Time's Mirror: A CHRONOS Files Novella (The CHRONOS Files)

by Rysa Walker

  “Yes, thank you. I just…I was playing with Giz and I forgot to wash my hands before I left my room.”

  “Yes, miss.” He glances into the sink, where the yellow end of the banana peel is still visible in the drain, probably wondering why I was eating a banana if I was about to go in for breakfast. But he doesn’t say anything.

  The sunroom is silent when I enter. Simon and Saul are both looking at me, and I suspect they’re combing through what was said in the past few exchanges, trying to figure out if there’s anything I might have overheard.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I tell them. “I didn’t sleep well last night, and then I overslept the alarm.”

  “We waited for the first ten minutes, Prudence.” The fact that Saul is using my full name is a bad sign.

  “Holy shikes, you weren’t kidding, Saul. That is one…original haircut. Did you take the scissors to it yourself, Pru?”

  “A steak knife, actually. Do you like it?”

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “I haven’t,” Saul says. “But I made my feelings on the matter clear to her the first time I saw the butchery. Marcel!”

  He pushes open the kitchen door. “Yes, Brother Cyrus?”

  “It’s after nine. Clear the sideboard.”

  Marcel shoots me an apologetic look, and then bows his head and starts to collect the serving dishes.

  “That’s fine,” I say, shrugging. “I wasn’t very hungry anyway. May I be excused?”

  “Hold up.” Simon reaches into the bag by his side and tosses me a dark, curly wig. “There’s an ordination at the temple in Jakarta.” He snaps his fingers. “Key?”

  I step closer and he presses the back of his key to mine, transferring the coordinates. “Is that all?” I ask, when he’s finished.

  “Wait,” Saul says. He’s staring down at the gauze wrapped around my wrist. “What happened to your arm? Are you okay?”

  His voice is gentler than before, and it takes me by surprise. It usually takes a few days for his mood to improve when we have a spat.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Looks worse than it is.”

  “Did you see June?”

  “No. It’s just a scratch, really.”

  But he’s up, and coming toward me. “Let me see it, Pru.”

  I roll my eyes and unwrap the bandage. “It doesn’t need stitches. We were just playing and Giz got a little excited…”

  “That’s not a mere scratch. It’s a puncture wound. Several of them, actually. You could get an infection. Your immune system is probably already weakened from this little stunt.”

  He yanks down my sleeve to reveal the tattoo. Simon laughs, but he cuts it off pretty quickly when he catches Saul’s expression.

  “I told you when you asked for the pup that you’d have to control him. Clearly you can’t. A dog that will bite its master is a dangerous creature.”

  “No, Saul! Please, please no.” I grab his arm. “It was an accident! We were playing and something startled him. I’ll be more careful. Or…obedience training. We can do that. You can’t give Gizmo away!”

  Saul gives me a sad smile, but something very different is dancing behind his eyes. Something that terrifies me.

  “I have no intention of giving him away.”

  I bury Gizmo near the mango grove.

  Marcel heard the whole exchange and offered to help me dig the hole, but I said no thanks. The almighty Brother Cyrus might have been angry at him for meddling. I wanted to be alone anyway.

  The tears don’t start until the last shovelful of dirt is on the grave and I’m walking down the path to Bamboo Landing. Then they come so hard that I can barely see the trail. I just curl into a little ball on the riverbank until the shaking stops.

  When I’m all cried out, I climb inside the small skiff that’s tied to the dock. I’ve taken the boat out a couple of times, but never all the way into Fort Myers. Is Fort Myers still above water in 2306? If I set a local point and scroll the time forward, will I drown? Tate says there are a few digits in the sequence that control things like altitude, and that I can’t simply roll the time forward. I might end up in the middle of highway. Fifty feet above ground or fifty feet below it.

  There’s a part of me that genuinely doesn’t care right now. I’d be willing to play a little Russian roulette and spin the barrel. Win or lose, at least I’d be out of here. And losing might be easier, because it would wipe the image of Saul calling Gizmo over to him and calmly snapping his neck.

  Giz didn’t even have time to yelp. But his eyes rested on my face for just a moment before they glazed over. He didn’t look angry, or like he blamed me at all. He looked just like he always did. Like he loved me.

  He should have blamed me.

  Strangely enough, it’s my mother’s voice that keeps me from pushing the skiff away from the dock.

  It’s your decision, Pru.

  I was six. Our neighbor, Donny Westhall, was eight years old and mean to the core. Usually, he was smart enough to stay in his own yard, because Deb and I together could kick his butt. But that day, I was solo. Deb was still in bed, fighting off some virus. The fact that I was alone is why Donny decided it was safe to rip the medal off my Gold Medal Barbie. After a few minutes of taunting me as I tried to get it back, he ran out to the sidewalk and dropped it into the sewer.

  When I ran inside, Mother hugged me and dried my tears. She was pretty good about that kind of stuff when I was little. And when I calmed down a bit, she nodded toward the fence that divided Donny’s yard from ours.

  It’s your decision, Pru. You have two choices. You can sit here crying, and he’ll probably do it again. Or you can teach Donny that he can’t treat you that way.

  I thought about it for a bit, and then I went into Donny’s backyard. He was on the far side of the yard, playing with his older brother. I snagged the two newest looking Hot Wheels from their sandbox and yelled something witty like, “Hey, dookey-face!” to get Donny’s attention.

  When he looked up, I took off running as fast as I could toward that same sewer grate. I waited until he rounded the corner. Once I was certain that Donny could see, I dropped them into the hole. And then I quickly retreated into the house.

  Donny Westhall never messed with my stuff again.

  Saul’s a bully, just like Donny. I know he’ll do it again. Trouble is, he has a lot more power than Donny, power that I helped him acquire. It’s not as simple as just tossing his toys into the sewer.

  That’s when I remember the conversation he was having with Simon before he decided to kill Gizmo. They’re planning something for the board meeting tomorrow. Something that the Older-Me isn’t going to like. Something she may not be able to stop.

  But maybe I can.

  I’m still a bit tempted to push the boat away from the dock and see how many double memories my older self will have when I head to Mexico and become a stripper or something. Because she knew what was going to happen to Gizmo. She could have warned me.

  But as angry as I am at her, I’m a million times angrier at Saul. I want to take all of his toys.

  I want him to burn.

  8

  THE FARM

  ESTERO, FLORIDA

  Day 268—May 30, 2030, 8:25 a.m.

  I show up at breakfast with a clean face, wearing the stupid wig and one of the demure dresses Saul likes. I even apologize for making him angry.

  At first, I think I’ve gone too far, that he’s going to realize I’m faking. But he relaxes after a minute or two as I just sit there, quietly eating my eggs.

  “I’m sorry, too, sweetie. But you can see why I had to do it, right? It was for your own good. For your own safety.”

  It takes a huge amount of restraint to keep from stabbing him with my fork. I just duck my head slightly so that he can’t see my clenched teeth, and nod.

  “I’ll get you another puppy. Something small, that can’t hurt you.”

  Fat chance. No way I’m giving you another weapon to use against me.r />
  “Sure,” I say, and manage a weak smile. “But not yet.”

  When we’re finished, I ask to be excused.

  “Of course,” he says. “My lift will be here in about an hour. Listen, though, I was thinking maybe you’d like to visit Tate? Might cheer you up a bit, and there are going to be a lot of people in and out for the board meeting this evening. You’d just be underfoot.”

  That’s his way of saying that various leaders of Cyrist International will be in and out today, and given my current hairstyle and piercings, he’d prefer they didn’t see me. Older-Pru will be here, as well. Saul doesn’t hold the actual meetings at the Farm. He’s too paranoid to let the others know his exact location and, I suspect, equally paranoid about confirming his own inability to use the key. The lift he mentioned is a chopper that will take him to one of his other houses, probably in Miami. Everyone else will get the meeting coordinates when they arrive at the conference room here at Founder’s House, and when they return to this location, Saul’s coordinates will be wiped from their keys.

  I let my smile grow a little wider. “Sure. A trip would be nice.”

  The truth is, it would be freaking wonderful. I don’t care what Saul’s motives are for packing me off. I need to get out of here. I need to talk to Tate.

  “Good. You’ll have to get up with Simon before you can leave. He has the key Campbell gave you, and you’ll need that stable point. He should be around this afternoon, since he has to talk to a couple of the board members before the meeting. But listen up. Leave a blood sample at the clinic before you go. Stay one week, and come back on schedule this time, so we don’t have any more disagreements. If you can do that, maybe we can arrange for that stable point to remain on your key. I know you’re lonely here, and I think Tate might be good for you…well, at least until CHRONOS is back up and running, and he finds other distractions.”

  I force myself to hold the smile and say thanks. I don’t even acknowledge the evil little dig about Tate that he added at the end. My only goal is to get out of this room while I still have myself under control.

  “Pru!” Saul yells, just as I step into the hallway. “Get that tattoo removed in one of the Juvapods when you’re there. Unless you want me to scrub it off myself.”

  When I reach my room, I beat the crap out of a pillow, the closest thing I have to a punching bag. It holds up better than the teddy bear my older-self dismembered, which is still lying in a sad little heap next to my bed.

  Once I’ve let off enough steam, I change out of the good-girl dress into something cooler—and I mean that in both senses of the word. Tate’s interest in me would evaporate instantly if he saw me in the Sunday school getup. After that, I stash a few things into my shoulder bag, and then there’s nothing left to do but wait for Simon.

  I miss Gizmo. He’d be chewing on one of my shoes or barking at the chickens and geese as they pass the glass door that leads into the yard, but he was good company.

  The afternoon drags by with no sign of Simon. I finally hear his voice when I come downstairs around six thirty. He must have blinked straight into Saul’s study, because he’s in there chatting with someone when I walk past the door.

  Simon is a creature of habit, and I know those habits pretty well. He’ll have a scotch or three before he heads into the board meeting, and the bar is in the sunroom. So I make myself a cheese sandwich in the kitchen—trying, as always, not to look at that damned bulletin board. Then I go into the sunroom to wait for Simon.

  I look out the window as I eat, mostly to be sure that I don’t have another encounter with Older-Me, who is probably over at Planetary Court, the house she stays in when she’s at the Farm. I’m not sure at what age I get to move my stuff across the courtyard and away from Saul, but I’m definitely looking forward to it.

  I’ve just finished the sandwich when the barn door opens, catching my eye. The barn door opening isn’t unusual when I’m at the Farm a century ago, but this is the modern barn, with only a few horses inside. I check on them each day and I ride one of them occasionally, but I’m pretty much the only person who goes in there. And even in my case, I almost always jump to around 1915 if I want to ride. Wildfire is around back then, and I have that horse almost to the point where I could ride him without any tack at all. He’s my baby, and I’m so, so very glad he’s in a time when Saul can’t touch him.

  Someone coming out of barn is pretty rare in 2030, so I watch. It’s a guy, tall, with dark hair. He must have jumped in for the board meeting, so I’m surprised when he doesn’t head toward Founder’s House.

  He does glance briefly in this direction, however, before turning toward the river. That’s when I realize it’s Kiernan, Simon’s buddy.

  I’m tempted to follow and spy on him, given my older self’s comments and the fact that his name popped up in the conversation between Saul and Simon yesterday. What does he have to do with Deborah’s daughter?

  But I’m worried I’ll miss Simon, so I just watch until Kiernan disappears around the bend.

  At six fifty-four, I hear Simon’s laugh coming from the hallway. Someone else is with him.

  “…a little something to make the meeting tolerable.”

  There’s a clinking noise. So much for my plan. The lush must keep a bottle in the kitchen now. Or maybe in his pocket.

  After a second, the other person says, “Whoa. Easy with that stuff. I haven’t eaten yet.”

  I don’t recognize the voice, but I don’t think he’s a jumper. He must be one of the board members they’ll teleconference in.

  “Then have a banana or a sandwich with it,” Simon tells him. “You really want to go into a conference room with Mother Prudence when you’re stone sober?”

  Mother Prudence? Ugh. Even though I know he’s referring to the older version of me, that’s still obnoxious.

  The other guy laughs, but he sounds uneasy.

  “Listen.” There’s a scraping sound, so I guess Simon pulled his barstool closer to the other guy. “I know you’ve got mixed feelings about this. I do, too. We both know the sacrifices Prudence has made. I mean, aside from Brother Cyrus, she’s given more than any of us. She’s just not thinking rationally on this issue. I’m not sure she’s thinking rationally about anything anymore. Brother Cyrus has been concerned for some time, even though I doubted for a while.”

  “You should have more faith in the wisdom of Brother Cyrus,” the other man says, in a soft voice.

  “True.” Simon’s tone is somber. “I should know better than to doubt him, but I did. It was a lapse of faith. I prayed about it.”

  I feel the urge to barf up my sandwich.

  After a moment, the other man says, “I have a hard time disregarding Sister Prudence’s wishes in this case. Isn’t there another way? Are we certain that this is the woman in the Prophecy?”

  “I think Brother Cyrus made that quite clear.” Simon is growing angry now. “Listen, he gave Prudence the chance to solve this herself. She either chose not to do it or she bungled it.”

  “Prudence seems to think she’s in danger if you do this.”

  “Then maybe we should be questioning her faith, or at the very least, her judgment. Do you really think that Cyrus would put her—would put any of us, but especially her—in danger? We’re his most valuable assets!”

  There’s a pause, followed by a clink of glass on glass. Probably Simon refilling his drink. “I mean, we’ve all seen how Prudence has been the past few years. It’s sad that she’s falling apart, but it’s the reality we face, Ron. We certainly can’t trust her to lead us, especially in these times where every decision is critical.”

  “Fine,” Ron says. “I won’t say anything to her if that’s Brother Cyrus’s final decision. Are you planning to do it now, or after the other arrangements are made?”

  “After. I don’t see why this would cause a major shift in the timeline. Either way, I’d rather wait until we have everything else synched up. Pru has people watching both houses, and I’v
e been told the grandma never leaves. The girl’s in school, however. It’ll be easier to grab her before she gets good with the key. The flip side is that she probably won’t have the information we need. But I’m guessing we can lure grandma out into the open if we have her as bait.”

  My mind flashes back to the picture of Deb, pregnant. This must be her daughter they’re talking about.

  The two men leave, and I really should follow. I need to catch Simon. But I don’t want him to wonder whether I’ve been listening in. So I run around the long way, rather than cutting through the kitchen, and head him off in the hallway just outside the conference room.

  “Simon! Saul said—”

  He glances toward the conference room and then down at what I’m wearing, giving me a warning look.

  “Brother Cyrus,” I correct, in a lower voice, “wants me to take a trip. And I need to get the stable point from you. Did he mention it?”

  “Yeah, yeah. He mentioned it. Give me your key.” He transfers the location and then says, “Leave a blood sample for June so we can keep you honest.”

  “Already did.”

  “Oh, and Pru. Speaking of blood, I ran a few tests of my own after we talked to June. When the time comes, don’t worry about the thing in Copenhagen. Handle it your own way. I’ll take care of Moehler. Saul doesn’t need to know. I’ll take care of everything.”

  If I didn’t know better, I could almost imagine he was watching out for me. But then I remember his expression as he looked out at those kids on the playground. Simon just wants to make sure he remains Simon.

  I turn to go, but he grabs my arm. “Almost forgot.” He reaches into his pocket with his other hand. “Took this picture for you yesterday. Thought you might want to put it in your album.”

  Of course you did, you snake.

  It’s Deborah, as always. She’s sitting on steps outside of a building, laughing. There’s a little girl sitting between her knees, looking up at her. My breath catches in my throat for a minute, because the girl could almost…almost…be me at that age.