Timepiece: An Hourglass Novel

by Myra Mcentire

  “Let’s go,” Dune said, and we followed him across the lawn.

  Getting in the building was easy enough, and so was getting into the records room, thanks to the key I’d lifted from my dad. Rather than a dusty storage space, it was a former classroom, a little on the small side. There were at least twenty boxes that held files, along with a model of the planetary system, Pluto included, a couple of defunct microscopes, and a teaching skeleton missing its left leg bone. The skeleton hung from a rolling stand by a silver hook in its head.

  The room also had a window, which meant we didn’t have to turn on lights and draw unnecessary attention.

  “Nate, keep a lookout, would you?” I took a box off the top of a stack and handed it to Dune, and then I picked up the one below it.

  “Why would you make me be the lookout when I can go through those boxes at ten times the speed you two can?” Nate asked.

  “Excellent point.” I shoved the box in my hands at him and let go. It landed on the ground with a solid thud and a cloud of dust as it slipped right through his fingers.

  “Nate, what are you—”

  “Holy hell.” Nate’s voice hit a really high pitch. He was pointing out the window.

  A hundred or so young men in caps and gowns sat in the middle of the quad on white folding chairs set up in rows, all staring intently at the stage and podium in front of them. The fallen leaves that had littered the ground two minutes ago were gone, replaced by a lush green summer carpet of bluegrass.

  At the podium, a distinguished-looking gentleman reigned over the festivities, wearing a cap and gown.

  The banner behind him said congratulations, class of 1948.

  “Please tell me you see that,” Nate said. “Do you see that?”

  “I do,” Dune said, setting down the box in his hands. “There are no women. Where are the women?”

  I paid a little more attention to the scenery. The stone on the side of the buildings lacked a significant amount of moss from what I was used to seeing, and the art building was completely missing. “This was a men’s college until the 1950s.”

  “So this is a ripple,” Nate said. “From before then.”

  I heard a crash and a yelp behind us.

  Nate and I turned to find Dune on the ground, tangled up with the teaching skeleton.

  “I realize this is probably plastic and used for teaching purposes,” Dune said, handing Nate a tibia with the foot attached, “but I want it off me.”

  Nate proceeded to use the metatarsals to scratch his back, and then he started to giggle.

  I interrupted. “Guys. Look around.”

  Either my tone or the situation put an end to the giggling.

  The storage space was now a classroom. Neat desks lined up in rows, and a blackboard full of equations. The only similarity between this room and the one we’d walked into five minutes ago was the skeleton. Dune was still tangled up in it.

  “Where are we?” Nate touched a couple of the desks with his free hand. “Is this a rip? Because I’m still holding this leg bone in my hand. That’s not normal. Right?”

  “Shut up,” I hissed. “Someone’s coming.”

  The door to the classroom opened slowly. A tiny woman holding a mop stuck her head in and looked around, her gaze landing on the leg bone.

  “I’m sorry,” Nate said, gesturing with the bone. “It was an accident. We … we’re visitors from … out of … state?”

  I groaned. This wasn’t going to end well.

  The woman didn’t seem to hear or see him, but from the way her eyes moved, she did see the leg bone. From the way she dropped the mop and covered her mouth to stifle a scream, it must have appeared to be floating in midair. I rushed across the room and tapped her on the shoulder before she could run.

  The dusty file boxes reappeared, and I heard a combined gasp from Dune and Nate.

  The skeleton was upright and hanging from its hook, slightly more yellowed than it had been a few seconds ago in the rip from the past. It was missing a left leg bone.

  The exact bone Nate still held in his hand. It looked brand new.

  Chapter 16

  “C

  an we just … regroup?” Em sat on the corner of my bed, staring at Dune, Nate, and me. “Number one, Lily pointed out to you that we needed to know what Jack’s ultimate goal is, so that we can better understand where to look for him.” I nodded.

  “Number two,” she continued, moving her attention to Dune, “you did a computer search, and there’s no information on Jack in any database anywhere.”

  Dune nodded.

  “And number three.” Em took a couple of deep breaths and looked at Nate, and then at each of us in turn. “Y’all looked through paper records at the college, and that led to you pulling a leg bone out of a ripple?”

  Nate nodded and then patted the leg bone awkwardly. “I’d put it back, but … I don’t know how.”

  “Why did you take it out of the rip with you in the first place?” Em asked in disbelief.

  “We didn’t do it on purpose,” Nate assured her. “Don’t worry. It didn’t belong to anyone … who needed it.”

  “It doesn’t matter why or how it happened, but it did,” I said. “I couldn’t tell Dad, because I didn’t want him to know I stole his key or what we were looking for, but I couldn’t leave the rest of the skeleton there, either. It’s evidence.”

  “It’s creepy.” Em looked up at me. “And it’s a skeleton. In your closet. Your bedroom closet. I mean, the irony …”

  I shut the closet door. “Back to regrouping.”

  Em closed her eyes and dropped her head into her hands.

  “You okay?” I asked her. “Want me to round you up some water or something?”

  She peered up at me through her fingers. “How about your flask?”

  “Trust me, that’s not the answer.”

  “That’s the wisest thing I’ve heard you say in a while,” Michael said from the doorway. Em’s eyes opened wide, and I could see and feel her relief. It went all the way to her soul.

  Dune tapped Nate on the arm. “We should head out. Liam’s going to know something’s up if he finds us all in Kaleb’s bedroom.”

  “Wait.” After Nate dropped the bone on top of my dresser, I tossed him the key to the science storage area. “Can you get that back on Dad’s key ring?”

  “Lickety-split.” He was gone before I could blink. Dune rolled his eyes and followed, but a little more slowly.

  Michael threw his coat on my bed and sat down beside Em.

  “Is that it?” He pointed at the bone.

  “Yes.” I opened my closet door, turned on the light, and let him compare the color of the bones.

  “Just so I have all this straight, when you went into the storage room, the skeleton was there. It was missing a leg bone,” Michael confirmed.

  I nodded.

  Michael continued, “When you landed in the rip, the whole skeleton was there, and when you came out of the rip, you brought the leg bone with you.”

  “Yes.” I dropped the leg bone on top of my shoes and shut my closet door. “This makes my head hurt.”

  Em had been quiet. Michael leaned over, bumping her shoulder with his. “What are you thinking about? Because I know your brain’s going a thousand miles an hour.”

  She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “The rips. They just keep getting stronger, changing. Suddenly, the people in them don’t see us, and now we can physically remove things. I’m just waiting for the past to overtake the present.”

  “What about the future?” I frowned. “Everything we’ve seen so far has been from the past. No rips from the future.”

  Michael didn’t answer.

  “When’s the last time you saw a rip from the future, Michael?” Em hugged her knees more tightly to her chest.

  “A while. Since the end of the summer. They started disappearing around the time the full scene rips showed up.”

  “Around the time Ja
ck started messing with the time lines,” I said.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” Em said. “And it’s not very comforting to know that you don’t, either.”

  “Jack is still doing damage to the continuum,” Michael said. “If I’m honest, I don’t think we have until Halloween to find him. I’m afraid the world won’t last that long.”

  Chapter 17

  I

  f the world was in danger, it stood to reason that Lily and I had a lot of work to do. Murphy’s Law was so full I’d had to wait for a seat at the bar. Everyone else had a laptop open in front of them, plugged into a power strip in the wall. I tried to look busy and important as I sent a few texts, but I only got dirty looks from people waiting for a seat.

  “Not. Now.” Lily swung past me with a steaming coffeepot, and I pulled back just in time to avoid being smacked in the face with it. “My grandmother is in the kitchen.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know,” I said. “Where do you want me to go?”

  Smiling, she topped off the cups of the people at the table closest to me, pouring with grace and precision. Obviously, she’d almost hit me because she wanted to.

  “Clock tower steps. Twenty minutes. Get out.”

  The stone clock tower served as the perfect testament to how far Ivy Springs had come. Connected to the old train station, it was now home to the chamber of commerce. It even had ivy climbing up the side. The clock hands moved via electricity rather than clockwork, leaving enough space that the top two floors could be rented for meetings or parties.

  I sat down at the far left side of the steps and leaned back on my elbows.

  Michael had made it very clear that we were running out of time. While he and Em continued to help my dad solve the riddle of the exotic matter formula, Dune and Nate would continue the computer and physical searches for any kind of records about Jack.

  That left me to pair up with Lily.

  “Kaleb?”

  Nervous excitement. I opened my eyes to see the source. A blond girl I almost recognized. “Yeah?”

  “I’m Macy?” She said it as if she weren’t sure herself. “We met downtown last summer? You let me drive your Jeep down Broadway.”

  I’d let her park it, too.

  “Macy.” If I leaned back another half an inch, I’d be able to see up her incredibly short skirt. Patting the space beside me, I grinned. “I remember.”

  Her laugh reminded me of wind chimes. She lowered herself gracefully onto the step above me, grinning back and extending smooth, bare legs. “I’m shocked you remember anything about that night.”

  “I remember watermelon lip gloss.” I winked and got the laugh again. “But I do not remember getting your number.”

  “Maybe you should get it now.”

  “Maybe I should.” I lightly touched her knee and was pleased to see the chill bumps form on her skin. I seemed to recall giving her chill bumps before. But that could have been someone else.

  “Ahem.”

  Macy and I looked up.

  “Seriously?” Lily asked. “You’ve been here what, five minutes? Don’t you have enough going on in your life? Do you really need to play to the stereotype?”

  “At least I know how to play,” I shot back.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.” Macy stood quickly.

  I caught a glimpse of hot-pink underwear.

  Lily caught me looking. She shook her head with just enough disdain to spark my anger.

  “Oh, I’m not seeing her.” I inclined my head toward Lily. “I’m helping her out with something, for a friend. Kind of a charity case thing.”

  I froze when Lily’s emotions hit. Not pissy mad but hurt mad. She said a couple of choice words and then stalked away, her long legs quickly closing the distance between me and Murphy’s Law.

  I couldn’t afford to have Lily mad at me.

  Plus, I kind of didn’t want her mad at me.

  “Macy, it was great seeing you.” I pushed myself up to my feet, standing on my toes to keep my eyes on Lily. “But I gotta jet.”

  I heard her say something about her number, but I didn’t turn back.

  I replayed the conversation in my head to figure out what I’d said wrong. When I finally caught up to Lily, I reached for her hand, but I stopped just in time. She wasn’t in the mood to be touched by anyone. Especially by me.

  “Lily, I was messing with you,” I said in a soothing voice, trying to calm her down. “There’s no need to take it personally.”

  My attempt to calm her didn’t work. It made her madder.

  “There isn’t?” She stopped and poked me in the chest, narrowing her eyes dangerously. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me. You can’t make judgment calls on what I can take personally and what I can’t.”

  I took a step backward to avoid her finger. “You made a judgment call on me and Macy, and you weren’t even there for two seconds.”

  “That was an observation.” Now her hands were fisted on her hips. “I know what a hookup looks like.”

  “There was no hooking up. We were talking. I hung out with Macy this past summer. We’re friends.”

  “What’s her last name?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “What’s her last name?”

  “I … uh …” Suddenly, my mouth felt really dry. “It’s right on the tip of my tongue.”

  “Mmmhmmm.” Lily spun back around and started for Murphy’s Law.

  “Wait—”

  “No!” The word exploded as she threw it over her shoulder without looking at me. “Go back to your fancy house and scroll through the contacts on your phone. I’m sure if she was good, you’ve got her number in there somewhere. I’ll be somebody else’s charity case.”

  The hurt came through again, tinged with jealousy this time. It couldn’t be because of the girl, so it must be because of … my house. I’d called her a charity case, but I hadn’t meant it at all, much less that way.

  “Hey.” This time I did grab her arm, turning her around. “I don’t have money.”

  Lily’s laugh reminded me of smoke and honey. “Right. Your family has it. You have to wait a few years before your trust fund rolls in.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Oh, so you get it when you turn eighteen,” she said coldly. “Good for you.”

  “Listen.” Irritation began to slide toward anger. “I told you our house has been in my dad’s family for generations. We didn’t buy it, and, yes, he inherited it, but only the house, not the money for the upkeep. And we need a lot of money for that.”

  “So your mom makes a movie and pockets five million bucks. The name Grace Walker commands at least that much.”

  “Yeah.” I had no idea why, but I was overcome with the need to tell Lily the truth. To let go and stop hiding. “But that doesn’t help us much right now. My mom is in a coma.”

  She drew a sharp breath.

  “No one in the media knows. Not that I think you’d say anything, but … we’ve kept it under wraps. People probably just think she’s somewhere tropical, drinking piña coladas and having a full body lift.” I closed my eyes and waited for the anger to go away—the anger at the situation and the anger at myself for telling Lily anything.

  “How long?” she asked.

  I opened my eyes to search her face. I didn’t feel pity from her, or hear it in her voice. There was only empathy. I was usually the one providing that.

  “Almost eight months.”

  She took my arm and pulled me toward one of the benches that lined Main Street. “Sit. You don’t have to tell me anything. But … sit.”

  We both sat. Now that I’d opened up to her, it was like I couldn’t stop. I just kept talking, no matter how much I wanted to shut up. “It happened right after Dad died. It wasn’t an accident or anything like that. We don’t know what’s wrong with her. Exactly.”

  “What do you mean, ‘exactly’?”

  “She di
dn’t come downstairs one morning, so I went to her room to find her. She was in her bathroom. On the floor. There were … pills. They were all around her.” I blew out a sigh, trying not to see her now. Trying not to relive the fear and the pain. “My mom doesn’t even drink.”

  Lily didn’t say anything. It was the perfect reaction.

  We sat in silence for a few moments as I tried to figure out how to explain things, and how much I wanted her to know. “Jack told Emerson he took Mom’s memories of everything that was keeping her alive. Her memories of Dad.”

  “And you.”

  I wanted to believe that. The doubt had only grown in the past months, that somehow Mom hadn’t loved me enough to stick around. I knew deep down it wasn’t true, but the lie showed up at the most inopportune times. Like when a bottle, or a girl, was handy.

  “When Jack took Emerson’s memories, he replaced them,” I explained. “But Mom is just … empty, I guess. Jack claimed that made her suicidal.”

  Traffic passed by on Main Street, and I listened to the comforting, familiar sounds of a small town closing out the day. Keys jangling in store locks, car doors opening and shutting, faint snatches of conversations about dinner plans.

  “Em told me about Michael,” she said, “when he was dead. Your dad was, too. That’s so strange.”

  I didn’t mention that Em had been dead pretty recently as well.

  “But Michael and your dad are both alive and well now.” Her hand moved toward my arm, but then she changed her mind and quickly pulled it back into her lap. “You have to hold out hope that one day your mom will be okay.”

  Not only did she believe what she was saying, she wanted me to believe it. The honesty in her voice was wrapped with a warmth I wanted to lean on. “Thank you.”

  “You’re really only fifty percent jerk, you know. Maybe forty-nine. But that other fifty or fifty-one? That’s solid. And I bet it’s because of your mom.”