He shakes his head. "How long has it been happening?"
"Since I was thirteen. The first time it happened was right after my first visit to the orthodontist. I had that nasty mold in my mouth twice!"
A sad smile dances on his lips. "Mine was after I broke my arm when I was fourteen. The doctor reset it without anesthesia. I've always wondered if traumatic events trigger the syndrome. If I remember correctly, you were terrified to get braces."
My tongue slides over my straight teeth. "It didn't turn out so bad."
He leans forward on the bed. "So how far back do you go?"
"About eighteen hours."
"And how often does it happen?" He raises a finger in thought. "Is that why you were so sick last week?"
I nod. "If I flicker two days in a row it's really bad. Remember when I went to the ER last year? I was trying to fix a test and—" I snap my mouth shut. Crap. True confessions wasn't part of the plan.
He shakes his head. "I figured as much. I did the same thing in school."
Relief washes through me. I'm not the only evil manipulator in the family.
"So eighteen hours." He falls silent as he does the math.
"I'd have to leave at dawn. And that might not be enough time."
"This is a bad idea. We don't know who that man is. You could get hurt."
"It's not like I'm gonna walk up to the guy. I haven't thought it through yet, but I figure I'll find the girl and make sure she’s safe.” I take a breath. "Dad, for the first time in my life I have the chance to truly help someone. And not just help them with something stupid that won't matter in five years," I think of Amelia and our tests, "but I can change someone's life. Who knows what that girl has already gone through tonight."
I don't need to say more. The pain in his eyes says enough.
He's going to let me do it.
I change the subject before he protests any more. "So when did it stop?"
"The last time I—what do you call it? Flickering? The last time was the night you were born. The joy I felt watching you come into the world… I can't describe it." His face gets a faraway look and he stares over my shoulder. "You were so beautiful, so perfect. Of course the first thing I wanted to do was repeat the whole night.
"But in addition to watching you be born a second time, I also hoped I could make things a little easier on your mom. The delivery was hard for her and I thought if I got her to the hospital a little sooner, maybe massaged her back during the contractions, that I could make it better for her.
"You were born around sunset so I had to wait until morning to flicker. I made up some excuse to your mom for why I needed to leave, then drove out to the Sticks to—"
I interrupt. "The Sticks?"
"This stretch of trees over by the river. The light was always perfect there."
I grin. "I call it the Strand."
"Huh." He smiles back at me. "What do you know?"
"So you flickered that morning?"
"I tried to. For a reason I still don't understand, the light affected me differently that day. Instead of flickering, my body started convulsing and I crashed head-on into a car in the oncoming lane. Nearly killed myself and the other driver."
This is news to me. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He rubs the back of his neck. "Those first few days were such a blur, neither of us wanted to talk about it afterwards. I was in the hospital for weeks after you and Mom came home and she had to take care of you by herself. Once I was released we thought we'd pick up where we left off, but I've never been the same."
"The epilepsy?"
"That's what the doctors labeled it, but they don't know what it is. Of course I’ve never told them the most important part." He shrugs. "Who knows what they'd find inside my skull if they ever cracked me open. For now I collect my disability and live life as an invalid."
I can't imagine waking up one day and having your entire life taken away. To be given a label that makes people feel sorry for you, when really you're a modern miracle.
Funny I've never thought of myself that way.
"Does Mom know?"
"No. She's wondered, I'm sure, especially before you were born and I flickered all the time. But she's never asked many questions."
"And now I'm repeating what you went through."
"It seems so. And that's why I hate for you to flicker even one more time. There's no telling what could be the trigger for you. If trauma makes it start, maybe extreme joy makes it end. Knowing you've saved a girl's life could be enough to push you to the edge."
He's right. I know he's right. "I still have to do it."
He rises and stops in front of me. Wraps his arms around me. "I know."
Chapter 35
"Yeah I'll pick you up, but how are you gonna get out of the house?" Cameron asks.
"If I leave early enough they won't realize I'm gone." Dad agreed to check on me in the morning so Mom will think I'm here, but I'm not ready to tell that to Cameron yet. "So you'll be here at five?"
He groans. "Why so early?"
"I'll explain then." A benefit to always being a little weird is Cameron stopped questioning some of my stranger requests a long time ago. "See you in the morning."
"Good night."
Mom knocks on my door a few minutes later. "The police want your camera card thingy."
I sit up. "I can't just email them the picture?"
"I asked. They said they need the original card to verify it's not doctored."
"Why would I? Never mind." If it helps the little girl, I'll do it. I roll off the bed and grab my camera off the desk. I pop out the card and hand it to Mom. "Good thing I didn't erase it when I downloaded them earlier."
Mom cradles the card in her hand. "I'm so proud of you. It makes me happy to see you doing something you love, not to mention something that's helping others." She gives me a quick hug then heads back downstairs.
I know I should sleep but I spend hours studying the pictures, memorizing every detail so I won't have any doubt where to find the little girl. I can tell you the color shirt on each boy on the swings, the sandbox to grass ratio of toys, and how many strollers are lined up near the picnic tables. There's a soccer ball in the edge of the frame, and I presume that's what drew the girl to that spot in the first place. The only thing I still don't know is the man's face.
My alarm goes off a couple hours later, followed by a text from Cameron that he's parked around the corner. I arrange my pillows under the blankets, then roll my eye at my ridiculousness. This isn't a made-for-TV movie. I shove the pillows to the floor then slip outside as quietly as I can.
My stomach drops.
It's raining.
Not only that, a thick blanket of clouds separates me from the stars, and in another hour it'll separate me from the sun as well.
How is this gonna work?
Cameron flashes his lights and I hurry to his car. I have to follow the plan and hope the clouds break in time.
*****
Cameron leans across the seat and kisses me. "I didn't expect to see you until Monday."
I force a smile. "Something's come up."
"Are you going to tell me the big secret?"
"Yeah, but not here. Can we go to the boat ramp?" We could go someplace closer, but the boat ramp is only a few minutes from the Strand.
"Sure." He pulls away from the curb. Neither of us is awake so the only sound is the gentle thwmp-thwmp of the windshield wipers as they push away the rain. Because I don't have much time, I've decided to just spit out the facts and hope Cameron accepts it fast enough to help. It might have been smarter not to involve him, to just drive there myself like I always have, but he deserves the chance to help his sister.
He parks in what I've come to think of as ‘our spot' and shifts in his seat to face me. "I'm dying here. Spill it."
I take a deep breath and look into his eyes, then quickly lower my gaze. What if this doesn't work? What if he thinks I'm a nutcase and won't do it? Then
my inner voice speaks up: What if he does believe you and it does work and you've given him a way to redeem the guilt he's carried for the past four years? Because I finally see that's what's been going on. He can't let go of Katie because he thinks it's his fault she disappeared.
"I think I can help Katie."
He pulls back, his eyes wide. "What?"
Okay, that wasn't the best way to start. "Yesterday I went to the park with my dad to take pictures for Turner's class and I somehow photographed a little girl right before she got kidnapped."
His mouth drops. "The one yesterday?"
I nod.
"How? Did you tell the police? And why did we have to drive all the way out here for you to tell me?"
"We gave the pictures to the police last night and they've already started doing their thing, but I can do more." I pause. I've had eight hours to think about this and I still don't know how to tell him. A flash of lightning strikes in the distance, sending ripples of panic down my spine. What if the rain doesn't clear?
He slips his fingers through mine. His dark eyes are so concerned, so understanding, that for a second I forget why we're here. "How?"
I clear my throat. "You know my déjà vu thing?" He nods. "Well it's a little more complicated than what I told you." And I tell him everything. About the first time at the orthodontist, cheating on tests, repeating the first time we kissed. About how I help Amelia with homework and how I wished more than anything I could have done something to help Katie when she disappeared. His eyes don't leave mine the entire time I'm talking, and he's still staring even when I've finished.
"Worst of all, I repeated the day the second girl was taken and it didn't occur to me that I could help her until it was too late." I squeeze his hands. "I'm not making that mistake again. I know exactly where this girl was when she was taken."
Cameron's eyes are still frozen on mine, but he finally closes his mouth. Swallows. His voice comes out a whisper. "So you can actually go back in time? And change stuff?"
"Yeah. For the first time I've realized I can use this ability—" because I now understand this is more than just a condition, "—to help someone other than myself. I can actually save someone's life."
"But is it dangerous for you?"
I hesitate, but he's too overwhelmed by everything I've told him to notice. "No. I'll get a headache, but I'm used to that."
He closes his eyes. "I don't get why you're telling me all this right now. If you're going to—what did you call it? Flicker? If you're gonna flicker, why do you need me?"
A lump jams my throat and I struggle to swallow. "Because if this is the same man who took Katie, this could be your chance to help find out what happened to her."
His lips part but he doesn't speak. Doesn't breathe. A tear slips down his cheek and lands on the back of my hand, but instead of wiping his face he turns to look across the river. Hints of orange color the treetops but rain still pounds the windshield, drums the metal roof.
I trace my thumb along the path of the tear.
He looks back at me. "What do I need to do?"
"Drive me to the Strand."
"The Strand?"
A laugh escapes before I can catch it. "You know that stretch of road not far from here where the trees stand taller and straighter than anywhere else for miles?"
He cocks his head.
"Okay, maybe I'm the only one who notices things like that." I try again. "The place where I dumped my books on the floor and freaked out."
He nods. "What's so special about that place?"
"Because the trees are so tall and grow right alongside the road, I can flicker pretty much any time of day. The other day I was trying not to flicker. Sticking my head under the dashboard was the only way to get away from the light."
A smile tugs at his lips. "I thought you'd lost your shit."
"It was the first thing I thought of."
"But this time you want to flicker."
"More than anything."
We stare at each other a heartbeat longer, then he starts the car. "Let's go."
"There's just one problem."
"What's that?"
I point at the sky and the maddening absence of sunlight.
He follows my gaze. "You can't flicker in the rain?"
The lump in my throat returns. This isn't going to work. "No."
He leans forward and peers at the sky as if the determination in his gaze can make the clouds disappear. "Is the Strand the only place you can do it?"
I shake my head.
"What if we drive away from the storm? It can't go forever, right?"
Relief floods through me. I was so focused on how this would help Cameron that it didn't occur to me that he might help me. I pull out my phone and in seconds the satellite image of the storm appears.
He points at the display. "It looks like it's clearing up to the west. Let's drive until the rain stops." He looks up from the phone, his face inches from mine. "Will that work?"
I press my forehead to his. "It has to."
Five minutes later, he glances at me as we drive past the Strand.
I shake my head.
"It was worth a shot." We continue west, eyes glued to the horizon.
I can’t stop checking my watch.
Cam notices after the fifth time. "What does the time have to do with it?"
"I go back roughly eighteen hours, but it's never exact. I took that picture around one o'clock and it's…" I check my watch again, "… six thirty now. If I don't flicker soon, she'll already be gone."
The car lurches forward and I grip the seat.
Cameron stares straight ahead. The trees whip by. And like a miracle, a streak of sunlight bursts through the clouds.
I grab Cameron's hand and squeeze.
The trees grow denser and my heart lifts. This might work.
"Does it matter how fast I go?"
"No, but the longer we're in the flickering light, the better."
Sunlight pulses across the dashboard.
Light. Dark. Light. Dark.
My eyes stutter and my heart jumps around in my chest, but this time I don't I blink it away. My fingers start to tingle, then my toes. "It's working."
He looks at me, eyes wide.
"You won't be able to see anything. I don't even think you'll realize I'm gone. But it's happening." I sink into the seat, then I'm skyrocketed up and—
Chapter 36
I'm sitting on the blanket in the park.
Dad's next to me and we're surrounded by the remains of our lunch.
"I'm gonna wander around and take some pictures on the other side of the park." I leave him sitting there and head towards the edge of the woods. It's impossible to tell how much time I have, or if I'm too late. All I can do is try to find the girl.
Red sweater, red sweater. I scan the children on the playground but no red stands out. The toys are still in the sandbox, and the boy in the orange sweatshirt is on the swings like he's supposed to be. There's one less stroller near the benches, but I don't know if that's good or bad. Please please please let me not be late.
I round the playground and—There!—a flash of red catches my eye. Near a clump of trees, on the opposite end of the park from where I'd been sitting with Dad. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. The little girl is running circles around her mother, who's sitting on the blanket and holding out a snack of some sort. No one's taken her; she's safe.
I need to keep it that way.
I double back, but instead of returning to my blanket, I head for the tree line. I check my distance from Dad and the playground. This is the spot in the picture. The small break in the trees is a couple feet away, and the soccer ball is at my feet. How long did it sit here? With a park full of kids, I can't imagine a soccer ball would be forgotten very long. I turn away from the trees to face the crowd and a man is standing directly in front of me.
“Hi Biz.”
I take a step back and gasp. “Mr. Turner, you sc
ared me.”
He nods at my camera slung over my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re using this time to your advantage.”
I appreciate him not reprimanding me for being suspended. Any other teacher and I wouldn’t care, but Turner’s opinion is important to me. But something feels off. “What are you doing here?”
“I was intrigued by your comment in class yesterday. About the light and shadows at the park.” As if on cue, the branches overhead shift in a slight breeze and a flash of sunlight streaks across his face. He smiles and a chill runs down my back as a realization strikes me: he’s wearing a blue windbreaker and tan pants.
I take a small step back. “Why aren’t you at school?” It can’t be him. It has to be a coincidence.
He ignores my question. "You've always been my favorite student."
My breath catches. His words—the same as at the football game—no longer sound like a compliment.
“You know, my daughter Jessica was only a couple years younger than you when she disappeared, but she didn’t behave like you do. The cops say she ran off but...” he shakes his head and takes a step closer.
I look over his shoulder. No one's paying attention to us. I have a clear line of sight to the main part of the park, and I spot the little girl sitting next to her mom. She's still safe. If I can talk to Turner long enough maybe they'll leave and this will actually work.
My focus returns to Turner. My teacher. He's moved closer, only arm-distance away. My gaze flits to Dad, still sitting on the blanket. "My dad’s probably wondering where I am. Still grounded, you know." I lift my shoulders and force what I hope sounds like a casual laugh.
"He can’t hear you from here."
Alarm bells clang in my head. My pulse skyrockets. I step to the side, trying to put some distance between us, but he moves with me.
"I wish you hadn’t paid so much attention to those girls."
"What?"
My camera slides off my shoulder and I lurch to the side, but his strong hand clamps onto my wrist.
"Don’t fight it, Biz. It’s easier if you don’t fight."
Flicker Page 18
