Daniel is waiting for me in the courtyard. “Come with me.”
“I really need to get back,” I tell him. “This isn’t anything personal. I just think Dr. Venn would be more comfortable—”
“Don’t lie,” Daniel says. “Stop lying.”
He pulls me into a deserted alcove and backs me against the wall. “Stop me if we’ve never done this before.”
Then he takes my face gently between his hands and kisses the living daylights out of me.
I’m too shocked to do anything but take it at first. But then I wrap my arms around him and give as good as I’m getting.
We pull back, panting, and look at each other.
“You don’t ever have to lie to me, Audie.”
“How did you know?”
“Little things added together. I can give you a list later. But right now I need you to go back in there and tell him who you really are and tell us both what’s happened to you. How bad is it?”
“It’s … bad.”
Daniel grabs my hand and starts pulling me back the way we came. “Then let’s do something about it,” he says. “Now.”
So we return. And I sit down and pick up the microphone and tell them both everything.
Daniel is leaning forward in his chair with his head cradled between his hands. He’s been getting more distressed the longer I’ve talked.
But Dr. Venn …
Opposite.
The old man I met when I first walked in here looks younger and more alive by the second. And for every groan of Daniel’s, I watch Dr. Venn’s face light up in a smile.
Finally, when I get toward the end of it where I’m fighting with Halli and can feel myself being squeezed out of my old body, and meanwhile my other body here is either dead or dying, and I’m left with no place else to go—that’s when Dr. Venn looks really happy. He almost looks ready to applaud.
“And then I came back,” I finish. “Yesterday afternoon. Right in the middle of a scene I’ve already been through. But I’ve been really careful. I haven’t let myself repeat anything I did the first time. Including telling you,” I say to Daniel. “So … I’m sorry about that. But I thought it was the smart thing to do.”
“It probably was,” Daniel admits.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Dr. Venn says. “It’s hard to know. So many different permutations—go left, go right, say this, don’t say that—it’s maddening, isn’t it?”
I nod. He really gets it.
Dr. Venn closes his eyes for a moment and smiles in a very calm, satisfied way. I watch while the purple casing of his chair squeezes and pulsates around him. Then Dr. Venn lets out a contented sigh, opens his eyes, and fixes me with a gaze that’s bright and alive.
“I want to thank you, young lady. From the bottom of my heart. You’ve just made an old man very happy.”
“I sort of noticed that,” I answer, feeling a little awkward. “But why?”
“Because I finally understand why I’ve needed to live so long. It was so I could meet you today. You see, all this time I thought I was the only one.”
14
“The split happened in 1946,” Dr. Venn says. “I didn’t know it at the time. I found out later, the way you did—suddenly I was there. I met him.”
“Hold on,” I say. “Hold on.” My mouth is dry and my heart is racing. I’m having a very hard time processing this.
Daniel asks what I would have if I could come up with the words. “You’re saying there’s a parallel you.”
“Was,” Dr. Venn corrects him. “Sadly, gone for many years. In much the way Audie has described. Which is obviously why I tried to warn her.”
I swallow past what feels like a huge rock lodged in my throat. My voice comes out strangled and raw. “How … how did he die? Exactly?”
“Brain aneurism. No family history, of course, why would there be? I could have told people what happened, but no doctor in the world—either world—would have believed the truth.”
Now it’s my turn to lean forward in my chair and cradle my head in my hands. I feel dizzy. And scared.
It’s all too real. I knew it was real, but now it must be. This respectable old man has confirmed it.
You’d think I’d feel relieved. Reassured. Safe, even. Instead I feel like I’m going to throw up.
“What do you two know of World War II?” Dr. Venn asks us.
“The Last War,” Daniel says.
“Not in my world,” I manage.
Dr. Venn points a gnarled finger at us both. “Exactly. That’s where you’ll find the split. It was after the bombs. Hiroshima and Nagasaki. You know about those.”
“The bombs that ended the war,” Daniel says.
Dr. Venn nods. “I was one of the physicists who invented those bombs.”
This is getting more surreal by the minute. I lift my head. Sit back up. Listen to him like I’m listening to a movie.
“There were a lot of us,” he says, “some in America, some here in Britain. You have to understand how we felt about our work. Young men were dying every minute, it seemed, of every single day. No one wanted to sleep. We didn’t take time with our families. We didn’t want to talk, unless it was about the work. You had this feeling that if you just put in another minute, another hour, maybe you could be the one who helped end the war. How could you sleep when you had that kind of responsibility?”
“You were in Los Alamos?” I ask.
“Some of the time. Sometimes here at Oxford, meeting with my colleagues on the project. All very secretive, all very necessary. It was a horrible war—they all are.
“The bombs were in August, 1945. Terrible, terrible … you can’t imagine the suffering and the devastation. You’ve seen photographs, I imagine.”
Daniel and I both nod.
“They don’t even begin to match the horror of it. All those children. The burning, the bodies. Whole families incinerated. People just like you and me, going about their day, not soldiers, just people.”
Dr. Venn looks off to the side and squints, not at us, but maybe at the memory.
“And I was part of that.”
“You helped end the war,” I say. “Just like you wanted.”
“The price was too high,” he answers. “We all knew that. Or at least most of us did. And that was the beginning of the Manhattan Pact.”
“The Manhattan Pact?” I say. I’ve heard of the Manhattan Project—that was the code name given to the top-secret development of the atomic bomb. But I’ve never heard of a pact.
“It began with a few of us physicists,” Dr. Venn says. “Grumblings, really. Nightmares. All around us, people from the project were turning to drink. Wild parties. Celebrations night after night for weeks at a time to try to mask how they really felt. When really they were dying inside. I saw it, some of my colleagues saw it. So we started talking to each other. And eventually … you know this part of it, don’t you, young man? They’ve taught you in school.”
“You agreed to a boycott,” Daniel answers.
“Yes. You tell her. I’ve already talked too much.”
Dr. Venn closes his eyes and rests in his chair while Daniel takes over.
“There was a worldwide strike by scientists in every discipline. Not just physics, but medicine. Engineering. Aviation. Anything that required scientific training or a degree.”
“What do you mean, a strike?” I ask. “For how long?” I can’t imagine doctors refusing to treat patients for more than a day or two.
“Permanently,” Daniel answers. “In one specific category: none of them would ever agree to use their knowledge for anything related to war.”
Wow. I let that sink in for a moment. “Did that work?”
“It’s still working,” Dr. Venn mumbles. His eyes are still closed. “I’m sorry, children, I need … to sleep.”
The man looks exhausted.
“Is there anything we can get you, sir?” Daniel asks. “Do you need help with anything?”
Dr. Venn
lifts an arm just a few inches off his chair. “Help me back in.”
Daniel and I reconnect the cuffs around Dr. Venn’s arms. We’re just finishing when the old man starts to snore.
“We should eat,” Daniel whispers to me. I nod. I carefully remove the headphones from Dr. Venn’s head and lay them on his desk.
Red seems reluctant to leave the professor’s side. It’s sweet and surprising. Red really is his own dog. But after a little more whispered coaxing from me, he gets up and follows us out.
Right into a swarm of reporters.
“Halli Markham! Who’s the new man in your life?”
“You got a name, son? Where’d you meet Miss Markham? How long you been seeing each other?”
“Miss Markham! Why are you at Oxford? Are you going to enroll here?”
“Why are you meeting with Edgar Venn?”
Cameras jostling, all trying to get the best shot. A cluster of square binoculars all aimed at my face.
And at the edge of the crowd, Jake. Next to him, with his camera trained on me too, is Bryan.
Red snarls at the whole mess of them. I couldn’t agree with him more.
15
I ignore the rest of the history reporters and go straight for Bryan.
“We had a deal,” I say.
“I didn’t start this,” he answers. “I just followed the chatter.”
I look around at the crowd that’s gathered: not just the reporters, but students and even some distinguished faculty.
“Where can we go?” I ask Daniel.
“I know a place,” says Jake.
He leads us down a leaf-strewn walkway to where my new friend Wilkinson awaits with the car. Jake gets in front, Bryan climbs in back. I have no choice but to share the back seat with him.
“No comment,” I say as soon as we’re all settled. Wilkinson pulls out into light traffic. History reporters scramble to their vans and motorcycles and however else they arrived. Of course they’re not just going to give up.
I notice that Wilkinson is actually steering the car this time. Obviously this is no time for autopilot.
“You might as well tell me,” Bryan says, looking very pleased with himself. He’s right—he didn’t create this situation. But he’s obviously very happy to profit from it. “If we don’t get the truth out there quickly, the rest of them will keep digging.” He shrugs. “Or make something up.”
If there’s any bright spot, it’s that at least I’ve already practiced my excuse.
“I’ve decided to follow my parents into the sciences,” I say. Halli’s mother is a hydroengineer and her father is a chemist. Why wouldn’t Halli take an interest?
Other than the fact that she has absolutely no interest in it at all. But that’s not Bryan’s business.
“Why talk to Venn?” Bryan asks. “He’s hardly where the serious student would go.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
Bryan scoffs. “You haven’t done your homework.”
And he probably did his just in the time he was waiting for me to come out of Dr. Venn’s office. Bryan is from America just like Jake and me. There’s no reason he would have had any prior knowledge about some Oxford science professor.
Wilkinson stops at an intersection, and someone bangs on the passenger side window. Red leaps across Daniel and me to bark bloody murder at the offender. Wilkinson speeds on.
That’s when I notice Bryan doesn’t have his camera going at the moment. This is just a conversation.
Another chance to make a deal.
“Dr. Venn was a friend of Ginny’s,” I say. “If you really feel it’s important, I’ll include it in my memoirs when I sit down with you.”
Bryan considers that.
And rejects it.
“All my competitors out there,” he says, pointing, “already have enough footage to air right now. ‘Halli Markham and her mystery man.’ By the way,” he tells Daniel, “you won’t be a mystery for long. They’ll be sending teams to your house by tonight.”
Just like last time. Bothering Sarah, harassing Daniel, hounding their friends—no, thank you.
“How do I make it stop?” I ask, feeling pretty certain he already knows. It’s fair to say Bryan has the upper hand this time.
“Exclusive,” Bryan answers with a self-congratulatory smile. “A sit-down with both of you. Right now.”
“No way,” I say.
Bryan shrugs. “Then I can’t help you.”
“Right. Because I’m sure you want to help me.”
“Saying what?” Daniel asks him. “How much?”
“No, Daniel, don’t bother.”
I’ve been here before, living Halli’s life in the spotlight. Daniel was part of it, too—he just doesn’t know it. It was one of the times when I most wished I were just plain, anonymous me.
The car has stopped. I look around, but have no idea where we are. There are shops nearby, people walking and biking and driving, but that doesn’t tell me much.
Jake gets out of the car and disappears into one of the shops.
One of the history reporter’s vans pulls up. Then one of the cars. And the motorcycle.
Jake comes out of the shop holding a big paper bag. Then he stops right where he is.
“What’s he doing?” I ask.
He’s waiting, is what he’s doing. Waiting for the history reporters to circle around him.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, but he’s smiling in a really friendly way. He shakes his head at one of the questions and points at the car.
Then he comes over to my side and makes a motion like I should lower the window.
Mindful of the already wound-up Red, I crack it just a little.
“You might want to come out here, Miss Markham.” He’s using that formal, polite manner from yesterday—what I realize now is his public face. “You too, Bryan. Daniel, I suggest you wait in the car with the dog. Although you’re welcome to listen, of course.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell him. “Why would I want to go talk to those people?”
Jake smiles and mumbles, “Trust me.”
So I get out of the car. Tell Red to stay. Close the door and let Bryan come out on his own side. Then the two of us follow Jake back to where the crowd of reporters has grown in just the last few minutes.
“As I was explaining to them, Miss Markham,” Jake says, “this is part of your tour of your family’s Osmotic Power Systems facilities throughout the world. It was announced in a press release issued by the company last week.”
I give him an uncomprehending look.
“I’m afraid Miss Markham can’t discuss details of her meetings at Oxford, since they involve proprietary secrets that belong to the company.”
Oh. He’s good.
“Who’s the bloke?” one of the reporters asks me.
Jake jumps in before I even have to form an answer. “As I already explained,” he tells the man, “although maybe you weren’t here …” The reporter smirks because he obviously was here and just wanted to put me on the spot instead. “… that person in the car is an employee of OPS. He is also bound by the company’s nondisclosure rules. I’m sorry, but he won’t be able to speak to you.”
Jake is very good.
“Is it true you were seen kissing him?” one of the female reporters asks me. “Or is that a company secret, too?”
That draws a laugh from her fellow reporters.
Jake loops his arm around my waist, pulls me toward him, and gives me a hasty kiss on the lips. “There. She’s kissed me, too. If you want to see her kissing the driver, I’m sure we can arrange that. There’s no story here—at least not one we can share with you yet. As I’m sure you know, Drs. Markham and Bellows are very serious about maintaining their privacy. Especially when it involves proprietary company information. In fact, Jefferson, didn’t they sue your studio last year?”
The reporter in question grumbles.
Jake smiles in a polite and di
smissive way. “Thank you all for your time. I hope you have a good day.”
Then he strides toward the car and hands the bag he was holding to Wilkinson.
Wilkinson opens the door for me. Bryan tries to scoot in after.
“Not right now,” Jake tells him. “Miss Markham needs to have her lunch. Maybe you can find a ride with one of your colleagues.”
Wilkinson looks especially pleased as he hands me our sandwiches and then shuts the car door in Bryan’s face. Jake slides into the front.
He inserts a button into his ear, and Daniel and I do the same.
“That won’t keep them away forever,” Jake tells us, “but it might buy you a few hours.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. “Nice job.”
He gives me a little bow from the front seat. “It’s what your parents pay me for.”
Although I’m not so sure about that kiss …
“You’re a very convincing liar,” Daniel agrees. Somehow the way he says it doesn’t really come across as a compliment.
I put the ear button away and feed Red half a sandwich. He played his part, too. He deserves an extra treat.
That, plus all the biscuits Dr. Venn wants to give him.
I suddenly realize how absolutely empty my stomach is. I wolf down the rest of Red’s sandwich and a whole other one of my own.
“We need to talk,” Daniel murmurs to me.
I give him a very covert nod. Daniel is being as careful as I am. I think he shares my same suspicion that Jake might still be able to overhear us, with or without the ear buttons.
Or at least I thought I was being careful. But apparently not. And that’s the question I’ve been dying to ask Daniel ever since the middle of the morning:
How did you know it was me?
16
“I began to suspect this morning,” Daniel tells me when we’re alone again and I can ask him.
Wilkinson dropped us off where he did before, and now we’re walking back across the pretty, tree-lined courtyard.
“What did I do wrong?” I ask.
“Not wrong, just … Audie,” Daniel says with a smile. “You called it theoretical physics, not philosophical the way we would. And you spoke of quantum physics, which no one here calls it.”
Parallelogram Omnibus Edition Page 74
