Computer panels must be paid for before use.
I hope Cas has enough money on her. I settle on one of the stools with my back to the wall so I can keep an eye on the comings and goings near the computers. Unrest begins to thread through me by the time Cascade comes back. She’s wearing a pair of the techno gloves, and I let her take my spot on the stood.
“It’s Twenty-Thirty-Three,” she hisses at me as she moves past me. “I had to fill out a form to use the computer panel.”
“Twenty years in the future.” I crowd her to make sure no one can see what she’s looking up. “Let’s see if there are any Ryerson’s alive.”
She performs a search, and the top article has the word memorial service in it.
She touches there with her red pointer finger, and the article spreads down the panel. “Top research scientist, Harlem Ryerson, was killed in the plane crash that also took the lives of one hundred and thirty-one people on Saturday, November twenty-first.”
Cascade stops reading, her jaw clenching tight and a muscle starting to jump near her right ear.
“This is from five years ago.”
I keep reading as fast as I can. “The whole family died on their way to Flagstaff. Harlem and his son Mason—and.” I point at the screen. “Harlem’s eight-month-old grandson, Guy. Thus Price was never born.”
Cas slides with her blue middle finger, and we finish the article. “They don’t know why the plane crashed.” She closes the article and leans away from the panel.
“I think we know why the plane crashed,” I say. “To kill the Ryerson’s.”
“How do we stop that?” she asks. “I mean, it’s a plane. Not anyone can just walk up to one and, and…I don’t even know what to do to a plane to make it crash.” She sounds close to tears, and I have no idea how to deal with someone else’s girlfriend while they cry.
“Can we even get there?” I ask.
She nods. “We can get there.” Pure panic parades across her face. “I just don’t know how many times we’ll have to go through the rift to do it.”
“Who lives in your house right now?”
She cues up the panel again and searches. “Mom always swore she’d never sell the house, but she obviously did. Do you know how the Ryerson’s got it?”
“Bought it in an auction when the city needed cash.” I shrug, like that’s a normal way to acquire property.
“The city owned it?”
“Yeah, it’s a historical landmark. That’s why the city paid to rebuild the house too, you know, after the rift explosion.”
Cas bites on her thumbnail, considering the wall panel in front of her. She taps, touches, tweaks her search criteria. I keep watch around us while remaining close to her.
“Heath, look.” She points to something on the screen.
“Orville,” I breathe, trying to read and comprehend at the same time. “He bought the house…only a year after he started financing your mom’s research.” I glance at Cascade. “What do you make of that?”
She closes her eyes in a long blink, whether out of rage, or pain, or frustration, I’m not sure. “My mom will do anything to perpetuate her research. I wouldn’t be surprised if she owed him something and he took the house to pay for it.” She mutters something rude about her mom under her breath, and I understand a bit more about why Cas walked through a rift and never went home.
“Anything on time rifts?” I ask.
She taps and types and searches. “A little article published in an obscure scientific journal.” She sighs and looks at me. “Nothing of consequence.”
“So where are the rifts? Can we go back to the alley and go back to Twenty-Thirteen? Maybe your friend—”
Cascade’s glare ices my vocal chords. “Let’s try my house,” she says. “Then we’ll decide what to do.”
An hour later, we’re still sitting in the cab. Cascade fell asleep on the way out of the city, which had taken forever because of the traffic, and I don’t have the heart to wake her. Her breathing seems shallow, her face the wrong color.
Even the driver notices, because he says, “Is she gonna be okay?”
“She’s fine,” I say. The sun set a half hour ago, but it’s not quite dark yet.
“How much longer?” he asks, not unkindly but he has a point.
I glance at Cas again. She looks dead, but I nudge her anyway. “Cascade,” I say gently, the way I used to speak to Soda.
Cas shifts; her eyes stay shut.
“Cas, it’s time to wake up. We’re here.”
Her eyes flutter open, filled with sleep and confusion, then fear. “Heath.” She sits up and glances around. “I’m sorry.”
“He needs to be paid,” I say quietly. She fumbles in her pocket and produces some cash. We slide out of the car and face the dark house.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s here,” I say.
Cascade’s fists flex, and then she sags into me. “I’m so tired.”
“Let’s get inside.” I glance behind me to where the driver watches us. We trudge up the driveway to the garage and I ask Cas for the electronic code. She gives it to me, and I punch it in, the purr of the engine still idling at the curb as loud as a pair of hyperdrive boots.
Thankfully, the door inches up when I enter the last number. The cab moves away and we enter an empty garage. I can’t push the button to seal us in fast enough. I feel like there are too many eyes nearby, and none of them welcome us to this house.
“Should we go in?” I ask Cascade as she sinks to the cement steps leading to the entrance.
“Can you go check and see if the house is empty?” She looks up at me, and all I see in her eyes is exhaustion.
“Sure.” I move past her and try the door, semi-surprised when it opens. The house feels like a living creature, but I know instantly no one lives here—there’s no heat. I leave the door open so I can call to Cas. The kitchen sits empty, without appliances or a dining table and chairs.
“There’s no one here, Cas.” I poke my head into the garage and hurry to help her stand and walk into the house. “Should we go upstairs? Or…” I glance into the foyer and inhale the scent of dust permeating the air.
“Basement.” She leans on me too heavily as we navigate into the empty living room, pass a bathroom on the left and a large vacant room on the right. We turn right where the hall ends with a window and a door on the right.
This room boasts a few boxes stacked on a counter on the left, but Cascade doesn’t even give them a second glance. She points to the far right corner, and I steer her that way. I’ve never been in this part of Price’s house. He said it was his father’s working space, and of course, where he conducted his illegal rift walking business.
A set of steps leads down into even more darkness and much chillier air. A small room sits at the bottom of the steps, with a counter set into the wall—and a couch under the stairs.
I help Cas to the sofa and she lies down. Because everything else has been cleared out of the house, I’m surprised this couch is here, but it’s like Cascade knew it would be. There’s no way we’re leaving tonight, a fact Cas confirms as she closes her eyes and snuggles into her hoodie.
I watch her for a few seconds, wondering if her condition can be helped with meds. What kind, I’m not sure. I lean over her. “Should I call someone?” Maybe she’ll have a contact here and they’ll be able to get her some painkillers or something.
“Cedar.” She hands me her phone without opening her eyes. I take it and head up the stairs, but I don’t call her friend right away. I stand at the glass doors that lead to the backyard and find that same shed that Price has in the future. Nothing seems out of place. Lights wink merrily in the house behind Cas’s, and the tree branches bend in the wind.
I take a deep breath and turn toward the stairs. I take them one at a time, each step reminding me how far from home I am. A vein of loneliness climbs through me, something Soda used to chase away with her smile, her touch, her kiss.
I sh
ove her out of my thoughts. It does no good to dwell on her, especially when I can’t contact her now anyway. I hadn’t told Price about my plans to move to Florida as soon as my graduation thesis cleared. He wouldn’t have taken it well, not with Cascade still silent. But now that she’s back…
I think of her falling asleep in seconds flat in the cab, the gray quality of her skin, the sunken nature of her eyes. Maybe she’s not as back as I hope she is.
I push those ideas away too. Focus on getting Price back, I tell myself as I tap open his bedroom door. It swings in easily, revealing a room full of lamplight from the street. The walls aren’t gray like his. The lace curtains seems so out of place compared to what I’m used to.
The bathroom feels cold and ancient, and the adjoining room has a plastic bin in the middle of the floor.
It feels sinister just sitting there, half-way full of items I can’t quite make out through the darkness. My fingers automatically fumble for a light, but when I flip the switch, there’s no power. A blue light zings around the edge of the bin. I blink. It’s gone. Maybe it didn’t exist at all.
I stare at the plastic, willing the blue blip to reappear. When it doesn’t, I step closer to the bin, my heart thudding against my spine. I’m two feet away when the blue light blinks again. I halt and stretch up on my toes to see inside.
A wooden picture frame rests on top of a pile, ordinary in every way except that it doesn’t house a photo. The glass is dusty, but intact. I reach toward it though every instinct inside me screams at me to put as much space between this frame and myself.
Blue light flashes.
A face appears in the frame. Momentarily, but long enough to recognize the human form.
Footsteps echo up the stairs, coming my way.
I spin toward the closed door of the bedroom, my throat too narrow and my lungs too seized to breathe.
I didn’t close the other bedroom door. What if whoever’s in the house notices?
I still haven’t moved; I can’t seem to make my feet fly. I don’t know which direction to go anyway.
The steps reach the second floor, and pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Three steps and the doorknob rustles. I rush back toward the bathroom, barely crossing the threshold before the bedroom door swings in.
Heath
I SUCK IN A BREATH TO TRY to drown out the laboring sound of my own heart in my ears. Bootsteps seem to move in time to the beating of my heart, and they move straight to the waiting bin in the middle of the bedroom. From my position behind the open bathroom door, I can see a one-inch strip of the room.
The man crouches next to the bin and reaches inside. Again, I want to scream at him to stop. He extracts the frame and balances it on the edge of the bin. The next time it winks with that blue light, he says, “Open communication.”
I exhale in a slow stream, my lungs screaming for another breath. I take it as soon as I can. I have a very strong feeling that if I’m found here, I’ll never make it back to 2073. To Soda. The thought of her strengthens me, and a measure of my nerves calm.
The man wears typical winter clothing—a coat, a hat, long pants, boots. No gloves. His face is clean-shaven, but the rest of his features are cast in shadows.
“Authorization?” a voice asks from the picture frame—which I realize now is no ordinary picture frame.
“Payton Openshaw.”
It’s only because of the multiple jams I’ve done with Price that keeps me from gasping. This guy must be Orville’s son. Or nephew, or something.
The frame vibrates, the blue light streams around the edge of it, faster and faster until it’s completely lit up. Payton sets it on the floor and backs up a few steps, nudging the bedroom door closed as he does.
The light fills the room as a shape begins to emerge from it, growing taller and taller with each passing moment. Within seconds, the light-energy takes on a human shape, and I see a man’s features in the rippling whites, and blacks, and grays, and blues. His feet stay stuck to the frame, and he takes a few more minutes to solidify before he speaks.
The hologram technology is fascinating to watch. It’s much more sophisticated in my time, but I realize I’m looking at the protocols for what I enjoy.
“Peyton, did anyone see you enter the house?”
“No one.”
The two men stand about five feet apart, the same height, same build. Definitely related.
“Are you sure?”
I hear the sigh Peyton gives, but the hologram doesn’t seem to care.
“Dad, there was no one. There never is.”
“Why were you late, then?”
“There was a massive wreck in the city,” he says. “Traffic’s a complete bear right now, especially with all the vehicle strikes.”
My ears catch everything he says, but my brain doesn’t know what to do with all the bits, so it stores them in contained boxes for later.
“What’s so urgent, anyway?” Payton asks. “It took me an hour to get here, and I can’t keep lying to Marissa.”
“She’s the least of your concerns.”
Payton’s fists tighten, and I understand that he doesn’t like his father downplaying whoever this Marissa is.
“So what are my concerns?”
“I received notification of a rift anomaly, an intrusion that happened about three hours ago.”
Payton frowns, the blue light playing on his face in valley of shadow and light. “Could be anything, right?”
“Could be,” his father agrees. “But it was big enough to indicate walkers.”
Payton swears. “They could be anywhere by now.”
“Yes,” Orville says. “And it’s your job to find them.”
“I know my job, Dad.”
“We believe these particular walkers are dangerous,” he says. “Here to right a past wrong. I think you know what I’m talking about.”
“I cannot confirm nor deny what you’re talking about.”
The hologrammed image of Orville Openshaw smiles. “This is not a send back mission. This is a strike.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Send communication when the field is secure.”
Payton salutes, causing me to wonder what kind of father-son relationship this is. The hologram returns the gesture and begins to fade.
“Wait, Dad.” Payton takes a step forward. “When are you going to come visit? Marissa and I want you to meet the newest member of the Openshaw family.”
Orville sharpens into focus again. “Payton, I…” His voice, though a touch robotic, holds an edge of sadness I understand all too well. I actually find myself feeling bad Orville, for the bad news he’s about to deliver.
“I can’t cross-over anymore,” Orville finally says. “It’s too dangerous, for both me and you.”
“You can’t come? Ever?”
Orville shakes his head. “No, son. I’m sorry.” He begins to shrink, the light jumps and dances around the room.
“What am I supposed to tell my wife?” Payton shouts at the receding form. “You can’t do this to us! Why can’t we come over there?” The blue light flickers in the frame now, only seconds from disappearing completely. “Why did you leave us here in this awful dimension? Dad!”
The light extinguishes.
He spins, curses flying from his mouth. His chest heaves as he takes a few minutes to control himself. I don’t dare move, for fear even a breath will give away my position.
Leave, I plead with him silently. Please leave.
Finally he wrenches open the door and his footsteps fly down the stairs. A door opens and slams closed, leaving the house to settle into stillness.
I stay behind the bathroom door for a long time. It feels like hours, but is probably only twenty minutes. I want to make sure Payton doesn’t return. I need to make sure that frame doesn’t blink to life with blue light again.
When it doesn’t, and no one comes back, I slink out from my hiding position. I move tow
ard where Payton left the frame on the floor and peer down into it. The surface feels cold now, almost like a chill emanating from metal.
I want to cover it with something, but I don’t want to touch it. In the end, I leave it sitting there and follow Payton down the stairs. The Openshaws own this house, but they don’t live in it. It sounds like Orville doesn’t live here at all. How can someone who doesn’t exist in this dimension own property?
I move into the bathroom off the living room and dial Cedar from Cas’s list of contacts.
“This is not a good time,” he growls into the phone when he picks up. “Call me back in an hour.”
The line goes dead before I can say anything. I sigh, but I have the time to waste. My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten yet today. A shiver runs across my shoulders, a testament that this house doesn’t have electricity.
Food and shelter , I think as I head into the kitchen to see if maybe Payton keeps a stash of crackers in the cupboard.
He doesn’t, but I do find a thin blanket in the hall closet upstairs. I take it down to the tiny basement room where Cascade is still sleeping and wait for sixty minutes to pass. When they do, I dial Cedar again.
“What do you want?” he barks into the phone.
I find it interesting that he doesn’t ask what Cascade is doing here. He’s probably been waiting for this call for twenty years.
“Cascade is really sick,” I say, my voice a bit froggy. I clear my throat. “I was wondering if you could bring some food and water and I don’t know, some painkillers or something, to her house.”
A few seconds pass before Cedar says, “Heath?”
“Yeah.”
“Cascade is sick?”
“She started coughing before we left twenty-thirteen. And now… Now she just seems really tired. Sort of feverish.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Cedar,” I start, a swell of emotion burning my throat. “No one lives here. Be careful getting in.”