15 Minutes: A YA Time Travel Thriller (Rewind Series) (8 page)

Mom is bent over her computer, holding a phone
to her ear. Her curled hair looks more tussled than ever, and she’s grabbing at
it. She looks totally stressed out.

“I’m on my way to the lab. Don’t do anything
until I get there.” She hangs up the phone and looks up. The lines on her face
increase
tenfold. “Lara?”

I step inside and close the door. “Sounds like
you’re busy.”

She rushes over to me and places a wrist on my
forehead. “Are you sick again? What’s the matter, honey? Why aren’t you in
school?”

“I needed to see you. I miss you, Mom.” My chin
quivers, and I chastise myself for being so emotional, but I didn’t break time
travel law so she could work on some new feature for a stupid company.

She gives me a sad smile and cradles my chin,
giving it kisses. “Well, this is a first.” She hugs me, a good warm one, and I
am crushed in the strength of her embrace. “I never thought I’d hear you say
that again, you know that?”

Resting my head on her shoulder, I want to tell
her everything, but it’s too soon. “Maybe we can go for lunch?”

Mom sighs. “Oh, honey. I have so much to do,
and there’s a crisis in the lab.”

“I went to see him,” I say in anger, almost to
punish her for putting her work first. “I went to see Dad. In jail,” I add, in
case she didn’t get where I was coming from.

She did.

Her eyes light up like circles of fire. “Lara
Montgomery—”

“Crane.”

Her passion has fueled mine, and my temper begins
to sizzle, but she isn’t backing down. She places her hands on her hips and
paces.

“And what, he said something to you that upset
you?”

I shake my head. “Just the opposite. He was
nice, but … like a stranger. I need to know, do you really believe he did it?
Really?”

“He was convicted,” she spits out. She must
hate that I’m making her talk about it.

“Innocent people get convicted, especially if
they’re set up.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Lara, don’t tell me you’ve
been on the Internet again. I told you he’ll say anything. Anything, if it
means getting out of prison.”

“I think there’s truth in what he says. I know
he didn’t do it, Mom. I know.”

“How?” Her question is practically a dare.
“Tell me how you know.”

I stammer and struggle. I know the answer I
want to give her.

“Because he’s your father,” she whispers. “I
know you will never give this up, but there’s nothing we can do, Lara. What’s
done is done. Your father is guilty, as much as you hate to see it.”

My heart palpitates, and I draw a breath. “Why
didn’t you stick by him? Why?”

“He tried to kill me.”

My jaw is set tight. “You ripped me away from
him. I remember it.”

Mom’s eyes spill tears. “Is that all you
remember? Is it? Do you remember the horrible apartments we lived in? The
horror we went through those first months. The trial? You think I wanted that
for you, for me? Don’t be insane, Lara. If your father was innocent, they
wouldn’t have found the gun at our apartment.”

“It was planted.”

She snickers with bitterness. “You sound like
him. I’ll be damned if you’ll go see him again!”

My fist pounds my chest. “I’m a Crane! His
blood is in me, so you can’t tell me what to do!”

I turn to pull the door open, but she grabs my
wrist, spins me around, and slaps me right across the cheek. Shocked, my mouth
drops open, and I cover the sting with the palm of my hand. Rather than
apologize, she breathes with indignation, her top lip curled onto her bottom.

“We are
Montgomerys
now. Everything we have, everything we love, comes from this life.”

“You really are ashamed you were a Crane once,
aren’t you?” I whisper, realizing the horror of the truth Lara wrote in her
diary. “I’m a sick reminder that you loved John once. That we had this life
together in a rundown apartment.” I take a deep breath, my own words cutting me.

“Is that really what you think?” she says, face
full of distress. “You think I hate you?”

“Maybe.” My nostrils flare. “Last month you
didn’t come to my dance recital. Last week you skipped our usual breakfast.”
Where are these resentments coming from?

“Work.” Her eyes are sad and she frowns.

“Screw work!” I scream. “Work isn’t what’s
important. Do you know what is? I am! Mike and Molly are important. We talked
about getting you a gift, and you know what they wanted to get you? Gift
certificates for spas because they know how stressed out you are all the time.
They have nannies when they should have you.”

“I feel guilty enough. I don’t need you adding
to it, Lara.”

“You should feel guilty.” My lips curl in a
snarl. I can’t believe I traded my dad for this woman. I should’ve left her in
the alley to die.

Suddenly, I’m crying. My shoulders are heaving,
and the sobs can barely escape my lungs, fighting for freedom. I cover my eyes
and nearly rub them straight off with the heels of my hands. I hate myself and wish
the world would swallow me whole.

Mom’s arms wrap around me in the biggest of
bear hugs. She pulls me down into the sofa beside her. I am like a little girl
in her arms as she sways in time with me. “It was so much easier when you were
little.”

I laugh through the hurt. “I want to be with
you. I wish I was enough.”

“Oh, Lara.” Her voice sounds broken, and I see
the strain on her face. Her eyes gaze off into the distance at the bookcases
lining her office walls. “Let me go to the lab, fix a few things, then I’ll
take you to lunch.”

“Your work—”

“Will still be here tonight.” Mom smiles. “It’s
not a lot, but it’s all I can give right now, while I finish this thing.” She
kisses my forehead as I nod, then rushes from the office, and for a moment I
sit and listen to the air conditioner kick in.

I stand and march to her desk. Sitting in the
rolling chair, I rifle through her drawers. I can’t find anything of note, but
I do find some pictures. On top is a wedding photo of her and
Jax
. Below that I find ones of me and the kids, which
should make me smile but doesn’t.

The center drawer is locked, so I move on to
the computer. A quick shake of the mouse clears the screen saver. I peer over
at the door to make sure no one is there before I type in a password I think
she might use—my birthday—but it doesn’t work.

I sigh and as a last ditch effort type in Dad’s
birthday. The computer dings, and the screen saver fades. I am brought to a
perfectly neat blue desktop where the few icons are lined up on the side, but
several applications are minimized to the taskbar, which excites me.

First, I click on her open email, and my eyes
spot a chain letter, a picture of kittens, and the usual joke email. So much
for working hard. But the next program I see contains a report she was
drafting. A Rewind watermark is stamped
Confidential
.

No one is coming yet, so I read.

The events of
this week are regrettable but unavoidable as we move into the human testing
part of the program. Mr. Jenkins’ family has my deepest sympathies, but we have
made great strides towards the possibility of time travel longer than fifteen
minutes. For the right candidate, the natural time travel ability will be
unlocked.

Mr. Jenkins
remained in the past for twenty minutes, and once he returned we “removed some
key memories” of his life and “inserted new ones.” He was adamant that these
memories actually happened. He became hostile and aggressive when we suggested
otherwise. As far as he knew, he’d had these memories for years.

 
Think of the advantages this would have
against murderers, terrorists, and pedophiles. We could change who people are
at the core level and by partnering with law enforcement, reshape the world.

Mr. Jenkins
returned to the past ten times. With medicine and treatment, we tried to help
him through the headaches and brain hemorrhaging. First, the fresh memories
assaulted him in the present. When those tapered off, the nose bleeds started.
After that, his decent into madness quickened as his uncontrollable ability to
jump through time grew stronger. He grew increasingly confused and forgetful
with each trip.

His actions
were proving dangerous, so we put him into a drug-induced coma. I will declare
him brain dead tomorrow and have him taken off life support.

While this
information appears to be dire, he was hooked up to our equipment for the
duration. While our methods may be questioned, our loyalties to the program
can’t. I hope once you examine his scans you’ll see we have enough data to move
forward on a new approach.

My closest
assistant, Delilah, continues to flag customers whose brain scans say they may
be able to survive a full time travel merge. Once we can convince them to join
the program, we will have more test subjects, and once we nail down this issue,
we can move toward our two long-term goals.

Patricia, I
know I am asking for more time, and you need this done ASAP. Please see I am
working on this as hard as I can.

No one wants
this to work more than I do.

My nose has been bleeding since yesterday.

I scroll down and see the intended recipient of
the email—Senator Patricia James. It is all coming together, and I am terrified
what it means. Mom is up to her eyeballs in illegal research that is killing
people. And her assistant Delilah was my technician in my version of the past.
I wish I could leap there and find out what she knows, but maybe I can do the
next best thing. Maybe I can question her now.

As I’m leaving the office, I bump into Mom. She
gasps with surprise. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Bathroom. Meet you in the lobby in ten
minutes?”

Mom nods. “See you then.”

I sprint toward the bathroom. I only hope I can
get this done in time.

I
knock on Delilah’s office door and push it open. I smell her afternoon orange tea,
and a warm glow emanates from the lit candle on her desk. She spins in her
office chair.

“Yes?
Lara! What a nice surprise. I didn’t know you were visiting.”

I
smile and enter her small office. The desk is cluttered, and she looks very
busy, so I need to be brief.

“Having
lunch with Mom and thought I’d say hi.” I take the seat in front of her desk.
“She had to spring out to the lab. A big emergency.”

Delilah’s
eyes cloud over. “Yes.” She returns to her computer and her shoulders hunch
with the weight of the world.

I
shake my head. “I can’t believe it. Time traveling without use of the system?
Off the grid? I guess that would give Senator James a lot of power, huh?”

Delilah’s
head snaps up. She’s perspiring, and her lips twitch at the corners. “She … she
told you?”

I
nod. “But I won’t tell anyone.” I hold up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”

Anger
flickers across her face. “Why in the world she would … This is dangerous,
understand?
 
We could all go to jail. All
of us. Even the Senator. You can’t breathe a word of it. Promise me, Lara.”

I
nod. “I never realized you were so important, flagging people down with this
power. How do you do it?”

“Really,
Lara …” She glances over her shoulder. “We study the brain waves. We can detect
when someone tries to interfere with the past, even by accident. Then I can
just mark their chart.”

“And
make sure they keep coming back?” I ask.

Delilah
nods quickly. “I keep them under close surveillance. I can see when their brain
is changing. After that, I make sure they keep wanting to change things.”

I
cock an eyebrow. “And you make sure no one realizes they are changing things.”

Her
eyes grow sharp. “But you can’t tell anyone. If the police, the government,
were to find out we’re working for the Senator, we’d all fry. What we’re doing
breaks all the time travel laws Congress put in place.”

Forcing
a smile, I stand. “I promise,” I say, my mouth growing dry.

I
ponder all the times I traveled into the past to map out my route. Each time,
Delilah was my assistant. Was it mere chance, or is it possible she was spying
on me? She had been my mom’s partner. Is it possible she continued the research
after my mom died?

But
if Delilah was keeping tabs on me, if she was monitoring my brain when I
changed the past, that means she witnessed it. And if she kept it a secret,
that means she flagged me. And if she flagged me, I soon could end up like Mr.
Jenkins.

All
through lunch I try to enjoy my time with Mom, but my mind keeps drifting away.
Rewind is set up to be an indulgent service, like getting your butt
lipo
-sucked or getting a massage. It's supposed to be fun,
but apparently it’s a cover for something deeper and more dangerous. My mom,
the woman I’ve missed all my life, is working on something that could change
the course of history for the better or the worse. I know how badly changing
one little thing messed up my life, my dad’s life.

How
dangerous would the power to remove memories be? Memories make us who we are,
that much I've learned. What if Democrats assassinate the next Republican
president before he is even old enough to walk?
 
What if they learn how to wipe out memories on a mass scale and use it
to control the population?

I
thought Mom was mugged and killed. I thought she was innocent, but now I'm
finding out there were reasons people could have wanted her dead, wanted her
research stopped. Mom was supposed to be special, angelic, and I was supposed
to be special too. When I first discovered I could interact with the past, I thought
I was the only one.

My
mind drifts back to that day. The first day I traveled back in time. Back on my
sixteenth birthday when I went back to my very first birthday.

****

I’m
sitting in the corner of a family-style restaurant with an alternating-color
tile floor. The room is decorated with pink balloons and streamers. Apparently,
I’m in the midst of a party. A woman with curly hair holds a baby girl wearing
a pink headband. Around them people are smiling, even though the baby is still
crying from the popped balloons.

One
of them says ‘Happy 1
^st
Birthday.’

I’m
confused and frustrated. Why am I here? Who are these people? Was I invited to
the party, and if so, why didn’t I bring a present? Glancing down in my hand, I
see a crumpled flier. I smooth it in my hand and see it’s from Rewind.

You may experience temporary short-term
memory loss. You have fifteen minutes in the past.

In
the past?

Time
travel?

I
look up at the woman in front of me. The curly hair framing her face reminds me
of mine. She’s bouncing her baby girl on her leg, and I realize it’s not a
newborn but an older baby. The woman kisses the baby’s cheek, her eyes
twinkling like stars.

“Lara,
it’s just a balloon. It’s okay.”

Lara?

A
young man I assume is the father sits next to her. He dances a doll in front of
the baby’s chunky arms, a giant grin on his face. The baby giggles and reaches
for it.

 
“You always know what to do,” the woman says.

He
winks at her. “It’s why you married me.”

“One
of the reasons.” They lean forward to kiss.

Their love
radiates around them like a glowing bubble, and for a little while I’m inside
it, taking in the sight of the couple kissing the baby, laughing with each
other. I forget I don’t belong here as they cut the cake and the baby smashes
it with her fists. I love the way the dad drapes his arm over his wife’s
shoulder.

I
take in one final moment of watching the mom cuddle the baby before I turn away
and smack into the waitress behind me holding a drink tray. Squealing in
horror, I bend down to help her. Water and soda is splashed on the floor, all
over my sneakers, everywhere.

“I’m
so sorry,” I say, helping her pick up the broken glass and placing it on her
tray.

“It’s
okay,” she mumbles, but I know it isn’t. Her cheeks are bright red; she’s mad.

A
flash of memory hits me from my time at Rewind. “
You will be like a hologram, unable to touch or interact with the past,
even though they will see you. After you are gone, you will fade from their
memory, and it will be as if you were never there.”

But
I bumped into the waitress. I picked up the glass.

“I
can interact with the past,” I whisper as the gears in my mind begin to whirl.

Beginning
to form a plan, I throw a glance over my shoulder at the parents as my world
fades to black.

****

I
come to awareness as I’m stabbing the prongs of my fork into a Cobb salad. I
sigh. It’s one of my favorite lunches, but I can't focus on eating it. I look
up. Apparently I’m still at lunch with my mom.

She
stops chewing and sips her iced tea. “For someone who wanted to go to lunch,
you’re not doing a very good job of actually eating it.”

“Sorry.”
I cringe and sip my drink too. “I feel real bad how I yelled at you earlier.”

Mom
smiles, not altogether happy but not pissed off either. “I’m sorry too. I
shouldn’t have slapped you, and I feel real bad about that. Real bad.” She uses
her baby blue cotton napkin to wipe her mouth. “I promised myself it would
never happen again, and here we both are.”

“Again?”
Her words haunt me. Why did she slap me the last time? Is our relationship that
bad?

“It’ll
be different this time.” Mom nods and digs back into her sandwich.

My
mind wanders back to the fight in the kitchen I overheard. “How are things with
the Senator?”

The
lines on her face become serious. “We haven’t spoken in a while. We don’t talk
all the time, you know.”

“Oh,”
is all I can bother to say.

“It’s
true we used to be closer.” It seems Mom can easily spin a web of lies, leaving
me to wonder what else she might be lying about. “She gave me my job, my
career. I have a lot to thank her for.”

“She’s
one of the founders of Rewind,” I say, trying to make it sound less of a
question than it really is.

Mom
nods. “Without her we never would’ve met
Jax
, and I wouldn’t
have this job. We owe her … a lot.”

My
stomach rolls.

“Why
the sudden interest in Donovan’s mom?”

I
shrug. “No reason. Just figured I’d ask.” I take a moment to swallow some
water. “Have you ever seen a gold dragon tattoo before?”

Mom
chokes and spits out her iced tea all over her plate. She reaches for her
napkin to cover her mouth, eyes wide.

I
am going to take that for a yes.

“Lara,
where have you seen a man with a dragon tattoo?”

“Oh,
I don’t know. Around. On the subway, I think.” I try to play it casual and coil
a piece of hair around a finger.

“Well
… keep your distance. Those men aren’t friendly.”

“So
you know who they are?”

Mom
nods. “Only from what I read in the papers. They’re with the mob.”

Now
it’s my turn to be shocked. “The mob?”

Why
would the mob be following me? What was I getting myself into?

“Yes,
so keep your distance.”

I
nod. “Promise.”

“Good.”
She pauses, and the tension increases between us. “So what did you and your dad
talk about?”

“Dad?”
I ask with a mouth full of salad. I take the time to chew before swallowing.
“Oh you know. Grades. Asked about my boyfriend.”

Mom
smirks. “I bet he loved that.”

“Well,
what else is there to talk about?” I fish through my salad looking for the last
crouton. “You met Dad in high school, didn’t you?”

Mom
has a faraway stare on her face, one I’ve never seen before. “He was a football
player, not the star, except maybe to me. We were friendly.” Mom shrugs,
twirling her hair around her finger. “We hung in groups back then, and he asked
me to go to the movies alone. And that was that.”

She
smiles wide at the memory, and I swear her cheeks are flushed. I guess her
memory of John Crane can’t be all bad.

“We
married young, and he supported me all through college even when his career
took a hit. I never would’ve guessed …” Her voice cracks. “…would’ve guessed
where we’d end up.” She returns her attention to her sandwich.

I’ve
been so focused on how I felt and what happened to Dad that I haven’t stopped
to think until now how hard it must have been on Mom to think Dad wanted her
dead. But it wasn’t real, it was a lie. It didn’t matter to Mom, though,
because to her it was real.

My
head is suddenly jolted with pain. My eyes squeeze shut, and I see a flash of
light. The freight train of a memory is back to make its run through my brain.
I try to keep it away, concentrating only on the present, but it’s coming hard
and fast. I only hope that this time I won’t fall on the ground with my nose
bleeding.

****

When
the flash of light clears, I’m a little girl lying in the spare bedroom of my
grandmother’s house. The comforter is pink with lace trim, perfect for a little
girl, and the room has all of my things, but I’m still scared. Each breath I
take is loud in my ears, and all I want to do is pretend to sleep.

I
bury my nose in my pillow and squeeze my arm tight against my stuffed unicorn,
the one doll I could never live without. My breathing slows, and I shut my eyes
until they’re barely open, so it looks as if I’ve fallen asleep because I’m not
alone. Mom is on her knees by my bed, stroking my curls and humming a song.
“Twinkle Little Star,” I think. It’s hard to tell because her voice is
quivering. It scares me that Mommy could be so upset she can’t hum our song. A
sob catches in her throat, and I pretend to sleep, so she’ll think I’m okay
too. But my heart is broken in ways I can’t understand.

I
miss Daddy. I want him back, and I don’t understand why the news and all the
adults think he’d hurt Mommy or me. He loves us. But I want Mom to know I’m
okay. I want her to know I’m going to be okay.

“Come
have some tea, Miranda.”

My
grandmother’s voice nearly makes me jump, but I manage to keep myself together
as Mom pulls her hand away from my head. She pulls the blanket around my small
frame, making me feel cozy, safe. She covers my forehead in little kisses, and
I can’t help but smile. About the time I think she’s going to leave, I hear her
speak.

“How
can I …?” Her voice warbles into a sob, and my grandmother’s heels make their
way across the floor.

“Come,”
she whispers. “We will drink tea, and you will pull yourself together.”

“John—”

“Tonight,
you cry,” my grandmother says, “and I’ll cry too, but tomorrow Lara needs us.
She needs you. You need to be stronger than this. Tomorrow.”

****

The
sun seems brighter when I reopen my eyes again. I rub my forehead, and Mom
stares at me. “Lara? Are you all right?”

“Just
a headache,” I say and rush some water.

She
takes a deep breath and struggles to release it. “I’m calling your doctor when
I get back to the office. I hope we can get in to see him in a few days.”

“Okay,”
I say while my stomach sinks. I don't know if the doctor will give me a clean
bill of health, but I really don't want to go, and I'm pretty sure after my
bleeding nose last night, I'm not going to get out of it.

“Okay?
I thought you hated going to the doctor?”

I
shrug. “Can you drop me off at the house? I have homework and stuff. When
you’re done.”

“Sure,”
she says and checks her watch. “I guess it is time to get back to work, but I
had fun, Lara. Really. Let’s do this again, real soon.” She takes a moment to
give me a brilliant smile and then holds her hand up to get our waiter’s
attention.

I try to be happy but can’t. I’m a ticking time
bomb.

****

Mom drops me off at the door and apologizes for
having to work late again tonight but promises to come to the doctor with me in
the morning. Once inside, I rush up the steps and snoop around. Only one room
has a closed door. When I peek inside, I see a few nice pieces of furniture,
one of them a desk with a computer on top.

Bingo.

Stepping in, I close the door behind me and sit
behind the desk. Thanks to knowing my dad’s birthday, I get in the computer
easily. Note to Mom, you really need to diversify your passwords.

A check of her email shows the same results as
before, and with a quick system scan, I find her confidential files—system
schematics for memory storage, extraction, and drawings I can’t even begin to
understand. They seem to be a bunch of molecules and atoms drawn out in some
drafting program. The only label I see is the name
John
. Must be code for something, but why use Dad’s name if she
thinks he tried to kill her? Maybe Mom was pining for a life lost.

I’m about to leave when my search for
Patricia
finally returns a file folder
buried in the system. The name
Archive
catches my attention. Mom went to great lengths to hide it from the casual
searcher. Opening the file, I find a string of documents with an assortment of
dates. None of the file names are red flags to me, so I’ll have to go through
them one at a time. Starting with the oldest seems like the best idea. I
organize by date and am surprised how far back they go.