by Rysa Walker
There's a pause, and then Simon adds, "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. 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've 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."
∞
Washington, DC
April 6, 2015– 3:30 p.m.
There are forty-seven active stable points in the DC region in 2015. I knew that watching through the key to see when Simon would pop into one of those locations wasn't a valid option. Still, I tried it for the better part of a day while I sat in my wretchedly hot apartment, trying to get some rest so that I'd be recharged for whatever I may face when I eventually go in.
Simon might farm this task out to some underling. Given his crack about Prudence botching the job, however, I think there's a decent chance he'll handle it personally. If I knew exactly when he was going in, I might be able to scan all forty-seven locations, but I'm not even sure of the day, let alone the hour.
I considered jumping back to the Metro station where Simon and I boarded the train and watching from an adjoining car. The problem is, there were only a few people on the platform that day. I have a hat and sunglasses, and could probably round up a coat or something, but disguises aren't foolproof. Simon might spot me. Or I might spot myself. I'd rather spare myself the headache and confusion.
The easier path is to find Kate online. She often complained that tracking someone down is much more difficult in my day, so I'm going to put her favorite invention to the test. If Kate has only recently connected with Katherine, as Simon noted, then she must be here in DC with one or both of her parents. If I find them, I'll find her.
The alcove beneath the spiral staircase at the Ford Theatre is a stable point from 1863 to 2092. I wait until a tour group passes, then blink in and head for the exit. There's a line of people against the wall outside, waiting for admission. I scan the faces, looking for someone who seems reasonably friendly, and finally settle on a young couple watching something on the woman's phone.
My accent is faint, but it's still there, and for once, I count it as an asset.
"Excuse me. I'm over from Ireland and I'm looking for someplace with a public computer and internet. Money is tight, so it would help if it were free."
The last part is true. The money that would have housed and fed me for months in 1905 won't last the day here, although I suspect there are a few coins in my pocket that would fetch far more than face value if I could find a coin dealer.
The woman says, "Um…maybe MLK Library? Two blocks down. It's on G Street. You can't miss it."
"He'll need a library card, Jen."
They discuss whether that's actually true, until the woman eventually concedes that yes, I'd likely need a library card.
"What are you looking for?" the man asks.
I put together a quick cover story about stolen luggage that contained my laptop, my phone, most of my money and the contact information for the two cousins who live here.
The woman shrugs, pulling a small computer out of her shoulder bag. "We're stuck here for the next ten or fifteen minutes anyway."
Ten minutes later, with a little assistance from the two of them, I've learned that there are fifteen women named Deborah Pierce in the DC area. I weed out twelve because they're way older than Kate's mom should be, and jot down the three remaining addresses. Two of them are within a three-mile radius of a university. I search those two universities for history faculty, and learn that Georgetown has a professor named Deborah Pierce, so I'm fairly confident that the address on O Street is correct.
I start to run the same check for Harry Keller, and have just discovered that there are five in the area, when the line starts moving.
DC streets are fairly easy to navigate. The state named streets and a few others can trip you up, since they span out like spokes of a wheel, but the numbered and lettered streets are laid out in a grid. I catch the subway and take it to Dupont Station, which exits onto Q Street. A few minutes later, I turn onto O Street and locate the address—a blue row house with a small porch in front. I set a stable point across the street, trying to get a decent view of the door without being too obvious with the key. Then I continue walking down the block until I spot a small alley between buildings. Once I've set a second point there, I jump back to Boston 1905 and wait, watching the front of the blue house from my room.
A woman on a bike arrives maybe twenty minutes later. It might be Kate's mom. I've never met her, however, so that's based only on the photograph Kate carried.
Another half hour passes. The sidewalk is more crowded now with people coming home from work. I don't even recognize Kate until she's halfway up the stairs, because she's with another girl. They're both wearing a white uniform, with loose trousers and a long shirt.
But it's her. It's her walk, and she's still carrying the backpack she had on the Metro.
I have to talk to her alone. It'll be tough enough to explain without someone else chiming in to make her question what I'm saying. And I've no idea how much her mother knows, let alone the other girl. My Kate still hadn't told her mother about CHRONOS after three years of working with Katherine, and even if some things are different now, I suspect the personal relationships are pretty much the same.
I watch as the girls disappear into the house and then I scan through in thirty-second increments. Someone shows up maybe a half hour later with a large red package, but it's just food delivery. While I wouldn't put it past Simon to taint the food so that they all pass out, a quick fast-forward reveals that no one shows up to cart out bodies, and I manage to relax a little.
When the lights in the townhouse go out, I skip ahead to daybreak. About an hour later, the girls come out. Kate is in the same blue and green plaid uniform she wore on the subway, her hair pulled back into a tight knot.
The dark-skinned girl taps Kate on the shoulder and heads off to the left, while Kate takes a right. By the time I blink into the alley location and make it to the sidewalk, she's on the next block. I consider jumping back a few minutes, but it's three or four blocks to the Metro and my legs are much longer. I'll catch up before we reach the station.
Except I don't. She must be late, because she's moving at a full run most of the time. I cross the street, thinking she'll have to make a left turn at some point to catch the train at Q Street. She doesn't, so she either knows a short cut or she's going to a different station.
As it turns out, I'm lucky to even keep her in sight. Kate makes it through a walk sign that I miss. I dart out as soon as there's a slight break in the traffic, triggering an angry horn blast. She's still halfway down the escalator when I get to the Dupont entrance on 19th.
I tell myself that it helps to know the route, but yeah, maybe she's in slightly better shape, too, because I'm huffing by the time I reach the gates. Then it takes two tries for the reader to take my pass, probably because I'm keeping one eye on which way Kate is going, rather than watching what I'm doing. Once it goes through, I shove the turnstile and take off after her.
Kate is already on the platform before I step onto the escalator. She's walking along the edge of the track, peering through the windows of the train to find a car with an empty seat. Four cars down, she pauses and enters through the middle door.
I could have made it, but I'm stopped dead in my tracks when Simon steps from behind a concrete pillar. Two
men in suits, who look like they smash people for a living, ooze out of the shadows.
Was Simon scanning the platforms through the key to see where she'd arrive? Or was he following her? Did he see me following her?
I'm pretty sure the answer to the last question is no, or else he would have sent at least one of the two human pylons in my direction. And he's not expecting me. As far as Simon or any of the Cyrists know, I'm stuck in Boston 1905 without a CHRONOS key.
They move toward the rear door of the car that Kate's in, and as they're walking through the door, Simon turns toward one of the men to say something. He's wearing the same stupid Aspire t-shirt he wore last time we rode the Metro, so I'm guessing it's still the same day for him.
I don't know if it's seeing the t-shirt, or if something else causes the memory to click into place, but I suddenly remember him underlining the word BINGO in his notebook.
He already knew Kate was going to be on the train, otherwise he wouldn't have known which station to wait at.
What he didn't know is that she'd have the book on her.
It's the diary he's after, not Kate.
I duck into the fifth car just as the door is closing and begin pushing myself through the standing riders toward the glass window separating this car from the one carrying Kate, Simon, and his two thugs. My heart is pounding, both from the mad rush getting here and the fact that Kate is in that car with Simon. I keep chanting in my head that he only wants the diary. He's not planning to hurt her. And if by chance he does, I'll jump back and stop it, bodyguards or no.
The thick panes of glass or plastic or whatever it is between the cars are distorting my view, but it looks like there's a blue mark on the hand of one of Simon's companions. Even though it's blurry, I think it's a lotus tattoo, which probably means he's Cyrist Temple security. I lean a bit to one side and see Kate, holding on to one of the center poles. Then a fat guy halfway down the car shifts his weight to the other foot and I can't see her at all.
According to the subway map near the door, it's eight stops to the station where Simon and I boarded yesterday. She was already on the train, examining the diary, when we entered. I've no idea how long it takes to travel those stops. I can't imagine Simon waiting if it's more than fifteen minutes. Not if he sees a chance to swipe the diary before then.
So I just wait and watch. The train begins to clear out a tiny bit two stops up, and Kate slides into an aisle seat near the middle of the car, her back facing me. She puts in her earplugs and slumps down in the seat.
A few minutes later, though, Kate sits up abruptly, her shoulders tight. She pulls out a mirror and seems to be fixing her hair, but she's tilting the mirror around, probably to get a view of the people behind her. She must have recognized Simon.
I hear an announcement for the next stop. After a few passengers get off, Kate bolts for the middle door. Simon is right behind her.
I shove past two women trying to board and run to the next car, darting around the two security guys who are already outside the train. The automated voice chimes, "Doors closing, doors closing." I enter, just in time to see Kate flying backward. Simon's in the doorway, clutching her pack with one hand while he activates his key with the other. He takes another step back, then there's a flash of green and Simon is gone.
The Cyrist security guys were clearly expecting his quick departure, because they both turn on their heels and head for the exit. A few other people look dazed, shaking their heads as they try to convince themselves that they didn't actually see what they just saw.
Kate landed in the laps of two passengers and she's in mid-apology when I call out her name. For a moment, it looks like she's going to bolt in the other direction, but she changes her mind and walks toward me, eyes flashing. Then her gaze drops down to my CHRONOS medallion and she stops.
I grab her arm and pull her toward an empty seat.
She sits down beside me, wrenching her arm out of my grasp. "Who the hell are you? Why are you following me and why did your friend take my pack?"
I can't help but smile. Kate will ask half a dozen questions before giving me a chance to answer even one.
Just as I expected, she keeps going, adding, "And how did you get that from my grandmother?" as she jabs a finger at my CHRONOS key.
I hesitate, wondering what to say that won't scare the bloody hell out of her. I can't tell the full truth, even though I hate lying. If I admit I was following her, I doubt she'll listen to anything else I say.
"Okay," I begin. "I'll answer them in order. I am Kiernan Dunne. I was not following you. I was following Simon. I not supposed to be here. Simon—the guy who took your bag—is not my friend, Kate." I tap the key on my chest and continue, "And this key is not from your grandmother's collection. It was my father's."
Her eyes search my face as she decides whether to trust me, and my hand moves of its own accord toward her. I've spent the last few weeks thinking I might never see her, might never touch her again.
She jumps, shying away like she's scared I might strike her. I don't pull my hand back—I don’t think I could have—but I do move more slowly, gently touching her cheek.
"I've never seen you this young." I pull the band from her hair and it falls around her shoulders. It never looks natural wound up on her head—kind of like trying to put a wild animal into a cage. "Now you look more like my Kate."
She's about to speak, but I stop her. "We're close to your exit. Go straight to your grandmother's house and tell her what has happened." I touch the cord around her neck. "At least you still have this. Keep the CHRONOS key on you at all times."
Kate shakes her head, confusion in her eyes. "CHRONOS key? I don't have—"
"The medallion."
"I don't have a medallion." She yanks the cord out of her blouse and I see a small clear case with an identification card. Flipping it around, she taps the other side, where two ordinary keys show through the plastic. "These are the only keys I have. Could you stop talking in riddles?"
"Was it in the bag?" It hadn't even occurred to me that she might have the key in her backpack. "You should keep it on you."
Her hands are tight fists in her lap, the knuckles of one forefinger chafed from a habit she's tried hard to break. The polish on one thumbnail—a deep red shade that looks pretty against her skin—is partly chipped away.
"No," Kate says. "I don't have a medallion. Until now, I thought there was only one and to the best of my knowledge it's at my grandmother's house."
"Why? Why in bloody hell would she send you out with no protection?"
"I don't know how to use it! Yesterday, I nearly…" She stops suddenly, blood rushing to her face. "I saw you when I held it. Why? Who are you?"
I feel panic starting to close in and I rub my temples, trying to think. When I look back up, I catch a brief glimpse of her hands again.
The red polish. But…it wasn't on her fingers.
It was on her toes.
At the Expo.
This is the Kate from the Expo.
Not my Kate, but my first Kate. The girl who saved me, who pushed me toward the window and turned back to fight the monster chasing us through a burning hotel.
And I don't know how she got out of that hotel. I don't even know if she gets out of it, because that day is still in her future. Once Kate stepped into my boat at Estero, I thought I had my answer to that question. She was there, with me, older than she'd been at the Expo, and very much alive. Even if she didn't remember our time in 1893, there was no doubt in my mind that she was the same girl.
I was still curious as to how she got out. How she became my Kate. How she lost her memory of something that is so seared into my consciousness that I occasionally dream about it, years later.
Going back to check carried its own set of risks, however. It never seemed worth it just to scratch an idle itch when Kate was right there, right in front of me.
But now?
The situation is much more complicated than I imagined.
> Although I hate to scare her, Kate has a stubborn streak a mile wide, and she just can't be wandering around without a key. She needs to get back to Katherine's and stay there. Saul's desire for control means there are probably hours, maybe even a full day, before the next time shift. But I'm not leaving anything to chance. I think I can convince June to do me a small favor. Just a short delay. Maybe a quick medical check before Simon jumps back to tip the domino that will trigger all of the other events we've been setting in place for the past few weeks.
I take a deep breath and grab her hands between mine. "I didn't plan for this, Kate. You're going to have to run. Take a cab. Steal a car. Whatever you do, get to her house as quickly as you can and do not leave."
I stand up, moving us both toward the exit. "I'll try to stall them, but I don't know exactly what they're planning, so I have no idea how long you have."
"How long before what—"
And then I give into temptation. I pull her close and kiss her.
My brain tells me this is not my Kate, but it's quickly overruled by heart and body. And she doesn't pull away. She leans into me and I can feel her heartbeat against my chest, the pulse in her neck fluttering beneath my thumb.
The train begins to slow, and I pull back, reluctant to let go. "This was not supposed to be our first kiss, Kate. But if you do not hurry, it will almost certainly be our last."
I tug the CHRONOS key out of my shirt. "Run. Run, now."
As I blink out, I see her eyes drift down to her green hair band, still on my wrist. Although I know I should give it back, I can't. I need to hold onto something. Something to remind me that Kate is alive and breathing.
This Kate may not know me yet, but that, I can fix.
If she makes it back to Katherine's before the next time shift.
If she makes it out of the World's Fair Hotel in 1893.
Acknowledgements
In keeping with the abbreviated nature of a novella, I'm going to make this short. To each and every one of the friends, family, and early readers that I mentioned at the end of Timebound—you have my continued, heartfelt gratitude.
