If I were merely stepping between the worlds, it would certainly remove the guilt over the millions (billions?) of erased lives I know I’ve caused. But while the parallel world theory might very well be true, the world that fills this particular cosmic groove is the one that should be occupied by the massive British Empire and the Upjohn Institute, the same world where my sister once died from cancer and where I should have accepted my lot and become a librarian. I made the change to this time line. I played god with this world. Because of me, Iffy’s and RJ’s reality has crashed the groove.
Perhaps there is a parallel world out there like the one I was born into, but it ends at the similarity. It is not mine. I’m not a scientist and can’t prove any of this. But I know at my very core that this is the truth.
Before leaving San Diego, Iffy made one other call, and it’s to the Los Angeles home of its recipient that we head first.
We reach the old Craftsman house in the middle of Hollywood a little after 1:00 a.m. With the exception of the porch and the living room, the rest of the home is dark. The old wooden door opens as we pull into the driveway, and Marilyn Bryant, Iffy’s former landlord, steps onto the wide stone porch.
RJ helps me ease my sister out of the back, but I carry her across the yard alone. Iffy follows behind, carrying the bag of Ellie’s things we threw together before RJ picked us up.
Marilyn meets me at the top of the steps and lightly caresses Ellie’s cheek. “She looks better than the last time I saw her.”
We had to bring Ellie to a hospital in LA for a special test not long after I brought her to this time line, and we had spent the night here at Marilyn’s. While it hadn’t been the easiest of trips for my sister at the time, I’m thankful now that we’d taken it. Ellie knows Marilyn, so when she wakes and sees that neither Iffy nor I are here, she won’t completely panic. At least I hope.
“Where would you like me to put her?” I ask.
“She’ll be using my room.”
I hesitate. “There’s no need to put yourself out. There must be someplace else she can use.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t be putting me out. I promise. Besides, she’ll be most comfortable there.”
“Thank you,” I say and carry Ellie into the house.
As I am tucking her into bed, Iffy gives the bag to Marilyn and goes over my sister’s pill schedule.
When she’s finished, I say, “I’m not sure how long we’ll be gone. Hopefully, we’ll be back first thing in the morning, but—”
“But you might get delayed,” Marilyn finishes for me.
“Yes.”
The truth is if everything goes as planned, we won’t be back at all, because I’ll use the chaser to stop Kane before we’d ever come to LA.
Temporary time, remember.
“Ellie will be fine,” she says. “Just tell me you two haven’t gotten yourselves involved in something stupid.”
“We haven’t,” Iffy says.
RJ is waiting for us in the car when we return. “Where now?” he asks.
I pull out my phone and bring up a premarked map. Touching the digital pin that points to Kane’s house, I say, “There.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
At my instructions, RJ parks around the corner and up a block from Kane’s place.
As much as I would like Iffy to stay in the car with her friend, I know I may need help, so we leave RJ alone and make our way down the street.
The faint whomp-whomp-whomp of a helicopter fades in and out over the valley and soon disappears completely. Just before we reach Kane’s street, a set of headlights turns onto the road at the bottom of the hill in front of us.
Not wanting to take any chances that it might be Kane, Iffy and I duck behind some rubbish bins at the curb. Instead of turning at the intersection, the car keeps going straight and drives right past us without slowing.
After a quick check to make sure no other vehicles are coming, we make our way to the corner and turn down Kane’s street. Pausing, I scan ahead. Like I’d previously observed, Kane’s garage door is closed. Though I can’t see much of his house, what I can see appears dark.
I motion for Iffy to stay close and then jog down to the garage. The door is old and warped just enough that there is a gap between it and the cement wall. I shine my phone’s flashlight through the crack to see if the Lexus is inside. The angle isn’t great, but it appears the space is empty. Out of habit, my hand starts to move toward the satchel I’m not carrying so I can use my chaser to hop inside and know for sure. The reflex is just another demonstration of how reliant I’ve become on the device.
I silently chastise myself and then whisper, “Let’s check the street and see if he’s parked nearby.”
While there are over a dozen cars lining the road, none is Kane’s. Given that there are still plenty of open spots available, I think it unlikely he’s left the Lexus on another street.
Yet again, it feels as if the world has dropped out from under me. I’ve been counting on him being here, and am now wondering if we’ve just made a huge mistake leaving San Diego.
The dark corners of my soul are whispering that I’ve lost my chaser forever. I could live with that, I guess, but only if I knew the box had been destroyed and no one else could ever use it. And though I’m still convinced Kane doesn’t possess the knowledge to rekey the device so it’ll work for him, I can’t help wondering, What if he figures it out? Highly unlikely, I know, but not impossible.
Will the world suddenly change again?
Will Kane create a break far enough back in time that it will erase me?
And what of my sister?
And Iffy?
And Marilyn and RJ and everyone else?
In my downward spiral, I’ve lost all sense of where I am. It’s Iffy’s hand slipping into mine and her words “Let’s check the house” that start to bring me back.
I blink until the fog in my mind clears enough for me to see Iffy looking at me.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “He’ll show up. And if he doesn’t, wherever he is, we’ll find him.”
She’s right, of course. While the weight of all humanity is my constant companion, I can’t let it overwhelm me. I need to stay focused. After all, the world around me is still as I made it, and until I suddenly wink out of existence, I must do all I can to get my device back so that the time line remains intact.
We head over to Kane’s house and quietly take the steps up the side of the garage to the raised front yard. I can see now that the whole house is dark. I study the front windows for signs of movement, but there are none. There is something odd about the front door, though. Right in the middle at eye level is a square patch that’s lighter in tone than the rest of the door. When I last stood next to that door, there was no light patch.
As Iffy starts toward the left side of the house, I grab her arm and motion for her to follow me to the small front porch. At the base of the steps, I hold up a hand, telling her to stay, and then quietly make my way up. As I reach the top, I flick on my phone’s flashlight again, and use my hand again to focus the beam, this time so that it doesn’t spill through any of the nearby windows.
The patch is a piece of paper that has been folded in half and taped to the door. Written large on it are two words:
DENNY YOUNGER
I yank the paper down, quickly unfold it, and read the message inside.
You will call me at 10 a.m. tomorrow morning. Don’t waste time trying before then because I won’t answer.