15

“You . . .” Corey spluttered. “I . . .”

She smiled. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice soft and soothing.

Yes. Yes, she was right, Corey thought. Everything was okay now.

He’d done it. He’d found her!

“You . . . ,” Corey blurted out. “You’re my yiayia.”

Maria Fletcher shook him off and gave an odd smile, dusting off the passport. “No, I’m afraid I’m not. . . .”

“Okay. I—I know this is impossible to believe,” he said, “but you cannot go to work today. We have to leave. You and me. I’ll show you where to go.”

She wasn’t listening. She was staring at the photo inside the passport. “Um, where did you get this?”

Her smile was gone now. She looked at Corey with a mix of curiosity and bafflement.

“Papou gave it to me,” Corey said. “Your husband. Gus Fletcher. Listen, I can explain—”

“Gus gave you my grandfather’s passport?” she shot back. “Why?”

Corey froze. “That’s . . . that’s harder to answer than you think.”

“And what’s this?” She was scanning the schedule Papou had given him. “That’s my routine. Are you some kind of intern for a private investigator? What’s going on here? How old are you?”

Corey reached for her wrist. “Just . . . just come with me, okay? It’s a long story. Please!”

She pulled away, shoving the passport and the schedule back to Corey. “Just . . . return these back to him,” she said, backing away. “Honestly. Tell him I need my space. This is not helping—”

“You’re going to die!” Corey blurted.

Now a New York City cop was approaching from the left. “Uh, excuse me, are you the kid who was hit by the vehicle?”

“It’s okay!” Corey replied, turning to face the cop. “Just a light tap. I’m fine.”

When he turned back, his grandmother was gone.

“Wait!” Corey shouted, taking off toward Liberty Street. She was halfway across as Corey approached the corner. But before he could reach it, a man in a hooded rain slicker leaped in his way. Corey slipped and steadied himself against a streetlight. “Stop her!” he shouted.

Now the light was red. The man in the slicker was dodging traffic, which was now fast, thick, and suicidal. Corey stood helplessly, watching as the man approached his grandmother from behind, tapping her on the shoulder.

For a moment Corey had a flicker of hope. Maybe the guy had heard him calling his grandmother. Maybe he was going to point her back to Corey. That would at least give him a chance to catch up.

But his hope curdled quickly. Maria was staring directly at the man. Her eyes widened and she backed away, her hand rising to cover her mouth. They were both in profile to him now. And Corey knew exactly who the man was. The only person who would be wearing a hooded raincoat on a clear day like this. A person who did not want to be seen until he was good and ready.

Papou.

His jaw dropped. This was not the Papou of 2001. This Papou was gray bearded and thin, looking not a moment younger than when Corey had last seen him.

I went many times to 2001 . . . , Papou had said, to the day we lost your yiayia . . . I failed again and again.

This was one of those times. Right here and now. This was one of Papou’s time hops. Maria was staring into the face of her husband many years older. And it was freaking her out. Of course.

Corey jumped up and down, waving his arms over the blur of traffic. “Listen to him! He’s trying to save you!” But his voice was lost in the noise.

He watched helplessly as Papou grabbed her arm, but she screamed. Right away a guy in a suit stepped between them, a stranger. Thinking he was a Good Samaritan, he pushed Papou away. Maria turned, running toward the Trade Center.

As the light turned green, Corey sprinted. Papou and Good Samaritan were in a screaming match. His grandmother was disappearing into the crowd. Corey picked up speed.

“Excuse me . . . excuse me. . . .” He pushed his way through the throng of workers, but he could no longer see her.

He had lost her.

Pivoting, he headed toward the One World Trade Center entrance. If he hurried, he could get there first, head her off before she entered the building. He wove through the rushing people like a linebacker. Moments ago, when Corey was in the present, people were grousing at him for being in the way. Now he was mad at them for the same reason.

Mad? How could he be mad? They were going to die!

He squeezed by people who were talking about stock prices. Boyfriends. Shoe sizes. A concert. As if these were the only important things in the world. “Excuse me . . . sorry . . . beep-beep,” he chirped.

“Easy, pal, the sky ain’t fallin’,” a guy grumbled.

Corey spun around, but the man who said that was already by him, heading for the revolving doors for One World Trade Center. People lined up to enter. They were bored and sleepy and annoyed. They were chatting and checking their watches and phones, thinking about the day ahead. There was no throbbing music, no sense of dread, no warning. Corey wished he had more than a Throwback’s skill. He wished he could stop time completely, stop the people cold, so he could take them away from here one by one to the river for safety. He would do that if he could, every one of them, inside the building and out. He would pull away three thousand people in that frozen instant, until the plaza was empty and the building was empty, and when time started again, the madmen would see all the emptiness and change their minds. . . .

There.

As he stood at the entrance, facing away from the building and into the crowd, he saw her.

She was hurrying toward the doors. Toward him. But before he could say a thing, someone else ran in front of her. Again.

This time it was a man in a winter parka, holding his arms wide as if he wanted to hug her. His grandmother stopped in her tracks and screamed. “Gus? What is going on here?”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

This was Papou, too. Without a beard. From a different time hop. From a longer time ago, when he was younger. “I can explain!” Corey shouted, running her way.

But his grandmother wasn’t hearing him. She was bone white, as if she’d found herself in the middle of a nightmare. She turned away from Papou, pushing her way through a revolving glass door. Running for the elevators. Corey swerved wide around the old man. No time to confront him. He wouldn’t be looking out for Corey anyway. He’d taken this time hop long before he knew Corey had the ability. As he entered the building, Corey lost sight of her.

No. There by the turnstiles. She was showing an ID card to a guard.

Corey sprinted after her, but a guard stepped in his way. He was smiling, calm, placid—Why were they all so relaxed? “Hello, son,” he said. “Do you have a pass? Or an appointment?”

“That’s my grandmother!” he said. “She . . . she forgot something!”

The guard looked over his shoulder and called out, “Ma’am?”

“Maria!” Corey called out, but she raced to the elevators without responding.

“Sorry, guy,” the guard said, gesturing to a long desk against the wall. “Just come with me, give me your name, and pick up a pass. Sorry, but you can’t be too careful these days!”

“Okay, listen to me,” Corey said. “No one needs a pass right now. You need to get out of here—”

That was when he heard the boom above. The ground shook so hard he felt his teeth rattle and lost his footing. People fell to the floor around him. Screams rang out.

“What the heck?” the guard said, fishing out a walkie-talkie.

Corey leaped to his feet, ran to the turnstile, and jumped over it. Running toward the elevator, he called out his grandmother’s name.

Above him, he heard a low, sickening crunch. The massive building shook like a subway train. He looked up in time to see a section of the ceiling explode into dust and tumble downward, directly over his head.