I'll Stop the World, page 34
She didn’t notice when she stopped moving.
She didn’t notice when her cheek came to rest against the carpet.
It’s okay, baby. Everything’s going to be just fine.
She didn’t notice when she stopped breathing.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
JUSTIN
No wonder Karl is so afraid of these kids.
Winded, I can’t do much more than curl into a ball and cover my head with my hands as they drive their sneakered feet into every part of me they can reach. I don’t feel the tree branch again, but that’s not much comfort when their shoes are smashing like hammers. My back, my ribs, my arms, everything screams for this to stop, stop, stop. But when I open my mouth to form the word, nothing comes out but a wet wheeze. My chest burns from the effort, and I picture my bones rattling around like nails in a jar, ripping and bruising from the inside out.
The boys’ shouts mash together into a cacophonous jumble that births a high-pitched ringing in my ears. It grows steadily louder with each impact, piercing through the pain like rending metal.
Then, abruptly, it stops. The boys are talking, but my brain is too busy cataloging the damage to my body to make sense of what they’re saying.
Move, my body begs me, and I try to obey, but none of my appendages appear to be feeling particularly compliant at the moment. My skin feels like it’s filled with congealed oatmeal that is also on fire, thick and gloopy and burning white hot. I attempt to crawl away, but only manage to flop from one crumpled pose into another, like a fish drowning on dry land.
You’d think that in all his attempts to prepare me for my predestined trip to 1985, Stan might have signed me up for a self-defense class or two. Or at least some cardio. Too focused on his murder board, I guess.
I wait for the onslaught to start again, making bets with myself on where the first blows will land, trying to position myself so that the most painful areas aren’t presented as obvious targets.
But the attack doesn’t come. Instead, the boys take off running, leaving me bruised and bloody on the ground like roadkill.
It takes more energy than it should to roll onto my back, and the uneven pavement pushes against my tender skin like eager fingers, every point of contact sending a fresh wave of pain shooting through me. Staring up at the gray sky, I work to slow my breathing and take stock of my injuries. Dark clouds are beginning to pile up, painted deep shades of red and orange by the setting sun, harbingers of the storms that will help keep the fire from devouring the entire school, but will arrive too late to save Bill and Veronica.
I’m their only hope.
Which means—somehow—I have to move.
Everything hurts, but nothing seems broken. I can feel bruises beginning to blossom all along my left side, my back, my legs. My knee feels hot and damp; the gash from yesterday must have reopened. Moving gingerly, I push myself into a sitting position, then close my eyes and wait for the world to stop spinning.
“Hey, man, are you okay?”
I blink a few times before the floating images of the person walking toward me solidify into one. The man is tall and lanky, with deep-brown skin, short black hair, and a thin pencil line of a mustache. His face seems familiar, but my brain refuses to give me any more context that might help with an ID. He stops when he reaches me and sets his paper bag of groceries down on the ground, extending a hand.
“Yeah, I think so,” I say, grimacing as I reach up. He pulls me to my feet, where I teeter uncertainly for a few moments before regaining my balance.
“What happened?”
I shake my head, not in the mood to explain how I got waylaid by a trio of sadistic middle schoolers. “Just wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I’ll say.” He frowns, his eyes scanning over me. “You should put some ice on that,” he says, gesturing toward my face.
I touch my hand to my cheek and wince. Already, I can feel the side of my face puffing up, and although I can’t see myself, I imagine the bruise will take the general shape of one of Robbie’s sneakers.
But I don’t have time to worry about myself right now. “I’m good,” I lie, and force a smile—ow—turning away to limp toward the school. None of my injuries will matter if I can get there in time.
I haven’t made it more than five steps before my bad knee—the one branded with Stan’s scar—buckles underneath me, sending me sprawling. “Goddammit,” I growl as loose gravel claws its way into my palms.
His hand comes under my arm, helping me back up again. “Look, kid, why don’t you let me give you a ride home? Or to the hospital? My car is right across the street.” He points to the row of squat duplexes behind the Food Mart. “It’s really no problem.”
I shake my head, and immediately regret it. It feels like the inside of my skull is lined in barbed wire, and every little movement sends my brain sloshing up against it. “Thanks, but I’ve got something I need to do.”
“Okay,” he says, looking doubtful. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m in unit one-oh-three. Just come knock; I should be home all night.”
“Thanks,” I say again. Gingerly, I try putting weight on my bad knee. It hurts, but it holds.
“My name’s Michael, by the way,” he says.
Suddenly, it clicks why he looks familiar.
Michael McMillain, the man who will spend the next three decades in prison for starting the fire that kills my grandparents. I’ve seen his face countless times before, in a black-and-white mug shot on Stan’s murder board.
No wonder he was always so convinced that Michael was innocent.
Stan was his alibi.
For a second, I just stare at him, blinking dumbly as the gravity of what’s about to happen falls on me like a sledgehammer. But there’s nothing I can do to warn him, at least not without sounding completely insane. He’ll never listen to me, some random stranger who just got beaten up outside the supermarket. The only way to save him is to save Bill and Veronica.
I stumble away from McMillain, my mind numb to the protests of my body. If I can just get to the school in time, I tell myself, it’ll be okay. I can save him from his unjust fate. I can save them from their awful deaths. Maybe I can even save myself.
My injuries keep me from moving quickly, but I stubbornly press on. Already, I think I can smell faint traces of smoke, although it could be my mind playing tricks on me. I don’t have a watch to know what time it is, but it feels like it has to be nearly six, maybe later. Am I already too late?
I come out from behind the Food Mart and make my way down the sidewalk, toward the school. I wish I could move faster, but my body is refusing to cooperate, sending signals of protest through me with every step.
“Justin?”
I look up from the ground, where my attention has been focused on dragging one foot in front of the other, to see Noah illuminated by the glow of the streetlights, peering at me from the other side of the street. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and a tie, and a VOTE FOR DIANE pin. I wonder why he’s here and not at the debate. I raise a hand in greeting. “Hey, Noah.”
He jogs across the street toward me, his eyes widening when he gets close enough to appreciate the extent of my injuries. “Whoa.”
“It’s fine.”
“You look like you got hit by a truck.”
“It’s really not that bad.”
He shakes his head, frowning, but doesn’t challenge me, probably because he doesn’t care. “Have you seen Rose?”
“Isn’t she at the debate?”
He shakes his head, hands in his pockets. “We were supposed to meet up at her house, but she wasn’t there. I waited as long as I could, but then I thought maybe we were actually supposed to meet at the debate. I was just headed there now.”
Something feels wrong about this. It’s not like Rose to blow off plans. Maybe with me, since she hates me now, but not with perfect Noah.
“Did she say anything else about what she was doing today?”
He stares at me, a funny look on his face, but then shakes his head. “Nope. Just the debate.”
His voice sounds weirdly hostile. Like a challenge.
I don’t have time for this. I’m not sure what Noah’s deal is, but I need to get moving again if I have a chance at making it in time. Whatever Rose and Noah were doing today that he’s not telling me about, that’s their business. She told me she was done with me, after all.
“Well, I hope you find her,” I say, turning away from him to continue toward the school.
Noah lets out an irritated grunt, but doesn’t push it any further. When I glance back, he’s walking in the opposite direction, toward town.
I try to put Rose out of my head and focus on the task at hand, but my mind churns with each step I take, echoing with a chorus of insistent voices.
Noah: She wasn’t there.
Why would Rose not be home when she said she would be? I’ve only known her for a week, but already I’m sure she’s not the type to blow off plans with someone she cares about. She may have completely written me off, but I know she thinks Noah pisses rainbows.
Stan: I was too late.
Have I already missed the fire? He knew that by the time I got to this point, I’d know we’re the same person. He knew I’d try anyway, even knowing he failed. He wanted me to know he didn’t make it in time. That’s why I’m hurrying now. But is that what I’m supposed to be doing? Or am I making the same wrong choices, all over again?
Rose: There’s meaning in everything.
That’s why I’m still in this armpit of a town, dragging my bruised ribs one agonizing step at a time toward a fire I have no chance of stopping, isn’t it, Rose? Because despite everything, you’ve gotten under my skin with your infuriating insistence that this all has to mean something. Even if all the evidence so far points to the contrary.
Rose: These next twenty-four hours are a big question mark.
Except they’re not. I know what happens. I’ve always known what happens, Rose. Fire, death, sadness. Wandering aimlessly for the next four decades. Rinse, repeat, second verse, same as the first. You’re the one who wouldn’t accept it, but I always have.
Noah: She wasn’t there.
See, not even perfect Rose is reliable all the time. Tonight is your stepmom’s debate, and where are you? Nowhere to be found.
Rose: You can still do things differently.
I can’t, though. I tried for a week to make the very best decisions I could, believe in things I don’t even believe, and still found myself in a well-worn Stan-shaped rut. There’s no getting out of it. I was stupid to ever think there was.
Stan: I was too late.
So what am I even doing right now? Dragging myself toward a burning building to save two people I barely know from a death they can’t avoid? I know I won’t get there in time. Stan told me I won’t. And even if I do, I have no guarantee that saving them will get me back home. That was always your thing, Rose, not mine. And even you bailed on me in the end, and apparently you’ve bailed on Noah, too, so why am I still working off your stupid theory?
Rose: So the question is, what are you going to do now?
Is there anything even left for me to do, Rose? I already tried everything I could think of. I believed in you, and you abandoned me. And then you abandoned Noah, which isn’t like you. Where are you?
Where are you, Rose?
Stan: Did you see the news? About the body. In the river.
Alyssa: Do you think it was someone he knew?
Rose: We need to figure out why you’re here.
I stop in my tracks, my breath hitching in my throat. “Oh shit.”
Not here—1985.
There’s meaning in everything.
Here, on the bridge.
I didn’t just show up in 1985. I showed up in 1985 on the bridge.
With Rose.
There’s meaning in everything.
What are you going to do now?
I spin around, my voice bursting through the stillness of the evening. “Noah, wait!”
Chapter Seventy
ROSE
Lisa tossed her a little wave as she climbed into the passenger side of Charlene’s car. Rose smiled, waving back. She dropped her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes for a moment as she listened to the engine of Charlene’s car rumble awake. When she opened them, the car was shrinking as it wound away from her, back down the Derrins’ long driveway.
Rose turned her own key in the ignition, listening to the Escort reluctantly cough to life. She felt a million pounds lighter after talking to Lisa. It had been hard, and their eyes were both puffy from crying, but she finally felt like she had her sister back. She hoped Lisa felt the same way.
The clock on the dashboard told her it was 5:52. She’d be a couple of minutes late meeting Noah at her house, but they’d still make it to the school well before 6:30.
She wondered what Justin was doing. Had he really given up, or would he still try to save them?
She supposed she’d find out soon enough.
Rose steered the car down the long drive and onto the road back toward town as the engine hiccupped and stuttered. Her dad was right; it did sound like the irregularities were getting a little more frequent. It was a good thing he’d made an appointment with the mechanic.
Her mind turned to the night ahead, running over her plan yet again. After all the scheming and speculating she had done with Justin, it almost felt too simple. She and Noah would meet at her house first. Then they’d drive over to the school to intercept Bill and Veronica, who—if Justin’s story turned out to be true—would be running late for the debate because they’d stopped by Bill’s office.
Justin said the fire started around six thirty. So as long as they got there before then, they could stop the guidance counselor and his wife from going inside and make it back to the debate before the first question was asked. It would be like nothing ever happened.
Unless of course Veronica was at the debate already and Justin’s story was completely wrong. That’s what Noah was sure would happen. They’d go to the school, and no one would be there. Then they’d walk into the debate and Veronica would already be by Diane’s side, and everything would be fine. The school wouldn’t catch fire. No one would die or travel through time. Because Justin wasn’t from the future; he was just crazy.
Part of Rose hoped he was right. That would certainly be the easier path.
But she couldn’t shake her sense that Justin had been telling the truth all along. He was annoying and stubborn and immensely frustrating, but he wasn’t a liar. Something in her was sure of it.
She’d told him that she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. That she didn’t care what happened to him.
She guessed that was kind of true.
But that didn’t mean she’d ever stopped believing him.
The car sputtered again as Rose turned toward the water, with the lights of Wilson Bridge just visible through the trees. A second later, the steering wheel began to shake, followed by the rest of the car.
Rose straightened in her seat, her fingers gripping the steering wheel as her dashboard clock blinked an uneven 6:04, taunting her with just how little time she had left. “Please no, please not now, please, please, please,” she chanted over and over as the car bucked and shook like it was experiencing convulsions.
In response, the car coughed one last time, belching up a black cloud of smoke before it died. Rose kept the accelerator pressed to the floor, leaning forward as though she might be able to make it the rest of the way fueled by sheer willpower. She stayed that way until the Escort rolled to a stop.
For a second, Rose just sat there, her hands clenched on the wheel. She tried turning the ignition off and back on, tried pumping the clutch and the gas in turn, tried shifting into every different gear in the hopes that one of them might magically coax the car back to life.
Nothing.
Grumbling under her breath, Rose climbed from the car, slamming the door extra hard, as if that would somehow ensure that the Escort would feel properly guilty for stranding her out here. She looked up and down the roadway, but no cars were coming in either direction. Lisa and Charlene were long gone. And no one else knew she was out here.
Above her, the dark sky began to growl with the promise of an approaching storm.
Justin had said it would be raining. She tried not to think about that.
Just in case, Rose pulled an umbrella out of the trunk. Then she began to walk.
Chapter Seventy-One
KARL
Karl whimpered as the truck rumbled to life. He curled his knees to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut as the vehicle rolled away from the curb and picked up speed. Stinging wind slapped against the tarp over his body, and he pressed himself against the side of the truck bed to try to shield himself as much as possible.
Just stay calm, he told himself. If this truck belonged to one of the students or teachers at the school, they probably lived nearby. All Karl had to do was stay small and quiet until the truck parked, then walk back to town.
Maybe this would actually be a good thing. This way, Robbie would really have no idea where to look for him.
It started to rain, first a gentle spray, then a downpour. The tarp fluttered around him, doing very little to protect him from the pummeling rain. Karl huddled even smaller as he bounced around the back of the truck, his clothing quickly soaked from the water leaking around the edges of the tarp and splashing up from the bed.
How far had they gone? He was starting to worry they were driving too far away, but he wasn’t used to not being able to see anything. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe they hadn’t gone that far after all.
The truck had turned a few times, but never slowed long enough for Karl to try to escape. His heart raced as he ran through worst-case scenarios in his head. What if the driver lived a hundred miles away? What if he got in an accident? What if he was a kidnapper and actually knew Karl was back here, and was taking him into the middle of nowhere to murder him?
