by Holly Hook
"It sucked." I pick at my roast, trying to think of some diversion.
"And how was it…bad?" Nancy asks. Leave it to her to never say sucked.
There's no way out of it now. "We had a kid go in the pond today. Someone opened the gate to the neighbor's house and he got through.”
Nancy gasps. Monica stops spearing the green beans on her plate.
I suddenly want to spill everything. But can I? Nancy really thinks my file is real. Even Monica does. How can I possibly explain all the rest? I can't even understand it.
"Is the boy okay?" Nancy asked.
"Yeah. His mom was mad, though. I don’t think she's bringing him back." Eric’s mother, of course, held us both at fault for the pond incident after hugging her son so tight she nearly smothered him. She said nothing to us when she left and didn't respond to Peggy's goodbyes. I won't be able to ask Eric anything else about what happened. I have all the information I need and that’s the fact that Frank’s disgusting on every level. And worse, he won’t stop at anything to send me back to whatever’s going to kill me. What if he comes after Monica next? Nancy?
I'm not going to let that happen.
"I'm sorry to hear that your day went like that," Nancy says. "Maybe you should stay home tonight. Lie down. I'll make you some hot tea."
"Sounds good." A plan's hatching in my head and it doesn't involve going out with Monica tonight.
I can't sit here and wait for Frank to come after me again. Simon wants me to stay here, sit around, and try to remember my life. I'm not waiting any longer. The coin's not enough of a clue. Neither is that note or the fact that I might have a little brother somewhere in the past, screaming for me.
Trey picks up Monica a few minutes later. I barely even hear Nancy putting Trey through another inspection. He must pass it, because his car pulls out of our driveway a couple of minutes later. I retreat to my room, feeling like I've deserted my friends.
I'll go out with them next time.
I have to make sure I can.
That thought alone gets me to my room in a few heartbeats.
My room's still trashed. I push rubbish to the side and get on the computer. Frank's address must be somewhere. I'm going to demand answers out of him. He must live somewhere around here. He said he moved to the East Side.
Even without Monica here, I manage to navigate to Facebook after taking a minute to remember how the Internet search works. Just as I expected, Frank smiles out at me from his page. It takes me ten more minutes to figure it out, but I find his photo album and scroll through. There's a picture of him standing with Isabel on a ritzy front porch with hanging plants and lion statues. Frank smiles out from under his mop of dark hair and Isabel's blond mane shines in the sun. They both look happy. He added this picture yesterday, I notice. There's another with him and Isabel on a leather couch together. Frank has his arm over her shoulder and she rests her head on his chest. That one, he added this afternoon.
I can't help but bristle. It's what Wendy and her gang would expect one of their own to do. Dump the poor foster girl at the dance and leap right into the arms of one of the Snob Squad, then post it publicly for all to see. It's so normal and East Side that nobody in town except me will suspect that all this was nothing more than a cruel joke. It's Frank and Isabel's cover to hide the truth behind what happened on Friday night.
I know better. I scroll back to the picture of the porch. I look past Frank's arm and at the number by the door, hanging there in gold:
1137.
His address.
It's got to be on Sycamore Street where all the big houses are. I've got him.
* * * * *
Getting out the window's the easy part. I wait until Nancy goes to bed, which doesn't take very long.
Nancy keeps a metal baseball bat in the front closet in case someone tries to break in. It might not do a lot of good against golden-eyed time police, but I don't have anything else unless I want to throw one of Nancy's model ships at him. It beats going unarmed and it beats waiting for death. Simon would beg me not to do this. I'm sure of it. But can I really trust him?
He should have told me everything no matter how much Peggy yelled at me.
Still, I would much rather go and find Simon, but I don't know where he lives. This is my only choice.
The night air's cool and I regret not wearing a jacket as soon as I close my window behind me. It's too late to go back in now. I break into a run across the lawn and stay on the side of the street shrouded in darkness. I'm so furious about Eric and everything else that I don't care that I'm doing something stupid.
The East Side is across town. I pat my pocket to make sure I still have my cell phone with me. I go over how to dial it in my head as I jog to the end of the street. I've used it maybe three times since I arrived here and once I accidentally dialed the fire station while trying to reach Nancy. Monica and I still laugh about that.
I might never see her again.
The thought strikes me as I pass the Seven Eleven, dart across the street, and meet smooth, white sidewalk. Huge houses loom in front of me complete with rock gardens, spotlights and perfect shrubs in the shape of elephants. What am I doing? I'm one normal girl trying to go up against some strange time police. I have a baseball bat and that's it. Frank and Isabel can summon rifts.
I stop in front of the first big house and duck on the other side of a square shrub. Someone walks in front of the window. Its number is 1115. That's clear from the mailbox. I'm almost there.
But I have to be careful that no one sees me. A girl with a baseball bat walking around in the middle of the night will get the police called in no time.
I can turn and go back. I should wait to talk to Simon tomorrow. But then I remember what he said earlier. I'm sorry I can't tell you more. Maybe he doesn't have the answers after all.
And if I turn back now, I'll never get up the bravery again to go after the answers myself.
Onward.
House number 1123. House number 1128. My heart pounds. Frank and Isabel are close.
House number 1137.
I'm here.
The house looks like all the others except for the lion statues out front and the hanging plants. This is it, all right.
The driveway leads all the way up to the garage and the lights are all off except for the one that I'm guessing is the kitchen. Someone is still awake here and I have no idea how I'm going to approach this. At least the outside lights are off. But what if Frank and Isabel have some kind of security system with cameras, like in that one film I watched with Nancy and Monica a few weeks ago? They're possible in this time.
I slip into the yard and give the driveway a wide berth. It's dark here, which is good for me. I tighten my grip on the baseball bat. The light from the kitchen window casts a square on the grass, turning it bright, perfect green. My pulse roars in my ears. A voice floats out. It's muffled as the window's still shut.
“I don't like this,” Isabel says. I recognize her accent, the way she pronounces her th's like z's sometimes. “...hard for me to deal with...isn't fair. I quit.”
“We can't,” Frank says. “Time will wake up and punish us.”
“I know this. I don't care.”
I press closer to the house. They have no idea I'm here. Maybe I won't have to break in or confront Frank. The truth could spill any second.
“Isabel...” Frank says something else but he's moving away.
Isabel's shouting now. “I'm done! I'm finished being the bad guy.”
“So is that what I am?” Frank asks. His voice rises. “We're just doing our duties. You know that.”
“Do I really need to explain again why I can't do this assignment anymore?” Isabel slams a door. “Go to bed, Frank. I'll join you in a while. I need to be alone for a bit.”
Frank caves. “I understand. I don't want this to be hard on you.”
There's another door opening and shutting. This one's louder, more clear.
It's the front door
.
Isabel's come outside.
The kitchen light shuts off and I hear only silence until a car drives past.
I suck in a breath. It looks like I'm alone here with Isabel somewhere in the yard. Do Frank and Isabel live here by themselves? How did they manage that after not even living in Trenton for a full year? Maybe they threw the previous owners into rifts.
Still, I'd much rather face Isabel than Frank. I can always run if I need to. Isabel might be more willing than Frank to tell me what's going on here. She didn't seem too happy at the dance to be sending me back. It almost even appeared that she wanted me to escape. I might have a chance.
I find her sitting on the steps between the two lion statues, staring out into the night. She's wearing a long silk nightgown, a green one that almost matches the shade of her dress.
“Isabel,” I whisper.
She jumps and looks up at me. Stands.
“Julia, are you crazy?” she asks. Her mouth falls open but her eyes stay their normal shade. “Get out of here. Run.”
I take a step closer. I almost feel bad about carrying the baseball bat with me. Keeping it down, I stare right at her. “Not without answers. I want to know where I'm really from.”
“You may be better off not knowing what you'll be going back to,” she says. Isabel peeks at the dark window behind her. “Frank doesn't sleep much. If he finds you out here I won't be able to stop you from going back.”
“--which is why you need to tell me right now,” I say.
Footsteps approach from within the house. Isabel stands and faces me. “Run back home and go to bed, Julia. Forget about this.”
“No,” I say, even though I am ready to run. “You're going to--”
The kitchen light turns back on.
“Then I'll make you,” she says. Something about her gaze makes me dizzy. “Run home. Go to bed. Forget.”
* * * * *
April 5
"Julia!" Simon screams as we plunge.
I reach out to him, but the night air jackknifes between us and pushes me away.
Light flashes past. One light or a row, I can't tell. Everything's tilting.
Simon's fingers brush mine only to be pulled away again. The gold explodes behind him, and he's zipping away into the glittery portal.
It closes.
Simon's gone.
I'm alone. Left here to die.
I strike bottom as all my breath explodes from my lungs--
--and I open my eyes.
It's dark. I’m freezing. My blankets lie over me and my curtains are shut. The only sound in the whole house is the grumpy rattle of the heater vent in the floor. Warmth. I know it's filling the room, but it can't reach me through the icy coating on my skin. My fingers sting and ache. My teeth clatter together. There’s no stopping the tremors as my body fights for that vital heat.
“Simon,” I manage.
But he’s not here. He’s somewhere else while I’m lying in my room, recovering from the most real nightmare I’ve had in my memory. I can still feel the wind snapping against my clothes.
I haven’t dreamt about that scene before. At least, not like this.
I lift my head from my pillow.
2:20 a.m.
The time reads clear on my alarm clock.
It’s the same time I woke up on Nancy’s porch almost one year ago.
I sit up and hug my legs, willing my heart to slow down to normal, willing the sobs to stay down. I wobble as the first flush of heat returns to my skin. The mattress presses into my butt. I couldn't feel it until now.
I blink. I don't remember going to bed. For some reason there's Nancy's baseball bat sitting up against my door like I'm waiting for an intruder to burst in. Something about stirs something in me, but it's gone the moment it came.
Whatever’s happening is getting worse by the day.
I flop back into bed and close my eyes as heat returns to my body. Frank and Isabel's scary gold eyes follow me into the shadows.
* * * * *
Monica peers hard at what I'm sure are the bags under my eyes as I enter the kitchen in the morning. They feel like droopy marshmallows when I poke at them.
"Okay. Tell me what's wrong," Monica demands as she opens the fridge to retrieve the jug of orange juice. She sets in on the counter hard enough to make he juice slop around inside. I have the feeling that she's looking right into the jumble of thoughts happening inside of me.
I need to tell her what I can. She kind of opened up to me yesterday. We need to be honest with each other.
"I had a horrible nightmare last night," I blurt before I can stop myself. And why do I have the feeling that there's more to it than that, that something else must have happened, too? “I think I was sleepwalking. I woke up with Nancy's baseball bat in my room.”
The tension in the room lifts. The fridge door swings all the way closed with a gentle thump. Monica's shoulders fall slowly as she lets out her breath.
"Is that all?" The relief in her voice pours out of her. "Here I was thinking that Frank was stalking you or something or that Isabel's trying to do something to get you in trouble. You know, for trying to go out with her boyfriend." She bites her lip for a second, smearing her purple lipstick. "Sorry. Didn't mean to say it that way."
"Hey, we all slip up." I couldn't care less about Frank in that way anymore. "I keep dreaming that I'm falling and I'm going to die. I think it's from a building. It's got light on in it. All I can hear is people screaming. And it's just so freaking cold."
There. It's off my chest. I’ve never told anyone about that memory before.
Monica relaxes her grip on the handle of the orange juice jug. "So that's what's making you lose sleep. I get nightmares sometimes, too. Mostly about my dad." Her face clouds with pain and she looks at the stove.
“I understand,” I say. She's still not ready to really talk about it and I'm not going to make her.
"I don't know what mine's even about," I say. "I mean, if I'd fallen from a building before I wouldn't be here today. Unless I fell off some monkey bars when I was two and just don’t remember." Forcing a smile, I shrug. "Maybe it's a symbol or something. Do you have that dream book we were flipping through that one time? Can I borrow it?” I'm running out of ideas. I know I should try to hunt Frank and Isabel down, but something tells me that's not a good idea.
"I think I still do. Well, my good one. The one based on Freud's stuff, well, let's just say almost every dream meaning revolves around one topic that isn't G-rated."
I nod. "Okay. I get it. Thanks." A big part of me has the feeling that the nightmare—no, memory—is no symbol. It's too real. Visceral. I'm there.
And I know that in one way or another, I’ll go back.
Chapter Six
Simon's not in the halls.
Neither is he in my first class or by my locker between classes. I check the Center and stand there, waiting for him to show through the drop-off doors. I peer down the art hallway and past sloppy paintings of trees with faces and sculptures of monkeys. I even check down the dusty hallway that leads back to the sports storage rooms, but he's not there.
Of course, he could just have classes that don't put him in my path until the end of the day. The only time of day I see Trey is during third hour and lunch, so it's not impossible. But a panic monster hatches inside me by time lunch approaches. It grows bigger and bigger, eating the calm inside and leaving me less to hold onto. Simon might've just showed up yesterday to warn me. He could have left. I might be on my own to figure all this out after all. He could just be another clue like that penny that doesn’t help me enough.
But his desperation yesterday tells a different story.
At lunch I take my place across from Monica and Trey near the window, picking at the food on the tray. I'm far from hungry but I know I should eat before Monica and Nancy start worrying that I have an eating disorder. I’m already a bit too skinny. I take a bite of dry meatloaf. Force it down.
Thankful
ly Monica says nothing about my nightmare in front of Trey. She talks about last night at the Branch, our local inside skate park and arcade.
"I'm sick of Shauna ignoring everybody else now.” Monica lets her curly hair fall in her face as she stabs her meatloaf. "I mean, I have a boyfriend too, but that doesn't mean I'm going to desert my friends."
"I agree. That's not cool. That guy's a possessive jerk." Trey kisses Monica on the cheek and grins at me as if to say that the same thing won't happen here.
The word desert swirls through my head, getting louder and louder.
And the word Simon pops in right alongside it.
"Julia? You're way too quiet," Monica says. She's giving me a sideways glance. It's her fix-it mode. I've gotten that look so many times when I was struggling on the computers here, when I couldn't talk about my past, when I slipped into using old fashioned words. I wish she wouldn't do that so much. It makes me feel like some kind of project.
I have a save ready. "I'm looking for something." I lean over and dig in my backpack for the dream book. If Trey asks any questions, I can always tell him I'm just curious. I don't have to tell him about the 2:20 nightmare/memory. Maybe I'll even let him page through it for a bit.
The purple volume falls open on the table in front of me, unseating the tray from its place. The only thing I'm hungry for right now is answers. I try to make the pages turn in the most casual way that I can, always making sure that I'm getting closer to the F's.
“I'm doing a report on dream interpretation. Monica's helping me out with it some." I shoot her a look to tell her to keep my secret. She blinks slowly, letting me know that she gets it. It's the signal we worked out the second day in Computers.
There it is, just under my finger.
Falling.
Meaning: Out of control situation, fear of failure, anxiety. Possibly refers to fear of failure at work or school. Interpretation depends on other dream symbols present.
"That's not going to help you much."
