Skyline (10 page)

“Where
could she be?” Charlotte nodded toward stairs leading up to a viewing deck.
“There? Or in the staff waiting area?” Even that had a few sailors inside.

“I
dunno,” Monroe said, stooping to grab a newspaper page as it fluttered by.

Charlotte
bit her lip, casting Bill an annoyed look. He raised his eyebrows, as if to
say,
This is Monroe
. As before, they’d just have to search without him.

Turning
toward the entrance, Charlotte heard Monroe intone, “Holy shit.”

She
spun. “Ana?”

Monroe’s
gaze wasn’t on the pier. His attention was still on the newspaper, opened to a
page with an advertisement for the
Lusitania
.

“A
clue?” she asked. Perhaps Ana had boarded the
Lusitania
and gotten
caught in the photo.

Bill
leaned in alongside Charlotte, but Monroe pulled the ad away. “Not a clue, no.
Just a reminder of the
Lusitania
’s final destination. I forgot all about
this.”

“What
is
its final destination?” Bill asked. “We left before the tour guide
said what happened, and my schoolteachers always focused on the
Titanic
survivors.”

Monroe
sighed, meeting Charlotte’s eyes. “It’s 1915, Bill.” She at least knew what was
going to happen to the
Lusitania
, but Monroe wouldn’t be surprised by
that. What else could be in an old newspaper?

“So?”
Bill asked.

Monroe
lifted his eyebrows, and Charlotte shrugged. What was the harm in letting Bill
see some historic newspaper? She leaned over to read with him.

The
ad described the
Lusitania
as a simple passenger boat traveling from New
York City to Liverpool, England. It claimed the boat, owned by Cunard, was the
“Fastest and Largest Steamer.”

“So?”
Bill asked again.

“Below
the ad.”

The
lower notice, placed by the Imperial German Embassy, reminded passengers that a
war was on. It was dangerous to take a ship like this through occupied waters.
Any boat flying an Allied flag could be destroyed. The paper fell from Bill’s
fingertips.

“What’s
going to happen?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Just
what it says.” Monroe kept his voice soft, unthreatening. “The boat will sink.
It’s the reason the U.S. joined the war. They're gonna die.”

Bill
gripped his beard, closing his eyes. “How many?”

“Over
a thousand.”

“Didn’t
we
just
save a thousand people?” Bill asked, meeting Charlotte’s gaze.
Now Charlotte understood why Monroe tugged the paper away. Bill had risked his
life in the hope of saving one last person in the subway train. What would he
do for thousands?

But
this wasn’t like the subway, saving hundreds of lives that wouldn’t dim the
impact of the Blast. “This is history, Bill,” Charlotte said. “Not a
time-traveler thing, not an event that shouldn’t exist, like the Blast.”

“History
can be changed, too!” Bill said. “That’s what the Blast
did
. Completely
altered the course of New York’s history. And look. We’re alive.”

“The
Lusitania
’s destruction is why the U.S. joined the war,” Monroe
repeated, his voice rising. “The
Lusitania
’s fate turned public opinion
against Germany. If America didn’t join the war, who knows what would happen!
We’d return to a completely different future. Who knows if we’d even
exist
then, Bill! Time can be changed, fine. But something like this? Something like
this could
ruin
America.”

“But
…”

None
of that mattered. “Shh,” Charlotte said, tugging Bill and Monroe behind a lone
cart of luggage. They’d been right to visit historical times first. Across the
way, a platinum-haired woman had appeared out of nowhere. “Ana’s here.”

The
two men hazarded a glance, and Charlotte started pushing the cart across the
pier, toward the
Lusitania
, toward Ana. The woman kept looking around,
but Charlotte made sure to tuck her head behind the suitcases.

Her
shoulders wide in confidence, Ana pressed open a door on the closed-up side of
the pier, light shining in brightly.
“Now,”
Charlotte said, and shoved
the luggage cart away, racing over.

Charlotte
jumped through the crowd, easily crossing the distance. But as she pushed past
a woman in a dark purple dress, the woman shouted, “
Excuse
me, sir!”
Charlotte couldn’t be annoyed at being addressed as a man. The shout was loud
enough to freeze Ana in place.

She
sneered and activated her device. Stars spattered across the interior of the
pier, little trails of smoke rising from a few of the marks as Ana stood still.
But she wasn’t waiting; she was
watching
the stars burn onto the wooden
pier. She shoved outside, and let the door fall closed behind her. Before it
slammed shut, her silhouette disappeared.

Still,
Charlotte kept running. If Ana had fled outside, if she’d realized her mistake,
then that would leave Charlotte no dots to follow through time. If that was
true, they’d screwed up more than just this place in history. It’d mean that
Paris wouldn’t wait very long before showing up at her apartment.

Outside
the door, Ana wasn’t in the daylight. There weren’t any marks burned onto the
pier. Charlotte had lost her.

“Gone,”
Charlotte said, when she heard Monroe and Bill arrive panting behind her.

“It’s
okay,” Monroe said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We can—”

She
spun and gripped his hand. “She’s
gone
, Monroe! Don’t you fucking get
that? What are we gonna do?”

“We’ll
figure it out,” he said, clenching her hand right back. “We’re smart, we’ll
figure
something
out, Charlotte. I’m not going to let that man get
Charlie. He’s going to be okay, you hear me? That man, Paris, he has to
understand. Has to give us time. Because he’s just as scared of Ana, get that?
Otherwise he wouldn’t need us. Right? He wouldn’t need us.”

“He
wouldn’t need us,” she repeated. But why
did
Paris need them? It wasn’t
like when Ana sent them after herself. Paris wouldn’t endure a headache if he
took on Ana. And he seemed, somehow, to know how to find them. Couldn’t he find
Ana the same way?

“We’ll
figure it out,” Charlotte continued, still parroting Monroe’s words. He was
right. They could do this. They had to.

“Yeah,”
Monroe said, “We’ll figure it out.” But Monroe didn’t seem frantic, like her.
He wasn’t trying to convince himself that they’d figure it out. If anything, he
seemed relaxed, eyes still watching this foreign time. Almost as if he were
relieved
that they failed.

That
couldn’t be true. He cared about Charlie. Loved Charlie, just as much as the
boy loved him. He’d go over and tell stories and …

It
was history. God, she’d thought he was just appreciating it, but this was
worse. He wasn’t just spouting history lessons because that was Monroe. He was
doing it because it could’ve been the last time anyone cared about Pier
Fifty-four. But now that they failed, people would still listen to his stories.

“Uh,
before we go,” Bill said, and Charlotte swiveled to him. What was
he
clinging to? “What about them?” He gestured toward the door leading back
inside. Toward the boat that was headed toward its doom.

Monroe’s
relief vanished; his brow wrinkled downward in an instant. “Jesus
Christ
,
Bill.
That’s
your worry? Charlie’s in trouble now and—”

“Don’t,”
Charlotte said. She couldn’t be on Monroe’s side
after what she just saw. “Don’t act like you’re not
thrilled
we’ve
failed. The Blast remains, people are going to keep loving your history
lessons. And Charlie, well …” She shrugged, venom pouring from her eyes.

They’d
failed, and she couldn’t help herself.

“Char,
you know that’s not—”

“What
about them?!” Bill threw a hand out. “A thousand lives, Monroe! Charlotte. A
thousand lives about to be lost.”

“We
can’t
, Bill. We can’t change this. It’s too much.”

“Yeah,”
Charlotte snapped. “We can’t go changing
history
.” Charlotte illuminated
her astrolabe in an angry motion, the stars glittering around her. “C’mon.”

“Char,”
Monroe said, but placed his hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean Charlie
wasn’t—”

“Let’s
go
,” Charlotte said. And when Bill placed his hand on her shoulder too,
she didn’t let him apologize or defend himself. She released the astrolabe to
get a moment’s silence.

Time
progressed, but it was hard to keep interest. Even as the wooden pier vanished
and was replaced by a thick metal structure. Even as the metal building
evaporated, leaving nothing but a concrete slab behind. When time restarted and
they were back on the tour boat, Charlotte didn’t appreciate that the boat
hadn’t moved.

They’d
fucked up. They’d lost Ana.

“It’s
just—” Monroe began.

“Save
it,” Bill replied. He stormed off the boat, onto the pier, and away into
Manhattan. Charlotte couldn’t focus on that. His absence wasn’t what mattered
right now. It was Ana’s.

“We
lost her, Monroe,” Charlotte scolded. “That’s all that matters.”

Now,
despite her best intentions, Charlie wasn’t safe.

Charlotte’s
MetroCard still got her into the subway. Her credit cards still let her buy a
light snack on her way home. Her building looked as austere as ever, stone
reaching up ten floors into the dark sky. Even the doorman recognized her,
tilting his hat up as she entered. “Evening Ms. Osqui,” he said. “Lemme ring
Felix, and then I’ll send you up.”

Charlotte
froze, realization dawning. Of course she didn’t live here anymore. “Oh,
Harold, it’s …” But it wasn’t okay. “It’s no bother,” Charlotte said, stepping
back toward the revolving door. She attempted a smile. “I guess I was just on
autopilot from before.” How long had it been since their divorce?

“You
sure? I don’t mind.” Grinning beneath his white mustache, he lifted a beige
phone to his ear and held a finger in front of a button.

Charlotte
waved the idea away. “It’s fine. I’ll see him tomorrow for lunch.”

Harold
nodded, dropping the phone back on its holster. “You have a good evening.” He
waved as she crossed over what had once been her threshold. All the way home,
she’d imagined her bed, waiting to embrace and fold her into sleep.

Where
could she sleep now?

“Hey,”
she heard. Monroe, standing a few feet away eating an ice-cream cone. “I was in
the store after I dropped you off and realized.” He lifted his eyebrows. “You
want to come sleep at my place?”

She
crushed him in a hug, felt him awkwardly place an ice-cream-cone-filled hand
against her back. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You
probably live there anyway,” Monroe said. “Maybe you moved back in, eh?”

“Maybe,”
Charlotte said, but she couldn’t match his enthusiasm. Even if that were true,
even if Monroe’s apartment had shifted to contain all of her old electronics—a
television undone and its parts scattered across the wall, light switches for
everything, and floor lights that would turn on at any nighttime stroll—it
wouldn’t be
her
home. Charlie wouldn’t be there. Felix wouldn’t throw an
arm over her side when she sneaked in late. All the books Leanor had given her
for research couldn’t possibly have been purchased.

All
the way home, she’d wanted to believe it was only Felix who had been changed,
but it was everything. She felt like an out-of-place relic. A museum piece
about to be trashed. A discontinued, child-unsafe toy.

The
next few blocks passed in a fog that Charlotte couldn’t see through. She was
too stuck inside her own brain, in that old world before all of this had begun.
Leanor sitting at the table, comforting her. Everything was going to be okay.
She was going to reconnect with her family after too many late nights at work.
Now here Charlotte was, following Monroe into his apartment building, up the
stairs, and through his door and everything was wrong.

Yes,
the inside was clearly hers. “See?” Monroe said, turning with a smile. “Just
like before, we get to live together.” But she couldn’t see the silver lining
in her old electronics. She didn’t want to go back in time this far. Just a few
hours ago, before all of it began, and tell herself to
be careful
. To
cling hard to everything she loved.

As
if responding to her mood, a storm rolled in that night. The thunder rumbled
outside, rain spattering against the poorly insulated window. She was
exhausted, had crammed hours into minutes, dealt with severe blows both
physically and mentally. But she couldn’t sleep.

She
had no plan.

How
could she stop Ana? The woman would certainly avoid historically important
dates now that she’d been found twice.

How
could Charlotte protect Charlie from Paris? The man appeared according to his
whim, fully in control of not only time, but the location of every person.

And
Felix. How could she reconnect with him now?

Bill’s
words from outside the Octagon came to her. How could they do the impossible?
Stop Ana, protect Charlie, win back Felix? “We try,” she murmured to herself.

It
wasn’t much, but clinging to those two words, Charlotte could at last fall into
a dreamless sleep.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

As
if all of
this were simply a mechanical issue, Charlotte awoke as she did on her best
mornings: she had a plan, a way to keep Charlie safe from both shifting time
and the threat of the blue-haired man. Despite the dark morning, she felt
inspired. All she had to do was what she should’ve done initially.

Tell
Felix everything.

Then
she wouldn’t be torn. She wouldn’t foolishly bump into someone and alert Ana,
she wouldn’t freeze over a bomb, terrified of the consequences. If she told
Felix, he could be Charlie’s chaperone in time, keeping him safe. That way
Charlotte could focus on the bombs instead of her fears over a changed present
day.

She
exited her room, a spring in her step, to find Monroe seated at a tall table in
the corner, slowly dragging a comb through his long hair. Deep circles rested
under his eyes, his shirt was wrinkled, and a bow tie dangled from his neck.

“’Roe?
Did you sleep?”

His
gaze drifted up toward her. “Bill didn’t come home.”

Right.
More was at risk than just her family. But Charlotte doubted Bill could stay
away from Monroe longer than a single night. “He will. He probably just had to
figure things out.”

“Sure.”

Charlotte
snagged his mug and refilled it with coffee before settling across from him
with one of her own. Outside the kitchen window, trucks sped along the streets,
splashing water onto pedestrians who were too close to the curb. The sidewalk
was almost blotted out by the sea of black umbrellas, everyone rushing to work.
“Has he never disappeared like this?” Charlotte asked.

They’d
been together a year, but she had no idea. Paris could be on his way, but she
needed Monroe as much as she needed Felix.

He
snorted, shaking his head. “A few times.” He peered at her. “Do you think he’s
right?”

Charlotte
couldn’t meet Monroe’s eyes. “I think …” She sighed. “I think someday Bill’s
going to learn that not everything is so black and white. Saving lives is
dangerous.” She’d lost Felix that way. “One day he’ll see that.”

When
Charlotte looked back over, Monroe was nodding to himself. Again and again,
like he wanted to believe her words, but couldn’t. “Listen.” She snaked a hand
over to his. “I’m going to see Felix and Charlie today. Going to take them on
the trip I should’ve before we went to World Trade.” She breathed in. Out. “I
want Charlie to meet Dad.”

Monroe
shivered. “Dad? Char, that’s—”

“I
know. But if we go during his last week, he won’t get too confused. He’ll be
out of it, but Charlie will get to see his white grandpa.” Despite everything,
a smile flickered on Charlotte’s lips.

Monroe
gulped. “And you’re not worried about Paris? You could be leading him right to
Charlie.”

Charlotte
exhaled. “I don’t have a choice, ’Roe. Felix wanted to meet for lunch, and the
only way to protect Charlie is to have him with us. I need Felix onboard; I
need Charlie to understand.”

“Gotcha,”
Monroe said, his gaze back outside. “Have fun.”

Swallowing
a gulp of coffee, Charlotte watched him. He couldn’t honestly be pissed that
she was going to see her family. Bill was still in the city. Bill still remembered
everything they’d done together. But instead of saying any of that, she tried,
“Do you want to come?”

A
shudder ran along Monroe’s arm, spilling a drop of coffee on the table. “No
way. I hate remembering Dad like that.”

She
nodded, even though he wasn’t looking. There was no way to jolt him out of his
mood. “Bill will be back,” she told him. No way could that man give up real
science fiction.

Monroe
didn’t reply, still watching the falling rain.

“I’ll
send Dad your love,” Charlotte replied, grabbing her purse, her umbrella, and
heading out the door.

Outside,
there was no man with blue hair tapping his foot, grinning from beneath an
umbrella. For whatever reason, Paris was letting her figure this out. But she
shouldn’t take longer than necessary. In an alley where the superintendent
stored trash, Charlotte spun herself forward a few hours.

In
the sudden downfall, Charlotte struggled to open her umbrella. The storm was
only just beginning. But underneath her umbrella, the astrolabe would stay dry
enough. They’d only be in this rain a few minutes.

Waiting
underneath the green awning—several blocks south—were her men. Charlie was
stamping the puddles beyond the awning. Felix was splitting his attention
between the boy and the northern end of the block, his arms crossed. His exact
stance when he was ready to pick a fight. But when Charlotte lifted a hand, his
rosy brown cheeks pulled upward in a smile.

“Thank
you for being on time,” he said, holding his arms out. She couldn’t help but
accept his hug, but she didn’t close her eyes and pretend that all was well.
His brief squeeze was enough of a reminder that nothing had been mended yet.

“O-of
course,” she stammered. Was he mad about yesterday night or not? “I hope you
didn’t make reservations. I, uh”—she felt Charlie’s arms around her leg, and
she rubbed his soft curls—“I wanted to take you two somewhere.” She knelt and
touched Charlie’s chin; he grinned, blushing at the attention. Like she was a
stranger. “Does that sound good?”

Charlie
nodded, but when Charlotte looked up, she saw Felix’s dark look. “Not any Blast
site, I hope.” He glanced down and said in a hushed tone, “Charlie doesn’t
really like them. You know that.”

His
tone said the same thing as his arms, crossed once more. Felix was ready to fight.
But she didn’t know Charlie didn’t like Blast sites. She’d never fought with
Felix about that. Hell, she’d only argued with this Felix once.

“I
know.” She shook her head. “Not to a Blast site, I promise.” She had to get him
to see she wasn’t going to fight.

Felix
bit his lip, considering her unknown destination. Charlotte looked down and saw
Charlie’s backpack clutched between his hands. He’d planned something else for
today. More than an argument of words.

“Trust
me, Felix. This is what I’ve been wanting to show you for years.”

That
jolted him from his distant look. His gaze locked onto hers. “The astrolabe.”

She
nodded; Felix’s grip on Charlie’s backpack loosened.

He
offered the backpack to the boy, asking, “How does that sound, bud? Ready to
see what Mom’s been working on?”

The
boy slung the backpack over his shoulders and slid his hand into Charlotte’s.
“He’s gonna love it, Mommy!”

Charlotte
gasped. Charlie
knew
. He knew, but she’d never told him. She’d never
been able to see that look of awe in his deep brown eyes. Perhaps this was why
Paris hadn’t arrived to steal him. So she could see how lost Charlie already
was.

No,
he was here. Charlotte blinked away the tears. This was the whole point of
today. Reclaiming Charlie and Felix. Folding them back into her life. After
today, she’d never miss another moment.

“Where
to?” Felix asked as she led him back to Seventy-seventh Street. They walked
along the street until she found a little alcove, just out of sight from
passers-by. Barely protected from the rain. “Not your lab?”

Charlotte
shook her head. “It’s ready,” she said. Why had she ever delayed this moment?
She handed Felix her umbrella and lifted the glass astrolabe from her bag. The
reflected sky made the glass seem cloudy and dark.

“Wow,
Charlotte,” Felix said, leaning down to peer in. But his voice wasn’t quite as
awestruck as Monroe’s and Bill’s had been. This, after all, was the device that
had distanced them. And instead of just for a year, as in her timeline, with
this Felix it had taken three years. The astrolabe was probably responsible for
their divorce.

“Just
wait,” she said. He’d see that it was worth it. See what had kept her away.
With a twist of fingers, she turned the device on and the lines of light shot
out. The rain caught the light, glittering around them in an omnipresent
sphere.

“Charlotte,”
Felix whispered, his jaw slack, his eyes darting here, there, as their
surroundings shimmered.

Warmth
rushed through Charlotte. This was all she wanted. Maybe it would be okay that
she’d waited. She twisted the lights, the display below shifting backward to
the week before Dad died. Six years ago, Charlie hadn’t been born, she and
Felix were only just married. Six years ago, her father was about to die,
murmuring about never seeing a grandchild.

“Touch
my shoulder,” Charlotte instructed. She felt Charlie’s hand on her leg, Felix’s
grip on her shoulder. The rain glittered and shimmered, making this dark day
bright. “Here we go,” she murmured, releasing her hand from the top of the orb.

The
rain froze for a split second then zoomed back up into the cloud. The concrete
dried. The sun whirled around. Ghostly shapes of cars and people flew by. And
then the sun settled far above, still noon, six years prior.