Undercurrent (21 page)

I thunder down the attic stairs and leave him to it. But he won’t pull the trigger. Not until he knows what I’m up to. I know him too well.

“Cal!” I hear, just before I slam the front door behind me.

My brother finally finds me in the garage, busy putting the ladder up against a beam. At a glance he looks like he no longer has the gun, at least.

“Cal, what are you doing?”

“Getting a life jacket.”

“Why?”

“Because I need a life jacket, jackass,” I tell him, climbing up to the top of the ladder. “Why else?”

“What for?”

This time I don’t answer. I grab the first orange life jacket I find and toss it down, purposely aiming for my brother.

“You missed.”

“Whoops.”

I climb down, pick up the jacket, and head out the garage door without a word.

“Cal, what are you doing?” my brother calls after me. “If Dad drops by, he’ll be pissed you left the ladder up like that, you know.”

“So?”

“So you’ll get in trouble.”

“Then move it if you care so much. I’m busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

“I told you,” I say over my shoulder. “I’m doing something stupid.”

I march down the drive to the road, putting on the jacket so I don’t have to carry it. It must look funny, because I’m getting amused looks from drivers. But they can go to hell. Everyone can go to hell.

My brother is tailing me, staying about fifty feet back. From time to time he calls my name, but eventually he gives up and just keeps walking after me. It starts raining, but I don’t care. I don’t stop. So neither does Cole.

We head along the road where I take Jess for walks, along the mowed field where we play fetch. We then make our way through the campground, which is empty except for a few hardcore outdoor types who look up curiously as we pass. We must make a strange spectacle: the quietly crying boy wearing a life jacket followed by his older brother into the darkening evening.

At the end of the campground, I reach the marked path that leads up to the falls. It’s well trodden, almost like a gully winding its way through the forest. I’m getting tired now, keeping up this pace. But slowing down will make me look less determined. So I take it up a notch instead. My brother sighs and does too.

“All right, Cal. Come on,” he says when I finally reach the stairs leading up to the bridge. “Enough is enough. What are you trying to prove?”

“I’m not trying to prove anything, Cole,” I answer. “I’m doing something.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve told you like five times already!” I shout at him. “Something stupid!”

It’s at this point that I start fastening all the belts on the life jacket, which, from a glimpse of the name written inside, proves to be mine. Having grown a bit since last using it, I can’t get the clips to snap. But when I suck in my gut, I somehow manage it and continue walking out onto the bridge.

My brother follows.

“Okay, now I’m really curious,” he says, having to pitch his voice above the sound of the falls. “What stupid thing are you going to do? Besides this whole ridiculous walk, I mean.”

“I’m going over the falls, Cole.”

My brother laughs at me. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.”

“You’re going to kill yourself.”

“I didn’t say that,” I correct him. “I just said I was going to do something stupid.”

“Oh. So that’s why you’re wearing a life jacket?”

“That’s why, Einstein.”

“And you think a life jacket will save you after going over a waterfall?”

“It’s better than no life jacket, that’s for sure.”

“Well, think again. Because you’ll die, dickweed.”

“I’m not so sure,” I reply. “I think my chances are better doing this than shooting a gun at my head.”

“Statistically speaking, I wouldn’t bet on that, Cal.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out.”

I never liked playing chicken with my brother. I never won. I think mostly because he probably made up his mind to ram into me if I didn’t get out of his way. It didn’t matter if he was on a skateboard and I was on a bike—he wouldn’t swerve. So I’m feeling pretty nervous as I vault over the wet railing and land on my toes on the other side. But immediately I know I’ve got the upper hand. I can hear it in Cole’s voice.

“Cal!” he yells. “That’s not funny! Stop screwing around!”

“It’s not meant to be funny,” I say as calmly as possible, despite my fluttering stomach and pounding heart. “It’s meant to be stupid. Now don’t come any closer, or I’ll let go.”

“Cal, stop! Seriously!”

“No.”

“Please,” he begs. “You’ve made your point.”

“Really?” I ask, leaning back. The railing is so cold, it’s making my fingers ache. “Because the point I’m trying to make is that when I go over, you’re going to be very sorry. And then you’re going to wish you’d done things differently so this never happened.” I lean back some more. “But for me, whichever way it goes, it’ll be over quick. Maybe I’ll make it and be the coolest kid at school. You can be my witness! But if I don’t, well, that’s just your tough sh—”

That’s the moment my sneakers slip.

The punch in the face probably didn’t happen quite as fast, but I didn’t expect it either. And having the cold gun barrel jammed up against my gums is not only just as terrifying, it’s extremely painful.

“Where did you come from?” Cal wants to know, yanking my head back by the hair and pushing the gun harder into my face. “Where is my brother okay?”

“I don’t know,” I confess, struggling to speak. “I was trying to teach him a lesson, and I fell from the bridge. That’s when I woke up here. That’s when all of this started.”

But Cal isn’t satisfied, not one bit. “Don’t hold out on me, man, or I swear I will blow your head off right here, right now. Something is getting figured out on this bridge tonight. Do you understand me? Something is getting figured out!”

“All I know is Mr. Schroeder, the old physics teacher, thinks there’s some sort of other universe nearby, one where his dead brother is alive. He told Willow he was going to visit him. I saw him here the day I chased you through the forest. He threw some sort of device—a message, he called it—into the falls. It was a metal tube with a blinking red light on it. He said the message said he was on his way. . . .”

Cal thinks for a moment, then nods excitedly. “Yes! Yes!
Yes!
” He pulls me to my feet. “The flashlight,” he shouts, “where is it?”

“It’s in my pocket. Why?”

“Give it to me!”

Cal trains the gun on my chest as I hand over the flashlight. Still aiming at me, he shines the beam on the railing. “Aha! Here it is! Look!”

“What is it?”

“I thought I saw the old bastard looking for something, some sort of marking. He found it just as I jogged up, before he recognized me, I think. Anyway, this must be the spot!”

I look at the section of railing illuminated by the flashlight. Carefully scratched into the paintwork is an arrow pointing toward the thundering drop-off.
This way down
, it practically says.

“It could be anything,” I suggest. “Some kids fooling around with a nail, anything.” The truth is, there are all sorts of initials, not to mention swearwords and crude pictures, gouged into the paint. And I’m guessing this other version of me has probably made more than a few himself. So he can’t be taking this seriously.

“But I saw him!” Cal shouts, looking elated. “He was definitely looking for exactly this! Which means this must be the spot!”

“The spot for what?”

“To go over!” Cal yells, eyes shining with moonlight. “To get to the other universe you’re talking about!”

“Hold on a second. We don’t know that,” I warn him. Actually I’m starting to think the whole idea is crazy, partially because this nut job is buying into it so fast. “And there’s no way we can know for sure.”

“Maybe not. But there’s a pretty good test we could do,” Cal says.

“A test? What test?”

Cal raises his arm. The black handgun is now pointed straight at my forehead. “Jump over,” he tells me.

“What? No.”

“Jump over at the arrow, Callum,” he orders again. “Jump over at the arrow, or I will put a bullet in your brain.”

My knees buckle. I want to puke. This is not a choice I’m being given. But I have to make one. Or he will make it for me.

“Wait!” I beg him. “This is ridiculous. Even if I do jump, you’ll never know for sure what happened to me.”

“That’s true,” he agrees. “But it will prove one thing.”

“What?”

“That you believe the story enough that you’re willing to take your chances with the goddamn waterfall. Now, on the count of three, you’d better jump. Because on four I’m shooting you in the face!”

“Wait. Stop!”

“One.”

“Cal, listen.”

“Two.”

“Cal!”

“Three!”

“No! No! No!”

EPILOGUE

Okay, let’s get this over with.

A solid material formed by a repeating, three-dimensional pattern of atoms, ions, or molecules, each with a fixed distance between them, is known as:

a) A crystal.

b) A mineral.

c) A dead cat.

I’m going with
c
. If you’re gonna be wrong, you might as well be funny, as I always say.

The totality of all known matter and energy—including our planet, other planets, other galaxies, and the vast emptiness known as space—is called:

a) The crystal.

b) The universe.

c) The same cat, except this time it’s alive and well.

I’m putting down
c
again. Screw this test. Screw this class!

The chances of going over a waterfall not once but twice and surviving is:

a) Slim.

b) Zero.

c) Pretty good, if both times you jump from exactly the right spot.

I guess I’ll have to go with
c
again. But only because I really hope that’s the right answer.

Cole and I got pretty sunburned by the end of that day. Mom wasn’t happy about it, not one bit. She’d told us a bunch of times to reapply some lotion, saying that it was getting washed off in the water, but we didn’t have any time to waste. There were too many slides to ride. So we just ran off on her, saying we’d stay in the shade.

By the time we got back to the car, it was four forty-five, and I was already feeling pretty miserable. My face felt as tight as a drum skin, and my T-shirt was practically melting into my shoulders. Mom gave us some sort of cream that we rubbed all over ourselves until Dad started complaining that we were getting it on the seats.

Still, it was a happy sort of miserable, coconut-scented. It turned out to be a great day, after all, I had to admit to myself. Soon I settled into playing my favorite road game: focusing on a speck of dirt on the window and making it jump over passing obstacles—trees, fences, houses, barns—using small movements of my head. Tunnels and telephone poles didn’t count, however, nor anything else impossible to make it over.

Though the slides and the wave pool were all great, I kept thinking about this one other ride at the park. Well, I don’t know if you could even call it a ride—it was more like a giant suspended bathtub that was supposed to look like a huge mushroom or something cartoonish like that. Every five minutes or so, it would completely fill up and then tip over, dumping a flood of water on anyone standing underneath. Then the tub would turn upright and start filling again.

The concept was pretty simple—a ton of water fell on you—but the experience was surprisingly intense. Because it was amazing just how much anticipation would build up in the crowd waiting below, who couldn’t help but look at their neighbor; scared but laughing, happy that at least others were suffering it too. Everyone, it felt like, held out some faint hope that this time the thing wouldn’t tip over and that somehow we’d be spared from the upcoming disaster.

But of course no one was spared, because the tub always tipped. The water would fall in one big downpour, with so much power that it was hard to even remain on your feet. Most people didn’t, in fact, probably making the tub the most dangerous attraction in the whole park, at least for bumps and bruises.

Of course Cole thought it was stupid.

“You’ve waited around for five minutes to get water dumped on you,” he said. “Three times now,” he added, thrusting the same number of fingers in my face. “Which is fifteen whole minutes. Fifteen wasted minutes of life that you are never getting back.”

“Fifteen of the
best
minutes of my life,” I replied. “Jackass.”

Cole didn’t understand a lot of the things I liked, the speck game among them. If he ever caught me moving my head around in the backseat, he was liable to pound me in the shoulder over it. “It’s annoying to sit back here with a life-size bobble-head. Knock it off.”

But that day Cole was too wiped out to notice. I peeked behind his sunglasses to be sure he was asleep, a state in which he’d remain until we pulled up to the house and Dad shook the living shit out of him. I always loved seeing the expression on his face the moment he woke up, confused and vulnerable, not knowing where he was.

I guess that day was it—the moment before the big bathtub tipped over and doused our whole family. I know, because I felt the exact same fear in my stomach the next morning as we started packing up our things. The feeling that something big was about to drop on us—and that there was no way we could stop it. Except this time I didn’t like it. It wasn’t fun. Not at all.

My father found me sitting on the floor of my room. I was looking miserable among all my things and the empty boxes I was supposed to fill with them.

“Cheer up, Callum,” he said. When I didn’t answer, Dad came and sat on my bed. “You know, it’s good to shake things up sometimes,” he told me.

“Why?”

“Well, if everything stays the same forever, you stop enjoying what you’ve got. And stop appreciating people. I’m telling you, buddy, this move is going to change your life in ways you can’t possibly imagine. Just you wait and see.”

Oh, he was right.

There are three men here now, wading into the freezing river. Three men pulling me out. I really know only one of them, but I met the other two, and I feel like I know them all now.

“Hello, Mr. Schroeder,” I say, through chattering teeth, to the first man. “Hello, Mr. Schroeder,” I then say, to the second.

“Do you know this boy?” says the third—the grumpy one from the supermarket, I’m certain.

“Hello, Mr. Schroeder,” I say. “What was the big deal with that orange juice anyway?” I laugh, because I’ve made it back. I’ve made it home.

I’ve gone over Crystal Falls and survived. Twice.