Superposition

by David Walton

  After dinner, there were presents. Alessandra picked up a blue-striped box and started tugging at the bow, but I waved her down. “Open that one last,” I said.

  They took turns opening the other presents: a pair of necklaces from Claire, tickets to a Phillies game from Colin, and a beautiful pair of hand-carved, Romanian crosses from Marek. Finally, I handed them the blue-striped package.

  They tore off the wrapping together and shrieked as they saw the familiar Google letters with the outline of an apple in place of the red o. They knew what it was before they even opened it.

  The box was much larger than the actual gift, stuffed as it was with cushioning bubbles and elaborate, decorative packaging. Inside were two new pairs of eyejack lenses, complete with Google Apple’s new stereo technology. This allowed a pair of viewers to record viewfeeds of the same event from different angles, and the software would stitch the feeds together into a three-dimensional immersion view. Alex and Alessandra threw the directions out with the wrapping paper, but they soon had their new toys up and running.

  Elena and I watched as the two of them circled Claire, recording her as she tickled Sean to the point of tears.

  “Hey, don’t make him wet his pants,” Elena called.

  I put my arm around her and touched my head to hers. “It’s a great family you have there,” I said.

  “I always knew she needed a friend,” Elena said. “It’s perfect, really, how it turned out.” Her forehead creased as she said this, and I knew the statement was intended to convince herself as much as me. She was remembering the horror, and worrying how it would affect our kids’ lives.

  Alessandra distracted Marek while Alex slipped in and stole his second slice of chocolate cake. They put bites in each other’s mouths and slapped hands in a high five. I knew all of the footage they were taking was being simultaneously posted on their joint viewfeed site, which was growing rapidly in popularity, given both the general interest in Alex’s recovery from her injuries and the uniqueness of Lifer twins.

  “They’ll be fine,” I said, giving Elena another squeeze.

  Later that evening, when our guests were gone and the kids were finally settled in their rooms, Elena and I sat up in bed, holding hands and talking.

  “It’s still hard for me to put it out of my mind,” she confessed. “You were exonerated months ago now, but I still keep expecting the police to show up at our door and drag you away.”

  “The judge’s dismissal was final,” I said. It had been a grueling private hearing, lasting hours, but Officer Peyton had finally convinced Judge Roswell that the police no longer considered me guilty of the crime and had arrested someone else instead. He told her that, in light of the arrest of Jean Massey, the police were ready to drop all charges against me. Considering how seldom the police admitted to a mistake of that magnitude, the judge listened carefully and ultimately dismissed the case. The jury, which had reached the end of its deliberations with a verdict, had been sent home without the opportunity to deliver it.

  “I know,” Elena said. “But the whole thing was so unexpected to begin with. I still dream of the varcolac and that empty face with no eyes. I know you say it won’t be back, but you can’t possibly be as certain of that as you try to appear around me.”

  “I don’t believe it can get back on its own,” I said. “And Brian and Jean’s research has been destroyed. But the fact that it’s possible means that, yes, some other quantum researcher at some other time could unwittingly open that door again.” I squeezed her hand. “In the meantime, we have four beautiful and healthy children.”

  “Not quite healthy,” Elena said.

  “Getting healthier all the time.” I laughed. “And there are four of them! Who would ever have thought it.”

  This coaxed a smile from her. “They are perfect together, aren’t they? Did you see how they ran Marek in circles?”

  Our laughter was cut short by the ringing of the phone. It was past ten o’clock. I could see Elena stiffen again. She looked at the screen. “It’s Terry Sheppard,” she said, the worry back in her voice.

  I frowned and took the call. “Hey, Terry,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “Jacob, I have someone here who wants to talk to you,” Terry said.

  There was a rustle as the phone changed hands.

  “Mr. Kelley?”

  I didn’t recognize the voice. “Yes? Who is this?”

  “My name is Anna Majors.”

  “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  “I was juror number six.”

  Elena must have seen the look on my face, because she gave me a concerned look and mouthed, “Who is it?”

  “Hello?” said the voice on the phone.

  “Yes, I’m still here,” I said. “What can I do for you, Ms. Majors?”

  “I’ve been watching the news. I saw how that woman, Jean Massey, was convicted of Mr. Vanderhall’s murder.”

  “Yes,” I said warily. “Ma’am, I can assure you that the verdict was the right one.” I had been a significant witness in the case, of course, and Jean’s conviction finally closed the door on that whole affair. If I never walked into a Philadelphia courthouse again in my life, I would die a happy man.

  “I don’t doubt the verdict,” Anna Majors said. “I just thought you might like to know our verdict, the one we were never allowed to read. We found you not guilty.”

  “Seriously? I thought for sure . . .”

  “Yes, I’m serious. At the time, I thought you might very well have committed the murder—I apologize—but as a group, we felt that the story and evidence just wasn’t clear enough to prove it. Not everyone agreed, at first, and it took a lot of argument, but that’s what we all came to. Now, since they’ve caught the real murderer, I know you didn’t do it, and I’m glad we came to that conclusion, even though it didn’t count for anything. Anyway, I thought you might like to know.”

  I knew I was grinning, and Elena was giving me more and more curious looks. “Thank you very much, Ms. Majors. I do very much appreciate that you called. It’s very good to know.”

  I clicked off. “What was that?” Elena asked.

  I explained what Anna Majors had said, unable to keep from smiling. It didn’t really matter in any practical way, but somehow knowing that, even with the limited information they had, a group of my peers had found me innocent gave me a great sense of peace. “It’s the perfect ending to a perfect day,” I said.

  Elena grinned slyly at me. The tension was gone from her body. She crossed her arms in front of her and gently took a hold of the bottom of her T-shirt, twitching the ends up slightly. “Really?” she said. “The perfect ending?”

  My smile grew even bigger. “Maybe not quite perfect yet,” I said.

  Then we stopped talking for a while.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A great thanks to Eleanor Wood for loving this book and finding it a home. To Lou Anders, for making me so much a part of its production, and all the great people at Pyr and Prometheus for their enthusiasm and loving attention to this story. To the many people who read early drafts and pointed out its flaws: Mike Shultz, David Cantine, Chad and Jill Wilson, Mike Yeager, Roger Savage, Joe Reed, and Bob Walton. And to Karen, Ruth, Miriam, Naomi, Caleb, Lydia, Magdalen, and Silas, for making my life a delight.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  David Walton is the father of seven children, none of whom sprang into being via quan­tum superposition. He lives a double life as a Lockheed Martin engineer with a top secret government security clearance, which means he’s not allowed to tell you about the Higgs projector he’s developing. (Don’t worry, he’s very careful.) He’s also the author of the Quintessence trilogy and the award-winning novel Terminal Mind. He would love to hear from you at davidwaltonfiction@gmail.com.

 

 

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