Nothing stands out. There is one fact, though, I can’t ignore. When we left my training room it was morning, and here it’s middle of the night. Given that there’s only an hour’s time difference between New York and Chicago—if this is indeed Chicago—then I’ve either been unconscious for several hours or we’ve really traveled through time.
Marie turns down the sidewalk and I quickly step after her to catch up.
“I assume you saw the date?” she asks after a few minutes.
“Uh-huh.”
“And does it mean anything to you?”
The date? I look back at my Chaser to confirm. May 16, 2009.
May 16, 2—
I stop walking. Marie looks back at me.
“Oh, my God,” I say.
“Hold that thought.” She pushes the GO button again.
__________
T HE CHANGE FROM darkness to a blink of the gray mist to sunlight is so abrupt that I have to slam my eyes shut.
“We don’t have much time,” Marie says. “Come on.”
She grabs my arm, pulls me to the left. Through narrowed eyelids, I see we’re in a field. Weeds and wild grass brush against my legs and I almost trip on what I at first think is a rock, but realize it’s the edge of the old foundation for a long destroyed building.
As my vision continues to adjust, I see we’re headed toward a group of brick buildings that look to me like old, abandoned warehouses.
“Still Chicago?” I ask.
Marie nods. “Southern industrial zone.”
When we reach the end of the field, she crosses the street and races over to one of the warehouses. As I follow, I once again have the feeling this is a place she knows. The feeling is reinforced when she jogs up to a set of metal doors and pulls them open like she already knew they’d be unlocked.
On the other side of the doorway is a staircase, but I don’t catch up to Marie until I reach the top landing, and this is only because she’s stopped to wait for me.
“We’re here for one purpose only,” she says. “This place gives us a good vantage point. Whatever else you see here is not important. Okay?”
“Sure,” I say. “Got it.”
She opens the door and we walk onto the sunlit roof of the warehouse. The weather-protection material that once covered the roof is torn in several places and missing altogether in others. There are at least half a dozen spots where the wood beneath has rotted away, leaving holes that offer a swift trip down to the concrete slab four floors below.
I’m so focused on avoiding these traps that I don’t realize we aren’t alone until we almost reach the raised lip at the edge. Looking around, I spot four other pairs of people scattered along the roof and immediately note a disturbing similarity. In each group, there is one person who looks to be around my age. That’s not the crazy part, though. The second one of each pair is Marie.
The same woman who brought me here.
Counting the one I’m with, there are five of her.
“Focus,” my Marie hisses at me.
I turn to her, and though I’m sure she can see the shock and confusion in my eyes, she ignores my unspoken questions and points toward the city.
“You see it? The tallest one?”
I have to force myself to look toward downtown.
“Yes,” I say, picking out the infamous Dawson Tower. From here it looks like a sparkling finger pointed at the sky.
“Just a few seconds now,” she says.
So much is running through my mind that I almost miss the very thing she’s brought me here to see. From this distance, we’re unable to see the exact moment the twenty-third floor begins its collapse, but we can’t miss the hundred-plus floors above it beginning to tilt. One of the others with us on the roof shouts in horror as the giant structure breaks into pieces, and a part of me is surprised I haven’t yelled, too.
It was supposed to be the tallest building in North America when it was finished, but on May 16, 2009, less than a month from completion, the tower collapsed onto the city, taking several other structures with it and
Marie turns down the sidewalk and I quickly step after her to catch up.
“I assume you saw the date?” she asks after a few minutes.
“Uh-huh.”
“And does it mean anything to you?”
The date? I look back at my Chaser to confirm. May 16, 2009.
May 16, 2—
I stop walking. Marie looks back at me.
“Oh, my God,” I say.
“Hold that thought.” She pushes the GO button again.
__________
T HE CHANGE FROM darkness to a blink of the gray mist to sunlight is so abrupt that I have to slam my eyes shut.
“We don’t have much time,” Marie says. “Come on.”
She grabs my arm, pulls me to the left. Through narrowed eyelids, I see we’re in a field. Weeds and wild grass brush against my legs and I almost trip on what I at first think is a rock, but realize it’s the edge of the old foundation for a long destroyed building.
As my vision continues to adjust, I see we’re headed toward a group of brick buildings that look to me like old, abandoned warehouses.
“Still Chicago?” I ask.
Marie nods. “Southern industrial zone.”
When we reach the end of the field, she crosses the street and races over to one of the warehouses. As I follow, I once again have the feeling this is a place she knows. The feeling is reinforced when she jogs up to a set of metal doors and pulls them open like she already knew they’d be unlocked.
On the other side of the doorway is a staircase, but I don’t catch up to Marie until I reach the top landing, and this is only because she’s stopped to wait for me.
“We’re here for one purpose only,” she says. “This place gives us a good vantage point. Whatever else you see here is not important. Okay?”
“Sure,” I say. “Got it.”
She opens the door and we walk onto the sunlit roof of the warehouse. The weather-protection material that once covered the roof is torn in several places and missing altogether in others. There are at least half a dozen spots where the wood beneath has rotted away, leaving holes that offer a swift trip down to the concrete slab four floors below.
I’m so focused on avoiding these traps that I don’t realize we aren’t alone until we almost reach the raised lip at the edge. Looking around, I spot four other pairs of people scattered along the roof and immediately note a disturbing similarity. In each group, there is one person who looks to be around my age. That’s not the crazy part, though. The second one of each pair is Marie.
The same woman who brought me here.
Counting the one I’m with, there are five of her.
“Focus,” my Marie hisses at me.
I turn to her, and though I’m sure she can see the shock and confusion in my eyes, she ignores my unspoken questions and points toward the city.
“You see it? The tallest one?”
I have to force myself to look toward downtown.
“Yes,” I say, picking out the infamous Dawson Tower. From here it looks like a sparkling finger pointed at the sky.
“Just a few seconds now,” she says.
So much is running through my mind that I almost miss the very thing she’s brought me here to see. From this distance, we’re unable to see the exact moment the twenty-third floor begins its collapse, but we can’t miss the hundred-plus floors above it beginning to tilt. One of the others with us on the roof shouts in horror as the giant structure breaks into pieces, and a part of me is surprised I haven’t yelled, too.
It was supposed to be the tallest building in North America when it was finished, but on May 16, 2009, less than a month from completion, the tower collapsed onto the city, taking several other structures with it and
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