Memory aid A document or object retained by a rewrite in order to keep track of events in a given reality.
"But I don't have any lectures to teach until three. It's Thursday for god's sake! Half the students were out partying last night while I marked essays." A pause. "Fine. I'll teach the damned lecture, but George owes me." The receiver was slammed down. I could only imagine the peeved look on dad's face. The lecturers at Chelsea had long since stopped booking classes any time before noon on a Thursday since Wednesday nights were often used for society meetings and parties. To a student on a Thursday morning, noon may as well have been a nine a.m. lecture. Since dad was often up early, he usually used the time to work at home on his own studying and marking essays. I'd no idea why he was home this late though. Normally he was on the campus for lunchtime.
I crept carefully down the steps. With no memory of this house until last week, I still didn't know which steps were the creakiest so I could avoid them. At home -mum's house now -I could easily get up and down the stairs without making a single sound. No such luck here. Halfway down the stairs a deafening groan split the silence, causing dad to come running from the kitchen.
"Athena?" Surprise flitted across his features. "Where'd you come from?"
"Um..."
"I saw you leave for school this morning. Did Connor or Christie drop you off?"
"Uh... Not really."
A frown. "So how'd you get in? I've been here since you left."
"I..." Dad's gaze followed mine down to my wrist, where the timer ticked away. Three minutes of my life lost in the present day. He looked back up at me.
"What are you rewriting, Athena?"
"Just something at school..."
A vein nearly popped out of dad's head. "Are you crazy?!" He yelled.
I jumped. Dad was rarely this mad, which meant that when I got back to the present I was in trouble. I held up my hands in a stop motion, nervously backing away from him. He only ever yelled when either truly angry or extremely worried about one of his girls. In my case, he could be overprotective as hell since there was always the fear I'd be caught and killed.
"I have to do this, dad. I left my journal in the library and if a hunter sees it I'm screwed."
Dad hesitated. "Fine. But make it quick and don't get yourself caught, Athena. I mean it." He spoke through clenched teeth, his anger at the situation obvious.
I nodded before heading out to the back garden. In the shed were various tools like one would expect, but that was all for show. Tucked behind the barely used lawnmower was a backpack containing things I would need if I didn't want to be recognised. I pulled back my hair and yanked a blonde wig over it, then added a pair of sunglasses for good measure. I'd stand out a little in the humid but sunless weather, but it was worth it if nobody saw me for who I was. Realising that I was still in my cheerleading outfit from the school day, I ran back inside to change before heading out the front door.
I didn't have Connor or Christie to drive me to school now, so I took the bus -a glance at my watch when I finally got off it showed that I'd been in the past for nearly forty minutes. I scowled and ran into the building, making a beeline for the library. I got some looks for my strange state of dress from students on their lunch breaks, but ignored them. The past me was about to head to the library with Nick behind her, so I needed to get myself in position.
"Hey, Whitney! What's up with the sunglasses?"
I leapt about a mile when I realised that I'd been mistaken for someone else. Crap what was I supposed to do? This had never happened before. I'd never had to go to such lengths to avoid notice when doing a rewrite in the past; I hadn't been popular enough for anybody to care. Now my face was recognisable enough around the school that if I took the sunglasses off, I would be outed within moments. God, was this what celebrities felt like all the time when around the public?
I attempted to change my voice, speaking at a higher pitch than usual. "Whitney? I don't know any Whitney?"
The girl who's come up to me frowns, and I realise that I actually recognise her as Emma, the girl who sits beside me in Mr Clark's history class. "Oh, okay." Then she peers closely at me. "Hey, do I know you? You seem familiar somehow."
"I'm afraid not. Sorry." I push past her and make a beeline for the library without looking back. She can think I'm as rude as she wants -I can't afford to be wasting time. I look at my wrist. I've been here forty-five minutes.
When I enter the library for the second time that day, Ms Jensen looks up and gives me a polite smile. It's a far cry from the look I was given dressed as a pretty cheerleader. The woman is clearly biased. I creep slowly past the shelves. Between one set, a cheerleader I recognise as Irina Geller is busy making out with a guy who I know isn't her hunter boyfriend. There are rows of empty shelves for a while. In some, people are actually working. In a couple are people doing work of the physical variety. No wonder Ms Jensen is always annoyed.
Then, finally-
"Are you stalking me?"
I freeze at the sound of my own voice. No matter how many rewrites I do, it's always weird looking back at my past self. I carefully push some of the books from the shelf behind my past self aside, peeking through to observe the scene. Past me is sitting on the floor with a pile of books spread around her as she -I- works. Her pen isn't moving though, because past me is staring up at Nick with a scowl on her face. I do not look attractive when pissed off.
"Yup." Nick pushes himself into the space by past me, causing the shelf I'm hiding behind to sway. I duck as a book from the shelf above falls and nearly collides with my head. My past self looks suspiciously towards the noise, wary as always, but Nick is clearly the more pressing issue.
"Well quit it. You're creeping me out and there's nothing interesting to see here." I notice that the past me subconsciously touches her bag as she does this. Only when I'm watching it now do I realise that I behaved in that way. Past me doesn't notice this small tell of hers (or mine, whatever), but I can tell Nick does. His eyes narrow at the bag, and now that I'm watching him (past me is trying to pretend he doesn't exist and is looking anywhere but Nick) I can see that he's wondering why it is that I'm so focussed on protecting my bag. I make a mental note to improve my acting skills.
"On the contrary. I find you very interesting." Nick is studying past me and the bag with intrigue. His eyes glint with some inspiration, and I can't help but think that in that moment he looks exactly like his mother did when she had the bright idea of making me guide Nick around the school to protect her son's social standing after his father had just died. It's the look I associated with fictional evil geniuses or lunatics.
This time it clearly rings more towards the former.
With an angry huff, past me gets up. If looks could kill, all that would be left of Nick would be his ashes. She reaches down to grab her bag. In the same moment, Nick carefully nudges one of the textbooks on the floor towards her foot. As she stands again, her foot meets the now unexpectedly uneven surface, causing her to stumble and fall. I watch as the past me tumbles to the floor with a yelp. I wince at the memory, and it almost feels for a moment like I'm experiencing the fall all over again. Still, I'm shocked. Nick set the whole fall up?
Past me angrily gets to her feet before snatching books up off the floor. Nick bends to help, his lips stretched into an amused grin. Because I've been here before, I know that past me is furious. Too furious, in fact, to think about looking beyond the grin on Nick's face. The boy may be smiling, but his eyes tell a different story. They're serious.
Somehow, my diary has landed behind where the past me is looking for her things. Nick carefully picks it up, pocketing it. I cover my mouth as I gasp, anger spreading through me.
I don't care about the potential "impertinence" on my school record. I'm going to kill him, head teacher's son be damned. I clench my fists, staring furiously as past me packs her things and storms down the corridor. I duck just in case to prevent her seeing me, then glance towards the thief with my notebook when I'm sure she's gone. I smooth down the wig. Time to put on the performance of my life.
"Excuse me, but I don't think that's yours." I round the corner so that I end up in the same row of shelves as Nick. He's taken the notebook out of his pocket and is carefully studying the outside of it, clearly wondering why such a plain notebook looks so worn and used. I've literally stopped him when he was about a nanosecond from opening it. At my entrance, he stopped and looked up at me. I had to focus of several things whilst walking towards him -I'm careful to walk differently than usual, and pitch my voice slightly higher so as to make it unrecognisable. "I saw you take that notebook."
Nick studied me in the same way he did my past self: with a depth that was both thrilling and alarming in equal measure. It's nice to have a hot guy look at you with interest, but not so nice when you know that it's only because he wants to know your secrets. "And what's it to you?"
"Athena Roberts has been nice to me in the past, even though some of the hunters haven't. At any rate, it's wrong to be stealing people's things." I have to fight to keep my voice even, because my natural instinct is the shake with anger at the attempted violation of privacy. It's not just anger I feel though; there's fear too. Fear that he came so close to opening my diary and finding out my secrets. Nobody would keep a diary so detailed unless they were a rewrite or suffered a weird case of amnesia, and unfortunately I have no doctor's note for the latter. I need that notebook back, but Nick has a death grip on it. His expression becomes sad, and I can't help but narrow my eyes in wary suspicion.
"I'm sorry. I was an idiot," he says bashfully, looking at his shoes with a nervousness I know he doesn't feel. "Help a guy out here." He looks up, his eyes pleading.
Now I'm the one studying him. What the hell is this guy up to?
"I'm new here. Just came from America. I thought I was going to hate it, but then I realised that I really like this girl here. Only she won't give me the time of day. It's my fault really. I kinda made things awkward for her when I got here."
Wait. Is he talking about me? What kind of bullshit line is this guy trying to feed me? The part of me that thinks like a paranoid altered is ruthlessly analysing what Nick is saying and coming to the conclusion that this guy is a better actor than I gave him credit for. Some girls might be distracted by the romance element of the story and totally forget that he's essentially trying to get away with stealing. The part of me that thinks like a girl almost thinks it's cute... in a really, really creepy way.
Thankfully I'm not a brainless idiot. "And so you stole Athena Roberts' diary because...?"
"I really like her. But she hates me. And I know it's stupid, but I thought that if I got a chance to see her diary, I'd know more about her." Another bashful grin at the floor. "Stupid, huh?"
"Damned straight it's stupid. Especially if you thought I was actually going to fall for that. What kind of creep takes a girl's diary when he wants a date with her? If relationships are built on trust, then you really wouldn't be off to a good start. And unless you're blind, which apparently you aren't, you'd have the common sense to realise that the girl's taken." I put my hands on my hips and glare at him, wondering what he could possibly retaliate with now. I meet his eyes, expecting anger, panic at being caught out, shock even. But what I see is entirely different. He's not scowling, looking nervous or even surprised. No, the expression on his face is the kind a person gets when they've solved a maths problem or discovered the cure for cancer. It's that eureka! look of a person who's finally figured something out. Nick studies me from head to toe, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. I'm reminded of a panther having spotted its prey for the night.
Unfortunately, I'm not the panther.
Nick slowly walks towards me. Everything in me begins screaming to back away, but I hold my ground. Letting myself be intimidated is only going to let him win and give me away even more. "I'm sorry, but I seem to have forgotten your name. What was it again?"
"I never gave it. It's Ashley. Ashley Bates," I can't help but add as my nervousness reaches dangerous levels. I'm mentally replaying out conversation, wondering what could have caused his behaviour to switch like that. It's a moment before I realise.
"....the girl's taken." I'd said those last three words at a slightly lower pitch than I had in the entire conversation. In those last three words, my anger had got the better of me and I'd lost focus on speaking in a different voice. So when I'd spoke, I'd done it in my own voice. With anyone else, I could have blamed such a blip on a sore throat or something, but Nick wasn't just anyone else. I'd seen firsthand the way he calculated and paid extreme attention to detail. My fears were confirmed when he took another step. He was only a foot from me now.
"Well, Ashley, do you mind taking off those glasses? While they're nice in a celebrity-hiding-from-the-public type way, I find it a little disconcerting to not be able to look into the eyes of the person I'm talking to."
Damn him. "I... I have sight problems. I can't."
Nick smiles wider, seeing through my obvious lie easily. "Really? Because last I checked blindness was a hindrance to your eyesight, not your ability to remove a pair of glasses."
He smirked wider, and I clenched my fists to stop them from trembling. He knew. I could tell. But he was baiting me, trying to get me to reveal myself on purpose. I refused to give him the satisfaction. "Shame on you! Insulting a person for a handicap. You're cruel." I whirled around to walk away before he could do anything, but he moved faster, catching my arm in a grip of iron.
"I'd agree with you," he said softly into my ear, standing so close that we were literally only inches apart, "were it not for the fact that you're not blind, are you goddess?" His voice dropped to an intimate whisper, causing me to shiver, but not in a good way.
What I felt was pure panic.
No matter how well trained I was in martial arts, I felt helpless to move when he reached towards me, one hand removing the glasses whilst the other pushed back the wig. Nick smirked. "Blonde is definitely not your colour, goddess." The triumphant smile on his face was almost blinding, an expression that was in complete contrast to the one on my face.
I had been caught.
"I knew it," Nick whispered. The expression on his face was now one of wonder. "You're a rewrite."
"No shit, Sherlock," I snapped, throwing the words he had used before straight back at him. I pulled my arm from his grip, throwing myself back into the present before he could say a word. The whole time, I mentally cursed myself for being a damned fool. I had been caught.
Of course, I wasn't able to go directly to the present. Instead, I found myself in the future, in a nightclub, to witness my sister's death again.
***
"Excuse me, but are you okay?"
I blinked, sitting at the bar stool. A cute guy sat in front of me, his eyes filled with such concern, I wondered if I should know him. I studied his face. Why was it so familiar? "Do I know you?"
"We went to high school together only a year ago, goddess. If you don't recognise me then you really must have a memory like a sieve."
"Nick," I breathed. I took in my surroundings. A cocktail was in front of me, untouched. The room was heaving from loud music and chatter crammed into a space too small for the many dancers in it. I recognised this place, because it was where Art -
Art.
I jumped up and ran for the disco room, Nick immediately forgotten. Security immediately began chasing me. Just as I reached the disco room, I heard it again. A bang. Screams. Silence. I dropped to my knees, shaking.
I'd failed. Again.
****
"Athena, wake up. It's just a dream, Athena. Wake up!" Somebody was shaking me. I felt as limp as a rag doll, but forced my eyes open, meeting a pair of bright green eyes and a shock of red hair. Dad stood in a pair of pyjamas, his hands on my shoulders as he tried to bring me back to consciousness. He looked freaked out, and for a moment I wondered why. I'd only been sleeping, hadn't I? I reached up to rub my eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them. I felt tears. Tears? Why had I been crying?
The memories hit me at once. The diary. Nick discovering me. The future. Art dying, again. I sat up straighter. "Art!" I gasped, staring at dad with wide eyes.
"She's fine, Athena. She's not dead."
I racked my brain, wondering when I had ever told dad about Art dying in the future. Noting the confusion on my face, dad shook his head at me. "You were screaming, Athena. You probably woke the whole street. Even when you were a kid you were never that bad with nightmares." He took a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes. "Scared me half to death."
I curled up into a ball, resting my chin on my knees. "It wasn't a dream," I muttered.
Dad shook his head. "Art is alive and hasn't been shot, Athena. That makes it a dream."
"I wish it was a dream, dad. Really, I do. But it wasn't. When I told you that I saw something bad was going to happen, that was it. In a year, Art dies in a nightclub. When I went to do a rewrite earlier today, I saw that future again."
Dad was off the bed, looking at me in horror. I could tell he was wishing that I could take the words back somehow, but I couldn't do that because they were the truth. "Please tell me that what you just said is some kind of sick joke," he pleaded. I knew it was only because of the situation, but it still stung slightly that my dad would rather believe I was crazy than admit the truth to himself.
I couldn't even look at him this time, knowing the pain I'd see in his eyes. "It wasn't."
Dad swallowed, then left the room without a word, leaving me alone. Tears dripped down my face.
I was no closer to saving Art, and the clock was ticking.