The Children Who Time Lost

by Marvin Amazon

  I heard the sound of a car pulling up. I popped the binoculars up and looked left. A brown station wagon approached. I shuddered. It was my parents’ car. I couldn’t just stand there while they killed the younger me. Older me would just vanish if they did, my memories gone, as if the entire life I’d built for myself had never happened. I would never give birth to Madeline and experience the joys of being a mother. She would miss out on the experience of being at all.

  I ran into the kitchen and opened all the drawers. I grabbed a handful of kitchen knives but stopped. What am I really going to do with this against them?

  I returned to the window. My mom and dad were by their door, both holding the hands of a young girl in a long red dress. It was me, age four. Even then my blond hair was long and thick. I smiled but lost it when I saw Lorenzo walking up the porch toward them. A lump formed in my throat. I wanted to run out there, swinging the knife everywhere, but they would disarm me in a couple of seconds, and it would only put my parents and younger me in more danger.

  But then again, maybe they couldn’t just kill me. I had read a few things on time travel when the Lotto first began. Changing things unnaturally in the past could sometimes affect the space-time continuum. Maybe killing my younger self was one of those things. For all I knew, they were here to get a lead on where I was.

  Willie, Sergeant Briggs and the other man had now joined Lorenzo on the porch. Lorenzo did most of the talking and my dad kept nodding. They didn’t even look down at younger me. Then my parents opened the door and walked into the house. Whatever their plan was, hurting my younger self obviously wasn’t part of it.

  Lorenzo and the others spoke among themselves and then returned to their cars. Then they drove off, just like that. I stared at the light blue walls for almost five minutes, my jaw twitching. I had a number of theories about what was going on and why the officer who had saved me from Lorenzo was now working with him. I was sure Willie didn’t know that when Lorenzo wasn’t wearing a human face, he had the snout of a reptile and a number of slithery organisms covering his body.

  I rushed to the bedroom, where Holly was still snoring. I turned back toward the door, about to walk out, but I saw a bunch of keys by her bedside table. I couldn’t afford to run around looking for a cab with Lorenzo and company roaming close by. I rummaged through Holly’s drawers and pulled out a large white envelope. I grabbed a fountain pen from the table and wrote on the back:

  I wanted to wake you, but you were fast asleep. I didn’t have any money for a cab, so I borrowed your car. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience. I will return it as soon as I can. I didn’t get to see Rachel or Justine, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about seeing me, as I want it to be a surprise. Thanks again for your hospitality.

  Rosemary

  I left the note on the table and looked through the keys. I found a set of Volvo keys and took them. I wrapped one of Holly’s purple scarves around my head and left the house.

  I shut the front door and looked left. A blue Volvo station wagon was four cars away. I looked farther up the street. There were no other Volvos in sight. I took quick steps toward it and pressed the alarm. The turn-signal lights flashed twice. I got in and fiddled with the buttons. Flying cars hadn’t arrived until the early 2030s, but the basic controls of cars from this time looked similar. I pumped my fist in the air when I figured out that it was an automatic. All I really had to do was put my foot on the gas and steer. I turned the key and drove off.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I was showered and dressed by nine the next morning. My pinstripe suit was handsome on me. I looked like an executive. But the rest just wasn’t me. I had heavy eye shadow on and thick red lipstick that didn’t especially go with my hair. I grimaced at my reflection. I looked a bit like a hooker and nothing like I normally did. But then again, that was the point.

  After a room-service breakfast of coffee, toast and poached eggs. I called Michael Galloway’s office at nine-thirty. The same woman answered and put me through to the more difficult one, probably his secretary.

  “Michael Galloway’s office, Mandy speaking!”

  I frowned. Last time it had taken almost half an hour to get a response. “Hi there. I arranged to see Mr. Galloway at ten-thirty, but I don’t think he’s booked me in. I just want to make sure he’ll be there.”

  “Sure, ma’am. I can check that out for you. What’s your name, please?”

  I glanced at the laptop again. The picture on the screen showed Michael with the governor of California and a young, attractive woman. Her name was Beatrice Clarke, the governor’s chief of staff. I saw the way she looked at Michael in a number of pictures of both of them together. There must have been something going on between them. I figured she would be someone who would not need an appointment to see Michael.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Sorry. My name’s Beatrice Clarke.”

  “Oh, Miss Clarke,” the secretary said. “I didn’t recognize your voice. Yes, Mr. Galloway’s on his way in right now. He should be here around ten.”

  I looked at the clock. I had twenty-five minutes to get there. “Okay, thanks.”

  I arrived at Glixima Tower, on West Sixth Street, and gave the driver ten dollars. A host of people came in and out of the building, easily the tallest in L.A. Many walked by me, most with cell phones to their ears. I waited till a large group of people entered together and walked in with them. A few of the men in the group eyed me and let out wide smiles. I smiled back and kept walking. One of them dropped back to stand next to me.

  “So, what department are you in?”

  I gave him a huge I’m not available frown. “Marketing.”

  He held his hand out and I shook it. He told me his name, but I didn’t care to listen. He continued boring me with the amount of money he made and how he would love to spend a fortune treating me to holidays and spa weekends. Does this really work with women in 2013?

  It went on in the same manner as the elevator went from floor to floor. Two smartly dressed women entered on the fifth floor and stood to my right. The man continued with his awful attempt to chat me up. I glanced in the women’s direction, expecting them to be grimacing at some of his pathetic lines, but they met my gaze with glares and whispered to each other as if sharing unsavory comments about me. I looked ahead and swallowed. People typically looked at me with sympathy in 2043, some even with awe, but this was very different. These women seemed to harbor genuine hatred for me. It felt strange and uncomfortable. The elevator stopped on the tenth floor and I stepped out, still confused by what had just happened.

  I pushed the door to the lot open. It was exactly ten o’clock. I stood by the ramp and waited. A number of cars pulled up, but Michael didn’t get out of any. A stretch Mercedes with tinted windows arrived twenty minutes later. I backed into the wall and pretended to be on my cell. Then I crept behind it until it came to a stop.

  The driver, a short stocky Hispanic man, got out and opened the back door. Michael got out in a dazzling gray suit. I only saw him sideways. His face was tanned and smooth. He grabbed his briefcase from the car and stood still as he continued to speak into his cell. He put the phone back into his pocket when the call ended and took a step toward the door.

  I ran forward. “Mr. Galloway, Mr. Galloway.”

  He turned slowly, like the models did in TV commercials. He stared at me for a moment and then smiled. My legs wobbled for a second. I felt like a junior in high school about to ask the senior quarterback to prom. I almost lifted my hand to wave like a crazy fan.

  “Can I help you, miss?” His voice was deep and authoritative.

  “Cynthia Rose.” I held my hand out.

  He eyed it for a second before shaking it. Then he met my gaze, still waiting for me to answer his question. The words I wanted to say were lost to the fear of sounding ridiculous to one of the most powerful men in America.

  “Ma’am,” his driver said, “are you all right?”

 
“Yes.” I straightened and reintroduced my serious face. Then I looked at Michael. “May we please talk in private?”

  He frowned. “What’s this all about?”

  “It won’t take more than five minutes.”

  He appeared to consider my words and then shook his head. “No. If you want to see me, make an appointment with my secretary.” He walked toward the door again.

  I ran in front of him. “It’s a matter of life and death. Please, just hear what I have to say, and if you don’t believe me, you’ll never see me again.”

  I could sense his mind going in multiple directions. “No,” he said. “I can’t right now. But book an appointment and I’ll look out for it. Miss. Cynthia Rice, right?”

  “Rose,” I said with anger. “Cynthia Rose.”

  He held his hand up. “Apologies, Miss Rose. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He continued walking toward the door. I had to do something.

  “I know you’re about to release a paper called We Are Not Alone.”

  He stopped cold but didn’t turn around. I stood still and waited. Then he spun and stared at me with an unreadable expression. He looked curious and at the same time angry. “How do you know about that? No one but me knows about it. Who are you?”

  I held my hand up. “Just five minutes and I’ll tell you everything.”

  He glanced at his driver and nodded. The driver walked to the door that led into the building, turned around and stood still. Michael gestured toward the car. As I walked to it, the turn-signal lights flashed twice. He opened the back door for me. I got in and he joined me. Musk and vanilla filled my nose. The car was clean and well-looked-after.

  He reached forward and opened a compartment behind the front seats. Then he grabbed a bottle of vodka. “Drink?”

  I shook my head.

  “Do you mind?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. He half-filled a large glass and took a swig.

  “It’s not even eleven in the morning.”

  He smiled. “You don’t approve?”

  I just stared at him.

  “You’re wasting time, Miss. Rose. I assure you, my time is more precious than it might seem. Tell me how you knew I was writing that article.”

  “My son was taken from me,” I said. “I need your help to get him back.”

  He frowned at me for a moment. “I don’t understand.” He leaned forward. “If your son has been kidnapped, isn’t it the police you should be talking to?”

  I sighed and scratched my back. “I don’t know how to say this.”

  He stared at me.

  “I’m from the future.” It just came out. I didn’t know what else to say. Getting to the point in a roundabout way would have taken too long. He didn’t look as shocked as I’d thought he would, but I did see confusion on his face.

  “Is this a joke?”

  “I swear to you, I’m from the year 2043. I came here because the people who took my son said they would be bringing him here to 2013.”

  He laughed and pounded the seat with his fist. “What the hell is this?”

  I looked at him without speaking.

  He took another swig from his glass and looked out the window before turning to me. “Even if any of that were true, why would you come to me? I have no idea who you are, or your son.”

  I continued staring at him without speaking. I had to make him believe I was serious.

  He leaned forward, his face now hard. “What the hell is going on here? Who are you really?”

  I told him who I was and about the infertility problem from my time, the Worldwide Lotto and everything that had happened to me after I went to the future to collect Dylan.

  After squinting and pouring himself more vodka he sat in silence. I could see that much of what I had told him made sense. Many of his theories were probably in there somewhere.

  “Wow,” he said. “I know there’s a … No. No way. None of this can be right.” He grimaced.

  “You must believe me.”

  “No, I don’t have to believe a word you say. It’s all too fantastic. Like something from a movie.”

  “Please, I have nowhere else to go. You’re the reason I came back to L.A. The things that took my son are probably the same things you talk about in your article.”

  He grunted and pounded the seat again. “Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you wasted your time. I can’t help you.” He opened the door and waved at his driver, who walked toward us. “Manuel will take you wherever you want to go, but I don’t want to see you again.” He got out of the car and I followed.

  Manuel walked to the driver’s door, but I held my hand up. Both of them looked at me. “Listen to the news tomorrow. If you don’t believe me, how will you explain my knowing of the giant crater they’ll find in Nevada?”

  He stared at me with a blank expression.

  I shrugged. “You might not believe me, but you will after tomorrow. That I promise you.” I put my right foot inside the car.

  “Wait.”

  I stopped.

  He held his cell phone out. “Is there a number where I can reach you?”

  I eyed the phone for a moment and took it from him. After typing my cell number into it, I handed it back. I got back into the limo and he backed away. After Michael tapped on the roof twice, Manuel started the engine and drove away.

  I wound the tinted window halfway down and inhaled the fresh air. The car had a large selection of alcohol—vodka, bourbon, gin, scotch. My, he likes his drinks. The car spun right and a cold draft slapped my face. I started to wind the window back up when I saw a man step out of a black sedan that had just parked on the road we’d turned onto. He had a sandy-colored suit on and thinning long blond hair, almost white. But my gaze shifted from him to another man who stood by the open door. He wore a black suit, and his long dark hair and menacing eyes were familiar. Lorenzo again. But who was the man in the sandy suit?

  The limo stopped opposite them in traffic. I prayed Lorenzo wouldn’t be able to see through the tinted windows. I faced them again. The man in the sandy suit was speaking to a number of people who had gotten out of the car. They all listened attentively. He looked like a man of power. I pressed a silver button to lower the glass between Manuel and me.

  “Is everything all right, Miss Rose?” he asked.

  “Across the street—who’s that man in the sandy suit?”

  “I think that’s Mayor Nicholson. Mayor of Barstow.”

  I fell back in my seat. That was why the mayor had demanded that they release me in Barstow. He was working with Lorenzo. But how did they have so many people here already?

  I looked back at the sedan. The mayor was now walking along the sidewalk, talking to the four men around him, all in black suits. Lorenzo walked a few steps behind, scanning the faces of everyone around him. What’re you up to? They headed toward Michael’s building and I swallowed. Whatever was going on had to do with me. But they wouldn’t kill him. It would be too high-profile. I wound the window back up and we started moving again.

  Manuel dropped me at South Olive Street, a few yards behind where Holly’s Volvo was parked. I thanked him and he drove away. I just sat in the car, considering what to do if Michael didn’t call me back. I would probably have to go back to Barstow and find out as much as possible about the mayor. But I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. I called a taxi to pick me up at Holly’s before driving off.

  I arrived at Silver Lake twenty minutes later. I saw the taxi parked right outside Holly’s house. I parked the Volvo in front of it, walked up to Holly’s door and raised my hand to knock. But I thought better of it. I just couldn’t face her. I pushed the car keys through the mail slot and walked back to the sidewalk. I looked at my house. My parents’ station wagon wasn’t parked in the driveway. Worry flashed through my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. If they were going to hurt them, they would have done it already.

  I spun around and caught Holly’s gaze through her open window. She stared at me with unblinking
eyes. I couldn’t tell whether it was a look of disappointment or something else. But then she smiled and waved. I waved back and got into the taxi.

  The rest of the day dragged. At the hotel, I stayed in my room and ordered room service. I showered and went to bed at ten, but it took me hours to fall asleep. The significance of the next day ate at me. I could warn government officials, which might lead to the saving of some lives, but their believing me was a different matter. By the time it even got to someone in a high position willing to listen to my story, it would be too late. And the aliens would probably find a way of discrediting everything anyway. And there was also the space-time continuum to consider. I’d probably already changed things just by being here. I couldn’t afford to change much more. I drifted to sleep shortly after the clock struck one-forty-five.

  I was up and showered by ten, and my breakfast arrived fifteen minutes later. Now it was time to sit and wait. The articles I had read about Neptune—the name given to the meteor—said the first reports had started coming in around 8 p.m. Pacific time. They said L.A. wouldn’t be affected, but that didn’t ease the anxiety I felt. The aliens had the ability to time-travel, each change made causing wrinkles in our universe, invisible to the citizens of 2013 but all too visible to me. For all I knew, the meteor wouldn’t even hit, or it could hit somewhere else, even right on top of the hotel I was in.

  The day drifted on. I sat glued to the news channels, waiting for the inevitable. The clock had just struck six when breaking news came through. I jumped to my feet and moved closer to the TV. The anchorman was speaking, but in my shock and grief, I couldn’t hear any of the words. My eyes were fixed on a picture of the nice man, Patrick, who had helped me escape from the Barstow police station. Next to his name read, “Man found dead in hotel room in Barstow.”