The Golden Spiral (18 page)

“I don’t understand. Who is this Hannah you keep talking about?”

“She’s my sister!” I shouted. Tears streamed down my face. “She’s your daughter. You and Dad aren’t supposed to be divorced. You aren’t supposed to hate each other. You’re supposed to have another daughter. We’re supposed to be a family!”

Mom’s face turned white. “Abby, stop. You’re scaring me—”

“This is all wrong. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

“Calm down—”

“I have to fix it,” I said, though, even as I did, I wondered how I could. Where was I supposed to start? This was more than just playing matchmaker with Jason and Natalie; how was I supposed to bring Hannah back if she had never existed in the first place?

“Let’s go sit down and talk about this,” Mom said, her voice striving to be soothing, but I heard her anxiety and fear. “It’ll be okay, I promise. Just . . . let’s just go sit down.”

I let Mom lead me back down the stairs to the front room. Now that I knew what to look for, I could see the evidence all around me. The large family portraits that used to hang above the couch had been replaced with smaller snapshots of just me and Mom lined up in a short row on the fireplace mantel. There were the two of us at Disneyland. There we were in front of a Christmas tree. There was me in my graduation cap and gown, standing alone.

No pictures of Dad. Nothing that even hinted at Hannah’s presence.

A howling wind blew through the empty cavity of my chest. I couldn’t stop crying, but I didn’t want to. Half of my family had just disappeared. They’d been erased from my life, but I still held a lifetime of memories of them in my heart. I was divided; I couldn’t reconcile what was inside of me with what was all around me. My life was spiraling out of control, and the more I tried to hold on, the more it felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

I heard again Zo’s voice from the dream-side of the bank:
It’s what I
am
doing that you should be worried about.

For as many lies as Zo had told, he had told me the truth about that.

“I have to go,” I said, blindly turning to the door. “I can’t stay here right now.”

“Abby, wait—”

But I was already gone.

I ran out the front door, pounding down the steps and across the lawn. Counting my footsteps gave me something else to concentrate on—
forty-two, forty-three.
A thousand thoughts and a million memories batted around my head, each one demanding entrance to my brain—
sixty-five, sixty-six
—but I didn’t dare let my mind wander too far.
Seventy-eight, seventy-nine
—and I was at Jason’s door.

I banged on the heavy wood, calling Jason’s name.

But Jason didn’t answer. No one answered.

That was when I finally saw the wooden plaque hanging above the door frame:
The Birds’ Nest. Welcome, Friends!
Cartoon birds flew around the edges of the plaque—red and blue and green—with flowers in their beaks.

I moved my fist from the door to my mouth, biting down hard on my knuckles. Who were the Birds, and why were they living in Jason’s house? The Kimball family had lived here for almost my entire life—and yet now some other family lived here. Backing away slowly, I shook my head. If the Kimballs hadn’t ever moved in, then I’d never met Jason. Was it possible? Looking at the painted birds circling above the door, I knew it was more than possible, it had actually happened.

No Dad. No Hannah. No Jason.

I hardly recognized my life anymore.

I turned around and, for the third time that morning, I ran.

***

It sounded like noise at first. It was only when I slowed my frantic steps that I realized where I was—the edge of Phillips Park—and what I was hearing—music. Specifically, the distinct music of an acoustic guitar.

A stitch threaded needles of pain up and down my sides, my legs. I pressed my hand against the throbbing ache and bent forward, gulping down as much air as I could. How had I gotten so far, so fast? The only memory I seemed to have left was of running: the methodic movement of one step after another, the rise and fall of my chest. As horribly as my chest hurt, though, my bare feet hurt worse. I looked down, only distantly surprised to see them covered in scratches. I glanced over my shoulder at the trail I’d left behind, my footprints outlined in pale pink blood.

The park was crowded with kids running, laughing, and playing. A pack of moms pushed strollers weighed down with sleeping babies. A soccer game was under way out on the far side of the playground. Wincing, I limped onto the park’s wide lawn and grimaced in relief at the cool touch of the grass on my battered feet.

The music grew louder, the notes tugging at me, demanding attention.

It was a song I almost recognized. A light, dancing refrain that brought to mind swift, high-moving clouds and fizzing bubbles.

A memory engulfed me: the summer before high school. Sitting on the back porch with Natalie and Valerie, toasting our future with Valerie’s own blend of Sprite, ginger ale, and lemonade. The hot August sun beat down on us, rippling the edges of the cement with heat waves. The three of us linked pinkies and vowed that our friendship would survive the unpredictable years ahead of us. No matter what.

The taste of the sticky sweetness of my drink was as vivid now as it had been then. And my fingers felt the remembered heat of a joined promise.

The song suddenly changed, the notes sliding into another key, picking up speed before developing into a dark intimacy that was as beautiful as it was unsettling.

The memory dissipated like smoke, leaving me feeling strangely blank and empty. It seemed to take a moment for my senses to catch up with me.

When they did, they brought with them a cold certainty. Only one person played music like that. The kind of music that reached inside your soul and
twisted.

Zo.

He was here. In the park. I knew it.

A darkness as thick as coal shadowed my vision, stained my heart with black anger. I cocked my head to the side, straining to listen for the invisible trail of his music in the air.

The music led me to a small grove of trees. I cautiously parted the branches to peek through the leaves. The park included a small meditation area with a few scattered benches and a statue of a child reaching up, a butterfly poised on his fingertips. I had always thought the boy was letting the butterfly go, but in my black mood, I wondered if he was simply going to catch and crush it instead.

I walked forward, taking slow, careful steps. A figure sat on one of the benches. He was curled over a guitar, fingers idly strumming the taut strings. The bright sky lit the scene with a friendly, soft glow that seemed out of place against the emotions running through me.

Zo looked up and met my eyes across the slim distance between us. My bones twisted like a groan. I hadn’t been face-to-face with Zo since he had slipped into the dark embrace of the time machine’s door, his laugh trailing behind him like a shadow.

“Abby,” he said in delight, strumming a chord on his guitar. “I’m so glad to see you. I wondered when you’d finally stop by. And look at that—right on time.” He smiled thinly and the chord changed to a minor key.

I didn’t want to admit it, but time had been kind to Zo. His once-narrow face looked full—relaxed, even—and his dark eyes seemed larger, brighter. A light flush touched his cheeks. Excitement fairly crackled off him, as though he’d just found the missing piece of a puzzle. He rose, set down his guitar, and held out his hand to me.

My eyes immediately fixed on the gold chains around his wrist. Those were new. They reminded me of the yellow chains around the wrists of the Pirate King doll. I hated to think that Zo had been visiting Valerie, showing off his new power.

Heat blazed through me and the faces of my father and sister flashed across my eyes. I welcomed the pain in my heart. My family was fractured, lost, and my friends were trapped. And the man responsible for all of it was in front of me.

A red veil fell over my eyes and I crossed the distance between us at a dead run. My hand curled into a claw and I reached out to slash my nails across his face. I wanted to dig deep. I wanted to feel him bleed.

Zo caught my wrist, stopping my momentum cold.

My nail touched his skin, close enough to make a dent, but not to cut. I tried to extend my fingers, but his pain was just out of my reach.

“Come now, my sweet, there’s no need to be rude.” Zo squeezed my wrist and gestured with the long fingers of his free hand to the bench beside him. “There are things we need to talk about. We might as well be comfortable.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” I snarled.

Zo shrugged, pulling my attention to his face. His smile widened into a grin—the sharp, tight grin I still saw sometimes in my nightmares—and I shook my head.

“I take that back. I do have something to say: Go to hell.”

“Been there and back,” he said easily. “I think I’ll stay here instead.” Zo watched me with his dark eyes, his stance deceptively casual, but this close to him, I could see the lines of strain in his shoulders. The tightness continued up his throat, strangling him with tension.

I wondered if being near me made him uncomfortable, even caused him pain. The thought made me happy.

“Do you treat all your friends like this?” he finally asked, releasing my wrist and taking a step back.

“You’re not my friend,” I snapped, rubbing at my wrist. His hand had left a ring of red on my skin.

“I’d like to be.”

I stared at him in horror. “Are you crazy? After what you’ve done?”

“And what have I done—exactly?” Zo sat down. Leaning back into the bench, he spread his arms wide and kicked out his long legs, heels thunking to the ground.

“Let me count.” I flung up a finger for each point. “You stabbed Dante. You made Jason break up with me. You burned down the Dungeon. You stole my best friend and drove her crazy—literally! Your lies ruined Leo’s life—and Dante’s.” Tears burned my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. “And more recently, my parents are divorced because of you. And Hannah—she doesn’t even exist anymore! You are nobody’s friend.”

Zo regarded me for a moment, his eyes thoughtful and still. He was quiet for a long time before he spoke. “I must thank you, Abby.”

“For what?” It was perhaps the last thing I expected him to say.

“Perspective. When you opened the door for me, you may not have known you were granting me such a gift, but you were. And now, here, on the other side of time, I realize what an invaluable gift it really is.”

I opened my mouth to say something when Zo held up his hand.

“Tell me, if events had not unfolded the way they had, would you be happier?”

“Yes!” I said, my memories twisted around the past. “Everyone would have been happier.”

Zo tilted his head, the white tips of his dark hair as pointed as teeth. “Do you really believe that? You’d rather have your old life back, including those scheduled Friday night dates with Jason and your future rolling out ahead of you like a flat road through the desert? And you can honestly say that you’d be happier without Dante in your life?”

“I’d be happier with my family back!”

“Even if that meant you’d never have met Dante?”

Zo’s questions landed like so many rocks in a pond; the
ripples sent me reeling.

He didn’t give me a chance to recover or respond. “Yes, I stabbed Dante, but he survived—as I knew he would. And yes, I’m sure it hurt to break up with Jason, but then you were free to pursue a relationship with Dante, weren’t you? Perspective changes things, doesn’t it?”

“You ruined everything,” I repeated automatically. “You destroyed everyone’s life—Valerie’s, Dante’s, mine, my family’s. I wish I had never met you.”

“I could arrange that,” Zo said quietly.

“Don’t joke about that, it’s not funny.”

“You know I’m not joking. You know what I’m capable of. What all of us who went through that door a second time are capable of. So I have to ask myself, if you truly wish we’d never met, why haven’t you asked Dante to change things? He would do it; he’d do anything for you. Even if it meant endangering the river, or his own life.”

My mouth went dry. Dante’s life was already in danger, trapped as he was in the darkness. I shook my head. “No. He wouldn’t do that. And I wouldn’t ask him to.”

“Then why don’t you ask me?”

My legs wobbled beneath me. I groped for the bench, collapsing onto the seat, not even caring that I was close enough to Zo to touch. “You wouldn’t . . .”

“That’s not the point. The point is that I could. You seem to think that Dante and Leo are the only people with answers to your questions. You forget that they are not the only people with experience. With power.”

“I don’t want your help,” I managed. “I don’t want anything from you. Ever.”

“I noticed.” Zo’s voice hardened. “I go to all that trouble to give you a gift, and you refuse it. I wrapped that box myself, you know. I wanted to give you something you’d remember. It wasn’t easy to get, either. You’re a hard woman to shop for.”

“That was no gift,” I spat back. “That was a warning, and we both know it.”