Now That You're Here (Duplexity, Part I) (18 page)

Warren sits on his garage floor, securing the last beam to the frame of the Faraday cage. It's bigger than I thought it would be—eight feet tall, at least—but I guess it has to be big enough for both Danny and the EMP device.

I keep wondering how his date with Missy went last night, but I don't dare ask. Instead, Danny and I staple chicken wire to the two-by-fours. I flinch every time I squeeze the grip of the industrial staple gun.
Bang.
I'm sure I look stupid, but I can't help it.
Bang.
I just—
bang
—always brace myself for the—
bang.

Danny scoots the ladder over, climbs up and staples the wire to the top of the frame.
Bang. Bang.
I still flinch, but not as badly.

Warren steps back and inspects the work, pushing his goggles up on his forehead. “Looks good.”

I've only ever seen pictures of Faraday cages, so I don't actually have any idea if he's right.

“It's not the first time I've made one, you know,” he says.

Of course it isn't.

“I made a smaller one for the CAVE to keep my vintage computer collection.”

Of course he did.
Bang.
Danny climbs down the ladder and starts working on another section. One quarter of one side of the cage is covered in chicken wire, and we still have a long way to go.

“Once we get it all set up, we'll wrap it in foil, too,” Warren says. “Just to be sure.”

I follow him over to the tool bench, taking off my work gloves. “If it's wrapped up, how will we see what's happening inside?”

“We won't, until we open the door.” He takes a drink from a water bottle. “Or we just leave it closed and it'll really be like Schrödinger's Cat.” He laughs. I smack him across the arm with my glove. “Geez, Solomon.” He rubs the spot. “Lighten up. I'm kidding.”

“Not. Funny.”

He's in a good mood. I'm dying to know how the date with Missy went. Guess there's only one way to find out.

I keep my voice low. “How was the date?”

He fiddles with the water bottle cap. “Fine.”

“Just fine? What did you guys do?”

“I don't know. Stuff. Talked.” He turns to set the bottle on the workbench.

“Yeah? What did you talk about?”

“What is this, the Klingon Inquisition?”

“No, I'm just…” He didn't tell her, did he? About Danny? “Just curious. Sounds like you had a good time.”

“I think we did.” He smiles, but offers no further information.

“Cool.” I fold up the fingers of the glove still in my hands and then let them flop back open. Talk about awkward. I shouldn't have asked.

“Did you tell him about tomorrow?” Warren whispers, eyeing Danny. I shake my head. “What are you waiting for?” He makes quiet chicken noises.

Danny walks over to us at the table, and gives Warren a funny look. I could tell him about the health fair now. But instead, I pick the EMP plans up and flip through the pages of instructions and diagrams, holding them for Danny to see as well.

“We have to make sure the pulse is confined to the cage,” Warren says, “so we don't fry my house. Or your house. Or the city.”

I lean back against the table. “How big of a pulse are we talking?”

“Well, that's the question, isn't it? How big is too big? How small is too small?” He walks over to the cage and pokes a finger through the chicken wire. His finger just fits. “We don't know the capacity of the pulse in Danny's explosion—”

“We don't even know if there was an EMP in that explosion. All of this is conjecture.”

“Okay, but working from the hypothesis that there was one, we have to assume it was large enough to propel a guy his size from one universe to another.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Assume?”

“Come on, Solomon.” He frowns. “You're making this a lot more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I just wish we had a better way to gauge this.” What we need is guidance, expertise. I pull out my phone and dial. “I'm calling Mac.”

Warren stops poking the cage. “He said this weekend wasn't a good time.”

There's dead air for a beat, then the line connects and rings. And rings and rings and rings and…I hang up. “Seems like no time is good lately.”

“I can't believe you guys did that to me.” I walk the bike in the gutter. Eevee and Warren share the sidewalk. He's trying to skate my board and I'm trying not to laugh.

“Oh, it wasn't so bad,” Eevee says. “Just a couple of pokes.”

“A couple? He must have stuck me twenty times.”

They'd conspired, the two of them. Told me they had a great idea, a way to find out more about what might be going on with me. So after school, we rode-walked
three miles
only to end up at, what? A health fair. Twenty or so tables overflowing with pamphlets and diagrams. Diabetes awareness, nutrition information, cancer signs and symptoms. And at the last table, a dreadlocked vampire in latex gloves was waiting to take my blood. Some great idea.

“You could have warned me he was still learning.”

Warren goes on the defensive. “Jordan's in his second year. He's almost finished his EMT training.”

I look at the inside of my arm. The skin is already turning purple where he jabbed me. With Warren, though, sometimes it's best to just smooth things over. “Hey, I'm just messing with you. I'm sure your friend will make a terrific doctor. Someday.”

“EMT,” Warren says, still annoyed.

“Well, I'm sure he'll make a terrific one of those, too.”

A van drives by and I walk the bike up onto the sidewalk, out of the way.

“At least we know you're healthy,” Eevee says. “This isn't because of some kind of…” She waves her hand around her head and shoulders. “Medical issue.”

“Actually,” Warren says, “we won't know that for sure until the blood results are in.”

“And you haven't sent me to a shrink yet.” I coast back down into the gutter, my feet lazy along either side of the bike. “Is that our next stop? Oh, wait, you're not going to tell me, right?” I look beyond her to Warren. “So, how are things going with Missy?”

Oops. Should've known better than to distract him. He trips and stumbles over the front of the board. Tries to stop himself from falling by taking huge steps, but it's hopeless. He crashes into the sidewalk with his shoulder and rolls.

“Warren!” Eevee crouches beside him, checks if he's okay. I fish the board out of a bush and reach over to help him up.

He takes my hand and makes a big show of brushing himself off. Then he looks past me. “Wait a sec.” He lifts his goggles. “Didn't that van already pass us?”

Eevee and I look to where he's pointing. The white van approaches and drives by again. Can't see through the tinted windows.

“The driver probably just missed the house he was looking for the first time,” I say. But they don't look so sure.

I pace the room, pain still gripping my chest as my thoughts spin off the hook.

It happened again. One minute I was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Next thing I knew, static filled my head and I saw Germ. Hazy, like looking through a foggy window, but it was definitely him.

We were in a restaurant or something. Lots of noise, people talking and dishes clanking. “I don't see how we have a choice,” he whispered. I tried to speak, but it was like talking underwater. My voice wedged in my throat. “I say we do it. Shake things up,” he said. “Beat them at their own game.”

I fought to push through to him, but something else pushed back. A wall-like force that grew stronger. Next thing I know I'm crashing to the floor next to my bed. An inch to the left and I'd have split my head open on the nightstand.

What's going on there, without me? What was Germ talking about? My gut tells me it has to do with Red December. But why would he be so stupid? We swore we were done with them. Unless things have turned so bad, Germ thinks the only option is to fight.

I need to get home. Even though going home will mean saying goodbye.

I flop back onto the bed, run my hands through my hair. Slide open the nightstand drawer and touch the cover of Eevee's Vitruvian Man journal. Looks like he has a black eye, too.

I know almost nothing about the girl at the museum. Who I really want to know is the girl sleeping next door. I turn the book over in my hands. Maybe if I read it I could at least figure out
her.

No.

It's 12:14. The last thing I want to do is get back in that bed and stare at the ceiling all night. I pull on a shirt and don't even bother with shoes. Slip through the house like a shadow and dash across the driveways.

I tap on her window, quietly at first, then louder. Her light goes on and the window opens. Just seeing her makes me feel better.

“Hey.” Her voice is sleepy. “What's wrong?”

“I brought you something.”

“Like a gift? At midnight?”

“Kinda.”

She yawns.

“Sorry. I should have waited.”

“No.” Her smile is sleepy, too. “It's okay. Hang on.”

The window slides shut and I don't have to wait long before she's at the front door.

“Here,” I say, holding out the journal. “Take this. Please.”

She turns the journal over in her hands and opens the cover. “My dad bought me this. He thought it would help with my writing.”

“I keep taking it out of that drawer, thinking if I read your journal I'll learn more about you.”

“Did you open it?”

I hold up my hands. “No. I swear.”

“Well, you should have.” She flips through the pages. “It's empty.” She laughs and hands it back to me. “Keep it.” Then she looks behind her, holds a finger to her lips and motions me in. I follow her through the living room and kitchen, our feet padding on the tile. She opens the back door really slowly, but the hinges still whine. We both freeze and listen, but there's just the hum of the fridge. I follow her outside, closing the door behind me with a quiet click.

The moon is low. The grass cold. Eevee looks like a ghost moving through the yard. She ducks beneath the branches of the mesquite at the far corner.

“Better than the front yard,” she whispers. I set the journal down and we sit side by side, shoulders touching. Her hair has a clean, citrus smell. The branches block out most of the stars but the moon shines on our feet. Hers are small, almost dainty next to mine. She keeps her voice low. “You okay?”

“Sure.”

She gives me a look.

“Okay, no.” I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. “It happened again.”

“What did?”

“The nightmare thing. Except I don't think they're dreams.”

She pulls her feet up and crosses her arms over her knees. “Maybe your mind is trying to process everything that's happened. That's what our brains do when we sleep.”

“But I wasn't asleep. It just kind of hit me. Static and pulsing and then it's like I'm seeing somewhere else.” I cross my arms on my knees, too, and look her in the eye. “Please tell me you believe me.”

“You know I do.”

She says that, but if I had to listen to this stuff, I'd think the person saying it was a nut job. “I saw Germ. There were a lot of people around and we were making some kind of plan.”

Should I tell her about the work we did for Red December? Then what would she think of me? She'd probably never speak to me again. I wouldn't.

“It wasn't a memory?”

“No. This was new.” I look across the yard, the moonlit grass and trees. “It was good to see him.”

“I bet.”

“Maybe next time it'll be my parents.”

“Who was it the first time, when we were out front?”

My mouth opens and I'm looking at her, but I don't know what to say.

She's smart, though. Figures it out. “Ah.” She nods and looks away. “Well, we're almost ready to build the EMP device. Then, hopefully, it'll work and you'll be on your way.”

“Right.”

“That's what you want, isn't it?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then why do you sound sad?”

“I miss them, Eevee. I miss them so much. I keep thinking about all the little things. The way my mom hums when she does the dishes. The way she answers the phone. Dad's jokes, and how he chews his food.” I rest my head on my arms and look at her. “It's weird what you remember about people when they're suddenly not around.”

“Will you miss me?”

“Why do you think I'm sad?”

She fiddles with the fraying cuff of her sweatshirt. “But you'd have
her.
”

“She's not you.” I stretch my legs out in front of me and she does, too. We're silent for a moment, and then, “Do you want me to stay?”

Her answer is so quiet, if I weren't right next to her I wouldn't have heard it. She leans against me. I tip my head to the left until it rests on her shoulder. She tips hers to the right.

This is where I'd push the pause button if I could. Right here. The smell of her hair. The moon shining on our toes.

“I was thinking,” she whispers, “it might be a good idea for you to check in with the foster family.”

My head jerks up and I turn to face her. Talk about ruining a moment. “Why?”

“So Child Protective Services doesn't come looking for you.”

Crap. I hadn't thought of that.

“Just make an appearance so they know you're not dead or lying in a gutter somewhere.”

I hold out my arm in front of her. The angry circle-scars. “I could end up dead just being there.” Her big eyes look into mine and I know she's right. “Okay, I'll do it.”

“I wish there were another way.”

“Me too.”

She has no idea.