Time's Echo: A CHRONOS Files Novella by Rysa Walker
Authors: Rysa Walker
Tags: United States, Historical fiction, Science-Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Time travel, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Teen & Young Adult, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages)
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need a break. For every hour I've spent waiting in a lobby or outer
office this past week, I've spent three laughing at Simon's jokes and tagging
along while he plays time-tourist. If I have to do any more of that without
sleep, I'm going to snap and knock his head clean off his bloody neck.
"Sleep and a shower," I
say. "Then we can do whatever you want. We can even move on to the next
city on the list—it's DC, right?"
I don't remember the exact year of
the DC jump. I do remember it's after Prohibition, however, and that would suit
my purposes much better than being stuck here tonight.
Simon looks offended. "We're
in New York , Kier. I've got tickets for a show. We can even catch a game
if you want. The Yankees are playing."
"Sleep first. Otherwise, I'm
not going to be able to jump anywhere when you're ready to actually leave New
York."
Simon can be exhausting. I've seen
him keep going for well over two days, then collapse for seven or eight hours
of sleep, before bouncing back up. And that's if you keep him away from coffee.
He'll sit stock still for hours if there's something to occupy his
mind—something loud and blaring, like a computer game or an action movie. But
sit still and read a book? Or just look at the stars? I've known him since he
was nine and I've never seen that happen for more than five minutes straight.
Kate spent one marathon day of
tagging along with us, a month or so before Simon clued in to exactly who she
was and what she—what we —were up to. Her conclusion? "He's like the damn Energizer bunny."
The Roosevelt is four blocks down
and we make it to our suite without Simon getting distracted, except for the
knish vendor outside Grand Central. I grabbed a couple of those, however,
so I can't really complain.
We stayed at the Roosevelt last time
we slept, too. It's a convenient location because the alcove near the main
staircase at the Roosevelt is a stable point after 1926. The hotel is still new
and luxurious in 1929, and our suite costs maybe twenty-five bucks. In 2008, it
was still nice, but slightly run down, and cost nearly four hundred dollars.
Fortunately, Simon seems to have
an unlimited bank account, because a suite is a necessity. If he drags another
girl back to the room tonight, it's bad enough that I'll have to listen to
them. I bloody well refuse to be in the same room.
I sprawl out across my bed fully
clothed and shut my eyes, thankful for the air-conditioning and a bit of
privacy.
The privacy lasts maybe two
minutes before Simon barges in. I feel the foot of the bed dip downward as he
plops on the edge.
"You're really going to
sleep?"
"Yes," I say, not
opening my eyes.
He's silent for a minute and then
says, "Have it your way. I'm gonna catch a movie and then we can—"
"Make it a double
feature."
Simon mutters a curse that has something
to do with my laziness, the likelihood that I had carnal relations with my
mother, and the marital status of my parents at the time of my birth. Then he's
gone, slamming the door behind him.
∞
New
York City
September
10, 1930 – 10:45 p.m.
The show, a musical revue called Hot
Chocolates , ended about an hour ago. I actually recognized one of the
stars, a guy named Louis Armstrong. Not from my time. Later in his career,
he'll sing this song called "What a Wonderful World," that Kate
likes, although I think it's a bit before her time. The dancing was too
frantic, but the music was nice, so I just closed my eyes and listened most of
the time.
One of the songs Armstrong sang
tonight, " Ain't Misbehavin ',"
is echoing through my head now as a giggly, thoroughly drunk redhead runs her
hand up and down my thigh.
It turns out that Prohibition
isn't quite the problem I'd imagined it would be.
We ended up having to make a short
time jump after the show because Simon had his dates wrong. The infamous Jack and
Charlie's at 21 West 52 nd was still the 42 Club over on 49 th Street until January of 1930, and Simon was determined it
office this past week, I've spent three laughing at Simon's jokes and tagging
along while he plays time-tourist. If I have to do any more of that without
sleep, I'm going to snap and knock his head clean off his bloody neck.
"Sleep and a shower," I
say. "Then we can do whatever you want. We can even move on to the next
city on the list—it's DC, right?"
I don't remember the exact year of
the DC jump. I do remember it's after Prohibition, however, and that would suit
my purposes much better than being stuck here tonight.
Simon looks offended. "We're
in New York , Kier. I've got tickets for a show. We can even catch a game
if you want. The Yankees are playing."
"Sleep first. Otherwise, I'm
not going to be able to jump anywhere when you're ready to actually leave New
York."
Simon can be exhausting. I've seen
him keep going for well over two days, then collapse for seven or eight hours
of sleep, before bouncing back up. And that's if you keep him away from coffee.
He'll sit stock still for hours if there's something to occupy his
mind—something loud and blaring, like a computer game or an action movie. But
sit still and read a book? Or just look at the stars? I've known him since he
was nine and I've never seen that happen for more than five minutes straight.
Kate spent one marathon day of
tagging along with us, a month or so before Simon clued in to exactly who she
was and what she—what we —were up to. Her conclusion? "He's like the damn Energizer bunny."
The Roosevelt is four blocks down
and we make it to our suite without Simon getting distracted, except for the
knish vendor outside Grand Central. I grabbed a couple of those, however,
so I can't really complain.
We stayed at the Roosevelt last time
we slept, too. It's a convenient location because the alcove near the main
staircase at the Roosevelt is a stable point after 1926. The hotel is still new
and luxurious in 1929, and our suite costs maybe twenty-five bucks. In 2008, it
was still nice, but slightly run down, and cost nearly four hundred dollars.
Fortunately, Simon seems to have
an unlimited bank account, because a suite is a necessity. If he drags another
girl back to the room tonight, it's bad enough that I'll have to listen to
them. I bloody well refuse to be in the same room.
I sprawl out across my bed fully
clothed and shut my eyes, thankful for the air-conditioning and a bit of
privacy.
The privacy lasts maybe two
minutes before Simon barges in. I feel the foot of the bed dip downward as he
plops on the edge.
"You're really going to
sleep?"
"Yes," I say, not
opening my eyes.
He's silent for a minute and then
says, "Have it your way. I'm gonna catch a movie and then we can—"
"Make it a double
feature."
Simon mutters a curse that has something
to do with my laziness, the likelihood that I had carnal relations with my
mother, and the marital status of my parents at the time of my birth. Then he's
gone, slamming the door behind him.
∞
New
York City
September
10, 1930 – 10:45 p.m.
The show, a musical revue called Hot
Chocolates , ended about an hour ago. I actually recognized one of the
stars, a guy named Louis Armstrong. Not from my time. Later in his career,
he'll sing this song called "What a Wonderful World," that Kate
likes, although I think it's a bit before her time. The dancing was too
frantic, but the music was nice, so I just closed my eyes and listened most of
the time.
One of the songs Armstrong sang
tonight, " Ain't Misbehavin ',"
is echoing through my head now as a giggly, thoroughly drunk redhead runs her
hand up and down my thigh.
It turns out that Prohibition
isn't quite the problem I'd imagined it would be.
We ended up having to make a short
time jump after the show because Simon had his dates wrong. The infamous Jack and
Charlie's at 21 West 52 nd was still the 42 Club over on 49 th Street until January of 1930, and Simon was determined it
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