Sherry Ficklin - Extracted

He stands up, pulling her limp body into his arms. “You still have to make the return trip, Ember. And it’s not like when we rift as a group, it’s harder.

“Harder how?”

“That is something you will have to discover for yourself, I’m afraid. But I can say this—no matter what you see or hear, keep focused on the Tether. Just try to block everything else out.”

I think about the lure I felt inside the stream. And I’m so tired. Maybe too tired to make it. But I take as deep a breath as I can manage and pull away, standing on my own.

“You should go back to the exact spot you entered from,” he advises, readjusting the girl so she’s over his shoulder.

“How will I find it?” I glance back to the general area I’d come from.

“You’ll find it.” He winks at me, and I can’t help feeling like I’ve done something terrible. I could have gotten them all out, I’m sure of it. I could have saved them all.

“Thanks.” I try to force a smile, but it’s raw around the edges.

He reaches over and touches my cheek with just the tips of his fingers. It is like five little points of electricity tingling in my skin. “Ember, you are a very special girl. A princess among commoners. I doubt there’s anything you can’t do when you put your mind to it. I wish you believed in yourself half as much as I believe in you.”

Not sure what to say to that I just nod, trying to keep a brave face when inside I’m completely frazzled.

I take two steps toward the tree where I’d arrived beside before I see it—a thin, nearly invisible ripple suspended in midair. As I get closer, I can feel the Tether tugging on my arm like a magnet being pulled to steel. I inhale sharply and look over my shoulder to the bench where Flynn had been sitting. It’s empty. I am on my own.

Reaching out, I touch the ripple and my hand slips through. It isn’t a ripple at all. It is a small tear in time, the point I’d come through. It will mostly heal when I go back, but it will leave a weak spot, a scar.

I step through the tear and find myself thrown back into the stream, only this time something’s wrong.

It’s a smell, something like sour milk, only it’s all over me, coating my skin. I fight back the vomit forcing its way into my mouth. The Tether pulls at my arm like a fishing line trying to reel me in. I struggle to relax, to allow it to pull me, when every instinct in my body is thrashing with the need to escape. Only the pull of the tech and my sheer will prevent me from bailing out of the stream. It isn’t the peaceful flow I felt on my first trip. No, the stream is murky now; like a wound left open and untreated, it’s festered. Is that my fault? I can’t help but wonder. I gasp for breath. The air is being squeezed from my lungs and I can’t breathe except in painful huffs. A familiar feeling beside me makes me force my eyes open. I blink past the water spilling over my lashes and focus over my shoulder. Then I slam to a stop.

It feels like I’ve hit a brick wall. The shock is sudden and makes every muscle in my body tense painfully. I want to cry out, but manage to muffle my scream by biting into my bottom lip instead. When I can open my eyes again, I see I’m back in the rift chamber, lying facedown on the floor. I press my head to the floor, enjoying the cool hardness of it. I actually have the urge to kiss the ground. Carefully, I wedge my arms underneath me and push up, my muscles screaming in protest as I manage to get to my knees. I want to stand, if only because I know that everyone is watching me from above, judging me, trying to tell if I’ve been permanently damaged by my time in the stream. I only wish I wasn’t so shaky, that I wasn’t kneeling on the floor like an idiot.

“Ember, how do you feel?” Mistress Catherine’s voice cracks through the ancient speakers.

There’s only one way I can think to salvage this. What would Ethan say?

I look up at the glass where I know they are all watching me, waiting to see if my brain has turned to jelly. I squint, cock my head to the side and smile, mustering all the false bravado I can access.

“Can I do that again?”

LEX

I open my eyes. I can feel my heartbeat in them. They feel like they’re going to pop out of their sockets, and without looking in the mirror, I can tell they are bloodshot.

“Hey,” Nobel says, leaning over me.

I respond with a faint moan. The sound vibrates in my head, and spikes of pain shoot through my skull. My whole body aches. It’s all I can do to blink against the bright lights of the lab. He sighs, relieved.

“How long was I out?” I ask hoarsely, sitting up on the rusty metal table. I wiggle my toes and electrical currents drive their way up the muscle. Something is wrong. Looking down, I see the problem. One leg is gone. Nobel has given me a prosthetic made of leather and metal, gears and copper.

“About a day,” Nobel answers, his voice tight.

I flex the appendage at the knee joint. Steam hisses out of the side. It’s almost as bad as a boiling teapot. There’s even a little whistle. I groan again, flopping down onto my back. I open my mouth to ask about Stein, but I already know where she is—at the bottom of that cliff back in 1905. For a while, I’m paralyzed by the memory of it. Staring up at the peeling plaster ceiling, I replay the mission in my head, looking for the moment where I screwed up, looking for the wrong turn, the bad decision.

Stein is gone.

And it’s my fault.

The realization rips its way up my chest, clogging my heart until I’m sure I’m going to die from it. I can’t breathe. Doubling over, I gasp and convulse. There are no tears, though I’m sure they will come eventually. Now, it’s just hot, unbearable agony.

Nobel tosses a dirty rag over his shoulder and leaves. It’s his way of giving me time to mourn. If I want to cry, I can do it now and no one will witness it. I’ve never been so glad to lack an audience. Then I remember how much Stein had hated it, the audience—always being watched and never having enough time alone. I wish I’d been better. Given her more. If I had another day with her, I’d do it right. Tell her how much she meant to me.

The guilt crashes down on me like a giant brick. Every muscle in my body aches with the strain of it. I can even feel it in what’s left of my leg.

I tap on the dented brass of my new limb. I should have gone off that cliff with her. It would hurt less, at least. I continue to tap the metal leg as tears roll down my face. The idea of never seeing Stein again cuts me to the bone. It’s as if my soul has been torn from my body.

I scream and throw a metal tray full of tools against the wall. They hit the ground with a loud crash. For a while I just sit there, hitting the leg over and over as if there were a cramp in the muscle. The hollow thuds echo through the room.

How could I let her go? Why couldn’t I have held on just a little longer? I stare at the far wall. “Skinard hearts Blu” is spray-painted in big red letters. I have never seen it before—in fact, I’ve never realized how filthy the Tower is. The furniture in this room in particular is being held together by rope and propped up by cinder blocks. Even though this is thought to be our operating and recovery room, nothing is clean or sterile. I can actually smell death hidden in the walls.

My leg lets out a hiss of steam in protest as what’s left of my quad spasms. Slipping my other hand in my pocket, I caress the old bottle caps I keep there. The familiar motion helps me focus, helps me push the pain down inside. The tears streak my face even as I realize the obvious.

I’ve got to get Stein back. Living without her isn’t even an option.

I’m a time traveler! What good are my abilities if I can’t use them to get her back?