All Our Yesterdays

by Cristin Terrill

  “Because we have resources you won’t find at your university or in the private sector,” Richter says. “We think your research could have very real consequences for the world. Could help make things better.”

  Without knowing it, Richter has said the magic words. I look at James. His jaw has relaxed, the thin line of his lips softened. The uneasiness in my stomach turns into dread.

  “You’re not listening to this,” I say, turning far enough toward James that I can’t even see Richter out of the corner of my eye. I drop my voice. “Nate had a file on this guy, and I’m sure he had his reasons for not telling you he was asking questions about you.”

  “Marina’s right. If Nate thought you should work with him,” Finn adds, “he would have told you.”

  Richter leans back against the booth, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “Thanks, kids, but I think James understands the situation better than you do. I’d still like to work with you, James. I think you and I could make a great team.”

  “Let’s go,” I say, ignoring him. “Please.”

  “No, we still have a lot to discuss. Now that—” Richter reaches into his jacket pocket for his humming phone. “Excuse me, this may be important. I think you’ll want to stick around for this, James. Hello?”

  Richter stands and walks a few paces away from the table, talking quietly into his phone, and I use the opportunity to take James’s hand. “Come on. We’ll go to Director Nolan like you wanted to before. Something’s wrong here.”

  “Marina’s right, man,” Finn says. “This guy’s a creep. I don’t trust him.”

  James presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “You guys don’t understand. There’s more at stake here than—”

  “Then let us help you!” I say. “Or Director Nolan or the vice president or anyone else. Not him.”

  James wavers. I thread my fingers through his, ready to drag him out of the booth if I have to, when Richter hangs up his phone and turns to look at us.

  “James, we have your brother’s shooter in custody.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Em

  Chris Richter is inside that restaurant with Marina. Some previous version of me got to kill him, and I wish it had been me. If I were aiming a gun at him, I never would have hesitated.

  Nausea overwhelms me, and at first I think it’s from fear, but then I’m jerked away from the present, flying and falling and unable to scream.

  I’m in my cell. The director stands above me, his jacket off and his hands in his pockets.

  “Where are the documents?” he asks.

  I touch a tongue to my swollen lip, which tastes of iron and salt. “Go to hell.”

  He nods at the young man in uniform beside him, and the soldier strikes me again. White-hot agony explodes through my head, turning my vision black at the edges.

  The director crouches in front of me, studying my face. I stare back at him through one eye, the other already swollen shut. He can’t really think this is going to work, can he? They’ve already put me through much worse than a beating, and I haven’t talked.

  No. He must just like it.

  “I suppose you think the documents are your trump card,” he says, his voice soft and a little pitying. “That I can’t let anything happen to you until I find out what you did with them.”

  I raise my chin. “Wouldn’t want them to fall into the wrong hands. Hell, the Chinese could be building a rival to Cassandra as we speak.”

  The soldier hits me again, in the stomach this time, and I can’t stop the coughing moan that heaves out of me. Next door, Finn hollers my name, the sound of his fists against the metal door echoing down the hall.

  “It was a decent plan for a silly little girl,” the director says, “but I’m starting to think you have no idea where those documents are, and I won’t let you play this game with me much longer. The biggest mistake you made, Miss Marchetti, was vastly overestimating how much I give a damn about you or the Chinese or even our good friend Dr. Shaw. I could kill you at any moment and not think twice about it. The only reason I’ve let you live this long is you were a useful tool for making sure James didn’t stray from our mission, but I don’t need to worry about that anymore.”

  I struggle to keep my hard, expressionless mask in place. The director’s most powerful weapon has always been his particular brand of brutal honesty. Bruises fade, but words like that fester.

  “Give me the documents,” he whispers, “and I’ll consider making it quick. Otherwise . . .”

  “Em!” Finn yells next door. “Em!”

  The director smiles slowly while Finn’s voice fills my cell. His meaning is clear. He would make it slow and painful, and he would make Finn watch. I’d die with his screaming in my ears, knowing he was next.

  If I was lucky. If it wasn’t the other way around.

  The cell spins and melts, and the world goes white around me. I try to move or scream, but I’m frozen. Maybe I’m even dead. I wake up thrashing in the front seat of the car. Finn is still rigid beside me, his eyelids fluttering wildly, trapped in a memory of his own.

  Oh God. We drove James right to him.

  Twenty-Nine

  Marina

  James’s hand drops from my suddenly limp grasp. Nate’s killer, caught. The rush of emotion the words send through me is so intense, I feel like I’ve grabbed a live wire and can’t let go.

  I turn to look at James. He looks pale and cold, like someone pulled from a frozen lake after falling through the ice.

  “Who?” I say, because he can’t.

  Richter slides back into the booth and tucks his phone into his pocket. “His name is George Mischler. He’s Secret Service.”

  “Oh my God,” I say, turning to James. “You were right.”

  Richter nods. “I’ve had my eye on him from the beginning. Outwardly, of course, I couldn’t seem to be suspecting one of our own people until we had proof. That’s why I had to dismiss your concerns about the shooter having help from the inside, and I apologize for that. My team just arrested Mischler in his home, where they found the credentials he used to gain access to the building and a handgun matching the caliber used in your brother’s shooting. We’re running ballistics now that will more than likely prove it’s the same gun, and I’m confident he’ll make a full confession soon.” Richter leans forward, nearly laying his hand over James’s but deciding not to at the last moment. “I know it doesn’t bring your brother back, but I hope knowing his killer is going to jail for the rest of his life will be of some comfort to you.”

  “Can I really trust you?” James says softly, his voice like a plea.

  “Nate still had a file on him,” Finn, braver than me, says. “If he has something to hide, he could’ve framed this Mischler guy.”

  Richter throws up his hands. “James, listen. I’m sure your friends are trying to help, but this is fantasy. Mischler had access; he has the gun. Once we finish searching his home and computer, I’m damn sure we’re going to find the motive, too. You’ve got to trust me on this. We got the guy, and I’m not your enemy. I don’t blame your brother for being overprotective, but I want to work with you, that’s all.”

  James rubs his temples. “How can I be sure?”

  “Let’s go,” I say, wrapping my hand around James’s arm. I don’t know why we’re still here, still talking to this man. James can’t really be considering working with him, can he?

  “We’ve got a picture,” Richter says, “from a surveillance camera across the street from the Mandarin. It shows Mischler leaving the hotel ninety-seven seconds after your brother was shot.”

  James looks up. The worry lines etched into his forehead go smooth, his tortured expression becoming one of resolve. “I want to see it. Once I’ve seen it, then we can talk about . . . other things. Working together.”

  I gape. “What?”

  “I’ll go get the car,” Richter says. “You won’t regret this, James.”

  Richter slips out of the
booth, and before he’s out of earshot, Finn says, “Are you insane?”

  “I can’t explain it to you guys right now,” James says, “but I’ve got to know, for sure, if I can trust him.”

  “Then have him send you a scan of the picture,” Finn says, “but you don’t need to go running off with him. Nate knew this guy was bad news, Jimbo. You can’t seriously be thinking about working for him.”

  “I only said I’d discuss it.”

  “Let’s just go!” I say. “Why even talk about it?”

  “Because it might be important!” James slams his fist into the table, sending the silverware jumping. “Look, I don’t expect you two to understand.”

  “Oh, right, because we’re too stupid to grasp it?” Finn says. “Marina and I have gone along with a lot of crazy shit the past twenty-four hours, James, but teaming up with this guy? You really want to go make sweet, sweet scientific research with him?”

  “You can’t trust him,” I say. “He’s a liar; we know that. You’re vulnerable right now, and you shouldn’t make any decisions that—”

  “I’m not a child, okay?” James says. “I know what I’m doing. So either you trust me, or you don’t.”

  “I’m sorry, man,” Finn says, “but I don’t. Not right now.”

  James looks at me, and Finn too. I feel the weight of their gazes like heavy hands on my shoulders, each trying to lead me in a different direction. Finn is right; James has lost perspective and is acting more and more like someone I don’t recognize. But James . . .

  I love him. I need him. Can I really abandon him now? No one has ever cared about me the way he does.

  Have they?

  All of a sudden, the words that have been building up inside of me for years are ready to come out.

  “Why did you kiss me?” I say.

  For a moment, stillness and silence descend. I take a deep breath, filling myself up with it, letting it fill the emptiness the words left behind.

  Finn looks down at the table, running his fingernail over a groove in the wood, pretending neither of us exists. James’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment as he stares at me, and then his eyes drop to his lap.

  “Marina, can we talk about this later?”

  “No, I need to talk about it now. I need to know why.”

  He shrugs tightly, still unable to meet my gaze. “I don’t know. We were both upset. It just . . . happened.”

  “Do you love me?” I ask. I can’t believe how easily the words come out of my mouth now.

  Finn gets up and walks away. I only hear him leave the table, because my eyes are fixed on James.

  “Do you?” I say. “Because I love you, James, and I think you know it.”

  He flushes. “Of course I love you.”

  “Like a sister? Or like something else?”

  “I don’t know!” He reaches for my hand and takes it by the fingertips. He runs his thumb down my index finger. “Sometimes I think maybe . . . but I’m just not sure. . . .”

  Sometimes I think maybe. God, the wildfire of hope those words would have lit in me a few days ago, but now I’m just angry. I pull my fingers from his grasp. “Then why did you kiss me? If you knew how I feel and you weren’t sure, why would you do that to me?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Unless . . .” My skin goes cold. “Unless you did it to keep me with you. Give me just a little hope, and then I’d never leave, right? I’d go along with anything. Kissing me was just the X factor in your equation.”

  I scoot back, away from him, and he reaches for me. “Marina . . .”

  But he doesn’t deny it. I don’t think he can.

  “I love you, James,” I say, “but I can’t keep doing this. It’s not good for either of us. Go with Richter if you like, but you’ll have to do it without me. I don’t trust him, and I won’t be a part of it.”

  I stand, and James grabs my wrist. “Marina, wait.”

  I stop, because a little piece of me can’t help hoping. I turn to look at him, and know, to my shame, that he could break my resolve with a single word.

  “Please,” he says. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

  Stupid girl. I bite the inside of my lip to keep it from wobbling.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and walk away.

  Thirty

  Em

  Richter emerges from the restaurant alone and goes to the valet stand. My stomach cramps at the sight of him, like my body has come to associate his face with pain. I look at Finn, but he’s still somewhere else. I hold his rigid hand in my own.

  Richter gets in his car when the valet brings it around, but he doesn’t drive away. He lets it idle, sending fogging plumes into the cold air. Each moment he lingers, my body grows tighter and tighter.

  “Leave,” I whisper. “Leave!”

  But he doesn’t. And a few minutes later, Marina and the younger Finn step out of the restaurant. Without James.

  Marina’s nose and ears are red; she’s been crying. Finn’s movements are abrupt and angry as he steps off the sidewalk and flags down a cab. He and Marina climb inside, and off they go.

  “Oh God.” I shake Finn’s shoulder. “Wake up! They’ve left him! Please, Finn!”

  But I know it won’t do any good. There’s only me now. I fumble for the gun in the glove compartment.

  James steps out of the restaurant. His eyes are fixed on the idling car, and he nods at Richter behind the driver’s seat. I have maybe a ten-second window before he gets inside and they drive away.

  My fingers are heavy and clumsy as I reach into the glove compartment. I’m not going to make it. I get the gun in my hands and throw open my car door. James has already stepped off the pavement and is making his way to Richter’s passenger’s seat.

  I stand up and raise the gun over the roof of the car, aiming it at James, who has a hand on the door handle. He looks up at me. Our eyes meet.

  I pull the trigger.

  Nothing happens.

  James flinches and scrambles into the car.

  I look down at the gun. It’s jammed. Stupid semiautomatic piece of crap.

  “Damn it!” I slam my fist into the roof as Richter’s car speeds away. I toss the gun onto the floorboard of the car and run down the sidewalk after them. I need to at least see what direction they’re going. I reach the corner and see they’re headed down Fourteenth Street, away from downtown. It’s late afternoon; traffic will be building up soon. It might slow them down enough for me to catch up. Can I get Finn out of the driver’s seat of the car? He’s probably got fifty pounds on me, but if I can push him—

  A hand claps over my mouth.

  A tight arm around my torso makes it impossible to struggle. For a split second I think Finn’s woken up and this is his perverse idea of a joke. Maybe four years ago it would have been, but not now. Then I recognize the feel of the body against my back, the smell of fabric softener and expensive shampoo in my nose. I begin to writhe and scream against the hand over my mouth.

  “Easy, kid,” the doctor says into my ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I try to kick, but he’s too tall and strong. He holds me practically off the ground, his arm like a steel band around me, keeping my arms pinned to my sides.

  “I could kill you right here,” he says, his voice soft and warm against my chilled skin, “and that wouldn’t stop you, would it? You’ll just keep trying. So what choice do I have but to get rid of her?”

  Marina. I whimper against his hand.

  “It hurts, doesn’t it?” His voice is thick. “I would have understood if you’d tried to kill me. I’ve done everything I could to convince you of the good I’m doing, but I know you’re having trouble seeing it. But that boy? Who is such an innocent? How could you, Marina? How could you do that?”

  I close my eyes against my burning tears.

  “Now you’ll know how it feels.” He releases me, and as I draw breath to scream for help, I feel the sting of a hypodermic needle and the world goe
s dark.

  I wake up on the sidewalk with an ache in my neck and Finn frantic beside me.

  “Thank God,” he breathes, pushing the hair out of my face. “What the hell happened?”

  For a moment, I can’t speak for the wild, choking sob rising in my throat. “The doctor is back.”

  “What?”

  “The doctor! He’s gone after Marina and Finn.”

  Finn goes gray. “Why them? Why not just kill us?”

  “Because he knows we’d only come back and try again,” I say. “If he kills them now, before Cassandra is built—”

  “He’ll never have to worry about us,” Finn finishes. He slams his fist into the concrete. “I programmed Cassandra to say we traveled back to the seventh. He shouldn’t have come back until tomorrow.”

  I struggle to my feet, and Finn helps me. “He must have come early, thinking he could kill us the moment we reappeared in the warehouse.”

  “Then something tipped him off that we’d already come and gone.” Finn’s hand tightens around my elbow. “You don’t think . . .”

  “Connor.” How else could he have known we were already here, unless he got the information from our man on the inside? “If he did something to him—”

  “He’ll never be there to help us escape again,” Finn says. “This is our last chance.”

  “Come on!” I start running for the car, Finn at my heels. I don’t slow down, even though I’m so sore from being knocked out that it feels like I’m breaking apart at every joint. “You have to go after Marina and Finn, keep them safe. Call me the moment you find them. I’ll get James.”

  I throw open the driver’s door to the car, but before I can slide in, Finn catches my hand. The look in his eyes stops me cold, but it takes me a moment to realize why.

  I’m either going to kill James or the doctor’s going to kill Marina, which means this is it for us.

  He kisses me softly on the lips. “I love you.”

  I take one last second to memorize his beautiful face. “I love you, too.”