The two doors at the near end of the second-floor hallway are closed again. I realize now that one must belong to the old woman from the yard. I ease past them and continue on until I am just outside the master bedroom.
I allow my anger at Kane’s intrusion into our lives to grow, hoping this gives me the confidence I will need when I confront him. When I am as ready as I will ever be, I step inside and quietly close the door.
Like before, I see his shape on the bed, under the covers. Since he’s facing away from me, I move around the side so that when I wake him, I will be the first thing he sees.
As I crouch down beside the mattress, though, I realize something isn’t right. Hair lies across his face, but Kane’s hair is short, cropped on the sides and not much longer on top.
I look around for something I can use to move the hair away from his face, and that’s when I spot the pair of brown-framed glasses on the nightstand. I’ve seen them before, but not on Kane’s face. I look back at the bed and realize the shape of the person is too small to be my follower.
This isn’t Kane. It’s the woman who brought the old woman the lemonade. The caregiver called Lorna.
I wonder for a moment if she might be his wife, but quickly dismiss this thought. She’d called him Mr. Kane when she was talking to the old woman. Not something a wife would likely do.
So where is Kane? Did he get held up in traffic and is still on the way home? Or is he not coming at all?
Perhaps my previous assumption was wrong and Kane doesn’t come home every night. This I can check, either by going back and following him to see where he went earlier this evening, or by popping back into his house later tonight to see if he’s returned.
It’s been a very long day for me, though, and I can no longer ignore the exhaustion I feel. So whatever I decide to do needs to wait until after I get some sleep.
I open the bedroom door again so, if for some reason, the old woman needs help during the night, Lorna will be able to hear her, then I move into the hallway and pull out my chaser.
Like I did earlier, I make a home time jump, and am in the present when I arrive in my darkened apartment.
I’m a little surprised Iffy isn’t sitting in the living room, waiting up for me. It’s not that late, after all, and we often stay up long past midnight watching television shows and movies I have never seen before. But then again, even though her day has not been as long as mine, it has been stressful, and I can’t blame her if she’s already fallen asleep.
I slip the chaser back into my satchel and head toward my room. The door is closed but not latched, and through the crack between it and the jamb, I see only darkness. I carefully push it open so I don’t wake her, but as I step inside, I hear Iffy let out a soft moan.
“That’s far enough.”
It’s not so much the harsh male voice that stops me from moving as the barrel of the gun that’s suddenly pressing against the base of my skull.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Hands in the air,” the man whispers behind me.
I raise my left, hoping the movement will distract him as my right hand shoots down to my satchel and starts to push the flap away. But before my hand can slip inside the bag and find my chaser, the gun moves away from my head and slams into my wrist.
I cry out in pain. Any harder, and I’m sure it would have broken a bone.
The cold circle of metal presses against my neck again. “Put your hands in the air and don’t touch the bag!”
Two seconds, that’s all I need. If I can just get to the chaser’s control buttons, I can hop backward and deal with this problem before it even begins.
“Do it!” the man says. “Or would you rather I shoot you in the head? There’s no way you can disappear before I pull the trigger.”
Part of my mind is screaming at me to just do it, but the rational part is yelling even louder that I would never make it.
“Well?” he asks.
I raise my hand in the air.
As the metal leaves my neck, I hear a faint exhale of breath behind me that sounds almost like relief. As soon as it ends, though, a hand pulls the strap of my satchel over my head and off my shoulder.
It feels as if a pit to the center of the earth has opened under my feet. If never altering the past was the institute’s number one rule, then never let anyone take your chaser would be 1A.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
I do as ordered. Like I know will be the case, the man pointing the gun at me is Vincent Kane. My satchel hangs over his shoulder, and he’s taken a few steps back so that he is out of my reach.
“Denny Younger,” he says in an odd mix of disbelief, disgust, and reverence.
“I know your name, too,” I reply in a voice that comes out with less strength than I intend.
A nervous smile. “I’m sure you do.”
I need to keep him off balance in hopes that he’ll make a mistake that will allow me to grab back my bag, so I tell him, “I was just in your house.”
His smile falters.
“I’ve seen the old woman you live with.”
His eyes narrow.
“Is she your grandmother?”
His face tenses, and even in the dim light, I can see that his cheeks are growing red.
“I know she’s sick and that you have Lorna there taking care of her tonight.”
While I know there’s a chance he might follow through with his threat to pull the trigger, what I’m trying to do is provoke him into physically attacking me. He may be heavier than I am, but he doesn’t look like he’s in all that great of shape. And I’ve had some instruction in self-defense, so at least in theory, I should be able to use his momentum to my advantage.
“Did you know Lorna is in your bed tonight?” I say, attempting to push him over the edge. “Or is that where she usually sleeps?”
A roar leaps from his throat, but instead of rushing at me as I expect him to, he turns and runs into the hall.
I shoot a glance at Iffy, fighting the urge to check her, but if I can stop this whole mess before it begins, then whatever Kane has done to her will be moot. I sprint into the hall and see that the door to my sister’s room is opened a few inches. I thrust it open and run inside.
The only one there is Ellie. As with Iffy, the noise Kane and I have been making has not woken her up. I want to check her, too, but again, the most important thing I can do right now is get my chaser back.
I head quickly into the living room and find the front door is wide open. I sprint outside and pause on the breezeway just long enough for a quick listen. Running steps, downstairs near the front of the building and growing fainter. I reach the stairway in seconds and fly down it three steps at a time and then race around the pool to the entranceway at the front of the courtyard. I stop to listen again when I reach the street, but I don’t hear running this time.
I wildly scan left and right for any sign of Kane. How could he disappear so quickly?
At the sound of a motor starting, I turn and am just in time to see a sedan pull from the curb and speed toward me. Its bright headlights prevent me from getting a good look at it until it is almost parallel to me.
It’s the Lexus sedan I searched earlier. Kane sits in the driver’s seat, his hands locked on the steering wheel. When he looks at me as he passes, there is both fear and hatred in his eyes.
I know it’s ridiculous, but I rush into the street as if I might be able to grab onto the car and jerk it to a stop. I even run after him for several seconds before my mind finally forces my legs to stop.
He’s gone, and he’s taken with him the one advantage I have in this world.
As I hurry back to the apartment, the one thing I know for sure is that I am living in temporary time. Every moment that has already occurred and will occur since I arrived back from my unsuccessful trip to Kane’s house is just a placeholder. I will get my chaser back, and I will erase all of this. It no longer matters if Iffy’s and Ellie’s and my memory will then differ. There is no other option.