by Sarah Noffke
“Zhuang told me I had to time travel back to a few months ago, find this man and kill him,” Joseph says. “When he explained the situation to me I was convinced that this was the only way to stop the torment he was suffering. I believed this man was an awful person who was devastating our father, although I never asked why. I realize now I should have, but it probably wouldn’t have mattered. I’d have done anythin’ our father asked me to. Once he sucked out most of my energy I felt owned by him in multiple ways.”
I seriously hope other people aren’t watching us right now, but I don’t dare look away from Joseph’s distraught face. “When did this happen?”
“On our birthday. That morning. The same day we found out Trey was our father. Timing’s a bitch, huh?” Joseph shivers like he’s suddenly cold. “I’d never killed a man before. It changes you, sucks away a part of your spirit. Since that moment I stabbed him I’ve been sleepwalking. If it hadn’t been for this Trey mess I’d be consumed with thinkin’ about that moment, but somehow I’ve been able to shove it away. Fat chance I’ll be able to do that again,” he says with a cold chuckle. Pain, sharp like broken glass, fractures my heart for my brother. The imprint of his scars presses against my own heart.
“Roya, you wouldn’t have believed what I did even if you saw it,” he says in a distant voice. “In a dreamscape I walked straight up to him––this man I believed was evil and huntin’ our father. I was surprised that he appeared to recognize me, was welcomin’. He asked me what I was doin’ there. I didn’t answer. Instead I pulled out a knife and rammed it into his chest. It was awful. Actually that word hardly describes what it was. Chests aren’t meant to be stabbed. People aren’t supposed to stop hearts from beating. That can’t be our job.” Joseph stares off in the distance silently. I don’t interrupt him, knowing instinctively he’s gathering himself to tell the rest. “I realize now,” he says, his voice sounding dead, “that Flynn didn’t see me as a threat. He’d been chasing Zhuang, and was weakened, having been stuck in the dreamscape for so long. It was easy to kill him.”
“Zhuang must have figured out that you were the one who had to kill Flynn a few months ago,” I say in an urgent whisper. “That’s another reason he chose you to restore him.” The implications of all of these events, strung together by a wobbly backwards timeline, sends a searing pain to my head.
“When it was over,” Joseph says, sounding brutally haunted, “I knew I’d done something major, but I actually had no idea that guy was Flynn. How was I supposed to? Then yesterday I was walkin’ through the lobby and was struck by a picture of a man in the display case. I’d never noticed it before. The caption said it was Flynn. I recognized him immediately as the man I’d been asked to kill. That was bad then, knowin’ I’d killed the founder of the Institute, but now to know he was also our grandfather? What have I done?”
It’s crystal clear now. Joseph has been used as a pawn to checkmate the Institute. This has all been orchestrated by Zhuang.
Seizing Joseph’s trembling hand I say, “This is Zhuang’s fault. This is Trey’s fault. This is not something you need to blame yourself for.”
His eyes are edged in a pain so terrifying it makes the hair on my skin rise when he looks up at me. “You don’t think I’m a monster? For killing a man? For being so casual after the fact? Pretendin’ nothing happened?”
“I think you’ve been hurt too much from an early age. You were trying to fix the world that broke you. When that didn’t work you pretended you weren’t broken. But you don’t have to pretend with me, because no matter what you do I’ll always accept you.” I swallow, forcing the aching lump in my throat away.
Samara and George are making their way to our table with their breakfast plates. I pull Joseph up and wave to them as I steer him toward the exit. Although I know he’s the master of charades, he’s still in no shape to face anyone. He might have been able to put on a happy face this morning after realizing the implications of who he murdered, but now that the whole truth has been revealed I can see his mask slipping.
When I have him back to his room I help him into bed. He feels fragile suddenly, like he’s battling the flu. “We’ll get through this, Joseph, but let’s try and take it one day at a time.”
“Each passing day is feeling like enough to kill me at this point,” Joseph says, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve restored Zhuang to full strength and killed our grandfather––the founder of our society. No more. I can’t take any more,” he says, sounding like a small child.
I feel his emptiness erupt into a wave of pain, so vicious I fear it will tear his insides into pieces. Feeling someone else’s emotions is too much. It’s mind-splitting agony. “Everything’s going to be all right, Joseph. We’re in this together.”
♦
I can’t fix what Joseph has done since events touched by time travel can’t be changed. There’s no way to go back and prevent what’s happened. All I can do moving forward is lessen the pain. There’s multiple ways I can do that, and the first involves using money to bandage Joseph’s wounds. I grab my iPad off my desk and pull up the first clothing website that comes to mind. I buy him three shirts, a sweater, two pair of jeans, a belt, and a pair of sunglasses. All Armani. None of it’s on sale. All of it outrageously expensive. I would have bought him a suit and shoes, but I don’t think guessing on those sizes is a good idea. When choosing styles and colors I pick the boldest, stuff I’d never wear––that he’ll no doubt love.
Much like me, Joseph never had new clothes. His father provided him with the bare minimum. I suspect in some cases Joseph went without, having to make do with things that he’d outgrown or were tattered. He’s never talked about it, but the part of me that’s somehow connected to his memories like they’re my own, thinks he went without more than just clothes. If the glimpses I’ve seen of his childhood are correct, then he also went without food and medicine at times.
The total for the new wardrobe doesn’t even dent my bank account. Since Joseph and I have been news reporting together I’m receiving several stories at once. The last three times I’ve reported, I’ve logged eight stories. At four hundred a pop my bank account is quickly growing. Since I don’t have bills and Bob and Steve buy everything else for me, I haven’t had a reason to spend any of it. Now I can’t think of a better one than this.
In the beginning it felt weird to accept such a ridiculous amount of money for stories that came to me so effortlessly. However, it’s getting easier. The 453 people who didn’t get on a 747 destined to have engine failure over the Atlantic probably don’t think I’m being overpaid. Now I just wish I knew where all this money came from. Another of Trey’s secrets, I’m sure.
Chapter Seven
Aiden stands beside his workstation, banging his head to the music as he solders a tiny wire onto a board. For a few seconds I watch him from the doorway. Briefly I forget he isn’t mine, never will be. The urge to walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist is too strong. An affliction. One I have to purge myself of before it tangles my heart until it’s unusable. Just to see how he moves when no one’s watching is enough to split me. His passion is there in every moment, his brain working faster than a million computers. After this short time as a voyeur, I know his brilliance and zeal is not an act, which breaks my heart even more. I kept hoping that everything about him was a façade, that I hadn’t really fallen for a real person. But he’s perfectly real, and I’m undeniably still in love with him in every way. In order not to obliterate my entire heart I stuff this realization down into the depths of my spirit. All business, Roya.
I knock on the door frame.
Without looking up he says, “Just take the parts to the back of my lab, please.”
I knock again.
“Oh fine, if it’s too heavy for you just put them on the floor next to this table,” he says, fidgeting with what looks to be a stubborn wire.
Another knock. Aiden sighs loudly. “Gosh, just leave it at the door.” He spins aroun
d and his face drops with surprise.
“Oh, it’s you,” Aiden says, sounding both relieved and nervous. “Sorry about that. I thought you were someone else. I didn’t expect you so soon.”
“I figured I’d get whatever this is about out of the way as quickly as possible,” I say, depositing his meeting request into the trash bin.
He stares at me, a lovely pain in his eyes. In that one look I spy regret, longing, and despair. I shudder, too easily remembering the way he pushed me away the last time. Rejected me because of who I’m related to. He can feel all that negative emotion and more. Cowards deserve to suffer.
“Look, we have to work together,” I say, keeping my voice unaffected. “I know you aren’t accustomed to speaking freely, so I will. Let’s just put all this crazy business behind us and be friends.”
“Friends?” He says like it’s a new word. A foreign one.
“Yes, you’ve had one of those, right? Or is science your only friend?”
He glares at me, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up on his nose. “You know, when you want to be, you’re more catty than a whole slew of debutantes competing over the same beau.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, although we both know I wouldn’t compete for anyone.”
An angry silence fills the space between us. I can almost feel us volley quiet complaints back and forth.
“Well, I didn’t ask you down here so we could make friendship bracelets and braid each other’s hair. Next time maybe,” Aiden says, no smile in his voice or on his face. “As you know, Trey wants alterations made to the adjuster so that it doesn’t change your natural frequency as much. Actually, he’s assigned me to innovate a totally different solution that buffers your frequency from George without affecting you at all. However, that’s still a little ways off. Anyway, I think I have a new patch that might satisfy his first request. It will take a few days of readings for me to know if it’s worked to Trey’s liking. How does that all sound?”
“Fine, I guess. Do I need to do anything different to test it out?”
“Well, you don’t have to spend any extra time with George, if that’s what you mean. You don’t have to spend any time with him at all,” he says, undeniable jealousy in his tone. “Since you’re both occupying the Institute, the adjuster works the same whether you’re close or levels apart.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say dully. “What I meant was do I need to report on any changes to my abilities, which I realize can sometimes be linked to my frequency level? That’s what Trey’s worried about being affected, right? My abilities? Since I’m an asset and all.”
“You never forget a thing, do you?”
“Consider me Ms. Memory Banks.”
“Well, Ms. Banks, may I see the famed adjuster? The tweaks will only take a minute, maybe two,” he says, eyeing me with a tamed desire.
My fingers hesitate halfway to my neck, a sudden concern stopping me. Aiden doesn’t read minds, but he’s intuitive enough to understand my reluctance. He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, George will be fine. Mostly,” he adds, a new bitterness in his tone. “And I’ll be as quick as possible.”
I untuck the necklace from under my shirt, unfasten it, and hand it over.
“Well, looky here,” Aiden says, holding up the ruby necklace. “It’s been blinged up. Nice.”
“Bob and Steve’s doing,” I say.
“You know,” Aiden says, unlatching the adjuster from the ruby-beaded necklace, “I told Trey the best and safest option for you was just have George leave the Institute. He hasn’t been assigned to a department yet, so it makes perfect sense.”
He looks up from the adjuster in time to catch my glare.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about George getting kicked out of here,” Aiden says, disassembling the adjuster. “Trey wouldn’t go for it. He thinks George is good for the Institute.” He puts down the tiny pieces of the device and flicks a nearby screw across the room. It ricochets several times before finding a resting place. His angry eyes swivel up from the table, finding mine. “Sadly, Trey thinks George is good for you.”
“So since you can’t be with me, I’m not allowed to be with anyone else, is that right?” I say, voicing what he’s just hovering above. “That’s real mature.”
“How would you feel in my position?”
“I wouldn’t be in your position. I wouldn’t work for a deceptive, autocratic asshole.”
“That’s funny, because you do. You’re news reporting, right?”
“Technically, I work for Shuman.”
“And who does she work for?”
“Well, I’m only working until I make enough money to open my own place where people don’t lie and manipulate lives. I’m going to call it the Anti-Institute.” That’s actually not a bad idea. I’m going to have to stop buying expensive clothes though.
“Hope it goes well. Flynn would be proud.”
“Thanks,” I say, devoid of any real gratitude. Aiden returns to working on the adjuster. I find a spot on the floor that desperately needs my eyes’ attention. “Hey, did you know Flynn was Trey’s father?”
“Yeah,” Aiden says instantly. “That was common knowledge.”
“Hmmm,” I say, looking back at the floor. “He would have been my grandfather.”
“I realize that now. He was my mentor. I…I owe my position to him,” Aiden says, his voice panged with grief.
The newest debacle with Joseph rises to my consciousness. Instantly my brain launches into strategic mode. “Do we know how Flynn died?”
“Yes, he was murdered.” My pulse races in my head. “By Zhuang,” Aiden adds a few seconds later.
“But do we know how?”
Aiden gives me a curious look. “Well, he was stabbed. We know that. We don’t know where or when, though. Flynn was chasing Zhuang and was a few dozen layers deep in the dreamscape; that’s what we suspect anyway. Zhuang must have finally confronted him. Or trapped his consciousness. Whatever happened, it killed Flynn pretty quickly.”
“Is it possible to find out how exactly he was murdered?”
Aiden scratches his head. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“I’m just interested, now that I know he was my grandfather.”
“Do you want me to look into it?”
“No,” I say too fast.
Another curious stare. “Well, if you change your mind––”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” Seriously, don’t worry about it.
“All right, well, I believe that should do it,” Aiden says, snapping the front back onto the adjuster. He hands it to me, our eyes meeting briefly.
“So you’ll know in a few days if this has worked well enough?” I say, trying to fasten the adjuster around my neck.
“Indeed I will.”
The slippery clasp keeps closing before I have the other side locked through it. This is a problem I never had when the adjuster was on twine and I could tie it around my neck. I bring the catch around to my face so I can get a better look at it while I try and fasten it. From the corner of my vision I notice Aiden eye me cautiously.
“Having trouble there?” he asks.
“No, it’s just the damn clasp on this new necklace is tricky,” I say, the silver notch slipping through my fingers again.
“Here,” Aiden says, stepping up close and taking the necklace from my fingers. “Let me help.” My eyes stay pinned on the ruby beads in front of my face. Twice he fails to latch the loop through the hook.
“See, I told you it was tricky,” I say with a small laugh.
“You weren’t lying, but I won’t be defeated,” he says and shuts the clasps at precisely the right moment, fastening the necklace in place.
“Thanks,” I say, looking up, finding his sapphire eyes. Instantly I know I should have kept my gaze low, away from his. He’s too close, only a few inches away. He lays the necklace down on my chest, his fingers finding a place on my shoulders. The pause is long enough to br
ing a rush of desire and fear and pain to my mouth. Aiden leans in closer, tilts his head, his fingers still resting on my shoulders. My lips part. Words I hadn’t rehearsed whisper across the space. “Go ahead,” I urge him. “Go ahead, kiss me. And if you do, then you have just silently signed an agreement that you’ll go to Trey and tell him about us.” I lean in another inch, our mouths almost touching. “So what’s it going to be? Are you going to kiss me?”
His fingers tighten on my shoulders. His breath sighs against my skin. Then he pushes me away in one swift movement, taking several steps backwards. “God, Roya, you know I can’t.”
A satisfied smile uncurls on my lips. That’s what I thought. Coward. “Well, if you can’t, then stop leading me on. Teasing me. Torturing the both of us,” I say, my voice a thousand times cooler than how I actually feel.
“I’m not trying to do anything to hurt you. I can’t help the way I feel or that my job prevents me from acting on those feelings. Roya––”
“Stop,” I interrupt, injecting a casual note in my tone. “You’ve heard my request. Now honor it. Okay?”
Aiden shakes his head, distraught, torn emotions written on his face. “I wish things could be different.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. Friends don’t kiss each other anyway, right?” I say and turn and leave.
Chapter Eight
Trey releases his statement that evening. From my iPad I read it to Joseph as he paces his room:
It has recently surfaced that I am the father to Roya Stark and Joseph Jordan. These two individuals were brought to the Institute as potential challengers to face Zhuang. Ms. Stark was later chosen as the Challenger. Mr. Jordan served on the team that assisted her in the battle against Zhuang on June 13th. Later, Ms. Stark led the team, which included Mr. Jordan, that rescued Dr. Aiden Livingston from the Grotte on July 3rd.
Seventeen years ago I made the decision that my twins would be separated and sent to live in Middling homes. This decision was based on two important factors. The first is that it was immediately obvious they created a highly detectable energy current when together. I knew they must be separated if they were going to be kept safe from Zhuang, since the list of names of potential challengers had already been released. Secondly, as many of you know, the Institute does not provide a suitable environment for raising children, since they are unable to dream travel and are therefore confined within these walls.