“Did she look okay?”
“Mom?” The tenderness of the question made Finn swallow hard before answering. He remembered her thin wrists and hollowed out cheeks. He thought about lying, but it didn’t seem right. “No. She looks too thin.”
They studied each other for a moment and Finn wanted to tell him everything. How Mom had no intention of coming home. How this was good-bye to Faith and in a few years it was good-bye to Mom, too. Unless—unless she could somehow beat the odds. Because that was what altering time was, a gamble. Nothing was sure. He realized it now. It was all playing the odds, and in Mom’s case she was playing them over and over again.
Dad spoke before Finn could. He was resolute. “You can have the ring back, but that’s all you’re taking with you. I can protect my family.”
He pushed the ring into Finn’s palm and held on tighter to Faith’s hand. Her little fingers were completely wrapped in his fist.
“But Dad, it’s today!”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to know what’s next. I trust that I can protect my family. That’s what I’m asking of you. Man to man.”
His last three words were a shock to Finn. The Dad he knew in his time would never give him that label. He was dealing with Finn like an equal. It filled Finn with momentary pride.
They were interrupted by the sounds of leaves rustling on the trail behind them. Finn shot Dad a look of horror. This was it. They were here.
“Run,” Dad hissed. “Don’t let anyone see you!” He pushed Finn backward behind one of the giant marble slabs.
Finn, realizing he could still be seen from the trail, sprinted for the other path that led to the opposite side of the cliffs. He tried to be as soundless as possible.
His mind raced as he tried to decide what to do next. He could go back to Mom now. Tell her he’d failed. Insist she come home—home to the present—with him.
She’d never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself.
He circled the quarry and stopped above the highest cliff, the ones Sebastian and his friends had just been jumping from only yesterday. No, he corrected himself. They haven’t jumped here yet. He was years before them.
He was directly across from Dad and the twins now, only thirty yards of water separating them. He could hear their voices echo off the steep marble walls and across the water.
“James . . .”
Doc.
Finn leaned through the branches, desperately trying to see and hear what was happening.
Doc was not alone. There were three other men with him. That was both bad and good. The three men were large and imposing, but no women meant no one could take Faith directly from this node into another time; they’d need to bring her to someone who could Travel. Finn looked around, scanning the tree line, and his heart dropped when he found what he was looking for. Down in the parking lot, leaning against Doc’s ancient Jeep, was the unmistakable skeletal silhouette of Aunt Billie. She was waiting, with paper-thin arms folded, waiting to destroy Finn’s world.
Dad, holding Faith in his arms, stood facing the men. “Yes, Will. I know.” He was speaking loudly. He wanted Finn to hear. “It is the greatest happiness of the greatest number that is the measure of right and wrong. I’ve heard it all before.”
Finn could see Doc’s mouth moving, answering, but the words were lost across the water.
“We might be more inclined to trust ISTA if you stopped holding meetings behind our backs,” Dad said.
Doc’s angry voice echoed across the marble stones. “You’ve given us no choice. You’ve behaved irrationally. And James, we do understand. We can’t blame you. It’s an impossible decision.” He turned to one of the men behind him and nodded. “One we feel we must make for you.”
Two of the men were suddenly on top of Dad. He yelled “No!” and held Faith tightly. Finn could no longer hear, and he couldn’t see their faces from this far, but he could suddenly remember them. The horror of the moment was being built in his three-year-old brain to echo in his older self’s memory. He was witnessing it from two angles. The men held Dad back as he fought hard against them, and one of them wrenched Faith from Dad’s hands.
The third man picked her up with no effort. She was so small against his hulking form. He had one arm around her middle and the other around her neck. Young Finn was crying and shaking, frozen in fear.
The large man yelled out in pain. Faith bit him!
He dropped her, cradling his forearm. Faith bolted. She sped up the trail on her tiny legs, the same way Finn had just come.
Doc and the injured man chased after her. The large, hulking man was cradling his arm against his side and Finn could see blood trickling through his clenched fingers.
“Good girl,” Finn whispered. “You got him.”
She was running the same path Finn had just taken, the path that encircled the whole quarry. As long as she continued on the trail that skirted the quarry’s edge, she’d be heading straight for him. He would be ready. He’d grab her and put on the ring and get her to Mom. Dad would understand. There were no other options.
But Faith was moving fast and with the gracelessness of a child consumed by fear. Finn held his breath as she skirted the far end—and stumbled. Her small wet feet skidded across the rock, her tiny arms reached for the empty air around her as she slid sideways off the marble cliff, plunging awkwardly to the deep water below.
“No!” Finn screamed and swore. He heard his father do the same from the opposite shore. Finn had the worst view—watching helplessly from two perspectives, in his memories of his three-year-old self and in the moment now.
Poised on the edge of the highest cliff, he didn’t even have to think. The memory and the inclination came at once.
He dove headfirst into the quarry.
Chapter 25
The water was clearer than Finn expected—he could make out the walls of the marble on either side, but the depths below him were pure black. He surfaced and took a gulp of air and dove under again, as deep as he could. There ahead of him was a small black sliver of a child, desperately trying to kick herself up toward the light.
He reached forward into the blackness, and a tiny hand grabbed him with all its might.
He pulled hard, doing his best to get them up to the surface for air. But she felt impossibly heavy, immovable. He looked down and realized her foot was stuck. Wedged between rocks. She was holding on to Finn for dear life. He tried to wrench her free to no avail. He was running out of time—
And then he realized there was only one way out. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the ring.
At that same moment, Faith tried to use him to pull herself free, yanking hard down on his arm. The ring tumbled out of his hand.
NO!
It sank miraculously slowly, floating and glinting in the little light that the depths of the quarry let in. Finn kicked forward enough to grab it and held on to Faith as tightly as he could with his other arm. He clenched his hand into a fist to protect it. It would have to be enough.
The roaring light came as Finn pulled Faith close in a fierce bear hug. He felt her body go limp and stop struggling, and he hoped with every fiber of his being she was still alive. The entire bottom of the quarry lit up in a blaze of bright white, and then it was gone.
The jolting back and forth began. Finn braced himself and searched his subconscious for the thread, the anchor to hold on to. Whatever happened, he wasn’t letting go of Faith.
Faith was definitely there. He couldn’t see her or feel her anymore, only sense her presence, small but powerful. She was alive.
Are you okay? He tried to speak to her but remembered speaking here was impossible. He thought it instead. Are you all right, Faith?
She didn’t answer, but he felt her resigned acquiescence, mixed with overwhelming fear.
Look for Mommy, Faith. Think about Mommy. The term felt strange to him, though he knew it would be the one Faith used for their mother. And it worked—he could sense that the tho
ught of Mom soothed her.
This trip already felt easier than the last two. Calm, almost hypnotic. Finn instantly realized why. It was Faith. She must be the one driving. Of course! She didn’t need a ring or a tree. She could Travel on her own. She must be taking him along for the ride.
Finn wrapped his mind around the timeline with her and together they slid along it, looking for the pulsing, glowing node that was the right one. It was a slower, more manageable acceleration this time. Finn almost felt like they had time to feel each node before they reached it. The noise of the white light wasn’t nearly as loud either. The whole thing was less disorienting. He wondered if this was even the first time Faith had Traveled.
You’re doing great, Faith. Just look for Mommy. She’s waiting for us.
She didn’t answer him. When he reached out toward her in the space of blinding white, all he felt was her fear and confusion. It probably was her first time. He would have to help her find the right node.
Suddenly, he felt the tremble on the thread. It was small and far away, like the tremor of a spider’s web touched by a falling leaf. Then it became more prominent. Finn could feel it before he could see. This was it.
It’s coming, Faith. This is where we need to go.
She began to resist the descent. He felt her pulling away from it and from him. No! This is where we’re supposed to be, Faith. Mommy is there. He tried to guide her toward the node and off the thread, but she pulled away from him in a fierce panic.
Faith, listen. It’s Finn. I’m Finn. All grown up and I’m telling you it’s going to be okay. Mommy is going to be here. I’m bringing you to Mommy.
She began to calm. The pulling away was less intense.
She’s going to hug you and she’s going to tell you everything is going to be okay and she’s going to take care of you . . .
It came to him completely unbidden: the selfish thought. It was for just a split second. A flash of resentment was all it was. She was going to get Mom. Faith, after everything she’d done, or would do, she was going to have Mom and he’d still be left alone. It was only a fleeting emotion, but here in the threads of time it was magnified. It telegraphed out of him in every direction and he could feel the truth of it hit her.
He could feel the questioning panic coming from young Faith now. In this timeless space he could sense her emotions and she could sense his.
She was terrified of him.
She was only a little kid. He knew this. He had let that horrible resentment take hold of him. In that split second of anger, he thought of her as someone who would grow up with the capacity to murder him. He tried hard not to think about what she would become, but the thing about trying hard not to think about something is that it makes you think about it all the more.
Her fear became something he could almost touch. It pulsed all around him, and he panicked as he felt her begin to recede from him. She was no longer next to him. She had let go of the thread. She was receding in the white light. He desperately tried to reach for her in this space where no part of him could do the reaching.
He knew what that felt like, how horrible it was to be buffeted around in this plane of existence. It felt like you were on a saucer endlessly tipping in all directions and you couldn’t reach any one side to hold on to before it tipped again.
Faith! Come back! I’m sorry. I’m sorry!
He pushed the words out to her. Nothing came back. He tried to pull her back in, but she was moving ever farther away. Farther away from him and the node he was sure was the right one. The one where Mom would be waiting.
Faith. Please. I’m sorry. Please come to me. Let me take you to Mommy.
Faith was still moving away and the only thing he could do was to let go and follow her, leaving the node where Mom was waiting far behind.
Chapter 26
Faith whimpered next to him, and he slowly became aware of his arms. He was holding her tight against his wet chest and she wasn’t struggling anymore.
“It’s okay, Faith. It’s okay,” he lied as he sat up.
He could feel Faith’s tiny arms trembling in the cold already. He had taken her from a hot summer day, where she’d been soaking wet and near drowning, to the depths of winter. They were both soaked to the bone. He had no idea when they were. The air tasted like snow and it was bitterly cold. Could they have been that lucky? Did Faith actually bring him to the top of the mountain where Mom was waiting?
“Hello, Finn.”
A strong beam of light blinded him in the darkness.
“Let her go,” a woman’s voice ordered from the other side of the light.
Finn shielded his eyes with his forearm. “Mom?”
There was a mocking laugh. “I suppose it makes sense that we’d sound alike. Try again.”
The flashlight moved, thrown to the ground. Finn could just begin to see the outline of a young woman moving between trees. She was holding another woman around the neck.
Mom.
As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he could also see something bright and silver in the other woman’s hands, pressed against Mom’s neck.
“Thanks for doing all the hard work for me, brother.”
Faith. A grown-up Faith was standing in front of him. She wore a long gray coat buttoned up to her chin. Her cheeks were red with the cold, and her hair and eyes were the same colors Finn saw in the mirror each morning. The family resemblance was uncanny. She looked like a younger version of Mom and at the same time she was undeniably his twin.
She pushed Mom over to a tree stump and forced her to sit down, still keeping the knife at her throat. This was a different Mom, a Mom even more malnourished than before. She was wearing layers of old-fashioned clothing and a knit scarf. She was bony, all angles. Finn was sure she could be broken in half.
Frantically, he took in the surroundings, very different than the mountaintop he knew. A clearing had been made, with a dilapidated shed off to the right and the woods surrounding them. The snow was deep around his legs, and his body was starting to shake violently—or was that young Faith? He held her more tightly to his chest, trying to give her all his warmth, while searching Mom’s eyes for some consolation, but her eyes only mirrored his defeat.
“Faith, come sit by your mommy. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.” The woman was speaking to her younger self with a syrupy kindness that made the girl shrink farther into Finn’s arms.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s me,” Mom pleaded.
Young Faith let go of Finn cautiously. His instinct was to pull her back, but the child moved toward her mother like a magnet and he didn’t stop her.
As Finn stood up, though, she turned back, shaking violently in the cold, and took one last questioning look at him. There was something new in her face besides fear. Finn began to wonder if the little girl was finally ready to trust him. He held out his hand to her and willed her to know that he was sorry.
“Careful, Finn. If you so much as touch her, I will slice our mother’s throat wide open. I’d be doing her a mercy. Her future is bleak from here on out.”
“Please, Finn. Do as she says.” Mom’s voice was shaky. Finn couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or fear.
Young Faith was now taking in the situation and she slid one step backward, toward Finn. She watched the woman with the knife carefully. Adult Faith was imposing and tall. The child was confused—she had no way of knowing she was staring at her future self. Finn wondered if adult Faith had the same dizzying sense of memories being created in her head that he’d experienced at the quarry. If so, it didn’t seem to affect her at all. Her face was calm and full of purpose, though Finn could swear she was trembling with rage, not cold.
“Child, if you don’t listen to me right now you won’t have a mother at all.”
“Go, Faith, it’s okay. Sit by Mommy.”
It was Finn who she finally obeyed. She ran to Mom, collapsing in the billows of her skirt and coat. Without moving her head, Mom splayed five fingers over h
er hair and quietly promised her it would all be okay. She opened her coat and let Faith curl up inside next to her. All this she did calmly with the blade still poised at her throat.
Adult Faith drew in a breath and smiled. She pulled the knife away from Mom’s neck and Finn’s knees nearly buckled with relief.
“You saved me an awful lot of trouble, Finn. I should thank you . . . but I won’t.” They were at the edge of the clearing, and behind him Finn could almost hear the trees cracking and groaning with the weight of snow and ice. The shed was so tiny that even labeling it a shed was generous. They obviously hadn’t come back on the same night he left. How long had Mom waited for them?
Adult Faith spoke to him again. “Now that the child is in my care, none of you can change a thing. It’s over. I win.”
“What could possibly be the purpose of kidnapping yourself?” Finn demanded.
“Little Faith here needs the proper training. Don’t you, darling?” The hand without the knife leaned over to brush against the child’s head, but young Faith sank farther away and Mom shifted her body to shield her. Adult Faith’s mouth twisted in anger, and she quickly regained composure.
“She doesn’t know it yet, but the entire universe is hers for the taking. Once we get rid of certain obstacles, of course.” She flicked the wrist holding the knife and gestured toward Mom.
Finn jumped forward.
“No, Finn! Don’t!” Mom cried.
Faith laughed. “Go ahead, Finn. Come at me.” She threw the knife far away into the field of snow. “Look, I’m defenseless.”
Finn stayed still. He knew enough bullies to recognize a trap. He needed to keep her talking—needed more data before he chose his next move.
“Smarter than you look.” She turned her back toward him as if he was unimportant, gesturing over her shoulder as she spoke. “The knife was just for show, you know. I don’t need a weapon.” She walked a few more feet away from him and then, WOOSH, she was in his face so quickly he flinched. “I am the weapon. I am the last in the family line. I have all the powers of our mother here, times ten.”
A Time Traveler's Theory of Relativity Page 15
