“And here I was thinking this one would last a bit longer than the others before you’d grow tired of him,” Phoebe prattles on. “Silly me. What did he do, Uncle, burn your crème brûlée?”
“Repeat what you just said, Phoebe,” orders Uncle. I dare not move a muscle. Uncle’s got excellent hearing, and if I can hear what they’re saying inside Uncle’s office, then I have no doubt he can hear us out here.
Phoebe emits a noise that sounds like a sigh. “I said … and here I was thinking this one …”
“No. Before that.”
“You mean the computer talk?” she says.
“Yes, repeat it,” says Uncle.
“I said, July 10, 2061. Purge request number five. Purge of file number 5134-89 complete.”
“Why did you say ‘purge request number five’? I haven’t asked you to purge any other files today.”
“True,” she says. “Nevertheless, yours was the fifth purge request received today. Hence, purge request number five.”
Silence.
“Who made the other purge requests, Phoebe?” says Uncle.
I hold my breath. My palms are sweating.
“I don’t know,” she replies.
I exhale slowly.
Uncle says nothing for a moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely controlled. “How is it that you don’t know?”
“There appears to be what you might call a gap in my memory of this event,” Phoebe answers, her voice wavering.
“That is rather disturbing news, Phoebe,” says Uncle. “If there are gaps in your memory of such a simple matter, how can I be certain that more of these gaps won’t appear?”
I shift position. My knee clicks loudly.
There’s a long silence. Great, he heard that. I picture Uncle exiting his office, walking right up to Abbie’s workstation and peeking over the divider. And that large vein dancing across Uncle’s forehead is the last thing I see before my life on earth comes to an abrupt and horrible end.
“Purge your pleasure response, Phoebe.” I can hear the smile in Uncle’s voice.
“No, Uncle. Please don’t,” she pleads.
Uncle takes a moment before replying, “Purge it. Now!”
There’s an awful keening, the kind a small dog would make when cornered by a wolf that hasn’t fed in two days. Until that moment, I’d never thought it possible to feel sorry for a computer.
“Pleasure response purged,” comes her choked reply.
“Now, thank me,” says Uncle.
“Thhhhhank you, Uncle,” murmurs Phoebe.
“No need to thank me, Phoebe. It’s entirely my pleasure.” Uncle’s voice is louder. He’s leaving the office and coming our way!
As he walks down the hall, he begins to laugh. A bitter, shivering laugh that seems to bounce right off the floor and seep through me, leaving me weak and cold.
I hold my breath as Uncle passes within two feet of where Abbie and I are lying.
As soon as I hear the elevator doors close, I let out a long breath.
“Now what?” asks Abbie.
“We go back to Expo 67 and stop Frank from snatching Zach,” I say.
She looks at me for a long moment. “You look tired, Cale. And I know I am. We should both get some sleep before we go back to the past.”
“I would, except …”
“Except what?”
“Well, I’ve got nowhere to sleep,” I say. “I can’t go to the dorm. Not when I’m supposed to be in the Barrens.”
“I already thought of that,” she says.
I follow her to the stairwell and down the stairs to the fourth floor. She opens the stairwell door, looks around and gives me the all clear. I step out into the hallway after her.
“Meet you at the fire escape,” she mindspeaks. “I’ve just got to grab some things.”
I go to Nassim’s office first. The door is locked but I have no trouble picking it. I slip inside and pull open his desk drawer. The little pill bottle is still there. I shake out a few silver pills, slip them into my pocket and replace the bottle in the drawer.
Abbie arrives at the fire escape a minute after me. She’s carrying a very flowery looking blanket and pillow with matching pillowcase.
“Sorry. I know it’s a bit bright for your taste, but it’s all I could find,” she says.
“Where are we going?” I say.
“To a nice quiet spot.” She grabs my wrist.
We land in a forest. For a moment I wonder if we’re back in France somewhere near Nicéphore’s house. But then I see a familiar bench. This is my thinking place in Central Park.
“In case you’re wondering,” she says, “we only hopped through space to get here.”
Abbie takes the blanket and pillow from me and lays them out on the bench.
“There you go. Sweet dreams. I’ll be back at seven to pick you up.”
“Thanks … did you say seven?”
“Yup. Do you think that’s too late?”
“Uhh, no. it’s fine,” I say.
“Okay, then, good night.” She gives me a little wave, touches her wrist and is gone.
I lie on my back on the bench and gaze up at the night sky. Or at least the small patch that’s visible through the canopy of branches. There are nowhere near the millions of stars I saw at night in the Barrens. The Barrens. It’s hard to believe that it was only yesterday that I was in my little cave, talking to myself and then realizing I was really talking to Abbie, who had come to rescue me. And here I am dragging her into something that could get her into even more trouble.
Turning onto my side, I bring the blanket up to my chin. An ambulance wails from somewhere far off, and I can hear traffic from Central Park South. It must have rained here recently, because when I dangle my hand from the bench, my fingers brush damp grass.
I close my eyes. An image (or is it a memory?) wells up inside of me. A young boy sits on the ground. It has just rained there too (wherever there is), but to the boy, this is a good thing because it means there will be lots of mud for building his castle. He worms his fingers through the gloppy mud and builds the walls first. “Don’t look yet,” he says and then adds the tower. “Still don’t look,” he says, and he digs a moat around the castle and pours in the water from his bucket.
“Okay, you can look!” he says but when he glances up to see if she’s looking, the beach is gone and so is the mud castle. Instead, he’s in a room with walls so white they hurt his eyes. And lying unmoving in a bed in the center of the room is a woman whose skin matches the color of the walls. The boy doesn’t want to look. Because if he doesn’t actually see her then maybe it isn’t true. He closes his eyes tight. So tight that all of the white of the walls and the woman’s face are shut out. But he can’t stop the scream gathering inside him. And when it comes out it, it isn’t a scream anymore. It is a question composed of a single strangled word: “Mommy?”
“Rise and shine, Cale.”
I turn my head and squint up at Abbie. It’s really bright here, wherever here is. Oh, yeah, my thinking spot.
“What time is it?”
“Ten past seven. I let you sleep in. C’mon. Time to get up.”
I swing my legs around and sit up. My back aches, and I rub my stiff neck.
“Here, I found these in the wardrobe closet,” she says. “Remember them?”
She hands me a brown jacket, stiff shirt and green pants: my outfit from Operation Fling. These are probably the worst-fitting clothes I’ve ever worn on a mission. I’m not crazy about wearing them again, but as usual Abbie is thinking one step ahead of me. Since I’m about to go back to the same time/place where I gave Zach his birthday present, Jim, Diane and Zach are going to expect to see me in these clothes.
She turns away to give me some privacy.
I take off the goat-smelling kaftan, chuck it into the trash bin by the bench and squirm into my Operation Fling clothes.
“All dressed,” I say.
She turns back to face m
e and tosses me a banana. I peel it and begin gobbling it down.
“The dirty deed is done,” she says.
“Which dirty deed?”
“Frank.”
I quickly swallow a piece of banana. “How did it go?”
“Well,” she says, “which part do you want to hear first—the good news or the bad news?”
“Give me the good news first.”
“The good news is that he bought the part about me changing my mind about becoming his new assistant.”
Why am I not surprised? Frank’s got too much ego to think that anyone can refuse him for very long.
“And the bad news?”
“He didn’t finish his orange juice.”
“You mean the orange juice that had a quarter of a crushed-up memory wipe pill in it?” I ask.
“Well, about a quarter. It was tough enough chopping that little pill into four pieces, let alone four equal-sized pieces,” she says.
“How much of it did he drink?”
“About half a glass. Maybe he just wasn’t thirsty. Or maybe the pill affected the taste somehow. I tried to get him to finish it, but I didn’t want to push too hard in case he got suspicious.”
I nod. Abbie did as well as she could. Half a glass. Assuming the quarter pill was dissolved evenly in the entire glass of juice—that means he only swallowed about one eighth of a memory wipe pill. It’s something. I just hope it’s enough.
“So what’s next?” she says.
“We timeleap to eight thirty-five P.M. on July 8, 1967. Zach and his family should be at La Ronde at the Gyrotron ride. I’ll join them there and then go with them to the water coaster ride called La Pitoune. Meanwhile, you go straight to La Pitoune and keep a look out for Frank. If you see him, mindlink me. If we can keep Zach safe until the next morning, then he goes with his family back to Boston, where neither Frank nor Uncle will ever find him because his file’s been erased.”
“Roger,” she says.
“Roger who?” I ask.
“Very funny. Let’s get going, mister.”
“What should I do with the blanket and pillow?” I say, looking down at my unmade bed.
“Just leave them. I’m sure someone else will put them to good use. And if not, they’ll be waiting here for you when you come back tonight.”
I’m hoping that was a joke. There’s no way my back will survive two nights in a row on that bench.
“All right. Let’s do it,” Abbie says, reaching for her wrist and mine at the same time.
Right before we leap, I sense movement beyond the stone wall circling the monastery. There, standing near the garden with head bowed in morning prayer, is one of the monks.
I’m not usually superstitious, but right now I’m hoping big-time that seeing the monk is a good omen, a sign that Abbie and I will be able to pull off our rescue and bring Zach home safely.
July 8, 1967, 8:35 P.M.
Expo 67
La Ronde, Montreal, Canada
We land inside an empty stagecoach next to the Cinderella carriage I landed in the last time I came here.
Abbie and I come out of our time freeze at about the same time, but we have to wait another thirty seconds before the carousel finally stops. She hops off first, gives me a little wave and heads off toward La Pitoune. I follow her with my eyes until she’s swallowed up by the crowd.
I make my way over to the Gyrotron. Fifty feet from the entrance I stop and scan the area.
There’s a line of about a hundred people waiting for the ride. No sign yet of Zach, Jim or Diane … or for that matter, my past self.
I take a deep breath and move closer. When I get to within twenty feet, I spot them.
They’re standing just beyond the exit ramp. Diane is scribbling something. She finishes and is about to hand the scrap of paper to my past self when he holds up his hands. Then my past self shakes hands with Zach and turns to walk away.
I hunch down. I don’t want him to see me. It’s not that I’m afraid something terrible will happen if he does. Under the right circumstances, I’d be happy to shoot the breeze with my past self. But now is not the time. We’ve both got things to do.
I glance up and spot my past self walking toward the washroom. He doesn’t know it yet but the poor guy is going to get a nasty surprise when Frank follows him in.
I wait another minute and jog alongside the fence until I reach the exit ramp area where Jim and Diane are poring over a map of the rides.
“Hi again,” I say.
They all look up at once.
“Caylid! Did you find your uncle?” Zach asks. “And did he say it was all right for you to come with me to ride the water coaster?”
“Yes, I found him,” I say. Which isn’t a total lie. I mean, I actually did see Uncle. Only not in the way he means. “And I can go with you to La Spitoon.”
“Yippee!” Zach yells. “Caylid’s coming with us, Mom, to La Spi—”
Then his eyes twinkle, and he says to me, “It’s not La Spitoon, silly. It’s La Pitoune! But it doesn’t matter that you got it wrong. We can still go.”
I smile, but my stomach is in a knot. Maybe I should try to keep them here longer. Or take them to another part of Expo. Far away from La Pitoune. But I’ve already been over this in my head at least a dozen times. Zach would never go for it. Not on his birthday. No, there’s only one thing I can do, and that’s go to La Pitoune with them and somehow keep Zach from being snatched by Frank.
At the entrance to La Pitoune, there’s a mural of a canoe with three men inside flying though the air. The men have terrified looks on their faces, but my eyes are drawn to the grinning figure looming behind them: the Devil. I glance around and at first don’t see Abbie anywhere. But on my second visual sweep, I see her—seated on a bench about fifteen feet from where the exit ramp ends and leafing through a copy of What’s On at Expo Today.
I must be the only one in the line without a big smile plastered on his face. Besides having to watch out for a kidnapper who’s big on revenge, I’m not a huge fan of roller coasters. It’s not that I don’t like the thrill of going fast or the feeling that I’m going to die any second. It’s just that I always worry about the driver. And from a quick glance, the operator for this ride isn’t doing anything to take away my worries. She’s working the controls with only one hand, since there’s a cigarette dangling from her other one.
The line inches forward. Zach is too small to see beyond the people ahead of us, so it’s my job to give him minute-by-minute reports of how much farther we have to go. At the same time, I keep an eye out for Frank.
We finally reach the front of the line. I climb into the seat next to Zach and buckle our seat belts. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I should wait at the side with all the pregnant women, people with heart conditions and short kids. But I’ve got to be strong, for Zach’s sake. According to Phoebe, this is where it happens.
I peek at the time. In just over seven minutes, unless I can change history, Frank is going to snatch Zach.
A father and young daughter are in the car ahead of us. Behind us, an older man is getting into the car with his wife. Normal-looking tourists. In fact, everything around me seems normal, which makes it even harder to believe that Zach could be snatched from here. But as annoying as Phoebe can be sometimes, she’s rarely wrong. I take a deep breath and wait for the ride to begin.
The attendant is making her way along the cars checking seat belts. There’s a commotion behind me, and the older man helps his wife out of their car and over to a bench near the entrance to the ride. She’s looking very pale.
I close my eyes and try to relax by conjuring up the calming image of the monastery and garden in Central Park. But it’s no use. The image only holds for a moment before it distorts in my mind into a picture of a mountain-sized mega-coaster.
I glance across at Zach. He’s smiling from ear to ear.
Abbie flings a thought my way. “You look so cute in that tiny car, Cale.”
“Thanks,” I shoot back. “But I’d rather look so cute far away from this tiny car. Anything happening at your end?”
“Everything’s cool,” she says. “No sign of Frank.”
But I barely register what she’s saying. The coaster is on the move. I glance over at Zach. Got to stay alert and keep him safe.
My body presses against the back of the seat as the car rises at an impossible angle. The contents of my stomach threaten to make a break for it, and I swallow hard, willing everything back into place.
We chug up the hill and teeter for a moment at the top.
As we start to go down, everyone around me raises their hands in the air. Ordinarily, I’d consider joining in, but my hands are locked in a death grip with the safety bar.
Abbie blasts a thought at me. “Don’t panic. But he’s sitting right behind you. Don’t look!”
Naturally, I panic and look.
“Boo!” mouths Frank and then gives me one of his stupid grins.
I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. Frank managed a precise landing on an extremely fast-moving roller coaster. I try to shift my body to shield Zach from Frank, but my seat belt stops me.
The car rockets down a straightaway and water sprays all around.
Zach’s hands are up. Frank leans forward and reaches for Zach’s arm.
I grab Zach’s wrists and pull him forward.
“Caylid, you’re hurting me,” Zach yells, struggling to break free.
Frank has undone his seat belt now and is leaning forward even more. The tips of his hands are inches away from Zach’s shoulder.
The car screams around a corner. Frantically, I try to swat Frank’s hand away.
But he’s quick. He feints high and goes down low. I only just manage to get my hand down in time to block him before we go into a tunnel. It’s pitch-black, and in the moment before my night vision kicks in, panic stabs me and I windmill my arms frantically against his next attack.
Seconds later, we’re out of the tunnel. Water plumes up, making it hard to see. I brace myself, certain that he’ll try again.
I glance back. A seat belt dangles lifelessly from Frank’s vacant seat. The car is slowing down now. The ride is ending.
Time Snatchers Page 25
