“What do you mean, ‘right’?”
She scooped ice into a glass. “You aren’t old enough to drink.”
“I most certainly am.” Indignant was the perfect word to describe how I felt. Not one I’d use in everyday conversation, but still perfect. “I got in, didn’t I?”
“Where’s your stamp?” Opening a new bottle of grenadine, she poured some in the bottom of the glass, added two cherries, and topped it off with Coke.
“Stamp?”
She grinned wider. “Stay out of trouble, sugar. Come look me up when you’re legal.” She slid the cherry Coke across the counter and winked. “On the house.”
The guy beside me showed her a stamp on his hand and ordered a beer. I cussed. I’d missed that part. At least I hadn’t paid a cover.
I turned around to scan the crowd, cherry Coke in hand, and immediately spilled it all over my right shin and shoe.
Jack. Standing by the front door.
I shoved the glass into an empty hand and pushed my way through the crowded dance floor to the entrance.
Gone.
Stepping outside, I cringed when the cold wind hit the Coke on my pants. Maybe it hadn’t been Jack. Maybe my anger was playing tricks. Maybe I needed to find a bar that would serve me.
I blew into my hands to keep my fingers warm, and saw a green trolley speeding up instead of stopping as it approached Beale Street Landing.
The crowd was too thick for the trolley to be going so fast. One drunk stumble in the wrong direction and a person could meet a bloody end.
Then everything flipped to slow motion, too heavy and too thick.
The rip blended, just like the one Lily and I had experienced the day before. The dark made it harder to see specific features, but when a newsboy passed by, hawking the Memphis Daily, and then passed through a group of Elvis impersonators, I knew time was shifting again.
I rubbed my eyes with my fists and looked around for someone to touch.
A little girl wearing a white dress. She had two long pigtails, and she was skipping. Completely out of place. I reached out to touch her at the same time she dropped a penny. She chased it into the street.
The brakes of the trolley squealed, and the smell of smoke filled the air, along with a mother’s anguished cry. “No! Mary!”
What if I was wrong, and the little girl was real, not a rip? I was close enough to catch her. Without another second of thought, I ran, desperate to stop her before the unthinkable happened and the trolley mowed her down. If I was fast enough, I could knock her out of the way and roll us both to safety.
I ran.
I leapt.
I grabbed.
She dissolved.
So did the trolley.
Chapter 29
“Can you tell us again what happened?”
“I don’t know what I saw. There was a little girl—she was there and then she was gone. Her mother called her Mary.”
She was a rip. No good way to explain that.
“The Orpheum has a few ghosts, but Mary is the most famous. Maybe you have the Sight.” The policeman had a round edge to his voice. Definitely a local. “You were here earlier, with the Turner case? After what you’ve been through today, I’m surprised that’s all you saw.”
I focused on the scratched vinyl floor, unwilling to make eye contact. The cop walked away.
All the activity in the station faded into the background when I heard his voice.
“The subconscious is a tricky thing.”
He sat two feet away from me. Weapons were everywhere, along with enough cops around to take down an elephant if it picked up the wrong peanut. I couldn’t touch him. Too many witnesses.
“Jack,” I said under my breath.
He smiled.
My fingers gripped the edge of the bench seat. I wanted them wrapped around his neck. “Why are you in Memphis?”
“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to … no, wait, I wouldn’t. I could erase your memory.”
“Convenient.”
“I won’t, though, because I want you to think about what you saw tonight.” Jack leaned over as if we were sharing a secret. “Mary meeting her death in front of a trolley car. Because that’s what really happened way back when. No one sacrificed himself to save her, and she ended up as a bloody puddle in the middle of Beale.”
Rage burned like flames behind my eyes.
“You tried to change Mary’s path,” Jack said. “You saw a tragedy about to occur, and you stepped in front of it to spare the life of an innocent.”
My arms began to shake.
“We’re more alike than you think, Kaleb.”
“No, we aren’t.” I bit off the ends of the words. “I didn’t set up an elaborate plan to change that little girl’s life. I didn’t stalk her, or let her parents die.”
“Emerson’s parents were going to die either way. I had to let them. Stepping in and changing a time line causes problems just like the ones we’re having now—problems Emerson caused by saving Michael. Rips everywhere, trying to break through the fabric of time.”
“Don’t blame Em for all of this.” I paused and made a conscious effort to lower my voice. A young girl with dark brown hair and a black eye seemed to be listening to every word I said. “You traveled when you weren’t supposed to. You and Cat did just as much or more to damage the continuum.”
“Try to tell me you’d choose otherwise.” His voice was oily. “Tell me you don’t want Emerson in your life. That you want your father to be dead.”
I clenched my teeth.
“You can’t. That’s what I need you to understand, to embrace. Let me tell you a story.”
“I’m not interested.”
“I think you want to hear this.” Jack looked down at his fingernails. “I understand you. Liam always choosing Michael over you. How you always fall short in meeting your father’s expectations. I can empathize.”
My jaw grew tighter. I didn’t want a sociopath to tap into my feelings, and I hated the fact that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t tap into his. All I got was a steady hum of self-satisfaction, and that’s because Jack wanted me to feel that emotion. Too pure to be real.
“I had a brother who got the same kind of attention Michael does. A blood brother. In our father’s eyes, he could do no wrong. Beyond that, he was a hero. I tried to be like him, tried to emulate him, but Father didn’t see me. He was blind.”
The information Dune found about Jack hadn’t included any mention of a father or a brother. Was Jack making this up to try to elicit sympathy from me, or was this really part of his past?
Jack continued, “I did things to make my father look at me. At first, it was good grades, excelling in sports. When that didn’t work, I tried other, less pleasant things. A bottle can be an attention getter and a friend. As you know.”
I was going to choke him right in the middle of the police station.
“But my father seemed perfectly willing to let me go my own way. I gave it one final wholehearted attempt, sure I’d discovered the solution to making him care.” Jack scoffed. “But all that resulted in was one dead brother and one discarded son.”
“You were disowned. That’s the thing in the past you want to change.” I finally understood. “When you figured out how to travel, why didn’t you just change it yourself? Why did you have to involve Em?”