Time After Time by Tamara Ireland Stone Page B

the little black buttons until I find Walker. I check to be sure no one’s watching me.
    I close my eyes and when I open them again, I’m on the other side of the main entrance. There are no lights on the lower floor and the staircase is barely visible. I reach into my backpack for my flashlight, and I shine it on the stairs as I climb the three flights that lead to 3 C . Closing my eyes, I visualize the other side of the door.
    In the apartment, I sneak down the hallway with my flashlight. School pictures line the walls, and for the first time tonight, I don’t question whether or not this will work, I just hope it does.
    I creep around the corner, past the living room and toward the bedrooms. After I pass the bathroom, I stand frozen, facing two closed doors. I have no idea which one belongs to the kids, so I think back to the video footage of the building on fire and make the educated guess that it’s the door on the right; the one closest to the street. I twist the handle and the door creaks open.
    On the far side of the room, two twin beds bookend a large window that looks out over the street below. A thin stream of light is coming in from between the curtains, casting a soft glow on the dingy carpet.
    The kids are breathing, low and soft, and neither one of them moves as I remove my backpack and cross the room. I crouch down, remove the brand-new smoke detector I found buried in a box out in our garage marked HOME IMPROVEMENT , and position it as high on the wall as I can reach. Back in the hall, I grab the small fire extinguisher I snagged from under our kitchen sink and prop it against the short wall between the two bedrooms.
    I close my eyes and visualize the exact same spot I was in before the fire broke out last Saturday in the early-morning hours. My bedroom.
    By the time I open my eyes, the other me has already disappeared, sent back to who knows where and when, and I’m free to take his place.
    The last time I was here, I had just hauled myself up from the couch downstairs. My head was still aching and my mouth was uncomfortably dry. But right now my heart is racing in a good way, and I’m so full of adrenaline I’m about to burst out of my own skin. I don’t know if I was successful or not, and I won’t know until the news comes on in a few hours, but somehow, I have a feeling it worked. This wasn’t what Brooke meant when she said I should do “something good,” but I’m pretty sure I just did.

The first time around, I had climbed into bed with my clothes on and fallen back into a deep sleep. But there’s no way I could have fallen asleep tonight. I’ve been sitting here for the last hour waiting to see the first signs of daylight, and thinking about what I just did.
    Suddenly it dawns on me. In fact, it’s odd that I didn’t think of it until now, or factor it into my decision process as I sat in my bedroom on the Monday night I just wiped away. I’d been three days closer to returning to Anna. Now I have to do those days all over again, like I just rolled the dice and landed on the square that reads, Go back three spaces. I don’t know if this do-over will work, but one thing’s certain: it may actually be the most unselfish thing I’ve ever done in my life.
    The TV is the first thing I hear, and when I turn the corner I find Dad in the exact same place he was the first time: leaning against the counter, spooning yogurt into his mouth, watching the news.
    The expression on my face must look different this time, because he takes one look at me and breaks into a grin. “Well, someone’s in a good mood,” he says. “Nice trip?” My heart starts beating fast and I force myself to keep a straight face.
    It’s a completely unfounded superstition, but I still feel the intense need to keep things exactly the same—at least until I know if the do-over was a success. So even though I’m not at all hungry, I head for the pantry and emerge with the same box of cereal. “The trip was