by Jill Cooper
“Your work—”
“Will still be here tonight.” Mom smiles. “It’s not a lot, but it’s all I can give right now, while I finish this thing.” She kisses my forehead as I nod, then rushes from the office, and for a moment I sit and listen to the air conditioner kick in.
I stand and march to her desk. Sitting in the rolling chair, I rifle through her drawers. I can’t find anything of note, but I do find some pictures. On top is a wedding photo of her and Jax. Below that I find ones of me and the kids, which should make me smile but doesn’t.
The center drawer is locked, so I move on to the computer. A quick shake of the mouse clears the screen saver. I peer over at the door to make sure no one is there before I type in a password I think she might use—my birthday—but it doesn’t work.
I sigh and as a last ditch effort type in Dad’s birthday. The computer dings, and the screen saver fades. I am brought to a perfectly neat blue desktop where the few icons are lined up on the side, but several applications are minimized to the taskbar, which excites me.
First, I click on her open email, and my eyes spot a chain letter, a picture of kittens, and the usual joke email. So much for working hard. But the next program I see contains a report she was drafting. A Rewind watermark is stamped Confidential.
No one is coming yet, so I read.
The events of this week are regrettable but unavoidable as we move into the human testing part of the program. Mr. Jenkins’ family has my deepest sympathies, but we have made great strides towards the possibility of time travel longer than fifteen minutes. For the right candidate, the natural time travel ability will be unlocked.
Mr. Jenkins remained in the past for twenty minutes, and once he returned we “removed some key memories” of his life and “inserted new ones.” He was adamant that these memories actually happened. He became hostile and aggressive when we suggested otherwise. As far as he knew, he’d had these memories for years.
Think of the advantages this would have against murderers, terrorists, and pedophiles. We could change who people are at the core level and by partnering with law enforcement, reshape the world.
Mr. Jenkins returned to the past ten times. With medicine and treatment, we tried to help him through the headaches and brain hemorrhaging. First, the fresh memories assaulted him in the present. When those tapered off, the nose bleeds started. After that, his decent into madness quickened as his uncontrollable ability to jump through time grew stronger. He grew increasingly confused and forgetful with each trip.
His actions were proving dangerous, so we put him into a drug-induced coma. I will declare him brain dead tomorrow and have him taken off life support.
While this information appears to be dire, he was hooked up to our equipment for the duration. While our methods may be questioned, our loyalties to the program can’t. I hope once you examine his scans you’ll see we have enough data to move forward on a new approach.
My closest assistant, Delilah, continues to flag customers whose brain scans say they may be able to survive a full time travel merge. Once we can convince them to join the program, we will have more test subjects, and once we nail down this issue, we can move toward our two long-term goals.
Patricia, I know I am asking for more time, and you need this done ASAP. Please see I am working on this as hard as I can.
No one wants this to work more than I do.
My nose has been bleeding since yesterday.
I scroll down and see the intended recipient of the email—Senator Patricia James. It is all coming together, and I am terrified what it means. Mom is up to her eyeballs in illegal research that is killing people. And her assistant Delilah was my technician in my version of the past. I wish I could leap there and find out what she knows, but maybe I can do the next best thing. Maybe I can question her now.
As I’m leaving the office, I bump into Mom. She gasps with surprise. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Bathroom. Meet you in the lobby in ten minutes?”
Mom nods. “See you then.”
I sprint toward the bathroom. I only hope I can get this done in time.
Chapter Ten
I knock on Delilah’s office door and push it open. I smell her afternoon orange tea, and a warm glow emanates from the lit candle on her desk. She spins in her office chair.
“Yes? Lara! What a nice surprise. I didn’t know you were visiting.”
I smile and enter her small office. The desk is cluttered, and she looks very busy, so I need to be brief.
“Having lunch with Mom and thought I’d say hi.” I take the seat in front of her desk. “She had to spring out to the lab. A big emergency.”
Delilah’s eyes cloud over. “Yes.” She returns to her computer and her shoulders hunch with the weight of the world.
I shake my head. “I can’t believe it. Time traveling without use of the system? Off the grid? I guess that would give Senator James a lot of power, huh?”
Delilah’s head snaps up. She’s perspiring, and her lips twitch at the corners. “She … she told you?”
I nod. “But I won’t tell anyone.” I hold up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”
Anger flickers across her face. “Why in the world she would … This is dangerous, understand? We could all go to jail. All of us. Even the Senator. You can’t breathe a word of it. Promise me, Lara.”
I nod. “I never realized you were so important, flagging people down with this power. How do you do it?”
“Really, Lara …” She glances over her shoulder. “We study the brain waves. We can detect when someone tries to interfere with the past, even by accident. Then I can just mark their chart.”
“And make sure they keep coming back?” I ask.
Delilah nods quickly. “I keep them under close surveillance. I can see when their brain is changing. After that, I make sure they keep wanting to change things.”
I cock an eyebrow. “And you make sure no one realizes they are changing things.”
Her eyes grow sharp. “But you can’t tell anyone. If the police, the government, were to find out we’re working for the Senator, we’d all fry. What we’re doing breaks all the time travel laws Congress put in place.”
Forcing a smile, I stand. “I promise,” I say, my mouth growing dry.
I ponder all the times I traveled into the past to map out my route. Each time, Delilah was my assistant. Was it mere chance, or is it possible she was spying on me? She had been my mom’s partner. Is it possible she continued the research after my mom died?
But if Delilah was keeping tabs on me, if she was monitoring my brain when I changed the past, that means she witnessed it. And if she kept it a secret, that means she flagged me. And if she flagged me, I soon could end up like Mr. Jenkins.
Chapter Eleven
All through lunch I try to enjoy my time with Mom, but my mind keeps drifting away. Rewind is set up to be an indulgent service, like getting your butt lipo-sucked or getting a massage. It's supposed to be fun, but apparently it’s a cover for something deeper, more dangerous.
My mom, the woman I’ve missed all my life, is working on something that could change the course of history for the better or the worse. I know how badly changing one little thing messed up my life, my dad’s life.
How dangerous would the power to remove memories be? Memories make us who we are, that much I've learned. What if Democrats assassinate the next Republican president before he is even old enough to walk? What if they learn how to wipe out memories on a mass scale and use it to control the population?
I thought Mom was mugged and killed. I thought she was innocent, but now I'm finding out there were reasons people could have wanted her dead, wanted her research stopped. Mom was supposed to be special, angelic, and I was supposed to be special too. When I first discovered I could interact with the past, I thought I was the only one.
I stab the prongs of my fork into a Cobb salad. I sigh. It’s one of my favorite lunches, but I can't focus
on eating it..
Mom stops chewing and sips her iced tea. “For someone who wanted to go to lunch, you’re not doing a very good job of actually eating it.”
“Sorry.” I cringe and sip my drink too. “I feel real bad how I yelled at you earlier.”
Mom smiles, not altogether happy but not pissed off either. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have slapped you, and I feel real bad about that. Real bad.” She uses her baby blue cotton napkin to wipe her mouth. “I promised myself it would never happen again, and here we both are.”
“Again?” Her words haunt me. Why did she slap me the last time? Is our relationship that bad?
“It’ll be different this time.” Mom nods and digs back into her sandwich.
My mind wanders back to the fight in the kitchen I overheard. “How are things with the Senator?”
The lines on her face become serious. “We haven’t spoken in a while. We don’t talk all the time, you know.”
“Oh,” is all I can bother to say.
“It’s true we used to be closer.” It seems Mom can easily spin a web of lies, leaving me to wonder what else she might be lying about. “She gave me my job, my career. I have a lot to thank her for.”
“She’s one of the founders of Rewind,” I say, trying to make it sound less of a question than it really is.
Mom nods. “Without her we never would’ve met Jax, and I wouldn’t have this job. We owe her … a lot.”
My stomach rolls.
“Why the sudden interest in Donovan’s mom?”
I shrug. “No reason. Just figured I’d ask.” I take a moment to swallow some water. “Have you ever seen a gold dragon tattoo before?”
Mom chokes and spits out her iced tea all over her plate. She reaches for her napkin to cover her mouth, eyes wide.
I am going to take that for a yes.
“Lara, where have you seen a man with a dragon tattoo?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Around. On the subway, I think.” I try to play it casual and coil a piece of hair around a finger.
“Well … keep your distance. Those men aren’t friendly.”
“So, you know who they are?”
Mom nods. “Only from what I read in the papers. They’re with the mob.”
Now it’s my turn to be shocked. “The mob?”
Why would the mob be following me? What was I getting myself into?
“Yes, so keep your distance.”
I nod. “Promise.”
“Good.” She pauses, and the tension increases between us. “So, what did you and your dad talk about?”
“Dad?” I ask with a mouth full of salad. I take the time to chew before swallowing. “Oh, you know. Grades. Asked about my boyfriend.”
Mom smirks. “I bet he loved that.”
“Well, what else is there to talk about?” I fish through my salad looking for the last crouton. “You met Dad in high school, didn’t you?”
Mom has a faraway stare on her face, one I’ve never seen before. “He was a football player, not the star, except maybe to me. We were friendly.” Mom shrugs, twirling her hair around her finger. “We hung in groups back then, and he asked me to go to the movies alone. And that was that.”
She smiles wide at the memory, and I swear her cheeks are flushed. I guess her memory of John Crane can’t be all bad.
“We married young, and he supported me all through college even when his career took a hit. I never would’ve guessed …” Her voice cracks. “…would’ve guessed where we’d end up.” She returns her attention to her sandwich.
I’ve been so focused on how I felt and what happened to Dad that I haven’t stopped to think until now how hard it must have been on Mom to think Dad wanted her dead. But it wasn’t real, it was a lie. It didn’t matter to Mom, though, because to her it was real.
My head is suddenly jolted with pain. My eyes squeeze shut, and I see a flash of light. The freight train of a memory is back to make its run through my brain. I try to keep it away, concentrating only on the present, but it’s coming hard and fast. I only hope that this time I won’t fall on the ground with my nose bleeding.
****
When the flash of light clears, I’m a little girl lying in the spare bedroom of my grandmother’s house. The comforter is pink with lace trim, perfect for a little girl, and the room has all of my things, but I’m still scared. Each breath I take is loud in my ears, and all I want to do is pretend to sleep.
I bury my nose in my pillow and squeeze my arm tight against my stuffed unicorn, the one doll I could never live without. My breathing slows, and I shut my eyes until they’re barely open, so it looks as if I’ve fallen asleep because I’m not alone.
Mom is on her knees by my bed, stroking my curls and humming a song. “Twinkle Little Star,” I think. It’s hard to tell because her voice is quivering. It scares me that Mommy could be so upset she can’t hum our song. A sob catches in her throat, and I pretend to sleep, so she’ll think I’m okay too. But my heart is broken in ways I can’t understand.
I miss Daddy. I want him back, and I don’t understand why the news and all the adults think he’d hurt Mommy or me. He loves us. But I want Mom to know I’m okay. I want her to know I’m going to be okay.
“Come have some tea, Miranda.”
My grandmother’s voice nearly makes me jump, but I manage to keep myself together as Mom pulls her hand away from my head. She pulls the blanket around my small frame, making me feel cozy, safe. She covers my forehead in little kisses, and I can’t help but smile. About the time I think she’s going to leave, I hear her speak.
“How can I …?” Her voice warbles into a sob, and my grandmother’s heels make their way across the floor.
“Come,” she whispers. “We will drink tea, and you will pull yourself together.”
“John—”
“Tonight, you cry,” my grandmother says, “and I’ll cry too, but tomorrow Lara needs us. She needs you. You need to be stronger than this. Tomorrow.”
****
The sun seems brighter when I reopen my eyes again. I rub my forehead, and Mom stares at me. “Lara? Are you all right?”
“Just a headache,” I say and rush some water.
“You’ve had too many lately.” She takes a deep breath and struggles to release it. “I’m calling your doctor when I get back to the office. I hope we can get in to see him in a few days.”
“Okay,” I say while my stomach sinks. I don't know if the doctor will give me a clean bill of health, but I really don't want to go, and I'm pretty sure after my bleeding nose last night, I'm not going to get out of it.
“Okay? I thought you hated going to the doctor?”
I shrug. “Can you drop me off at the house? I have homework and stuff. When you’re done.”
“Sure,” she says and checks her watch. “I guess it is time to get back to work, but I had fun, Lara. Really. Let’s do this again, real soon.” She takes a moment to give me a brilliant smile and then waves to get our waiter’s attention.
I try to be happy but can’t. I’m a ticking time bomb.
****
Mom drops me off at the door and apologizes for having to work late again tonight, but promises to come to the doctor with me in the morning. Once inside, I rush up the steps and snoop around. Only one room has a closed door. When I peek inside, I see a few nice pieces of furniture, one of them a desk with a computer on top.
Bingo.
Stepping in, I close the door behind me and sit behind the desk. Thanks to knowing my dad’s birthday, I get in the computer easily. Note to Mom, you really need to diversify your passwords.
A check of her email shows the same results as before, and with a quick system scan, I find her confidential files—system schematics for memory storage, extraction, and drawings I can’t even begin to understand. They seem to be a bunch of molecules and atoms drawn out in some drafting program. The only label I see is the name John. Must be code for something, but why use Dad’s name if she thinks he
tried to kill her? Maybe Mom was pining for a life lost.
I’m about to leave when my search for Patricia finally returns a file folder buried in the system. The name Archive catches my attention. Mom went to great lengths to hide it from the casual searcher. Opening the file, I find a string of documents with an assortment of dates. None of the file names are red flags to me, so I’ll have to go through them one at a time. Starting with the oldest seems like the best idea. I organize by date and am surprised how far back they go.
Ten years.
I open what turns out to be an email, and my breath catches in my throat. It is dated exactly two weeks before Mom’s attempted murder.
Or her actual death.
Patricia,
You’ve been a dear friend for so long. It pains me to write this letter to you. I respectfully, and with a heavy heart, must hand in my resignation.
Lara is still so young. John and I have been fighting more. I have promised to give our marriage one more chance. And to honestly do that, I am going to need to take a step back in my career.
I hope you achieve everything we’ve brainstormed all those late nights. I know how important it is to you and the world to find an end to violence.
I’ll make sure my current contract is completed, but after that I will be moving on. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me over these last few years.
Miranda Crane
I sit and stare at the screen as if doing so will get it to leap up at me and explain what this all means. Mom was ready to leave Rewind two weeks before her death. Two weeks! That couldn’t have been a coincidence. What if they didn’t want to let her go? What if she knew things she shouldn’t, and the only way to deal with that fact was to make sure she never talked about them, and then, when their assassination attempt fell through, they framed my dad?
Is it too far of a stretch? Was the Senator, Donovan’s mom, actually capable of murder?
