Rewinder

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When she leads me into the metro station, I almost back out.

“You wanted Peruvian, right?” she says. Before I can point out that was her choice, not mine, she continues, “The best place I know is in Hollywood.”

“Hollywood?” This is a name I’ve read quite a bit since I shifted into researching popular culture. Despite my reservations, I’m intrigued. “How far?”

“Just a few stops.”

I relent, and we board the next westbound train.

“You have been to Hollywood before, haven’t you?” she asks after we take seats next to the door in the nearly empty car.

“No.” There’s no Hollywood in New Cardiff.

“So I’m right. You’re not from here. Where, then?”

“Far from here.”

She smirks. “Never heard of that place.”

I shrug, but don’t give her any more.

Neither of us says anything until after the train makes its first stop. When the doors close again, Iffy says, “Okay, so Hollywood’s probably not what you think it is. The one you see on TV or read about is more up here.” She taps her head. “The physical Hollywood is a little rougher around the edges than you tourist types are expecting.”

“I’m not a tourist.”

“You know what I mean. The city’s trying to make it more like what people are hoping to see and they’re getting there, but there’s still a lot of real Hollywood around.” The way she says this makes me think she prefers this real Hollywood. “You’ll see what I mean.”

We get off at the Hollywood/Vine station and surface to a crowded walkway. The main part of the sidewalk is black with red stars set into it, each containing a different name written in gold. Across the street, there are even more people gathered under the wide awning of a building.

“Pantages Theatre,” she tells me. “Newsies this month. You seen it?”

I shake my head.

“Yeah, neither have I. Come on.”

She grabs my hand and pulls me through the throngs of pedestrians in front of a building with a big red W in front. At the corner, she turns left. Here, the sidewalk is less crowded, but it doesn’t seem like she’ll let go of my hand so I do it for her.

She glances at me with those tented eyebrows again and begins to sprint. “Hurry up,” she yells. “It’s only a couple of blocks and I’m starving.”

It feels good to run down the sidewalk, weaving between people, with this strange girl leading me. For a few moments, all thoughts of what I’ve done are pushed miles away and I almost feel happy.

As promised, the restaurant isn’t far. Several of the employees greet Iffy as we walk in and take a table along the wall. She does the ordering and then excuses herself to use the toilet.

Leave, a tiny voice in my head whispers. Get out of here. I try to shove it away, but before I’m able to do so, it says, The last thing you need is to make a connection with anyone here.

This makes me pause. The voice is right. At some point, I’ll be returning to 1775 to fix the mistake I committed, which will then wipe out this world. The only reason I haven’t gone yet is my fascination with this place, but as soon as I finish my research, I’ll make the trip.

That’s what I’ve been telling myself, at least.

Leave her here and go. You’ve already learned all you need to know.

I almost give in to the command, but then I see her walking back across the restaurant. I see her easy smile. I see her intelligent yet guarded eyes. And I don’t move.

The food is as good as she said it would be. We talk as we eat. Well, she does most of the talking, telling me of things I should see while I’m in town, of her classes at college, of the job she recently quit or was fired — I’m still not clear which.

After we finish and I’ve put enough money on the table to cover the bill, she says, “You know, if you need a place to stay, there’s a room at the house I live in. The lady who owns it rents them out. It’s not too far from here.”

The offer catches me off guard. “That’s okay. I, uh, have someplace already.”

“Trust me, the house is a hell of a lot better than that rundown hotel you’ve been crashing in.”

The smile slips from my face and I slowly lean back. “You followed me to my hotel?”

“That doesn’t sound good, does it?” she says. “I really need to work on my phrasing.”

Get out of here. Run. Go!

I fight the urge to launch myself from the table. “Why are you following me?”

“I told you, you’re interesting.”

“And I told you you’re lying.”

When I see the hesitation in her eyes again, I know I’m right.

I lean forward. “Did someone put you up to this? Are you a police officer?”

“Police? Why? Did you commit a crime?”

I did. I committed the biggest crime ever.

This is getting me nowhere, and the best thing I can do is leave. I pull on my satchel as I shove up from the table.

“You won’t believe me if I tell you,” she says.

I stop. “You won’t know that unless you try.”

She looks down at her hands and takes a deep breath. “We’re connected, okay? I don’t know how or why, but we just are. About a week ago, I had this…episode, followed by a terrible headache. When it finally went away, I knew you were out there. In fact, I seem to always know exactly where you are.” She looks up at me again. “I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”

The problem is, I do believe her. No, not just believe her. I know she’s right.

Somehow, someway, my Chaser has turned Iffy into my companion.

But this is way too much for me to deal with. I stumble forward and race out of the restaurant.

That night, as I lie in my hotel bed, desperate for sleep, Iffy’s voice keeps me awake as she says over and over in my head, “I knew you were out there…I seem to always know where you are.”

My time with Iffy has unnerved me, so the next morning I avoid the library and get out of downtown for a few hours.

From the metro station, I catch what’s called the Purple Line as far west as it goes, to a station called Wilshire/Western. As I approach the top of the moving stairway — the escalator, I’ve now learned — I think I must still be in downtown. The buildings here are like those in the center of the city, tall and sleek. But after walking a few blocks, I realize that these merely line Wilshire Boulevard, and none go quite as high as those in the city center.

The area is full of signs written in symbols I don’t recognize. Some include English, and I deduce from the multiple times I see the word KOREA that the symbols are from the language of that country. Research from the past week flashes in my mind: Korea. Asian peninsula west of Japan, bordering China and a very tiny strip of Russia. Split into two countries, North and South. The divide was created when the Korean War in the 1950s reached a stalemate. The South is more aligned with the commerce culture of what is called “the West.” The North is ruled by a totalitarian regime handed down from father to son, and is largely cut off from the rest of the world.

In my timeline, Korea is part of a different China and seldom mentioned.

I wander around until I spot a coffee shop and go in. I’m still too uncertain to try one of the fancy-named drinks these places offer — not to mention they’d deplete most of my cash reserves — so I order a simple coffee. Once I have my cup, I look around for an open chair.

Iffy sits at a small round table along the wall. She’s looking at me, her smile tentative and a bit worried. Me? I’m having a full on panic attack — racing heart, cold sweats, and the sudden inability to catch my breath.

I head toward the door, my attention more on the danger behind me than where I’m going.

“Excuse me!”

I jerk to a stop just in time to avoid spilling my coffee on an older Asian woman.

“Watch where you’re going,” she says.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her.

As I step past her toward the exit, I toss my untouched drink in the trash bin and rush outside.

A few seconds later, I hear Iffy shout, “Denny!”

“Leave me alone!” I yell back.

“I’m not following you. I’ve been here for twenty minutes. I…I knew you’d come.”

I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to even think about what her words mean so I pick up my pace until I’m running. Behind me, I can hear her running, too, but I think I can outrun her.

Finally, her pounding steps stop. “Be careful, Denny! Something’s coming!”

I look toward the street, thinking she’s warning me about a vehicle headed toward me, but there’s only stopped traffic on the road. So I race on, not slowing until I’m blocks and blocks away.

The rest of the day is spent wandering around in a partial daze. Each time I turn a corner I expect to see Iffy waiting for me, but she doesn’t reappear. When darkness falls, I return to my hotel.

The next morning I wake early, gasping for air. Whatever dream I was having is lost, but the anxiety it induced still surges under my skin.

I check the time. I plan to return to the library that morning. If Iffy can find me at a random coffee shop miles away, what’s the use in hiding? But according to the clock, it’s just shy of 5:30 a.m. The library won’t be open for another four and a half hours.

As I roll on my side, I notice something’s been shoved under the door to my room. Assuming it’s a note from the proprietor, I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep. It’s a futile effort. There’s still too much adrenaline coursing through me for sleep to return anytime soon, so I shower and dress in another set of the cheap clothes I’ve purchased, and then decide I might as well head out.

The note is still waiting for me when I reach the door. I pick it up and unfold it. The message starts with an address, and below it:

That room’s still available.

Iffy

PS. I wasn’t following you.

PPS. I know you’re going back to the library today, but don’t worry. I’ll leave you alone.

I ball up the paper and toss it at the bin by the bathroom door. It hits the edge but falls onto the floor. I’m tempted to leave it there, but my mother taught me to clean up after myself and I can feel her staring at me, waiting. I pick up the note and start to drop it in the can, but stop.

The eyes I see now are not my mother’s but Iffy’s, and I know I can’t throw the note away. I press out the wrinkles, slip it into my pocket, and leave.

I start the day reading about television — what my world calls a broadset — but a line in a paragraph about a “medical documentary” sends my mind reeling.

No, you’re just dreaming. It’s not worth even thinking about it. It’s not like you could do anything with the knowledge.

But I can’t let it go, and soon find myself in the biology section of the library, where I spend the rest of the day.

As I walk out into the night after closing, the idea sparked by the documentary’s description has turned into a blazing fire. I know what I’m thinking is only a fantasy, but I could make it happen. A part of me even thinks I should make it happen. Screw everything else, it tells me. What’s really most important?

Rising above the noise of a passing bus, a voice calls, “Denny!”

I stop, my eyes closing as my chin drops to my chest. Iffy again. I don’t have the energy to run or argue.

“What do you want?” I say as I turn around.

But the girl standing there isn’t Iffy.

It’s Lidia.