Yesterday (29 page)

“I can’t argue with that. Okay, just give me a chance to dry my hair and fi nish getting ready.”

While I’m doing that, Garren jumps into the shower himself. Then I take a thorough look around the house, trying to return the rooms to the state we found them in as much as possible. I can imagine how creeped out the Resniks would feel if they knew strangers were sleeping here and using it as a base. With the beds made maybe they won’t have to know and will just think it was a basic robbery.

I’m in the middle of drying the glasses I brought Garren earlier when he steps into the kitchen. He peeks at what’s left in the fridge and cupboards and then leans against the counter. “Did you eat anything?” he asks.

“I was thinking about having the spaghetti. Do you think there’s time?”

“If we’re fast.” Garren puts a hand to his stomach. “I’m starving.”

He dives back into the cupboard for the spaghetti sauce and soon we’re eating it over undercooked pasta (we’re both too impatient to wait long). We do the dishes again and double check the contents of the bags we’ll be bringing with us. This time I’ve remembered a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant and soap. I take one of the bigger knives from the knife block and stuff it into my bag too.

After checking that the coast is clear, we leave by the front door, same as we always have, me back in my Doc Martens knowing they’d win a footrace against Paula’s pinchy boots any day. Garren guides us east towards Janette’s house at the other end of Cranbrooke Avenue. There’s no car in the driveway and both her neighbors’ driveways are also empty.

We jump the fence into the backyard, dropping our bags over fi rst. Garren says he wishes he’d thought to steal a set of keys when he was inside the house last night.

He kicks in the door easily enough anyway. We race through Janette’s house and up to the second fl oor. “Money,”

I say suddenly. “We should check for money while we’re here.”

“Yeah.” Regret drags at Garren’s jaw. “I’ll get the gun.

You take whatever cash you can fi nd.”

I start in the master bedroom where he immediately goes to work on the nightstand with a hammer and screwdriver that he liberated from the Resnik house. I rifl e through dresser drawers and then the closet, scanning for cash.

There’s a camera bag on the top shelf of the closet, next to a travel iron and hot water bottle. I pull them all down hoping to fi nd a secret stash of twenty-dollar bills behind them.

“Bullets!” I yell to Garren. The packaging makes them look almost like offi ce supplies or soap for men. For a second I’m horrifi ed.

But it could come down to us or them. I jump up and grab the ammunition.

“I’ve got the gun,” Garren shouts back. “Let’s go!”

I jam the box of bullets into my coat pocket and loop my bag back over my shoulder. We hurry into the hall where the noise of a door opening turns us both to stone.
He
said
no
one
would
be
home.
Garren motions back to the bedroom. I take a silent step backwards and then another. Garren follows. The fl oorboards groan underneath him.

He doesn’t waste a moment. He surges forward, charg-ing along the hall and downstairs with the gun in his right hand. I’m right behind him but I can’t see anything yet. The foyer, downstairs hallway and living room are all empty.

Then we reach the kitchen. The woman who must be Janette’s mother is standing stock-still with the telephone in her hand. Garren has frozen in front of me too. I step out from behind him, grab the telephone receiver out of her hand and hang up with a slam.

“What are you doing?” she asks in a shaky voice. “What do you want?”

Garren hesitates.

Since I’ve never met Janette’s mother, acting the part of a criminal for her comes easier to me. “Give us your car keys. Quick.” I glance at her purse on the counter. “Are they in there?”

She nods, her face a study in tension and her eyes clinging to the gun in Garren’s hand.

“Hand them over,” I command. “Any cash you have too.”

She reaches cautiously for her purse, jerks the zipper open and plucks out her keys. She holds them out to me.

Then the money from her wallet. I can see at a glance that it’s only twenty-seven dollars.

Garren springs to life, ripping the phone from the wall and then stuffi ng the phone cord into one of his pockets.

“Now you’re going to go down to the basement and stay there until we’re gone,” he orders.

Janette’s mother fl inches. She edges past us and out of the kitchen. We follow her to a doorway. She glances back at us before reaching for the doorknob. We stand at the top of the stairs and watch her descend into the basement. Cool air wafts up to meet us.

I close the door behind her. Garren drags a kitchen chair into the hallway and jams it under the doorknob. “It won’t hold her long,” he says. “Let’s go.”

We rush out of the house. Since I’m the one with the car keys in my hand, I head for the driver’s seat. They programmed me with driving memories. I should be able to do this.

I lean over to unlock the passenger door and Garren hops in next to me and tosses his bags into the backseat.

I slide the key Janette’s mother gave me into the ignition.

Twist it and pump the gas pedal. The engine starts. So far so good. I slide into reverse, relieved that Janette’s mom has an automatic.

My implanted memories of driving in New Zealand involve shifting gears but this should be easier. I back out of the driveway like I’ve done it a thousand times before, but once we hit Yonge Street I’m so focused on obeying traffi c signals and making sure not to run anything over that I don’t have any spare brain power for directions.

“Where am I going?” I ask Garren as we zip down Yonge Street.

He’s busy ejecting the gun magazine. “Bullets,” he prompts.

The box is jutting out of my pocket and I reach for it and then hand the box over. “Do you know what you’re doing with that?”

“A little. I had a friend back in Billings who was into old weapons like this.” He pauses to look over at me. “Sounds weird, I know. He took me to a shooting range once.”

“I didn’t know there were any shooting ranges left.”

“Not many,” Garren says.

I smirk. “All you grounded people are crazy for old things, huh.” The car behind me honks for no reason that I can see. Garren glances up to catch me staring into my rearview mirror.

“You’re doing fi ne,” he says. “The guy’s just an asshole.”

“Directions,” I remind him. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a straight run down Yonge Street to Dundas but we should probably ditch the car somewhere and switch to the subway. Once she calls the cops they’ll be looking for the car.”

We dump the car a block from Eglinton Avenue, about ten feet from a NO PARKING sign. Garren has the gun down the back of his jeans and the box of bullets tucked into the satchel he’s carrying on his back. We walk briskly, rather than run, in the direction of the subway so as not to call attention to ourselves. I’m ultra-conscious of the knife in my bag and the lethal weapon in Garren’s possession. We’re bona fi de criminals now.

“That must’ve been really weird for you with Janette’s mom,” I say.

“I never met her mom before,” Garren tells me, his breath visible in the air. “Just her brother, but I could see the family resemblance in her mother. She and Janette have the same eyes.” I don’t specifi cally remember Janette’s eyes, just her strawberry-blond hair and that she was pretty. I watch Garren’s eyebrows pull together as he adds, “Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll give a really shitty description. Otherwise, if Janette puts it all together we could be in trouble. My photo could be fl ashed all over the news.”

“The cops were looking for us before this anyway,” I point out.

“And here you still want to risk hitting this major downtown shopping mall.” Garren shakes his head. “We should just leave Toronto right now. Forget meeting your mom’s friend.”

“I won’t blame you if you do.” Then I wouldn’t have to worry about him.

But Garren’s silence makes his decision clear.

“I’ve been thinking you shouldn’t be with me when I meet her,” I add. “Maybe just stick close enough to watch.

That way, if
they’re
coming you’ll have an advance view.”

“And cover you?” Garren suggests, like we’re in a TV cop show.

“Right.” I picture me and Nancy meeting surrounded by books. I concentrate hard and the layout of the store begins to take shape in my mind. Unfortunately, there’s nothing beyond that. No sense of danger and no feeling of well-being or satisfaction either.

I rub my eyes as I turn towards Garren.

“Anything?” he asks. “What can you see?”

“Just the bookstore itself so far.”

We descend into the subway where I imagine people are staring suspiciously our way. Garren keeps his gaze pointed at the fl oor space between his feet, like he’s giving me room to think and hopefully see something that will help us. The bookstore, the bookstore, the bookstore. That’s all I see.

Shelves full of paperbacks. The sleeves of Paula Resnik’s coat as I approach the magazine stand.

I break away from the vision and graze Garren’s knee.

“I’m still not getting much. Maybe it’s too early.”

“I wish you weren’t going to do this,” he says.

“I know. And I hope I don’t regret it. But if there’s more to know, I have to hear it. This could be our last chance for our entire lives.”

Garren nods tiredly. “I’ll be watching you. If you have a premonition about being in danger, don’t wait. Get out of there right away.”

We arrive at the Eaton Centre stop early and wander the nearby PATH, a network of pedestrian tunnels fi lled with shops and services that link various parts of the city. I wasn’t aware of its existence before and Garren says he’s never been down there himself but he fi gures we’re less likely to be spotted there than wandering the mall or out on the street.

Most of the people we pass on the PATH look like offi ce workers and pay little attention to us but I’m increasingly nervous and just want to get my meeting with Nancy over with. At seven minutes to twelve Garren and I part company across the street from the Yonge and Dundas entrance to the Eaton Centre. He whispers in my ear that he’ll be right behind me.

I feel numb as I stride through the shopping center, scanning for the bookstore. Garren told me it was on the top shopping level, right in the middle of the mall. As soon as I spot it another image comes into sharp focus in my mind, one of a man my father’s age. I’m walking through the mall with him, listening intently to whatever he’s telling me.

Nancy’s nowhere to be seen.

I snap back to the present and survey the bookstore, looking for Nancy or the man from my vision. Bookstore employees aside, the only person in the store is a gray-haired lady thumbing through a slim hardcover.

As I step inside the store someone touches my back.

“Freya?”

I twirl to face Nancy. She has an envelope in her hand and thrusts it towards me. “This is for you,” she says. “I’m sorry it couldn’t be more but I hope it will help.”

I slip the envelope down into one of my front pockets.

“Nancy, you have to tell me what you know. How we got here.

What’s happening at home. Whether the U.N.A. has fallen.”

Nancy’s top lip quivers. “I told you I couldn’t discuss any of that. It’s out of my hands.”

“What about my mom? How is she? What’s Henry been telling her?”

Nancy glances worriedly over her shoulder before returning her attention to me. “You can guess how she is but there’s nothing you can do about it. Look, Freya, this place is too exposed. You should go now.”

“The Toxo— what happened?” I can’t let her disappear without a word about what’s happened to the world I’m from.

“No matter how you ask, I can’t say anything about any of it. I’m sorry. I really am.”

I clutch her arm, feeling wild. “I’m not going to let you go until you tell me. Do you understand?”

To be thrust out of my own time and dropped down in the past without warning. Minus a brother. Minus a father.

Now minus a mother too. Forced to run for my life. I deserve to know
why.
I deserve more than whatever amount of money is inside the envelope she gave me.

“I think that’s a conversation you and I should have instead,” a clipped male voice declares. The man from my vision, in a gray suit and matching vest, pries my fi ngers from Nancy’s arm. “I’ll take it from here,” he tells her.

“Believe me, I didn’t know,” Nancy says with a pained expression. “I’m sorry, Freya.” She scurries away without another look. My gaze follows her out into the mall but I don’t have enough time to search out Garren. I can only hope that he’ll continue to remain hidden because I can’t read the man’s intentions yet.

“Who are you?” I demand.

“We’ve never met. I think we should leave the store before we attract too much attention.” He motions to one of the bookstore employees who is staring at us from behind the cash register across the room with a decisive frown. “I don’t think they liked the look of you grabbing Nancy.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who you are,”

I insist.

“The police could be here in a few minutes if that’s what you’d like,” the man says dispassionately.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’d want yourself.”

He smiles tepidly. “All right, Freya. If you want to play it that way, it’s fi ne. We’ll have you in the end anyway. I think you know that.”

He’s so sure of himself that my stomach drops. I step slowly out of the store with the man and pause in the hallway. There are too many people. Surely he wouldn’t want to cause a scene.

“I’m not leaving here with you,” I tell him. The words are barely out and I’m fl ashing headlong into the future. Along the hallway other suited men are waiting for us, through the crowd. As I near them a shot rings out. I spin around, searching frantically for Garren.
We
have
to
get
away.

The premonition cuts to black. I don’t know how this will end.