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June 30th, 2000 East Harlem
MATT danced down the sidewalk to the strings of Mozart’s Quartet in C Major. The notes flowed from his headphones as he waved his hands in the air like a crazed conductor, fully aware of how he looked. It was a form of protective camouflage. Most pedestrians avoided him without seeming to, which suited him just fine.
Even though his ears were absorbed in the music, the rest of his senses were finely attuned to his environment, belying the illusion of obliviousness. His arms might be flailing, but his skin stayed sensitive to the vibrations of movement around him. His eyes darted around as he scanned for signs of trouble. As always, he hoped to make it to class without incident—which was why he noticed what was coming toward him in the distance.
The first image that flashed into his head was the redhead who walked slow and looked disoriented and carried an expensive bag. She couldn’t have made herself any more of a target if she’d tried.
Then his eyes jumped to the three delinquents strolling behind her and trying to look casual. Their intentions were obvious. The third thing Matt saw was that he was too far away to stop what was about to happen.
These three pictures leapt into his mind at the same time, alarm bells going off in his cerebral cortex as his frontal lobe snapped him into action. He darted forward, headphones flying off behind him. He ran even as he realized the futility in the back of his brain—the hoodlums had already crowded behind the woman as he was crying out. One grabbed her purse while the other two pushed her down. He let them run right past him. His attention was on the redhead, and she needed his help.
She had toppled on her heels when pushed, collapsing into the iron gate that led to the basement entrance of a nearby building. He’d seen her hit her head on the metal bars, and she wasn’t getting up.
Matt raced to her crumpled form while people walked past ignoring them both as they’d ignored her attackers. He thought it might be dangerous to move her, so he tried to be careful as he checked out her injuries, wishing he had more knowledge of first aid. Her scalp was bleeding badly, but he saw nothing more serious than that gruesome scrape.
She moaned and tried to sit up. “My bag.”
“Don’t move.” Matt attempted to hold her still, but she kept shifting around.
“My purse?” Her voice sounded a bit stronger, and she turned to look up at him.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “They got your bag.”
“But I need it.”
Matt shook his head. “It’s long gone. Hopefully you can replace whatever was in it.”
Her eyes focused on his, and he saw they were a brilliant, crystal blue. “There wasn’t anything in it. But it was a genuine reproduction antique.”
Matt held his finger in front of her and moved it from side to side. That was how they did it on television. Her eyes moved back and forth following his finger with a puzzled expression. She might have a concussion, but he couldn’t tell.
She glared at him. “Get my bag back.”
Matt shook his head and tried to remember the other things doctors on TV did. “Do you know your name?”
“Page.” The redhead frowned up at him. “What about my purse?”
“Forget that.” He was growing more concerned about her mental state. “Can you tell me your last name?”
She just gave him a long, blank look.
Matt frowned at her. “Do you know who’s President?”
“Maybe. It depends. Have you had the election yet? Is Florida still counting?” Page stared at him. “And could you also tell me what your name is, and how I’m going to get my bag back?”
“Matt. Matt Walker. And it would be easier to buy a new purse.”
She looked straight into his eyes, and he could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. And whatever she was thinking about, it wasn’t him. She definitely needed help, but he couldn’t take the chance of calling for an ambulance—it would take them far too long to show up in this neighborhood, and when they did, they’d probably take her in for a psychiatric evaluation, and he didn’t want that. Thankfully, he had another option.
Page started to sit up again, and despite the risk he helped her. If he was going to get her to the clinic, she’d need to be able to walk on her own or with a little assistance from him.
“Can you stand up? Is anything broken?” Matt worried he might be making things worse. “Do you think you can walk? If not, stay here, and I’ll go get help.” Though he didn’t care much for that idea in this area.
Page reached out to grab his arm. “Don’t leave. Not until the others find me.”
“Others?” Matt looked around, but no one was paying them any attention. “Look, I’ve got a friend who can get you checked out.” He was glad his good friend was a doctor. “He’s a resident, but he’s close enough to being a real doctor—and he volunteers at a clinic near here. They can fix you up. Alright?”
Page nodded vaguely, and he wrapped his arm around her back and slowly helped her to her feet.
She glanced sideways at him. “I think I bruised something. Matt.”
No doubt. “You think you can manage a couple blocks? You can lean on me.”
Page nodded, more definite than before. “But I can’t waste too much time. My helpers will be looking for me.”
Matt grinned. He wondered if those helpers of hers wore white coats. “For now, I’ll be your helper. You can worry about contacting somebody to come and get you after you’ve been helped yourself.”
He looked down and saw her heels were unbroken and hoped that held true for Page herself. He made sure to bear most of her weight as she hobbled along with him down the sidewalk and around the next corner.
To Matt it seemed to take them forever to travel the two and a half blocks to the Empire City Clinic. It would be best if his friend were on duty, but regardless, the staff there knew him, and he believed Page would get good care whatever her situation.
As he half carried her, he tried to figure out as much about this redhead as he could. She wasn’t a New Yorker. She definitely acted like a tourist—a visitor who wore heels she couldn’t properly walk in and carried an expensive but empty bag and wore a man’s wristwatch. Matt wondered if she even had any identification on her.
What she was, was a puzzle.
A nurse rushed out of the lobby when they finally reached the sliding glass doors of the clinic, and she helped him carry Page inside.
Matt grinned. “Morning, Marcia.”
Her lips were pressed tight as she took Page’s other side and looked at him. “You’re such a klutz, Walker. At least this time you brought your victim in yourself. This time you’ll pay the bill, too.”
Matt chuckled. If he hadn’t known Marcia, he wouldn’t have realized this was her idea of humor.
“She says her name is Page. But she’s not processing very well—maybe a concussion?”
Marcia gently settled Page into an empty wheelchair sitting in the lobby. “You let us decide what she might be suffering from—other than you.”
Matt followed her in as she wheeled Page back to the urgent care section.
Marcia glanced over her shoulder at him. “You don’t need to come along. We’ll take proper care of your Page.”
“Oh, no. I’m sticking with this one until I find out her story.”
“You don’t know how she was injured?”
“I saw that. Purse snatchers. I mean I want to know who she is. I don’t even know if she has any identification, or anything to say who to contact.”
“We’ll worry about that.” Marcia smirked. “Did you trying asking her?”
She leaned down to look Page in the face. “You want us to get a hold of somebody for you, sweetie? Tell them you’re here?”
Page looked back at the nurse. “I need Tate and Bailey. They know how to find me.”
Marcia frowned and looked back at Matt. “I see what you mean.”
She wheeled Page over to a station with various medical equipment and sat down on a metal stool. She clamped things on Page’s fingers to monitor her heart rate and oxygenation, and started wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Page’s upper arm.
Matt hovered. “Well? How is she?”
“Be quiet.” Marcia pumped away and focused on taking Page’s blood pressure and noting everything down on a chart. “You need a sense of humor like Doctor Wallace.”
“If my parents had given me a name like Harding, I’d have had no choice but to develop a sense of humor. He’s not around?”
“It’s still morning, isn’t it? What do you think?” Marcia almost smiled. Then she shone a pen light in Page’s pupils. “If she’s got a concussion it must be pretty mild. I’ll patch her up and see if she’s got any ID. Now you—get out of here.”
Marcia pushed him away and drew the curtain closed around them. She wouldn’t need Matt’s help to take care of Page, but he wouldn’t go far until he knew what, if anything, the nurse had managed to discover about this mystery girl.
He sauntered out to one of the waiting rooms and got himself a cup of terrifyingly bad coffee from the vending machine. He eased himself into one of the hard plastic chairs, stretching out his legs.
This business would make him late for the seminar on black hole mechanics, but the mysteries of the universe were familiar to him. The riddle of the redhead was new.
Matt had closed his eyes and let his mind wander when Marcia came up and slapped him on the shoulder. She must have thought he’d fallen asleep with the coffee in his hand. “I’ve got your girlfriend settled now, if you want to come and see her.”
Matt stood up and stretched his arms, tossing the full cup into the nearby trash can. “Did you find out her last name?”
“No.” Marcia frowned. “She doesn’t have any identification, and she says she doesn’t have a ‘last name’—just the one. She’s a comedienne.”
“Did she have anything on her that might give a clue as to who she is or where she belongs?”
“Pretty fancy clothes, but no labels. And that man’s watch.” Marcia gave him a sly look. “Which belongs to her actual boyfriend if you ask me. Her stolen purse would’ve had all her ID, and anything else that might’ve been useful.”
Matt frowned. “She said there was nothing in her purse.”
Marcia gave him one of those looks women often gave him, the kind that said men know nothing. “Whatever she said to you, she’s not saying much of anything to me. Perhaps you can get her to tell you more—something that might help us get a line on who to contact. Or we will stick you with the bill.”
“As if I needed any extra motivation to find out who she is.”
Marcia led him to where Page was half-reclined in a hospital bed in a room with five other beds. The curtains were drawn around the rest, so he had no idea who they might be sharing the room with. Not that there was any privacy here to begin with.
Page lay there with a big white bandage on the side of her head, staring into the distance. She did not seem to be aware of their presence. Yet. Matt found her straight red hair falling just to her shoulders quite fetching. He even thought her attractive in that hospital gown—there was no need for the fancy clothes.
He shook himself. Definitely out of his league, and the man’s watch probably did mean she had a boyfriend. He couldn’t help but notice though, that she wore no ring.
Marcia frowned down at her patient. “No real symptoms of concussion, but I’m worried about her nonetheless. Try to keep her from falling asleep, at least for a couple hours if you can.” She glanced at Matt. “Try talking to her. She’s your responsibility, so stick around until we know more. I’ll be around fairly often to check on her condition.”
The nurse left, presumably to check up on other patients. As she departed, Page turned to Matt with a clear gaze. “Your friend is awfully nosy.”
“She has a duty. A legal one, in addition to her moral obligation. To contact someone who can take care of you.” And pay the bill.
“She said I’m your responsibility. Isn’t that sufficient?” Page squinted at him for a long moment. “She also said I could trust you—that you’re ‘honest as your legs are long.’”
Matt smiled. “They only look long to you short people. And I wouldn’t trust me if I were you.” He looked at the neat bandage messing her hair up and grinned. “She got you cleaned up proper, anyway. How are you feeling now?”
“Sore. And she took my clothes and gave them to someone else.”
Matt shook his head. “I imagine they’ll be folded away in one of those drawers.” He nodded at the chest beside her. On top of it sat that watch of hers. “When you’re ready to leave, they’ll want you wearing your own clothes. Which would probably be a good idea, since the gown your wearing now doesn’t belong to you.”
Page pinched at the paper garment. “Gown? I might as well be wearing my thesis.”
Matt’s ears perked up. “Your thesis? What’s it about?” He figured she was a mathematician. Math geeks were vague and hard to understand.
“Statistical models of twentieth century dating rituals.”
Matt blinked. Math geeks were bad enough—social statisticians were beyond his comprehension. “I’m a graduate student at GTI. Theoretical Physics. I don’t suppose you go to Goth Tech?”
She shook her head. “You’re a nerd, then?”
Matt blinked again. “Yes, I suppose I am.” Just call me Mr. Kettle.
Page nodded to herself. “I’m looking for a ballroom dancer.”
Matt was glad he’d tossed his coffee or he might have spilled it all over himself. Does that mean she doesn’t already have a boyfriend, or that he’s not a dancer?
“That might be a challenge.” He shook his head again. “I’m looking for someone who’ll know what to do with you. Family or friends?”
“My helpers, Tate and Bailey. They’ll find me. They won’t have much choice, since they’ll be stuck without me.”
“That would be tragic.” Which sounded sarcastic. “A tragedy to be without you, I mean.” And that sounded like a sappy pick-up line. “Why don’t you give them a call?”
Page shook her head. “How? The communication technologies you use are always changing. We couldn’t prepare.”
Matt realized he was scratching the top of his head as he wondered if this redhead was some kind of alien. A beautiful math geek from outer space. It sounded like a bad movie.
Marcia kept accusing him of not having a sense of humor, but he found the whole world amusing—it was all one big, bizarre comedy routine. He just laughed on the inside so hard it hurt. Page not only bemused him, she thoroughly perplexed him.
Matt spoke slowly. “If you can’t call them, and they can’t call you—” Matt waited for Page’s nod. “How in the world do you expect them to be able to find you?” He thought about her bizarre behavior. “You’re not all ‘psychics’—are you?”
Page gave him a long level look. “You do have GPS, don’t you?”
“Global Positioning Satellites. Of course.” He glanced over at the watch. It had to have some sort of GPS tracking, and that reeked of espionage. But he had a hard time seeing Page as a spy. Government research? She didn’t seem the sort of scientist he’d expect to find doing highly classified work. He was having trouble figuring her out.
She must have seen his look. “Hand it to me.”
Matt hesitated. “Is there any particular reason you wear a man’s watch?” Marcia had asked him to try some questions, so it wasn’t like he was prying.
Page looked at him blankly. “Man’s watch?”
Matt sighed. That might mean she didn’t have a boyfriend, or it might be her general vagueness. He was beginning to suspect this might be her normal state and not a result of her accident.
He stretched over and grabbed the watch. GPS? It was hard black plastic—not the classy kind of gift a rich boyfriend might’ve given her. But it had to be pretty expensive if it had satellite tracking and who knew what other advanced functions.
Matt wondered if she’d bought it for some practical application. “You’re lucky they didn’t take this too, if it’s the only way your friends can locate you.” He hadn’t thought of Page as being practical. “What else can this thing do?”
She stretched out her hand. “Give it to me, and I’ll show you.”
He hesitated again. This watch was starting to intrigue him almost as much as the woman herself. He held it up in front of his face to take a closer look at the screen. Time and date. Latitude and longitude. He’d likely have to press some buttons to get to the other functions.
“Are you hard of hearing?” Page glared at him. “It’s my watch, and I’d appreciate it if you’d hand it over. Right now.”
He didn’t want to upset her, yet he kept hold of the watch. He was supposed to be finding out about her, which he wanted to do anyway—and he didn’t want to hang around and see if her friends would be more forthcoming than she’d been. He turned the watch over to examine its back.
There was no brand name or maker’s mark—only a designation that seemed too short for a serial number. LD—2. He turned it over again and made sure he hadn’t missed a manufacturer there. It had to be a prototype. He started to put the watch in her waiting palm, but again he hesitated.
Matt glanced from the watch to Page. “Is this experimental? Some kind of government project?” He was beginning to buy into that notion now. “Am I cleared to learn about its secret abilities?” Which was sarcastic again.
“It is research, but not in the way you mean it. Please give it to me.”
Matt heard the note of pleading that had crept into her voice. Still he refused to hand it over. For some reason he felt holding onto the watch was like holding onto her, and he didn’t want to let go.
“I’m pretty smart, you know. I bet I can figure out how to work this thing.”
He pushed a couple different buttons and found one that cycled through a series of screens that all seemed simple enough—but he was having a hard time understanding exactly what they were for. He also noticed that Page grew increasingly agitated as he fiddled.
She let her empty hand fall to the bed. “Please. Matt. You don’t understand.”
“Don’t be distressed. I’ll be careful not to break anything.” And he began to try pushing those other buttons while he was on various screens to see what happened.
Page’s voice was shrill with alarm as she yelped, “Stop messing about with that.” She stretched out her hand again, in obvious pain.
Matt’s heart ached to hear her like that. He had relented and started to give the watch back when he noticed Marcia coming into the room. If the nurse had heard the panic in Page’s tone, she’d have some harsh words for him.
He didn’t want Marcia to misunderstand. The nurse had a hard look on her face, and he tried to think how he could explain. By reflex he pulled the watch back, tightening his grip.
At the same time, he heard Page yelling at him, and she lunged up from the hospital bed and threw her arms around him.
And everything except the redhead clinging to him simply disappeared.