The Edge of Forever (31 page)

“So, you don’t have anything to tell me?” he asks.

“No, sir.”

“Very well, then.” He presses his mouth in a thin line.

My head throbs. Not only from letting the professor in my head, but from nerves. He knows exactly what I’ve been doing, but I have no clue how he feels about it. Or if he’ll even help me to get out of here, much less get back to 2013 so I can finish what I started.

Don’t worry, Bridger. I’m shocked, that’s all.

That makes me feel a little better. Not much, but it’s something. I swear, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this side of Professor March. I’ve never dealt with Mind Benders before. They keep to themselves.

Then I think of something else that unnerves me.

Professor, did Dad know that you’re a Dual Talent?

No. I’ve never told anyone. Can you imagine what would happen to me if the DTA found out?

He’s got a point. There’s no telling what their scientists would do to him. One thing is for sure—he’d never be free again.

So you didn’t know what Dad was doing either?

No. He never said anything to me, and I’d never read someone’s mind without their consent.

Okay. I get that. But tell me why hasn’t the general ordered an investigation into Dad’s actions prior to his death? Or even into what I did before I shifted?

Professor March looks away for a moment.
I don’t know everything that’s going on, Bridger. But what I do know is that General Anderson is trying to hide something from certain people at the DTA.

Does it have to do with Dual Talents?

I think so. And that’s the one reason he doesn’t know what year you and your dad shifted to. He can’t order a formal investigation without alerting everyone.

So what is he charging me with?

Running away while being investigated, performing an illegal shift, resisting arrest, and shooting superior officers.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my mind reeling. What is going on? And how did Dad get in the middle of it?

Professor March breaks into my thoughts.
Look, I’ve got to go now. Give me time and I’ll see what I can do to get you out of here.

How are you going to do that?

I might have to resort to other measures.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Just trust me, Bridger.

He suddenly stands and plants his palms on the table. “I don’t think you understand the full impact of your actions. If you don’t change your mind, General Anderson will bring in an Extractor.”

My blood turns to ice. Extractors are Mind Benders employed by the DTA to forcibly obtain information from individuals who can put up a mental barrier. It’s a painful process when someone doesn’t want their mind to be read. I’ve heard stories of people screaming in agony before falling unconscious or suffering from brain hemorrhages. They always end up dying.

Professor March stares like he’s trying to intimidate me. I don’t know what to say. I realize he’s going to try to help me, but what if he can’t?

Bridger, trust me. I’m going to do everything I can to help you. Let them continue to think you’re going to resist them. It’ll buy me some time to make arrangements.

I swallow hard. Then I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. I might as well play up the part of uncooperative prisoner. “Go ahead, Professor. Tell them to do their worst. I’m not saying a thing.”

40

ALORA

JULY 4, 2013

“I
’m not so sure about this,” Aunt Grace says as she takes the small container of fried Oreos from the snack vendor.

“Trust me, they’re good,” I say in between bites. This is the second time I’ve eaten them today. I think of how Sela would scold me if she were here. That’s another good thing about not hanging out with her anymore. I can eat whatever I want without listening to her anti–junk food rants. I take another huge bite, relishing the explosion of powdered sugar, chocolate, and fried dough. Heaven in grease form.

“Lordy, this should be a sin,” Aunt Grace says after she swallows. “I hate to think about how much weight I’ve probably put on today.”

“Oh hush. It’s your birthday. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She gives me the side-eye, grinning.

A warm feeling spreads inside me. Despite not wanting to come here today, I’ve had a good time. I haven’t seen Trevor, which is a huge plus. Then I helped Aunt Grace sell her barbecue and we made about two hundred dollars profit. That was definitely a win. But I’m getting tired. Aunt Grace wants to stay for the fireworks show. I’m ready to go home.

I guess in the back of my mind, I was hoping Dad would show up again for Aunt Grace’s birthday. It’s stupid of me to think that, but whatever. I can always dream.

We weave through the crowd and head toward the front steps of the courthouse, where the judges are supposed to announce the winners of the cooking contests. Several kids from school pass us, shooting nasty looks at me. Aunt Grace doesn’t notice. She’s spotted Mrs. Randolph cleaning up her booth.

“Hey,” Mrs. Randolph says. “I’ve been meaning to speak to y’all, but you know how it gets. Busy, busy, busy.”

More people gather around us while Aunt Grace and Mrs. Randolph chat. I try to listen to them, but they’re gossiping about something I don’t give a crap about. Plus, I really need to go to the restroom, courtesy of the Dr Peppers I drank this afternoon.

“I’m going over to Java Jive.”

Aunt Grace raises a brow at me. “Why?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

Mrs. Randolph chuckles as the lightbulb goes off in Aunt Grace’s head. “Oh, sorry. Yeah, but don’t be too long, okay?”

“I might hang out over there for a while. There are too many people over here.” No joke. I’m starting to feel claustrophobic even though we’re outside.

“Fine. I’ll meet you there in a half hour.”

I hurry down the street to Java Jive. Of course, it’s packed with people I don’t want to be around. Sela. The Brainless Twins. Kate. Levi. Trevor. For a second I consider going to one of those disgusting porta-potties around the courthouse. Then I think,
hell no
. I’m not running from them. Not anymore. I square my shoulders and march to the restroom. It feels like their eyes sear into me as I pass.

When I’m done, I stop at the door, trying to get my nerve up to go back out there. I can do it. Just put one foot in front of the other and leave. Simple as that.

But when I near the table where all the jerks are sitting, Trevor says, “Well hey, Alora. You don’t have time to speak?”

On cue, Trevor’s minions laugh. That figures. I glare at them, noticing how Sela is the only one who’s quiet. She’s really interested in something on her phone.

I don’t need this. I keep walking, but then he jumps up and follows me.

Kill me now.

“What do you want?” I ask in a low voice.

“I thought we could bury the hatchet, so to speak.” He gives me the smile that he reserves for trying to charm girls.

“Save it,” I snarl. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about what you did to me.”

The pretty smile fades and is replaced by an ugly expression, very similar to how he looked when he went psycho on me. “And don’t you think I’ve forgotten about what you did to me, little girl. Your lies are gonna cost me a scholarship.”

“Oh please,” I say, rolling my eyes. “As if you have to depend on one of those.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ll ever get one,” he says with a malicious smirk.

I don’t miss a beat. “Just like you’ll never get me.” I push past him, deciding I don’t need to listen to his special brand of idiocy any more.

Before I can get to the glass door, Trevor calls out, “We’ll see about that.”

Chills crawl over my body, but I don’t look back. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that he got to me.

I barely get across the parking lot when I spot Mr. Palmer standing on the other side of the street, aiming his camera at a group of girls I recognize from school. They’re all dressed in really short shorts and too-tight shirts. The kind Aunt Grace would never let me wear in public.

I watch as Mr. Palmer snaps several pictures of them. Okay, so I know he’s supposed to take pictures of everyone, but that seems a little creepy. Still, it’s none of my business. His employer probably wants him to take a variety of shots.

So many people are still out. The arts and crafts vendors are packing up their stuff, and a lot of people are heading toward their cars, most of them probably going to the rec department for the fireworks show. I just want to find Aunt Grace and see if she’ll take me home. I’ve had enough socializing for the day.

I start to cross the street, but someone standing maybe ten feet away catches my attention.

She looks like me.

For a moment, I wonder if I’m hallucinating again, like I did at The Gingerbread House.

The girl hurries away. I will my legs to follow. I have to catch up to her, see if she’ll talk to me. Or if she’s even real.

I almost lose her in the crowd, but then I catch sight of her turning into an alley. I shouldn’t follow her there, especially since it’s getting darker, but I keep going. I can’t let her get away.

I pass the rear side of a restaurant and stop when I get to the dumpster. The girl is gone. That’s impossible. My head swivels back and forth and I check around the dumpster. She’s not there. She couldn’t have gone in any of the rear doors to any of the stores on this block. They’d be locked.

I start to turn back, but a sharp pain pierces my neck.

Then there’s nothing.

41

ALORA

JULY 4, 2013

M
y head is throbbing like a heartbeat when I wake up. Something is stuffed in my mouth. I gag and try to spit it out.

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakens,” a male voice says.

I’m swaddled in semidarkness. The only light shines from a candle on a small table next to the bed I’m on—or rather tied to. My arms are stretched out above my head, bound with a rough cord. It bites into my skin as I try to yank my arms back to my sides. My head thrashes from side to side, taking in the piles of old furniture, and dust and dirt everywhere. I recognize where I’m at. It’s the abandoned house in the woods.

“No need for that,” the voice says. It’s smooth and threatening at the same time. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A figure moves from the shadows at the end of the bed. I stare at him in horror and try to scream, but I can’t. What is he doing?

Mr. Palmer lets out a low chuckle and scrapes a chair across the floor, letting it rest next to the bed. He sits and stares at me as if he could devour me whole, a crazed gleam in his eyes. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, my dear Jane.”

Jane? Who is that?

He caresses the side of my face, but I jerk my head away and try to yell again. Pointless, but I try anyway. All I can think is
I trusted him.
Aunt Grace trusted him. And he’s doing this?

The candlelight glints off his glasses as he takes them off and places them on the table. “Oh, yes, I’m going to enjoy myself tonight.”

It feels like someone has sucked all the air out of the room as reality hits me.

I try to scream.

Palmer smiles and leans close, so close that I smell the staleness of his breath. He whispers in my ear, “Go ahead. Nobody’s gonna hear you. Nobody’s gonna save you.”

And then he licks the side of my face. Bile rises in my throat, and I gag again.

“You better get used to it.” He smile is sinister, showing crooked teeth. “Now, I’ll take this out, but only if you promise to be quiet.”

I force myself to nod.

He tugs out the rag, and I take in several gulps of air while I think. Could there be some way to get him to let me go? He did seem to share a bond with Aunt Grace.

“You don’t have to do this.” My voice is a hoarse whisper, and I force myself to speak a little louder. “I won’t tell anybody. Not even Aunt Grace. I swear.”

“No, you won’t. You won’t be telling anybody anything. Not when I’m finished. I’m going to make you pay for what you did to me. Just like I’ve already made the other one pay.”

Other one? Could he be talking about Naomi?

He stands and places his hands on either side of me while licking his lower lip. I hold still, too scared to move. Too scared to breathe. But I make myself keep talking.

“Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?”

Palmer pauses and looks somewhere over me, as if he’s really seeing something, or remembering something.

“You’re all just alike. You and Fran. Nothing but lying whores.”

“I don’t know who Jane is or who Fran is, but you’re mistaken. My name is Alora.”

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouts. “You and Fran ruined my life with your lies. I never touched either one of you, and yet because of you two I lost everything! My wife. My kids. My teaching career. My whole life!”

He reaches over and picks up something off the table. I want to shrink away—it’s a knife. He stares at it almost lovingly as he says, “Oh yes, I’m going to take from you just what you took from me. A life for a life. Just like I took care of Fran a few months ago.”

By now I’m shaking. I remember the first time I met Palmer, when he said I looked like somebody he knew. Apparently Palmer has completely lost touch with reality. So he did something to two girls and paid for it. Now he’s taking it out on me—and possibly murdered Naomi.

He’s not just a perv; he’s a
killer
.

And I’m next.

He returns the knife to the table and places his hands on the sides of my face, stroking my cheeks. Then his hands trail down my neck.

Please stop.

But he’s not going to stop. Nobody’s going to help me. Nobody but me. A fire sparks deep inside me and flames throughout my body. I won’t lie here like I’m already dead and let him get away with this. Not without giving him hell.

I draw my legs up and twist my hips toward Palmer while kicking out. My feet connect with his chest. He stumbles backward, his arms flailing. His hand knocks against the table and sweeps the candle over. It rolls against the rotting curtains, igniting them. The fire spreads rapidly.