15 Minutes: A YA Time Travel Thriller (Rewind Series) (3 page)

It's dusk, and I shiver as a chilled breeze greets me. My
stomach is an empty pit. I’ll have a lot to answer for at home, especially with
it getting so late. But how can it be home without my dad? I should go face the
music, but I’m not ready. The longer I wait, the worse it will be, but I can
only think about now. I hike over to the subway platform and take the rail over
to Mass Ave where the public library is.

It’s crawling with college students, so I and my hoodie fit
in pretty well. On the second floor, scattered between the rows of books, are
computer desks. I slide into one and bring up a search on my father.

Scrolling through the results, some old news articles catch
my attention. My breath stops, and my brain grinds to a halt.

Convicted
Murderer John Crane Denied Parole

Ten years ago
John Crane was convicted of hiring a hit man to kill his then wife, Miranda. In
a botched attempt, an innocent bystander was shot but disappeared before medics
could arrive on the scene.

John Crane
professed his innocence throughout his trial and incarceration. Email
correspondence, fingerprints, bank statements, and voice recordings were enough
to convince the jury of his guilt even though the police never apprehended the
hired hit man.

Upon his
denial for parole, he issued the following statement through his attorney, Fred
Grayson, “I am disappointed to be denied parole again, but I will not give up
my fight.”

Pain pumps through me like blood, surging to every muscle,
joint, and fiber holding me together. I doubt I could possibly feel any more
pain. It’s my fault. I’m responsible. The guilt is mine. My stomach wretches
with a convulsion, and before I know it, I’m on my knees, and flashes of white
mar my vision. My throbbing brain is again trying to burst from my skull.

From the pain in my head I know I’m about to receive more
information than I can handle, and I’m fighting it, which only makes the agony
worse. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see, but I can only fight for so
long.

I feel as if something is jacked into my brain, as if the
knowledge is being directly downloaded into me from an offsite source. My body
is still in the library, but I don’t see the ugly tables or outdated stacks any
longer. Instead, I see a blue haze, and when it clears I’m back in the
apartment I shared with my parents when I was young.

I’m clinging to Dad’s leg. Mom is there too, and she’s
yanking on my shirt, screaming that we need to go. I’m scared and confused. The
police are here to take Dad away, but I don’t want him to go. I need him to
stay with us.

Dad doesn’t say anything. I cling to the fabric of his
jeans and bury my head against him. My fingers claw at him, desperate to hold
on, and his trembling fingers stroke my hair.

From behind, someone unhooks me and picks me up. I scream
and thrash, and over his shoulders my arms outstretch towards Dad.

“Daddy, help me! I don’t want to go! Daddy!”

The fear in his frantic eyes scares me. He doesn’t make a
move for me, because he can’t. On either side of him are police, and his face
is damp with tears. The officers hold their arms in front of him, so he can’t
rush after me.

My eyes plead with him. I want nothing more than for him to
come and tell me all the whispers I’m hearing at school are a mistake. Daddies
don’t do the stuff they are talking about. He loves Mom, and he loves me.

“I’ll find you, Lara. I promise to God we’ll be together
again. Damn it, Miranda, you know I didn’t do this. You know!”

His words are no comfort. The police hand me over to Mom. I
bury my face in her hair and cry as we slip into the backseat of a car, about
to be whisked away. What if I never see home again?

The haze clears, and I see the library again as my temples
pulse. A few people are gathered around me. I see my purse emptied on the ground,
and I scramble for the contents. My phone is vibrating beneath the table with a
name on the display.

Mom

I snatch it and realize I need to talk to her in person. A
hand clamps my shoulder.

“We called an ambulance,” the older man says. He has caring
eyes and is wearing an outdated fedora, like Indiana Jones.

“I’m fine. I didn’t eat much today.” I stand up, clutching
my stuff, but my legs wobble.

“You don’t seem fine to me, young lady.”

“I need to go home.” I try to sneak past him, but he
shadows my movements.

“Get checked out by a doctor. What could it hurt?”

There’s little room for argument, so I wait. Men in white
shirts arrive with a stretcher, but I know they won’t find anything wrong with
me. Nothing that will register on their equipment.

But something is wrong with me. I grip my purse strap and
sit down when I’m told. Time travel sickness. The merging of new memories with
the old ones. I thought I could avoid it. I thought it wouldn’t happen to me,
but now it's hitting me and strong.

I need to find my dad. I need to clear his name before all
my old memories of growing up with him and being with Rick are wiped out by
these new ones. Or worse, before my brain hemorrhages and I die.

The
doctors say I’m okay, only suffering from exhaustion and hunger. But they don’t
bother to give me a brain scan, and I certainly don’t suggest one. Their
solution is giving me food and juice. It’s bland, but it helps.

Shortly
after 8PM, I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for my parents to pick me up.
I hope Mom comes alone, so I can talk to her. Footsteps from the hall pull my
attention. With anxious butterflies, I glance up and see a disheveled
Jax
.

His
face wears worry. Despite my anger, I remember him from the wedding in my new
memory. I have new feelings for him. He raised me, and as much as I hate it,
the way I treated him wasn’t fair. He’s silent as he sits beside me on the cot.
His warm hand covers mine, and I study his face as he only inspects the
linoleum floor.

I
don’t want to fight him because I don’t want to deal with the consequences of
making my life harder than it already is. “Sorry,” I whisper and bite my lip.

“Where’d
you go?” he asks, his eyes blink quickly and when his eyes lock with mine, they
dart away again quickly. It is as if merely being with me is hard. His eyes are
filled with hurt I put there, and I’m sorry, for everything.

“Just
out. Needed to think.”

He
shifts, rests his elbows on his legs and leans forward. “Did you use the
computer at the library?”

The
doctors must have told him everything. “Yeah.” I play with the hem of my shirt
and I’m awash with guilt.

Jax
sighs. “I’m sorry you found out that way. I
knew we should’ve told you about the parole hearing. Your mom…”He trails off,
appearing to choose his words carefully. “We didn’t want to upset you. Clearly,
it worked.”

His
smile is contagious, and when I return it, he slides closer. He wraps his arm
around my shoulders, trying to comfort me. I close my eyes, my insides
screaming for him to lay off, but I steady the impulse.

He
kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry, princess, real sorry. I know you want to wish
it away.”

That
and a lot more. “Where’s Mom?”

“She
had a late meeting and was stuck in traffic. She’ll meet us at home.” He plays
with my hair as if he’s done so a million times, and I get a flash of his face
as he tucks me into bed. My chubby arms hug his neck, and I utter, “I love you,
Daddy.”

Daddy.

A
realization hits me. “Mom works a lot.” That I didn’t expect. I had thought
we’d be together.

“Just
for this stretch. In a few weeks we have that vacation to the Bahamas. I know a
trip with the parents isn’t the trendiest thing in the world…”

I’ll
have time to spend with Mom, if my brain isn’t mush by then. “No, it sounds
good. Can’t wait.”

Jax
winks and his face lights up. “I know lately
we’ve had our problems, but I love you,
Lar
. You have
to know that.”

 
“I do. Of course.” I wish I knew what he was
talking about.

 
“Let’s bring you home. If we hurry you can say
goodnight to the twins.”

 
We leave, and his arm guides me toward the
family car. Cushioned inside, I watch the scenery fly by and the lights cast
their glow across the windows. My phone rings. Donovan. I send it to voice
mail.

“You
can change the radio station if you want,”
Jax
says.

“No.
I’m okay,” I say flatly.

He
raises his eyebrows.

What
else could be different about me? Am I a disrespectful, spoiled kid? Do I take
everything for granted now because I have the mom and dad I always wanted,
while my real dad rots in prison? I take a deep breath and straighten up as we
approach the house. I don’t know if he can have visitors, but I have to find
out. I need to see him.

The lights are dim and the house is quiet when
I enter. The twins are probably sleeping by now. I smell potatoes and lemon
lingering in the air, and the clink of silverware welcomes me as I step into
the kitchen.

There she is.

 
She’s
bent over the dishwasher, loading up the evening dishes. Her brown curls are
covering her face, and my voice croaks, “Mom?”

She straightens up. Worry and relief fight for
a place on her face. My lip trembles, and I rush to her side. Her arms open to
accept me, and I crumble against her. I take a deep breath and remember her
vanilla scent. She grips me hard, and I do the same, my chest heaving with
sobs.

“Oh, baby,” she whispers, stroking my hair.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t call you back today. The meetings and the schedules are
crazy right now.”

I nod, squeeze my eyes shut, and content myself
with resting my face in her hair. It tickles my nose, but I don’t care.

She takes me by the shoulders to look at me.
Her face is broken with sorrow, and she wipes the tears from my cheeks. “It’s
harder on you than anyone. If I could make it all go away, I would, Lara.”

“I’m glad … that I’m home.”

“Me too.” Mom smiles and points to the bar
stool. “Sit and keep me company for a minute.”

She opens the fridge and gets out two bottles
of apple juice, handing me one. “When Dad called and told me how you stormed
out of the house …” She stops to take a drink. “I was angrier than I’ve been in
a long time, Lara. But when the call came that you were taken to the hospital
…” Her face grows pale. “I haven’t been that scared since the day in the
alley.”

I fumble with the lid to my juice. “I didn’t
mean to pass out or be so…mean.”

“I know to have John in jail is hard on you,
but
Jax
loves you too. He’s been here for you. For
us. And I know you’re a teenager, which means your emotions are all over the
map. One day you hate us, the next you love us.” Mom takes a deep, shaking
breath. “I need you to be respectful, okay? It’s not easy for him to love you
so much and have you slap him in the face.”

Have I done this before?
 
“I apologized.”

 
“Good.”
Seeming relieved, she pulls my hair away from my forehead and kisses me. It’s
so good to be with her. It’s as if I’m basking in the warmth of the sun.
"Now head to bed. School day tomorrow.”

I want to stay and stare at her, but I agree.
From the door I say, “Love you, Mom.”

For a moment, her mouth hangs open. “I love you
too, peanut.”
 

As I leave the kitchen I see
Jax
in the living room going over some papers.

“Good night,” I tell him.

“Good night, honey.” I feel his eyes follow me
as I head up the stairs.

Once I’m in my room I change into some pajamas
and then analyze my situation. I need to know as much about myself as possible
before tomorrow. I notice trophies lining my closet for softball and bowling.
Bowling? My nose scrunches. Who does that? My bookcases are lined with romance
novels and mysteries. At least that hasn’t changed.

Under my bed I find the treasure chest I’ve
been searching for—a photo album. Flipping through the pages I find family
photos of me, the twins,
Jax
. The ones of Mom make me
smile. I’m playfully posing in dresses, decked out to the nines as if I were
some socialite on a mission to rid the world of any color that isn’t pastel.

But my face is rosy and alive with smiles. I
look happy. Real happy.

A lot of the photos are of me with
Jax
and Mom. I’m placing kisses on his cheeks and helping
him blow out the candles on his birthday cake. We are all in fancy outfits, and
the backdrop appears to be somewhere tropical or on a boat. I squeeze my eyes
shut, and my mind floats back to Dad’s, my real dad's, last birthday.

The apartment is so small the kitchen table is
butted up against the sofa, and our dog is whining underneath my legs. Dad is
tall, strong, and macho, but he’s wearing a yellow party hat and a goofy smile.
He shakes the wrapped package. “It’s not a bomb. Or LEGO.”

“Not LEGO.” I grin. I’m wearing a comfortable
old sweatshirt and no makeup, but I’m smiling. Dad says it’s the only makeup I
need.

He pulls open the package to reveal some steam
engine trains for his model railway. He’s been building it for years because he
never has any free time or money to spend on it. His eyes go misty in the way
only
allergies
can be blamed for.
“Lara, this is awesome! Thanks, girl.”

I reach across the table, and we hug. In front
of us are our finished bowls of macaroni and cheese and a small cake, the
flames on the candles dancing in celebration.

“Make a wish,” I say and wonder what he’s
wishing for. I wish for the same thing every year.

He smiles before he blows them out. I clap my
hands before he breaks out the forks and plates. Dessert is served.

“What’d you wish for?” I lick the last of the
ice cream from my spoon.

“To spend more time with you.” He winks and
strokes my hand. When he stands up, the chair squeaks across the floor.

Pouting, I watch him pull on his janitor’s
jacket. Dinner break is over fast this time. “Dad—”

He kisses the top of my head. “It was a great
birthday dinner, Lara. We’ll talk in the morning before school, okay?”

I force a smile. “Happy birthday.”

The sadness in his eyes makes him appear older
than he did a few minutes ago. When the door shuts behind him, the apartment
echoes with a hollow boom, leaving me cold. Sparky whines and rubs against my
leg. I lean down to stroke his fur.

“I’m
gonna
fix this.
I’m going to fix this for all of us.”

I take the plates over to the garbage to scrape
clean and find a card Dad has thrown out without opening. Like he does every
year. On the envelope is a fancy return address label with a swirling
J
on the corner. I consider opening it
to see who it’s from. Instead, I respect his privacy and dump our cake on top
and move on.

Back in the present, I now wish I had opened
the card. I slam the photo album shut, and my cell phone rings. I fish it out
of my purse. It’s not Donovan, luckily, but Kristine. She was one of my closest
friends, and I’m glad some things haven’t changed.

“Are you all right?” Her voice is rushed.

“I’m okay,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I
can muster. “I just got home. I’m tired. News travels fast, I guess.”

“It does when it lands you in the hospital, Lara!
Musta
been traumatic. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Sure as I’m going to be. I’m headed to
bed.
 
I’ll tell you all about it,
tomorrow.”

“And any cute doctors you saw, right?” Her
voice chirps into a contagious giggle, and I can’t help but join her. “Maybe
you could call Don to tell him goodnight? He’s really worried. He knows you’re
ducking his calls.”

I cringe. “Sorry. I … don’t feel up to it right
now. Maybe … you could for me?”

“What?” You would think I had asked her to
change a tire. “You
must
want to talk
to him.”

“I really don’t.” I squeeze my eyes and hope
she won’t make a big stink about it.

“Okay, okay. But you better tell me tomorrow
what’s going on with you two. Especially if it’s juicy.”

Smirking, I close my phone and glance down at
the photo album one last time before sliding it under my bed. It bangs into
something.

Curious,
I strain my arm under the bed until my fingertips swipe at a hard object. I can
barely reach it with my fingertips. If I stretch any further, I fear I will
dislocate my arm, but I extend anyway and finally manage to yank it out. It’s a
small brown chest with a gold belt around the center, but it’s not locked. The
lid swings back, and I see a small book inside. A diary.

In a flurry, I take it out and flip through the
pages. It’s my handwriting, all right. I turn to the last used page. Only two
days ago.

I bought the
dress I want for the prom. Dad took me and we had a great time. He even sprang
for lunch. It was nice, just being the two of us again. I love having a sister
and brother, but I miss when it was just us. Just the two of us.

Mom’s always
at work and I’m used to it. I know her work is important or whatever. She can
do what she wants. When she’s home everyone is clamoring for her attention and
I blend in with the
friggin
wallpaper. Maybe she
regrets me. Maybe I’m a reminder of her ‘big mistake’ with John Crane.

 
Donovan gave me the prettiest necklace. I
didn’t realize how he felt about me until I opened that little box. I love him
too, and I can’t wait until prom when we'll really be alone.

But I can
barely concentrate. The men following me are getting closer and the plan is
shaping up. I hope they don’t suspect what I’m up to. I pray