Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (30 page)

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “but you’re mistaken. The six fifteen bus hasn’t even left yet today.”

“You’re the one who’s mistaken.” Because, I realized as I looked around, I couldn’t be in the Milwaukee Intermodal Station. And I wasn’t back in Milwaukee. They’d recreated it somehow. What they’d done here was close, but not close enough. I looked around, wondering what it would have taken to recreate a massive glass structure like this. A lot. Was it all for me? And why? “I know what time it really is and that I’m nowhere near the Intermodal Station. It’s a nice recreation, though.” I looked around. “You’ve gotten most of the details right. But not all of them. That tree for instance,” I said, pointing to one of the potted trees in the center, “is shaped slightly different than it was before.”

Baldy shook his head. “I don’t want to upset you because I can tell you’re confused. But I last saw you yesterday when I gave you the envelope with the ticket for the six fifteen bus. I went home last night, had a good night’s sleep, and now I’m back here at my place at the counter today.”

“And I don’t want to upset you,” I said, hitting the ball back over the net, “but I saw you at the Milwaukee Intermodal Station a few hours ago, and now we’re here at this place that’s supposed to look just like it.”

“Say that’s true,” he said slowly. “Say you left just a few hours ago and your bus ride took you to a place just like this but located somewhere else. How would I have gotten there? I mean, you left, didn’t you? And I was still working. I wouldn’t have had time to leave there and arrive somewhere else already.”

I hesitated. It was all getting muddled in my brain. How would he have gotten ahead of the bus and van? Maybe if he’d driven really fast… But so much would have had to work perfectly for that to happen.

“They rotate the trees periodically,” he said. “To make sure they all get the same amount of light.”

That almost made sense.

“Have you had a head injury recently?” he asked kindly. “People have been known to lose track of time due to brain trauma.”

I’d been so sure that I wasn’t back at the station, but maybe I’d been knocked unconscious, and they’d transported me back to Milwaukee without my knowledge. I guessed it was possible.

“You look like you’ve been through a horrible ordeal,” Baldy said, gesturing toward my blood-splattered shirt. “Why don’t you sit down over there and I’ll have someone bring you a cup of water. We can arrange a ride home for you, if you want.” His voice had a lulling effect on me and I found myself, against my better judgment, wanting to sit down and have someone take care of me. And really, all I wanted to do was go home and have everything back the way it was.

I glanced at the place he pointed to and imagined sinking into the seat and having someone bring me a cold drink of water. Maybe they could direct me to the restroom, where I could splash some water on my face before my trip home. For just a few minutes it would be nice to put my head back and rest my eyes. I braced myself against the counter, vacillating. I wanted this to be over in the worst way. It would have been easy to give in, but then I remembered something: Carly’s gum. In an act of defiance she’d stuck it under the counter when I’d picked up the ticket.

I took a step back to look underneath. I clearly remembered seeing her two fingers press a pink glob of gum to the white underside of the counter. But it wasn’t there now. No gum, and no sign there ever had been. Not only that, but the underside of the counter was dark gray, not white. This place came close, but it wasn’t exactly the same. I was sure of it now. I straightened up and looked him square in the eye.

“Look,” I said. “If the challenge was for me to see through this charade, it’s over. I don’t, for one instant, believe I’m in the Milwaukee Intermodal Station. Earlier today, I saw you, or a man who looked exactly like you, in the station in Milwaukee, but that’s not where we are now. That tree is different,” I said and pointed, “and this counter is different.” I knocked on it for emphasis. “And the sun should be lower in the sky by now. You can make any changes you want and say what you want, but I know what I know. I’m not in the Milwaukee Intermodal Station. You can’t mess with my head this way.”

He stared at me unblinking. “Is that your final answer?”

“Damn straight it is.”

“Well done, Mr. Becker,” he said, nodding approvingly.

Over the loudspeaker, a loud tone chimed. As if on cue, everyone in the terminal stopped what they were doing. The maintenance man set down his mop, the people sitting in chairs closed their magazines and laptops, and the people walking through stopped in their tracks.

And then, spontaneously, every person in the terminal began clapping. A slow clap. Each and every one of them clapping and walking toward me. The employees and the travelers, along with a crowd of others who materialized seemingly out of nowhere. They gravitated in my direction, all the while cheering like they’d witnessed a winning touchdown at Lambeau Field. And all of the attention was aimed at me.

Tim appeared at my side and pulled my arm up in the air. Around me people were high-fiving and talking excitedly. When the crowd finally settled down, Tim released my arm to announce, “Forty-eight minutes and fifty-three seconds,” which set them off again. I caught bits and pieces:

“Unbelievable!”

“Can you even imagine everything we’ll be able to do now that we have this guy?”

“So that’s what a second gen is like!”

Tim turned to me. “Your powers are most impressive. Is there anything I can get for you—something to drink, some fresh clothes?”

I said, “I want my nephew.”

Frank Shrapnel sat on a couch in front of a TV, barely looking up when I walked through the door. The room consisted solely of a couch, a television, and a side table covered by an assortment of salty snacks and a half mug of root beer with a bendy straw in it. “Hey, buddy,” I said, something that normally would have made him light up with happiness, but this time the only reaction was the brief flick of his eyes darting my way.

I knelt down in front of him. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Okay,” he said noncommittally. There was no expression on his face, no smile of recognition. All of his usual energy was gone, just a shell of a boy left behind.

I choked back my outrage to confront Tim. “What have you done to him?”

“What do you mean?” Tim said, innocently. “He’s right there in front of you, fine and happy. Look him over. You won’t find a mark on him. And I think if you’ll ask him, he’ll tell you he had a good time visiting us here at the testing center. Isn’t that right, Frank?”

“I had a good time at the testing center with Russ,” he said, his eyes still on the screen.

“You used mind control on him?” I said, incredulous.

“Would you have preferred he be frightened and hysterical?”

I got right in Tim’s face. “I would have
preferred
that he be safe at home where he belongs.”

“Please calm down.”

“Calm down? I don’t think so. You people are monsters. First you abduct Frank and then you mess with his mind. He’s just a kid.” I wished I could scoop Frank up and carry him out, the way I used to when he was little.

“No need to overreact,” Tim said. “He’s fine. He’ll go home and have happy memories of his visit at the video game testing station with Uncle Russ.”

“He thinks he’s at a video game testing station?”

Tim nodded. “He’s sure of it. In his mind the two of you have been testing video games for a big company. He won’t be sure of the name of the company. We left that ambiguous, but he’ll certainly remember the fun he had and how special it made him feel to spend an evening with Uncle Russ.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Not kidding at all. Years from now, he’ll still be talking about it, and what’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that is that it’s not
real
,” I said. “It never
happened
.”

“As far as he’ll be concerned it happened. Really, how do you know that all of
your
memories are factual? We create the reality we want to believe. One child thinks they have the meanest parents in the world. His brother thinks they’re strict but fair. Which one is right? Is the second one downplaying it or is the first one a whiner? So much of life depends on your perspective.”

“It has nothing to do with perspective,” I pointed out. “What we’re talking about is—”

At that very moment, Carly rushed into the room, interrupting the debate. “Frank!” she cried, joining him on the couch and crushing him into a hug. Normally he would have wriggled out of her grasp, but now, docile as a teddy bear, he accepted it. Like me, she soon realized this was not the Frank we knew. She looked up, outraged. “What’s wrong with him?” she demanded.

“They used mind control on him,” I said bitterly. “They implanted false memories. He’s going to think he and I spent the evening at a video game testing station.”

Frank gave Carly a blank look. “Russ and I have been testing new games. It was really cool.” His voice had a prerecorded quality to it.

Carly said, “Snap out of it, Frank. Look at me, look at me right now.” She took him by the shoulders and gave a little shake. Even though he stared straight at her, nothing registered. His enlarged pupils gave him the odd look of one who was hypnotized.

“There’s no point in doing that,” Tim said. “It will wear off soon enough, probably by the time you get home, in fact.”

But Carly wasn’t listening. She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Frank, answer me. Do you know where you are?”

“At the video game testing station,” Frank said, each word as monotone as the next. “Russ and I played some really cool new games. I can’t wait until they’re available for preorder.”

“Oh, Frank.” Her eyes filled up with tears. She turned to me. “Do something, Russ.”

Tim said, “He’s fine, just fine.”

“He’s under some kind of spell. Where are you, Frank?” she asked, tracing the side of his face with her fingertips. “I never should have left you alone. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Frank said, his gaze back now on the TV screen. “Russ and I had fun.”

Carly took his hand between hers and curved her body protectively around Frank. “I want to go home,” she said, her voice sounding much younger, as if she were a child instead of an adult woman.

I wanted to go home, too, but going now would mean leaving things unfinished. I didn’t want to live my life looking over my shoulder, wondering when the Associates would be coming for me. Because they would be coming for me. Getting through these challenges wasn’t the end of it, I knew. It was just the beginning, and I needed to know more. “Just hang in there, Carly,” I said, and to Tim: “I don’t want to go until I talk to whoever’s in charge.”

“You’re in luck,” Tim said. “He wants to talk to you too.”

We encountered locked doors along the way. Tim leaned over and had his eyeball scanned, which gave us access to the corridor leading to our destination. The actual room required a punch code and a reading of his handprint before we were allowed entry. A woman’s voice said, “Access is granted,” and then double doors slid open to each side, revealing what looked like a war room. Or at least what I knew of war rooms from the movies. Several people worked behind computers set up on a boomerang-shaped counter. One man stood off to the side, his arms folded. All of them wore business-type clothing—dress shirts and dark pants.

They didn’t notice us entering the room because their attention was on a large screen covering the far wall. On either side of the main screen were two smaller screens. The configuration reminded me of mirrors in the changing rooms at Kohl’s department stores. I hated trying on clothes in stores, but if my mother was with me she always insisted. The worst thing about it was coming out to stand for inspection while she assessed shoulder fit and took a mortifyingly long time determining whether or not there was enough extra growing length in the pants. Not my favorite form of humiliation. This view was equally embarrassing because the images on the screen were of me battling Snake Boy and Wavy Hair. Or maybe battling wasn’t quite accurate. In this particular clip, Snake Boy and Wavy Hair were giving me a pounding like I was meat that needed tenderizing.

Standing at the back of the room, I winced with each blow, remembering how it felt at the time. Since then, I’d healed considerably, which was good. By the time I got home there would be nothing I’d have to explain to my parents.

During the incident with the two thugs, Snake Boy and Wavy Hair, there was a moment when I’d realized I could summon my strength using the electrical energy inside of me, and that exact moment was visible on the video. My face changed expression, and I leaped off the ground in an almost superhuman way. The Associates in the room made approving noises at this part, and the man standing off to one side said, “Go back about five seconds and replay that frame by frame.” And frame by frame, they studied and discussed the angle of my body from prone to upright and the speed at which I’d jumped.

I’d known of course, that I had been watched, but seeing this footage and knowing it was being analyzed was another thing entirely. These people had no boundaries. I was a monkey in the zoo being put through an obstacle course to get a banana, the banana being Frank.

The next scene they viewed and discussed involved the two goons attempting to abduct Mallory the night we’d driven home from Mr. Specter’s house. One of the two men apparently had a hidden camera on his person because they had a record of all of it: me hitting them with lightning bolts, and then healing them, and Mallory using mind control to persuade them that the kids in Edgewood hadn’t been affected by the light particles. So much for that. And I’d thought it was such a good idea at the time.

I glanced over at Tim to see if he’d interrupt and let them know we were there, but he stood quietly and shook his head when I made a gesture asking if we should step forward.