October 26, 2004
I woke before my alarm the next morning. I had a goal today. A purpose. I was going to march into my new school and introduce myself. I was going to make friends.
I was going to be normal.
I winced. Saying it was one thing; actually doing it was quite another. But I was determined. I could only play third wheel to Renee and Phil for so long. What I felt I wanted—and needed—was a confidante. A friend.
Wanting to make a good impression, I dug through the boxes lining the wall for my one and only sundress. Renee bought it for my birthday last year, and I packed it away when we moved.
The dress was dark blue with capped sleeves and a white, thin belt around the waist. My trusty sneakers didn't belong; with a sigh, I left them by the bed. Instead, I went digging into Renee's treasure trove of shoes to find a suitable pair. With my hair secured by a headband, I skipped downstairs.
Renee was sipping her coffee over the newspaper. She raised an eyebrow. "You look pretty today."
"Thank you," I beamed. "I thought I might try something new."
I was too excited to keep anything down. When it was time to leave, I raced out the door without touching my breakfast. Phil slapped a five dollar bill into my hand as I passed.
The sun shined overhead, and the sky was clear and blue. I smiled. Today was going to be a good day.
My arm tingled; I looked down. Phil kept a first-aid kit in the house; my bandage would need changing after school. But it wasn't the gash that was tingling, it was my body warning me that a trip through time was coming.
The only thing that could ruin my day was time travel. I wanted to stomp my foot and scream.
I was afraid. The bus stop was just ahead, crowded with other students in the neighborhood. I had to get out of sight and soon. The risk of exposure was too great to imagine. Desperate, I darted between two houses, trampling a small garden in the process. When I was safely hidden under the wilting bushes, I closed my eyes.
The song of the cicadas faded away. When I opened my eyes again, I found a different kind bug—flies, and lots of them. I swatted at them with my hand. They flew back to a garbage can, circling it in a frenzy. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
I was in an alley no wider than my arm span. I could hear the familiar street sounds beyond it. I didn't know what year it was, but something told me I was far from home.
The cacophony of a city grew in volume. Cars were honking madly in the intersections. People called to one another in foreign languages. Babies were wailing from carriages. Everything seemed more modern than my trip to Chicago, but it was not my time. Not yet.
My alley was only a crack in the whole picture. It was the perfect place to observe.
Fashion had changed since my last visit. The skirts that were long and slim against the body; suits had widened around the shoulders. What everyone had in common, though, was sweat. It was an overcast day, but the humidity was stifling. It made me miss the dryness of Phoenix.
I leaned against the brick wall, frowning. I figured I had two options. I could sulk in the alley until I was brought home, or I could go explore the city. This was my third trip away from my own timeline. There was no way of knowing how long this trip would last.
I decided on the second option. I managed to survive in Chicago for two weeks. I could survive here, too.
There was a boy selling newspapers on the corner. "Want a paper, lady?"
I sent the boy away with a quarter and sat down to read. The ink on the paper was still wet, but the date couldn't have been clearer. It was July 19th, 1934. The publication was the Democrat and Chronicle. It declared itself the daily newspaper for Rochester, New York.
"Rochester," I whispered. Just when I was wrapping my head around the weirdness, something weirder happened. I landed in Rochester for a second time. Almost nine years passed since I was here. Back in the present, it had only been one day. The idea was staggering.
I sat on the bench, lost in thought. There was no explanation for this pattern of events. Most of my time traveling knowledge was learned through experience, but there was no standard for traveling so many years before me, my mother, or my father. What force compelled me to these places? Why now?
My stomach growled. The excitement over going to school fled when I realized I was leaving. I supposed disappointment made one hungry. I looked up and down the street. Now that I was out of the alley and into the heat, I had no desire to walk far.
There was a lunch counter at the end of the street. Perfect.
I stuffed the newspaper in my backpack and went inside. I still had the five dollars Phil gave me this morning. I realized I would have to be frugal with it. The Great Depression was known for widespread unemployment and hunger. My job options would be extremely limited. If grown men with families to feed were unemployed, I didn't stand a chance.
Three other people sat at the counter. The first was a businessman and the second was a young woman. He nodded every now and then as she spoke, his eyes flickering between her and his own newspaper.
The third was a man—no, boy—who looked to be around my age. A cup of black coffee sat in front him, untouched. He was engrossed in his book, but with the awkward angle, I couldn't see the cover.
I ordered coffee and a stack of pancakes. I watched the businessman tuck The Times into his briefcase with a wave goodbye to the young woman. By then my pancakes arrived and I dug in.
Just this morning I was in Phoenix with Renee and Phil. Now I was seventy years in the past. I wondered if the administration would call Renee. It was only my second day there, and I was already screwing up.
Charlie would say something funny about it. It was kind of funny that my plan for a social life went to shit. I almost laughed. It seemed like a project that would never get off the ground.
I was tired of brooding on the subject. My gaze landed on the boy again. Maybe I was right to call him a man; he looked to be on the cusp of adulthood, but not quite there.
I couldn't help but stare. He was beautiful. His hair may once have been tidy, but it appeared he gave up trying. But it wasn't the state of it that caught my attention, it was the color. A reddish- brown hue that was not only unusual, but familiar. It was as if I had seen it before and forgotten.
The boy was still reading when I finished my breakfast. Though he sat two seats away, it felt like two inches. I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew him from somewhere. Maybe if was the shape of his mouth, or the slant of his nose . . . unconsciously, I felt myself leaning toward him.
Suddenly, his back was ramrod straight. His head whipped toward me, and a chill flew down my spine. Part of me was thinking that the profile view didn't do him justice—he was handsome in a way that made my breath catch. But another part of me was afraid.
His eyes were coal black. Black as night. The anger in them made me shiver.
We stared at each other for a long moment. An apology was forming on my lips when he abruptly tossed a coin on the counter and stormed out. I leaned back against the counter in shock.
I was stunned.
What was that all about? Had I done something to offend him?
The young woman was still sitting at the other end of the counter. She made a sympathetic noise at me. "Oh, honey, don't mind him. He acts that way around everyone."
"Do you know him?"
"That's Edward Cullen. His family moved here a couple years ago. He keeps to himself."
The name rang a bell. Cullen. The doctor I met last time had been a Cullen, too. This was Rochester. Could he belong to the same family?
I contemplated the mysterious Edward Cullen. Was it the first name or the last that captured my attention?
My instincts told me that this window of opportunity was closing. I had to move quickly. "Thanks!" I slung the straps over my shoulders and fled the lunch counter.
The sky had darkened. Thunder clouds were gathering above the city; it was going to rain soon. I feared losing Edward Cullen in the crowd. But I needn't have worried; his hair was a splash of color in the sea of gray.
He was at the end of the street by now. Despite his hasty exit, he was walking at a slow pace. Like any amateur spy, I knew to keep my distance. My trips to the past had trained me for this kind of subterfuge. Making myself invisible was a skill I perfected a long time ago.
I followed my quarry for a long time. He led us toward a more expensive part of town. If Edward knew he was being followed, he didn't let on.
The clouds opened up and it started raining. I cursed under my breath. The downpour made it hard to see. Edward made a swift left turn and I followed, squinting through the rain.
By the time I made the turn, Edward had disappeared. I stood frozen in the middle of the street. My hair was a long, wet rope against my neck.
I'd lost him.
I didn't know what to do. I followed a stranger through a strange city . . . and for what? A feeling? All on the basis of a name?
I was a modern girl trapped in the past with less than five bucks in my pocket. It could not get any worse.
"Excuse me?"
I looked up. A woman stood watching me from under a red umbrella. I stared at her for a moment too long. Her beauty was bright against the rain; she seemed to glow in the grayness. "Are you lost, sweetheart?"
"Yes," I admitted. "Sort of."
"Would you like to come inside?"
I let out a grateful sigh. "That would be wonderful."
The woman extended a gloved hand to guide me. I couldn't help it; I recoiled from her touch. Despite the gloves, her hands were colder than ice.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, then held the umbrella over my head. I smiled in thanks and together we walked toward the nearest house. It was unlocked; she motioned for me to go first.
The interior was bigger than I imagined. A delicate chandelier hung above our heads, a complement to the baby blue walls.
"I would take your coat, but you don't have one," she joked as we stepped across the threshold. She took my backpack in lieu of a jacket and hung it up.
I smiled faintly. "No, ma'am. Thank you for having me."
"It's no trouble," she insisted. "Please excuse my rudeness; I haven't introduced myself. My name is Esme Cullen."
It was that name again. The doctor, Edward, and now this woman. I shivered, but not from the cold. It seemed my P.I. skills weren't so bad. I'd found the right house after all.
"Bella Swan," I said, then bit my tongue at my stupidity. I shouldn't have used my real name. I cleared my throat to cover the awkward silence. "You have a lovely home, Mrs. Cullen."
Esme led me to a sitting room, motioning for me to sit. I sat on my hands, worried that my wet clothes were going to ruin the furniture. I was sure I looked like a drowned rat.
"Anyone home?" she called up the stairs in a pretty, lilting voice.
"Yes," a sullen voice answered. She chuckled then told me to make myself comfortable. I studied the room while I waited. It was well decorated, but . . . stark. Something felt off.
Esme returned with a tea tray. I watched her set it down between us. There was something exaggerated about this routine. It was like we were in a play.
She caught me staring at her and smiled. I blushed.
"So, what brings you to Rochester?"
I hesitated. "Well, um . . . I'm looking for someone."
"Do they live nearby? I can take you there when the rain stops." "Oh no, I—"
"Esme?"
We had been talking when the front door opened. The man I assumed was her husband stood in the foyer. His eyes met mine and they widened.
My arm tingled again, a phantom twinge under the stitches. It was the same man from the hospital. Doctor Cullen. The doctor who treated me almost nine years ago in this time.
He hadn't changed at all.
"I didn't realize we had company."
"This is Bella Swan," Esme said, rising to her feet. "Bella, this is my husband, Dr. Carlisle Cullen."
We shook hands quickly. I watched his gaze flicker down to my arm. Would he remember one patient out of hundreds? A nasty voice in my head told me that he could, and that he did. My heart started pounding.
"Where did you two meet?"
"Outside, dear," Esme was saying, handing him a cup of tea. He did not drink it. "Only a few minutes ago. Bella was just telling me about herself."
When I came to the hospital in 1925, I learned they discovered me on the side of the road. Outside and exposed to the elements. No further explanation.
I could almost see the gears turning in his head.
"You look familiar, Bella," he said casually. "Have we met before?"
"I have just have one of those faces, Dr. Cullen. I bet I could slip into a crowd and you'd never miss me."
"Impossible," he chuckled.
We were at an impasse. He couldn't ask me why I had given a different name. Nor could he ask about my disappearance nine years ago. If he did, I would know that there was something odd about him. And there had to be. Nine years was no small thing. People changed, but he . . . he hadn't. Before I could speak again, there were footsteps in the foyer.
If there was any lingering doubt about this place, it was long gone. Edward Cullen stood at the foot of the staircase, his eyes darting between me and Carlisle. After a moment of silence, his expression soured. His scowl was matched by the woman at his side. Her hair was a golden blonde that curled softly down her back.
They were a perfect pair. Both were so beautiful. I tugged at the hem of my dress, blushing under their scrutiny. The length of it, playful in my time, seemed indecent here.
The blonde woman spoke to Carlisle. "Are we interrupting?"
"Not at all, Rosalie. We were just getting acquainted with Bella Swan."
"Pleasure to meet you," I whispered. Edward was watching me with open hostility. Shock went through me when he found a place next to Carlisle.
"Have we met before?"
The angry expression was gone; now he was all charm. Had he forgotten about this morning? I couldn't help it; I laughed.
"That's the question of the hour."
He smiled at me and my heart stuttered in response. He was so handsome. But that wasn't all of it. It was the jolt of the familiar, the inkling that I had seen that smile before.
"It's only . . . your name. It's very familiar to me."
It was as if the other Cullens had vanished. "Your name is familiar, too."
My eyes drifted from the red tint in his hair, to his smile, to the strong jawline. His eyes were all wrong, but . . . the answer hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn't believe how long it took me to get there. His name, the familiar features . . . all the pieces fell into place.
"Did you ever live in Chicago?"
I expected to feel embarrassed, but I didn't. My instincts were sharp and usually correct. I was told his name was Edward Cullen. But my gut told me that was a lie.
"When I was a boy."
"Did you have a nanny?"
"No, my mother stayed home with me."
I frowned at that. Esme barely looked old enough to be a mother, let alone his mother. It just didn't make sense. But the longer I stared, the more of Elizabeth Masen I saw there.
His eyes should be green.
Furthermore, if I was correct and this person was Edward Masen, then his age was all wrong. He was seven when I left; he would have to be in his early thirties by now. It just didn't make sense.
"I don't mean to be rude," I said, realizing I was staring. "It's only that I knew an Edward from Chicago. I was his nanny but I left the position after two weeks. His mother, Elizabeth, hired me when I was new to the city."
The four of them had become very still.
I saw something dart across Edward's face before he looked away. I could see his father in his stature, the large hands, and sharp cheekbones.
It was impossible. Impossible and true.
"Carlisle, who is this woman? She's . . . she's disturbed!"
Then he shut his mouth. I never said what year I was in Chicago. I never said it was him, only that I knew someone with the same name. And yet he reacted so much . . . it was obvious I struck a nerve.
I leapt from the chair. Pushing the right buttons could lead to the truth. The words spilled out like a waterfall.
"You remember me, don't you? I told you something was going to happen in the future. Then I disappeared."
Edward shrank back against his chair. The others were staring at him. "No, that's not true."
"Yes," I said firmly. "You were seven years old. It was a rainy day. I took you upstairs and told you the Titanic was going to sink."
He started to stammer. "It's not . . . it's not possible."
My gaze landed on the doctor. "You were right. We have met nine years ago. You stitched my arm on December 15, 1925."
After a moment of hesitation, he took my arm. I resisted the urge to flinch. He examined the bandage like an artist studying his work.
"Are you saying that you're from the future?" "I am," I nodded. "Many years from now."
Edward sat watching me in astonishment. "I remember thinking that you must have been a dream. Mother had the police looking for you, but Father pretended that you never existed . . . in end, it was easier that way."
My heart went out to Elizabeth Masen. She had truly been an amazing woman. "You honestly aren't buying into this!"
Rosalie was fuming from where she stood. Even in her anger, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
"Edward, two minutes ago you thought she was insane. Now you're saying that you remember her and that she's a . . . a time traveler?"
"It's true," I said fiercely. "I can prove it!"
I stomped past her to the coat hook and grabbed my backpack. It was still wet from the storm. I tugged on the zipper and my books scattered to the floor. I grabbed one and flipped to the first page.
"Here, look. This was printed in 1980."
Esme picked up another book. "This one is from 1976."
"I can't forge textbooks," I said hurriedly. Books were more concrete. They went through editions every few years. The proof was in the ink.
But her expression didn't change. "I don't believe you."
"Fine," I huffed, retrieving my books from the floor. "I'm leaving anyway."
I didn't understand why I was so upset. It seemed that even in the past, I was a freak. I tugged the straps over my shoulders and thanked Esme for her hospitality. Edward had vanished. When I turned to the front door, he was standing in front of it.
How did he move so fast?
"Do you really have to leave?"
"I'm not going away from Rochester. I'm going back to my time."
It was true. A whisper of warning skittered up my neck. Their eyes were fixed on me.
"Can you control it?"
I shook my head and a lock of damp hair shielded my eyes. "Not all at. It's completely random."
The light was visible under my skin now. Esme covered her mouth in shock. I saw myself illuminated in the mirror down the hall. I was shimmering like the chandelier above us. In the brightness, the Cullens were ghostly pale.
Edward stepped as close to me as he dared. "When will you be back?"
I was vividly reminded of him as a boy. He had asked me the same question in 1908.
"I don't know. Possibly never."
I lifted my glowing hand to wave. The last thing I saw were his eyes, lit up with the same wonder as before.
My hair was still wet from the Rochester rain. I sighed and stretched out on my bed, where I landed only a moment ago. The sun was low in the sky; I had missed half the day. My friendship mission was off the table.
I went to the mirror and picked up my brush. For the first time, I noticed my hand was trembling.
Was I completely insane?
I exposed my condition to strangers . . . for what? A hunch? A couple of inconsistencies and coincidences?
Well, I thought, as I slammed my brush down on the dresser, I was going to stay away from them. As far as I concerned, the Cullens were a problem seventy years in the past.
I had to look to the future now. There was no turning back. I had to put all of them out of my mind.
It was easier said than done.
November 25, 2004
The administration never called about my absence. The next day, I went to school like nothing happened.
While in class, I raised my hand again and again. The teachers still didn't know my name; it was the only way I could feel noticed. But when the bell rang and students flooded the hall, I was just one of hundreds.
Though I watched the other girls sitting together at lunch, I wasn't brave enough to introduce myself. Close to a month passed since my first day; even as a new student, I was part of the background now.
I desperately wanted someone to talk to, but I was afraid they'd reject me. It was easier, for me and for them, to duck into the library.
I had another motive for going to the library after school. It was dangerous. Stupid and dangerous. But after returning to Phoenix, I threw myself into research. I decided I was going to get to the bottom of this if it killed me.
The first thing I did was draw a key.
I met Edward as a child in 1908; Carlisle in the hospital in 1925; finally, the entire family in 1934.
If the first time was an isolated incident, the second time had to be a coincidence. But three times . . . three times was a pattern.
If I left my timeline again, would I return to them?
I shook my head angrily. Until it happened again, I refused to think of time traveling.
It was Thanksgiving Day. Phil's parents, Arthur and Barbara, had flown to Phoenix to spend the holiday with us. Phil was their youngest son and it was his turn to host them.
Arthur and Barbara fussed over me. They had four sons and six grandsons; they were more than eager to dote on a girl. I blushed constantly. I was just happy to be included. Renee's mother died when I was twelve and we had no other family. It was nice to have a group atmosphere at the table.
Phil, Renee and I had been planning this day for weeks. Time travel had a funny way of ruining special occasions. I was determined not to spoil the holiday. If I felt a trip coming on, I would excuse myself to my room. My mom would explain away my absence.
But all our plans were unnecessary. I ate my turkey and listened to the Dwyers reminiscing. I was
so relieved. I could tell Renee was, too.
When I returned to school, I redoubled my research efforts. I couldn't help it. I was obsessed. I took a bus into the city and scoured the library there. I ordered a copy of the earliest available Rochester phonebook, poring through it until I found Cullen, Carlisle A in the listing. But it wasn't enough.
I turned to the internet. Phonebooks could only tell me so much. I ran all of their names into the search engine. Only one article turned up. It was a short profile on Carlisle when he joined the hospital.
The lack of information annoyed me. Historians worked hard to have records preserved. Though all of them hadn't made it to the internet, there were birth certificates. Death certificates. Wedding announcements. Obituaries. There had to be something. But there wasn't. Why?
Maybe I was asking the wrong questions.
On a hunch, I typed Masen into the search bar. There was only one result.
A grad student was tracing the spread of the Spanish influenza in major cities. Her work informed me that the pandemic swept across the globe, killing even the healthiest of young people. The Masen family was included, but it didn't list the individuals.
I paused. When Edward spoke of his mother, it had been in the past tense. I wondered if she fell victim to the pandemic. Why had Edward survived?
I couldn't help it; I was obsessed. My time travel was abnormal. But to me, leaving my own timeline three times was uncommon. I wanted to know why I kept running into them.
I was so absorbed in my research one Friday that I didn't notice a classmate trying to talk to me. I sat back when a paper airplane soared onto my desk.
The sender grinned. His name was Andrew. We had two classes together, but I didn't think he knew my name. Somehow, I made out what he was saying.
"A party?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "I'm inviting everyone. My address is on that note. It's tonight at ten if you're interested."
I considered the offer on my way home. Hadn't this been my goal a few weeks ago? A party was a good place to make friends. Well, it was in theory; I wasn't really the partying type. But it was the weekend. Renee and Phil were going to a friend's for dinner. It seemed like an easy way to break the monotony of a Friday night.
With two hours till party time, I decided to go. My research could wait another night.
I didn't bother looking in my closet. Renee had a bunch of great options. I took her cropped Ramones t-shirt and wore my own jeans. With makeup and a splash of her perfume, I was ready to go.
It was now or never.