Chapter Text
Gertrude watched Gerard as he stowed his bag in the overhead luggage compartment. There was the faintest line of tension along his brow, as if he was worried about something. The headache was back.
He smiled at her as he slung himself down into the airplane seat next to her, and she asked, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, fine,” he said, shrugging off her worry. “Travel always messes with me a little. Just tired.”
He wasn’t just tired. The headaches had been getting more frequent, and though Gertrude, as a general rule, avoided Knowing non-Fear-related things about ordinary people, she had taken a look at the medical history of Gerard’s family. It was concerning. But with an Institute paycheck she could do very little, and Gerard’s savings were not nearly enough for surgery. Assuming he needed surgery. She couldn’t actually see inside his head, but she could make a good guess. And Gertrude’s guesses were usually right.
The plane lights dimmed and their seats shuddered as they took off into clear skies, and the young man who’d spent his youth burning books of the Vast closed his eyes to sleep away the flight. Gertrude, who’d read slightly too many statements of the Vast to ever be completely comfortable on an airplane, watched the flight tracker installed in the seat in front of her. It was a little video screen set into the back of the seat, a relatively new addition to cross-continent flights, and it showed their plane’s progress. There was a little dotted path tracing from London to the United States in a straight line, and a little plane icon that was mean to represent their plane.
Gertrude frowned. The little plane icon was not on the dotted line of their route. It was ever-so-slightly off. And as she watched, the gap grew larger, the plane curving in an unplanned direction.
It was at this point Gertrude noticed that it was unusually quiet for flight. No safety announcements or greetings ringing over the speakers. No coughing, no murmurs, no conversation. She leaned forward to look past Gerard, past the empty seat beside him, and into the aisle. There were people there, yes, but when she looked at the balding man across the way, she saw a hint of spiderweb stretching between his arm and the seat back.
The plane was getting further from the route with no alarm or questions from anyone that Gertrude could hear. She looked closer at the map. They were arcing slightly around London, bending a path towards- Oxford.
And Gertrude knew, deep in her gut, that they were going to pass over Hilltop Road.
“Gerard,” she said, “Wake up.”
He frowned slightly in his sleep, fighting towards consciousness, and the balding man turned his head to look directly at her, and he winked with exactly half of his eight spider eyes.
The plane passed over Hilltop Road.
They fell-
They were caught-
Everything changed-
Nothing changed-
She could see-
Gertrude could not see anything. The light was too bright, and there was a piercing emptiness in the space behind her eyes where her tiny part of the Beholding had curled up to roost. She was holding her head in her hands, and it was hard, somehow, to think.
Someone was whispering to her and shaking her shoulder, very gently. “Gertrude? Gertrude, are you all right?”
Gertrude, finding herself fully human for the first time in years and in agonies for it, opened her eyes and said, “Yes.”
“Sorry about the bump, everyone,” crackled the speakers. “Bit of unexpected turbulence, and-” There was urgent crosstalk caught on the mike, and the captain said, “Er, one moment.” The people around Gertrude and Gerry were talking anxiously to one another, and though Gertrude stared hard at the balding man who was now rhythmically squeezing a stress ball, he seemed perfectly normal, if a bit of an anxious flyer.
“Unfortunately, our trip to the States is going to be delayed,” said the captain, sounding significantly more stressed. “It seems our flight plan has been deleted from the manifest, and we’re going to have to touch down to sort all of this out. Apologies for the delay.” And then, before he turned off the microphone, “What do they mean, our flight number is invalid? It’s the name of the bloody plane, it can’t just be changed on a whim.”
“Gertrude, what do you think it is?” Gerard was leaning past her to stare out the windows, but he was evidently getting nothing from the clouds. “Did you feel that? It was like something changed, but ripped away, almost?”
“Yes,” said Gertrude calmly. “Some ploy of the Web, I believe. The man across the aisle was a puppet a moment ago, and he winked at me when we passed over Hilltop Road and my connection to the Eye was severed. I assume yours is as well.”
“I never had much of one,” said Gerard, but he poked at one of the tattoos on his elbow and frowned a bit, just the same. “I think you’re right, though.” The plane had started to arc for its descent, and Gertrude felt her stomach swoop. “If we’re cut off from the Eye, are we cut off from the Web as well, or is it just a part of the trap?”
Before Gertrude could stop him, he leaned over to tap the balding man’s elbow. “Hey,” he said, “Are you cut out of the Web or not?”
The man, still taking deep calming breaths, frowned at him and said, “You’re not supposed to use the internet on planes.”
“Sure, right,” said Gerard, and he leaned back. He shrugged when he met Gertrude’s glare. “If it was a trap, it wasn’t like we could go anywhere anyway.”
“Someday,” said Gertrude, and even as she said it she knew it wasn’t true, “I’ll teach you to be careful in your interactions with the Fears.”
“I am careful,” said Gerard, pulling out his old Nokia as the plane bumped down for a landing. Rain started to spatter against the windows. “I’m also efficient. For instance, I’m going to start looking for another flight- that’s odd.”
“What’s odd?” asked Gertrude, looking out the window towards the airport and trying to figure out what felt so wrong.
“No service,” Gerard says. “Actually, it says my phone plan is unrecognizable. What’s that mean?”
“I think we have bigger problems,” said Gertrude grimly. “There are police cars on the tarmac now, and they’re heading for our plane.”
“Apologies, everyone,” said the captain again. “It appears that our flight plan, our plane ID, and our crew manifest has been entirely deleted from the system, so we’re going to have to go through a few security measures before we can get you folks back up in the air. Please hang tight and have your IDs and passports ready when we disembark.”
Gertrude mentally examined everything in her checked luggage and decided that there was nothing in there she couldn’t replace. “Get your bag,” she told Gerard. “We’re getting out of here as soon as we can. Whatever’s going on, we don’t want to be tied to it.”
Gerard had his face still pressed into his phone, black hair tucked roughly behind his ears. “Hang on a second,” he said. “I’m connecting to Wi-Fi – I think, it’s super faint and it’s taking forever to load – but- There!” He held out the screen to her in triumph, an open search tab with “London Airport Trouble” typed into the search box and several articles populating the space below.
Gertrude saw what was wrong first. “Gerard,” she said, pointing at the topmost article. “Is that the year it was published?”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, flipping the phone back so he could see. “That one was 2012, 2016, 2022.” Gerard froze. He looked at her, then back at the phone. “It says today’s date is 16 September,” he said. “2023.”
“Nine years from now,” said Gertrude, and her mind was already working at the possibilities. “Nine years from now, and we passed over Hilltop Road.” She reached for knowledge from the Beholding, but was met with only empty space, and she was struck with both an aching sense of loss and a deep hunger. She ignored it, and came up with the answer with the power of her own, human memory. “Anya Villette,” she said. “She made a statement in 2009, about falling through a crack in Hilltop Road and ending up two weeks in the past in an alternate reality.”
“Alternate reality?” Gerard said, disbelieving. “Like, what, people drive on the wrong side of the road here, or something?”
“Perhaps,” said Gertrude. “One altered decision can cascade into many changes. You may not exist here. I may not exist here.”
“The Fears,” said Gerard, eyes wide. “Gertrude, we can’t feel the Fears.”
“We cannot feel our Fears,” said Gertrude. “They may still be in this reality, in some other form.”
“But why would it throw us out nine years in the future?” Gerard asked, craning past Gertrude to look out the window at the slightly-changed world. “Why not two weeks in the past, again?”
“Our universe was two weeks behind Anya’s,” said Gertrude. “This one is nine years ahead. Who knows how many more there are, with varying times and futures.”
“Wait, Anya’s alternate reality was ours?” Gerard said. “She came and gave a statement in the alternate reality? Why not do it when she got back?”
Gertrude pulled out her passport from her pocket and eyed it, warily. “I am not sure that she ever did.”
The plane settled into a space with a shudder, and the disembarking rail connected. The loud chatter of nervous passengers hushed as a policeman stepped on board.
“We’ll try to sort this out as soon as possible,” he assured them, “Please have your IDs and passports ready, and be prepared to answer a few questions.” He had a look Gertrude recognized, one of trying to remain calm and rational in the face of world-warping impossibility.
“Gerard,” she said, “Something tells me that there might be trouble if we don’t actually exist in this universe. Could you-?”
“Already on it,” said Gerard, looking at his phone with horrified fascination. “Apparently I went to primary school. And elementary school. I got second place in a spelling bee.” He showed her a photo of a gap-toothed little boy with dirty blonde hair, smiling as he held up a cheap medal. “There’s not really any other mentions of me. No death date, nothing. I just kind of disappear.”
“And me?” Gertrude didn’t want to see that. She didn’t want to see Gerard as he could have been, where he somehow hadn’t been homeschooled with Leitners on the living room table.
“Died a year ago,” said Gerard, showing her the screen. “Sorry.” He showed her a clipping of a brief newspaper article. “Eighty-two’s not so bad, though, is it, old woman?”
“Perfectly acceptable,” said Gertrude. “However, it may be difficult to explain to the authorities why I suddenly have appeared alive and well.”
Gerard suddenly leaned forward and peered over the seats in front of them. “I don’t think you’re going to be the first one with that problem,” he said. “Not to be rude or anything, but there are definitely some gents older than you on this flight, and you know they always say women outlive men.”
The line to get off the plane had reached them now, and Gerard scrambled up to grab his bag from overhead before turning around to talk to her as it inched forward. Gertrude followed him into the aisle, thinking about which one of them might outlive the other, and her heart broke a little.
“Yes, well,” she said, “they may let you leave if you’re supposed to be here, but if I don’t legally exist I think I will have a harder time leaving police custody. Perhaps we should make a break for it.” Gertrude looked around to consider the nearest emergency exit.
Gerard laughed. “Or we could do something simpler,” he said. “You’re my grandma. That was a little small-town newspaper that printed your death – I guess you retired somewhere nice. We’ll say it was your twin sister, the paper got mixed up, and you’ve been going senile and confused in your old age, so any mention of her will only rile you up.”
Gertrude stared at him, considering. “Gerard, I am not that old.”
“But you do play senile,” countered Gerard. “I’ve seen you with the Magnus librarians. Your ‘old and confused’ act keeps them off your back about fulfilling statement requests for researchers.”
“Fair point,” said Gertrude, and she lowered her voice, as they were getting very close to the front of the line, where two increasingly-frustrated police officers were talking to increasingly-hysterical passengers. “Very well. How am I your grandmother? I notice that I am unmarried in this universe as well.”
Gerard considered this. “Adoption,” he said. “I didn’t get on with Mom and Dad, and you were a nice old neighbor I lived with. We made it official, say after elementary school, and moved to the same small little town, say, Ferndown, where we lived unremarkable lives that didn’t make it into the news.”
“Until this ill-fated trip to the States,” said Gertrude. “Grandson.”
“Exactly,” said Gerard, and he beamed at her right before they stepped forward to present the police officers with their information.
“You two together?” asked the short woman who looked like she was nursing a stress headache.
“Yup,” said Gerard, slinging an arm around Gertrude cheerily. “Me and my grandmother, we’re heading to the States for a vacation. Shame about the delay. I hear it’s nice there. Better weather than here, that’s for certain.”
The other police officer looked like he couldn’t help but smile at Gerard’s cheer. Gerard kept up a steady stream of inconsequential chatter while he answered the officer's questions exactly like the previous three passengers had: “This was a flight to the United States, you can see my tickets here, nothing strange happened except a bit of turbulence.”
Gertrude blinked slowly and tried to look bored, which wasn’t hard.
“Look, Gerard, Gertrude,” said the second police officer at last. “Do you know what year it is?”
“Sure,” said Gerry. “2023.”
The police officers both looked shocked. Gertrude decided to get involved. “2023,” she said, in a deliberately frail voice. “Not 2021? I could have sworn it was 2021 just last week.”
Instantly Gerard was back at her side, soothing and a little sad and shooting an apologetic look at the two police officers. “No, Gee Gee,” he said, and Gertrude was going to kill him herself for that, “it’s 2023, remember? We were planning last summer, that we’d have our trip in 2023.” Gertrude pretended to consider this, and Gerard said quietly to the officers, “She gets confused, sometimes. Worse since her sister died. But it’s 2023, yeah? Why do you ask?”
The short woman said, “Are you aware that everyone else on your flight thinks it’s 2014? That your plane is of a model that was entirely retired in 2020?”
“Gosh, no,” said Gerard. “Was it safe? I wouldn’t have got on if it wasn’t safe.”
“It seems fine,” said the other police officer. “But you don’t think it’s 2014?”
“Of course not,” said Gerard. “I’ve no idea why everyone else does. Is it one of those performance-art-piece things? Did we accidentally book a plane with a flash mob?”
“I’ve no idea,” said the short woman grimly. “But we’re certainly going to find out.”
Gertrude decided another push was in order. “Are we going home, Gerry?” she asked, thrilling in the private revenge for his ‘Gee Gee’ line. “Is it over?”
“Er, yeah, I think so,” said Gerard. “I don’t think we’ll find another flight today. Er,” he said, looking at the officers. “Can we go? Home, I mean. This day has been a lot for my grandmother, and I think we might just want to go home. Or, well, a hotel room in London and then home. We’re from Ferndown.”
The police officers exchanged glances.
Gertrude patted Gerard’s shoulder. “You’re a good boy, you know,” she said fondly, “looking after me like you do,” and that did it.
“Sure,” said the short woman. “Just- give me your phone number, and we’ll be in touch. Call the London station if you remember anything else about the flight.”
“Sure thing,” said Gerry, and recited his phone number before thanking them both and guiding Gertrude up the exit ramp into the airport. There was a small crowd of hysterical passengers in a cordoned-off area next to the exit ramp, and two more police officers were standing there. Soothing distraught and confused passengers, but also making sure nobody left. One of them approached Gertrude and Gerard to herd them to join the others, but then his radio crackled and he listened to someone on the other end speak before he smiled sympathetically to them and said, “All the luggage in the plane is going to be delayed for a few days. Will you two be all right without it?”
“Sure thing,” said Gerard. “I’ve got my wallet, and all we really need is a cab and a hotel room, and I can find those easy enough.”
“All right then,” said the officer. “You can head out that way.”
The London airport was strange. Ever so slightly off. The pretzel stand that had been on the left was on the right. The departures sign was pale green and dark green lines instead of light blue and blue.
“Talk about a travel stress headache,” whispered Gerard, rubbing his temples. “I feel like I should know this place – and I kind of do, I’ve flown through here before – but I really don’t.”
“I know,” said Gertrude. “I would be very curious to know if there is a Magnus Institute in this reality.” And, she added to herself, if there was still a Magnus behind the eyes of that institute’s leader.
“I hope I still have enough for a cab,” muttered Gerard, looking through his wallet. “I mean, I’m lucky I hadn’t traded out my pounds for American money yet.” He glanced over at her, considering. “Sure you don’t need anything from your suitcase? I’m always down for a little breaking and entering.”
Gertrude rolled her eyes. “Let’s not push our luck, shall we? Nothing in there is necessary.” And then, because she couldn’t help herself, “Foolish grandson.”
Gerard grinned. “What a pair we are, huh? Killer senile act, by the way. Helped, I’m sure, by the fact that it’s not all an act.” He danced away when she swatted at him, and even though they were lost in a familiar place and Gertrude’s eyes were watching every corner for a Stranger or a Web or something that would be horrible but familiar, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“Watch yourself, book-burning boy,” she said. “I’m still young enough to give you trouble right back if you ask for it. And you’re asking for it.”
Gerard grinned back at her, and together they found their way out of the London airport.