34. Vanished.

Abe didn’t say anything for a long moment. “She just disappeared?” he asked finally. 

Ava sighed. This is why she hated talking about it. “We were on a trip together,” she said. “In Paris. It was raining. We got in a fight. I thought she would come back, but she never did.” 

He didn’t say anything for a while, not until they pulled up in front of the little grey house. It felt like years had passed since she’d last seen it. Maybe they had, depending on how you counted the time spent in the plane.

Abe’s face suddenly paled. “But--they’ve always been there,” he said dumbly. He stared forward and pointed towards the window. It took Ava a moment to realize what he meant, what could be so upsetting--but it was the bottles. The ones they’d come back to retrieve.

They were gone.

33. Still Recovering.

 "Why are you doing this, anyway?" he asked as he drove her across the field in his father's old beater. "Didn't your grandpa want it to end with him?" Abe hadn't been nearly as talkative as before, and the question jumped forth nervously after a stretch of uncomfortable silence.

Well, as much silence as a near-dead pickup rambling off-road could hope to achieve. "My sister," she finally replied. "She disappeared a couple years back. I always thought my grandpa was crazy, the stories he told about this thing -- and he kind of was, especially towards the end--" 

She winced as the truck jumped and jolted against the hard earth. Even if her recovery was speedy enough to astound her companions, she still felt weak. "But," she added, "I found a few kernels of truth. Enough to make me think...you know, just maybe. Someone as great as Allie will make you desperate to believe anything, I guess, if it means you might be able to get her back."

32. Still Broken.

A flicker still wasn't enough. She could feel it -- something had changed, but not completely. It was still broken. 

She considered Charlie and his son. They'd saved her life, after all. Abe perhaps out of goodwill, but not the old man. He wanted something; perhaps something he could only get with this watch. With her. "How many more are there?" she asked. "How many timeholes?"

He grinned--a crooked, narrow grin that burned away any remaining trust she might have held for him. "I like to call them time pieces," he said. "Little bits broken off, just floating around, like." 

She rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said again, "how many time pieces are left? How many of these things do I have to fix before my grandfather's watch finally works?" 

"Well," he returned, "how many bottles were on that old windowsill?"

31. The Atrium.

She could feel Abe and Charlie staring at her as she held the watch, but she couldn't meet their gaze. How was she supposed to tell them she simply didn't have a clue?

She could wind it. She should wind it. Something inside her liked the idea of winding it. Winding it would look important. 

So she wound it.

It clicked as she turned it. She wasn't sure what she was hoping for, but it clicked, and still she twisted--slowly, so as not to damage it--slowly-- 

The vines flickered like static on the walls. It startled her so deeply she nearly dropped the device, but when she released the dial it was all gone. The space was small again, pale, and stuffy.

She finally looked up at Charlie. He hadn't seen a thing. Neither had Abe. They looked more perplexed than ever. "Was this room ever used," she asked, "as an atrium?"

30. A Coulise, After All.

Abe burst through the door and fixed his eyes on Ava, who looked much more pale than when he'd left her. "I don't know what you two are yelling about," he said in a surprisingly authoritative tone, "but you'd better shut up if Ava is ever to recover." 

Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but Ava cut him off. "Your father used us," she spat, her color fading even more as her voice rose. 

The old man had the opposite problem--his face grew increasingly red every second. "We both want to fix the watch, girl," he roared, "So why don't you tell me--is it fixed?" He thrust the golden pocket watch into her palm and stepped back, arms crossed. 

It was the first time she'd ever held it, and it caught her breath for a moment. "Well?" he demanded angrily.

Ava stared at it, cool in her hand, ticking steadily away. Her voice froze in her throat. What exactly could she say? She was a Coulise, after all. She was supposed to be able to use the damn thing.