15 Minutes: A YA Time Travel Thriller (Rewind Series) (14 page)

I
remain silent, and she shakes me.

“Lara
Montgomery! Answer me!”

I
look up at her, and rage builds in my chest so intense I think I might choke on
it. I grit my teeth and whisper, “My name’s Lara Crane, and I’m not who you
think I am.”

The
color drains from Mom’s face, and she sits on the seat beside my bed. It makes
sense she would assume I’m her Lara, out to prove to everyone John Crane was
innocent of murder. Now I know a very important fact: Lara told Mom about her
suspicions that
Jax
framed John Crane.

But
did Mom tell
Jax
or had it been a secret between us?

If
Jax
knew I was onto him, I might be dead even if my
brain wasn’t bleeding. I need to play it safe. Molly is missing, and I don’t
want to put her or Mom in jeopardy any more than I have to. Merely admitting I
am from an alternate past or present will put Mom in the line of fire, but I
don’t have a choice, and part of me, a big part of me, wants to hurt her.

 
All I wanted was to get to know her, but the
more time I spend with her, the more I wish I hadn't. My longing memories of
her were better. Now I’m left with only pain, and I don’t even have my dad.

Mom
licks her lips, about to speak. I steel myself for what’s to come, trying to
plan my response, but I have no idea what to do. No idea how to protect us all
from the horrible truth that we have been living with the same man who tore our
family apart the last ten years. I’ll have to wing it.

“
Jax
adopted you,” Mom’s voice tremors. “You are—”

“That’s
not what I meant, and I think you know it. I think you’ve known for a while,
haven’t you?”

She
touches the curls dangling in front of my face and pushes her lips together to
quell their trembling, but she doesn’t speak, which forces me to.

“You
were dead,” I whisper, afraid to speak any louder. “I was raised by my father,
your widower. He meant everything to me, but I wanted nothing more than to know
you, so I took a chance, a big chance, to save you.”

She
closes her eyes, and tears dribble down her cheeks. “You were the girl in the
alley. Shot and disappeared.”

I
nod. Finally, maybe we can have an honest, real conversation.

“For
the last few years, I knew you looked like her.” She inhales deeply, her chest
rising and falling with the cleansing breath. “… but the last few days even more.
Your curls …” she says, fingering my ringlets.

“She
didn’t want to look like you anymore.”

“No!”
Her voice cracks, and I watch the pain, the hurt, etch on her face like
shattered glass. “You blamed me for it all, but it hurt me too. John tried to
have me killed. I had no choice to provide for us. I didn’t pick this life for
us and I hate it just as much as you did ... ”

My
nostrils flare. “He isn’t guilty. I saw the pain he felt from losing you, how
much he sacrificed to keep us together. Working three jobs, living in a crummy
apartment, just so we could get by.”

“Then
why change the past? Why risk your life?”

“Because
I wanted to save you for us. I wanted to know my mother. I wanted us all
together. I didn’t save you to work or get remarried, that’s for sure.”

She
hangs her head, and I close my eyes as a storm rolls in behind them—the start
of a new headache. But it isn’t bad, yet.

“What
do you expect me to do with this new information?” she whispers. “Thank you?
Run to your father? Forget about Molly?”

“I
don’t know. Stop looking at me like you hate me is a good start.”

Her
lower lip sticks out. “I don’t hate you. For the love of God, Lara.” She stands
up and paces over to the wall. Leaning against it, her posture crumbles like a
mountain collapsing into itself.

“So
I was dead?”

I
nod. “Shot in that alley.”

“And
you took the bullet for me?” Mom turns and looks at me. “I’m supposed to be
dead, so what the hell am I supposed to do now?” Her hand trembles and covers
her mouth, but ekes out a gasp.

I
stare down at my hand, waiting, waiting for the ability to tell her how much I
love her, but it never seems to come.

“Because
your dad wasn’t charged doesn’t make him innocent. Just because he loved you,
doesn’t mean he loved me.”

“I
saw that he did. He kept your pictures. He looked at them when he thought I
wasn’t watching.” I tug on my fingers. `“And … he sent me back in time for my
birthday—my first birthday—at that Italian restaurant on 4
^th
. I saw
how happy you were.”

Surprise
spreads across her face, and the first smile I’ve seen graces her lips. “I
forgot about that place. We loved it there. And you … were such a happy baby.”

“I
knocked into the waitress. A bunch of stuff fell, and I realized I could touch the
past, not like the techs told me.”

Mom
sucks in her breath, and I see the wheels spinning in her head. She’s probably
thinking about her research, if I could be one of her test subjects. “So you
came back … to save me. You thought you’d wake up and what, we’d all be living
happily ever after?”

I
shrug. “Why not? How was I supposed to know someone would frame Dad?”

Mom
holds a hand to her chest and takes in a breath that quivers the air between
us. “You want to prove him innocent, is that it?” Her eyes blink quickly.
“These x-rays prove you’re going to die, Lara. Die.”

“That’s
why I have to act fast.”

Mom
shakes her head. “I’ve been working on something that can help you. It’s risky,
but I don’t see any other alternative.”

“I
know what you’ve been working on, and I know you want out. So you can stop
pretending now.”

Her
eyes bulge, and her hands tremble. “Lara, what you know—”

“Is
dangerous, I know.”

“Could
get you killed!” She takes another deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut. “Who
have you told?”

“No
one.”

“Thank
God. We won’t have to put up with this much longer. I’ve made arrangements for
all of us, but until then … we can’t tell
Jax
. We
have to get Molly back.”

Does
Mom know
Jax
is the one who tried to kill her? “Does
the Senator have Molly?”

Mom
swallows hard. “I don’t know. If I knew—”

“But
you suspect. You need to tell the police.”

“She’ll
kill Molly,” Mom whispers. “I can’t.”

For
once, I agree with her.

“We
can’t make any moves against her, not while her men have Molly. We have to wait
and see what it is she wants. First thing we have to do is get you fixed.”

The
anger melts away as she embraces me. I haven’t forgotten what I said, but it
doesn’t seem to matter as much now. Her hug is strong and comforting. She wants
to take care of everything. I want her to, but I can’t let her.

Mom
smiles, and I see joy in her eyes. “I feel like I’m seeing you for the first
time. I guess I am, in a sense."

She
stands and
smoothes
her pants before placing her open
palm against my forehead. I think of all the times Dad did that when I was home
sick from school, but he never wore worry lines as deep as Mom's are right now.
Her eyes are a million miles away, and I know the things that must be running
through her head. Molly never should’ve been born.
 
Her life with
Jax
was never supposed to happen. Was John Crane really innocent?

She
bends over and kisses me, her fingers running through my hair. I close my eyes,
and to my surprise, all I feel is love. In that moment it makes everything I’ve
done worthwhile. Even if my feelings are wrong, I can’t shake them. Having a
Mom is all I ever wanted.

“I’ll
make the arrangements. Get some rest. I’ll be back.” She heads towards the
door.

“Mom?
I love you,” I say, gripping the sheets.

She
nods, and I see the tears are back. “You have no idea.”

As
she leaves, I close my eyes. I take a few deep breaths and then throw the
covers off and rip the oxygen tubes from my nose. Mom’s ideas are nice, but I
can’t sit by with my dad in jail and Molly missing. Her kidnapping is my fault,
and in case I don’t make it out alive, I have to move fast.

It
takes me a few minutes to acclimate to walking. I wobble over to the wardrobe
against the wall and find my clothes folded on the bottom. Quickly, I dress and
grab the duffle bag from the top shelf. It’s embroidered with the words
Mass General Hospital
. I sling it over
one shoulder and check the hallway for movement.

Only
a few nurses loiter in the halls, and their backs are turned to me. I sneak out
and hurry toward the stairs marked
EXIT
.
Placing my hand on the door to the stairwell, I connect with a familiar face
around the corner from the cafeteria.

Surprise
rolls across
Jax’s
face, and he nearly drops the cup
of coffee in his hand.

I
bite my lip, turn my head, and push the door open before dashing toward the
steps.

“Lara!”
His scream chases after me. Before I hear the door latch, he reaches the
stairwell. “Don’t do this, Lara!”
 

But
I am already down half a flight of stairs. I keep charging down the steps as
fast as I can without catching my breath until I reach the bottom floor,
severely winded. Above me, heavy steps echo with a metallic boom. I can’t allow
myself to get caught. I can’t. I dive through the door into the hospital lobby.
People stop to stare, but I keep running toward the glass doors.

 
“Stop her!”
Jax
calls out from behind me.

I
charge towards the two security guards blocking the open exit. As one tries to
grab me, I slip past him and drop to the ground, sliding head first through the
open door.

My
lungs fill with the fresh morning air as my feet pound the pavement, following
the street lights up the hill toward a waiting cab. I pull the back passenger
door open and throw myself into the cushions, ensuring my feet are inside
before I slam the door shut.

“Drive!”

To
his credit, the cabby complies. He glances at me, using the rearview mirror,
and I see tired blue eyes and enough scruff on his chin to know he hasn’t
shaved in at least a few days.

“Mind
telling me where we’re going?”

“YMCA
on Broad Street.”

His
eyebrows rise. “You have enough cash for that? Long drive.”

I
hold up my plastic credit card as my response. Yeah, I can afford it.

I
watch the street lights whizz past as the soft melody of a symphony orchestra
is pumped through the small cab, soothing and relaxing me. I’ve messed up
royally, which was never more apparent than that afternoon in the mall. I can
accept my mistakes. I should have listened to Rick and never changed the past,
but now my mom is alive, and I have a brother, a sister. A sister in danger,
but maybe if I can prove who kidnapped her, we can get her back unharmed.

Maybe.

It
all hinges on whether
Jax
kidnapped her or arranged
it somehow. I pray he is the one that took her because then maybe she will be
safe. If it was a stranger, I have nothing to go on, and I’m running out of
time.

Then
there is my dad, but thinking about him breaks my heart. He would say go after
the girl. He always put people above himself. Always.

If
I can get the evidence behind Mom’s attempted murder, Molly’s kidnapping,
everything, I can clear Dad, save Molly, and maybe be in time to get treatment
for my brain. That last item is less than likely, but I need hope above all
else.

The
clock is approaching midnight when the cab pulls up to the curb beside the
YMCA. The downtown street is busy, but since it’s still late at night—early in
the morning, depending on your point of view—the cabby pulls right up to the
door.

I
charge my ride, and he offers me a friendly smile, which I pay no attention to
as I climb out of the cab. There’s a public service announcement coming over
the speakers of the radio, “
Vote Yes on
Question 2 if you want police to catch the mugger who stole your purse before
he ever stole it. End crime before it begins
.

Arriving
at the YMCA door, I give it a solid tug.

It
doesn’t budge.

Dammit.
I shove it and then try pulling again, but the lock refuses to give way. With
my hands cupped around my eyes, I peer inside the windows, but I only see a few
lights inside. I can’t make anyone out at reception, or anywhere else for that
matter. Then I notice the decal on the window.

24-hour access
.

I
tear through my purse—lipstick, a mirror, cell phone, but no keycard. In my
wallet I see photos, more plastic than the Barbie aisle at
Toys“R”Us
,
and behind my student ID, the keycard. A state-of-the-art all-access pass. I
feel the need to even hide that. It causes a shiver to run up my spine.

After
I swipe the card, the door beeps and the lock plate lights up green. I swing
the door open and run inside the open reception area. The clinking gym
equipment in the distance is punctuated with grunts of men straining with their
weights.

I
sprint down the hall toward the women’s restroom. Inside, the lights almost
blind me, but I head on through to find the lockers. I can tell I’m nearing the
pool because the chlorine and bleach in the air makes my nose burn.

Locker
63.

My
eyes sweep aisle after aisle until I find the one I’m looking for. It’s blue
and unassuming, but it could unlock the secret to everything. I lick my lips as
I insert the key, close my eyes, and with a prayer, twist.

Click
.

The
door opens, and inside I find more than documents. There’s also a pink hoodie,
a duffle bag, and a fresh change of clothes.

What
was I preparing for? What was I doing? I open the manila envelope on the bottom
and flip through the documents—a lot of reports, surveillance photos, old
newspaper clippings. I don’t have time to go through all of it now, so I stash
them in my duffle bag and throw on some new clothes.

A
tight-fitting t-shirt, pink hoodie, and comfortable blue jeans are my new
outfit. It’s a weird choice for trendy, sophisticated Lara, but she was up to
something big. Real big.

I
lift the hidden duffle bag out of the locker, surprised at how hefty it is. I
unzip it and find money inside. A lot of money. I touch it. Must be thousands
of dollars bound together in neat little stacks.

My
heart quickens as I wonder where it came from and what I was planning to do
with it. If ever there was a moment for a flashback, it's now. A shining blue
cell phone at the bottom of the duffle bag catches my attention. I pull it out
and see a note stuck to it. In my handwriting.

Hide in the shower. Move fast.

Wide
eyed and with a pounding heart, I slam the locker, grab everything, and run
down the hall. I turn into the showers and duck into a stall, the vinyl shower
curtain flapping against me. I still it with trembling fingers as I hear heavy
steps enter the locker room.

The
locker doors are banged in rapid succession as the steps draw closer. I don’t
know why I’m afraid, but I am. It could be a burnt-out exerciser with their
iPod on too loud or a cleaning lady coming to collect towels, but I am sure it
isn’t. I am sure whoever it is, they are here for me.

My
still breath echoes with exasperation in my ringing ears. My hearing feels
supercharged, and I imagine the rubber soles stepping onto the wet tile at the
entryway of the shower room. My eyes flutter open, and my mouth is frozen as I
see a shadow creeping closer behind the shower curtain.

A
deep, angry voice calls out. “She was here. She got everything.”

Something
lands on the floor with a wet thud.

My
hospital clothes!

I
left them beside the bench. I want to berate myself for being so stupid again,
but as the shadow begins to recede, I realize that pile of clothes may have
saved my life.

Only
after the door slams shut do my shoulders relax, but I don’t feel safe enough
to come out yet. My mind drifts back to the note. It saved my life, but how did
I know to write it? How did I know those men were coming for me?

I
ask the question a million times in a million different ways but always come up
with the same answer.

 
I wrote it in the future.

And
brought it back into the past.