Under Cover of Darkness (17 page)

 

She rounded a corner. Another
something
was nearby. Time rushed away from her like water through a burst dam, pulling her along in its current. He was here, on one of the restaurant patios that lined the sidewalk.

Kayla felt an unmistakable tingle and turned. Instead of Vincent, she stood in front of another trail marker: a blissful young couple. They were having coffee and dessert, holding hands, lost in each other's gaze.

“I've spent my whole life in this city,” said Vincent, suddenly beside Kayla. “Maybe people are different somewhere else, I don't know. But here, watching people always in a hurry, always thinking about what's next, I realized that we need to do more than just make sure there's a tomorrow. We need to make sure that, once they have them, people use their
todays
. Or what point is there in keeping the wheel turning?”

“How are you doing this?” Kayla asked, awed. “
What
are you doing?”

“You're seeing what I do with the time I take. I've applied the same principles I used when we—when
I
—took time for us.”

“You steal time for them?” she asked, confused. “Do they pay you for it?”

“They don't pay me.” His voice had an edge at the accusation. “They don't even know what I've given them. You know they rarely see us.”

Moving in moments where others were not meant rarely being seen by those people, like the children in the park, or the couple at the restaurant. Even standing so close you could reach out and touch . . . It was one aspect of the job Kayla knew she'd never get used to.

“I
borrow
time for them, Kay. The Guild will take other moments from them, I just borrow against that. I took a cue from something you said when we, well . . .”

A lot had been said the night she walked out, a great deal of it hurtful, and designed to be. She didn't look at him.

“You said I was selfish,” Vincent continued. “In fact, you said stealing time, even to spend whole, perfect days with you, was the most selfish thing you'd ever heard of, as I recall your exact words.

“You know,” he said in hushed tones, “some women would find that terribly romantic.”

She could tell without looking that he was smiling. She smiled, too.

“That really stuck with me,” he said. “It hurt. Mostly, I guess, because it was true. I was selfish. And one day it occurred to me: What if I gave time back? We know what happens when we take time, but what happens if we give time back to people? If we let them use the seconds or minutes we would otherwise snatch up and store away, what then?”

“You can do that?” Kayla asked.

“I have been, for months now. The results, Kay! This is what life was meant to be like! This is how it was in the beginning, how all our hominid ancestors experienced existence before we became self-aware. A perfect
now
. We lead such short, fragile lives . . .”

Was that a tear Kayla saw in his eye?

“Don't we deserve a chance to slow things down, to expand our finite lives sometimes? And when they have those moments, people just let time wash over them, know how to handle it, the same way newborns will hold their breath underwater—instinctive!”

“You knew I'd find you. You left a trail. Why?”

“Because I wanted you to see this. You are the only one who could find me. You don't really think they sent you after me because we used to date, do you?”

A denial died in Kayla's mouth.

Vincent shook his head. “Oh, Kay. So naive. They sent you because you were there when I started stealing time. You know it's possible. You know what it feels like, how to sense it. The Council knows I can borrow time, but could any of them track it like you could?

“It's a test of allegiance,” Vincent said, turning to face her. “The Council wants to know whose side you're on. They're wondering—will you turn me in, or are we in league?”

Kayla considered the idea. Did the Council question her loyalty? Perhaps they were right to. Turning Vincent in had been clear-cut when she thought he was robbing time for his own use, but now she wasn't sure. What would they do to him if she handed him over? What would they do to her if she did not?

“How are you doing this, Vince?”

“I'll tell you, but there's something I need to show you. Then see if you still want to bring me in.”

He took her hand and they ran into the night. And as they ran, he explained.

 

The last time Kayla had been in a hospital was also at Vincent's side, during her training.

A tour of the coma patients was a required part of training. Whole days, months, even years could be taken from them. There were chronographers who specialized in coma patients, slipping unseen into the rooms of patients over and over . . . It was an easy way to make quota, but it struck Kayla as ghoulish, like preying on the helpless.

The cold and the antiseptic smell brought it back to her as she and Vincent again walked hospital halls.

Vincent found the room he wanted and they stood in the doorway, watching. An old man lay in bed connected to a web of wires, tubes, monitors, and machines. Racking coughs shook his withered frame; his voice was thin and raspy. A middle-aged man sat at his side, holding his hand. They talked in hushed tones, and sometimes the old man would smile meekly, or weep gently.

“James is dying,” Vincent said quietly. “He won't last the night, the doctor says. That's his son, Derrick. He's come to say good-bye.”

Kayla said nothing. She could feel the tingle of moments all around her, like an itch she wanted to scratch. She wouldn't let herself.

“The world won't let children stay children for long these days,” Vincent said. “The kids in the park deserve one golden summer to always remember, so I've been giving them time for weeks now.

“That couple on the patio? Today was the day they fell in love. And, well, you know how relationships go.”

Only hours ago, Kayla realized, she would have taken that as a veiled accusation. Now, she nodded her head and understood.

No matter what happened later in their relationship, the couple would always have that magical, intensely lived day they fell in love. That's what Vincent had given them. Just as, Kayla realized, he had tried to give her.

She didn't want him stealing time for her, but had she misjudged him? She considered him for a long moment, seeing perhaps for the first time what she loved in him.

“And them?” Kayla asked, turning her attention back to the old man and his son. “This is an awful time to be in-moment.”

“But it's not, Kay! That's what you made me realize. With us, I tried to prolong all the happiness, all the easy moments. I didn't want the difficult ones. No one does.”

He became very still. “My father died last year.”

“Vincent . . .” Kayla took his hand. Vincent's father had been ill for several years, the whole time Kayla and Vincent were together. Vincent hadn't wanted them to meet until he recovered, saying his father didn't want people seeing him as an invalid. Now it was too late.

“It was a lot like this,” he said, looking over the hospital room. “I sat with him, held his hand. We were close, I thought. We talked a few times a week; I'd go visit him. But then he was gone, and I realized there was so much unsaid. I could have taken time, spent weeks and weeks with him in-moment . . . but I didn't. It was too hard, too scary. And now . . . Now it's too late.” He wiped away tears.

Kayla's throat burned. She squeezed his hand, and felt him squeeze back.

“That's when everything you'd said about my selfishness made sense. Even if we don't want those moments, even if they scare us, we need them. They make us see what we don't like about ourselves; they shake us up and change us.

“Look at this man, dying in his bed, and tell me that he hasn't been robbed of his most precious possession—
time
. For him, it's lung cancer, but it could as easily have been some Guild agent who took just enough moments . . . I can't make him say the words, but I can give him time, and give him the chance. Time to say all the things he never said. Time to bring some peace to his life, and his son's, before the end.” He turned to look at her. “If you want to put me away for that, well, you're welcome to it.”

Kayla leaned up and kissed him, standing on tiptoes as she'd always had to. As their lips met she felt her resistance melt away, and she gave in. Every second—every one!—washed over her like a warm rain. She was there with Vincent, and with the old man and his son, in the moment, fully living each instant. It was all she remembered it being, and more. This was how life should be lived!

She broke the kiss when she realized the hushed conversation by the bedside had stopped. Kayla could feel eyes on her. The old man could see her, was looking at her! She was so used to not being seen she could find no words to answer the questioning look on the old man's face.

“Sorry,” said Vincent. “We must have the wrong room.” He took Kayla by the elbow. They stepped into the hall and back into baseline time.

Waiting there for them by the nurse's desk was Strangway, the tall, grandfatherly Guild agent who'd set Kayla after Vincent.

“Don't move,” Strangway said. Men appeared at Strangway's side, and others blocked possible avenues of escape. They were the kind of men librarians wouldn't know to hire.

Cold slipped down Kayla's spine as Strangway settled his gaze on her. He knew, didn't he? He knew that she had let Vincent escape his apartment, that she now did not intend to turn him over to the Guild. They'd just been using time—had he been able to sense it? Is that what drew him here?

A pair of the men with Strangway moved to either side of Vincent, each roughly taking an arm.

“Hey! Easy!” Vincent said.

The gun. It was still in her bag, Kayla realized. Could she get it before they stopped her? She slumped her shoulder, trying to slide the strap down her arm.

“You're a little late to the arrest,” Vincent said, as the men pushed him toward Strangway. “Kayla was about to bring me in. She's convinced me to turn myself over.”

Kayla wanted to scream that was a lie, but his look as she caught Vincent's eyes held her back. I know what I'm doing, they said. Don't stop me.

“Well done, Kayla,” Strangway said. “I knew I was right about you.”

Kayla didn't like the implication.

“You know,” Strangway said, stepping to within inches of Vincent, “what we do is like building a bridge of stone. All of humanity walks as one across the endless span of this bridge, except for us. We walk a few steps ahead on the leading edge, laying down the next course of brick, the next row of stones, so everyone else will find safe footing for their next step. What you do, though, is monstrous—stealing bricks from under the very feet of your fellow man!”

He nodded his head and the men ushered Vincent down the hall, through a set of swinging doors, and out of sight.

As she motioned to follow, Kayla felt an arm slip around her shoulder. She fought the urge to shrug it away.

“It's gratifying to know that you are on our side, Kayla,” Strangway said. “This wasn't easy for you, I'm sure. You realize by now that this wasn't a simple assignment from the Guild.”

Kayla considered the slipperiness of his statement, the layers of meaning: a veiled reminder of his secret knowledge of her crime; a kind of congratulations on passing the test and expiating her sin. It was how Vincent would have picked apart the statement, she realized. He was right—she had been naive.

Not anymore.

“I think any lingering doubts have been put to rest,” he said, slowly guiding her down the hallway. “You made the right choice in the end, and that's what counts. There's no need to discuss your, hmm—youthful indiscretion?—ever again, as far as I'm concerned.”

Kayla mumbled false words of thanks and forced her attention to stay in the moment. Trauma was one instance where it was easy to skim the seconds, awareness shutting down as you went into shock. She was determined to have every instant of the pain, to feel it all, remember it. Like Vincent said, the hard moments helped you change. . . .

“It's clear you're a person of special talents,” Strangway continued, “one who won't be content in the trenches, gathering time forever, yes? I have something of an eye for talent, and you have greatness in store for you, I'm sure of it. I don't doubt eventually you'll be sitting on the Council with me. It might do you good to have a friend in high places as you make your way.”

She allowed herself a moment of dark pride at the confirmation. Pieces had fallen into place after Vincent said her mission was a test. Of course Strangway was on the Guild Council: who else would be trusted with the knowledge that you could turn time to your own purpose?

Something about keeping enemies closer crossed Kayla's mind as she forced the effusive thanks for Strangway's patronage that he would expect.

He smiled softly and disappeared through the swinging doors at the end of the hall.

Kayla headed for the elevator, tears in her eyes at last.

 

Strangway wasn't the last person Kayla expected to see when she peered through the peephole, but she thought he would wait longer before coming to see his new pro tégé. It had been less than a week.

He knocked again.

She watched him, strange and distorted through the peephole, grow increasingly impatient with waiting. He checked his watch—not his chronograph, Kayla noted; that was a good sign—knocked once more, then turned and walked down the hall.