Touching the Surface (4 page)

Resigning myself to my fate at Workshop, I headed toward the towering dark wood doors. Suddenly they disappeared. I found myself standing in front of a drab gray urban warehouse
of a building. Where there once was ivy and gently warmed stone, now stood graffitied concrete and dirty chicken-wired windows that blocked me from seeing inside. A mere two inches from my face, a vent belched moist, dank air straight at my nose.

My gut told me exactly who had done this. Somewhere nearby was the sullen-looking Trevor with the piercing blue eyes. Only he would create something like this. Instinct suggested I move out of his way, but I was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch again.

I had two options. One was to stand there and fight it out with Trevor, to try and override his pathetic preference in architecture. Or I could partially suspend belief and share the design. If we had a creative confrontation I couldn’t imagine how long we’d be standing there flipping architecture back and forth, but it killed me to have to cocreate with Trevor. I felt a twinge of guilt. Hadn’t this been what Julia was suggesting—that I had to always have things my own way? I shrugged it off, because that couldn’t possibly apply here. No one in their right mind picked rusty chicken wire as a decor choice. He had an agenda.

It was so silent I could hear the soft ticks of the minute hand of my watch. I released the tension in my clenched fists, realizing that I’d have to at least give it a try. I hated feeling
vulnerable, but if I didn’t make the attempt, Trevor and I would find ourselves spending half the day ping-ponging between my creative vision and his dark and nasty view. Besides, I’d sworn to Mel that I wouldn’t be late and I wasn’t planning to break my promise, even to irritate someone so rude.

I closed my eyerethe way we&#

5

unguided

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Trevor dash into the building through a ding of root beer and motor oil. through lled and scratched windowless steel door that hadn’t been there seconds before.

“Jerk!” I kicked the grungy brick wall. I didn’t even have time to rub my throbbing toes as I darted into the building, heading for Workshop.

My toes were fine in seconds, but running like a startled rabbit down the hall left me frazzled and breathless by the time I reached Mel’s door. I paused outside her classroom to steady my breathing and collect my thoughts. I wanted to walk into the room seeming completely unruffled, but Trevor’s antics had left me flustered. I needed to be calm and prepared. I knew once everyone was settled, I would have to
step up to the Swing and Delve for my memories. My hands were sweating just thinking about it. I planted my face in my palms, trying to erase the sudden vision of myself in the Swing, everyone judging me. Things would be so much easier if Julia was here.

I’d never Delved before, but we’d witnessed other Delves during our last two visits to the Obmil. I’d learned a lot from watching other Third Timers dissect their pasts. But obviously I hadn’t learned enough to avoid becoming a Third Timer myself. I should’ve listened to Mel more carefully; she was always dropping little hints about how easily
anyone
could find themselves being a Third Timer. But I’d never really thought it could happen to me. Now I was standing here with knots in my stomach, worried about being dropped like a rock into my own unenlightened past.

I felt a small sting as the taste of blood hit my tongue. I’d gnawed too voraciously on my cuticle. I sucked on the fresh wound, then stuffed my bloodied finger in my pocket, pushing the door open with my hip. Turning to face the class, I instantly realized I was the last one to arrive. I scanned the faces but stopped abruptly when I saw Oliver and Trevor glaring at each other with blatant hostility, sparks practically flying between the two.

Before I could break away from the sight of them, a low
humming noise filled my ears. Everything was fading. My legs began to go numb. My knees sank to the floor. As Oliver and Trevor disappeared from view, I noticed a tiny pinprick of light and heard the faintest sound of music in my ears. I’d never heard of anyone making a Delve unguided before, but my memories crashed over me before I could stop them.

•  •  •

The applause no longer rang in my ears but the memory of it vibrated through my heart, causing me to feel more alive than I ever had before. Onstage I was someone special.

I opened the windows in the car and the wind whipped my hair around. I was glad I’d taken the extra minutes to remove my stage makeup before I met up with everyone at the cast party. It was the end of the school year and there wouldn’t be many opportunities to get together with friends before we all went our separate directions. It always felt like the summer would be loaded with extra time, but jobs and vacations seemed to fill up all the potential empty spaces.

Dad had offered to drive over with me, which was sweet, but I kind of wanted a few minutes to myself. I only needed to go a couple miles down the road to hook up with the cast and all my adoring fans. Elliot Turner having fans—who would have thought? I felt lit from within.

I turned up the song that Mom had left in the car. I’d always been a music mutt, pulling inspiration from whatever was around. “Little Bird” by make a bigger version of what we already are.lo before Annie Lennox was pumping like a heartbeat and I felt as if I was flying. I was
alive, belting it out with Annie. It was just me on the road, except for a silver minivan up ahead. I was singing so loud I wondered if they could hear me.

“They always said that you knew best,

But this little bird’s fallen out of that nest now.

I’ve got a feeling that it might have been blessed,

So I’ve just got to put these wings to test.”

“Damn it!” My cell phone was ringing and my bag was on the floor. I hooked the strap with my finger and tugged. It didn’t budge. I swiped the hair out of my face again and gave another tug as I glanced back up at the road. The bag flew up onto my lap, tipping over the morning’s coffee remains.

“For I am just a troubled soul,

Who’s weighted . . .

Weighted to the ground.

Give me the strength to carry on,

Till I can lay this burden down.

Give me the strength to lay this burden down . . .”

I could still hear the ring of the phone wandering off into the wind as I flipped it open and squeezed it against my ear. I blotted up the coffee.
Oh shit!
I was leaving a trail of damp tissue paper on my skirt and I didn’t have another change of clothes for the party.

“Hello?”

The airbag responded first, exploding into me. The seat belt bit into my chest, trying to hold me back from the metal and glass that had silenced Annie Lennox’s voice. Something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was. I felt as if my brain was moving at a fraction of its normal pace.

Oddly, I was now holding the phone clutched between my fingers. A panicked far-off voice kept screaming “Ellie!”

I tried to open the car door, but it didn’t seem to work when I tugged at the handle. I used my shoulder to shove it. When I stepped out, a cascade of glass fragments leapt to the pavement and scattered like stars across the night sky.

I glanced up and saw the silver minivan with its front end wrapped around a tree, like a bun around a hot dog. The rear of the van was similar to an accordion. The sweet bite of gasoline crept into my nose. Unbidden, my feet began to move. I couldn’t look at my car. Instead I walked in a wide circle to the front of the minivan. I was afraid to get too close, but I was magnetically drawn to the wreck.

The woman in the front seat was screaming. Blood streamed down her forehead and into her eyes. Her hands were flying everywhere. She was ripping at herself. Her seat belt finally released her and she was free. Stumbling out of the vehicle she practically They always said that you knew best,
g beforetore the sliding door off its track. Her animalistic howl almost knocked me over. That’s when I saw her: a little girl, maybe three or four years old, buckled into her car seat. My heart stopped as the mom grasped the little girl’s head in her hands, smearing a bloody trickle
across the side of her face. As if the woman’s hands contained the spark of life, the little girl, ponytails crooked, reached for her, returning from horrific silence. The harder she strained against the car seat, wanting to be in her mother’s arms, the louder her cries became. I took a step forward thinking I could help, somehow fix things, but I stopped cold when I realized that the woman was tearing through the van like a hurricane. It didn’t make sense—why was she ignoring her daughter? What was she looking for? She whipped around, wild-eyed, searching. I froze, thinking that maybe it was me she was searching for, retribution her focus. She went as still as I. We waited—the only noise from the backseat, an endless “mommymommymommy” . . . thumping against my head like a heartbeat. Theof the sleek b

6

the
distribution
of guilt

Waves of fear and horror washed over me. I was drowning. If I screamed long and loud, maybe I would disappear from the inside out. I wanted to die, but that really wasn’t an option anymore.

That’s when I felt fingers gently brushing against my forehead, almost as if they were trying to sweep away the ugliness that was imprinted there. I quieted, staying fetal on the floor, eyes closed, heart beating like a trapped hummingbird inside my chest. I could feel Oliver sitting inches from my head.

“Why are you crying, Elliot?”

“I am so, so sorry, Oliver.” Each word was ripped from my gut. Tears streamed down my face.

“Why are you sorry?”

I heard the scraping of a chair and feet pounding against the wooden floor. The contents of someone’s stomach emptied into a nearby garbage can. I cringed. My own stomach lurched wildly. Maybe if I’d reacted so strongly to someone else’s Delves when I was a First or Second Timer, I wouldn’t be lying here on the floor right now.

“Elliot, why are you sorry?”

The heaving had stopped and everyone in the room was deathly silent. I couldn’t hear brushed up againsthiI bit my lip another sound besides the velvet lilt of Oliver’s words. I craved the sight of his face, was desperate to see the same kindness that was in his voice, but the urge to hide from the rest of the room was stronger. I could feel dozens of eyes boring into me. I didn’t want to know who was hunched over a dirty trashcan. I pictured the looks of disgust on everyone’s faces. Everyone would have seen what had happened in my Delve.

With lids shut tight, I pulled my limbs in tighter. The silence was palpable. What do you say to the guy that you murdered? Are there words that could reach past the surface? I had ripped him away from his life. I opened my eyes and searched his face. We were nose to nose—he’d tipped over, mirroring my position on the floor. Oh God, he was smiling at me.

He nodded matter-of-factly and said, “It’s okay.”

What was he thinking? It could never be okay. Never. I’d killed him.

I had two options. I could close my eyes again and spend all of eternity right where I was or I could lift up my head and meet the eyes of everyone else in the room. I could face the people who weren’t delusional like Oliver. I wasn’t fond of either option.

“You’re all right, Elliot,” Mel said.

It sounded like she was talking me down off the edge of a cliff. I wanted to believe her, but there was no way that anything could ever be all right again. Obviously there wasn’t a hell or I would’ve been magically transported there instantaneously. Or maybe this was hell. Maybe heaven was innocence, limbo was ignorance, and hell was fiery illumination.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” Mel said. “Please.”

I lifted my chin, letting her gaze at the disappointment of me. I was waiting for the ugliness I was feeling to make itself visible in the windows of her eyes. Beat after beat, my heart ticked off the seconds, and yet there was no disgust or hatred in her face. I didn’t deserve it, but I was grateful.