Destroyer (Rewinder #2)

by Brett Battles

The deep dark of night again. I can see the stars above me, but little else. What I hear, though, is Lidia putting even more distance between us.

  I start after her but am afraid of going too fast as I can still barely even see my own hand.

  Jump.

  The stadium again. Only Lidia is not on the field anymore. In fact, I don’t see her anywhere.

  Jump.

  Darkness.

  I can hear her running steps again. She’s much farther away now, and no longer directly in front of me.

  Jump.

  Stadium.

  I’m all alone and can hear nothing but the sound of vehicles on a road somewhere outside the complex. Having no idea now where she could be, I remain where I am, anticipating another jump. But several minutes pass, and I’m still here.

  I’ve been a fool. My chance to grab her was before she ever rose from the grass. It’s clear what she’s been doing. She can’t unslave my chaser from hers without accessing the device in my possession, and therefore knows wherever she goes, I will go, too. What she can do, however, is put enough distance between us so that when she does jump, she won’t need to worry about me being right behind her.

  If I can’t locate her, she’ll be free to do whatever it is she has planned, while I can only witness the deeds her hatred of me has sparked.

  I must find her.

  Not for my sake, or Iffy’s, or Ellie’s, or even Kane’s.

  For everyone’s sake.

  I have to—

  Jump.

  I’m someplace new. A quiet city street, streetlamps on—electric, I think, not gas—and most of the houses dark. As I turn for a look around, I see that the horizon to my right is an orange and yellow blend more representative of a sunrise than a sunset.

  I look at my chaser to find out for sure. It’s 5:47 a.m. Surprisingly, we’ve come back to 1952, only a week before Kane, Iffy, and I are to arrive. A check of the log reveals that the two jumps we had been alternating between were to 1927 and 1903.

  I cradle my chaser to my chest, wishing I had my satchel to put it in, and approach the cars parked along the side of the street. The license plates are all black backgrounds with yellow characters. Embossed across the bottom is CALIFORNIA.

  Could it be that we’re back in Los Angeles? Back where we started?

  I wonder if Lidia has returned to her house, but a quick look around makes me think this isn’t the case. The Echo Park area where her house is located is extremely hilly, while the area around where I stand right now is flat. She can’t be more than a few blocks from where I am. There just hasn’t been enough time to get any farther away.

  We’ve already been here longer than any other place we’ve jumped since leaving Iffy. Instead of just standing around to see what happens next, I decide to try and figure out where we are. If I can find an area where there are more businesses, I should be able to locate a newsstand or something else that will clue me in. After a quick study of my choices, I decide my best bet is to head north.

  Though it’s still not six o’clock, I can sense the city coming to life around me as I walk—a door opening here and there, a light coming on inside a house, an engine roaring to life. The sky continues to lighten above me, and the slight chill of the night is giving way to what feels like will be a pleasant October day.

  I turn left three blocks up, thinking this will give me a better shot at finding what I’m looking for, and indeed it does, though not in the way I expected.

  Lidia stands on the sidewalk at the other end of the block, staring at me. I hesitate a moment before starting in her direction. I’m sure that she’ll start running again, but she holds her ground. I pick up my pace to a lopsided semi-jog.

  I’m about fifteen feet away when she raises her chaser, her finger over the go button, and says, “Perfect.”

  Down she presses, and away goes the city street.

  The jump is so short, though, I never see the mist. Suddenly I’m in a room, running toward a wall dominated by a large window. I skid across the floor and crouch down so that I slam into the concrete portion of the wall instead of crashing through the glass. I hit shoulder first, and nearly drop the chaser.

  “Denny?”

  I whip back around at the sound of Lidia’s voice and scan the room behind me, but it’s empty, not just of another person but of anything.

  “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” Her voice is coming from higher up than it should. I look to the ceiling and see a speaker mounted in the exact center.

  As I stand up, I look around for the exit, but there isn’t a door anywhere. The walls to the back and sides are solid. I turn to the windowed wall.

  Lidia stares at me from the other side in a room that looks similar to mine except that there’s a table against the back wall and next to it a door. Something is on the table, but it’s too dim back there to see what it is. From the ceiling hangs a wire attached to a microphone, which dangles just above Lidia’s head. I look above me and see there’s an identical mic in my room, too.

  Looking back, I study the glass for a moment. It’s thicker than a normal pane, and through it spiders a mesh of wires. I have a feeling even if I had crashed into it, though the glass might have cracked, I wouldn’t have broken through it.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “Do you like it?” She looks around and then back at me. “I didn’t know if I’d ever get the chance to use it.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Just outside of Los Angeles in an area I think you know as the Shallows.”

  The Shallows? My original home.

  “I thought it would be fun putting this someplace you were familiar with. I contemplated having a window to the outside installed, too, but there’s really not that much to see. Just trees and bushes. Hardly anyone lives out here yet.”

  “You built this place?”

  “I had plenty of time to make my plans and prepare for any contingencies. I had this place built especially for you. Just in case. The walls are a foot thick. Concrete slab ceiling. And this glass?” She walks up and raps on the window in front of my face. “One of the strongest they make in this era. You might be able to get through it, but it’ll take you a long time.”

  “Let me out.”

  “What are you talking about, Denny? No one’s keeping you there. All you have to do is unslave your chaser and you can jump anywhere you want.”

  I would like nothing more than to jump into her room, grab her chaser, and get out of there. Unfortunately, I know full well that the moment I unslave my device, she’ll activate her own jump, and leave before I can get to her. If that happens and for some reason I’m not immediately erased, I’ll never be able to find her. She could be anywhere in time. My only option is to keep my box connected to hers and hope that she makes a mistake.

  “No?” She laughs after several seconds. “You’re a coward. Your kind always are.”

  She turns away from me, walks back to the table, and lifts the mound I noticed earlier. As she returns to the glass, I see that it’s a simple-looking rucksack that, like my satchel that hangs across her torso, could fit into most eras without drawing attention.

  “Like it?” she asks. “My bag of presents. If the institute was still around, boy would I get in trouble for traveling with this. But they’re not an issue anymore, thanks to you.” She snickers as she pulls my satchel off and puts it inside the rucksack. She then dons the larger bag. “I haven’t properly thanked you for helping Vincent come back to me.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “No, really. Thank you. Without your assistance, I would have had to go through childbirth and raising a baby and . . . ugh. Not something I’m interested in.” We stare at each other for a few moments before she says, “Well, I guess we should get things started. I would hold on to your chaser if I were you. We’ll be going soon. I just need to put a little distance between us.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Thought we’d start off small.” S
he walks toward the back of her room.

  “What are you planning, Lidia?”

  “I told you already. I’m going to destroy everything you have known.”

  If she really wants to get to me, there’s an obvious way. “It’s Iffy, isn’t it? What are you going to do? Erase her whole family?”

  Lidia reaches the door, but instead of opening it, she looks back at me, shaking her head. “Denny, Denny, Denny. Do you really think I’m that petty?” She motions to the room around her. “That I’d build all this only to change the fate of one insignificant girl? If that were my intention, it certainly wouldn’t have taken three years to plan. I could have figured that out in an afternoon. Perhaps that might have broken your heart, but that’s not enough for me. I want to rip it to shreds.” She pauses. “When I was daydreaming about how I could get back at you, I thought about those months we were in training at the institute, and I remembered how you spent most of your free time in the library, studying, and how you always got the top score on the tests. And I realized the way to crush you is to destroy your greatest passion. It’s not some girl you met in a bastardized time line.” The side of her mouth ticks up in a half smile. “It’s history, Denny. Your love for it was why the institute stooped so low to pull you out of your caste.”

  She opens the door, letting in a stream of bright sunlight, and hesitates on the threshold for a moment before looking back at me again. “I’m glad you’re coming along to witness the bloody mess I create. But make no mistake. Everything that happens from this point forward is your doing.”

  She steps outside and the door closes behind her.

  “Lidia!” I yell. “Lidia!”

  But she’s gone, and I fear that I will never set eyes on her again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  My guess is that along with building this doorless containment cell, Lidia has stashed a car somewhere nearby. By the time we jump again, I figure she could be as many as twenty or twenty-five miles from me.

  The jump is so short that once more the gray never forms. The cement floor that had been under my feet is replaced by sloped ground covered with dry grass. Instantly I start to slide downward, and am able to stop my descent only by falling against the hillside and grabbing a rock.

  This action nearly causes me to lose my hold on my chaser. I quickly readjust my grip, and know one of my top priorities is finding something secure to carry it in. After a look around, though, I realize I won’t be able to accomplish that where I am.

  The hillside is steep. Below me another forty feet, it becomes nearly vertical. From where I’ve stopped, I can’t see how far the cliff drops, but I’m sure it’s long enough for me to have broken more than just a few bones if I’d gone over.

  Above me the terrain continues at the same angle for another 150 feet. Climbable, perhaps, but one missed step and down I’d go. My best bet is to stay where I am until Lidia decides it’s time to travel again.

  There is some consolation, though. At least my vantage point overlooks the ocean. Given that the coastline looks very much like that just north of Los Angeles and that the sun appears to be moving in a downward arc leading toward the water, I feel it’s safe to assume that I’m looking at the Pacific. I could access the chaser’s location map to check, but with my precarious position, there’s no sense in taking a chance.

  To make myself a bit more comfortable, I clear away some grass and start to level a small portion of ground to use as a seat. Naturally, before I can finish, we jump again.

  This trip seems even shorter than the last, and I find myself on the exact same hill, just about a hundred yards to the left of my previous position, and thankfully, in an area with a much gentler slope.

  I take a seat on the grass and check the date. It’s May 29, 1952, and the time is 8:47 a.m. Now that I’m able to check the map without worrying I might drop the device, I confirm that my hunch was correct. I’m in the coastal mountains about a dozen miles west northwest of Santa Monica.

  Ten minutes pass, then twenty, and then thirty. It’s growing warm, and I wish that there were some shade nearby.

  In my caste Eight childhood, waiting seemed to be part of every day—waiting for the doctor to see if he had time for us, for the grocer to put out his inferior goods, for the teacher to finally dismiss us for the day.

  For my father to talk to me.

  Always waiting for someone else, just like I’m doing now.

  I spend three hours weaving between concern over what Lidia might be doing and thoughts about how I might trap her. For each scheme, I plan out every step, and try to ignore the glaring problems they all have. But finally I must face it. I can do nothing if I’m not close to her. I need to find a way to trick her into coming to me.

  As I think this through, something tickles the back of my mind. A memory, I think, but before I can extract it, Lidia presses her go button again.

  Yet another quick trip. This time, however, I don’t arrive on the side of the mountain but in someone’s backyard. Lucky for me, the occupants of the house haven’t noticed me, and to keep it that way, I duck down and hurry around the side, out of direct view.

  I look at the chaser. It’s still 1952, just one day later, and late afternoon.

  I look down the side yard toward the front of the house, and spot a nook between the chimney and the trash cans. The perfect place to hide if this ends up being another multi-hour stop.

  Once I settle into my new position, I do my best to pretend the smell coming from the cans isn’t as bad as it really is. I’m there for just over forty-five minutes when—

  “Hanging in there, Denny?” Lidia’s voice comes from the other side of the gate, just beyond the trash cans.

  Before I have a chance to wonder how she found me, the house disappears, and in the blink of an eye, I’m standing between the wall of a concrete building and a field of drying brush. This lasts barely five seconds before we jump again, and I’m back inside the doorless cell.

  “Did you have a good time?” Lidia asks from her side of the glass. “See anything interesting?”

  “What was that all about?”

  “See for yourself.”

  She nods past me with her chin. Turning, I see two newspapers stacked on the floor behind me.

  “The one on top’s the original,” she says.

  The concrete wall I’d been standing near moments ago must be right outside this building. She used that short amount of time to deposit the papers in here. Then we had hopped again, like rabbits, she moving from this room to the one she’s now in, and me from outside to here.

  I walk over and pick up the papers. They’re both copies of the Los Angeles Examiner, and, in fact, both are dated May 30, 1952. On the front pages are the exact same articles. “What am I looking for?”

  “Page three, at the top.”

  Since there are no tables in the room, I kneel down and open each paper on the floor. While everything on page two matches, the articles at the top of the page threes are different. In the one she called the original is a story about a robbery at a grocery store in downtown. In the other one, the headline reads:

  WOMAN KIDNAPPED, FORCED TO DRIVE OUT OF TOWN

  The story is about a woman named Felicia Andrews. On May 29, while I was getting sunburned on the mountainside, Miss Andrews had apparently been kidnapped in her own car and made to drive nearly thirty miles out of town. The story describes the kidnapper only as a “mystery woman.” Miss Andrews was then freed, and the kidnapper disappeared.

  “You?” I ask.

  “Guilty,” she says, holding up her hands.

  What she’s done probably won’t make a large impact on the time line, but who knows? Perhaps this Andrews woman had originally been destined to do something important, but now will live the rest of her life in fear.

  I walk over to the window. “Why?”

  “Getting a little practice in first, having some fun.”

  “You don’t need to do this,” I plead, trying to come u
p with something to stop her from doing anything else. “Just . . . just exile me somewhere like I did to you. That would be fair. You don’t need to destroy everyone’s lives. You just need to destroy mine.”

  She responds with a scoff and then takes her rucksack off, puts the chaser inside, and pulls out a hardback book. She approaches the window again, and presses the book against the glass. Printed on the cover is:

  WORLD WAR II: A COMPREHENSIVE HISTORY

  “What are you going to do? Change the war?”

  She smiles but says nothing as she slips the book back in her bag. “Sit tight. You’ll be out of there soon.”

  Like before, she leaves by the door, no doubt to put distance between us again. As soon as she’s gone, I turn to the question that’s been bothering me since she brought me back here. How did she find me in the side yard of the house? The question triggers a return of the thought poking at the back of my mind. Now, though, I am able to pull it into the light.

  Back in my first week in Iffy’s time line, right after I had accidentally triggered the switch that kept Washington alive, Lidia had found me in downtown Los Angeles, outside the public library. She had found me.

  She’d said Bernard, her supervisor, had showed her how to “tune” her chaser so she could locate other devices. Obviously she had used that method again just a little while ago to find me at the house.

  I sit cross-legged with my chaser in my lap and scroll through the menus. I’m sure I’ve seen every function before, and don’t remember any that would activate this ability, but maybe I missed a special setting or something similar. I work my way screen after screen through all the menus, but nothing even hints at detection possibilities.

  I must figure this out. I know in my heart there is truth to what Lidia said to me earlier. Perhaps what she’s planning on doing isn’t 100 percent my fault, but I can’t help feeling I share in the responsibility. I’m the one who caused her to step over the edge into insanity. I’m the one who took away everything she understood.

  If it’s not a single function, then perhaps it’s a combination of different functions that by themselves can’t locate another machine, but working together might. Yes, of course. That’s got to be it, right? Because the last thing I want it to be is something physically I need to do to the device, like rearranging wire connections. First off, I’d have no clue what wires or components needed to be tampered with, and second, I’d have to assume that the moment I opened the machine, the slave mode would be deactivated. That’s something I can’t chance.