The Children Who Time Lost (50 page)

I got in and moved to the opposite end of the huge car. Nervousness took over my body. I couldn’t tell whether my hands were trembling from the smaller doses of medication I’d been taking or from anxiety. Michael joined me a moment later and shut the door. His slim-fitting suit highlighted his well-defined muscles. The black bow tie gave him an exquisite look. I heard the SUV kick to life and pull out. Then our limo started moving. This was it, our last chance to stop the journal from returning to the future.

Chapter Thirty-Six

W
e had already done a five-minute test of our new earpieces by the time we reached the corner of Blaine Street. They were even clearer than the ones we’d used in Sacramento, with better micro transmitters. But everything felt different this time. For one, it felt much better not being covered in the uncomfortable camouflage paint. I shifted in my seat, trying to straighten my dress. Our five-hour drive wasn’t the most comfortable.

“Two minutes,” Manuel said through the car’s intercom.

I squeezed my palms together and stared out the window.

“You all right?” Michael said.

I nodded.
I actually am. No shakes, nothing.
We took another right turn, onto West Olympic Boulevard, before seeing a phalanx of marked and unmarked police cars up and down the street. Michael also pointed out government sedans with tinted windows. A number of men in black suits walked around with hands to their ears, talking.

“Secret service?” I said.

Michael nodded.

“This is more than we thought,” Doug said through the earpiece.

“Well, we’re here now,” Curtis said. “We’ve just got to do it.”

We were all quiet as the limo stopped behind a row of cars pulling up to Carrie’s apartment building. Even more secret service agents and private security personnel filled the street, eyeing every car that went past.

“We’re parked now,” Mandy said through the earpiece a few minutes later.

“Okay,” Michael said. “You ready, Doug?”

I heard Doug sigh. “I guess.”

“Not good enough,” Michael said. “You either do this or we turn around right now. Any bit of doubt could blow our cover.”

Nothing came back, only heavy breathing. “I’ll do my bit,” Doug said finally. We heard him open the door. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” I said, and everyone else followed suit.

“You must maintain radio silence from now until it’s time,” Michael said.

“Then stop talking to me,” Doug snapped.

Michael relaxed in his chair. Our limo had moved to within three cars from the entrance.

“Did you have to be so hard on him?” I said.

Michael gave me a glance and typed into his cell phone. He paused for a moment and looked at me. “I had to. He’s been a broken man since his wife died.”

“And so he should be,” I said. “No one should have to go through that.”

“I can hear you,” Doug said. Michael and I looked at each other. “Look, I said I’ll do it, and I will.”

“Sorry,” Michael said.

The silence returned. We were one car away from the entrance when Michael tapped me on the knee and nodded toward the window. I turned and saw Doug walk past. He nodded at us and continued. We watched him until he reached the sea of security guards and secret service personnel near the entrance. He tipped the badge on the right side of his vest forward and waited. One of the three security guards allowing guests in studied it for a moment and then typed into a tablet. I swallowed and leaned back. I feared they would find out that we had paid the waiter who was supposed to be on duty for his ID badge.

The guard looked at Doug again. Then he stood aside and waved him through. Doug nodded and disappeared from sight.

“I’m in,” he said after a minute.

“Yes,” Michael roared. We had reached the front of the line. “Okay, Curtis, you know what to do.”

“Ten minutes and I’ll get into position,” Curtis said.

“Doug, don’t speak. Just listen. Rachel and I are getting out now. Don’t attract any attention to yourself. Double-tap the earpiece if you see the president.”

A security guard tapped on the limo’s window. Michael held his hand up, but the man tapped again, harder this time.

“Hold on, Doug,” Michael said. He wound the window down.

“Are you coming in, sir?” the guard said.

“In a minute,” Michael said.

“I’m afraid we need you in right now. You’re holding up the line.”

Michael held his hands up again.

The man raised his voice. “Sir! I’m afraid I have to insist.”

“The first family are here,” Doug whispered into the earpiece.

Michael sighed and scowled at the man. Just then, a tall man and a stocky man, both in black suits, ran from the front door to the car. The tall man spoke to the irate security guard. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but the guard seemed to be explaining the situation. The tall man walked toward the car and tapped on the window.

Michael held down the driver’s intercom button and wound the window down.

This guard didn’t scowl like the other one. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “but you’ve—Mr Galloway. I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”

Michael smiled. “That’s fine.”

The tall man spoke into the ear of the previous guard. Then the guard squatted by the window. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t know who you were.”

Manuel opened the driver’s door and walked beside the apologetic guard, who moved away. He opened the door. Michael stepped out first and held his hand out. “Shall we?”

I looked out. There were tons of people walking in—couples, single men and women—and they all looked fantastic. I fanned my face with my hand. What if the shakes came back? Everyone would stare at me like I was mad.

“You’ll be fine, Rachel,” Mandy said through the earpiece. “Just remember, you’re the most important person in here tonight. Not Carrie but you.”

I looked into Michael’s eyes. He had a warm smile, but my legs still felt like jelly.

“You’ll do great, Rachel,” Doug said. “I believe in you.”

A smile formed on my face and I stared at the ground. I didn’t know why, but Doug’s words always carried more weight than anybody else’s, even Michael’s. I faced my date again, except this time his smile was gone.

“We need to go now,” Michael said.

I smiled at him and grabbed his hand. After placing my right foot outside the limo, I felt like a real woman again, but the anxiety hadn’t gone. All eyes seemed to turn in my direction as I stepped away from the car, side by side with Michael. Strange as it felt, I actually felt attractive, like the guys were staring at me because they saw something they liked and not just because I was walking hand in hand with the billionaire Michael Galloway.

When we reached the security guards and the secret service agents, they moved aside for us. Some even called Michael “sir.” I felt like I was going to prom with the star quarterback. He was beautiful and charming. But I wished my husband were the one by my side. He would probably have worn his fitted gray suit. He liked wearing it for special occasions. He would have shielded me from all prying eyes if he ever sensed I was uncomfortable. Jenny sometimes thought he was overprotective, but I found it sweet. I wondered what he would think if he were looking down at me at that moment. Would he want me to continue mourning him, or would he want me to move on? And if so, would he approve of Michael or Doug? I could feel the tension between them every time they were around me. They were both attractive in their own way, but I felt guilty whenever I looked at them for more than a second, admiring them physically. Or maybe I just missed my husband.

We walked past a few more guards and secret service agents and down a long corridor until we reached a set of elevators, where we saw even more guards. Other people who lived in the apartment building were directed right, toward the staircase. Party guests were ushered in by the elevator operators, young men in white shirts and vests.

We waited in the line of people waiting to go up for five minutes or so, and as we rode up, a low bell rang when we reached the twenty-sixth floor, the highest. But the door didn’t open. Instead, silence filled the elevator. I could feel the eyes of the couples behind us staring. They either wondered what he was doing with me or thought my dress looked nice. The door opened. Michael stood aside and smiled at me. I lifted the bottom of my dress and stepped out. Michael interlocked his arms with mine and we walked toward two large doors. I couldn’t see any other apartments around. We were definitely in the penthouse. The guards spoke to each guest for a few seconds before allowing them in.

“How are you guys doing?” Mandy said through the earpiece.

“So far so good,” Michael said, looking at me, to make people around us think he was speaking to me. “Curtis?”

“On my way,” Curtis’ voice came back.

“Just be calm. Remember what you have to say.”

Curtis didn’t answer. We stopped a few yards from the doors as the guards stopped a couple from entering.

“Brian Perry,” we heard Curtis say through the earpiece. “I know. I’ve been in bed with the flu all day. Wasn’t gonna make it, but I need this gig.”

He was silent for a while. I guessed the guards had stepped away and were probably talking among themselves or checking out where he was supposed to be.

“The kitchen?” Curtis said again. “Okay. Thank you.” We heard nothing again for a while, but he spoke again after a minute. “I’m in.”

“Yes!” Manuel shouted.

Michael flashed a smile at me. “Okay. You know what to do.”

“On my way,” Curtis said.

“Doug!” Michael said.

“I’ve got this,” Doug said in a less irritated voice.

We had reached the front of the line. The guards and secret service agents looked at me. A bald agent with freckles eyed my dress. After looking at Michael, he tapped his partner on the shoulder and whispered into his ear. The other man looked up and moved to the side. “Please come in, Mr Galloway.”

Michael nodded at them and led me in with a firm grip. I stopped after taking three steps and studied the sprawling lounge we stood in. Pearl-white walls surrounded us. The high ceilings were light gray, with six sets of lamps in each corner, hanging down about five feet in perfect symmetry. Large windows surrounded us, providing a perfect view of downtown L.A. The apartment looked as good as most I’d seen in the future. I guessed the rich had always lived better than regular folk, whether in 2013 or 2043.

A number of waiters and waitresses walked around with trays of pink and normal Champagne. Everyone looked fantastic. The men were dressed in a variety of suit styles, and all had smart bow ties like Michael’s. The women were dazzling. Some wore backless dresses, while others wore typical ballroom gowns. Some revealed too much, and others left everything to the imagination, but everyone looked amazing. The eyes on me became overwhelming after a while, and I wasn’t imagining it this time. They really were looking at me, some even in awe, judging by how long they looked.

Many came and shook Michael’s hand like I’d expected. He introduced me to a few of them. The only person of note, however, was probably James Nielson, a major Hollywood actor with long blond hair. He spoke with both of us for a few minutes about a picture he wanted Michael to produce, just as Michael had predicted he would. He pleaded numerous times for Michael to read the script after the party. Michael gave in after the fifth time, and James gave him a tight hug like they were long-lost brothers. James then darted off after a pretty blond woman in a blue dress. Things continued in the same vein for some time, but I grew frustrated after a group of older men in suits eased Michael to the side for a chat. After waiting for ten minutes, I continued on my own, drinking Champagne whenever it was offered.
I could so get used to this.
I approached a bar in the corner of the lounge. Doug was pouring a cocktail for an attractive woman in a white dress. I could see her checking him out even with her husband there. I smiled and continued. Then I bumped into a tall well-built man with a bald head and a large face. He wore a faded tight-fitting blue suit.

“Pardon me, my dear.” He nodded and moved on.

I shrugged it off, but then it hit me. I knew that man, but from 2043. It was one of the men Lorenzo had met outside Suzanna’s building, the same man who’d spoken to Angela just before I made her take me to the portal.

“Oh my God.” I turned around, looking for Michael, but couldn’t see him.

“What is it, Rachel?” I heard Doug say.

I turned toward his bar. He was looking straight at me. I continued searching for Michael.

“Michael,” I whispered. Nothing came back. “Michael.” I turned back around, looking for the large man. I saw him walking toward a corner of the lounge. I grabbed another glass of Champagne from a waitress and headed in his direction, easing people out of the way. The farther I got, the more aggressive I became about it. Some glared at me.

“Rachel,” Doug said, “what’s going on?”

I didn’t answer but kept pushing my way through the crowd. Then I saw the man again. He spoke to two other men. Behind them were a host of secret service agents with bulging pockets and their hands constantly over their ears. One of the men was unfamiliar, but the other was someone I knew very well. It was Jarrod. I stepped back and turned my head away from him. It wasn’t time to meet them yet. Not on my own, anyway. I needed to have Michael with me.