D. MacHale - Raven Rise

“You’re my best friend, you know that?” Courtney said.

“I’m your only friend,” Mark replied with a smirk. “It’s kind of hard to maintain a social life when you’re bouncing around Halla. I haven’t been to many parties lately.”

“True.” Courtney sighed. “Then again, you didn’t go to many before, either.”

“Gee, thanks for that.” Mark chuckled.

Courtney added, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re great.”

Mark had never had a girl tell him he was great before. He barely spoke to girls at all. This was alien territory. He didn’t know what to say.

Courtney answered for him. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Thanks. I think you’re great too.’”

“I do.”

They danced for a few more moments, then Courtney asked somberly, “Do you think we’re going to spend the rest of our lives in the past?”

“I don’t know. But if we do, I’m glad we’re together.”

The two held each other even closer and let the music become their world, if only for a few minutes longer. For that one short magical moment, Courtney liked the music too.

The next day was filled with a whirlwind of activity. The Queen Mary had docked in New York, and the romance of being on board had worn off for the nearly twenty-five hundred passengers. They were all about getting packed up and off the great liner. It was organized bedlam.

Courtney, Dodger, and the Dimonds gathered in the Dimonds’ stateroom, waiting for the crowds to thin. Their luggage had already been sent ahead to the Manhattan Tower Hotel. Dodger saw to that.

“I got rooms for all of you,” Dodger said. “Good rate, too. You can stay at the hotel for as long as it takes to find someplace to settle in permanent. Courtney can bunk in Gunny’s apartment. The Dimonds have adjoining suites. It’s all very cush.”

“Who died and made you manager?” Courtney asked.

“I told you, we bellhops run the place. We know where all the skeletons are buried.”

Courtney quipped, “From what I’ve heard of that hotel, that’s no figure of speech.”

“Yeah, real funny. Everybody ready?”

Everyone exchanged glances. Mark broke the silence. “Let’s go home.”

They made their way along the passageway and up to the Promenade Deck, where the gangway off the ship was waiting for them. As a group they stepped onto the bridge and off the deck of the ship that had been their home, more or less, for many days. Nobody was sorry to say good-bye. Dodger hailed them a cab, and they all crowded in the back together.

“Manhattan Tower Hotel,” Dodger announced. Then added, “Wait.” He reached through the partition that separated the front seat from the back, grabbed the cabbie’s chin, and turned him to face the group.

“Hey!” the cabbie protested.

“Relax, pal,” Dodger ordered, and faced the others. “This guy look familiar to anybody?”

Everyone shook their heads. Dodger let go of the cabbie and said, “Good. Let’s go.”

Courtney laughed. She knew exactly what Dodger was thinking. The last time they were in a cab together, the driver turned out to be Saint Dane, and they were both nearly killed. Dodger wasn’t taking any chances.

Traffic was light, and they made it uptown to the posh Manhattan Tower Hotel in no time. The cabbie rolled off Park Avenue, into the circular driveway, and up to the wide stairs that led to the front door.

“All ashore!” Dodger announced. He paid the cabbie and said, “Thanks, pal. There’s a little something extra for your trouble.”

The cabbie took the cash while glaring at Dodger. He didn’t like the cocky bellhop, but he didn’t mind taking his money.

As everyone piled out of the cab, Dodger said, “I’ll check on the bags. Meet you all in the lobby.” He didn’t wait for an acknowledgment and bounded up the stairs, throwing greetings to all his pals. Dodger was back on familiar turf. Mr. and Mrs. Dimond followed close behind, with Mrs. Dimond mumbling something about needing to use the ladies’ room.

The cab charged off, leaving Mark and Courtney alone at the curb. Mark looked up at the tall, pink-colored hotel in awe.

“Just like Bobby described, isn’t it?” Courtney asked.

“It’s like stepping into the pages of a book,” Mark said softly. “Or a journal.”

“It’s pretty cool. Old, but cool. I’ll show you around.” The two were about to walk up the steps when they heard a man’s voice call from behind them. “Courtney?”

They both heard it, but neither thought it involved them. Nobody knew Courtney in 1937. It had to be a different Courtney. They kept walking.

“Courtney Chetwynde?” the voice called, more adamantly. Mark and Courtney froze, then slowly turned. Apparently someone did know her.

The man stood in the garden that was beyond the far edge of the circular driveway, across from the front door of the hotel. The first thought that came to Mark’s mind was haunted. The guy looked haunted. He stood stock still. His clothes were a mess, like he’d been in a fight. His face didn’t look much better. He had a scratch on his cheek, with dried blood caked beneath it. Stranger still, his clothes didn’t look like they belonged on First Earth. He wore a simple, black long-sleeved shirt and jeans. His dark hair straggled over his ears. His eyes were sunken in their sockets, as if he hadn’t slept in years.

Neither Mark nor Courtney knew who he was.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” the guy stammered without moving. He seemed on the verge of breaking down. He was definitely on edge. “I waited here, hoping you’d come back. I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to talk to.”

Though the guy gave Courtney the creeps, she walked slowly toward him. Mark grabbed her arm.

“Whoa, wait,” he cautioned.

“It’s okay,” Courtney said calmly.

She walked closer to the man. Mark was right with her.

“I’m sorry,” she said soothingly to the stranger. “I don’t think I know you.”

The man chuckled, though not because he thought anything was funny. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “I haven’t been myself. I’m not so sure I’d recognize me either.”

“Who are you?” Mark asked.

“It’s all changed, Courtney,” the man said. “Nothing is as it was. We have to find out why.”

Courtney and Mark didn’t know what to say.

“Maybe this will jog your memory,” he said, lifting up his right hand. On his third finger was a ring-a Traveler ring.

For Courtney, it clicked. She looked at the guy’s face, stunned. “Patrick?” she gasped.

Patrick smiled. He’d made contact. They knew who he was. The rush of relief was too much for him, and the Traveler from Third Earth passed out cold, right in front of the Manhattan Tower Hotel.

(CONTINUED)

Patrick slowly opened his eyes. It was dark-too dark to understand where he was. For a moment he wondered if all that had happened to him had been a dream. Was he in his own bed far below the grassy plains of Manhattan? Was there no longer a giant green statue outside the window, peering in at him? Was everything back to normal? No.

“Hey, you okay?” Courtney asked him.

Reality quickly flooded back for Patrick. “I was until I heard your voice.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said sarcastically. “Maybe you don’t want the water I brought you.”

Patrick struggled to sit up. He was dizzy. His head hurt. Nothing was right. “No, I’m thirsty.”

Courtney helped him sit up and offered him a tall glass of ice water. “Drink slowly.”

Patrick took a sip. The water tasted good. Patrick thought it was the only good thing that had happened to him since the horrible day began.