The Prior
Chapter 33: 9/11/2001

POV: Elliot Foster

The sensation of air conditioning chills my skin. I sit up, in bed. To my left, Max lays on a queen, alone. I hop off the bed, looking for Cass. I’m in a hotel. The sun rises in the window. Morning. I turn the light on in the bathroom, expecting her to just appear.

I swing open my hotel door. Directly across the hall is Peter, in his own doorway. Avoid! He jumps away from his doorframe, just as I slam my door. I breathe, just to be startled by Max, behind me. I yelp a little. This brings a smug look onto his face.

There’s knocking on the door. I lock myself in the bathroom. I hear Max undo the deadbolt. He greets Peter, who asks for me by name.

“Why?” I call from inside the bathroom.

“She’s asking for you,” Peter says, softly.

“Max, does he have a weapon?” I ask. A shuffling occurs. Why is there not a peephole on the bathroom door?

Max taps the door once, “You’re good, come on out.”

I twist the handle, popping the lock. Creeping the door open, I verify that Max is still there. Peter holds his hands up as if he’s getting arrested or something. I step out into Max and I’s room.

“Hey, Elliot?” he says, as I cross the hallway, “I’m not gonna kill you, but maybe things would be more comfortable if we switched rooms?”

“Sure.” Peter has the door to this hotel room propped open with a shoe. I glance at him, he’s got one shoe on, the other barren with just a sock. I toss the shoe at him gently. He nods as I shut the door into this bedroom.

She sits up, her back leaning against the headboard of the bed. Pillows support her lower back. Her eyes are puffy. When she sees me, though, she smiles.

“Hi,” she says to me.

“Hi,” I reply, “How are you feeling?”

She shakes her head, “I didn’t ask you here to talk about how I’m feeling. Come sit.”

I approach the bed and make a little seat for myself. I’m close enough to touch her, but far enough to see her clearly. She asks if Max filled me in on the Columbine situation. He didn’t. She repeats Peter’s rendition of events.

“I think we need to tell Peter. He’s obviously more capable than we expected,” she suggests. I don’t like that idea.

I try to find an excuse, “We don’t have enough time for that.”

“We have two days until 9/11. Today’s September 9th,” she says, gesturing to the hotel clock. I glance at it. 09.09.01 is lit up by the digital alarm.

“You need to rest,” I note.

She rolls her eyes at me, “If you don’t think we should tell him, just say that. And give me a damn good reason for why, not these stupid excuses.”

“Because I’m worried about you and you need to rest,” I say, looking into her eyes. She glares at me, which I take as an indication that I should probably kiss her.

I lean in, carefully supporting her neck–not the injured part of her head, and press my lips to hers. She kisses back, smiling between each one. I feel a tug on the collar of my shirt, as she pulls me in. Her hands graze my collarbone.

“Your head doesn’t hurt too much for this?” I ask, as she begins to unbutton my shirt. She pulls out of the kiss, pressing our foreheads together.

“Well, what I was going to say before you kissed me was that I feel almost completely normal. It’s like I had a week of rest between jumps,” she whispers. I know she’s lying. But, I do whatever makes her happy. And, right now that seems to be taking off her clothes.

There’s aggressive banging on the door. I freeze and so does she. We hadn’t made it very far. I help her slip the sweater back over her head before getting up to answer the door. Max stands there alone.

“Jesus? What was that for? I would’ve thought you were bleeding out!” I exclaim, as Max stares at me, blankly.

He doesn’t reply and walks into the room, just as Cassidy begins to stand up.

“Woah, there,” I say, rushing over to spot her. I help stabalize her waist, keeping my hands along her ribcage.

She shoots a glance at me, “I can piss on my own, thanks.”

I ignore her complaints, guiding her into the bathroom. She scoffs, closing the door behind her. I turn back to Max, who now sits on the edge of one bed.

“I fucking can’t with Peter,” he mutters. I sigh and nod.

I lean against the wall behind me, “Cassidy wants to tell him everything.”

Max nods, “She’s right.”

I grit my teeth. Not what I wanted him to say. I hear water running in the bathroom, which means she’s almost out. She shakes her hands, sprinkling water around.

“So, we need a plan,” Max says.

“We should tell Peter,” Cassidy repeats.

He nods, “Yeah, Elliot and I were just talking about that. Let’s do it,” he affirms. Cassidy looks at me, amused. I break the eye contact and clear my throat.

“Maybe we should make a plan for actually 9.11 before we take drastic measures?” I suggest. A hint of confusion washes over Max’s face, but he stands up. Pacing the room, he listens to Cassidy.

“I mean, we just do nothing, right? Congressionalists want us to stop it, so we’ll just sit back from a far. Thus, we have to tell Peter so that he doesn’t ruin it,” Cassidy explains. I bite the inside of my cheek.

Max stops his pacing for a moment, staring at Cassidy, “And let all those people die?” Silence rings through the air as his words process. Cassidy doesn’t react, and instead, stares at me. Max turns to look at me, too.

“What?” I say.

“Well, what do you think?” he asks me. I grit my teeth. Cassidy doesn’t break her stare. A lump in my throat forms under the pressure.

Cassidy sighs, “He thinks we shouldn’t tell Peter anything.” Max scoffs, running his hands over the scruff on his face.

“So, now what?” Max says.

“Never really disagreed this much before,” Cassidy says.

“We haven’t,” I sigh. We all stare at each other blankly. Cassidy gets restless and moves to the other side of the room, looking out the window. The twin towers are visible from it, she cranes her neck to look towards them. I find all my attention on her. My eyes follow the lines of her body. She’s breathtaking, really. She’s always beautiful, but something today is just extraordinary. I turn my attention to Max, once I can finally get my eyes away. He stares at her too, longingly, almost.

“She looks great today,” he mutters, barely loud enough for me to hear him. He may have been talking to himself.

I nod, “I know.” As if she heard us, she turns around and saunters back. My eyes stay glued to her.

“The jeans,” I say, accidentally at a normal volume.

She fluffs her hair, “What?”

I smile a little, “You’re wearing jeans, pants, for the first time. And, they look incredible on you.”

“Seconded,” Max mutters, too quietly for anyone but me to hear. She accepts the compliment, before sitting down on the other bed.

“I have a plan,” she says. “And, before you disagree, either of you, I want you to listen to the entire thing.” I nod.

“We have to tell Peter, sorry Elliot. I just don’t see a way around it. We tell Peter. We wait until 9.11. I don’t think there’s a way to stop the planes and we don’t want to impact the planes. The entire point of stopping this event from happening was because the Congressionalists barely survived the war on terrorism. If we’ve done our job thus far, which I think we have, then the Congresionalists are already weak. The war on terrorism will take them out––for good. But, the war on terrorism won’t occur if 9.11 doesn’t. So, it has to happen. And, Max you’re right. All those people shouldn’t die if we can help it,” she rambles. I meet her eyes and nod along.

“So, I was thinking, maybe we could pull the fire alarm. Like 3 minutes before it happens. Most of the people should get out. But, a plane was still hijacked and still crashed into the building. And, yes, people will probably still die, but not as many. Not most of them. And, then we’ll do the same thing in the second building. Maybe people will take it more seriously the second time and there should only be a few deaths. But, a few building deaths and two collapsed buildings and four airplanes of people should still spark the war on terrorism. And the Congressionalists will die. I think,” she says, with a sigh. I glance over at Max, who only stares at me.

“You guys can talk now,” she says, anxiously.

“I like it,” I say, glancing quickly at Max. He chews on his thumb nail. “But, why do we have to tell Peter for that to work?”

A wave of frustration flows across her face, “So that he can help us. It’s not going to be easy. We need all the help we can get.”

Max remains silent. I shoot him a look. He nods, in response.

“I like the plan. We shouldn’t tell Peter,” he finalizes.

Cassidy crosses her arms, “So, what the hell are we going to do with him on 9.11, then? Lock him in the hotel room?”

“Works for me,” Max says.

I shake my head, “No, we should bring him. Tell him the plan. Stopping 9.11 has multiple connotations. And, like you said, it’s not like we could stop the planes. We just need to convince him that by pulling the alarms we’re ‘stopping 9.11.’”

Cassidy sighs, “But wouldn’t it just be easier to tell him?”

“No. You’ve been outvoted,” I say, a little meaner than I intended to be. She scowls a little, but gives in. Max points out all the time we have. Cassidy suggests that we explore––without Peter.

We’re approximately a 20 minute walk from the World Trade Center. We set out on the NYC streets, walking side by side.

“Do you think our parents will recognize us, you know, when we get back?” Max asks.

Cassidy shrugs, “Mine are dead.”

“I didn’t know that about you,” I mutter. She doesn’t reply, and neither does Max. “My mom is dead. My dad is dying. Cancer,” I add, looking towards Cassidy.

Max smiles, softly at me, “Maybe with all this time travel, he won’t be.”

Cassidy runs her hand along my arm, “I’m sorry, Elliot.”

I chuckle, “It’s ok. He was always a piece of shit.” she kind of freezes for a moment. I shake my head, “That’s why I have custody of Ava––not him.”

“Right,” Cassidy mutters.

We make it to the World Trade Center in exactly 19 minutes. We’ll plan to leave 40 minutes prior to the attack. Max suggests that we go in and locate the closest fire alarm.

“Do you think there’s security?” Cassidy asks.

I shake my head, “There’s a shopping mall underground. It connects to both towers. I think this is our best entry point.”

Max nods. Cassidy points out the entry to the subway, which is also underground. Max is facing the other direction, now, he points out something different. An entry way, it seems. The door is bustling with people. I pull Cassidy towards it and we follow the crowd. Upon entry, we follow the signs to the Concourse level. And, soon, we’re in the shopping mall. It’s huge. Ought to be one of the biggest malls I have ever seen.

Cassidy leads us to a stairwell on the far side of one of the buildings. A sign reads To the South Tower. We open the door and move up the stairs. There’s immediately a fire alarm. Perfect. We agree on the plan. We’ll split up, on the day of, obviously. But, we don’t talk teams right now.

Instead Cassidy suggests we enjoy the mall. I almost laugh, but we do have two days.

“What else are we going to do?” she reasons.

It’s only around lunchtime, now. The mall is bustling with people. She suggests picking out new clothes, since we’ll be here for a few days. I almost question her. Almost. Then, I remember, Cassidy’s a great pickpocket.

She yanks us into Aeropostle. Not even a minute later, she reappears with a men’s wallet. I raise an eyebrow, but don’t bother to say a word. Oh, Cassidy. I stick it into my pocket.

We start on the men’s side of the store. Cassidy gathers jeans for both Max and I. I see a pair of ripped jeans in the pile. Those better be for Max. She throws the pile into Max’s arm, now turning to shirts. The first one she picks up, in my size, is a graphic ringer tee. I cringe a little. She flips through a pile of branded tee shirts and yanks out on in Max’s size. Maybe I’ll take the ringer tee. She heads to the ‘uniform’ section, yanking down Polo tees in both of our sizes. A red and a green. I don’t catch which one is which. She also wiggles out a pair of khaki shorts. Max’s dissatisfaction is present on his face.

Max and I both stand, helpless, as she distributes the clothes. The ripped jeans were mine; the shorts for Max. I chuckle, as Max gives me a dirty look. She pushes us into the dressing rooms, asking for us to show her the clothes.

I slip on the skinny jeans, my foot getting caught in the stupid knee rip. I hear Max grumbling next door. We step out at the same time. She claps, smiling. I roll my eyes, but can’t help myself from smiling.

Max teases her, “Ok, Mom.” she ignores him. I retreat back and try on the other outfit. The polo fits tightly over my shoulders. These jeans are baggy and holeless, which I’m thankful for.

I step out, this time, faster than Max.

“You look hot,” she says, “I don’t know what you wore, normally, before all this, but when we get back, this is how I’m dressing you!”

I shake my head and go back behind the curtain. As I slip my own shirt on, I hear Cassidy cooing over Max. I leave the dressing room and don’t see Cassidy. Max steps out of his dressing room after a moment and we turn the corner. Cassidy stands against the wall, ruffling through tee shirts.

“Uh-no” I call, “You pick our outfits, we choose yours.”

She turns her head and laughs, but I was being serious.

“Ok,” she says, at last, “One for each of you.”

I turn to Max and he nods. She sits down on a chair at the back of the store. Max and I walk together.

“Ok, ugliest outfit in the store challenge,” he says, laughing. I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, you were humiliated in those jeans. Let’s have some fun.” I think about it for a moment, then realize my power.

I shake my head at him, “No, you can make her look ugly, but she’s my girlfriend, after all. Dress her in my greatest fantasy challenge.”

Max makes a face, but doesn’t reply. He stumbles upon a deep v-neck branded tee shirt, in hot pink. I see him nodding, then picking up a a pair of jeans and a leopard print skirt. Oof. I turn to the jeans, myself. I snag a pair of low-rise, bootcut jeans. God, she’s going to look so good in those. But, I need to be able to see them. A tight-fitted cropped shirt catches my eye. Yup. I dig out her size and proudly follow Max towards the dressing rooms. She starts with Max’s.

“This is the ugliest fucking outfit I’ve ever seen,” she mutters, moving the curtain out of the way. I feel myself grinning. I playfully punch Max on the shoulder. She looks silly. I try not to laugh, but Max’s snickering does me in. She shakes her head and walks back into the dressing room.

The curtain opens once more and she stands there, exactly as I envisioned her. Wow. I mean, she always looks good, but she looks really good right there. As she did with the last outfit, she does a little spin. I feel heat rush into my face, woof.

“Elliot, you did much better, I have to say,” Cassidy says, smiling. I nod as she twirls back into the dressing room. I glance at Max.

“Worth it, bud?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

After check out, we have a small dinner at a bodega. We talk about tomorrow. A whole day of freedom, what to do? Cassidy asks if we can sleep in. Max and I oblige.

“You know, our parents are alive right now, right?” she says.

I smile and nod for a moment. My mom’s alive right now. In 2001, she lived in NYC. Wait a minute.

“My mom lives here. Like in 2001 she did,” I share. Cassidy raises an eyebrow. Max suggests that we go find her. I laugh, thinking it was a joke, but Cassidy encourages it. I vaguely know where she lives too. My dad and I visited the ‘old apartment’ on a trip to New York a long time ago. Chills run down my spine. She died when I was 13. I still remember the slow realization that she’d never see me grow up. She could see me grown up now. Before I was even alive. She’s young now, maybe only 18. I try to remember her date of birth, but I can’t.

I recall the apartment being near NYU. My mom moved to the biggest city she could ever dream of, fresh out of school. In New York City, she met my father, who was also itching to leave his hometown.

We plan to take the Subway there. And, bring Peter, for kicks. We retire in the hotel room: Cassidy and I alone. As soon as I shut the door, Cassidy takes off her shirt. I glance at her, unsure if she’s just changing or expecting something else. She smiles at me, toying with her blonde hair. I smile back.

“I was going to take a shower,” she mutters, her eyes flickering, “But, I’m not so sure now.”

I take the hint, at last, and approach her. I hunch over and flip her over my shoulder. She giggles. I carry her into the bathroom and kick the door closed with my feet. I slide her onto her feet, grazing the sides of her body along the way. I yank off my own shirt, to her marvel. I pull her into a kiss, her hands softly grazing my skin. I push her against the bathroom wall, holding her steady.

“That’s hot,” she mutters, between kisses. I laugh a little.

We fall under the heat of the shower water, pouring over the both of us. She bites my lip a little. I love her more than anything in the world. I didn’t know love could feel this good. Everything is better when you’re in love. Dates. Kisses. Life. Work. Sex. Everything. I wish I could bottle this feeling. Something tells me that this won’t last. Things that feel this good are certainly too good to be true. Right?

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