by Bella Street
When he knocked on the door, he heard her quiet response. They walked in slowly and stopped short just over the threshold.
“You okay, Sef?” Lani asked.
“Yes.”
“I wonder when the emergency lights will come on. Seems to me it's supposed to be automatic.”
As if in response to her words, the emergency lights flickered on, casting the room in a dim greenish glow. Gareth saw moisture on Seffy's cheeks.
He turned to the other girls. “Can you make it back to your room? I think I'll sit with Sef for a few minutes.”
Addison's expression stiffened slightly, but she took Lani's arm, and together they left the room.
When they were alone, he turned to Seffy. “Is this okay?”
She nodded from where she sat huddled on the bed. Once again, Gareth wanted to avoid even touching the mattress, but she was clearly in distress.
He perched gingerly on the edge of the bed and regarded her. “Did the earthquake scare you?”
She shook her head, leaning away from him a bit. He frowned. She had no reason to be afraid of him. He'd always been there to protect her. “Why are you crying?”
She swiped at her face as if embarrassed by her tears.
She was probably missing Trent. Great.
“I've...” she began, then took a deep breath. “I've never thanked you, Gareth.” She looked up at him, her eyes dark and shiny in the low light.
“For what?”
Her gaze returned to her hands where they were clasped in her lap. “For everything.”
He snorted softly. “Well, thanks, I guess.”
“I know...you made a lot of sacrifices to watch over me when we were younger.”
He frowned, surprised at the direction of her words.
“I know you didn't go out for football so you could stay near me on the weekends—even when the coach begged you to join the team. I know you didn't get to make a lot of friends for the same reason.”
He measured his words, unsure of her agenda, if there was one. “It wasn't a sacrifice. I wanted to be near you.”
“I know you put yourself in a tough spot when you called attention to the mayor's behavior. And endured my temper when you insisted I see a counselor in L.A.”
Gareth wondered why she wanted to take a trip down memory lane—especially when she usually hated those. “You were my friend. Of course I wanted to be there for you. Of course I wanted you to get the help you needed.”
Her eyes sought his. “You went above and beyond.”
His face heated at her...devoted expression. Was this the Thorazine speaking? Or Seffy's heart? “You know you've always been special to me.” He took a breath. “And you still are.”
She lowered her eyes. “Well, I just wanted you to know that.”
He leaned closer. “Nothing's changed. You know that, right?”
After a moment, Seffy nodded, then seemed to retreat inside herself.
The main lights came on, flooding the room. Gareth was reluctant to leave, but her rigid posture really gave him no choice.
He stood, looking down at her bent head. One minute it seemed she wanted to connect.
And for a brief space in time he wondered if they might return to the old days—the way things were before everything went to hell—before he discovered who she really was.
But the moment evaporated and he needed to leave.
Before he turned to go, he willed her to look up at him. She remained, head bowed, lost in her own world.
A world that didn't include him.
***
Once the door closed, Seffy looked up at the wood panels. Exhaustion mixed with relief as her shoulders sagged.
The hopeful look in Gareth's eyes had rocked her.
At what point did he think she could ever forget what he'd said?
What he'd done to Trent?
And yet, she had taken him for granted for far too long. Years. It felt right thanking him for the span of selfless protection he'd afforded her. He'd gone above and beyond the usual friendship. Yes, he thought of her in unrealistic ways—but that was something she should've recognized a long time ago.
Seffy got off the bed, pulled on Trent's hoodie, and headed out the door. She still had questions and there was one person who owed her some answers.
And this time she just might follow through on her threat to spit in his Tab.
***
Seffy arrived at Eugene's door and knocked. No answer. She turned the door handle. Locked. She touched the key on the chain around her neck, but doubted it would work in a handle when it was obviously a padlock key.
Suddenly the door swung open. Eugene's eyes widened behind his thick glasses. “What are you doing here?”
“I want some answers.”
“I'm afraid that won't be—”
She shoved the door open and pushed past him into his room.
“Miss Carter—!”
“That's Mrs. Ellison to you, Mr. Dexter.”
He began to sputter, but she ignored him as she looked around the room. Once again thick sciencey-looking binders and charts with diagrams littered the space. She stepped over the piles on the floor and went to his dresser.
“What are you doing?” he gasped as she opened the top drawer and began rummaging through its contents.
“Just trying to get some information.” She went through the next drawer. She found BVDs, socks, and an adult comic book collection, but nothing else.
“I demand you cease this instant!”
She opened the fourth drawer. Assorted junk food wrappers mingled with pajama bottoms. She pulled out one wrapper for Dove chocolate and paused. Carpe Cioccolata was printed on the inside of the wrapper. She smoothed it out, then glanced at Eugene, who'd turned an interesting shade of red. “I'm pretty sure there were no wrapped Dove chocolates in 1980.”
He lifted his chin, but that just brought the beads of sweat on his forehead into the light.
Seffy always thought he was a cliché—like a cardboard cutout science nerd. “So which agency did she hire you from?”
A nervous tic started at the corner of his eye. “I don't know what you're talking about Miss Car, er, Mrs. Ellison. Please remove your person from my quarters. I'm not desirous of contracting your infection.”
Seffy regarded the plaid pants he wore beneath the white lab coat. “Did she pick out your clothes, too?”
Eugene backed up toward the wall, obviously casting about for some kind of weapon.
She looked at the messy desk, piled with papers, writing instruments and tools of some kind. She saw a letter opener.
Seffy grabbed it and produced a small cut on her palm, then advanced on the cringing scientist. “I want answers.”
“She'll kill me,” he hissed, his eyes fixated on her bloody hand.
“All this time I thought you meant Fiona, but you're talking about Verity, aren't you?”
His eyes bugged. “Who told you?”
“The rumor mill. You know how it is. People stare their mortality in the face, they start talking.”
“Jared talked,” he breathed.
“Not so much, but he hinted. What I do know is that you were behind the chemical experiments on my brain.”
“She told me to.”
“Why?”
His breath came in nervous little puffs. “To keep you out of commission and to...upset Fenn.”
“I thought Verity wanted me to be killed outright.”
“That was the original plan until Jared encouraged her to go the psychotropic route, especially when they found your blood had certain properties.”
“Why would she want to hurt Fenn?”
He licked his lips. “Because he wanted her to come back. And she knew if you were here, hobbled, as it were, it would keep Fenn focused on you and not her.”
“So you are from an acting agency?”
“Yes,” he whispered, a shiver of shame in his voice.
“Which means you don't know a
ny of the time-travel science.”
“I know a little.” He made a face, sweat now trickling down his forehead. “Are you going to infect me?”
Seffy stared at him, wondering why she couldn't muster any real rage toward him. He was partly responsible for her torture—physical and mental.
And yet he was as much a failed actor as herself. It was a level of pathetic she could empathize with. “I'm not going to infect you...yet. But it won't take much for me to change my mind.”
She stepped away from him, eyeing him warily. “How did you ever think it was acceptable to allow anyone to experiment on a young woman's brain?”
“I told you it was Jared's idea.”
“But you still allowed it.”
“I had Fiona breathing down my neck, too. She'd seen the interest Fenn had shown in you and wanted you dealt with.”
Geez. I was the new girl and everyone hated me on sight. Maybe I should work on my people skills.
Seffy sent him a hard look and revealed the Glock from her pocket. “Infection isn't the only way to die, Eugene. Keep that in mind before coming up with, or helping, in any new schemes.”
She headed for the door.
“Are they going to let you go back?” he asked, a tremor in his voice.
She stared at the doorknob just out of reach of her hand. “I don't know. I hope so.”
“I want to go back, too.”
Seffy looked at him over her shoulder, seeing the stark terror in his eyes. “I wouldn't count on it.”
***
When Seffy returned to her room, Fenn was there—standing outside her door instead of in the room—for which she was thankful considering he could do whatever he wanted. She raised her eyebrows at him, noticing his hale and hearty appearance. If whatever was responsible in her blood had that effect on him, why did she end up with horrendous bruises and generally look like hell?
“Can I help you?” she asked, unable to keep the chill from her tone.
His expression reflected brief disappointment before smoothing. “I'd like to discuss some things with you.”
“Like what?”
“Where was Trent born?”
“What?” She frowned. “Missoula. Why?”
“I thought he was from California.”
“He moved there when he was two.”
“Why?”
“Something to do with his dad needing to leave the state. Anyway, why should I answer your questions if you refuse to answer mine?”
He glanced up and down the corridor. “Could we speak privately?”
She opened her door with reluctance and followed him inside. Once she closed the door behind her, she turned to him. “What's going on here?”
“I just have some questions.”
“About where Trent was born.”
“Among others.”
“Olga seems to think even the rooms might be bugged. Not sure what difference there is between here and the hallway.”
“I'm confident there's no eavesdropping here, Seffy.”
She lifted her chin. “Why don't you call me Sera?”
The corners of his mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “Obviously you don't wish it.”
“Of course I don't,” she flared. “The moment I was legally able, I changed my name. I'll never be your...”
“Little girl?” he finished quietly.
Seffy caught her breath. The knowledge still rocked her—was still irreconcilable in her heart.
Once she reined in her emotions, she said, “I'm not sure I ever was that person.”
His eyes showed a hint of sadness but she steeled herself against it. “Do you at least now understand why I went to all this effort?”
“Effort?” She let out a harsh laugh. “You may have dragged me out of my time, but since I've been here, you've passively stepped aside and let others have their experimental way with me. I hate to break it to you, but my life in L.A. was actually preferable to this.”
He took a moment before responding. “I understand. And I don't want to make excuses regarding my heroin problems and leukemia, but it did play into my apprehension of what was going on in the compound.”
“I take it all the hi-jinks were nothing new.”
“There have always been problems here. And I'd been trying so hard to get you here, it was almost a shock you showed up when you did.”
“Because what? Verity somehow stymied your efforts?”
“Yes.”
Seffy blew out a breath and sat on the couch, pulling a pillow onto her lap. “Why did the other people come with me?”
Fenn took the chair near the desk, leaning forward and dropping his hands between his legs. “It's a little science and a little esoterica. Those who came with you were connected to you—strongly. You are interconnected with certain people, people who are attached to you at different intersections of your life.”
Seffy gripped the pillow tight. “I had a dream where Fiona said they came because I had entangled them in my misery.”
“It seems to me the majority of those who came along for the ride actually cared about you.”
“Maybe,” she mumbled.
She stared at him, tempted to ask whether he was making this up on the fly. “Using that logic, Eva and Cynthia came because they're connected to me via a traumatic time in my life.”
“I understand they were one of the reasons you moved and changed your names.”
“Yes.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “But if they came—why didn't...others?”
“You mean one mayor in particular?”
“Yes,” she said, her words coming out as a croak.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Who says he didn't?”
A wave of goosebumps passed over Seffy's body. “He came? When? How?”
“Despite being officially off the staff of Fugere, Malone was my eyes and ears in the desert. He didn't know all the details, but he was told enough to alert me if certain persons appeared in the area.”
Seffy tried to take in the idea. “Was he attacked by zombies? Or did Malone kill him outright?”
“Both. It was before Malone found you and your friends.”
“So the man is dead in two time zones, while I'm alive in two.” She shook her head. “Whoa.”
A tense silence fell in the room. Fenn looked down at his hands. Seffy stared at him, wondering how he could be so full of machinations.
“I moved heaven and earth to find you,” he said quietly.
“And yet here I am, in hell.”
He looked up at her, his gaze pleading. “Is it so shocking that I wanted to redeem my mistakes? To right a wrong? To get a second chance?”
His words slammed against her heart, kindling more fury than pity. And yet she'd had her own second chance with Trent—and that meant everything.
When she looked up at Fenn, she saw the same anguish in his eyes that was surely reflected in her own. She looked away.
“I'm sorry you didn't get longer with Trent.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Are you saying you had any control over that? Because you've been real big on the whole less fate, more circumstance thing.”
“I had no control over Trent's death. But things have been set in motion from the moment you arrived. I always knew the day would come when you had to go back.”
“Go back to 2006.”
“Yes.”
“And that's now?”
“It's well past the time.”
She frowned, wondering when she'd ever understand half of what he said. “Why? What do you mean?”
“Didn't Olga tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
He frowned, obviously hesitant. “Before he died, Trent begged me for an extra month before I sent you back.”
She jumped to her feet, her heart thundering. “Trent knew about this?”
“Some of it. But he also knew—”
“I don't get it! Why couldn't Trent and I just go back together?”
When Fenn didn't answer, she clenched her fists. “Do you mean to tell me you knew Trent would die here? After telling me you couldn't control what happened?”
“Seffy, you're misunderstanding me. I didn't know he would die here. But I did know he couldn't return with you.”
She closed her eyes briefly against the sting of tears. “And here we are back to the riddles.”
“Trent wouldn't have allowed you to do what needed to be done. He wouldn't be able to stand by and let you...”
When he was silent, Seffy stepped near him. “What? Spit it out!”
He turned his head away, a flush mantling his thin face.
“Is this what you call redemption? Where everyone I love dies? Well, go work out your redemption on someone else's head!”
“Seffy,” he said in an agonized voice, “nothing is set in stone here. But I'm trying to explain that events on this linear plane, on this thread, have been put into play.”
“With regards to who? You just said Trent didn't have to die. What's the point of 'righting this wrong' if it's just a loop stuck on repeat?”
“Trent ultimately died because Jared shot him. But...he didn't have long either way.”
She stared at him, dread suffocating her. “What does that mean?”
“I assumed Olga told you,” he said in a low voice. “Your blood, Seffy, doesn't cure anything.”
“I don't get it,” she said dully.
“It appears to render the viruses, cancers, or whatever, inactive, but it doesn't for long. And Trent knew that. He knew he wouldn't help you do what needed to be done in 2006, so he wanted as much possible time with you here.”
Trent's words filtered through her memory, of him wanting to forestall any escape attempts, of wanting to hide out in the Light Room to spend every moment in each others' arms.
Her respiration increased. “How much time did he have?”
“It's an inexact science—”
“Just tell me how long he had!”
Fenn flinched at her outburst. “Olga figured a few weeks. A couple of months at the most.”
Seffy plunged her hands into her hair, holding it away from her face, unable to absorb another shock.
As her stunned mind reverberated with the implications, she turned to Fenn. “How long do you have?”
“There's no way to know for sure, but I can only assume my prognosis will be similar to Trent's.”
