Time's Daughter

by Anya Breton

  “Enjoy,” I called after his retreating figure.

  As soon as the coast was clear I glided to the storeroom and put my newest music CD in the stereo to break the obvious silence in the store. The first song started out with a bang and I was instantly hooked. Around the store I lugged boxes while bouncing to the music like the uncoordinated goober I was.

  My movement was paused while a pair of girls browsed the t-shirt section. Ten minutes later they left without buying anything and I resumed head-bopping. By seven, I had the new shipment stocked or stowed and the CD had looped five times. I settled in behind the counter to read a chapter in the history textbook in hopes of acing the next quiz.

  At a quarter after nine the videographer shuffled behind me up the hilly street toward home. I was certain everyone who saw the footage would think I walked with Bigfoot’s gait because of how loud he was. Without thinking about the camera between us, I turned around to glare at him.

  Headlights blinded me briefly before they cast aside in a weaving pattern. My eyes widened at the oncoming threat. An obviously impaired driver was swerving dangerously at the base of the street.

  “Hey!” I called out to the cameraman. The fact that his eye was permanently glued to the viewfinder that was focused on me meant that he saw nothing else around him. My hand pointed behind him. “Watch out!”

  The car swerved back toward us on a collision course for the videographer. He hadn’t so much as glanced up.

  Judging the speed and distance of the car, I knew I couldn’t make it to him in time without getting hit myself. My hands went out in front of me as my heart stilled fearfully.

  Somehow it was deathly quiet. The roaring of the car’s engine, the click-clack of a train south of us along with the crickets and everything else in the vicinity had silenced in an instant. The only sound I could hear was my heartbeat resuming in my ear.

  But that wasn’t the worrying part of the situation.

  No, it was that the dust kicked up by the car and the red leaves that had recently fallen in the breeze were hovering in midair. Everything on the street except me had frozen in place.

  Time was quite literally stopped.

  I slapped my forehead with a heavy groan. “Not again.”

  * * * *

  Moving a hundred-and-ninety pound five-foot-ten man lugging a video camera was much harder than it looked in the movies. Tugging at his legs had been futile. He wasn’t cognizant enough to move on his own because along with the rest of the area, his brain was frozen in time.

  My panicked thoughts were making it difficult to come up with a good plan. I was concerned by how long the scene would remain frozen. This was only the second time I’d accidentally stopped time and the first had only been for five seconds. Five seconds weren’t enough to save the camera guy.

  I loosened the guy’s grip on the camera, slid it off his shoulder and then set it near the building behind us. Next I did the only thing I could think of: I tipped him until he fell like a bovine in jeans.

  Gingerly I rolled him on his side until he was beside his camera against the wall. Then I retrieved the camera so that I could set it a short distance away from him. It had to look like he’d dropped it. Currently it was too nicely positioned. I turned it over on its side but didn’t have the nerve to scuff it any. I did, however, stealthily hit the off button in hopes that when time unfroze, the camera would turn itself off.

  But the videographer’s new spot might not be enough to save him alone. I’d have to try to do something about the driver as well. I stepped around the cameraman’s legs to start toward the car.

  A noxious stench immediately slammed into my nose once I got the door open. I choked automatically. The interior of the cabin smelled like a liquor cabinet.

  A scruffy beard that hadn’t been shaved in days coated the pale skin of the man behind the steering wheel. In his right hand he held a cellular phone. The position of his fingers and the items on the screen proved that he was past the point of being an impaired driver. His attempt at text messaging while driving drunk meant he was an idiot as well.

  I dislodged the phone from his hand and tossed it in the floorboard in the back with an angry gesture. It took me a second to decide how best to avert a serious accident. I positioned his hands on the steering wheel and his body is such a pose that momentum from his weight would hopefully cause the wheel to turn when things went back to normal.

  Filled with worry and a tiny bit of hope I returned to where I thought I’d been standing when I’d hit the theoretical pause button. I took in a deep breath, held my hands out in front of me once again and exhaled.

  Roaring echoed in the narrow space and instant later, heralding that time was back on course. The car’s headlights swerved away violently then started on a straighter path. Unfortunately, though the path was straight, it was aimed at me.

  “Aeon!” The videographer shouted.

  I did the only thing I could think of. I ran back toward the videographer and the building beside us. Outrunning a car was a silly idea. Maybe I could narrowly avoid the drunkard as he passed by if I kept close to the building. It seemed like my only option short of stopping time and I wasn’t sure I could do that again.

  At the last moment the idiot hit the breaks, spun out in a one hundred and eighty degree angle then slammed into the building across the street. I let out a ragged breath as my heart slammed fearfully within my chest.

  The cameraman scrambled to his feet to join me. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I stared at the steam coming from the car’s front end for a moment in disbelief. Guiltily I turned toward the videographer. “Are you?” No doubt I’d scraped him up when I’d rolled him back to the building. I might have sprained something too.

  “Me?” He sounded incredulous. Was that because he suspected something was awry? “Yeah, I’m fine. He was heading for you.”

  The videographer was camera-less. It was the first time I’d actually seen his face. From the few gray hairs I’d spotted on his head I’d thought he was in his thirties. Looking at him now I could tell he probably hadn’t been out of film school for all that long.

  His wasn’t a face for movies. He wasn’t what most people would call handsome but he also wasn’t ugly. Generic would be the term I’d have applied to his unremarkable features but his eyes, as concerned as they looked now, made up for the lack of looks.

  “He was heading for both of us,” I argued sensibly.

  He pulled a phone from his front pocket, flipped it open and dialed three numbers. I didn’t need him to explain to know what he’d done.

  “I need to report an accident on… Aeon, where are we?”

  My reply was robotic. “Lower Eagle Drive down by East Land Shopping Mall.”

  “I need to report an accident on Lower Eagle Drive down by East Land Shopping Mall. It’s only one car but you might need to send an ambulance. Thanks.” He shook his head in disbelief after he’d snapped it shut. “One second I was following you and the next I was on my ass over there. I don’t remember a thing. Did he hit me?”

  “I think he grazed you,” I lied and kept my eyes on the ground.

  For a moment I felt bad that I was falsely accusing the drunk of hitting the cameraman. But it would have been far worse than a graze if I hadn’t gone all supernatural-girl.

  He turned and shuffled back to the camera. “Phew, it’s still fine.”

  I didn’t share his relief. What would the camera show? Could it somehow continue recording when everything else was frozen in time? Maybe I should have done more than turn it off.

  The videographer resumed his job without another word. I collapsed against the wall, folding my arms across my chest petulantly. Then I watched the slumped figure in the car while silently waiting for the police.

  To say that I wasn’t frightened would have been a lie. I’d been terrified since I’d spotted the headlights headed for us but taking action had taken precedence over my fears. Now that it was over, I was
struggling to control my emotions.

  Not only had I saved man’s life and nearly been hit myself, I’d also learned that the first time wasn’t a fluke.

  I could stop time.

  It also meant one other thing. My mystery parent was no mystery.

  He was a god.

  Not just a god in the sense of him being divinely handsome: he was literally a Greek deity. Chronos, or his alter ego Aeon, was likened to Father Time. I had met him in a dream months earlier but hadn’t believed it to be anything more than that until now.

  I resisted the urge to tug at my hair. This was insanity. There was no way my mom had met up with a Greek god seventeen years ago. It was impossible because the gods weren’t tangible. They were matters of faith and faith couldn’t impregnate a beautician, unless of course it was to bring forth a prophet. I was no prophet.

  In my dream, Chronos had said nothing about sins or leading mankind to a brighter future. He’d gruffly introduced himself, told me something bad was about to happen in Junction Hill, that I’d need part of my heritage to stop it and then he’d disappeared into thin air. It had been such a disjointed visit that it was no wonder I’d assumed it was a dream.

  Flashing lights and a siren heralded the arrival of the ambulance. The EMTs checked the driver out first because he looked to be in the worst shape. He had apparently merely passed out at the wheel rather than keeled over dead. The medical team had to force the guy to sit by the ambulance to keep him from trying to flee the scene. Several minutes later a police officer arrived.

  It was eleven by the time I walked through the apartment door.

  My mother grabbed hold of my arm, yanked me further into the room and nearly screamed. “Where have you been?”

  With the door standing wide open, the cameraman had a front row seat to her fury. In order to ease her worried mind I left out key details. “There was an accident on the way home from work. I witnessed it so I had to stay and give a statement to the police.”

  Her hand was over her heart, matching the worry that had filled her features. “You had me scared half to death.”

  “I’d have called you but I don’t have a phone,” I reminded her.

  Everyone else I knew had a cellular phone. My bitterness had gone unvoiced for a long time but I hadn’t been able to stop myself this time. A mobile phone would have come in handy tonight.

  She frowned at me. “You’re okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I was physically okay but I’d never be the same. Now I knew without a doubt that I truly was a freak.

  My mom remembered that we were being recorded. She let go of my arm with a long sigh. “I’m glad you’re okay. What happened?”

  I shrugged flippantly. “It was just some drunk guy who ran into a building. No one was really hurt but they could have been.”

  Her voice was disgusted when she retorted, “Damn drunk drivers.”

  “He was arrested and I think they were going to take his license so you won’t have to worry about that one.” In hopes that she wouldn’t push on the subject I quickly added, “I’m exhausted. I need some sleep.”

  “Okay, hon.” She was still frowning when she stepped forward to kiss my forehead. “Sleep well.”

  I waved limply, cast a last glance at the cameraman and then disappeared into my bedroom. The front door closed moments later. She quieted after a five-minute visit to the restroom.

  In bed minutes later my eyes refused to close for longer than a split second. Each time that they did I saw the frozen scene on Eagle Drive.

  It was difficult to decide what was scarier: averting a fatal accident by using supernatural abilities I hadn’t been aware I had or if I’d done nothing at all. I was no closer to an answer when my alarm went off at six.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  There were two fruit bars with my name on them on the counter. Well, not literally. I tore open the foil covering on one and stuffed half in my mouth only to have the phone ring. With a grumble I chewed quickly, swallowed without enjoying the bite so I could answer the grating noise.

  “Hello?”

  “Aeon?” An unfamiliar male voice spoke through the handset. “This is Mark Green.”

  Green was the director of the documentary. My stomach flipped sickly. I was glad I hadn’t eaten more of the fruit bar. I forced myself to answer. “Hi.”

  “Listen, can we get together after school?”

  They’d reviewed the tapes. Something out of the ordinary had appeared. They were going to have me locked up.

  “Okay,” I answered hesitantly.

  “I’ll be in the lunchroom after eighth period. See you then.”

  I hung up the phone without saying goodbye and stared at the plastic phone in my hand. What was I going to say? How would I explain the freeze in time?

  It was a glitch in the film. But wait…the cameras were all digital now. I’d make-up something about bad memory. Did they even take memory?

  My head slumped forward.

  My mom’s voice spoke over a yawn as she stepped into the room. “Who was that?”

  “The director,” I replied in a hollow voice.

  Her eyes rounded slightly. “What did he want?”

  “He wants to meet me after school.”

  Her frame stiffened, worry evidence on her quickly straining features. “Did he say why?”

  Now I was even more worried. Glumly I said, “No. I’ll find out later I guess.”

  My mom stared at me silently for five seconds. It was clear she was concerned about something but I doubted it was the same thing that plagued me. Money had been the reason she’d forced me to try out for the documentary in the first place. The salary they were going to pay me was going toward paying medical bills. We needed that money.

  Her voice was tight when she finally responded. “Well, good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  I followed her to the door, fruit bars in hand but stopped in the hallway in front of my videographer. His camera was lowered to his chest. We each spoke at the same time.

  “Are you…still okay?”

  “Did you…” He stopped speaking to chuckle. Then he answered my question. “Just a little scrape on my nose but otherwise no worse for wear.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief but stood awkwardly. A moment later I pushed off the door. “I’m gonna be late,” I called back without stopping.

  We returned to our usual videographer and subject roles. Somehow that was a more comfortable position to be in. I didn’t try to understand why that was.

  The walk through the student parking lot across the street from Junction Hill High didn’t merit me any dirty looks this morning. In the hallway in front of chemistry Ashley was still bitter but had taken to silence rather than insults. We were nearly back to normal with days to go before the director’s first week was up. Maybe the six months wouldn’t be as awful as I’d thought.

  I expected that the new kid would at least acknowledge my existence in history as he had done each day for the past two. But he didn’t so much as look up from his textbook when I passed. I assumed he was behind on reading.

  At lunch Alex didn’t join me at the tree outside. Once again I decided he was probably busy playing catch-up. But part of me wondered if these excuses were just my hope that it wasn’t something worse. Someone had probably explained to him that I was beneath his notice.

  What little hope I’d had flitted away when Alex refused to meet my eye in the photography studio. I was glad that I’d refused his invitation to an after school photo shoot session downtown. But there wasn’t enough “glad” to cover the hurt. I scolded myself for even caring at all.

  As soon as Mrs. Lozano was finished with announcements and reminders, I grabbed my negatives and headed into the safety of the dark room where the cameraman couldn’t follow. Briefly I slumped against the dividing wall between enlargers before one of the other students joined me. The work wasn’t enough to keep my thoughts occupied.

  Alex had shown int
erest in me, hadn’t he? Had I read too much into his friendliness? Was it only temporary camaraderie because we were both in the documentary? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about it?

  My fingernails dug into my palms as I waited for my print to develop. In an effort to take control of my wayward mind I forced myself to come up with silent poems about photography while making two more prints. My companion in the darkroom left after she’d finished two of her own but I couldn’t force myself back into the real world. There were recording devices there.

  A strange noise caught my attention moments later. I glanced toward the front of the room but could only see darkness near the door. Then the darkness moved forward in the shape of a man. I scrambled toward the light-less rooms at the back to get away from it. But the shape pursued me until I could go no further.

  “What are you?” A deep voice demanded.

  I recognized it as Alex but that knowledge didn’t make me any more comfortable about the fact that he was standing inches away from me.

  “What?” I asked with a pitch lifting in alarm and confusion.

  His arms shot out to grab my biceps. Using his grip on them he shoved me back against the wall. I made a sound of surprise but was too startled to do anything else.

  “You aren’t normal,” he seemed to hiss vehemently. “What are you?”

  In the dim red light I could somehow make out his narrowed eyes with ease and the grim set of his lips. He looked truly fierce. For once I was wishing the cameraman had followed me into the darkroom.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I stammered stupidly.

  Without warning his fingers loosened and he took a step back. “We will find out what you are whether you tell us or not,” his tone was frigid. It made him just as menacing despite the space between us.

  Though I was frightened I still managed to stammer out a question. “Us?”

  Rather than answer, he whirled away with a blurring motion. I watched as the dark shape stalked to the door. The noise I’d heard earlier was duplicated a second before he disappeared into the round contraption that served as the door.