15 Minutes: A YA Time Travel Thriller (Rewind Series) (7 page)

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I
open my eyes and see my homework laid in front of me. My nose feels wet, and a
few drops of blood splatter to the pages. I can’t remember the last time I had
a nose bleed. Rummaging through my desk for a tissue, I notice my hand is laced
with traces of blood. I guess I’ll have to work faster if I want to free Dad
before my brain hemorrhages.
 
I glance at
the clock. Where did the last three hours go? I can’t remember.

Swallowing
my fear back to the furthest corner of my mind, I run to the bathroom and get a
washcloth. As I’m running it under the tap, I hear footsteps. I hold the cloth
to my nose, and a light knock comes at the door.

“Just
a second—”

The
door opens anyway. Mom, still dressed for work, enters with an alarmed
expression.

“When
did this start?” She takes the washcloth from me and orders me to sit down on
the toilet.

 
I do as she asks and tilt my head up, staring
into her warm eyes. She keeps my nose clasped tight and pats some cool water on
my cheeks. This is what I missed growing up. I love my dad, but he was always
making sure I was self-reliant, which means if I was hurt, I patched myself up.
He was probably working anyway.

“A
few minutes ago, while I was doing my homework.”

Mom
twists her lip and chews on it while her eyes stare off at the wall. When I
straighten my head, she releases my nose. The bleeding has tapered off, but she
won’t let me go yet. She washes my face clean and then plants several small
kisses on my forehead. I put my arms around her waist and bury my head in her
stomach. It’s the first real moment we’ve had together. She strokes my hair,
seemingly incapable of keeping her lips to herself. Her hugs are urgent, full
of worry. “Tomorrow, I’ll call your doctor, make sure everything’s okay.”

“Mom—”

She
holds up her hand.

I’m
not going to win this battle.

“Get
some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” One more kiss on my cheek and she’s
off.

I
look back at my reflection in the sterling encased mirror. I’m not ready to
give her up. Not ready at all.

In
the morning, I leave early to avoid questions and end up in an
expensive-looking blue sedan. We head toward the prison where Dad has lived for
the past ten years. Mr. Grayson seems okay enough, with a face that looks more
like a warm grandfather than a ruthless lawyer. I wish Dad had the best council
money could buy, but it seems he doesn't. My blood turns to ice as I realize
his situation is all my fault.

Mr.
Grayson escorts me into a room where I am asked to fill out and sign several
forms. After a while, I get a visitor pass and attach it to my sweater. The
lawyer and the guards exchange head nods, and Grayson signs his name. He rests
his hand gently on my shoulder.

“You
sure you’re ready for this? If you’re having second thoughts …”

I
shake my head. “I’m ready.” I take a deep breath to steady myself. The door in
front of me buzzes, and it’s opened by a police officer with a neck thicker
than my waist. Apprehensive, I will my legs into the small room. Once I do, the
door latches behind me.

There
are three chairs to choose from in front of a glass wall separating me from the
prisoners. I take the third seat as instructed and wait for Dad to come in. My
hands shake so bad that even squeezing them doesn’t quell them. The echo of a
door snapping open and the grating of metal legs against the concrete floor
draws my attention. I look up into the face of my father, weathered and older
than the one I remember. His wavy brown hair is peppered with grey, and his
face is covered by a thick beard, which I don’t like. It’s not my dad’s face.
This is not the man I know and love.

“Sugar
bear?” he whispers, and the disbelief in his eyes cracks my soul. He might not
look the same, he might be wafer thin, but his voice brings all my emotions
rushing to the surface.

“Dad,”
I choke out, putting my hand to the glass.

He
places his fingers against mine, and I know he wants to touch me. I want to
touch and hug him too. I’m so sorry for the mess I caused.

“I
can’t believe it. Fred sent me the message.” He shakes his head, his lips push
together to keep the tears from falling. My dad never let me see him cry, but
this man is different—broken of spirit. “I didn’t think you’d come. You said to
stop sending you cards. That I was no longer your father—”

The
pain forces my eyes shut. “I said that.” My voice is so hushed I hope he can
hear me. “I kept the last birthday card you sent me in my school locker.”

His
smile lights up his face as if I had given him the top prize. “Oh Lara, I’m
glad. So glad.” It seems he’s seeing me for the first time, his eyes studying
all aspects of me. “You’re beautiful. You look like your mom.” He chews on a
finger. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what it’s like to have a grown
daughter. I’m sorry.”

“It’s
not your fault. I just wanted to see you.” He nods in a slow, controlled way.

I
feel my presence is making him anxious, that he wants me to go away again. Why
does everything have to be so hard? Can’t it go back to how it used to be?

“I’m
not allowed to ask about your mom, but I hope she’s well. You guys still happy
with what’s his name?”

My
mind flashes to
Jax’s
smiling face while we sit
across from each other over a Monopoly board. I nod to Dad, wiping goo from my
nose. “Sure. Never better, I guess. I have a younger sister, a brother.”

Dad
nods. “I heard about that a few years ago. Your Mom told me.”

Bells
go off in my head. “Mom comes to see you?”

Dad
runs a hand through his hair. “No, nothing like that. Sometimes she would send
a letter through her attorney. Nothing personal, and nothing from her. Just
news.”

He
means threats. They’ve threatened him to stop trying to get in touch with us.
We’ve moved on. There is nothing left for him with his old family.

“So,
how’s school?” Dad asks with a laugh.

I
try to smile. “Pretty good. I get good grades, have friends. Home life is okay.
Mom works a lot.” I twist my lip, chewing the inside of my cheek. I know the questions
I need to ask, but I don’t want to blurt them out.

He
avoids my references to home life. “You have a boyfriend?”

“Did.
I dumped him yesterday. He was a creep. After only one thing, like most guys, I
guess.”

Dad
nods. “Good for you. School right now is most important. Keep at it.”

“I
will. How are you?”

Dad
shakes his head with a bitter sigh. He leans back in his chair and crosses his
arms. The distance between us multiplies, and I sense his reluctance to share
with me. “Tonight is mac and cheese night, and I am starting a new book from
the library, so I guess everything’s swell.”

Swell.
Have I ever heard Dad say that before? Though mac and cheese was his favorite
meal, especially Kraft instant dinner.

“I
read about what happened, with the parole and the stabbing. I’m sorry.” I take
a deep breath and swallow, but my throat is as dry as sandpaper.

His
face flashes surprise.

 
“I use the computer at the library. They try
to protect me from everything, but I don’t let them.”

Dad
shifts in his seat as if he’s going to erupt with the question on his lips.
“Lara.” He leans forward with his elbow on the counter between us. “Why are you
here?”

“I
need you to tell me what happened. Fill in the blanks,” I whisper, glancing
over my shoulder to make sure the guards aren’t loitering around too closely.
“Someone shot at Mom, but I know you didn’t send them. So what happened after
that?”

Dad’s
eyes flash with anger. “Why would you believe in me after all these years?”

“Dad.”
My eyes soften and grow wet as anger and spite fills his face. “There isn’t
time to explain. I need to know. I deserve the truth, don’t I? You’re my
father, and I want to know why you’re in here.”

“Who
sent you? Who put you up to this?”

“No.
One.” I meet his eyes, imploring him to believe in me, but as he pushes back
his chair, I sense he’s further away than ever. He thinks I’m a traitor? I am a
stranger, even if his blood does run in my veins.

“I
can’t talk about this. Not with you. Sorry.” Dad tilts his head back. “Guard!”

“No,”
I hiss and lean forward. “Daddy, what was Mom doing at the time agency before
she died?”

I
blurt it out without thinking and want to fade away and die. Dad holds up his
arm to the guard to give him more time. Great job, I’ve managed to spill my
secret to two people now. I may as well take a bulletin out in the paper. I
feel nothing but self-loathing for what I’ve done to Dad, Mom, and the world.

“Lara,”
he says softly, “why did you say
died
?”

“I
slipped,” I say as I lift my tear-ridden face off the table. “I meant … shot at.”

“No.
No, you didn’t.” Dad shakes his head slowly. “When they brought you to see me
on your seventh birthday, what did I say to you?”

My
mouth falls open at the test. My eyes flitter about as I try to force a memory
I don’t have. I blink and take a deep breath, allowing my chest to rise. I see
dancing flames across a layer of icing, but I have no idea what year the image
is from, and I see no faces. At this important time, I can’t draw a memory to
save my life.

I
have to try, but I have nothing. I decide to throw out my best guess and hope
it is the right answer. “That we’d be together one day.”

His
shoulders relax, and he uncrosses his arms. “And how’d you react?”

Thinking
back, a trail of blood oozes from my nose. I grab a tissue from my bag and use it
to pinch my nose.

My
mind transports me back to being a scared little girl, crying into my pillow,
begging for my dad. I can’t sleep. No one can because of my night terrors.
Jax
is sitting beside me to calm me down, but I thrash,
scratching him with my fingernails as deep as I can, wishing he’d go away.

“I
cried.” My voice is hollow. “I had tantrums. Mom decided …” Tears stream down
my face. “… seeing you was too traumatic for me. That’s when they cut you out.”

Dad
nods, his lips blubbering. “Guess there isn’t much to say, is there?”

“Except
for what Mom was working on. I need to know.”

“Why?”
he asks, wearing the question on his face.

“Just
humor me. Please, this once.”

 
He
stares at me. I try to push him in the right direction by adding, “Dad.
Please.” My eyes are wide, pleading, and my mind wills him to answer.

After what feels an eternity, he nods. “She
landed a big contract and went to work for Rewind. She worked in R&D. In
those days, time travel was barely understood and not for regular folks.”

“She’s a scientist, then?”

Dad nods. “She was working on some improvements
to the time travel device, something that would allow parties to interact with
the past without dying or going insane. She always said that effect was a bug
in the system. It shouldn’t happen. She’s been trying to fix it for as long as
I can remember.”

The implications are huge. “So anyone could
change the past?”

“Only certain ones with higher privileges. Or
something.”

“Did she ever finish?”

Dad shrugs. “I’m not big on current events. She’s
your mom. Why don’t you ask her?”

I decide that’s exactly what I need to do. “I
heard on the news you were hurt.”

His eyes cloud over, and he pushes his chair
back. “I can’t talk to you about this. Sorry, Lara.”

“Dad.” I sigh, intending to plead my case, but
he signals for the guards.

Our conversation is over.

When they come for him, I do my best to keep a
smile on my face. His hands are shackled together, and a chain runs down to his
feet. He’s being treated like a terrorist instead of someone that failed at
murdering his wife. I watch them escort him out of the room. There’s no way
we’re done. I have to come back. I still have questions I need him to answer.

I ask the lawyer to take me to see my mom. He
drops me off at the door, and I enter the sterile hall. The place seems to be a
typical office building. Receptionists at the front type on their keyboards,
and the desks are made of polished mahogany. Behind them, a giant clock’s
minute hand spins backwards.

Music chirps like songbirds in the background,
and off to the side is a waterfall where children gather to throw coins for
making wishes. Across from that is a waiting area filled with magazines and
books, where people fill out questionnaires.

I bypass all of that and go straight to the
elevators. No one bats an eye. They must have seen me before. I check the
directory by the doors and see she’s on the top floor. My finger slams the up
arrow, and I wait for the chime. Stepping inside, I hit the button for the top
floor and wait for the stainless steel doors to slide shut. The elevator jerks
beneath me as it begins its upward crawl, and I spend the moments trying to
decide how I am going to play this. How will I get the information I need to
know, and what is Mom going to do about it?

The elevator dings, and two men in lab coats
step inside. They are too busy talking to notice me. One of them makes sweeping
gestures with his hand. “What are we going to do about this?”

The other man shrugs. “What can we do? We need
to extract those memories from Jenkins. He truly believes he spent the last
five years in prison. His personality, everything about him has completely
changed.”

“He needs to be kept locked up.”

“He is locked up,” the man says hotly. “This is
Montgomery’s mess. She needs to clean it up.”

My mom? My posture turns rigid.

“If the board figures out what we did…We are
supposed to store memories. Store, not swap them around. How the hell did this
happen?”

“It’s a kink. It’ll get worked out.”

“Yeah, except now the man is jumping through
time with no way to stop. What if he finds us? What if he kills us?”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing or that they
are talking about it in front of me. They are so worked up, they probably don’t
even realize I’m here. If they are saying what I think they are, my mother
created a serial killer and gave him the ability to leap through time off the
grid so Rewind and the government can't keep track of him.

That had all sorts of illegal written all over
it. And stupid.

The man snorts as the elevator stops. “She did
it on purpose. I know it. And somehow I have to prove it.”

“At least he’s in a coma. Thank God we were
able to get that syringe before he leaped again.”

“If we can keep him that way.”

“If.”

 
When the
door opens, they leave and I go up the remaining floor by myself. I step out
onto plush carpet. The walls are made of glass, and I am able to see into the
conference rooms that line the hallway. The offices inside are small, with no
windows and white doors. I study all the name plates until I find one with my
mother’s name. Taking a deep, shaking breath I turn the door knob and push it
open.