Twist (32 page)

He looked over at not-Resthaven and said, “I guess it didn't work.”

“It would have if Jafney hadn't stopped me.”

“Jafney was there?”

“She was from the future. And she was helping Wyck. He's her boyfriend on whatever timeline she's on. She must have tipped him off, too, because he saw me, but he didn't look surprised.”

“Why would she do that? She's an unchipped Shifter. She needs the Haven just as much as you do.”

“I don't know. She claimed we were on the same side.” But that didn't affect our next course of action. “We have to find Nurse Granderson. He's still the best hope of helping you.”

“Well, even if there's no Resthaven, I'd bet anything that unchipped Shifters are still banding together on this timeline.”

I nodded and pulled up a directory search on my QuantCom. It gave me an address for Granderson.

At this point, wasting time on foot with Finn still losing memories worried me more than getting caught by ICE, so we took the Metro. When we reached Granderson's place, it was in an area near my house in Old Georgetown. Only this part was a lot younger and trendier than my neighborhood. I rang the buzzer to the brownstone and waited. Footsteps rushed to the door.

Granderson opened it, disheveled but alive, so that was a good starting point.

“Do you know what happened to Resthaven?” He didn't mince words, and I didn't mince any in return.

“Wyck O'Banion went back and filed some bogus charges against Cassa a year ago. It changed the timeline, and Resthaven must have been a casualty.”

“Why would he do that?”

“No clue. Honestly, I doubt it had anything to do with Cassa personally.” A siren sounded in the distance, and I flinched. “Can we come in?”

I expected him to throw open the door immediately, but he looked at Finn and me and hesitated.

“We have nowhere else to go,” I said.

“Sorry.” Granderson stepped aside. “Of course.”

Some of the pictures and possessions in the entryway looked vaguely familiar. When I saw who was sitting on a chaise in the parlor, I placed where I knew them from and smiled.

“Nava.” I walked over and hugged her.

Finn stared unknowingly at her. I turned to him.

“Do you remember Nava? From…?” I didn't finish the question. It wasn't like ICE's Cryostorage had been summer camp. I didn't want to upset the elderly woman.

Finn shook his head. “I don't remember much at all right now. It's nice to meet you.”

We walked back to the entryway to talk to Granderson. He'd been absentmindedly dusting some of the framed pictures. I was thankful to see some familiar faces in them. I couldn't remember all the names, and some came and went at Resthaven without living there. Unchipped Shifters may have been scattered on this timeline, but apparently most were still alive.

“I'm glad Nava's with you,” I said to Granderson. “Is anyone else from the Haven here?”

“I don't think so,” he said. “We've only been here for half an hour. I haven't had time to piece much information together. This really complicates things.”

“Did you own this place before you moved to Resthaven?” I asked.

“It was in the family.” He wiped a smudge off the frame he was holding, then tucked it behind the others on the shelf. “My father owns it.”

“Good,” I said. “Maybe we could round up some more Haven members.”

“They must be terrified,” said Finn.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” said Granderson. “This place is deceptively small on the inside. It's just been my father living here by himself for quite a while.”

I looked around again. Other than Nava's stuff that was spread around, this place definitely did look like a bachelor pad. But I never would have guessed an old guy lived here.

“We should at least try to get ahold of Aunt Lisa,” said Finn.

“First we need to take care of you.” I entwined my fingers with Finn's and was reassured by the pulse of his wrist against mine. “Quigley can take care of herself for now.”

“What's wrong with Finn?” Nurse Granderson pulled a scanner out of his pocket and began to check Finn's vitals.

I launched into an abbreviated version of the full story: starting with the fire at Finn's house, my break-in at ICE to save him, followed by our escape, and ending with my failed reversion.

“These changes,” said Granderson as he circled some instrument around Finn's eye sockets, “they all seem to happen at the worst possible time.”

“Worst possible time for me. Best possible for Wyck.” It struck me again, the deliberation that had gone into the changes that had the most direct impact on me. Well-planned assaults, more like it. It wasn't horrible timing. It was perfect. Perfectly chosen moments, as if Wyck had done his homework and knew exactly when I wouldn't be able to revert them. And now Jafney was in on it, too.
Trust her
. Ha!

“Why don't you get settled in, Finn?” said Granderson. “There's a spare bedroom at the end of the hall upstairs.”

“Thanks,” said Finn. “If you're able to Shift back and let my parents know I'm okay but stuck here, I'd appreciate it.”

“I'll try. I haven't Shifted since Nava got back.” Granderson coughed, his eyes bleary. Didn't look like he'd slept in a few days. “I don't want to leave her alone.”

“I understand,” I said. “Charlotte's probably hysterical, though. He's their only son.”

Granderson gave a weak smile. “You're right. That's an unbreakable bond. I'll try to track down Quigley and have her deliver the message if she can.”

“Thanks,” said Finn. “And maybe don't mention my memory loss. I don't want them any more worried than they already are.”

“Understood.”

Granderson left us, and I followed Finn up the stairs. Granderson was right. There wasn't much extra space. Four small bedrooms and three of them were already filled with Nava's, Granderson's, and his father's possessions. We walked into the spare bedroom, unspeaking, and sat side by side on the bed, untouching.

I leaned up and kissed him lightly. He kissed me back, but when I pulled away, he looked disturbed.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“No, what?”

“It's just that I can't…” He shook his head.

“Can't what?”

“Can't remember…” He squinched his eyes tight, pulled his shoulders back like he was straining against a taut fishing line. When he opened his eyes, the strain was replaced with resignation. The one that got away.

“It's okay,” I said. I leaned forward to kiss him again, but he flinched.

Why would he quail at my kiss? And then it hit me.

“You've lost our kisses, haven't you?” I tried to keep my voice calm, but it was hard to hide the fear. What else had he lost?

“Not all of them. But our first kiss. Maybe.” The strain was back. “I'm not sure. I'm having a hard time piecing together our, umm, kissing history.”

“Oh. Well, that's true for me as well.” Toss in a few gaps, and I'd be as lost as a malfunctioning Publi-pod. “There are several candidates for the honor of first kiss.”

“Doesn't matter.” He planted a peck on my forehead. “The important thing is that I'd do it again in half a heartbeat.”

I was thankful when he began kissing me in earnest. I couldn't keep that fake wisp of a smile plastered on my face.

Finn was right. And wrong. I was thankful that he'd still choose that first kiss all over again, that he'd still choose me. But the fact that he couldn't remember our first kiss (and who knew how many other kisses after) did matter. Whatever they'd done to him in that tank, it had damaged him. ICE had stolen things that couldn't be replaced. I was beginning to lose hope that he'd ever get them back.

And losing hope was a lot more dangerous than losing memories.

His hands circled my waist and drew me close. I let go of my fears in the sweet scent of his minty breath, the spicy bite of his cologne.

Wait. He'd been in a vat of goop. How was I smelling his cologne?

A new scent joined the other two: new car leather mixed with briny kelp. With it, an inexplicable, sickening wave of fear—no, terror—slammed into me.

I gasped.

I knew what I was smelling.

“Finn. Your car.”

“What?”

“The crash.”

Blank stare. “What are you talking about?”

“On the beach. We crashed … okay, I crashed your car into the ocean. You don't remember that, do you?”

He met me with blank eyes, and that was an answer in itself.

And the minty breath …

“The bus ride. When I first met you?”

Blank stare.

His cologne. Oh. The cologne could be anything. No, that wasn't true.

“Our first real date,” I said, a tear leaking from the corner of my eye. He'd drowned himself in aftershave after reading this idiotic men's magazine. I made him wash half of it off.

Blank stare.

I had to stop this. I was losing him.

I pressed my lips to his with an urgency I'd never experienced before, like somehow I could re-create those moments that were literally slipping from his mind. Stay with me, stay with me.

Finn turned from me and stared out the window.

“I'd better get home.” He patted his pockets. “Do you have my keys?”

“Keys to what?”

“My car.”

“There are no cars in the…” My voice caught. “Do you know where we are?”

“Mom will be having kittens if I don't get home.” He stood up from the bed, ignoring me.

“Oh, Finn.” There was no home left to go back to.

I pulled him down next to me on the bed. Tears streamed down my cheeks in earnest. He tried to stand back up, confusion marring his features, but I held him in place.

“Bree?” He mumbled into my shoulder.

I held him close but had to let go after a few moments. It was too much.

The scents swirled together in my nostrils, a maelstrom of reminiscence and misplaced emotions. Sweet, creamy coconut from Jamaica—relaxed. Bitter, coppery blood from his first lost baby tooth—pride. The heady, heavenly whiff of my cherry blossom perfume—lust. The last crisp wisp of spun sugar from the Pentagon—excitement and elation and trepidation and protectiveness.

All of it whirled into one.

All of it gone.

Finn stared at me for a moment. His eyes had a dull haze to them, then they lulled back in their sockets. He tumbled over onto the mattress.

“Finn?” I tapped his chest. I yelled his name again, but the only response was the twitching of his limbs.

I rushed into the hallway and screamed for Granderson. He took the steps two at a time.

“Hold him still,” he said, his medical scanner at the ready.

“What's going on?” I asked as Finn thrashed against my constraint.

“His quantum tendrils have been hyperstimulated.” Granderson ran so many tests at once that the air above Finn blurred with a haze of soligraphs.

“How do you even know which tests to run?” I asked.

“He's bordering on hippocampal failure,” said Granderson, ignoring my question.

“What does that mean? Help him!”

“I have to sedate him.” Granderson pulled out some bio-nodes and attached them to Finn's scalp. “Our best shot is to minimize any brain functioning.”

“Best shot? You mean you can get his memories back?”

Granderson gave me a pitying look. “Best shot to survive.”

He activated the nodes as I looked on in horror. Immediately, Finn relaxed. His eyelids loosened from their spasms. He turned to face me and got one small smile in.

“Hey,” said Finn.

“Hey.” I stroked his cheek. “You're going to go to sleep for a while.”

“I love you,” he said. “Since the beginning.”

“I love you,” I said. “Until the end.”

Finn went limp. I wrapped my hand around his and squeezed, neither expecting nor receiving any response. I was going to do everything in my power to make sure that the end didn't come for a very long time. I burrowed into his chest and drank in his scent, claiming each and every memory as my own. His chest settled into a rhythmic rise and fall, and my breathing calmed to match his. Soon, I had drifted off to sleep.

I didn't know how many hours had passed when Nurse Granderson roused me, but I felt relatively refreshed.

Granderson shushed me when I started to speak and motioned me out to the hall.

“The less sensory stimulation Finn has, the better,” he said quietly.

“Even lying next to him?” I asked.

“Even lying next to him.” Then he added, more quietly, “Especially you.”

“Why especially me?”

“Anything or anyone that could trigger a memory could make it worse.”

“But”—okay, I was grasping here—“do you think it could help if we figured out a way to get him home? I mean, his father's an incredible surgeon. Maybe if we brought technology from this time, John could—”

“What home?” Granderson shook his head.

I gulped and nodded. The only home Finn had ever known had been burned to the ground.

“Why don't you go get something to eat downstairs?” he said.

“Okay.”

I went and made myself a sandwich. As I slathered an extra scoop of almond butter onto the bread, it reminded me of the first time Georgie introduced me to a fluffer-nutter. It had turned into a funny mock-fight between her and Finn:

You're a fluffer-nutter.

You're the fluffer-nutter.

Your mom's the fluffer-nutter.

I'm going to tell Mom you just called her a fluffer-nutter.

By the end, it was agreed that everyone and everyone's mother was, indeed, a fluffer-nutter.