by Jill Cooper
“Because I wanted to save you for us. I wanted to know my mother. I wanted us all together. I didn’t save you to work or get remarried, that’s for sure.”
She hangs her head, and I close my eyes as a storm rolls in behind them—the start of a new headache. But it isn’t bad, yet.
“What do you expect me to do with this new information?” she whispers. “Thank you? Run to your father? Forget about Molly?”
“I don’t know. Stop looking at me like you hate me is a good start.”
Her lower lip sticks out. “I don’t hate you. For the love of God, Lara.” She stands up and paces over to the wall. Leaning against it, her posture crumbles like a mountain collapsing into itself.
“So, I was dead?”
I nod. “Shot in that alley.”
“And you took the bullet for me?” Mom turns and looks at me. “I’m supposed to be dead, so what the hell am I supposed to do now?” Her hand trembles and covers her mouth, but ekes out a gasp.
I stare down at my hand, waiting, waiting for the ability to tell her how much I love her, but it never seems to come.
“Because your dad wasn’t charged doesn’t make him innocent. Just because he loved you, doesn’t mean he loved me.”
“I saw that he did. He kept your pictures. He looked at them when he thought I wasn’t watching.” I tug on my fingers. `“And … he sent me back in time for my birthday—my first birthday—at that Italian restaurant on 4th. I saw how happy you were.”
Surprise spreads across her face, and the first smile I’ve seen graces her lips. “I forgot about that place. We loved it there. And you … were such a happy baby.”
“I knocked into the waitress. A bunch of stuff fell, and I realized I could touch the past, not like the techs told me.”
Mom sucks in her breath, and I see the wheels spinning in her head. She’s probably thinking about her research, if I could be one of her test subjects. “So you came back … to save me. You thought you’d wake up and what, we’d all be living happily ever after?”
I shrug. “Why not? How was I supposed to know someone would frame Dad?”
Mom holds a hand to her chest and takes in a breath that quivers the air between us. “You want to prove him innocent, is that it?” Her eyes blink quickly. “These x-rays prove you’re going to die, Lara. Die.”
“That’s why I have to act fast.”
Mom shakes her head. “I’ve been working on something that can help you. It’s risky, but I don’t see any other alternative.”
“I know what you’ve been working on, and I know you want out. So you can stop pretending now.”
Her eyes bulge, and her hands tremble. “Lara, what you know—”
“Is dangerous, I know.”
“Could get you killed!” She takes another deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut. “Who have you told?”
“No one.”
“Thank God. We won’t have to put up with this much longer. I’ve made arrangements for all of us, but until then … we can’t tell Jax. We have to get Molly back.”
Does Mom know Jax is the one who tried to kill her? “Does the Senator have Molly?”
Mom swallows hard. “I don’t know. If I knew—”
“But you suspect. You need to tell the police.”
“She’ll kill Molly,” Mom whispers. “I can’t.”
For once, I agree with her.
“We can’t make any moves against her, not while her men have Molly. We have to wait and see what it is she wants. First thing we have to do is get you fixed.”
The anger melts away as she embraces me. I haven’t forgotten what I said, but it doesn’t seem to matter as much now. Her hug is strong and comforting. She wants to take care of everything. I want her to, but I can’t let her.
Mom smiles, and I see joy in her eyes. “I feel like I’m seeing you for the first time. I guess I am, in a sense."
She stands and smooths her pants before placing her open palm against my forehead. I think of all the times Dad did that when I was home sick from school, but he never wore worry lines as deep as Mom's are right now. Her eyes are a million miles away, and I know the things that must be running through her head. Molly never should’ve been born. Her life with Jax was never supposed to happen. Was John Crane really innocent?
She bends over and kisses me, her fingers running through my hair. I close my eyes, and to my surprise, all I feel is love. In that moment it makes everything I’ve done worthwhile. Even if my feelings are wrong, I can’t shake them. Having a Mom is all I ever wanted.
“I’ll make the arrangements. Get some rest. I’ll be back.” She heads towards the door.
“Mom? I love you,” I say, gripping the sheets.
She nods, and I see the tears are back. “You have no idea.”
As she leaves, I close my eyes. I take a few deep breaths and then throw the covers off and rip the oxygen tubes from my nose. Mom’s ideas are nice, but I can’t sit by with my dad in jail and Molly missing. Her kidnapping is my fault, and in case I don’t make it out alive, I have to move fast.
It takes me a few minutes to acclimate to walking. I wobble over to the wardrobe against the wall and find my clothes folded on the bottom. Quickly, I dress and grab the duffle bag from the top shelf. It’s embroidered with the words Mass General Hospital. I sling it over one shoulder and check the hallway for movement.
Only a few nurses loiter in the halls, and their backs are turned to me. I sneak out and hurry toward the stairs marked EXIT. Placing my hand on the door to the stairwell, I connect with a familiar face around the corner from the cafeteria.
Surprise rolls across Jax’s face, and he nearly drops the cup of coffee in his hand.
I bite my lip, turn my head, and push the door open before dashing toward the steps.
“Lara!” His scream chases after me. Before I hear the door latch, he reaches the stairwell. “Don’t do this, Lara!”
But I am already down half a flight of stairs. I keep charging down the steps as fast as I can without catching my breath until I reach the bottom floor, severely winded. Above me, heavy steps echo with a metallic boom. I can’t allow myself to get caught. I can’t. I dive through the door into the hospital lobby. People stop to stare, but I keep running toward the glass doors.
“Stop her!” Jax calls out from behind me.
I charge towards the two security guards blocking the open exit. As one tries to grab me, I slip past him and drop to the ground, sliding head first through the open door.
My lungs fill with the fresh morning air as my feet pound the pavement, following the street lights up the hill toward a waiting cab. I pull the back passenger door open and throw myself into the cushions, ensuring my feet are inside before I slam the door shut.
“Drive!”
To his credit, the cabby complies. He glances at me, using the rearview mirror, and I see tired blue eyes and enough scruff on his chin to know he hasn’t shaved in at least a few days.
“Mind telling me where we’re going?”
“YMCA on Broad Street.”
His eyebrows rise. “You have enough cash for that? Long drive.”
I hold up my plastic credit card as my response. Yeah, I can afford it.
Chapter Eighteen
The street lights whizz past as the soft melody of a symphony orchestra is pumped through the small cab, soothing and relaxing me. I’ve messed up royally, which was never more apparent than that afternoon in the mall. I can accept my mistakes. I should have listened to Rick and never changed the past, but now my mom is alive, and I have a brother, a sister. A sister in danger, but maybe if I can prove who kidnapped her, we can get her back unharmed.
Maybe.
It all hinges on whether Jax kidnapped her or arranged it somehow. I pray he is the one that took her because then maybe she will be safe. If it was a stranger, I have nothing to go on, and I’m running out of time.
Then there is my dad, but thinking about him breaks my heart. He would
say go after the girl. He always put people above himself. Always.
If I can get the evidence behind Mom’s attempted murder, Molly’s kidnapping, everything, I can clear Dad, save Molly, and maybe be in time to get treatment for my brain. That last item is less than likely, but I need hope above all else.
The clock is approaching midnight when the cab pulls up to the curb beside the YMCA. The downtown street is busy, but since it’s still late at night—early in the morning, depending on your point of view—the cabby pulls right up to the door.
I charge my ride, and he offers me a friendly smile, which I pay no attention to as I climb out of the cab. There’s a public service announcement coming over the speakers of the radio, “Vote Yes on Question 2 if you want police to catch the mugger who stole your purse before he ever stole it. End crime before it begins.
Arriving at the YMCA door, I give it a solid tug.
It won’t budge.
Dammit. I shove it and then try pulling again, but the lock refuses to give way. With my hands cupped around my eyes, I peer inside the windows, but I only see a few lights inside. I can’t make anyone out at reception, or anywhere else for that matter. Then I notice the decal on the window.
24-hour access.
I tear through my purse—lipstick, a mirror, cell phone, but no keycard. In my wallet I see photos, more plastic than the Barbie aisle at Toys“R”Us, and behind my student ID, the keycard. A state-of-the-art all-access pass. I feel the need to even hide that. It causes a shiver to run up my spine.
After I swipe the card, the door beeps and the lock plate lights up green. I swing the door open and run inside the open reception area. The clinking gym equipment in the distance is punctuated with grunts of men straining with their weights.
I sprint down the hall toward the women’s restroom. Inside, the lights almost blind me, but I head on through to find the lockers. I can tell I’m nearing the pool because the chlorine and bleach in the air makes my nose burn.
Locker 63.
My eyes sweep aisle after aisle until I find the one I’m looking for. It’s blue and unassuming, but it could unlock the secret to everything. I lick my lips as I insert the key, close my eyes, and with a prayer, twist.
Click.
The door opens, and inside I find more than documents. There’s also a pink hoodie, a duffle bag, and a fresh change of clothes.
What was I preparing for? What was I doing? I open the manila envelope on the bottom and flip through the documents—a lot of reports, surveillance photos, old newspaper clippings. I don’t have time to go through all of it now, so I stash them in my duffle bag and throw on some new clothes.
A tight-fitting t-shirt, pink hoodie, and comfortable blue jeans are my new outfit. It’s a weird choice for trendy, sophisticated Lara, but she was up to something big. Real big.
I lift the hidden duffle bag out of the locker, surprised at how hefty it is. I unzip it and find money inside. A lot of money. I touch it. Must be thousands of dollars bound together in neat little stacks.
My heart quickens as I wonder where it came from and what I was planning to do with it. If ever there was a moment for a flashback, it's now. A shining blue cell phone at the bottom of the duffle bag catches my attention. I pull it out and see a note stuck to it. In my handwriting.
Hide in the shower. Move fast.
Wide eyed and with a pounding heart, I slam the locker, grab everything, and run down the hall. I turn into the showers and duck into a stall, the vinyl shower curtain flapping against me. I still it with trembling fingers as I hear heavy steps enter the locker room.
The locker doors are banged in rapid succession as the steps draw closer. I don’t know why I’m afraid, but I am. It could be a burnt-out exerciser with their iPod on too loud or a cleaning lady coming to collect towels, but I am sure it isn’t. I am sure whoever it is, they are here for me.
My still breath echoes with exasperation in my ringing ears. My hearing feels supercharged, and I imagine the rubber soles stepping onto the wet tile at the entryway of the shower room. My eyes flutter open, and my mouth is frozen as I see a shadow creeping closer behind the shower curtain.
A deep, angry voice calls out. “She was here. She got everything.”
Something lands on the floor with a wet thud.
My hospital clothes!
I left them beside the bench. I want to berate myself for being so stupid, but as the shadow begins to recede, I realize that pile of clothes may have saved my life.
Only after the door slams shut do my shoulders relax, but I don’t feel safe enough to come out yet. My mind drifts back to the note. It saved my life, but how did I know to write it? How did I know those men were coming for me?
I ask the question a million times in a million different ways but always come up with the same answer.
I wrote it in the future.
And brought it back into the past.
Chapter Nineteen
Suddenly, I feel a little better. I now know I’m alive in the future and in well enough condition to write a note and find a method of time travel. I guess my brain won't be turned into a vegetable. Somewhere out there, I'm still kicking, at least to the point where I wrote this note.
But why? If I’m still alive, if the men didn’t kill me, why risk being exposed by the note? Maybe Molly was killed. Maybe Jax got away with it? Maybe I was kidnapped and everything went to hell in a hand basket. Whatever happened, I have to accept that I might never know and thinking about the what-ifs is only wasting time.
I need to get out of here, find a place to lay low where I can go over the documents until the kidnappers call. I can only think of one place people would never suspect this Lara would go to hide—not her boyfriend's and not her BFF’s house, but an old friend. I haven’t been to Rick’s house in years.
I pull out my new cell phone, afraid the existing one might be traced.
After a few rings, Rick answers. Thank God he didn’t ignore the unknown phone number.
“Rick—”
“Lara? Are you okay? You’re all over the news.”
Reporters. Cameras. I forgot all about them. Good thing I didn’t need anything from my house. Boy, would that have been a mess.
“I’m okay.” I lie for now. It’s not as if I have time to explain everything. “Remember how you said if I needed help with my dad you would be there? Well, I need you, Rick.” My voice cracks, and my chin trembles.
After a brief pause that feels more like an hour, he responds, “Come to my apartment. It’s the least I can do. Just wait out by the backdoor, and be quiet.”
I nod and end the call. I hope I know what I’m doing. Gripping the phone against my chest, I pray.
****
I catch a bus because I don’t want anyone to trace me to Rick’s. When he opens the door, I’m struck by how tired he appears. His eyes lack their usual shimmer. He ushers me inside quietly, and we tiptoe past his parents’ room.
His room is almost identical to how I remember it. The bed, the dresser, everything looks the same. My eyes are drawn to the small television balancing on top of his dresser. The volume is turned down low, but the hospital is on the screen with a horde of reporters in the background. I catch a story scrolling in the ticker.
Local Girl Kidnapped. Sister escapes custody from the hospital. Sought by police for questioning.
My heart skips a beat, and I turn to see Rick’s eyebrow is arched. “You want to run that I’m fine business by me again?”
“I am … for now. I have stuff to do. I found it, see? ” I toss my duffle bags onto his bed.
He glances at the bags, then returns his stare to me. “What’s in there?”
“The holy grail of my life. Proof about who killed—tried to kill—my mom. Want to venture a guess?” I can’t keep the anger out of my voice.
“Well, I know it isn’t me, so who was it?”
“Jax.” I can barely stop myself from breaking down. My eyelids flutter, and it’s all I c
an do to keep myself from falling apart.
Rick’s eyes seem to widen and contract at the same time. “Your stepdad?”
“One and the same.” I lick the corner of my lips. “One and the same,” I whisper again, my body going numb.
He guides me over to his bed and helps me sit down. “What are we going to do? What’s your plan?”
“Read it over and see what it is. This can free my dad. I know it! But the kidnappers will be calling soon. They want this stuff back.”
Rick sighs. “Jax took Molly? That doesn’t make any sense.”
He’s right. It doesn’t. I bite my lip as I feel the tremor of a headache, but it’s still light enough for me to ignore. “Can you get me some meds? Tylenol?”
Nodding, he goes to his dresser and rummages through the top drawer. He tosses me a bottle of pills, and I swallow them dry. He sits down beside me again on the sofa and pushes back the curls off my shoulder. When his fingers graze my neck, I shiver and feel goose bumps rise off my body.
I gaze at him, wanting to close my eyes, to lean in for that hello kiss. His eyes are deep and penetrating,
I feel he wants to kiss me too, but instead he says, “Should we get started?”
His room is beginning to feel small and hot, so I remove my hoodie and slide down onto the floor. We start looking through the surveillance photos.
There’s my mom at our apartment, my dad holding my hand on the way to school, Mom meeting someone for lunch at an outdoor café…
Hmmm. I can’t see his face, buried behind a potted tree, but they are holding hands across the table, and Mom is smiling. In front of them are two iced teas. I squint and bring the photo closer to my face. Mom isn’t wearing her wedding ring. That doesn’t make any sense.
My heart gallops, and I fan the black and white photos in front of me. I search for that one perfect photo, the one with the smoking gun proving Jax is the one who wanted to kill my mother. Instead, I find the opposite. They were in love.
Jax, with his blond hair, holds my mother in his arms under an awning. They are in a deep, passionate kiss, and Mom grips him as if her life depends on it. It proves what they told me, but it also proves someone else knew and had been following them.
