Fall (Roam Series, Book Two) (5 page)

I felt him fumble with my coat. He quickly pulled the zipper up to my chin.

“You’ve got a lot going on up here,” he tapped his finger against my temple lightly, his dark eyes searching mine. “I do, too. Let’s keep it simple for a while.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“I’ll come over tomorrow and we’ll talk about the fountain. No matter what, we can’t miss dinner with my parents on Thursday. I made a promise.”

“I’ll be here,” I agreed. He nodded once, pressing his lips to my forehead quickly.

“Good… and Roam,” he held his car door open for me. “West isn’t here right now. The West that we left in 1977 didn’t sit around, waiting for thirty years for 2012
again
because- he’s not
here right now
. That means we find him. Did you ever think about that?”

I tried to wrap my mind around the time paradox that Logan explained, but the same answer always took over any logical reasoning that I could use to comfort myself. “
West’s not mortal. We are. We don’t know anything. We don’t know that the same science is true for an immortal.”

He dropped me off close to nine-thirty. Morgan and
my dad flanked either side of the couch in the living room, tapping their toes animatedly as I walked in the front door. Morgan bounced to her feet quickly, hands on her hips. “I have been calling. And calling. And texting. I am so disappointed in you right now and…,”

“Morgan.” My father held his flat palm up in the air. “Cool it.”

“I told you I was going to Logan’s. We talked for a while, ate dinner, and here I am, safe and sound.”

“Morgan, go to bed
. I need to speak to your sister.”

“Dad…,”

“Go.”

She stalked up the stairs, her eyes flashing me the middle finger with every step. I scowled at her.

“I’m fine, Dad. I needed to talk to Logan about things and…,”

“Stop there.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the lamplight highlighting
his increasingly graying hair. “Here’s what you need. Rest, nutrition, and safety. Right? Right,” he ordered. I nodded, focusing on my wet boots.

“Yes.”

“Here’s what I need; communication, consideration, and respect. Did I have any of those three things tonight?”

I shook my head, guilt noshing at the pit of my stomach.

“Okay, then. I’ll tell your sister to lay off. Don’t forget what we talked about, Roam.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. I love you.”

“Love you too, honey.”

I returned his hug
before escaping to my bedroom. As I dropped to my bed, I thought of Morgan. She had never elaborated on her relationship with Reed (or Troy) but I guessed that she’d gotten intimate with him. I remembered West’s words to me after Troy drowned me.

I will make sure you never fight alone again.

His smooth baritone voice, even in my memory, was comforting. I thought about Logan’s words about time continuity. My desk, still piled with unfinished college applications to the Ivy League schools of my former dreams, sat too close to West’s carry-on. I moved the bag quickly and sat down, grabbing a piece of notebook paper and a pencil.

Drawing two lines, I labeled one 1977-2012. The second line broke off at 1977, suggesting that by traveling through the Peterhof Fountain, we had created a new timeline. If we then traveled through the fountain in Cleveland to… wherever it took us, would yet another timeline be created?
What would then happen to the original one? Or the second?

I don’t believe there is a way to time travel. But- I do believe you carry some type of knowledge specific to the prophecy- that you may not even know about yourself- and this knowledge will allow us to move through the past. To give us another chance.

Sighing in frustration, I sat back in the chair. West was right- we were not time travelers. We
became
the people that we were in another life, in a past life, so then the idea of a time paradox was negated.
But what happened to Julie? Why did she- I- cease to exist?

History, not science, was my passion. I threw the pencil at the desk and headed for the bathroom. Lately, I barely made it an hour before having to go again.
What to Expect When You’re Expecting
was thoroughly read and bookmarked in several areas on my dresser. I remembered that as I moved into my second trimester, the urge to go to the bathroom every five seconds would finally go away, only to be replaced by other fun and exciting symptoms. The first few weeks were spent over the toilet bowl, but eventually the nausea and vomiting episodes became less frequent.

I was exhausted by the time I crawled into bed. Mentally preparing for where the fountain in Cleveland might take us (if it would take us anywhere), I
thought of Russia and Logan’s ‘recon’ trip before West and I arrived. West, knowing we were going to 1977, prepared cash and forged identification for the three of us.
Should Logan and I travel once first, to determine where we are? And then prepare?
I thought of the many times and lives we’d spent together as I fell asleep.

I am cold. There is ice everywhere as I look out the stone window. I shiver, looking around frantically. I am dreaming.
Why am I dreaming? I am not supposed to dream when I’m pregnant!
I am running through brightly lit, stone passage ways of some kind of castle. The castle is glowing with ornate chandeliers that seem to be dripping with icicles. I stop, staring intently at one of the chandeliers.
What- some kind of light bulb?
Incandescent light was not heard of until the nineteenth century.
Why am I in a castle?

“There she is,” I hear a voice, clearly laughing, and I turn. Troy, his fine attire not distinguishable by any time period
that I am familiar with, approaches. He wears deep, indigo blue- a color that I know is reserved for royalty during most time periods.
Is this 1533? There is
no
way Troy spent a lifetime masquerading as King Henry the VIII.

“Your father calls,” he says, reaching for me. I am frozen, flinching as his hands touch my bare arms. I look down; I am wearing a matching gown in the same color blue, a dress that appears to have
come right out of a fairy tale- empire-waist, velvet-type material, intricately beaded with... ice? Confused, I lift a foot slightly- boots lined with white fur…
blue Uggs?

Seriously?

“My- father?” I ask, my voice clearly sounding like my own- in 2012.

“You are beautiful today,” he says tenderly, reaching for my face. I widen my eyes and try to step back, but he holds me firmly, smiling. “Coy.”

“Troy,” I murmur, shaking my head, confused. Everything that I know about history tells me that this time fits none of the years that West gave me.
Where am I?

“
Roam,” he murmurs, pulling me against him. His ice-blue eyes are devouring me, and I am sickened. “I cannot wait until we are married,” he says, and then lowers his lips to mine.

I jumped, my face pressed to my pillow.
What in the world was that?
I turned and stared at the ceiling in my bedroom.
Icicle lights? Blue boots? Light bulbs- in a medieval castle?
Rolling my eyes, I sat up. At least Troy wasn’t killing me for a change.

Music suddenly
poured through the floor from downstairs. I grinned, reaching for my robe. Bing Crosby’s
White Christmas
warmed the icy thoughts of my strange dream. Sure enough, Morgan was at my bedroom door in seconds.

Without opening the door all the way, a singular, green, artificial tree branch peeked into my bedroom. “Roam! I need you to unflatten me! I lived in the attic all summer and
my branch friends are flat! Hellllllp meeeeee!”

“You’re such a dork,”
I giggled at her high-pitched whine. She pushed the rest of the door open and smiled, waving the branch in the air. “Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Just because you’re all moody and rebellious, don’t think you’re getting out of our family traditions. Tree and baking today, shopping Friday. No complaints.”

“Let me pee, I’ll be right down,” I agreed, standing. “Morgan, I’m sorry about last night…,”

“Shush. Brush your stanky teeth.”

“I don’t have stanky-
stinky
teeth!”

“This artificial tree branch just died from the smell emanating from your mouth.”

“Ooh, emanating, big word.”

“See ya downstairs, stinky,” she teased. I ro
lled my eyes again, thankful not to be at odds with Morgan. I needed her support, especially now.

We spent the day assembling the Camden Family Christmas Tree, now in its
seventeenth year and looking very much like the Charlie Brown Tree. The only year the tree had remained in the attic was the year my mother had died. Christmas had been two weeks after the funeral, and my father had spent all of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in a drunken haze. Santa Claus had made it to Poplar Street for the ten-and-twelve-year-old Camden sisters with the help of the Rush and May families, as well as several other neighbors.

My dad told us that he’d never forgive himself, though Morgan and I
assured him that there was nothing to forgive.

The smell of pumpkin rolls had me making up reasons to walk through the kitchen. Morgan’s pumpkin rolls were her specialty, and she was sure to make enough for
the Rush’s and the May’s. “Hey, do you care if Jason stops over to pick up the rolls?”

I grinned, reaching for a branch near the top of the tree
. The bumblebee ornament in my hand read
Spelling Bee Champ 2001
. “
Just
for some pumpkin roll, huh?” I asked.

“That’s
it
. He knows I’m emotionally unavailable after being ditched by Reed.”

I stiffened. “Did you and Reed ever get… close?”

She pretended to be involved in her phone. “Yep.”

“And he just…left? And never contacted you again?”

“Hey, you want to go grab the salt from the kitchen while I stab myself in the heart?”

“I’m sorry…,” I looked down, trying to ignore the protective shell of sarcasm that Morgan created
around herself.

“No… I am. I over-reacted.” She sighed, finishing her text. “He just seemed too good to be true. But I always felt like he was lying to me about something. I guess I’ll never know.”

I nodded, reaching for another high branch.
Maybe that he has been alive for centuries, hunting your sister down and killing her?
“Sorry. Don’t think about it,” I advised.

She crossed the room to me, her light brown eyes shadowy. “That’s your solution for everything, Roam. ‘Don’t think about it.’ But then, the problem with that is, when you do- think about
it
, or whatever’s bothering you- then you break down. Or in your case, pass out.”

I stared at her. Searching for a smart retort, I finally gave up.
She’s absolutely right.
“Well…,”

I lowered my eyes, watching the ornament in my hands slip between my fingers to the ground.
The stinging sensation started in the tips of my left fingers, needles growing to daggers by the time they stabbed their way up to my inner, left forearm. I gasped, dropping to my knees on the carpet, biting the inside of my cheek until I could taste blood.

“Oh God! What’s wrong?” Morgan was at my side in seconds. “Roam, what? Is it the baby? What’s wrong?”

“
Stop
,” the change was so unexpected; I had little time to control myself. Finally, as the numbers on my arm began to reappear, I screamed, holding my arm underneath my white robe.

“What the…,”

“Don’t…,”

“
What’s wrong with your arm…?”

“
Logan
,” I managed, my teeth clenched. I stood too quickly, the blood draining from my head and leaving me unsteady on my feet. I held my palms face-down at my sides to get my bearings.

“What in the hell just
happened
?”

I stared at my sister,
watching her concerned gaze sweep over me. “I’m fine. I have to go lay down,” I whispered brokenly.

She stared at me, speechless. Finally, she pursed her lips, nodding. “Okay, then. When you need me, call me.”

Logan was calling me before I
made it to my bedroom.

“
Logan!”

“I should have warned you, I know…,”

“Yeah, the numbers, forget about them? They just reappeared right in front of Morgan,” I hissed, shoving a leg into a pair of jeans. “Thank God I was wearing my robe.”

“Camden- it
is
1955. I came out in some other fountain in the middle of Cleveland,
1955
. I just went to look for that fountain that I came out of now, in 2012, but all that’s left is this long strip of grass in the Mall…,”