance around the premises. The skate floor is clearing. The clock on the wall tells us it's a little past nine at night in its red numbers. We're two hours from closing. A couple plays Skee-ball over in the arcade area, and another boy—the one in the yellow shirt--gets frustrated on that impossible Stacker game. Above him, a bunch of photos of the winners—I've always suspected they aren't really real—smile out at him with their amazing prizes.
“Do you see her?” Simon asks. “She might not be here tonight. We might have to go to Nancy's.”
I keep looking. There's a group of girls over at one of the round tables in the pizza area. I recognize one of them right away. It's Shauna, the girl that Monica used to be friends with in this time. She's sitting next to a tall guy that must be the possessive boyfriend that caused her to abandon everyone else she knew. She's not the best person to ask about Monica, but it's worth a shot.
I glance down at my dress again and sigh. We're going to stand out so badly here unless I come up with an excuse. A play, then. We're from another school, and we just got done rehearsing for a play. But which play? I'll think of that when the time comes. Monica used to go to this other school and I'm looking for her because we're childhood friends.
I walk up to Shauna's table. I'm nervous, which I know is ridiculous considering what I've been through already. “Hello,” I say, straightening out my skirt. “My name is Julia. I just want to ask you something.” I could look really stupid doing this.
“Yeah?” Shauna asks. She manages to take her gaze off her boyfriend, who leans back in his chair and studies me like I've just stepped off an alien spacecraft. The truth is much stranger.
“Do you know someone named Monica?”
She pulls out her phone and reads a text. “I do. Why?”
Now I'm beginning to see why Monica got so mad at her when I was here and why they stopped being friends. Shauna turns her gaze back to her boyfriend as if asking his permission for something. I remember Trey saying something about the guy being a jerk.
“I'm a friend from another school. We're doing a play. I wanted to ask if she wanted to take part in it. The thing is, I don't know where she lives now. I haven't been in touch with her in forever.” Simon's standing right behind me, silently backing me up. I feel the heat of his breath on my shoulder.
“She lives somewhere on the other side of town,” Shauna says. She's back to her phone. It's clear she wants me to go away.
“Is she still living in that house over on Maple Street?”
“Yes. That one. The foster kid house.” She types on her phone, refusing to face me.
I want to reach out and smack Shauna across the face. I hold back. There are penalties here for that sort of thing. Stiff penalties. But at least I know where to go. “Thanks. Was she here tonight?”
“She was, I think. But she left three hours ago all upset about something. All she does is chores. I don't get it. Really, you're wasting your time trying to find her.”
My blood surges. Does Monica even have any friends left in this version of the present that doesn't have me in it? Anyone to call a sister? Heat flows to my face and I know I need to leave before I cause a stir. I don't need any police called for a fight. “Did she go home?”
“Don't know.” Shauna shrugs.
“You know,” I say. “Monica's a really nice person and deserves a better friend than you. One who won't abandon her and leave her with nobody.”
Shauna faces me. “What? You know what? I've known Monica a lot longer than you. I know what she's like.”
“Is that why you never talk to her anymore?” I realize what a hypocrite I am, since I've done more than just leave Monica on her own with her memories of her abusive father, always following behind her like a shadow. I'm projecting it all on someone else. “Is that why your entire world is this guy here who, by the way, is staring down at his phone like you're not even there?”
Simon puts his hand on my shoulder. “We should go.”
I let him pull me away from Shauna. She stares after me, flabbergasted. I head for the door of the Branch as the song changes again to some electric one I'll never guess the name of. I pen the door and head out into the dark. I'm furious. Livid.
“Well, we know that Monica is still here,” Isabel says. “That's good.”
“I have to know what she's upset about,” I say. “I need to see her. Once we do that, we can leave.” I don't want to go. I spent a fantastic year here with Nancy and her, having weekly movie nights and lots of fun skating and confiding in each other. I don't remember Monica being upset or sad very often. She should be here tonight, enjoying herself. This isn't right.
“This way,” I say, realizing that's about the tenth time I've said that tonight.
“Do you remember where Monica lives?” Isabel asks. “Are you sure it's the same house? It could have changed.”
Why is she asking me this question? “You should know,” I say. “You lived here in Trenton for at least a year like I did. You know where Nancy lives.”
“I know,” Isabel says. “But what if history's changed and she lives in another building?”
“Shauna mentioned the same street we were on before.”
Isabel sighs and walks in front of us. I can't help but let some anger flare up. What is her problem?
“Isabel,” I ask. “Do you know something?”
Her face is long in the dark. “No,” she says. “But you saw how sick Time was. Things could be very messed up.” Her voice is shaking.
We turn the corner to my street some time later. Or what used to be my street. A lone streetlight is on right across the way from Nancy's. It shines yellow on the pavement and illuminates a perfectly mowed lawn. There's not a single weed growing up along the sidewalk. Nancy has been doing an even better job on the yard than I remember.
An uneasy feeling fills my gut and I walk faster. This is the right address, all right, but the shutters are painted black instead of blue. The purple curtain in Monica's window is gone, replaced with a plain white one. The shrubs are trimmed into rectangles rather than circles. Instead of the silver sedan I remember, there's a black SUV parked in the driveway. Maybe some things have changed after all.
Someone's left a bike leaning up against the garage. That's odd. Neither me nor Monica ever rode a bike here in Trenton. I've ridden plenty of them back in my original time, but never here. We always walked to school and back. Perhaps Nancy has taken in another teenager since I'm not here, and they're into sports. Hence the SUV.
“Is this right?” Simon asks. He glances at Isabel as if she has the answers. “Is Monica even here?”
“I don't know.”
I stare at the sidewalk. Someone's drawn on it with sidewalk chalk. It's a little girl holding hands with what must be her mother. Are there more foster kids here? It would make sense that if I'm not here, Nancy must have taken in at least two more, a young one and an older one. They're filling the void that I left. I'm glad, at least, that some other kids are receiving her love.
“I say we should knock.” It's getting colder outside and the kitchen light's on, leaving a faint yellow glow through the curtains. Someone moves around inside. “We can say that we're selling something.”
“That's the fastest way to get the door slammed in our faces,” Simon says. “I say we just peek through the windows. See if Nancy and Monica are okay.”
“Good idea.” I'm not comfortable seeing Nancy face-to-face as a stranger, or the confused look she'd give me instead of a hug. I don't know if I can take that.
One peek, I decide. Then we'll leave as soon as we know that they're all right. Maybe Monica has another new sister to talk with about how Shauna's being such
a jerk. One she can confide in. One she can take comfort in.
The kitchen curtains are open just a little, and it's dark enough so that we might not get seen if we walk across the yard. As long as no one peeks out the window, we should be fine. I head across the yard and glance into the kitchen.
Monica's there. She's opening the fridge and pulling out some pasta sauce. It's so normal that I have to take comfort in it. She's alive, at least.
Then a boy a couple years younger than us walks into the room and takes his turn at the fridge. He pulls out some milk. There's a pot boiling in the stove and everything's neat and tidy inside. He heads over and puts a pan on the stove. They're cooking something. I don't remember Monica ever cooking anything. Nancy always handled that.
Monica says something to the boy. He has blond hair and dark half-moons under his eyes like he hasn't slept in several days. He nods and points to the cabinet. Monica grabs something out of it. She's not smiling.
“It looks like she's here,” Isabel says. She backs away from the window. “I think we can go.”
“I haven't seen Nancy yet. What are you hiding? I mean, no offense, but--”
Then a man walks into the kitchen and asks the kids something. He's a tall man with perfect posture, gray-blond hair, and a pointed nose that reminds me of shark.
It's someone I've seen before.
On the Wilhelm Gustloff.
It's Isabel's father, the sadistic Nazi.
Chapter Eight
My heart about stops.
The Nazi murderer is standing here in Nancy's place, directing things in the kitchen like it's no big deal. How did he get here? Why? What is he doing with these foster kids? I don't get it. I turn to Isabel, but she's shrinking away from us.
“What?” I manage. It's so gross, so disgusting to see him here instead of Nancy. It's so wrong. The last I saw this guy, he was in World War Two Germany and we were diving through the restaurant rift as he opened the bathroom door. It doesn't make any sense for him to have wound up here. I know none of the Timeless would have put him in Nancy's house. They like to take people back to their original times, not help them take grand tours of others.
There's only one explanation, then.
“Isabel,” I ask. “How did this happen?”
She swallows.
I turn back to the kitchen. Isabel's father is at the sink, inspecting it. He pulls out one dish and holds it up, facing Monica and her foster brother. His mouth moves and he stiffens, gesticulating with the dish. He's yelling. I can believe that. Monica shrinks back into the fridge and the boy moves to stand in front of her. I wonder if he's going to lift a fist.
“Monica, run,” I beg through the glass. “Get out of here.”
But she doesn't. Instead, she flattens herself against the fridge and doesn't dare look away. It's like she's taken many, many of these verbal thrashings before and she's just waiting for it to be over. It's horrible to watch. Isabel's father is being such a jerk to these kids. Maybe he thinks they're subhuman or something. I wouldn't put it past him.
Then he does raise a fist.
The boy moves closer to Monica and faces him down. He lifts both hands as he speaks like he's trying to calm Isabel's father. The two talk for another minute, and then Isabel's father jabs a finger at the kids, turns, and walks away.
Monica stays there, catching her breath. The boy moves over and wraps his arm around her, pulling her into a hug. I'm glad to see that. At least Monica's entire world hasn't shattered. At least she has someone.
Nancy would never allow this. Ever.
I turn away from the window. I'm furious. I grab Isabel by the arm and pull her back towards the street. She doesn't resist. It's as if she's waiting for her punishment. We get over to the tree line and I face her. Simon follows. He has no words. Isabel's face is a pale oval in the darkness and the streetlight barely illuminates her.
“I need answers,” I say. “Something got messed up, and you knew about it. Please. I don't want to be mad about this. But we're supposed to be friends and we're not supposed to hide things like this from each other.” I grit my teeth and let go of her. If we didn't depend on each other for survival, I would murder her right here. My pulse hammers under my skin. Isabel should have told us about this right when we got our memories back. This is important. This is Monica and Nancy.
What happened to Nancy?
This is her house. She should be here.
“I couldn't do it,” Isabel manages, backing towards the trees. “I couldn't. I know I should have.” She's close to tears.
I can't help but feel bad for her--a little. “Do what?” I ask.
“Yes,” Simon adds. “What? Did you run into your father in the Hub or something? He must have gone through the rift in the restaurant bathroom if he wound up here in Nancy's time.”
“I did,” she says. “Let me explain. I know I messed things up very badly. I was going to come back here and fix it after I saved the two of you." Isabel takes a breath. “Right after the Chronophages...right after the Chronophages ate the Timeless versions of yourselves, I ran for the 1912 rift to get you guys back. But before I got there, my father stopped me in one of the corridors. I couldn't get past him. He wrapped me in a hug. He did see us vanish in the bathroom and then he came through the rift after us.”
“Huh?” Now I'm more confused than anything. “What?”
“That rift shouldn't have lasted too long,” Simon says. “We opened it. It should have lasted just long enough for us to go through.”
“With two of you opening it, it must have lasted a few minutes. Long enough for him to search the bathroom and stand in it by mistake,” she says. “I'm surprised the waiter in that restaurant didn't come through, too. He could have. That would have been an even bigger mess.”
"So what happened after that?" I ask. I don't stand too close to Isabel in case I want to shove her back or something. I have to let her tell her story. That's what I keep repeating to that rage burning through me. I have to let her get it out.
“I was trapped in his hug,” Isabel explains. She glances at the house and back again. The kitchen light's still on. I wonder if Monica and that boy are still cooking and cleaning for that guy. I wonder if they're even muttering amongst themselves about what a Nazi he is, not realizing how right they are.
“So?” I prompt.
Isabel's chin wobbles. “I was going to stab him. With Arnelia's hair clip,” she says. “It was sharp enough. And then, I tried to stab him. But the wing wouldn't go through his skin. I didn't know that Arnelia had designed her clip so it couldn't hurt mortals. Instead, my faster just looked at me in this way I will never forget. He knew what I tried to do. He asked me why I wanted to kill him and he sounded so hurt. I didn't know what else to do, so I led him to the only rift I could think of that was safe. I brought him here, to Trenton, and broke into a clothing store and made him change out of his uniform. There was no way I could try to kill him again.”
“Why Trenton?” I ask. I stretch my mind, trying to understand.
Isabel holds her hands up. “I don't know why I chose Trenton. I had hoped to leave him here where he'd never come near my family ever again. He doesn't remember who he is. Time wiped his memory when he came here. You have to understand that. As far as my father knows, he's only a man whose first memory is of waking up in the back of a retail store. If I remember right, I brought him through a Trenton rift that appeared in this town three or four years ago."
“He's been here for a few years?” Simon explodes. “How much damage has he done?”
“It looks like he remembers the fact that he's a jerk,” I say. The anger's rising up again and I sense a fight unless we resolve this, and now. "Was he ever like that to you and your sister?"
"Not always," Isabel says. "I took him to the homeless shelter in town after I'd gotten him some new clothes. I thought he would just blend into life here, learn English, and lead a normal life like everyone else. I even used a couple of later Trenton
rifts to check on him, to make sure he hadn't done anything terrible to anyone. He behaved and learned your language. He got a job as a security guard at the mall. But right after he got his job, he wound up meeting Nancy who was volunteering at his shelter. The two of them started dating and he moved in with her.”
Now I'm ready to explode. “That...that Nazi dated my foster mother?”
"I didn't know that would happen!" Isabel holds up her hands. "I tried to stop it. I knew you didn't want that. I tried to break them up. I even tried to make it look like he'd had an affair with another woman, but none of it worked. But he never caused any trouble like this. He wasn't cruel to the foster kids. I don't know why that's changed now. I know this is a disaster and you are right if you hate me. I just wanted to throw him somewhere where he would never hurt anyone again.”
“It looks like he's hurting my sister,” I say. “My sister. Thanks, Isabel. I thought we were friends.”
“We are. I swear, I did not plan any of this.”
“You didn't have to bring him to Trenton.” I know she saved my life and all, but I can't forgive this. Isabel could have shoved her father into any random rift.
“The Trenton rift was the closest one that I knew,” she says. “I had to get him away from me. He...he was going to hurt me if I didn't act quickly. I didn't want to take the chance of putting him somewhere where he could say, get a hold of the technology in Arnelia's world or something.”
My anger begins to cool.
Her father actually wanted to hurt her?
“Oh,” I say. “Why didn't you say so?”
“Julia.” Simon puts his hand on my shoulder lead leads me into the trees, out of Isabel's earshot. “Think for a minute. What would you have done, if you found out your father did something horrible? Would you have stabbed him? Would you have been able to? And if you had, would you be able to face him after that?”
“I don't know.” My father's not a killer, at least.
“Think about it. Would you have been able to stab him?”
