The Children Who Time Lost

by Marvin Amazon

  He leaned his elbows on the table and stared into my eyes like he was waiting for me to make some major confession. “Why don’t you tell me who you really are? I’ve chosen not to search you because you’re not yet under arrest. We’re just having a chat. But I will if I have to.”

  I shrugged again. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m not on there.”

  He stood up, opened the door and shouted, “Maureen!”

  Nothing came back, but then a young woman, maybe in her late teens, rushed to the door. She had mousy brown hair and a nervous demeanor.

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  Willie stared at me for a moment and then looked at Maureen. “I want you to gather all her belongings and log it, now!”

  The woman nodded and ran back out. She returned less than a minute later with a blue plastic basket. After placing it on the table, she stood beside me and looked at Willie.

  “Stand up and empty everything you have into that basket,” Willie said.

  I sat up in my chair, scowling, and placed both hands on the table. “Can you even do this? I’m not under arrest.”

  “I have reason to believe you are withholding information, ma’am, information that could help in assisting with the investigation of the deaths of four innocent people.”

  My eyes widened.

  “That’s right,” Willie said. “The people in the explosion your friend caused. There were four of them—two women, a man and a child—and they’re all dead. Now empty your pockets.”

  I panicked. I couldn’t afford for him to see the medication I had or the wad of cash. I just stood there and stared at him. He leaned against the table, pushing it toward me. He pointed at me. “You do it or I’ll get some officers to strip-search you.”

  I frowned. I might have been thirty years in the past, but none of this seemed legal. “Fine, if that’s what you have to do. But I want to see a lawyer before you touch me. I know I have rights and you haven’t even arrested me.”

  He pounded on the table. “You do it, lady, and you do it now. Four people are dead because of whatever that was. As for that huge light in the sky, I have no clue what that was, but I’d bet my house that you do. Now you’re going to empty your pockets or I’m gonna come there and do it for you.”

  The door swung open. The same blond woman I had seen by the entrance stood by the door, disgust on her face.

  Willie turned and stared at her. “Sergeant Briggs!”

  “What’s going on here?” she demanded.

  Willie looked at me and then at her.

  “Well,” Briggs yelled.

  “I can’t find any record on her. I was just telling her to surrender everything she had.”

  Sergeant Briggs scowled and walked into the room. “Well she’s not our problem anymore. The mayor just called. He’s demanded that we release her to her lawyer immediately.”

  Willie’s eyes widened and so did mine. My lawyer? Who the hell … Oh no. It must be Lorenzo. My God. He found me too quick.

  “But how does anyone even know we have her?” Willie said. “We only just got here. We haven’t even booked her.”

  Briggs shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. But her lawyer is waiting in reception, so I suggest you get her out of here as soon as possible. The last thing I want is the mayor on my back.” She walked out and slammed the door.

  Willie nodded at Maureen, who hadn’t left my side the entire time. She lifted the blue basket and hurried out of the room.

  When we were alone, Willie picked up the folder with a scowl on his face. “There is something about you, and I’m gonna find out what it is.” He held the door open.

  I stood there, frozen. It had to be the aliens. I was safer in the station, but what could I do? Tell Willie I didn’t want to leave? That I wanted to be locked up in a cell? I knew they’d probably find a way to get me in here anyway. “You think I could use the bathroom first?”

  He nodded. “Sure. It’s on the way out.”

  I chewed my fingernails but still didn’t move.

  “Come on. I haven’t got all day.”

  I got up and stood beside him. He walked down the corridor toward reception. I had to do something or I was as good as dead.

  “Over there.” Willie pointed down the hall at a set of doors on the right.

  I remembered seeing them when I’d first walked in. Anyone standing in reception would see me enter. I nodded at him and took slow steps. Then I heard his footsteps. He was walking back down the corridor. I continued walking. My lips trembled with each step. When I reached the end of the wall, I poked my head around the corner. Four men and a woman were sitting in reception. A man in a crisp blue suit stood by the desk, laughing and joking with the woman at the desk. My gaze moved to his face. He had long dark hair and a haunting laugh. Lorenzo.

  I backed away but collided with someone. I spun around and saw a dark-haired man. He gave me a warm smile that proved a welcome distraction from my predicament. Behind him was a female police officer with frizzy dark hair and a scowl.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “That’s fine,” he said.

  “Can I help you?” the officer said in a stern voice.

  “I … I was just looking for the bathroom.” I pointed at the doors to my right. “And it seems I’ve found it.”

  She glared at me and faced the man. “This way, Mr Norris.”

  She barged past me and turned left, toward reception. The man held his hand out. I shook it.

  “I’m Patrick,” he said.

  “Rachel.” I smiled.

  “Well, I’ll see you around then, maybe.”

  “Maybe.”

  He turned left and walked toward reception. I smiled and looked right. An arrow was on the wall of the opposite corridor. Underneath the arrow was “Fire Exit.” I sprinted across and followed the arrow. I saw a glass door ten yards away and to my left, and I heard voices. I tiptoed forward, pressed my back against the wall and waited. Then I heard footsteps trailing away. I ran to the door and peered outside. I could just make out a silver sedan parked by the station’s entrance, quite a distance from the other cars in the lot.

  I placed my hands by the push bar and waited. I had only one shot. I saw Patrick get into the silver sedan. I pushed the door open. A loud sound like a hundred church bells sounding at once rang in my ears. I ran outside and sprinted to the car without looking to my sides. Patrick saw me just before I grabbed the handle of the car’s rear passenger-side door. It was locked. I banged on the window. Then I heard a click. I opened it and leaped inside.

  Patrick stared at me with shocked eyes.

  “Please, I’m begging you, just go. Please.”

  I could hear footsteps all around us and some raised voices. Then I felt the car move. I didn’t dare look up—I might meet Lorenzo’s hard gaze. The ringing noise and the sounds of panicking people faded after a few minutes, and the sound of the highway greeted me. It was different from the sound of flying cars of my time, but it was soothing nonetheless.

  “You can get up now,” Patrick said. “We’re nowhere near the police station.”

  I didn’t move. “Not yet. Safer that way.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”

  “I think I do,” he said with a raised voice. “You burst into my car out of nowhere with all that commotion at the station. I’m only guessing it was about you.”

  I didn’t answer him.

  “I’m serious, lady—”

  “Rachel. Call me Rachel.”

  “Whatever. I just want to know what’s going on.”

  I ruffled my hair and sat up. An SUV was beside us, and it was filled with children. They all looked so cute and young. I shook my head and faced Patrick. “Please, I’m in a bit of a jam and just need a lift. I’ll pay you.”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  I touched his shoulder, but he scowled at me, so I kept my hands
to myself and looked out the window. I didn’t need to ask him to change direction, as he was already headed toward Los Angeles, my home. According to signs, we were now less than a hundred miles away.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Where are we now?” I asked after almost thirty minutes of driving.

  Patrick glanced back at me but didn’t speak. He crossed three lanes to the far left lane and floored it. I still couldn’t get my head around how traffic management worked here. I kept looking around expecting a traffic enforcer to zoom past us.

  We continued in silence for a few more minutes, and then Patrick moved back to the right and pulled into a service station.

  “Do we need gas already?”

  He scowled at me. “Unless you wanna hitch another ride to L.A. Except that you didn’t even hitch this ride. You forced your way in.”

  “I’m really sorr—”

  “Save it.” He stopped beside a pump and opened the door. I looked right and saw a shopping complex.

  “You think I could maybe go in there and get some new clothes?”

  He got out without answering me and walked toward the garage. I ran after him. “I swear to you, once you get me to L.A., I’ll leave you alone.”

  He glared at me. “Whatever. Go and get what you need.”

  “But will you wait for me?”

  He nodded, but I didn’t believe him. I reached into his jacket pocket and swiped the car keys. Then I ran into the complex. It took him a few seconds to realize what I had done. He gave chase and caught up with me.

  “Give me the keys.”

  I shook my head.

  He grabbed my wrist with force. I grimaced and looked at his hand. An elderly couple stopped and stared at him. He loosed his iron grip and stood still.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” he said.

  I frowned. He was right—I was turning into something else, using people without thinking twice. But I was desperate. I leaned toward him. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I’ll just get a few things and we’ll go.”

  He stood there without speaking.

  I nodded toward the large glass entrance a few yards away. “You might want to get back. The car’s still open. I promise I’ll be right behind you.”

  He nodded and walked out with his head down. I turned and continued farther into the complex. What’re you doing, Rachel? He’s a nice guy. I stopped in front of an electronics store and walked in. I stepped out five minutes later with a shiny new Sony laptop and a cell phone. The salesman said the laptop was one of the best they had. The phones all looked the same, and I took the one that most shoppers were looking at.

  The clothes shopping was just as quick. I picked out a smart pinstripe suit, underwear, shirts and pants. But then I started feeling dizzy and dehydrated. The woman helping me gave me some water, which helped. Inside the changing rooms, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself. I wore black skinny jeans, a blue shirt and a black leather jacket. I ruffled my hair and stared at my hands. They were covered with dirt. I needed a shower. As I started to leave, I saw another woman’s purse sticking out through a small open section of the curtain over her booth. I moved closer and squinted. A driver’s license was sticking out of the purse. The curtain flicked open, and the woman walked out with a scowl on her face. She was tall, with long dark hair and a round face. She looked nothing like me, but I probably wouldn’t get an opportunity like this again.

  “Excuse me,” she yelled. “Can I get some help, please?” She charged out and looked around the shop. I backed toward her booth and swiped the license. Then I charged out with all the clothes I’d picked out, past her and toward the counter.

  Two women who worked there were speaking to each other and looking at the angry woman. One walked over to the woman, and the other approached me with a smile. I couldn’t imagine why she was in a good mood. I doubted her colleague felt the same. I dropped the items onto the counter and also paid for everything I had on. I saw a striking gold bottle of Dior J’Adore on the table and sprayed some on my wrist. It smelled like tangy mandarin with a hint of roses. I asked the cashier to bag it for me as well and paid her the nine hundred-dollar total. I picked up the plastic bag containing my laptop and cell before walking out of the shop. My last stop was to pick up various toiletries at a drugstore. Then I went back out to meet Patrick.

  Patrick started the engine after I handed him the keys, but he didn’t say a word. I once again sat in the backseat. I didn’t want him to see the driver’s license I’d swiped. God knew what he already thought of me. I didn’t want his opinion to get worse. I studied the license after a few minutes on the road. The woman was Cynthia Rose and she was from Valencia, California. I guessed that would make sense to any hotel clerk checking me in. Valencia was far enough away that I could reasonably need a hotel. The more I looked at it, the more I realized we really didn’t bear any resemblance. But there was nothing I could do about that. I put it in my back pocket and relaxed.

  I made many attempts at conversation with Patrick, but he didn’t respond with so much as a glance. I accepted that he just didn’t want to speak to me. I cast my mind back to the officer, Willie, and his boss. Is everyone in 2013 this grumpy? I wondered how they would cope in my time with no more natural births. Compared with them, we were cheerful, and yet we lived in a world without much hope.

  We drove on in silence. I saw another sign for L.A. half an hour later. I stared at the sky and wondered where Dylan was at that moment. Was he being treated properly? Was he eating well? All I could see was his scared face when Lorenzo had changed in front of him. He probably wondered why his mommy wasn’t there to protect him. But he could have been anywhere and in any time period. I gritted my teeth and leaned back in the seat. No matter how I looked at things, only Michael Galloway could help me.

  After Patrick exited the highway, we ran into heavy traffic, and I turned my focus to my surroundings. The city itself looked just how I remembered it: beautiful hilltop houses, a gorgeous view of the mountains and the seemingly never-ending sunshine. It actually wasn’t much different from the L.A. of 2043. I marveled at the sea of cars around us. I had never appreciated the flying cars of the future until that moment. Just then, the sun dimmed and a hint of gray clouds appeared in the sky, but no rain followed. But then, rain in L.A. was rare.

  Patrick struck the steering wheel in frustration and grunted. The traffic had barely moved. I placed my hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it away.

  “How many times have I got to say I’m sorry? I’m just—”

  “I don’t want to know. Whatever it is you’re into, I’d best not know. I’ll drop you in L.A. as I said. After that, it’s up to you what you do.”

  “And you won’t say anything to anyone about me?”

  He half-laughed. “You really think I want to tell anyone that this happened?” He shook his head and looked ahead.

  We reached L.A. just before one-thirty. I stared at the buildings in admiration: they looked fantastic and shiny, even comparable to their equivalent from my time. We drove past a building I recognized from many historical magazines.

  “Stop,” I shouted.

  Patrick slammed on the brakes, and the car skidded to a stop. He glared at me. I squinted and hunched my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  “What is it?” he said.

  “Is it okay if I get out here?”

  He nodded.

  I opened the door. “Thanks for everything.”

  He didn’t speak. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out whatever I could grasp. I must have held three hundred dollars in my hand. I dropped the money on the passenger seat.

  “And what’s this?”

  “It’s for you.”

  He scowled. “I don’t want your money.”

  “I know, but you’ve earned it. I just want you to know that I appreciate everything you did for me.”

  Patrick eyed the money for a second and then faced ahead. I tapped him on the shoulder again but di
dn’t feel a hint of movement from him. I got out and shut the door. He sped off, his tires squealing even louder than when we stopped. I walked into the Millennium Biltmore Hotel with my suitcases.

  I avoided making eye contact until I reached reception. Two people were ahead of me in the check-in line, and I turned around to study the hotel. It was every bit as beautiful as I had read in magazines. High ceilings with bright lights everywhere, marble walls with animal statues overlooking shallow waterfalls—it was stunning. I was wandering around, admiring every inch of the hotel, when the receptionist waved at me. I rushed back and stood in front of him with a smile. He was probably sixty, with long white hair and a narrow face.

  “Reservation?” he said.

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t planned.”

  He smiled. “I know what you mean.” He tapped his computer keyboard before finding a king room for nearly $400 for the night. I didn’t need something that large, but I didn’t have time to price-hunt.

  After he’d secured the room, he glanced at me. “Name, please?”

  I hesitated. I was about to commit identity fraud. “Cynthia Rose.”

  He typed it into the computer. When I saw him frown, I swallowed. Then he looked at me with a warm smile. “That’s it, Miss Rose. All I need now is a credit card to secure the room.”

  I lifted my thumb up but remembered that in 2013, they used plastic cards rather than imprinted information in your fingers. “If it’s okay, can I pay by cash?”

  “Sure. But we need a card to secure the room to cover any expenses.”

  I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a sizable chunk. After counting $600, I handed it to him. “Four hundred dollars, with an extra two hundred for any expenses.”

  He counted the money, eyeing me every few seconds. I just kept smiling. After counting it, he fiddled with the computer a bit more. Then he handed me two white plastic cards. “You’re in Room 236, on the second floor.” He pointed toward a corridor. “Swimming pool and sauna is just over on the right. Breakfast finishes at 11 a.m.”