Parallelogram Omnibus Edition

by Brande, Robin

  “It’s dark out,” I say.

  “I know, Miss. I’m sorry. One moment.”

  She presses another button, and now the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and it looks like I’m in the middle of a meadow. A deer grazes in front of my bed. A rabbit hops past. I’ve barely gotten three hours of sleep.

  I bury my face in my pillow. “Please turn it off.”

  The chirping goes away. So does the sunshine and the meadow.

  “I’ve made you some tea,” the girl says. “Just the way you like it, I hope. I also brought you coffee. I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer.”

  What I’d prefer is that the girl go away, but clearly that’s not happening. So I wrestle myself up into a sitting position, and the girl quickly sets down her tray and rushes over to fluff up the pillows behind me. It’s all a bit too much.

  But she seems sweet, and I shouldn’t be such a grump. Especially since Halli, unlike me, is probably a morning person.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Celeste, Miss.”

  “The Celeste—” I gesture to where I heard her voice yesterday. “—from the wall?”

  “The wall, Miss?

  “You don’t have to keep calling me Miss.”

  “Oh, I do,” she says, nervously glancing at the wall behind the bed. “It’s either ‘Miss Markham’ or ‘Miss Halli.’ Or, well, I hope you don’t mind . . .”

  It takes me a second to realize she’s afraid calling me just “Miss” is too informal.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “Call me whatever you want.”

  “Thank you, Miss. Here you are.” She hands me the cup of tea, then anxiously watches while I take my first sip.

  It’s like drinking a memory.

  The first time I tasted this spicy, cinnamony tea was on a mountaintop in Colorado. I had just traveled there from my bedroom at home, across the membranes of two parallel universes, and arrived in Halli’s universe—this one—wearing just my sleep shirt and boxers.

  And even though I couldn’t explain myself yet, even though Halli had no reason to trust me—except for the fact that I looked just like her, but what did that mean, really? I could have been an alien clone, sent to eat her brain and take over her body—ugh, not funny, obviously, considering my present circumstances—but Halli brought me back to her camp anyway and made sure I had proper clothing. Then she built a fire and made me a mug of this tea, to make sure I’d be warm.

  And now where is Halli? Is she someplace safe and warm? Is someone taking care of her?

  I tried to contact her last night. It was after I’d already spent hours struggling to turn on that stupid tablet, and never figured it out.

  So I abandoned trying to access the tracking information that would tell me where Halli’s body spent those two missing days after the avalanche, and instead decided to use my mind to try to find out where she is now.

  So I sat here in the dark for hours, mentally sending out signals to her, trying my best to clear my own mind so I could hear her if she were trying to find me, but hours later, still nothing.

  Which might mean I wasn’t doing it right. Or it might mean she’s someplace where the two of us can’t reach each other any more.

  Or it might mean she’s dead. I understand that’s a possibility, intellectually, but there’s no way I’m ready to believe it. I feel like I would know it, here in this heart of hers. And until I really feel it, I’m not going to believe she’s gone.

  “Miss?” the girl says. “How . . . is it?” She nervously plays with the end of her long black braid. I force myself to smile at her.

  “The tea’s delicious, Celeste. Thank you. It’s perfect.”

  The girl beams.

  And then I have a brilliant thought.

  “Can you do me a favor?” I ask.

  “Of course!”

  I pick up the tablet from where I left it beside the bed.

  “I’m kind of embarrassed,” I tell Celeste. “My regular one is an older model, and I can’t figure out how to turn this one on.”

  “Oh! Here.” She presses the left corner, sweeps her thumb diagonally across the screen, then presses the left corner again.

  Instantly, lights start swirling above the tablet. They form into the same company logo I saw on the private jet that brought me out here, and in various places all over the house: OPS. This time the full name appears below it: Osmotic Power Systems.

  “Can you show me one more thing?” I ask.

  “Of course, Miss.”

  “I just need to access my—”

  Then I stop. I motion for Celeste to lean toward me, and whisper, “Do you think anyone is listening right now?”

  Celeste nods. She mouths, “Alexa.” Then she says in her regular voice, “So if you need anything else, Miss, just speak into any of the walls here, and I’ll bring it to you right away—food, towels, linens, anything you like.”

  I whisper again, directly into Celeste’s ear. “The whole room? What if I want to some privacy?”

  Celeste points first to the closet, then to the bathroom.

  “Are there cameras in here, too?” I ask. “Is anyone watching?”

  This time she shakes her head no.

  I go back to speaking normally. “Thank you so much for all of this, Celeste. The food looks great.”

  Then I get out of bed, pick up the tablet, and motion for Celeste to follow me into the closet.

  Once we’re inside, I close the door. Then I hear a whine on the other side, and open it again to let Red join us. He jumps up on the little couch, on top of the stack of clothes.

  “I need some information,” I tell Celeste as soon as we’re settled down again. I’m still whispering—I can’t help it. “I need to look at my tracking information from the last few days. Can you show me how to do that on this tablet?”

  “It should be the same as on yours . . .” She takes the tablet from me, and her fingers fly over the screen, pressing and swiping and poking. I want so badly to ask her to slow down, to show me step by step, but that would be giving too much away. Obviously she expects Halli to know how to do this.

  Hovering above the tablet now is a new logo: GTS. Global Tracking System.

  Celeste hands me back the tablet. “Go ahead,” she says, turning her head to the side. “I won’t look.”

  “Go ahead and what?” I ask.

  “Enter your code, Miss.”

  Of course it’s password protected. Halli told me it’s private information. That’s why everyone has to specifically pick the people who are entitled to know where they are.

  “I don’t . . . remember my code,” I say.

  “You don’t?” I can see Celeste thinks that’s a strange answer.

  “I never look up my information,” I hurry to tell her. “I probably haven’t checked it in years.” I try to make my voice sound light, even though inside I’m a nervous wreck. This has to work. Please let it work.

  “Do you think you used Red?” she asks.

  “Yes! Try that.”

  “And what numbers?” Celeste asks.

  Great. Letters and numbers.

  “My . . . birthday?” I guess, even though everyone knows that’s a totally crackable password. Especially in Halli’s case, when she’s famous enough that anyone could know her birthdate.

  Celeste enters the code. “No,” she says. “Sorry. Want to try again?”

  “No, that’s okay.” Hopeless. This whole thing is hopeless.

  So it’s back to my Plan A.

  “Do you know where Jake might be right now?”

  Celeste’s face lights up. “He’s probably meeting with Dr. Bellows—they have breakfast together every morning.”

  Dr. Bellows. Halli’s father. There’s no way I’m going to try to interrupt that meeting.

  “Could you . . . I mean, is it possible to get him a message?” I ask. “Afterward?”

  Now Celeste looks even happier. “Of course, Miss! What do you want me to say?”


  “Just . . . if he could find me, that would be great.”

  “I’ll tell him,” she says. “As soon as I can.”

  “Thanks. That would really help.”

  “I should probably go,” she says. “Alexa will wonder where I am.”

  She gets up, and is about to open the closet door, when she bites her lip and turns back.

  “So . . . if you don’t mind me asking, Miss—what did you think of my brother? He’s nice, isn’t he?”

  “Who’s your brother?”

  “Jake,” she answers, like I already knew.

  That tea must not have had enough caffeine. Or my ears aren’t processing correctly.

  “Jake doesn’t have a little sister,” I say. “Just a twin sister.”

  “No,” Celeste says, “he has me, too.”

  “But . . . how?” Will and Lydia’s dad died when they were little—before I even met them. And their mom never remarried.

  But maybe she did here in this universe, and had another child.

  “Who’s your father?” I ask.

  “Oscar Nuñez. He’s—

  We hear a sound in the outer room. A voice.

  “I have to go,” Celeste says, yanking open the door. Now we can both hear the voice more clearly.

  “Celeste?” it calls. “Are you there?”

  “Coming,” the girl answers.

  “Where were you?” the voice asks. It’s Alexa’s.

  “Sorry,” Celeste says. “I was . . . I had to—”

  “She was showing me something about the shower,” I lie to the wall. “We were in the bathroom. We didn’t hear you.”

  A slight pause, then Alexa’s voice again. “Very good, Miss Markham. Sorry to bother you. Is there anything else we can bring you this morning?”

  “No, thank you,” I say. “Celeste has done an excellent job.”

  Celeste smiles at me. I like the girl. Much, much more than her sister.

  “Celeste, return to the kitchen,” Alexa orders. “I need to speak with you.”

  “I’m coming,” the girl answers.

  I motion for her to come toward the closet again. Then I whisper in her ear. “Will you get in trouble?”

  Celeste shakes her head.

  “Thanks for all your help,” I say. “I really, really appreciate it.”

  “I’m so glad you finally came here,” Celeste says. “I’ve been waiting my whole life.”

  11

  It’s ten minutes to seven, and I’m dressed like a doll. A workout doll, to be exact.

  I’m wearing one of the outfits Alexa said I should wear for my session with Ferguson: matching navy blue workout pants and sporty workout jacket, with a red workout shirt underneath. Even the navy blue shoes with the fancy red laces look like they go with the set. I feel like I’ve just been taken out of the box and handed all my accessories.

  I have absolutely zero interest in exercising this morning—which is what I’m guessing is in store for me, based on the outfit—but I can’t see how to get out of it. Until I can talk to Jake and somehow get him to give me the tracking information, I’m stuck doing whatever people would expect Halli to be doing.

  I descend the Grand Staircase, hoping I might run into Jake after all and not have to waste any more time, but instead I find Halli’s mother.

  She’s just coming out the dining room, and when she sees me, she pauses and looks me over, then gives me a slight nod. Apparently I’m dressed appropriately.

  “Off to see Ferguson?”

  “I guess,” I mutter.

  “Waste of time,” she says, “when we have so much more to do.” She raises her palm before I can say anything. “But I know—we had an agreement.”

  That’s interesting. I wish so much Halli had told me about the whole arrangement she had with her parents about coming here. I have to keep finding out about it in dribs and drabs.

  “Does that dog have to go everywhere with you?” Halli’s mother asks.

  “I’m . . . sorry, but yes.” I don’t feel like explaining that he doesn’t like being left alone, and besides, the truth is I’m the one who needs him. He’s my only leftover connection to Halli’s life.

  “Well, you’ll have to leave him in your room during the board meeting,” she says. “I’m afraid we’re a little more formal here than you’re used to.”

  “I can’t . . . do that,” I say.

  “Halli, be serious. This isn’t one of your campouts in the woods. This is a professional, corporate board meeting. Some of our members are flying in from Europe. I assure you they’re not used to seeing a dog at one of our meetings. We have very high standards here.”

  And yep, if Halli hadn’t already left yesterday, I’m pretty sure she would have left right now.

  I need to get away myself. I may not be able to leave the island just yet, but I can at least escape this conversation.

  “I should probably get going,” I say. “That Ferguson guy must be waiting.”

  “Halli, he works for us,” her mother says. “He can wait all day, as far as I’m concerned.”

  I glance over at Lyman, the doorman, and catch his eye. He quickly looks away.

  Halli’s mother flicks her hand at me. “Fine. Go. But remember, the rest of the day is for meetings.”

  What meetings?

  “Alexa will bring you your schedule. Then don’t forget—the board meeting is at four. I’ll have Alexa escort you.”

  “No, that’s okay, I’m sure I can—”

  “I don’t want you to be late,” Halli’s mother says. “Unlike Ferguson, the board should never be kept waiting.”

  Then she clicks off in her heels to some other part of the building, leaving just me and Red and Lyman.

  I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. I’m feeling shaky. That mother of Halli’s is exhausting. Plus this whole place is getting to me—why does every single thing have to be so hard? I’m tempted to head upstairs again and hide out in Halli’s closet for the rest of the day.

  But Lyman is already holding the door open for me.

  “Good morning, Miss.”

  “Thank you, Lyman. Can you tell me where I’m supposed to go?”

  He directs me down the path to a white building I can see in the distance.

  “Have a good morning, Miss,” he says.

  I give him a weak smile and head on out the door.

  It’s only a short walk, but I take it slowly. Red bounds on ahead, happy to be outside, but I’m in no great hurry. Especially since the building I’m going to is marked “Gymnasium.”

  No good can come from this.

  12

  “Halli Markham!” shouts a voice from inside as soon as I open the door. A man strides toward me so fast it’s like he’s on wheels.

  “There we are now, Miss. That’s it. Ferguson Haney. Fine to meet yeh.” Instead of shaking my hand, he squeezes my bicep. “Aye, now that’s how a lass should be.”

  “Uh, hello, sir.”

  “Not ‘sir,’ Miss—never sir! Your folks’ll have my hide. It’s Ferguson to you, Miss, nothing else.”

  “Okay,” I say, “sorry.”

  “No harm, no harm.”

  His accent is Scottish, I think, and he looks a little like a bulldog: short, powerfully-built, with his gray hair squared off into a crew cut. If only he had an underbite, it would totally complete the look.

  He sweeps his arm across the empty gym, a room as big as our auditorium at school. “Barely used, I don’t have to tell you. Don’t know why they keep me on—grateful for the work, don’t mistake me. But your folks aren’t much for the strenuous life. Mental, yes—don’t fault ’em there. But physical, no.”

  Red finds a comfortable spot on one of the padded benches beneath a window. Meanwhile Ferguson continues his rant.

  “Told me, ‘Outfit it the way you want, Ferguson. Nothing but the best.’ Then the most they can spare me is twenty minutes a day—twenty minutes, lass. You think they even sweat?�
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  I’m about to guess no—

  “ ’Course I make ’em sweat,” he says. “I know my job. Burn off all that alcohol they’re always drinking. Then they’re right back at it, that and the rich food, one step forward, five steps back, and they wonder why they’re getting old. How old do you think I am?”

  “I have . . . no idea—”

  “Fifty-nine next month,” he says proudly. “How old was your granny?”

  “Uh . . .” I quickly try to remember. Did Halli ever tell me? Then I remember she’s the same age as my Grandma Marion, minus a year for dying. “Sixty-four?”

  “She were a fine lady, that Miss Virginia,” Ferguson says. “Had my eye on her that time she came. Too busy setting your folks right—had a temper, that one, not saying she weren’t right—but I woulda loved to court her, don’t mind you knowing. Classy lady, that one.”

  “Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say.

  “Disciplined,” he says. “Fearless. Like you, Miss Halli. Don’t know how your ma turned out so different. ’Course, knew your dad’s folk, not a decent one among ’em.”

  “Wow, okay . . .” I look nervously around at the walls.

  “They can’t hear us in here, lass. Insisted on it. Told ’em, ‘You want my undivided attention, I get yours. No messages, no emergencies, no outside intrusions.’ Just twenty minutes a day—you’d think I cut ’em off from civilization. Race outta here to see what’s happened. Twenty minutes and maybe the world stopped spinning, better check.”

  I have to laugh at that.

  “But you have time for me, don’t you, Miss?”

  “Sure,” I say. “I guess.” I mean, what else would I be doing right now—sleeping?

  Ferguson slaps his hands together. “That’s fine, then. Two hours every morning, another hour in the afternoon, if you can spare it.”

  “Three hours?” I say in horror.

  “Please, Miss,” he says. “Make an old man happy. Been planning it ever since I heard you were coming. A whole week’s worth, get your fingerprints on every piece of equipment. Shake the rust off. Let ’em do what they’re here for. Finally get your folks’ money’s worth.”

  “I don’t know . . .” I say. What I really mean is, “You’re out of your mind.”