The Edge of Forever (30 page)

“Okay,” she replies. The door creaks like she’s closing it, then she calls out again, “Why don’t you see if Sela can spend the night? I haven’t seen her around lately.”

I wish Aunt Grace would stop dropping hints about me talking to Sela again. She made the cheer squad, and her new friends don’t like me.

They, along with most everyone else in town, are still saying
I’m
to blame for Trevor’s wreck. After the coroner announced Naomi had been sexually assaulted, and the DNA didn’t match Trevor, people rallied to support the poor football star who won’t get to play in the fall. They’ve been saying if I’d never pointed the finger at Trevor, he never would have been hurt. Never mind the fact that Naomi’s killer is still out there somewhere.

The bad thing is a part of me believes them. If I’d just kept my mouth shut at the police station that day, none of this other stuff would have happened.

This whole situation is so messed up.

I trail a finger along a picture of Dad standing with the baseball team. I can’t help but wonder how my life would be different if I was still with him and my mother. My vision swims with more stupid tears. I rub my eyes hard. I’ve cried enough this past month to fill an ocean, and I’m sick of it. But I still think about how things could be different—better.

It would be so nice if I could go back in time and change everything.

And that makes me think of Bridger. If it’s possible, my mood sours even more. I can’t believe how much I miss him, even after he messed with me the way he did. After he took my necklace and stole Aunt Grace’s truck. Sure, he abandoned it in Athens with a lot of cash, which Aunt Grace gladly claimed. And it did help with some of my medical bills, but it wasn’t enough.

Aunt Grace decided a few weeks ago to sell the house back to Celeste. She said the money would get her out of debt and give us a fresh start. I wish she’d move us somewhere new, but she likes it here. Probably because she’s still hoping my dad will return.

Who knows? Maybe Bridger will come back too. Not for the first time, a nagging voice whispers,
What if he wasn’t being a jerk?
What if he was telling the truth? That hallucination was so real. I felt the other version of me.

Or was it in my head?

Bridger’s words come back to me.
You wished you could go back to before all this started, right
?

Before I can stop myself, I close my eyes. I wish to go back to the time when I was with my parents. I wish to go back to that day when I was six and see what awful thing happened to us.

The seconds become minutes and nothing happens. Feeling stupid for believing Bridger, I slam the yearbook shut and lean forward, resting my elbows in my lap. The best thing for me would be to let things go. Try to forget about the past. Get through the next two years, graduate, and get out of this town. Then I can truly start over.

The attic door creaks again and footsteps pad up the stairs. Just great. Now Aunt Grace is coming up here to get me. I need to go anyway. I gather Dad’s things and stack them in the trunk. Aunt Grace offered to get someone to lug it down to my room, but I told her no. I like coming up here. It’s comforting, having this space to myself.

The footsteps reach the top of the stairs and for some reason, the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

“I’m coming,” I say, glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see Aunt Grace standing there with her hands on her hips.

But nobody’s there.

It feels like someone’s up here with me, but that’s impossible unless they’re invisible. My mind’s playing tricks on me. I hope I’m not going to have any more hallucinations or blackouts. I thought those were behind me.

I hurry out of the attic and down to the first floor, where the scent of freshly baked cake floats around me. My stomach lets out a loud growl.

“It’s about time you got here,” Aunt Grace says when I walk in the kitchen. She dips a spoon in the simmering barbecue sauce and tastes it. “Something’s still not right,” she mutters. “Come here. Tell me what’s missing.”

I glance longingly at a pound cake resting on the cooling rack as I take the spoon she offers me. The sauce is wonderful—somehow sweet and spicy at the same time. “It’s good. I think this will win.”

Aunt Grace shakes her head. “Good’s not enough. It has to be perfect.”

“So what do you need at the store?”

She points to a piece of paper on the counter. “Just a few things.”

I snort as I pick up it up. Aunt Grace’s “few things” consists of a full grocery list. Looks like I’ll be gone for a while. Fun.

“Oh, let me add something before you go.” Aunt Grace rummages through a drawer and pulls out a pen.

While I wait for her to finish, I try to figure out why she’s so into the whole festival thing this year. It kicks off tomorrow morning with a parade and continues all day. The courthouse square looks like someone vomited red, white, and blue everywhere, complete with arts and crafts, greasy food, dinky rides for little kids, and several local bands performing one lousy song after another. The day is capped off when everyone migrates to the rec department for fireworks.

I still can’t believe I’m actually going to the festival this year. Aunt Grace used to take me all the time when I was little, but the past few years I haven’t felt like going. Instead we sat on the river dock, watching the fireworks exploding over the treetops and eating Aunt Grace’s leftover birthday cake. I just didn’t want to be the only teenager having to hang out with an adult because I didn’t have any friends.

This year is going to be different. Aunt Grace decided we needed to join the celebration. She says I need to get out more. She thinks I’m being paranoid about everyone hating me in town, but I know better. I’ve seen the stares and heard the whispers, but I’m not going to ruin her birthday. If she wants to live it up at the festival, I’ll be by her side. Even if I hate it.

“So are you gonna see if Sela can come over?” Aunt Grace asks as she hands me her debit card.

“I might,” I say, just to get her off my back. “But she said something about helping her mom at the cook-off tomorrow.” I don’t know if that’s true or not. I haven’t talked to Sela since school got out.

Aunt Grace’s nose wrinkles. “All the more reason for me to get this barbecue sauce just right. I can’t let anyone get my prize.”

I grab her keys, shaking my head. “I don’t think you have to worry about anything.” I start to head out the back door, then realize I left my purse upstairs. “Be right back,” I call over my shoulder.

The doorbell rings as I get to the foyer. I open the door and try to keep my jaw from dropping.

Mr. Palmer is waiting on the other side.

“Hello there, Alora,” he says, lifting his small suitcase. “It’s nice to see you again.” He crosses the threshold, forcing me to take a few steps back. “I sure have missed this place.”

“What are you doing here?”

Mr. Palmer lets out a light laugh. “Work, my dear. I’ve been contracted to take pictures at the festival.”

“Have you talked to Aunt Grace? She’s selling the place so . . .”

A regretful expression crosses his face. “Yes. It’s a shame. But she said since I’m only in town for two days I could stay.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” Great, now I get to see Aunt Grace flirting with him again.

“Are you here alone?” he asks.

“No, Aunt Grace is in the kitchen. I’ll go get her.”

Before he can say anything else, I fly out of the room toward the back of the house.

“Well that was fast,” Aunt Grace says as soon as she sees me, and then she frowns. “What’s the matter?”

“Mr. Palmer is here. Did you tell him he could stay with us?” I ask in a quiet voice.

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Yes. It’s not a big deal.”

“But why?”

Aunt Grace takes a deep breath. “I swear, I don’t get you sometimes. What does it matter? It’s a little more cash for us, and besides, I feel sorry for him. He told me he’s been divorced for a long time, and he hasn’t had any good cooking in years.” Now she grins like she’s pleased with herself.

I stand there a few minutes, feeling weird about the whole situation, while Aunt Grace greets Mr. Palmer. They make small talk for a moment, and then finally I hear their footsteps going upstairs.

I swear, if I catch Aunt Grace putting the moves on him, I’ll puke.

39

BRIDGER

APRIL 23, 2146

T
he tiny cell I’m in is too bright. Bright white walls and floors. Crisp white linens on the narrow bed. Stark lights. I’m going blind. And nuts.

I figure I’ve been in here going on two, maybe three hours. After the Space Benders arrested me, they whisked me away to a five-story black building near the DTA headquarters.

The Black Hole.

The place where the Feds toss anyone who screws with the government. Once you go in, you don’t come back out unless you’re nulled. Or executed.

I pace the cell for what seems like the hundredth time. There’s only one pitiful excuse for a window. Nothing that will allow prisoners to escape. The only other window in this room is a small one on the door. I can’t even see out of it. I stop to stare at my reflection in it, wondering if anyone is out in the hallway observing me. Probably not. Two cameras are mounted in the room with me. They won’t see me doing anything interesting. They shackled me with a thin metallic device around my neck, an Inhibitor, that prevents me from shifting.

I turn away and frown at my supper. The remains of the fishy-smelling paste concoction is smeared against the wall and floor. Courtesy of General Anderson. I cringe, remembering his visit.

To say he was pissed when he left earlier is a huge understatement.

He came in smiling at first. Nothing like the red-faced ranting lunatic I stunned a few weeks ago. But he didn’t stay that way. He threw one question after another at me, but I wouldn’t answer him. Then he flung my tray off the table.

Dad never told me the general has such anger management issues.

The door slides open. I make myself stay calm. If Anderson comes back for another round of crazy, I’ll be ready to deal with him. Unless he’s found a way to bypass a trial and have me nulled or killed right away. I hope it doesn’t come to that. At least with a trial, I have a chance of getting a lighter sentence.

Professor March enters instead. I heave a sigh of relief.

He stands in the doorway and gives me a long, unreadable stare. My stomach drops. Finally he says, “I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, Bridger, but you don’t have any idea of the trouble you’re in.”

The wanted picture of me on the Jumbotron flashes in my mind. I start pacing again and reply, “I do, actually.”

He rubs a hand over his eyes. Then he strides to the table and takes one of the seats. Behind him, the door silently shuts. “Please sit,” he says, nodding at the chair opposite him. “I can’t stand watching you prowl around.”

Anyone else, I would ignore, but I owe him. The chair scrapes across the floor as I pull it out. “Tell me the truth, Professor. Is there any way I can get out of this mess?”

“You tell me. I don’t know what you’ve been doing.” His eyes flick up to the camera behind me. “I don’t know what possessed you to shoot General Anderson and me. I don’t know why you decided to perform an illegal shift. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

I look at my lap. My hands start to twitch. I fist one hand and rub it with the other. “I’m sorry, sir.”

I knew he would have to play innocent about the shooting incident. What I’m not prepared for is the guilt eating at my insides. I feel like I’ve let him down. I wish there was some way to disable those cameras so I can talk to him in private.

“Look, I know you’re sorry. Maybe I can work something out with General Anderson. Just tell them what they want to know. That’s all you have to do and this whole mess could go away,” he says in a toneless voice.

No chance that’ll happen. My guess is the general told Professor March to say that. I look down at my clenched fists, suddenly angry. Angry for being in this situation. Angry that they’re forcing Professor March to play bad guy. Angry at my dad for illegally going back in time in the first place. Then somehow reappearing after he’s supposed to be dead and asking me to finish what he started. My life was on a set course. Sitting in a prison cell was not part of the plan. “We both know that’s not going to happen.”

Calm yourself, Bridger.

I jerk my head up.

No! Look back down. Try to appear like you’re having doubts.

What the hell is going on? How can I hear him in my mind? I force myself to breathe slowly.

Professor March keeps talking like nothing weird is happening. “You don’t know that. After everything you’ve done, it’s best for you to cooperate with us. Tell us what year you shifted to and why you went there.” He relaxes his face and even smiles. “Maybe then I can work out a deal for you.”

The words are pretty. Exactly what General Anderson would want him to say. But in my mind I hear something else.

Stay calm. Keep looking down and let me do the talking
,
but keep your mind open. I’m going to do everything I can to help you, but I need to know the truth. Just picture it, and I’ll be able to see everything.

That’s nearly impossible to do. I want to jump up and pummel him with questions. Namely, how is it that he’s a Time Bender and a Mind Bender?

The Academy has always taught us that nobody can have more than one Talent. Now I know of three people who have dual abilities. It makes me wonder how many more exist. It also makes me wonder why the DTA’s been lying to us.

Open your mind, Bridger.

I relax my muscles and clear my mind. Pressure builds in my head as Professor March attempts to access my memories. My instinct is to build up my mental barrier. I push it away so Professor March can read my thoughts. I want to recoil at the sensation. I’ve never had a Mind Bender extract information out of me. It’s creepy, like I’m being violated.

It doesn’t take long, maybe ten seconds or so. Finally, Professor March breaks the connection. His face shows a flash of astonishment before he slips on a mask of indifference.