Clara said, tugging on my pants. "Let's get something to eat."
Charis laughed again. Could it be possible that we might actually be able to enjoy ourselves in this place, even if only for a few fleeting minutes at a time? It was nice to not have Ross right on our tails for once.
The three of us wandered through the house, drawing curious glances from the others because our kid was the only kid around. She didn't seem to notice, using her nose to track us to a table of American classics. Pie, turkey, potatoes; it was like the original Thanksgiving. It smelled great.
"You don't really need to eat," I said.
She looked up at me and stuck out her tongue. "Daddy, think in metaphor." She grabbed a loaf of bread and took a bite from the end. "I don't want to have to spell everything out to you." Her words were mumbled with a mouth full of food, but I heard them all the same.
"Quite a little darling," I said to Charis.
"I think she's perfect," she replied, her eyes holding mine.
"I never thought of you as the motherly type." Not that I ever thought of myself as a father either.
"Me neither, but I see you and I together when I look at her. I like that."
Together, but not quite. Being in the Box hadn't exactly left us any time to do anything even close to what I had shared with Tammy Robinson. Still, I knew what she meant. Watching her die so many times had been pure agony.
A murmur started to rise from the living room, and before I knew what was happening Charis... Red Dress Charis came running into the room, holding her dress wrapped around her and looking back over her shoulder. She slammed right into me, her face snapping up to look into mine, her eyes wide with fear.
"Get out of my way," she said, looking backwards again.
"Landon, this never happened," the real Charis said.
Ross was here already? I pushed fake Charis out to arm's length.
"Let me go," she demanded. Her foot whipped out into my leg. I felt the pain of my kneecap shattering beneath the force, and I fell to the ground. Fake Charis' eyes narrowed and flared an angry red.
"Not so fast," Charis said. She had grabbed a serving fork from the table, and she jammed it into her counterpart's neck, and then threw her across the spread.
I couldn't heal here, not like I had outside the Box. Charis lifted me up and put her shoulder beneath mine so I could stay off my leg.
"Excuse me, sir?" The waiter was back. Charis didn't wait for him to do anything surprising. She slammed the flat of her hand into his nose, and he flopped backwards with a groan.
"Is it time?" she asked Clara.
She was still chewing on the bread, taking smaller bites and looking around. "Not yet."
"Why don't you heal your father, like you did in the house?"
"Sorry, mommy. I can't. It isn't safe."
What did that mean? "Let me go," I said. "I can manage." She slipped out from under me, and I brought my weight down gently. It hurt, but I had a lot of experience with pain. "We need to get out of here."
I heard the sound of a musket hammer drawing back. There was a pop, and a ball of iron whizzed by my head. I found the shooter across the room, a soldier with a wide grin.
"Really? Not yet?"
She smiled up at me. I noticed a couple of her front teeth were missing. "Okay, we can go now," she said. "We need to get out that door." She pointed back at it, only ten feet away.
Ten feet was nothing unless your leg was broken. He pulled the hammer back again and took aim.
The waiter's silver platter was resting a few feet away. With a thought, I brought it up in front of us, just in time to catch the second bullet. I started limping backwards, until Charis scooped me up and tossed me over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The entire house burst into flames around us.
"Going somewhere?" Ross asked. I felt him tug on the platter, and I countered it, showing him that I could.
"See you around," I said. I felt Charis shift as she kicked open the burning door. A wash of frigid air
Charis laughed again. Could it be possible that we might actually be able to enjoy ourselves in this place, even if only for a few fleeting minutes at a time? It was nice to not have Ross right on our tails for once.
The three of us wandered through the house, drawing curious glances from the others because our kid was the only kid around. She didn't seem to notice, using her nose to track us to a table of American classics. Pie, turkey, potatoes; it was like the original Thanksgiving. It smelled great.
"You don't really need to eat," I said.
She looked up at me and stuck out her tongue. "Daddy, think in metaphor." She grabbed a loaf of bread and took a bite from the end. "I don't want to have to spell everything out to you." Her words were mumbled with a mouth full of food, but I heard them all the same.
"Quite a little darling," I said to Charis.
"I think she's perfect," she replied, her eyes holding mine.
"I never thought of you as the motherly type." Not that I ever thought of myself as a father either.
"Me neither, but I see you and I together when I look at her. I like that."
Together, but not quite. Being in the Box hadn't exactly left us any time to do anything even close to what I had shared with Tammy Robinson. Still, I knew what she meant. Watching her die so many times had been pure agony.
A murmur started to rise from the living room, and before I knew what was happening Charis... Red Dress Charis came running into the room, holding her dress wrapped around her and looking back over her shoulder. She slammed right into me, her face snapping up to look into mine, her eyes wide with fear.
"Get out of my way," she said, looking backwards again.
"Landon, this never happened," the real Charis said.
Ross was here already? I pushed fake Charis out to arm's length.
"Let me go," she demanded. Her foot whipped out into my leg. I felt the pain of my kneecap shattering beneath the force, and I fell to the ground. Fake Charis' eyes narrowed and flared an angry red.
"Not so fast," Charis said. She had grabbed a serving fork from the table, and she jammed it into her counterpart's neck, and then threw her across the spread.
I couldn't heal here, not like I had outside the Box. Charis lifted me up and put her shoulder beneath mine so I could stay off my leg.
"Excuse me, sir?" The waiter was back. Charis didn't wait for him to do anything surprising. She slammed the flat of her hand into his nose, and he flopped backwards with a groan.
"Is it time?" she asked Clara.
She was still chewing on the bread, taking smaller bites and looking around. "Not yet."
"Why don't you heal your father, like you did in the house?"
"Sorry, mommy. I can't. It isn't safe."
What did that mean? "Let me go," I said. "I can manage." She slipped out from under me, and I brought my weight down gently. It hurt, but I had a lot of experience with pain. "We need to get out of here."
I heard the sound of a musket hammer drawing back. There was a pop, and a ball of iron whizzed by my head. I found the shooter across the room, a soldier with a wide grin.
"Really? Not yet?"
She smiled up at me. I noticed a couple of her front teeth were missing. "Okay, we can go now," she said. "We need to get out that door." She pointed back at it, only ten feet away.
Ten feet was nothing unless your leg was broken. He pulled the hammer back again and took aim.
The waiter's silver platter was resting a few feet away. With a thought, I brought it up in front of us, just in time to catch the second bullet. I started limping backwards, until Charis scooped me up and tossed me over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The entire house burst into flames around us.
"Going somewhere?" Ross asked. I felt him tug on the platter, and I countered it, showing him that I could.
"See you around," I said. I felt Charis shift as she kicked open the burning door. A wash of frigid air
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