Skyline (27 page)

He
spun more, and every building deconstructed, leaving behind the older buildings
of Monroe’s time. The boardwalk running around Manhattan stripped away. Battery
Park didn’t have a single building inside.

“Shit,”
Monroe said. In their time, Battery Park would have a few statues, at least. “I
told you this wouldn’t be easy.” But then, instead of spinning, Monroe kept his
hand on the mesh, watching the stars move slowly, the symbol readout changing a
few digits at a time. Getting the hang of how to use this stranger’s astrolabe.

He
released after watching, then would check the date at a nearby news seller. Eventually,
he got them home. He even felt like he could understand the numbers—if not the
digits themselves, at least which section was years, which the months, which
the days. That was something.

Just
across the bay, he, Charlotte, Bill, Felix, and Charlie were arriving at
Liberty Island. He could call, right now, and fix this. But that’d probably
mean a headache. That’d probably just make everything worse.

“Now
you’re gonna save Mom, right?” Charlie asked, his eyes bright with hope.
“Right, Uncle ’Roe?”

“Right,
Charlie,” Monroe said. It never ended, not ever. He’d rescued Charlie and
Felix, but there was more to do. There was always more to do.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

Bankrupt
of ideas on where Charlotte and Bill could be,
exhausted from the work of getting home, Monroe collapsed on Felix’s couch. He
had no trouble falling asleep, and there were no dreams he could remember. But
when he awoke in midafternoon, something about the apartment felt strange.
Wrong.

He
couldn’t put a finger on it, so he got up, grabbed a glass of water, and sat at
Felix’s table. It was important, but why? How could this apartment impact his
need to save Charlotte and Bill? His need to stop Ana?

Although
he couldn’t name it, it was there. Just like the image of Bill that his
subconscious had seen in the rebuilt New York Public Library. He had to trust
himself.

Monroe
had never been in this Felix’s apartment, but it didn’t look too different from
when Charlotte lived there. The couch was shabbier. The table was cluttered
with mail instead of technology. Charlie’s whitewashed door still had a few of
his earlier drawings affixed to it.

Was
it Charlie? No, they’d saved Charlie. So how could his door be important? Why
couldn’t Monroe stop staring at it?

And
then it came rushing to him. “Charlie’s
door
.” He leaped from his water
and traced the lines on a drawing Charlie had made of him, Charlotte, and
Felix. But in a world where the original Charlie had never been born—as they
assumed would happen once they stopped the Blast—he wouldn’t be around to draw
anything.

Still
crouching on the floor, Monroe pulled out his phone, breathing hard, and looked
up the day that was forever in his mind: April 8, 2016, the day of the Blast.
As he read through the news of that day, everything clicked into place.

The
guard had been called away. Ana had gotten free. Charlie still had a place in
this world.

Although
its size had been diminished, the Blast had still happened.

Unwilling
to wake and worry Felix and Charlie, Monroe grabbed Ana’s astrolabe and pushed
out into the sticky late-afternoon air. He had to see the devastation caused by
the bomb—a fifth that Ana must have created since Charlotte and Bill stopped
the fourth.

No
longer was the Blast a cross or a single line cutting through Manhattan. Now it
was localized. Only a small circle of Manhattan had been taken through time.
The circle of erased land barely passed the streets surrounding the New York
Public Library.  Although she’d never admit it, Ana
had
started to
regret her actions. The minimized destruction of the Blast proved that.

That
idea vanished when Monroe stepped into the redbrick circle that marked the new
Blast. Almost every building around the library had large chunks cut out. A
series of metal struts kept some aloft, but most were swathed in scaffolding.
The Blast may’ve been smaller, but it still destroyed too many adjacent
buildings.

In
the center of the circle, the new New York Public Library had been rebuilt in
almost the same way as when the full Blast happened. The waterways surrounding
it were gone, of course, along with the four trams that had connected the
island to Manhattan. But new lions were installed. Every stone brick recut to
precision. Even a new metal eagle perched above the entry. And where there had
been only water in the timeline with the full Blast, there was Bryant Park. It
was green and beautiful, as it had been before the Blast.

The
beauty didn’t matter. “Dammit, Ana. Dammit, Leanor.” Why had her older self
thought they could stop her? Didn’t she realize that her past self would never
stop? She was still too afraid of the Council. She would never regret the Blast
if it had never occurred.

Charlotte
had been right; Ana’s regret was integral.

There
were so many questions they should’ve asked Leanor. In the distant future she’d
been too certain that they’d save her. She hadn’t given them the specifics they
needed to actually stop the Blast. So convinced of her stupid plan, she hadn’t
given any thought to their questions.

Why
had she constructed the Blast like she did—in four separate places—if only the
middle mattered? What about the Council necessitated such destruction? If only
three people appeared, why not focus it on their exact entry, three people
wide? And the library, centered at
both
Blasts. “Why the goddamned
library
?”

For
Ana to target it specifically must mean that it was where the Council arrived.
Was she unable to see exactly where the Council would appear without becoming a
target once more? Had they hidden that well? Or was the library too big—too
full of nooks, crannies, and bookshelves—to search it completely?

The
truth was, it didn’t matter. Ana had bombed the library, which meant the
Council arrived there. That was enough. But Monroe wasn’t going to stop the
Blast on his own. He needed to retrieve Bill and Charlotte first.

Unfortunately,
he had no clue where they’d be. He guessed that Charlotte had spun them to New
York’s prehistory. But then Ana must have stolen Charlotte’s astrolabe, leaving
them stranded. Did that mean they were stuck on Bedloe’s Island, the bomb
defused? Or had they been unable to defuse it?

He
had to find out which. He pounded up the stairs to the library’s reading room.
Just as Charlotte had told him, researching was his forte. He slid to one of
the computer bays and tapped away, pulling up the history of Liberty Island.

It
still began as a shallow oyster bed, but now it was more of a doughnut of land.
When the island was expanded for Fort Wood, the landfill began in the center,
filling the hole that no one investigated. The hole that was too perfectly
shaped to be anything but man-made. Or, rather, bomb-made.

Ana’s
fourth bomb had still gone off. Without an astrolabe, Charlotte and Bill
couldn’t have gotten away. They would’ve been taken to wherever New York and
the Council had gone. God, Leanor hadn’t even told them
that
. Without
that information, there was no way Monroe could use Ana’s astrolabe to find his
boyfriend and sister.

He
pushed himself back from the screen, staring at the glass.

There
was one way to find them.

A
stupid, foolish way—especially if he was wrong, and Charlotte and Bill were
simply waiting for him on the shore of Bedloe’s Island. But he had Ana’s
astrolabe. He had a way out of whenever the Blast would take him.

Because
that was his stupid idea.

Get
transported in the Blast.

All
he needed was one final piece of information. A current screenshot from a
satellite far above. In their rush to memorialize, to make sense of this Blast,
New York had given him the tools to find the exact center.

Outside,
he walked, then ran, then walked, then ran his way across the red brick and
grass rings that made up Bryant Park. They alternated in ever-smaller circles,
a target that New York would never forget. And at the center, a single circular
piece of stone, with a crosshair cut into it.

There
were dozens of tourists around, somberly walking the circles one by one. A
group of three stood around the center circle, their hands clasped together,
their heads bowed in prayer. A little boy lay in a grassy circle nearby,
staring up at the sun.

Kneeling
opposite the boy, Monroe pulled Ana’s astrolabe from the bowling-ball bag that
Bill had brought back with him. It would take him a little time, jumping back,
then forward, slowly centering on the morning of the Blast. But he had all the
time he needed. He’d get there. He’d get caught in the bomb. And then he’d
bring back Charlotte and Bill just as he had Felix and Charlie.

He
froze, hands still on the mesh astrolabe. The little boy across the way kept
staring at the sunlight, then squeezing his eyes shut, then opening them again.

“Dammit,”
Monroe whispered.
“Charlie.”
He couldn’t leave this time yet.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

Thirty
minutes later, Felix and Charlie were crossing the
brick and grass circles, gazing around until their eyes found Monroe. They
crossed the distance, and Felix gave Monroe a tight hug. “We woke up and you
were gone; we thought, I thought …” He shook himself. “What
is
this?”

“The
Blast still happened,” Monroe said. “This is the new monument.”

“The
Blast?” Now Felix spun, looking to the library, to the scaffolded buildings, to
the brick. “I thought this was New York as it should be.”

Monroe
shook his head.

“I
thought maybe,” Charlie said, squishing one cheek upward. “My bed was just
right.” God, Monroe kept forgetting how much Charlie had changed. No longer
Charlotte’s little boy, but a boy influenced by three parents working in
concert.

“So
why are we here?” Felix asked, crossing his arms. “Just to see it?”

“No.
Not just to see it.”

Felix’s
gaze fell on the bag around Monroe’s shoulder. “’Roe, you can’t. If Charlotte
couldn’t defuse it, if Bill couldn’t? How can you stop the Blast?”

Monroe
gritted his teeth. “I’m not going to try.”

“Then
why are we here?”

“I’m
going to
save
them, Felix. They’re stuck somewhere. In some random era that
Ana wanted to send all of New York to. They don’t have an astrolabe. They’re
stuck there with a Council who’ll do God knows what to them. I have to.”

Felix
shook his head. “You don’t.” His voice was tender, his eyes pleading.
“Charlotte wanted to make sure we were safe. That we had each other. That her
family was intact. And she succeeded. She gave her life for us, and you’re
going to throw that away?”

“She
gave her life to stop the Blast.”

Felix
snorted, suddenly angry. “You think so? You think that’s what it’s been about?
Then you weren’t really watching her. She wouldn’t want Charlie to have to live
without an uncle.”

“Charlie
shouldn’t have to live without a mom!” Monroe breathed in, trying to calm
himself. “Don’t you get it, Felix? I
have
been watching. What’s the
point of any of this if Charlotte isn’t here with us? We need her. She’s our
center. Without her, we’d all pull apart.”

Felix
watched him. Clenched his jaw, frowning. “So what are you going to do?”

“There’s
only one way to go exactly where they went in time—get caught in
this
Blast. But”—he raised a hand to silence Felix’s attempted rebuttal—“I’m not
going to risk you and Charlie. Either there or here, it’s not safe.”

Shaking
his head, Felix asked, “Then where?”

Monroe
had been thinking that through for the past half hour. There wasn’t anywhere in
time that
felt
safe, not with Paris somehow able to spot them without
effort. There weren’t even very many options. Monroe wouldn’t leave them alone,
stranded in some time where they didn’t belong. He couldn’t risk the future,
and a black man and his son weren’t safe too far in the past.

But
there was one person they knew out of time. One person who had a means of
transporting Felix and Charlie to safety if Monroe failed. If Monroe couldn’t
get back, there was one person who had an astrolabe.

“Bill,”
Monroe said.

Felix’s
forehead crinkled. Even Charlie blinked, not getting it. “I thought we weren’t
going to go with you.”

“You
aren’t
. Don’t you see? Leanor told us that all of a time traveler’s
out-of-time actions remain, even if something from their timeline changes.
Their actions differ only if another time traveler changes them specifically.”

“So
…”

Monroe
tried to keep his voice even, tried not to blurt out the solution so that Felix
could understand the genius of it. “Even though Bill
died
in this
timeline, his actions still exist out of time. He still went to the past, still
lived there. Still has a life there.” Monroe choked through the last. “And he
still has the astrolabe.”

Felix
inhaled. “In case you get stuck, too.”

“Please.”
Monroe wouldn’t be guilted into standing still. “I
can set all of this right. I can save them.”

Felix
placed a hand on Monroe’s shoulder. “Try, Monroe. But don’t give your life, too.
If you can’t find them whenever the Blast goes, if you can’t find them on
Liberty Island, don’t keep looking. Don’t waste years of your life, if they’re
gone.
Come home
.”

About
to answer glibly, Monroe looked into Felix’s deep black eyes. He was serious.
And he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “I will. I won’t let Charlotte’s
work be in vain.”

“It’s
okay, Dad.” Charlie was gazing at Monroe, his dark eyes almost looking
through
his uncle. “He’s gonna do it.”

Felix
squeezed Charlie’s shoulder. “Then we’re ready.”

Once
they gripped him, Monroe spun the orb beneath his fingers. He was cautious,
trying not to overshoot, trying to get them sometime thirty years prior. The
grass and red rings unbuilt, leaving a large spherical pit below them.
Buildings tottered nearby. And then the city returned unmarred. The sun zoomed
around; shadows of people flitted around them, going to the Christmas markets,
enjoying summer concerts, tanning in the sun.

Time
slowed; the sun was low and red. Bryant Park was empty. On the grass, a page of
The New York Times
fluttered nearby. Monroe snatched it from the air and
folded it to see the date. September 18, 1999. In only a few months, Bill would
leave this time and go on a date with Monroe, tell him everything he’d seen.

Monroe
could go with Felix and Charlie. He could guide them through this time, show
them to Bill’s precinct. He could see Bill.

But
no, Monroe was going to see
his
Bill. Saving him and Charlotte was what
this was all about.

Monroe
pulled a crumpled page from his pocket and handed it over. “Here you go. This
is where Bill works. I don’t know his apartment, so you’ll have to meet him
there. Come back next Tuesday.” Monroe ripped the date from the top of the news
page and stuffed it into his pocket. He’d have Charlotte and Bill then. “And,
Felix?”

There
was so much to say. To tell Charlie and Felix that he loved them. To enjoy life
if he didn’t come back. But he wouldn’t make the face Charlotte had when she’d
said similar things. He wouldn’t even say those things.

As
if he understood Monroe’s thoughts, Felix swept Monroe into another bear hug.
It was a sign of how different Felix had become, or the possibility that had
always been within him.

Below
Felix, hugging hard, was Charlie. “It’s okay, Uncle ’Roe. We’ll see you soon.”

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

Monroe
shifted forward a year at a time, until he was in 2016. Then he inched himself
through the days until April eighth. The day of the Blast.