Skyline (9 page)

The
man who’d killed Leanor had returned.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

Bill
leaped
in front of Charlotte, crowding her back. “If you want to kill her, you’ll have
to go through me.”

“Kill
her?” the man asked. Paris, Ana had named him. He tossed a Granny Smith apple
in his hands, then brought it up to his mouth. “Why on earth would I want to
kill
her
?” He bit into the apple, juice spattering over Bill’s shoulder
onto Charlotte’s face.

“You
…” This man had killed Leanor; why wouldn’t he want to kill Charlotte? She’d
carried on Leanor’s work, was doing what Leanor wanted—wasn’t she?

“What
do you want, then?” Bill asked, his voice barbed.

“To
say hello,” Paris said. “To meet
properly
. I didn’t get much of a
chance, covered in Leanor’s blood, did I?”

Charlotte
swallowed her retort. This man was so cavalier, so happy with himself. She
wanted to smack his grin off.

“I’m
Paris,” the man said, offering a hand. Charlotte didn’t take it. Neither did
Bill. “And you must be Leanor’s … What did she call you? Minions? Henchpeople?”

“Family,”
Charlotte hissed.

“Aw.”
The man touched his heart. “That’s genuinely sweet. Well”—he shrugged—“I’d
apologize, but I wouldn’t mean it. Leanor deserved to die. But I’m glad to see
you’re doing some good instead of harping on about the past. Trust me, it
wouldn’t work out well for you.” His eyes glinted in the dim light. “Though you
already figured that out, didn’t you?”

“Why
are you here?” Bill asked, still blocking Charlotte. Who was he protecting?
This man could bat Bill away just as easily as he had Charlotte. Her muscles
and Bill’s stomach probably made an even match in the weight department.

But
this man had let Charlie, Felix, and Monroe pass. He could’ve incited her
wrath; he chose not to. What did he
want
, then?

With
a colossal bite, the man finished his apple. “I’m here to make sure you don’t
get distracted. We like what you’re doing, y’know? Stopping the Blast, that’s
good. Altruistic. We approve. So we’re letting you keep your time device,
letting you interfere. Because clearly you can be trusted. While Leanor … Well,
maybe someday you’ll learn what sort of woman she was.”

“She
was—”

The
man lifted a hand, a snarl on his lips. “You have no
clue
who she was.”

“And
that’s it?” Bill folded his arms, and Charlotte came out from behind him. “You
just want us to keep going? On a boat
headed
to Pier Fifty-four?”

“Was
I talking to you?” the man asked, his voice rising into a shout. Then in a
whisper, “Fucking New Yorkers. Ahem, no. I was talking to
her
.” He
swiveled his neck to Charlotte. “I’m telling you, Miss Charlotte Osqui: keep
going. This little thing?” He gestured to the boat’s ceiling, perhaps through
it to the seats above. A cold pit in Charlotte’s stomach told her he meant
Felix. The man shrugged. “It’s nothing. Time changing, that’s all. Don’t let it
scare you. Don’t let it stop you. You’re doing good work.”

“How
do you know my name?”

Paris
sighed. “I’ve been in your
laboratory
. We’re watching you, I mean …” He
shook his head, not a single blue hair moving out of place. “Just listen. We
saw what you did; we approve. Is that getting through? We’ve decided to offer
this to you: if you’re worried, if you don’t want to lose anyone else, hand
them over to us. We’ll keep them safe. Your son, your ex-husband, your brother.
Even
this
man. So long as you keep going, we’ll keep them safe and
sound, ready to be returned once you’re finished.”

Charlotte’s
heart fluttered. “How can you keep them safe?”

“
You’re
safe, aren’t you? Out of time, you didn’t change. So hand them over to us.”

Bill
crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that a threat?”

“No.”
The man balled his hands into fists. He was losing his patience, the good humor
that he’d been projecting. Soon enough he’d get violent, and Bill wouldn’t be
able to protect Charlotte then.

She
needed to end this. “Charlie’s not going anywhere,” she said.

“Okay.”
The man lifted his hands. “Don’t take the offer.
Offer
, not a threat,
you ape.” He rolled his eyes at Bill. “But don’t stop. Stop, and we won’t give
you the choice. And that, my dear gorilla”—he reached out a hand and touched
Bill’s beard—“is a threat.”

Repulsed,
Bill shuddered, and the man grinned his shark smile once more.

The
floor shifted as Paris’s hulking weight left the boat. Back on the pier, he
tossed his apple core into the water between them. “Good luck,” he said. “Don’t
fuck this up.” Then he vanished into the darkness.

A
crew member tugged a rope across the entrance, the tour boat glided away, a low
voice began telling the story of the day of the Blast, but Charlotte couldn’t
pull herself from the entrance. Couldn’t stop staring at the space where Paris
had been.

Should
she have sent Charlie away with him? Who was she to think she knew how to keep
her son safe? But how could she give him up?

How
could she not?

She
couldn’t move.

“Charlotte?”
Bill asked, his voice quavering. He must’ve been just as stunned, just as
terrified as she was.

Charlotte
forced herself to swivel, every inch bringing her closer to her admission. She
had no clue what to do. She wanted to use her astrolabe to freeze herself in
time. Or steal Charlie and Felix away and hide somewhere remote without any
responsibilities. But the boat kept sweeping them forward, ever closer to
another bomb. If she defused it, her life would no doubt change again.

“Why
don’t I remember?” she asked Bill, searching his brilliant green eyes. “When
that memory rewrite happened, I thought that would happen for every change. But
then we come back, and I don’t remember a thing.”

Bill’s
mouth twitched to the side. He shook his head. “I dunno.”

“But
what about those theorists?” she asked him. He’d known about the butterfly
effect. Guessed that time was malleable. “Heisenberg? Nova…whatever?”

“I
don’t know, Charlotte.” He twisted his head away from her, toward the dimly lit
room where a few tourists sat listening to the voice filtering down. Most,
Charlotte knew, were above—where they could see the city and watch the tour guide
speak. She should join Monroe, Felix, and Charlie soon. But right now she
needed Bill’s hypothesis. He lifted his hands. “If I had to guess? This is our
timeline; any change we make, we only get to see. But when we meet ourselves
outside of this, it’s another ball game. Because it’s something we see happen
differently.” His shoulders fell. “I just don’t know.”

Charlotte
exhaled. “Should I have let Paris take Charlie?”

Bill
gripped her shoulder, his eyes firmly on her, blazing with passion. “No, Charlotte.
No
. You have no idea what that man would do. No idea if away from us is
safe. We can’t trust that man and whoever else ‘them’ is.”

Paris
had killed Leanor; that was true. But if Ana had known that time could be
changed, then who was to say Paris didn’t know how to keep someone safe? Both
of them had been traveling longer than Charlotte. Both seemed to understand
things that had taken Charlotte a year—and Bill’s intuition—to see.

Could
she ask Felix? Show him time travel, send him elsewhere? Not without a million
questions. Not with any certainty.

So
what then? She couldn’t leave Charlie here, but she couldn’t bring him either.
What would Ana do with such collateral? Steal Charlie? Threaten him? Find some
way through time, like Paris had, to make her case?

Charlie
wasn’t safe here, he wouldn’t be safe there, and there was no way to get him to
safety now. Paris was gone.

Charlotte
pushed through the dim boat, past the barman pouring white wine for a somber
couple, and up the stairs to where Charlie, Felix, and Monroe sat.

“What
are you gonna do?” Bill asked, following close behind.

She
didn’t answer. What was she going to do? She had no fucking clue. “Hey guys.”
She settled beside Monroe. “How’re you doing?”

Monroe
cast her a glance that said,
Where have you been
?

“Sorry,
Bill and I were talking; we got distracted. Um, Felix?” He turned to her. “I
have something to ask. And, please, don’t get mad.”

She’d
done this once before. Look how it turned out. Look how her life was changing.
Not incrementally, not subtly at all. But she couldn’t take Charlie with her.
She was out of options. All she could try was repeating her actions, hoping for
a different result.

The
very definition of madness.

“Can
you take Charlie for the night? I know I said I would, but something came up,
about my boss. My benefactor. I need to take care of it. I’ll explain
everything tomorrow; I’ll come by at lunch to get him. But just
please
.”

Felix’s
dark eyes searched hers. His thick lips moved silently as he tried to read her.
He must’ve been out of practice at it in this timeline. Or perhaps he didn’t
want to start a fight as the other passengers murmured about the Blast. He
exhaled; Charlotte had won. “Fine. But tomorrow? Lunch? You swear you’ll come?
You won’t suddenly forget plans or change them randomly like tonight?”

“I
promise,” Charlotte said. Though even that could be an accidental lie. Tomorrow
she could show up and learn that Felix had never lived in their apartment. Had
never existed. “Is that okay, Charlie?”

The
little boy glanced away from the passing skyscrapers, lights flickering to
black as those living there went to sleep. This was already way past Charlie’s
bedtime. Tomorrow, Charlotte swore to herself, tomorrow she’d take him to see
his Grandpa. The boy’s eyebrows lifted, looking almost like Felix, just with
wavier hair. She had to reconnect with them soon.

Tomorrow
.

He
snaked a tanned arm over Monroe and clutched Charlotte’s hand. “Of course,
Mommy. We love you.”

She
gulped down whatever sob was in her throat, trying to keep her composure, just
as Felix had. “Thanks,” she whispered.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

Monroe’s
jaw
dropped when Charlotte finished telling him what happened. “And you sent
Charlie away?”

Charlotte
kept her lips sealed. She didn’t need to justify her decision to Monroe.

“What
choice did she
have
, Monroe?” Bill asked. “Bring him with us? To where a
bomb
is set to explode? Strand Felix and Charlie in time, not knowing if
we’ll even survive?” God, she hadn’t even considered that. “Or, what, call back
Paris? Leave Charlie with a murderer? Which sounds best?”

Monroe
swallowed. “I didn’t think of that.”

“We’re
nearly there,” Charlotte said. Time to move forward. “When should we go? We’re
certain it’ll be a historical event?”

Monroe
surveyed her, probably deciding whether to keep fighting. He closed his eyes,
capitulating. “It’s some place to start at least. And here, there’s two major
events.”

That
much Charlotte knew. After they’d dropped Charlie and Felix off at the
midpoint—the new New York Public Library—the soft tones of the tour guide had
detailed the two important historical events that happened at Pier Fifty-four.
“So do we go to the
Titanic
or the
Lusitania
?”

“April
18, 1912,” Monroe said. “Technically it’s the
Carpathia
we’ll see.”

Like
she didn’t know that the
Titanic
had sunk.

“Okay,”
Charlotte said, and led the way down through the dim bar and outside to the
rear of the boat. She needed to do this now, before she second-guessed their
plan. It was so riddled with holes; a moment’s thought would wreck it. She felt
a hand, then two, and she watched the river they’d just traveled down. The
water was dark; a few bridges blocked the view back to the library.

Did
she even
want
to undo this?

But
then one of the hands squeezed her shoulder. Bill said, “It’ll be okay,
Charlotte.”

She
had to believe that.

She
spun the astrolabe, and the sun rose, nearly blinding them after the darkness.
The sunlight quickly turned into a dim strobe. The boat disappeared under their
feet—leaving them floating for a split second—and the jagged wooden structure
that had been built around this section of the Mid River unbuilt itself before
being replaced by a long concrete pier. When time restarted they were indoors.
Darkness surrounded them once again.

On
one side of the pier rested a long, dark boat—the
Carpathia
, loaded with
the passengers it had picked up from the
Titanic
wreckage. Around stood
hundreds of silent people, watching for the first sight of the historical
survivors. No news bulbs flashed. No hissing whispers discussed the stunning
event that happened three days prior.

The
gangplank lowered with a slam, and the crowd buzzed to life, nurses and
newspapermen alike pressing forward. At the base of the gangplank, within the
pier, an open area was blockaded by metal fences. Inside, several officials
waited to document the survivors as they arrived.

Monroe
began to speak. “This boat was the only one close enough to hear their SOS. The
captain risked the lives of the
Carpathia’s
passengers navigating the
icy fields that took down the
Titanic
. He saved over seven hundred
people.”

“Like
us,” Bill said. But Charlotte didn’t feel like a hero. She felt like a fraud.

“For
a long time, the bravery of the
Carpathia
wasn’t well remembered,”
Monroe continued. “Then the Blast happened.”

God
help Monroe if he was
enjoying
this. This wasn’t about appreciating
history; not anymore. It was about ending the Blast. Moving forward so that
Charlie would be safe from Paris’s threat. But then, Monroe had always had
different priorities than her.

The
sailors finished readying the gangplank and fled inside. Monroe quieted, and
the rest of the crowd followed suit. The next person to disembark would be a
survivor.

Then,
from the dark opening of the higher gangplank, a woman stepped forward. Her
hair was a ratty nest on her head. Her eyes were pools of sadness and loss. She
twitched her gaze over the crowd. The woman’s chest swelled as she
hyperventilated, and a man from inside the metal barrier swooped forward to
catch her.

He
wore a crisp dark suit and hat: a customs official. He murmured something to
her, and the woman nodded, staggering with him down the gangplank. He kept
peppering her with questions, scribbling down her whispered answers on his
paperwork. Then, from beyond the barrier, a man shrieked, “Dorothy? Dorothy!”
He shouted her name again as he shoved through the crowd, easily leaped the
barrier, and raced to her. He scooped her into his arms and spun her around.
Both sobbed into each other’s clothes.

Without
letting her feet touch the ground, he carried her back through the crowd.

A
stream of survivors followed the woman.

If
Ana was going to show up at this historical event, it’d be now. While all
attention was fixed on the boat and the survivors. She could place a bomb in a
corner and no one would see her. No one would notice the device disappear
through time.

“C’mon,”
Charlotte said, touching Monroe and Bill lightly. This was why they were here.
Bill went one way, so Charlotte went the other.

Ana
wasn’t near the pier’s entrance. She wasn’t tucked against the wall opposite
the
Carpathia
. She wasn’t hiding anywhere, even in plain sight.

As
the passengers disembarked, a few of the reunions moved away from the center,
to the edges. But even though there were people everywhere, Ana wasn’t around.
Not in the corner, not on the viewing deck, where a couple was having a
romantic reconnection. Charlotte passed Bill, and he lifted his hands.

At
last, they made their way back to the center, where Monroe still stood, gazing
at the boat. He hadn’t spared even one glance for Ana.

Charlotte
gritted her teeth. This was what she’d wanted, right? To show Monroe all of
history? “’Roe?” she asked, keeping her voice even. “You ready?”

“Just
watching history,” he replied.

Bill
stepped closer, ran a hand along Monroe’s boney frame. “Hey.” He whispered the
rest in Monroe’s ear.

Monroe
looked over, eyes low. “Sorry, Char,” he said, shaking himself. “I sorta got …
You guys didn’t find anything? Okay then, May 1, 1915.”

Whatever
Bill said, it was enough to remind Monroe of the consequences. Today wasn’t
just about history, after all. Charlotte kept quiet, not needing to reprimand
him further, and spun them through time.

•
• • • • • • • • • • •

Light
flooded Pier Fifty-four. Once more, people surrounded them, but the atmosphere
couldn’t be more different. Instead of quiet, mournful, or worried, this crowd
bubbled with excitement, chattering about the sights their friends were about
to see. Even the boat across the way was different. Instead of the dark,
opulent blues that had reflected in the moonlight, today’s sunshine showed a
dull gray paint covering the
Lusitania
.

“Let’s
hope she’s here,” Charlotte said. If Ana had stopped visiting historical
moments, then she could be anywhere in time.

In
the daylight streaming through the upper windows, there was no place for Ana to
hide. The corners weren’t dark, and there wasn’t enough of a crowd, really, to
conceal her actions. Unlike with the
Carpathia
, those on the pier
weren’t distracted by a single event. If Ana was here, Charlotte couldn’t
figure out where.