Chapter 65

So what year is it? It's got to be at least twenty years past our present," I said, eyeing my brother/ward/guide. "You're grown, and you're not a vampire."

"I don't have that sickly, pale, irritated look, huh?"

"Bingo. So maybe . . . 2030? More?"

"Uh . . . well, that's a logical assumption to make, but-"

"Oh, God. You're aging horribly and it's only been ten years, right? I'm sorry. You look terrific. Not creaky or elderly at all. Do you have a vitamin deficiency?"

"There's no way to ease you into this-"

"You do have a vitamin deficiency! Why isn't Other Me doing something about it?" I looked at Laura. "Maybe we should bring him back with us. That heartless cow is letting her son and brother walk around with a vitamin deficiency!"

"-except to just say it. It's 3010."

"Thirty-ten what?"

"The year," Laura said, appalled. "He means it's the year 3010."

"No it isn't. Come on!" I laughed and pointed at my tall, handsome son. "He's not a vampire! So he can't be a thousand and-"

"-seven," Jon added helpfully.

"Exactly! So ... aw, shit. You aren't yanking our chains, are you?"

"Sorry."

"But how-jeez." Other Me looked the same. Other Me looked exactly the same. It was all true. I was going to rule for five thousand years. In this when, I was a fifth of the way through it already. No wonder I was distant and severe and dressed in gray and superbusy! (It didn't explain the lack of wedding jewelry, though.) "But Jon, how are you even alive?"

"I can't tell you, Mom. I'm sorry. Other Mom was pretty clear about that. It'll mess up the time stream and/or bring about ultimate Armageddon. And also, she'll get really, really pissed if I blab."

"Is it because of your power? How you can't be hurt by anything paranormal?"

He shrugged and sounded apologetic. "Sorry, Aunt Laura. Other Mom made me promise. You remember the really, really pissed part, right?"

"Oh, come on," I protested. "You're a grown man! Very grown, I guess. So you don't have to-"

"Um, I know you aren't talking your son into disobeying one of you when we don't know anything about him or his powers or her or what she's up to," Laura said in all one breath.

"Damn your common sense, Antichrist," I swore.

"It does get kind of annoying," Jon said apologetically. He smiled again. "Look at it this way: you'll be able to look forward to at least one surprise, right?"

"Is that why there aren't any windows? And why everything's steel or cement except for Other Betsy's office? Was there a nuclear war?"

"Oh, no," Jon said hastily. "Nothing like that."

"Then what?"

"I guess I should just show you."

"Oh, argh. I've seen this movie," I said, trailing after Laura and Jon. "It'll be a blasted landscape crawling with radiated mutants, and the only thing to eat will be Twinkies. And Sno-Balls," I added, remembering the second-awesomest zombie movie ever, after Shaun of the Dead,

"Zombieland reference," Jon said, nodding.

"How do you know that? That's a thousand-year-old reference!" I looked at Laura. "I can't think of a single movie from a thousand years ago."

"Uh ... Betsy . . ."

"Don't say it." You know how you don't know how stupid something is until you hear yourself say it? That happened to me a lot.

Jon had stopped at the other end of the hallway, the big empty boring room Laura and I had appeared in first. He went to the other set of metal doors and waved his palm in front of what I thought was another cement block but obviously wasn't (in the place in time I came from, cement blocks didn't beep and flash tiny lights).

The doors opened, and Laura and I threw our arms over our faces. Not because of the radiation or to dodge mutants.

It was so bright. It was unbelievably bright. The sun was shining on an endless expanse of snow. We looked, and I could see Laura's eyes were actually streaming from the brightness. There was only snow. No buildings that we could see. No light poles, no telephone lines. No trees. No cars, no houses. Just snow, snow everywhere.

July 3, 3010.

Chapter 66

What the hell happened?"

Laura was beyond speech; she just pointed at me and nodded vigorously. The message was clear: what she said!

"Sorry." Jon ducked his head and shut the outer doors. We'd found out there was an enormous glass wall between us and all the snow-apparently it was forty below outside. So enormous it was a floor-to-ceiling window. So clean and clear, neither of us realized we were standing behind eight inches of glass. Glass from the future (duh), because I didn't think we had glass like that where I came from-or rather, when I came from.

Apparently hardly anyone ventured outside, what with the three-figure windchill, but they still liked to look. I wondered if Tina and Sinclair could enjoy the view or had to be content with looking out that big thick window at night.

Most of the complex we were in was underground. Other Me was the boss and ran the whole show. I figured Sinclair and Tina had to be around here somewhere, too, plotting to open a nationwide chain of tanning beds.

"Sorry," Jon said. "I can't go into it. Mom made me promise."

"But don't you want us to try to fix it? Jon, we could go back and fix it! You won't have to live underground like a big, gorgeous vole!"

Jon looked at me, and I don't think I'd ever seen a more sympathetic look on a face. "I'm sorry, Mom. There's-I don't mean to talk down to you. It's just that there's a lot going on here that you're not going to understand. And a lot I can't tell you even if you could understand." Then: "Vole?"

"Okay, great, thanks for the tour. Are you allowed to tell us how long we'll be here?"

Jon looked a little taken aback at the abrupt mood shift. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. It was a shock, you know, eight seconds ago, but we're rapidly adjusting. Right, Laura?"

Laura gave me a maybe-you-should-lie-down look.

"So answer the question, Jon-Jon . . . how long are we here for? Do you know?"

"Uh ... never call me that, please. And a couple of hours, I think. Not overnight or anything. Why?" Jon gave us a puzzled smile. "Is there somewhere you're supposed to be?"

"No, but you should go find out where we're supposed to sleep," Laura said. "In case we want to nap."

"Are you sure? I was gonna show you the soft-serve ice cream machine in the main kitchen. And we still make tons of smoothies," he assured me.

"Who cares?" I cried. Smoothies? To channel my hero, Liz Lemon, "What the what?" How about instead we figure out how to fix the world? Just for funsies? Smoothies. Jesus.

"Oooh, it's a date!" Laura cried. I don't think I'd ever seen her look more rapturous. Man, there were all sorts of disturbing things to fear in the future. "Go on, now. Find out where we can nap. Seeing the decimation of the planet has tuckered us out. Right, Betsy?"

Well, no, in fact I was pretty sure Laura was having some sort of nervous breakdown. It's a date? Ew, she was his aunt. And his sister! Which definitely qualified for a double ew. But I shrugged and managed a yawn. "Yes, I'm exhausted what with all the . . . not napping lately. In fact, technically I haven't slept for at least fourteen hundred years." Or showered! Gah, what was happening to me?

Jon dashed off to do Laura's bidding.

"What was all that? Unless you really are tired. Is it awful if I care more about a shower than the eternal frozen waste-land in our future?"

"Betsy, what if we do it?"

"Do what?" I stopped trailing after her, and she stopped and turned around.

"What if we cause this? Caused, I mean, past tense. In their past, not ours. You heard Other You. She remembers this. And she remembers going back and trying to fix it. But she didn't."

I blinked, thinking it over. "Maybe that's why nobody's telling us anything."

"Yeah, maybe. But who can't resist you, ever?"

"What, is that a riddle? Because there's the shoe buyer for Macy's. And there's Detective Nick, postchomp. And Jon Davidson of the Blade Warriors. And-"

"In this time line, idiot!"

"Oh, that's nice, demon spawn! I-" I shut up for a second. Then, hopefully, "Sinclair?"

"Right! So let's go find him. I'm sure you can bash through his defenses with a dazzling display of your utter lack of wit, then do something inappropriately sexual and bend him to your will."

I would have liked to hotly deny what she'd just said, the demon-spawned jerk, but it'd be (a) a waste of time and (b) undeniable. "But he's got Other Me for that stuff."

"Yeah, and what about her?" Laura looked annoyed. "Chilly and distracted and sort of distant. She never even said Jon's name, just that someone would give us a tour. She's like a CEO who doesn't know any of the secretaries' or mail guys' names. Future you is more or less the kind of executive you hated working for when you were alive."

"Everything you've said is true. Which brings me to the question, should I be mad or scared? Or just overwhelmed?"

"Figure it out later. So yeah, Sinclair's got Other You, but who's to say that's what he wanted? He's been stuck with Other You when she was you you. Now, young, vital, non-CEO you, I bet Sinclair hasn't seen that in a while." She paused. "Did that make sense? I'm not sure that made sense."

"It was genius," I assured her. "Come on. Let's get a tour and find my husband."

Call me weird, or perversely curious, but I couldn't wait to see ancient Sinclair.

"So if I've got this right, I'm about to help my husband cheat on me again, with me. Again."

Laura shrugged. "I don't make the rules."