Eleven faces were staring at the laptop on the coffee table, the guys sitting on the couch, standing behind it, crowded together to get a look at the picture. They didn't speak for a long time. And Jack, Mush, Racetrack, David and Spot stood in front of the TV, watching the others' expressions: their faces were pale, they looked at her picture in disbelief, but their eyes were lit up with excitement.
Boots looked up first. When he saw the picture for the first time ten minutes ago, the taxi keys in his hands had slipped through his fingers and landed with a thud on the rug. He hadn't even noticed. All of them had sat there, motionless and staring at what might as well have been a ghost, for ten whole minutes.
"Cowboy… she looks tha exact same," Boots said quietly.
Jack looked down, nodding. "I know."
Mush squeezed Jack's shoulder. "'s ok, man."
"We found her Facebook page, too," David said, pointing to the laptop. "Click the tab at the top."
Specs clicked it and all of them gathered closer. Even the guys and Jack moved away from the TV to see it again, seeing her picture.
"Wow," Bumlets muttered.
"Tiffany?!" Snoddy said with disgust. "Her—her name is Tiffany?! There's no way…"
Racetrack shook his head at the girl on the screen. "We couldn't believe it either. Looks nothin' like the Tiffany's I know."
Mush looked at Race with a confused expression. "Race, you don't know any Tiffanys."
"Stay focused, Mush," Race said tightly without taking his eyes on the computer.
"She doesn't get on much," David commented as Specs scrolled through her timeline and pictures. Her page was mostly pictures of New York City, Central Park, and dance pictures she'd been tagged in on New York University's page.
Each picture stunned them more, amazed at the likeness she had to her former life. Her thin strong face, her striking blue eyes lined in long lashes that matched her curved eyebrows and dark brown hair, almost black… her creamy skin with touches of pink in her cheeks. And her lips…
Jack felt the emptiness in him grow. But he was eased when he didn't see any pictures or mentions of other guys. She rarely went out, and stayed mostly to herself. She hardly posted anything on Facebook. And she was in love with the city and visited the same places over and over, according to her pictures.
They felt almost guilty for looking at her dance photos: she was barely dressed in her dance costumes and outfits, consisting of less material than a bathing suit. Back in 1901, they wouldn't have thought these kind of clothes to exist...But they'd be lying if they said she was anything less than stunning.
"Alright," Snoddy said carefully, looking up at David and Jack. "What now?"
"Yeah, we all work there in the morning, at tha site," Bumlets said, brushing his long black hair from his eyes. "I mean, we can' just jump 'er."
"No," David took a deep breath, looking at Jack before continuing. "We gotta be cool. Act normal, but keep our eyes peeled. We all know her face…she's hard to miss."
The boys smiled sadly, nodding.
"'s a lot of people down there at tha university," Specs said dejectedly. He removed his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. Before Specs had "woken up", his eyes had been near perfect. Once his memories came back to him, his eyesight went to hell. He wore thin framed round glasses, close to the ones he'd had in the 19th century. "Lotta students. We needs eyes…everywhere."
"I can drive around campus," Boots said eagerly. "Students always take cabs. I can watch from tha streets, see if I see her."
"The new work site is for the arts department," Spot stated, chewing on a piece of gum. "You guys will be right there; you'll sure as hell see her. An' you betta text me as soon as you do's," he pointed hard at Racetrack, who responded with an eye roll.
"We've been there for a month already," Race contradicted him, rubbing the back off his neck and glaring. "Can't believe we haven't seen her before now…an' if these fuckin' headaches don't stop, I'm gonna lose my shit."
David grabbed a pill bottle from the TV stand, tossing it to Race.
"So needy," Spot crooned, smiling at Race.
Race, glaring at Spot, popped the lid on the Advil. "Thanks, David." He swallowed two pills and passed the bottle around, knowing he wasn't the only one suffering. Jack took four.
"Someone light a god damned joint already," Spot said, his eyebrows drawn together as he looked over Jack. "Cowboy needs one."
The guys made noises of agreement and Mush went into his room and came back with a cigar box and an impressive midnight blue bong. He sat on the floor next to the couch, opened the box, and let the plastic baggie unroll from his fingers, revealing his fresh stash.
"Hell, it's a celebration," Mush said, smiling. "Don't stress, Jack. Hard part's over. So let's smoke some and relax, man."
The guys didn't smoke much. But when they did roll a few joints and break out the bong, they smoked until they couldn't feel the headaches anymore, or their heads. They smoked themselves silly, and thought it was well justified, with all they'd been through since 1901.
The air became wonderfully cloudy, and the sounds from the Brooklyn streets outside drifted through the open windows on either side of the TV. The boys lounged around lazily on the L couch and the floor as Race and Mush attempted to cook something in the kitchen.
The guys' laughter boomed throughout the 3rd floor, tears streaming down their faces and their sides cramping. Their laughing fits hardly ever stopped once they got through the third blunt.
"I fuckin' hate this damn micrawave!" Race cursed and laughed at the same time. He touched a finger to the chicken nuggets, toaster strudel, and pizza rolls he'd stuffed into the small box. "They're still fuckin' frozen."
"If ya cooked as good as your cursin', we'd all be well fed," Specs shouted over his beer, smiling mischievously.
Mush, doubled over in front of the open fridge, gasped for breath before reaching for the next six pack.
"I told you ta put 'em in the oven, numb nuts," Mush said, making the others laugh harder. He glanced at the microwave and then looked at Race who was glaring.
"You didn't even push the start button!" Mush shouted.
Racetrack's glare broke as he joined the chorus of snorts and laughs.
"Fuckin' A, man!" Mush managed to say, putting his arm around Race's shoulders, both of them doubling over.
Jack was sitting next to David on the floor, their backs against the wall separating Mush and Race's room from the kitchen. Jack stopped smoking a while ago; he smoked enough to relax him, enough to make him laugh with the others. But he never liked to be fully under. As leader, he always had to maintain a somewhat level head.
David was the same way.
"I have a good feeling about tomorrow," David said, not looking at Jack but watching the guys on the couch try to play poker with half a deck.
Jack's smile wavered a little. "Glad someone does."
David turned his head to study Jack's expression. Jack's emotions rarely ever had a gray area; he was all or nothing. To outsiders who didn't know him, they'd think him an angry person. But David and the guys knew him inside and out, and they could read him like a damn book.
And right now, Jack was about to lose his shit.
"Jack, you can't psyche yourself out before you've even seen her," David tried to sound soothing.
Jack hesitated. "I'm not…psyching myself."
"C'mon, Jack," David said, speaking in a lower voice. "It's me, man."
Jack read David's face. He was pretty sober; the cloudy red indicator was fading from the whites of his eyes.
"I'm your walkin' talkin' conscience, remember?" David said with a teasing grin.
Jack let his head fall back, hitting the wall with a soft thud. His eye lids drooped and he took a deep breath.
"My skin's been a live wire eva since the memories came back, like strings attached to me, pullin' me everywhere at once…tryin' ta lead me to her but not knowin'…" he paused, looking down. "'s what she does to me. 's like…bein' alive and dead at the same time.
"What if," Jack started but fell silent. He struggling with the words he wanted to tell David but wanted to keep the words inside, as if he were afraid that speaking his thoughts would make them true.
"What if she never wakes up," David said for him.
Jack looked at him, his dark eyes startled. But he accepted the words, nodding gravely. "Yeah. That'd be worse than neva findin' 'er."
David looked at Jack for a long minute, their eyes reading the other's face.
"I guess we'll find out soon enough," David said.
The guys were tense and wired. Their eyes darted everywhere as they went about as normally as possible: Boots was making regular rounds around the campus, denying ride after ride; Jack, David, Mush, Racetrack, Specs, Snoddy, Bumlets, and the others were setting up the scaffolding outside the new arts building to work on the "tall ass windows", as Mush called them.
"Eyes sharp, boys," Racetrack said, putting a nubby cigar between his lips, his eyes bright. But he cursed when his pocket vibrated for the tenth time since they'd arrived on campus. "Damn it, if Spot texts me one more time…we haven't even been here for five minutes."
The New York University campus was sprawling, melting into the city with only royal purple flags and banners to mark its buildings. Each morning the guys either crammed into Boots' taxi or into David's 2005 Honda, and traveled across their very own beloved Brooklyn Bridge into the city, up to Lower Manhattan, and to Greenwich Village. From where they were working on campus, they could see Washington Square Park, a clear view to watch the constant throng of students entering and leaving campus.
It was a fair day, with few clouds. The semester had already started, and it was already the 12th of October. The fall chill was starting to bite, and some of the students, clearly from other parts of the country and the world, were already dressing for winter. The diversity of the students was incredible, and the guys were nervous that they wouldn't be able to pick out their Russian beauty.
But they tried harder than ever before as they worked slowly; they knew the faster they worked, the faster they'd be done and moved to the next construction site. They wanted to stay on campus as long as they could.
"Remember," David cautioned, glancing at Jack. "No reactions, no interaction. We only need to find her, and watch her."
"Nothin' creepy about that," Snoddy said, trying to lighten the mood.
Jack removed his construction jacket. They were all dressed the same: khaki worker's cargo pants, dusty work boots with clumps of plaster splattered all over them, and a black t-shirt with the company's logo scrawled on their backs in white lettering: Marshall's Construction.
The guys had filled out nicely; the job kept them fit, and for some the t-shirts were a bit snug now. Racetrack often nudged Jack, pointing out the female students who were often caught by the guys looking at their leader, who only rolled his eyes and returned to work.
New York was crawling with attractive women, old and young and in-between. But Jack saw none of them. But he wondered if she felt the same way, whether she remembered him or not.
He remembered when they'd found her Facebook page the night before. There hadn't been any guys' pictures or anything on her page…that didn't mean she didn't see anybody.
Jack turned back to the window panes, eager to distract himself from all this. But his eyes glanced up at every face that came within ten yards of their scaffolding, tiny pangs of disappointment piercing his chest with each unfamiliar face.
"I swear ta God," Racetrack said tightly, shaking his head at the phone in his hand. "If Spot texts me one more time…Hell, I can't look for Ira with him vibratin' my pants off!"
Jack looked at Race behind him before climbing the scaffolding ladder.
"Ya jus' mad it's Spot an' not some girl."
The guys laughed and Race glared at Jack. But Jack wasn't looking at Race. His eyes focused on something behind him.
His heart stopped. Time stopped. The movement of the city, the noise, everything was gone.
There was only her.
The guys looked at Jack, seeing his tightened jaw, and they turned towards the direction of Washington Square Park.
"Oh," Race said quietly.
They felt frozen, watching her as she came closer. The hairs on their arms and neck stood on end and chills shocked them through their veins like ice water. Tears sprung to Mush's eyes, wincing against the sudden breeze.
She owned the sidewalk she walked on. The click of the heels on her black boots reached Jack's ears and gently shook the taught flesh of her thick bare thighs, half covered by her black thigh-high stockings. Her worn gray San Francisco sweatshirt hung loosely on her, her ripped blue jean shorts peeking out from under it. Even under the sweatshirt's bagginess, her legs and walk revealed her profession, her passion, as did the dance duffle bag over her shoulder.
Her hair was down around her shoulders, blowing around her face and getting trapped on her lips by her clear lip gloss, her tongue licking her full lips as she freed the strands with her long fingers. She didn't wear much makeup, only that mascara shit girls used. She didn't need it, didn't need any of it.
Ira.
As she neared the scaffolding, the guys dropped their gazes and tried to act distracted with their work. But Jack didn't remove his eyes from her face as she looked up, seeing him.
Her bright eyes flew up his body before meeting his, sending thrilling chills down his spine. The corners of her lips lifted slightly, those bright eyes so intense in their brief encounter with his. His face stayed emotionless.
All the memories with her crowded his mind at once: pressing against her in the shadowy hallway in the Irish pub, seeing her dance on the roof, feeling frustrated as he yelled at that horrible beautiful face, seeing her smile and hearing her laugh, hearing her screaming his name...all from a time that no longer existed.
But here she was, in a time none of them thought would ever exist. And she fit into it perfectly, as if she had never lived back in 1901. She could've been a stranger to him.
But he was a stranger to her, by the look in her eyes; eyes that used to flash with passion or fury when she looked at him.
The thought killed him.
Her eyes lingered on him for longer than a usual stranger's, but blinked away with no feeling reflected in their depths. His eyes followed her as she passed, her head turning forward again..
His lips had tasted that skin, had devoured those lips, had touched those thighs. And she didn't know it.
She didn't know him.
He felt numb for an instant before all his feeling returned to him at once as a fire in his chest.
"Jack, wait!" David yelled after him, but he didn't hear him. "JACK!"
Racetrack and Mush seized David's arms before he could run after their bound-and-determined brother.
"Hold on, Davie," Racetrack said, looking at Jack's quick retreating figure with a gentle expression.
"Jus' give 'im a chance," Mush pleaded. "I know we all agreed ta not approach her…but damn it, man…he's been waitin' all this time…for her."
David looked after Jack, praying he didn't do anything stupid, and praying that somewhere in the recesses of her mind she would remember him. He didn't know what was worse: seeing the hard, broken-hearted expression on Jack's face, or seeing the blank expression on hers as she walked by them.
