When You and I Collide

by Kate Norris

  “Well, I thought of all sorts of complicated and difficult things, but then, in the end, I realized I was overthinking it. All we really need is rope and fire. Suspend the capacitor over a bucket of water; light the rope on fire; get into the Faraday cage and wait for the rope to burn through.” He opened up his notebook and pointed at the page. “See?”

  Winnie quickly examined the diagram. “I think it’ll work,” she said with relief, not because she was eager to leave him behind, but because this was the exact kind of thinking that would make him invaluable to Hawthorn’s project.

  Scott looked pleased with himself, as well he should.

  “I did some calculations and figured out what voltage capacitor we need to give the discharge we want.” He pulled a small bundle out of his knapsack and unwrapped it.

  The capacitors Winnie was familiar with fit in the palm of a hand, ranging from the size of an aspirin tablet to the top two joints of a pinkie finger. This was by far the largest Winnie had ever seen—a cylinder about six inches long, the size of a fist in circumference. It made her nervous. Winnie had to remind herself they would be safe in the Faraday cage when it discharged.

  “You’re sure of your calculations?” Winnie asked.

  “I checked them several times.”

  But this did nothing to ease her anxiety. They had been so sure before their original attempt at school, and it had gone so wrong . . .

  But Scott’s plan was solid and safe.

  If the central hypothesis of their experiment was correct, it should work. She should be able to transport home. She had gotten herself here, after all. It made logical sense for her to be able to transport herself back. James had thought she could, and Hawthorn too.

  But time travel?

  That was a different thing entirely.

  “If it works, and I go back in time—do you think maybe it will reverse the things that happened here? Make it like I never came? Just sort of undo it all, and then Winnie—”

  “No,” Scott said sharply, “I don’t.” He glanced over at her and must have seen the look on her face, because his tone was softer when he said, “I—I just can’t pretend. She’s gone. We have to accept it.”

  “What? You’re the one who told me about time dilation. How is this different? You’re the one who said it meant I could save Scott.”

  He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  Scott had told her that when she was refusing to try to go home. Winnie remembered it vividly.

  “You do think that I’m going to be able to go back and save him, don’t you?”

  Scott paused for a long time.

  “No,” he said finally, “I don’t. But I do think you can get yourself home.”

  Winnie felt the words settle on her. She slumped under the weight of them.

  “Are you serious? You lied to me about that too? Jesus, Scott—is there anything you told me that was true?”

  He sighed heavily. “Look. When you got here, and you told me it had been just this random thing, I was terrified! I’ve seen all the precautions Hawthorn takes in the lab when we transfer objects. He can be pretty cavalier about risks—obviously—but he has always been very careful about that. You refused to go to Hawthorn, and you were right not to, but you also refused to involve Professor Schulde. And then you were refusing to even let me help you go home! You were saying you wanted to stay!”

  “You could have talked to me—”

  “I knew that if I didn’t get you on board immediately, Winnie would go to her father, and then it would be out of our hands. So, I lied. And I don’t regret it. It wasn’t even a lie, really. There is time dilation between different realities. But I don’t know how it works, and I don’t think it means you can time-travel.”

  “But . . . the Lichtenberg figure . . .”

  “Winnie,” he said gently, “Professor Schulde and I do all kinds of experiments down here. That could have happened anytime. I’m sorry. I know you wanted to save him. But sometimes we lose the people we love, and there isn’t any fixing it.”

  “I know that! You think I don’t know that?”

  She’d lost enough people in her life to know the ugly truth.

  They had both been through a lot, but she was so angry with him! Guilt and rage and grief mixed in one awful soup in her stomach, leaving her completely at a loss about what she should say or do.

  “I know it’s hard,” Scott said, “and I know you’re disappointed. That I am sorry for. But we don’t have that much time before Professor Schulde gets home. We need to get the Faraday cage set up, and we need to try our experiment now.”

  “No!” Winnie said. “If leaving means losing you forever—if it means losing Mama again—I can’t do it. I won’t!” She could feel the anxious pounding of her heart in her chest. It was more of a declaration than she’d ever dared with her own Scott.

  “It’s more important for you to be safe than for you to be here. You’ll grieve, but you’ll get over it.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Winnie . . .” Scott trailed off and sighed. He looked so exhausted. “We both know what Hawthorn is capable of. You have to do this. You have to try.”

  Winnie was tired too, and scared—but she was sick of feeling like prey. She was sick of being lied to, and sick of running.

  “Look. Right now,” Winnie said, “Hawthorn has all the cards.”

  Scott scoffed. “Don’t I know it. All the cards, all the power—”

  “Well, what if we get something on him.”

  Scott opened his mouth, but then closed it. He paused, head cocked, considering. “What are you suggesting?”

  Winnie thought a moment.

  An idea began to form.

  “The Manhattan Project—making an atomic bomb—the military cares way more about that than any of Hawthorn’s work, right?” She thought back to how snide Hawthorn had seemed about Fermi—the head of the Manhattan Project—at that party of his. “And Hawthorn resents Fermi for it, doesn’t he?”

  Scott nodded. “They’re pretty well-known rivals.”

  “Exactly. And Hawthorn is the head of the department, but when the government came calling, it was Fermi they picked for their top project, right? Why do you suppose that is?” Winnie asked.

  “Hawthorn pretends he wanted it that way—and multiverse theory has always been his pet subject,” said Scott. “But most people think that Project Nightingale was just a bone the military threw him.”

  “So, what if someone broke into Fermi’s office on campus and some of his papers ended up in Hawthorn’s files—if the military found out, it would look like espionage, right? Since it’s a military project? With the history between Fermi and Hawthorn, it would be believable. And they might even think that if James found out about it—maybe that was what got him killed.”

  Scott thought about it, and a hopeful smile began to spread on his face. She could tell he was intrigued by the idea.

  “That could work, maybe,” he said. “How on earth did you think of it?”

  Winnie shrugged. “I got the idea from Hawthorn. If you come up with a story that’s salacious enough, people will want to believe it. Head of Columbia Physics Department Accused of Treason!” Winnie could imagine the headlines now. “Powerful Scientist Undone by Petty Jealousy! The articles will practically write themselves. With a little bit of supporting evidence, I think the military will buy it, and the police too.”

  She thought about Muldoon—he hadn’t liked Hawthorn any more than he’d liked her. He would be happy to see the wealthy elite indicted for his student’s murder.

  “They just might. I know that at least some of the faculty and students would buy it hook, line, and sinker.”

  Winnie smiled. “So, do you think you can get us into Fermi’s office—tonight?”

  He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I t
hink I know a way. And there isn’t any special security, other than the regular campus security guards. They’ve talked about putting in new locks around the offices and labs now that we’re doing military work, but it hasn’t happened yet. It’s only been a few months since these projects started, and things on campus happen on university—not military—time.”

  Winnie felt a tentative excitement—a feeling she had learned to distrust.

  “But if security is that weak,” she asked, “do you really think Fermi will keep sensitive documents on campus—something it would make sense for Hawthorn to steal?”

  Scott nodded. “I don’t think anyone on these projects is conscientious enough to transfer their paperwork to headquarters as often as we probably should. I know Hawthorn and Professor Schulde sure don’t. This could work, Winnie,” he said.

  “Then I think we should try.”

  They were putting their few eggs in an awfully rickety basket. She should be more frightened—Winnie knew that would come later—but for the moment, she was filled with relief. And if they accomplished what she hoped they would on campus tonight, then maybe, just maybe, she could stay.

  It might not change the fact that Scott wanted her gone. And she’d have to hide her real self from her double’s parents or risk losing them too.

  It wouldn’t be happily ever after, even if they successfully set up Hawthorn.

  But maybe—maybe—she could at least be free.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  There were four informal places set around the dining room table, since Scott would be eating with them too that night, as usual. Back home, Winnie and Brunhilde took their supper at the kitchen table, and Father didn’t eat dinner until quite late, if at all. Here, dinner was a family affair.

  Mama dished out some Wiener schnitzel and buttered cabbage for each of them, and Father cut into his breaded pork and took a bite.

  “Hmm—new recipe?”

  Mama smiled ruefully.

  “A rationing experiment—I left the eggs out of the breading. Not quite how Grandma used to make it, eh?”

  “It’s good! Just . . . different.”

  “Well, extra eggs means we can have cake with Sunday’s dinner.”

  “Aha! In that case, this is the best Wiener schnitzel I’ve ever had!”

  It was odd to see this levity from her double’s parents. Her Mama and Father had certainly loved each other, but Winnie remembered there being so much resentment and arguing too.

  Had her double been troubled by those memories? Or had those dark early days been papered over by the later, better ones?

  Mama and Father seemed so happy with each other now, and so in love. People could grow together through shared tragedy—or be torn apart. If Winnie told them what happened to their daughter, would she be bringing those dark days back?

  “Are you feeling better today?” her double’s father asked. “No headaches? No double vision?”

  Winnie glanced up from her plate. She felt so cut off from them, lost in her own unhappy thoughts, that she was surprised Father could even see her from across the gulf.

  “No, sir,” she said. “I’m feeling much better, thank you.”

  Father gave her a funny look and a little grin. Winnie reminded herself that here, Father was “Daddy.”

  “Good,” he said. “That’s very good to hear. Now, Scott, tell me more about this project you’re working on?”

  “Oh, I just constructed a Faraday cage for extra credit in Gilmore’s class.”

  “And Winnie, you wanted to help? We just may make a scientist of you yet! I wonder if there are any summer programs we should be looking into for you for next year.”

  He seemed so eager for his daughter to show more interest in such things. It made Winnie’s heart hurt in ways she didn’t quite understand. He thought he was seeing his daughter change, when in reality, she would never change again. Never develop new hobbies or interests. She would be forever sixteen. Stuck there, unfinished.

  Winnie swallowed thickly, but her discomfort went unnoticed.

  “Oh, Heinrich!” Mama said lightly, swatting at his arm. “Let the girl study what she likes.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Father said to Mama with a smile, “but if your father hadn’t encouraged your academics, we never would have met at university.”

  Mama shook her head in amusement. “True, but I’m not sure our daughter’s interests are purely academic, in this case.”

  “Ah, but neither were ours,” he replied with a wink.

  Mama grinned, and she looked younger than Winnie had ever seen her look, even a decade ago.

  Father looked at Winnie and must have misinterpreted her consternation, because he said, “I know, I know—your parents are a couple of silly-heads, and it’s awfully embarrassing.”

  Winnie had never thought her father capable of such—such lightheartedness. She and Father were such a grim pair compared to their doppelgängers, although she knew her double had carried her own burdens too.

  Winnie glanced at Mama. It was the loss of her that had done it—especially since rather than putting her death behind them, grief remained the engine that drove their work on the splinter machine.

  Was that why Father had always kept Winnie at a distance—because losing his wife had schooled him to believe that love equaled loss?

  It was a more generous interpretation than she had ever thought of before—generous to him, but also to herself.

  This version of her parents seemed so comfortable. Their relationship seemed so strong. But was it strong enough to weather the loss of their child?

  Should Winnie tell them now—who she really was, and what had happened to their real daughter? If she and Scott were caught that night, on campus, breaking into Fermi’s office, she might end up being carted off to a military prison. This could be her final chance to be honest with them.

  As Winnie was considering this course—its risks, her fear—she felt the stomach jolt of an oncoming splinter.

  “I’m not your daughter!” a splinter-her confessed.

  She told them what had happened. All of it, including the role Hawthorn played and the threat he still posed.

  There was confusion. Then shouting. Then tears.

  Finally, that splinter-Father grabbed his coat and fled the house to go confront Hawthorn, “the true author of my daughter’s demise.”

  What happened to Father then was beyond the scope of the splinter she saw . . . but Winnie felt safe concluding it could be nothing good.

  Winnie couldn’t tell them.

  Not until Hawthorn was no longer a threat.

  “You look so deep in thought,” Mama said with a frown. “Is everything okay?”

  Winnie faked a smile. “Yeah, I’m just tired.”

  It was an odd family they made. Professor, wife, protégé—and the changeling who had brought about the death of their daughter.

  * * *

  • • •

  Scott helped Winnie clear the table, then she walked him to the foyer to say goodnight. He paused in front of the door, taking her hand in his own. Winnie thought he was going to assure her everything would be all right, something anodyne and untrue like that, but instead he just gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and whispered, “I’ll see you tonight.”

  He would be coming to get her at one o’clock—even Father should be asleep by then—and then the two of them would head to campus.

  Winnie squeezed his hand back and tried not to think of all the things that could go wrong.

  After he left, Winnie headed upstairs and dressed for bed. She lay down—it would be nice to rest, although she had no intention of sleeping.

  After a little while, there was a knock on her bedroom door.

  “May I come in?” Mama called softly.

  “Yes,” Winnie said, “
come in,” even though she dreaded the prospect of a conversation with her.

  Mama was wrapped tight in a beautiful blue dressing gown, and her golden hair was pinned up under a silk scarf for bed. She carried a tray with two steaming mugs.

  “I brought you some drinking chocolate,” Mama said. “Can I sit with you a minute?”

  Winnie nodded, and tried very hard not to let the woman see that she was about to cry.

  This was something Winnie’s own mother had done for her when she was a little girl, whenever she was sick, or sad, or if Father had been particularly awful that day. Mama had told her once that it was something her own mother had done for her too, when she was a child.

  Mama set the tray down on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead, she pulled Winnie into a tight hug. The sudden movement made Winnie’s head throb painfully, but still, that embrace was the most wonderful thing to happen to her in recent memory.

  Winnie closed her eyes and clung tight. Her mother’s perfume was the same—verbena, rose, and some light musk. It took Winnie right back to Germany: picking wildflowers in the field behind their little house; carefully working on her block letters at the table while Mama prepared dinner; being read to in bed, tucked tight under the covers. Winnie hadn’t even known she remembered that smell.

  Winnie was much larger than she’d been the last time her mother held her, but the embrace gave her the same feeling it always had, the feeling that maybe nothing would ever go wrong again. But it had—oh, how it had!

  Mama released her from the embrace and sat back. Winnie was surprised to see that she was crying.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Mama shook her head. Tears poured freely down her face.

  “I wanted to keep you safe, but . . .”

  “You did—I am. I promise, I’m okay!”

  Winnie would have told her even bolder lies, to make her stop crying like that.

  “I was wrong—I see that now. Wrong to think seeing splits was something that could be suppressed.”