Lynn considered. “It was outside the bubble. You’re outside the bubble.”
“Outside the storm,” he said. “In a way, it’s like I’m in the eye of a hurricane. Anything on me—my clothes, my shoes—this—they’re protected somehow. I don’t know why. It’s odd, though—I could rip my shirt, and it would still be ripped afterward. But if I cut myself? It heals. Anything changed with me goes back the way it was.”
Again she considered. “But sometimes you get side effects? Like we do?”
“I do,” he said. “Sometimes I get nauseous. Sunburned.”
Lynn struggled in her mind. It was all over her face.
“But other things—other people—they just go back to where they were? I don’t … I don’t see how that’s possible. It’s just not possible.”
He gave her a glance that told her. It was.
~
“There was this banker,” he said. “A real straight arrow. Brentwood Thompson. Yeah. I know. I stink at coming up with fake names.
“Thompson had just gotten a big promotion. The day after the accident, actually. Apparently, he moved into his new office, spent the week having it redecorated. The next thing he knows, he’s back at his old desk two floors down, getting reamed by his old boss—his old boss who had died the week before.”
From her calm reaction, he could see that Lynn was beginning to take this in stride. The Turn. Death. Resurrection. Soon she’d believe that he was from Mars. Or snap.
“It was bad, Lynn.”
Her eyes widened. “Thompson has the Sense.”
“Stronger than most. He went public. Called every paper. Every radio station. Anyone who would listen. He knew. Knew so much he ended up lighting himself on fire at City Hall.”
“My God. I can’t imagine what he went through. But … yes … I guess I can.”
“Some feared the world was coming to an end,” Kain said. “There were riots. Looting. People hoarding food. Money. Whatever they could get their hands on. State troopers were called in. The military.”
“Brikker,” Lynn whispered.
“He was there,” Kain said. “I didn’t know it at the time, of course. But he was.”
“Did he know you were there? I mean, how would he?”
“No. He didn’t know who I was. But of course, he knew of the others. They were captured long before I was. And when this happened … well … it was just a matter of time.”
He chuckled nervously.
“That’s not funny,” she said.
~
Lynn had asked, and his gaze fell; the glow from the fire aged him.
“It’s like a nightmare that won’t end, Lynn.”
“What happened.”
“I called her,” he said. “I had an apartment outside the city. I told her I wanted to see her and that I’d be there soon. I found a note on her door saying she’d be back in a few minutes.”
“Oh, no.”
“Do you see? She never left a note the first time,” he said. “I didn’t call before. Already things were changing. I’d Turned so far that the world was unfolding a lot differently.”
“But not completely,” she said. “She still went out.”
“I drove as fast as I could.”
“Kain?”
He regarded her with the saddest eyes. “Even the weather stayed clear.”
“… You were too late.”
“Not late enough,” he said.
~
She died in his arms. The traffic had been thick and erratic, and the truck he’d been following had rambled onto the bridge, wavering over the center line. It nearly struck her head on, but she managed to swerve out of harm’s way, only to strike the guardrail. He had watched in horror as her body exploded from the windshield. The long fall to the river had broken her body, but God, the sick bastard, had kept her alive, long enough for him to make his way down and onto the ice. Long enough for him to hold her, long enough to watch the life drain from her eyes.
Impossible as it was, sitting here on the knoll under the stars, he could still feel her warmth; could still see her now. Could still see those eyes, those beautiful gems of blue.
In his mind, he kissed her, gently on the forehead.
She looked up at him one last time.
“My little dreamer,” she said. And that was all.
~
“The old man knew,” he said. “He never told me—he couldn’t—but he knew. He saw her death, just like I did. He tried to warn me … I just wouldn’t listen. In the end, I would have given anything to have those ten seconds back.”
She regarded him despondently.
“I couldn’t save her,” he said. “That first Turn nearly killed me. I tried. God I tried. But my mind—it just shut down.”
Lynn lowered her head.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “My father.”
She nodded.
“I didn’t see him after the funeral,” he told her. “I went back to my job. They found him a few days later.”
“You didn’t try to stop him?”
“I couldn’t, Lynn. I’d done enough damage. Gramps was right.”
“And Newark?”
“Once order was restored, what else could people do? They had no choice but to move forward.”
She took his hand and squeezed it gently.
“And so should you.”
~
The headache struck hard and without warning. She had to grab hold of him to keep him from falling over.
“I’m okay,” he said, weakly. “Okay.”
Lynn was in a panic.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You blacked out. You were out for a good minute.”
“What? But I—”
~
“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m all right.”
Lynn was in a panic.
“Lynn?”
“You blacked out, Kain.”
His eyes narrowed. “Wait … I … I saw—”
“It happened again,” she said. “The hiccup.”
Dizzied, he struggled to remember; it came to him.
He saw—
~
She put out the fire, and then led him by the hand as they made their way back. In the darkness, the going had been slow, and he doubled once, nearly lost his footing. She got him some water and brought it to him as he lay on his bed. She took up a chair beside him.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said. “It’s late.”
“You’re burning up,” she said, drawing her hand from his forehead.
He sipped some water. That hammer was still pounding on his brain.
“Back there,” she said. “When it happened … did you look?”
Kain shook his head. “I don’t know what happened.”
“But you saw something.”
“I don’t know how, I don’t know why … but I didn’t look, Lynn. It just … Jesus … am I losing my mind?”
“Tell me what you saw.”
“… I can’t. I’m sorry … but I won’t.”
“I guess I really don’t want to know. Do I.”
“No.” He closed his eyes a moment. Rubbed his temples.
“How did you get them?” she asked softly. “The scars.”
He didn’t answer. Not right away.
“Brikker,” he said. “He cut into us. Into our brains.”
~
He set his glass on the night table and then cast her an uncertain look. His expression was drawn and dark. He trembled, and she went to steady him. He nodded to her, and he sat up. And then, almost shamefully, he held his head down. Took his fingers and spread the hair on his skull.
Lynn gasped. “Oh my God—”
She helped; moved her fingers through his hair. There were at least two dozen scars, each precisely straight, each identical to the ones on his temples. And at the crown of his skull, his mark: a small, simple 3.
“More at the back,” he said sullenly, and straightened. He let his
hair slip down over his shoulders.
She looked to him, incredulous. “Why? Why would he do this?”
Suddenly he looked sickly. And frightened.
“Samples,” he said, barely. Small tears had welled in his eyes. “To see what made us tick—”
That throbbing hammer came again. He held his head in his hands in fear. In shame. He looked to her one last time, and then shut his eyes, as if this would help. But of course … of course. He could see it, that damnable machine, its long spindly arms emerging from the shadows like the steely tentacles of some metallic monster. So too, could he hear it, that crippling sound, the terrifying swiftness of it, the ffffft-ffffft ffffft-ffffft as the tiny blades sliced into his skull and extracted what he was. His skin grew cold with sweat. He was coming undone. He brought his arms down to his chest, fists clenched, knuckles white, and only when he felt her soft touch to his cheek did they relax—and he screamed. He screamed and he screamed. She screamed, too, screamed his name, and only then did he open his eyes, tears streaming from them. He met hers, so blue and so beautiful, and let out a helpless cry … and finally fell into her arms.
~ 25
She held him close for as long as he needed. And when he could, when the darkness within him had found the light, he answered her question with one of his own.
“Why does Ray do what he does?”
She considered; she nodded. “Power. Control.”
He echoed her.
“But Brikker can’t control you,” she said.
“He did. He can.”
“The experiments. The time you spent in Texas.”
Kain’s expression chilled. “I’ve killed so many, Lynn. Everywhere I go … people die.”
“That’s not true.”
He regarded her wearily. “Beaks died, Lynn. So did your cats. Lee and your father were this close. What’s now—that doesn’t matter to me.”
“What’s now is what matters most,” she told him. “Make now count.”
He shook his head as if she did not understand. “He won’t stop until he has what he wants.”
“You can stay here, we can—”
“He’ll find me,” he said, cutting her off. “We both know it.”
She could only accept it with silence.
“The Project,” he said. “It’s so much more than you know.”
Her eyes grew.
“You’ve seen what I can do,” he told her. “What the Turn leaves in its wake. But to understand its power—do you remember what I said? About the future?”
“It’s not carved in stone.”
“I don’t know anymore,” he said, fearfully. “I just don’t know.”
“Kain, you’re scaring me.”
The drifter took some water, then set the glass down. “They always seemed like hallucinations,” he said. “The things I saw—it was like living in a nightmare. By the time I escaped, I honestly believed I was insane. Still … no matter what Brikker did to me, no matter how many beatings I took, no matter how many injections I got … I never looked. Not once. But somehow, alone in that chamber—I would slip. My thoughts weren’t my own anymore. Images … voices … they’d overwhelm me. I tried to block out all those horrible things in my mind, but I never could.” He paused, reflectively. “I thought those days were over.”
“The drugs,” Lynn said. “God knows what they’ve done to you. I mean, to your abilities. To your mind. And these headaches you’re having, all these dizzy spells—”
She cut herself off; cut off her thoughts. Tried to.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said.
“No, don’t.”
“Lynn … I’ve known since the beginning.” He chuckled ironically. “I’ve lived my whole life on borrowed time.”
“I’m glad you think this is so funny. But you don’t know … you don’t know—”
He held her a moment, held her tight; she could only struggle in vain. When he pulled back, she had tears welling in her eyes.
“Whether it’s the Turn or the drugs doesn’t matter,” he said earnestly. “I’m just a tool. In the end—when the Project is finished—Brikker will kill me. He’ll have what he needs.” He drew a disturbing pause. “Do you remember what Lee said? About copying people?”
“Yes,” she said, sniffling. “I … no. That isn’t possible—” She stopped herself and wiped the tears from her eyes. “You’ve seen it. Haven’t you.”
She pressed him.
“It’s called cloning,” he said, with clear reservation. “It’s not new. Scientists have been working on this for decades. It’s become Brikker’s Holy Grail.”
“They can’t really do this. They won’t.”
“Like they wouldn’t build the Bomb.”
“… And use it,” she added.
“It used to be science fiction,” he said. “I couldn’t begin to explain how it works. But from what I know, a simple animal—a tadpole, if I remember right—was cloned about ten years ago. In time, they’ll clone other animals. More complex ones. Mice. Cats. Cattle. They’ll clone a sheep in about thirty years.”
“And a human?”
“Not long after,” he said. “Maybe fifty years … but that doesn’t matter. Not with time.”
“But you said you can’t go forward. That means Brikker can’t … right?”
Kain said nothing.
“Right?” she asked again.
~
“You can’t get a butterfly from an egg,” he said.
She gave him a look.
“Something Gramps told me,” he said. “There’s always a caterpillar in between. The Turn … the Sense … Brikker has the Sense. But he has more.”
“More? Are you saying he can go forward?”
“No. But his Sense is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. He remembers everything after a Turn. Everything. Things even I can’t.”
“So he’s what—some missing link?”
“Between people like you … and people like me.”
“But he can’t Turn.”
“No. But he can see the future.”
“But even I can, that’s what you said. So can you.”
“We see what could be. The things we see are fuzzy. Like a dream. My visions—for lack of a better word—are far clearer than yours. But Brikker? He sees more. Deeper. Much more clearly. Much more accurately. His ability is astonishing. It’s frightening.”
“Which is why he wants you.”
“Yes. In that sense, I’m the missing link. The Turn.”
He stirred with a small groan, the throb in his brain rising. He waved her off when she went to steady him.
“Brikker’s seen the future, Lynn. He knows what I know, and a good deal more. But his knowledge is incomplete.” He paused. “His ability to see—it only happens when I Turn. If he captures me again, I don’t know if I can stop him.”
“But you said it rarely happens, even for you.”
“I’m not Brikker,” he said. “He has visions every time. Every time.”
Lynn was reeling. “I still don’t understand any of this. It’s scaring me, Kain.”
He regarded her gravely. “Do you remember what happened when I Turned? What happened to you?”
Her gaze faltered. “We melted.”
“And then?”
“Blackness,” she said, remembering. “Emptiness.”
“Nothingness,” he said. “But it really isn’t. It’s more like a window. A gateway through time.”
“But it’s one way, right? Backwards.”
He took her hand and held it gently. “We’re in the here and now,” he told her. “But think about it … we’re just part of someone else’s past.”
“But you said the future hasn’t happened yet.”
“Our future,” he said, and saw her confusion. “Einstein was a genius, no question. He was right when he said it was impossible to separate the past from the future … or the now. They’re all happening at the same instant. It’s hard t
o accept, I know. The trouble with time is that it doesn’t have three sides you can touch. It’s not a box you can hold in your hand. It flows, back and forth, like water … it just is.”
He sighed solemnly. It was the sound of inevitability.
“When I had those visions—when I realized that what I was seeing was the Coming—I finally understood the true madness of the Project. The madness that drives Brikker.
“Once he has me, those gaps in his knowledge will begin to close. What would have taken decades of research he’ll have in a few years. But once Brikker clones me, make no mistake. He’ll clone himself.”
“What? What on Earth for?”
“A better mousetrap,” Kain said. “He’d only be a step away from altering that clone.”
“Altering?”
“… And with Brikker’s Sense …”
Lynn Bishop gasped. “This isn’t about changing the past,” she said. “Brikker wants to change the future.”
“Or create it.”
“My God, Kain … what if … if he were able to Turn … if he could go back and forth through time—”
His eyes met hers.
“I know,” he said, forebodingly. “Hell on Earth.”
~ 26
Later, he knelt by the window and watched her go. He could still savor the tease of her soft perfume, and at that moment, had never wanted her more. But he knew. He knew. Barely stirring, he waited for the longest time, for her light to go dark—she passed her window just the once, and he felt his heart rise and slip—and then he slipped into bed, the hammering in his brain killing him. He lay there, fighting it, but then he surrendered to it as a groan escaped him. He rolled onto his side, curling in agony. He quivered, his muscles aching, his flesh burning. It came, came quickly, and Time spun itself into a maelstrom … if only for an instant.
He felt sick and weak and threw up. At the sink, he stared blankly into the mirror and saw the Little Ghost staring back at him. He had aged a life poorly spent; there was nothing familiar here. He turned off the light and crawled into bed, reeling. They were gone now, tangled and lost in the delicate web of mind and memory, but they lingered. Strange, distorted sounds he could not hope to understand. Voices, just as undulating and complex; just as confounding. Fleeting sensations of the possible. And yet, as before, there had been stunning moments of clarity, terrifying glimpses of what might be.
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