The Boys Are Back in Town (30 page)

Will glanced in the backseat again, and this time he caught Ashleigh watching him, her eyes haunted by the attack she had just endured. Will wanted to hold her, but found himself strangely reluctant. It wasn't his place. That other Will, the one in the back, it was his duty. A shudder of recognition, of shared sentiment, went through him as he caught a glimpse of their hands. Young Will and Ashleigh were holding hands, not romantically, but for strength.

Will returned his gaze to the road, but in him was a melancholy more powerful than any this bittersweet homecoming had previously created. Of all the things he missed from his high school days, none felt so painfully lost as the relationship he had shared with Ashleigh. They were still best friends, even now. But not like they had been back then.

That was the way life was. The world turned. The river flowed. And the farther you sailed upon it, the less distinct were the things you left behind along your journey.

He took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel tightly. They were all haunted by the way Ashleigh's attacker had disappeared from Robinson Field, misting into the dark, becoming part of the shadows. Mike Lebo was dead. That part of his past was irrevocably changed, and he felt that loss. But Ashleigh was safe. He and Brian had been right to fear that their arrival might alter their enemy's plans. Had they not been watching over Ashleigh, waiting for the right opportunity to connect with her again—something they had been about to do when the shadow man appeared—he didn't even want to think about the result.

Ashleigh.
Will smiled as he turned the corner and drove them all up Parmenter Road in the shitbox Buick Brian had bought out of the classifieds for five hundred in cash. As he thought of her, of all she had meant to him, he found himself missing home for the first time since his trip back. Not Eastborough home, but home. The time he had come from. His year. His apartment. His job. His friends. And, strangest of all, the Ashleigh of that time, the married lawyer with twin daughters and all the confidence in the world. He missed her.

As they drew nearer to his house, Will slowed.

“They're out tonight,” his younger self said in the backseat. “With the Djordjeviches.”

Will smiled incredulously. So that was this night? “I remember,” he said as he pulled into the driveway. He turned around in the seat, gaze ticking from Young Brian to Ashleigh and then pausing upon his own face. “They're going to be late.”

Young Will shook his head. “They only went to Framingham.”

“Yeah. But they're going to have to drive Jelena—Mrs. Djordjevich—back to Newton. Long story.” Though he saw the confusion and curiosity in his own young eyes he tore his gaze away and looked at Ashleigh. She still seemed skittish. “Now's not the time for this. We should get inside.”

They got out of the car, its doors creaking as they were slammed shut, and all of them walked up to the front door together. As Young Will got his keys out, Ashleigh stood close by him. Will and Brian had explained to her what they had been doing the past two days—buying the car, getting a motel room, buying clothes, and getting cleaned up—but fortunately she had not pursued the matter of Mike Lebo's death as yet, and Young Brian hadn't asked where his future self had gotten time-sensitive cash.

But all of those things were going to have to be discussed now; all cards would have to be put on the table. The shadow man was still out there, still hunting, and there were other victims to come.

Inside the house, Young Will led the way to the kitchen and Will the Elder took up the rear, closing the door behind him. As he followed the two Brians up the stairs he noticed Young Brian lean over to his twenty-something counterpart with a giddy grin on his face.

“I like the goatee,” the doughy-faced teenager said. “It's a good look.”

The elder Brian nodded. “It works for me. For us.”

“So what do I . . . I mean, what do you do?” his younger self asked.

Brian paused and glanced back at Will, who gave an abrupt shake of his head. With a sad shake of his head, Brian glanced at the kid.

“I'm you. I know how bad you must want to know, but you're also me. Do you really think you're going to get me to spill the future, just like that? We've fucked this stuff up enough already.”

Young Brian shot him a withering glance.

His older self arched an eyebrow. “I'll tell you this much. We do pretty well. Up until now.”

The kid nodded. “Cool.”

Moments later they had gathered in the living room. Will had begun to think he was adjusting to all of this, but stepping into that room put the lie to that. As he sat down in a high-backed antique chair with floral upholstery, his hands shook. He flexed them into fists, gazing about the room breathlessly. The mustard-colored sofa was just as ugly as he remembered it, the coffee table as scuffed by his own childhood antics. Above the fireplace was an elegant drawing of a man and woman embracing, sketched out in delicate reds on white parchment. Every knickknack was familiar to him, though some of them were long-forgotten treasures.

Will rose and crossed to a shelf, where he snatched up a brass elephant. He let his fingers run over it as they had done many times. The brass was slightly tarnished and the smell of it was like a gift from the past.

For a moment he just held on to it, his back to the others. Then he turned and tossed it to Young Will, who sat on the edge of the coffee table with Ashleigh. The kid caught it easily and he stared back at Will. On the couch, the Brians were side by side, comfortable, and Will wondered how they could have adapted to one another so quickly when he and his younger counterpart had barely exchanged words.

But then, Young Brian was glad to see his elder. Whereas Young Will would have been terrified at the prospect of learning what the next ten years of his life would be like. Even now Will could see it in his eyes and he knew it was the truth. That was what he would have felt. Terror. To know what fate had in store would take away any passion he might have for his life.

The funny thing was that Will would have loved to tell his younger self how things would turn out with Caitlyn. He had wasted so much time, had borne so much heartache, thanks to her. Now here was an opportunity to prevent that from ever happening, to erase it from his memory, and not only did he know he shouldn't take advantage of it, he knew Young Will wouldn't want to hear it.

Irony sucked.

Even if Will said something, there was no way to know how it would affect the future. Back in the day, Stacy Shipman would never have gone out with him. It was only in the future that the two of them would click. Thoughts of her made Will smile. Nope, it was better, all around, for all of them to keep quiet, no matter how much heartache they could have saved their younger selves . . . themselves . . . in the bargain.

Impatient, Young Will got tired of waiting.

“So what's the plan?”

Will glanced at Brian, who nodded. Not that Will expected anything else. They were far too deep into this thing to hold back now. His gaze shifted to Ashleigh, who smiled softly when he looked at her and nodded.

“I'm shaken up. But I'm all right. Thanks to you guys.” She glanced around. “All of you. If you hadn't come when you did—”

“That's what we're here for,” Brian the Elder said, his younger counterpart nodding in agreement.

“It also proves that we can change things,” Will said. They were all watching him, expecting him to take the lead. “That doesn't mean Ashleigh isn't still in danger—”

“Why don't you let me worry about Ashleigh,” seventeen-year-old Will scowled from the coffee table. “You did such a bang-up job with Lebo.”

Beside him, his best friend frowned. “Why don't we let Ashleigh worry about Ashleigh? OK, you saved my ass. I said thank you. It doesn't make me the eternal damsel in distress.”

A chill passed through Will as he stared at his younger self, trying to figure out if the kid was being sarcastic, or if he suspected his elders had had a larger role in Mike's death. Will and Brian had debated telling them, and decided it was best not to mention it. There was no way to take it back now, and it would only weigh them all down with guilt, regret, and resentment. The pain that gnawed at Will's gut, that nibbled at his heart whenever he thought of Saturday night, of the sound of the car striking Mike's body, was something he would not have wished on anyone. But this was different . . . this was selfish.

He kept the dark truth of that night from Young Will because he wanted to keep it from himself, to save himself the pain of that knowledge in the intervening years.

“Look, here's our situation,” he said, drawing their attention again, ignoring Young Will's gibe. “Tess O'Brien's in danger. So's Bonnie Winter. Like I said, Ashleigh might not be out of the woods yet. Also, just because Brian and I don't remember anything else happening, that doesn't mean it can't. Our coming back here is changing things. Hopefully for the better, but that could work both ways.”

On the sofa, Brian spoke up for the first time. He was stroking his goatee in a way that aged him further than his twenty-eight years, and there was a shadow of sadness that dimmed his eyes.

“Will,” he said, speaking to the younger of the two, an old friend returning, “I've got to tell you something that your mutated self over here took a long time to learn.” Brian hooked a thumb toward the older Will but continued to look at the younger. “You're not always right. You're not always going to do the right thing. Shit, that's a lesson you've already learned, isn't it?”

Brian glanced at his younger self, then back at Young Will. “We learned it together. But maybe it's going to take a while longer for it to kick in. You guys both want to know what the future holds, don't you? Of course you do. Well, I'll tell you.”

“Hang on,” Will cautioned him.

With a hard look, Brian silenced him and continued.

“You're going to have some shit times. You're going to have some grand ones, too. But life? Life is made up of all the times in between. Magic is pretty amazing. It's like getting high or fucking, only better. It takes you away from the mundane, transports you to another place where you don't just think you're the center of the world, you become the center of the world.

“But it's all bullshit,” Brian whispered, his voice a rasp filled with hesitant emotion. He dropped his gaze a moment and swallowed hard before raising his chin and glaring around the room. “None of it's real. Magic, drugs, sex . . . no matter how high up you go, you've always got to come back down. And it's what you've got waiting for you when you come down that matters.”

The shush of a car passing on the street outside whispered through the room; the only other sound was the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. They all stared at Brian for a time, until at length the dough-faced teenager he had once been twisted around on the couch to face him.

“I get what you're saying. I do. But what's that have to do with this? With what's going on right now?”

Brian the Elder looked over at Young Will with a gravity he had never been able to summon as a boy. “It means you've got to get over yourself. Knock this shit off. There's no room here for attitude. You, both of you”—he glanced at Will—“we, all of us messed with something we shouldn't have. I can't help thinking, long-term, this is the payback. Magic screws with the natural order of things. It makes ripples. We're feeling them now.”

“Ripples!” Young Will shot to his feet and shook his head in denial, shuddering as though he were cold. “Mike Lebo is dead, you asshole!”

Young Brian flinched. “Hey!” he said, and glanced apologetically at his older self.

“Fuck you, too,” the teenage Will replied. Then he spun to glare at his older self, and the elder Will knew most of this bitterness was aimed at him.

He understood.

But he didn't have any more time for this crap.

Will strode up to the boy he had once been and reached for him. The kid tried to slap his arms away, but Will embraced him nevertheless. His whole body trembled, the smell of his hair was so familiar, and for a moment he felt that odd slippage in his mind as memories reasserted themselves, some sifting lower in the deck and others higher. For a few seconds it was hard to know which body was his and which was his own, because he remembered this moment with utter clarity.

It was the strangest sensation: he remembered what he was going to say before the words had left his lips, words whose effect he understood completely.

“I know you don't want to believe in this. I know you don't want to think about magic ever again. But I'm you, Will,” he whispered, gripping the back of the kid's head. “And without me, without you, more of your friends are going to be hurt. Bonnie Winter's going to die. She kissed us once, do you remember? In the eighth grade, in the closet at Doreen Bianchi's house.”

At first Young Will struggled against him, but then he seemed to sink into Will's arms. When he looked up there was a kind of surrender in his eyes, but a resoluteness there as well.

His fingers went to his lips as if experiencing a tactile memory of that one kiss from Bonnie Winter.

“You can't let her die,” Will told him.

Young Will pushed away from him and went back to the coffee table, where he sat with Ashleigh. She slid her arm around him.

“So,” Brian said, watching Will, “you were saying?”

Will nodded. “I was saying we've got to watch them all.”

“It shouldn't be too hard,” Ashleigh offered. “Tess and Bonnie are both on the cheer squad with me. If Will and Brian hang out at practice this week, no one will think it's weird. Especially not since Caitlyn's on the squad, too.”

The elder Brian shot a mischievous glance at his younger self. “And you'll be able to spend every afternoon ogling cheerleaders and have an excuse.”

Young Brian pretended to be scandalized. “I admire them for their athleticism and . . . the synchronization. It's a skill.”

Ashleigh shot him a dark look, but Will wasn't ready for them to lighten up just yet.

“That works,” he said, “and Brian and I can keep an eye on their houses at
night. Will . . . and I can't tell you how weird it is to call you that . . . you'll have to keep in constant contact with Ashleigh when she's not at school or cheer practice.