by Ryan Dalton
The walls came alive, sprouting angry-looking machinery from hidden panels. They trained on her, powering up. Valentine trembled with panic. I’m so close!
EXECUTE pulsed bright, and she stabbed it with a pleading cry. The sphere wrapped around her and spun. Valentine looked up and shrieked as the tall man barreled angrily toward her. She raised her arms and backed away screaming. He snarled and lunged for her, hands stretched toward her throat.
The man faded away, light and dizziness swept over her, and Valentine kept backing away until she collapsed onto Malcolm’s chair. She yelped and sprang away from it. In the center of her brother’s room, she turned in frantic circles, certain that her attacker would leap from the shadows.
Her head swam and her mind raced. Three brushes with death in . . . how long had she been gone? Twenty minutes? Feels like twenty years. Every second crashed into her at once. She tried to stand still, but the room kept spinning around her. The walls blurred and her thoughts grew muddled.
The floor is wobbly . . .
Valentine collapsed to the carpet. Darkness enveloped her.
Chapter 11
The night of listening to stories and old records with Walter and Clive had gone much later than Malcolm had expected. The red truck eased into Mr. Crane’s driveway after dark. He set the gear and switched off the throaty engine.
“Hope you weren’t bored sitting with a couple old men.”
“No way,” Malcolm assured him. “Clive had some great stories.”
“He’s got plenty more. I’ve kept you out long enough, though. Better get home.”
“Sure. Thanks for bringing me along and everything. Really.”
Mr. Crane nodded. He kept his eyes on the steering wheel. “Don’t mention it, kid.”
Gratitude made him uncomfortable, it seemed. Malcolm made a mental note of that and opened his door. Halfway out, he stopped and turned back. “Hey, Mr. Crane?”
“Walter, kid. Call me Walter; it’s okay.”
Malcolm tried and failed to mask his surprise. “Okay. Um, Walter?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m just curious. When we talked, it seemed like you love traveling, so, well, why come back here? Why stay all this time?”
Walter kept examining the wheel. “I had things to do here. Never did get to see the Parthenon.”
“Why didn’t you go after you were finished?”
A wistful smile crossed Walter’s face. “When I’m finished, maybe I will.”
On tiptoes, Malcolm stole down the hallway toward his bedroom. In a family of insomniacs, any creak would surely wake someone. The afternoon had turned out far better than he’d hoped, but his tired body ached like it had been beaten.
Actually, it was beaten.
He noted that Valentine had forgotten to shut her door for the night. Odd—she treasured her privacy as much as he did. A light was on in his room, though. That was doubly odd. His door was half-closed, and he pushed it open.
Valentine lay face down on the floor. Malcolm jumped back in shock and then rushed to her side.
“Val!” He shook her. “Val, wake up!”
He relaxed as her glazed eyes opened.
“Mal. Where?” she said thickly. “Am I . . . floor?”
“Did you hit your head or something?” He sat back on his heels.
“No, I—” With a gasp, she sat bolt upright. “It’s real. I didn’t believe you, but I know now—it’s all real!”
Relief flooded him. “You finally saw what the lightning was doing? I knew eventually you’d—” Malcolm trailed off as his eyes locked onto the watch in her hand. “How did you find that?”
Valentine shoved it in front of his face. “How did you find it? Do you have any idea what this thing does?”
“I know exactly what it does, which is why I didn’t show anyone. Why did you snoop in my room?”
“I wasn’t snooping; I was bringing you dinner!” she snapped, then stopped and stared at the wall, clutching the pendant at her neck. After a moment, her words came out more calmly. “You left it on your desk. I was just curious about it.”
Malcolm began to respond, then stopped short. “Wait, you asked if I knew what it does. You didn’t use it, did you?”
Valentine grasped for words, but he saw the truth on her face.
“Oh, no. Did you touch anything? Talk to anyone?”
“No!” She examined the watch, avoiding his eyes. “I mean, not really.”
He slapped a palm to his forehead. “Geez, Val!”
“Well, I didn’t know what it did! I just looked at the dates. How was I supposed to know it would actually take me there?”
Malcolm’s mind reeled with the implications of what his twin might have done—might have changed—if things had gone worse. They were playing with forces that couldn’t be fathomed.
“I saw inside the house, too.”
“What house?”
She nodded toward the window. “The house. I didn’t know what Home meant, and I was kind of panicking after running from Nazis and that T-Rex.”
Malcolm gaped. “T-Rex? Why would he jump back so far?” He wondered aloud. “Testing the watch’s limits, maybe.”
“I don’t know. It just kind of happened.” She slid closer. “Mal, I saw him. The man you must’ve seen in the window. He’s doing something big, and he’s got this machine—I’ve never seen anything like it before. It made this big energy thing and a rabbit disappeared, and . . .” Her voice dropped, filling with desperation. “I don’t know what it all means, but I was so scared. He would’ve killed me, I know it.”
Malcolm crossed to the window and stared out at the darkened house with a furrowed brow. It mocked them, daring them to challenge it.
“Did he see your face?”
“Not sure. He nearly got me, but it was pretty dark.” She hesitated. “I think he’s from somewhere else. And I don’t mean Chicago.”
Malcolm nodded. “Figured that when I realized what the watch does. He’s got to be from somewhere else. Or, I guess I should say sometime else.”
“So, what’s he doing here?”
Malcolm grimaced. Of course she’d want to find out everything now. Hadn’t he, before his close encounter? Still, this had to stop.
“It doesn’t matter.” He turned from the window. “If he’s not from here, then maybe he’s just passing through. So, let’s leave him alone.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “What are you saying? That we should just ignore this?” She shook her head. “You didn’t see what I did, Mal. This is about way more than lightning storms.”
Malcolm sighed. Knowing Valentine, she would never stop without a good reason. So, she would have to see. He lifted his shirt over his head.
“Uh, what are you doing?”
Next he peeled away the tape covering his ribs. Tossing it aside, he raised his arms and turned in a slow circle, allowing Valentine to see the bruises covering his torso.
“What happened to you?”
“After we argued, I decided to do some investigating. Whoever’s inside didn’t appreciate that. But I did find something.” Stepping over to the desk, he rummaged in the bottom drawer and withdrew a sketch of circles and jagged, overlapping lines. “The house is covered with these, every inch of it. Tiny circuitry and some kind of lenses.”
“I saw something like these lenses on the machine, only a lot bigger.”
“I took pictures, and this shadow monster thing came through the wall and attacked me. I managed to cut up the guy inside it, but he kept coming until he had me. Might’ve killed me, I think, except Walter chased him off.”
“Did Walter see what happened?”
“I don’t think so. But after that, I made a promise—to leave this whole thing alone before someone got killed. That’s why I didn’t show you the watch. Every
time I see it, I want to do something stupid.”
“But if we don’t figure this out, who will?”
Malcolm gently pried the watch from her fingers and slid it into his pocket. “There’s curiosity, and then there’s just asking for it. If someone wants to hide in a weird house and do crazy experiments, does it really matter?”
He took Valentine’s arm and moved toward the door.
“And what if it’s more than just experiments? Don’t you care that he might hurt people?”
“You know I care, but we’ve got no clue what his intentions are. It’s better to mind our own business.” He guided her through his door. “Night, Val.”
She rested her hand on the door, stopping him from closing it. “Mal, I . . . I really wasn’t snooping. I only came in here to—”
“Yeah, I know.” He gave a tired smile. “It’s okay.”
Relief warmed Valentine’s face, and she threw her arms around him. He returned the hug.
“I’m sorry for what I said.”
He chuckled. “I said it was okay.”
“I know.” She pulled away and wiped her eyes. “But I still needed to say it.”
After saying good night again, Malcolm shut the door and rested his back against it. The wood felt cool against his sore body. Sighing, he pulled the watch out and ran his thumb over the sparkling jewel. What purpose did that serve?
That was a dangerous question. He squashed the thought and closed his fist around the device. Though now that it was in his possession, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He and Valentine would need to figure something out. For now, though, his dominant feeling was exhaustion. He glanced down at the watch.
“I’ve got to hide you better this time.”
Chapter 12
Saturday morning found Malcolm at his desk, typing out more notes for their history project. He’d have to ignore the most interesting thing in town from now on—the old house looming across the street—but they still had to finish the assignment. Halfway through, he heard a knock.
“Yeah?”
Valentine opened his door and leaned against the doorjamb. She yawned. “It’s nine in the morning. You’re productive way too early for a Saturday.”
He grinned. “Guess I felt ambitious.”
His phone buzzed on the desk. He reached for it while Valentine dug in her pocket for hers. They each read the same text message.
Winter: Movies tonight? Your turn to host
“Wow. She hits the ground running, doesn’t she?” Malcolm said. “She was in the hospital a few days ago.”
“And she’s probably hoping to forget about that. You do want to do it, right?”
Malcolm stared down at the desk. Despite his fears, it seemed Winter and the rest were becoming real friends now. Still, he felt like running away.
“Mal,” Valentine began in her lecturing voice.
“Yeah, I know. I know.” He let out a sigh. “Okay. Just tell her yes before I change my mind.”
His sister tapped a reply and planted a quick kiss on his forehead. “You won’t regret it.”
“Yeah, right,” he said, but couldn’t hide a smile.
“You’re on the project, so I’ll ask Oma if she can drive me to the store for snacks and stuff.” Valentine crossed to her room.
“I like Swiss Cake Rolls,” he called.
“When have I ever forgotten that?”
The fear clenched inside Malcolm’s chest again. He closed his eyes and tried to will it away. Just a quiet night with friends, that’s all. Friends.
“How’s it looking?” Valentine called from the living room.
Malcolm stood back and surveyed his work. Snacks and drinks covered the wide kitchen counter. “We’ve got enough carbs to last a year, so I’d say we’re ready.”
“Perfect.” Valentine entered the kitchen with her bag slung over her shoulder. She picked at a few locks of wavy red hair, teasing them into place. “Got the first movie loaded.”
Malcolm did a double take as she set her bag on the counter. Something was different.
“Forgot I had a couple things in here, too,” she said.
A bottle of iced tea and a package of M&Ms joined the rest of the spread. She slid the bag over to the counter’s far corner, out of the way.
He squinted, examining her. She was wearing lipstick and eyeliner! That blue shirt—had he seen it before? It clung to her far too tightly.
Valentine noticed his attention. “What?”
Malcolm’s face split into a grin. “Well well, Val. I do believe that’s what they call a man-gettin’ outfit!”
A fierce blush colored her cheeks. She looked down at herself. “I’m not sure what you—”
“Val,” he interrupted. “You can stop pretending. We all know. Actually, I think we knew before you did.” His grin widened. “Good for you.”
Her face relaxed and she giggled nervously. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s so not like me.”
“Well, it’s not like he’s the usual jock type, right?” Malcolm said. “Not many like him.”
Valentine gazed into the distance, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve never met anyone like him.”
The doorbell rang and Valentine practically sprinted for the door. Malcolm made a mental note to watch closely and remember all the new things to tease her about.
A moment later, they filed in—Winter with her half-purple hair pulled down to cover the bandaged ear, Fred with a basketball jersey that seemed ironic now with his double casts. John and Valentine entered last, already deep in conversation. John’s temporary sling was gone, and he wore a black trilby hat pulled low, with thick-framed, horn-rimmed glasses.
They busied themselves piling snacks onto plates and pouring drinks for the first movie. Winter and Fred spent half the time stealing food from each other, while Valentine and John seemed content in their own conversation.
Eventually the group drifted into the living room. Valentine led the way to get the movie started, and Malcolm brought up the rear. He was surprised to see John linger until he got close.
“Thank you for hosting, Malcolm,” he said. His eyes shifted around the room. Was he nervous?
“No problem.”
John hesitated. “Will we be meeting your family?”
Realization dawned on Malcolm. What guy wouldn’t be nervous meeting a girl’s father? He smiled. “Not tonight. Dad’s on a research trip for his book, and Oma’s visiting friends. We’ve got the house to ourselves.”
Tension left John’s face. “We could use some relaxation.”
The pizza smelled like cheesy heaven. Malcolm pulled the pies from the oven and set them on the stove to cool. After the first movie, the others followed him to the kitchen to refill drinks and await the main course.
“Bein’ lazy makes me thirsty,” Fred said.
He reached across the counter to grab an unopened bottle of soda. His bandaged fingers only half-gripped the neck, and the bottle slipped from his grasp and plopped sideways onto the counter. It rolled away and knocked into Valentine’s bag, tipping it onto the floor upside down.
“My bad. I’ll get it.” He rounded the counter to the other side.
“Fred, don’t worry about that,” Valentine called from the doorway.
“No sweat, girl, I got this.”
He bent to rescue the bag while Valentine hurried into the kitchen, her face tightening.
“Fred, really, I—”
As Fred lifted the bag, its contents spilled out and scattered onto the floor.
“Figures,” he muttered, and scooped the smaller items back in. “Hey, what’s this?”
Malcolm stiffened. Fred held up a small leather book, open to the first page.
“It’s nothing,” Valentine insisted. “I’ll take it.”
Fred’s eyes lit
with mischief. “Is this a diary?” He flipped to the next page. “All your childhood secrets in here?”
Malcolm knew he was trying to make a joke, but Valentine’s expression darkened.
“Give it back.” She reached for the book, but Fred slipped away.
“Here’s a good one! We sat together today. I’m going to marry him, I know it. Aw, now that’s romantic.”
“Fred!” she cried.
“Fred, give it back to her,” Malcolm said.
He turned the page, oblivious to the mood in the room. “Ooh, now this one’s called First Kiss.”
“Boy, don’t be an idiot,” Winter said. “Give it back.”
“I feel so safe when he holds me,” Fred read.
John stepped forward. “Fred, perhaps it’s time to—”
Red-faced, Valentine stalked toward Fred with furious tears in her eyes. He stopped reading and backed away in alarm. She drove forward, backing him into a corner until he bumped against the wall.
“Hey, I was just—”
Valentine yanked the book from Fred’s grasp and smacked him hard across the face. She whirled and fled the kitchen. Malcolm heard footsteps as she disappeared up the stairs.
Fred massaged his red cheek. “I was just playin’. Thought it was old. How am I s’posed to know she still writes in it?”
Malcolm rubbed his eyes and sighed. He suddenly felt exhausted. “She doesn’t write in it. It’s not hers.”
“Then why she so upset?”
“Shut up, Fred, or I’ll hit you with my stun gun,” Winter snapped. She turned to Malcolm. “Whose is it?”
“It’s our mother’s journal, from when she was young.”
“Oh,” Fred said. Then his eyes widened as he realized he’d never seen or heard a word about their mother. “Oh! Man, I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot! Was she, like . . . I mean, did she walk out on you guys or something?”
Malcolm felt crushed by a wave of anguish. He forced himself to look at Fred and say the words.
“She died last year.”
Stunned silence fell over the room. John turned and left the kitchen, and a moment later Malcolm heard his footsteps on the stairs.