Parallelogram Omnibus Edition

by Brande, Robin

  Tell her I couldn’t find any of that again tonight. Describe the different scenes I saw instead.

  “What do you think that means?” Halli asks.

  “I don’t know. Except I think it all has to be your choice. I don’t get to come in here and say, ‘Hey, pick this future, I like this one best.’ You get to decide where you go from here.”

  “But in the future you saw last night,” Halli says, “you were there, too.”

  “A bilocated version of me, yes.”

  “And you’re not in the other future you saw tonight?”

  “Not so far.”

  Halli stops walking and turns to me. “Let’s just say that’s the future now. We’re both stuck with it. What would happen to you back in my life?”

  I let out a breath. “Well, it’s interesting. I think I’ve at least changed enough that I’m not going to end up dying in the hospital from some sort of brain eruption. I’ve been busy the last few days. I’ve made quite a few changes in the life of Halli Markham.”

  I fill her in on all of it: the lie about going to Oxford, my interactions with her parents, the research I’ve been doing with Sarah and Daniel, the whole situation with Jake, the hiring of my first employee.

  And finally the offer to become an investor in Francie and Sam’s history studio.

  I feel a little weird telling her about that one. It’s her money, after all. Maybe she won’t like me spending it however I want.

  But Halli loves it. “That must have made my parents crazy.”

  I smile. “Pretty close.”

  “How much did you invest?”

  “I haven’t done any of it yet. We’re still underage, so it’s going to have to go through your trustee, Monsieur Bern—”

  Halli scoffs. “Him? I wouldn’t trust him with one icie of mine, let alone millions. I’ve handled him before, I’ll handle him again. It’s only a few more months. Then I’ll spend my money however I want.

  “Besides,” she says, “I think Ginny would get a kick out of that. After all those years of the two of us being filmed wherever we went, to instead be a part owner of one of those companies? I think she’d love it. Especially if it’s History 14. They’ve done some of the most amazing stories—Ginny and I always loved to watch them together. It was a great idea, Audie. Thank you. That sounds like a lot of fun.”

  I realize the two of us have been standing here talking as if we’ve already switched places. As if Halli is about to step in and take over her life from where I left off. As if it’s already a done deal.

  But right now it’s all just wishful thinking.

  And her comment about History 14 reminds me that I have something else to tell her—something that she’s going to wonder why I didn’t tell her the second I saw her. It’s just that there’s been so much else going on in my mind every minute since I got here, it’s hard to remember which to talk about first.

  “Halli, there’s something else.”

  I start slowly. Explain it the way Professor Lacksmith described it to Daniel: that all the parallel versions of us are connected to the same Mother Root, and we can find all the other ones if we just explore down the line.

  And then I tell her what Dr. Venn said this morning: that once we find that connection, we can even go further, beyond our own parallel, and see what happens in the future even after that version of us is gone.

  “I did that,” I say. “I found one of the versions of us who died, and I kept going to see what happened next.”

  “Who was it?” Halli asks.

  “You.”

  I tell her what I saw. Everything about her death. All the way up to seeing her body laid out on a bed, with Ginny grieving nearby.

  “Then I followed Ginny forward,” I say. “And I found her.”

  “You what?”

  “I sat with her. I talked to her. She told me how she saved your life.”

  “But … wait a minute,” Halli says. She’s breathing harder now, clearly under stress. “You saw her? But … how? And what do you mean she saved me? You just said I died.”

  “You did,” I say, “in her world. But you lived in the one where I met you. Ginny sacrificed herself so you could live. She took in the poison, drew it out of you. But she never knew that it worked. She always thought it must have failed—I mean she saw you, dead. So for the past year she’s been living all alone in that same house where you were, just as sad and lonely as you’ve been without her. And then one day I just showed up out of the blue, and she practically lost it. She thought for sure I was you.”

  Halli covers her face with her hands. The shock has finally set in. She’s quietly crying now and murmuring, “No, no, no … I can’t believe this.”

  “Halli, she was really happy. I can’t tell you how happy she is. To know that you’re alive? And I told her I’d tell you I found her. That … maybe I’d even try to bring you to her one day—”

  Halli’s hand flashes out and grips my arm—hard. She’s so quick and fierce I yelp in surprise.

  “You have to take me to her,” Halli says. “Can you do it right now? What do I have to do?”

  “It’s not that simple,” I tell her. “I’m just learning. I only just started this yesterday. You have to give me a little more time—”

  “Audie, please.” Tears spring from her eyes again. “Please. If I’ve ever asked you for anything before, I’m sorry. Because this is all I’ll ever want from you for the rest of my life. Please take me to her. I want to talk to her. I want to see her again. Please!”

  I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen Halli this emotional before—this raw. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen her cry. She’s usually so tough, so stoic, but this pain is obviously as deep for her as it was for Ginny. Of course I want to help them however I can.

  And I tell Halli that. “But you have to be patient. I’m not sure how all of this works yet.”

  “But you’ve come here twice now,” Halli says. “You know how. Isn’t there some way we can just trade places now? And then you can tell me how to find Ginny from there?”

  “I need to sit down.” I sink onto the nearest curb. Then I cross my arms over my knees and let my head rest there. This is all too much. I need to think. And think fast.

  I can see the faint light of dawn on the horizon. My time must be running out.

  I think about telling her what Professor Whitfield said—that I can come back into my old body, but Halli can’t switch into mine because she was never in it to begin with, so it won’t recognize her. That she has no place to go.

  But as I sit here in the waning darkness beside the body that used to be mine, I wonder if Professor Whitfield might have been wrong.

  Because even though Dr. Venn split into two different versions when he signed the Manhattan Pact, the original Edgar Venn was never in that second body. The new Dr. Venn just went forward in a new universe, continuing with his own different life.

  Yet when that second Dr. Venn died, the original Edgar Venn saw his opportunity. He was able to move right in.

  So why can’t that work for us?

  “Coming back now …”

  “Halli, I have to go.”

  “Why? Not yet!”

  “Feeling refreshed …”

  “I’ll come back.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as I can. Today—”

  “… now you open your eyes.”

  I blink in the blackness behind the goggles. Soon light filters into my eyes.

  Then I feel the strong arms of my boyfriend as he helps me out of the machine.

  Then, much to my surprise, I start crying.

  “Audie? What is it?”

  I can’t tell him. Not yet. I’ll pretend I’m just hungry. Or tired. Or something else having to do with the machine.

  I’m not ready to tell him yet that if I’m right about everything, this might be our last day together.

  Instead I wipe away my tears and kiss him. “I need food. Then I’ll
tell you what I saw.”

  I won’t be like Halli. I won’t leave without saying goodbye. I can’t do that to Daniel, or to me.

  “Did you see your future again?” Daniel asks me.

  I don’t know how to answer that. Because the future I’m looking at right now is one I haven’t made yet. I don’t know how it will turn out.

  “I saw other possibilities,” I tell him, and that much is true. But I won’t add the rest:

  Possibilities where Audie Masters is a girl adventurer who’s probably never read a physics book in her life. Wouldn’t know there are parallel universes, wouldn’t know how to find them.

  Which also means she’d never meet and fall in love with a guy named Daniel Everett. None of this history would ever happen.

  “We need to get back to the hospital,” I tell Daniel. “I need to ask Dr. Venn some questions.”

  “About the materials for the machine,” he says.

  “Right.” And something else equally important.

  I’m leaving today if I can.

  Dr. Venn can tell me how.

  It’s time Halli took this life back.

  Even if it means I’ll have to give it up.

  61

  I think I finally understand math.

  The numbers have always intimidated me. There’s a right answer or there’s a wrong one. A teacher writes some numbers on the board or corrects them on your test, and you see right there whether you understand the proofs and the problems or you don’t.

  And I never have. Before now.

  But now I see that math is just a series of steps. Small, logical steps. You take them one by one and don’t worry about the outcome as you go. The answer will come. It might surprise you, it might not be at all what you expected, but you know that it will be right. Because you didn’t skip anything. You started at the beginning and you followed it through. You never gave up until the answer was finally there. The equation is complete. Then you can stand back and look at it as a whole and think, Yes, I know that’s right.

  On the ride back to the hospital, I’m already starting to see all the pieces. The equation is falling into place: Dr. Sands dying in the machine. Where did he go? Does it really matter? The point is he journeyed somewhere else and either forgot or decided never to come back.

  The Dr. Venn in London invaded another person’s mind, and he died, too.

  Creating an opening for a very lonely man who wanted to live out the rest of his years with a wife and family he no longer had.

  I understand the steps for me. If I’m going to have any hope at all of moving back into my old body, Halli is going to have to leave it first. I can’t take over while she’s still in there, or my body will reject me. I’ll be right back where I was last time.

  And it’s the same for Halli and this body: I have to leave before she gets here.

  So how can we make that happen? How do I make sure we both have a body to come home to?

  It’s the entanglement. It has to be. The question is how to use it.

  I remember what we both looked like, those wave forms of us, on the screen in Professor Whitfield’s lab. He had Albert draw an outline around the two separate blobs of light that were Halli and me. She was there in the room with me, even though her body had never been there before. And even though my body was away at that moment visiting her in her own universe. Somehow the two of us were still together in that most basic, quantum way.

  And that’s why I think this could work.

  Wilkinson drops us off, and Daniel and Red and I return to Dr. Venn’s room. Madeline isn’t standing guard at the moment, but Elinor is inside. She sees us and holds her finger up to her lips. Even though without his earphones and amplifier, Dr. Venn wouldn’t hear us unless we shouted.

  “How is he?” I ask.

  “Sleeping,” Elinor says. “I’m afraid he’s declined since this morning.”

  Red hops up to resume his rightful place. Dr. Venn opens his drowsy eyes. He gives the dog a brief pat, focuses on Daniel and me and smiles, then closes his eyes again.

  That’s no good.

  “He told us to come back this afternoon,” I tell Elinor. “He wanted to tell us some things. When do you think he might be awake?”

  “Not for a few hours, I hope. They’ve given him something to settle his chest. The coughs had become quite violent.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I bite the edge of my lip. I look at Daniel, but all he has to offer is a shrug. I guess we’ll have to come back later.

  Elinor reaches into the purse at her side and pulls out a brown rectangular envelope. “He wrote you this,” she says, handing it to me. “Or more accurately, I wrote it. My father dictated. I believe that’s why he’s so exhausted right now.”

  I pull out a set of folded papers. The first two pages include a long list of materials and an even longer set of instructions. After that, there’s a letter.

  “I hope that provides you what you need,” Elinor says. “He was most concerned to help you.”

  I quickly scan through the letter. Then back up and read it more carefully. Then finally I hand it to Daniel. We can talk about it later. Right now I need to pay attention to someone else.

  I gaze at the old man lying peacefully in the bed. I don’t know if he’s right, what he said before: that the reason he got to live so long was so he could meet me.

  But I know I’m incredibly grateful that he did. Otherwise I might never know how to go back.

  I tell Elinor thank you, then reach over to squeeze Dr. Venn’s hand. I don’t know if he can feel it, but it’s all I can think to do. I’d like to see him again some day, but I don’t know if I ever will. “Will you tell him I said thank you?” I ask Elinor. “From the bottom of my heart?”

  “Of course I will, my dear.”

  I clutch the envelope tightly as the three of us walk back through the hospital, out to the car. What I hold is a gift. It means I’ll be able to build a machine in my world. Which means, I hope, that I’ll be able to come back and visit here. Bilocate just like Edgar Venn did. Any time he wanted.

  “Where to now, Miss?” Wilkinson asks me.

  “Back to the college,” I say. “But first, can you find me another cash machine?”

  “Au—” Daniel catches himself. “Halli, you don’t have to do that.”

  “I’ll tell you later,” I whisper to Daniel. Because the money isn’t just for him.

  I have an employee now, and I’d like to give him a bonus. If Halli becomes his employer by later today, she can pay him from that point on. But he’s been a good driver for me—loyal and kind. And it would make me feel good to reward that.

  I’d also like to hand Daniel one more heap of cash. Tell him it’s for the party. Tell him it’s for the studio. Tell him he can’t say no.

  As the car starts up, I shift even closer to Daniel and he wraps his arm around my shoulders.

  “I love you,” I tell him, and he says it back, and that’s all I wanted to hear.

  Then I open Dr. Venn’s letter again. And read what he wanted to say.

  62

  Dear Audie,

  Thank you.

  A teacher’s worth is measured by how much he can give to his students, and for years I’ve given very little. I learned from Edgar’s experience to keep silent. Because of his other accomplishments in science, he expected his colleagues to be respectful, if not enthusiastic, about his other discoveries. Instead he was met with doubt at best, but more often ridicule. It changed him in ways I did not want to change. So I kept my discoveries to myself.

  But now I can tell you what I’ve learned: that a rising tide lifts all boats. Edgar and I visited countless other men and women tied to the same threads that we were. What we saw was that when one triumphed, we all did. When one despaired, we all did. Haven’t you ever felt suddenly sad or happy for no apparent reason? It’s a ripple down the cord. Somewhere, one of you is learning something all of you will benefit from knowing. It might be a hard lesson or a joyful
one. But what each of us does matters to all.

  Never doubt that one life, your life, is precious. What you think about is important. What you feel is vital. The shy, homebound widow is as essential as the great politician or famous humanitarian who seems to make such a difference in the world. We all matter. We are all learning. And what we learn, we add to the whole. You have seen that for yourself.

  You told me you feel different now. Bolder. Stronger. I told you it’s because there are strands of Halli in you. That is true, but only in part.

  The greater truth is that you are awake to your life. You pay attention. You think and feel and act. You love, you fear, you search. You try. That is all anyone ever needs to do. What Edgar and I found was that each and every one of us is here on purpose. Our purpose is to be exactly and only the person we are. Our individual experience is what we have to offer to the whole. Then when one of us learns kindness, we all learn. When one of us learns courage, we’re all a little braver. Do you see what I mean? Every life is important. We are all like explorers sent out into the world to bring back great discoveries of what it means to be this type of human or that.

  You and I have taken it further than most by actually inhabiting another’s life. I have been immensely happy with my choice. I love my family more than any accomplishment or possession or anything else in any world. I know that is also why you want to go home.

  Here is the secret: defocus. Let go of the form. Allow yourself to move beyond molecules and return to pure energy. Completely abandon ship.

  It isn’t death. Edgar didn’t die. He lost the boundaries of his form. One day soon I will, too. Then I’ll return to the whole and send out new explorers, some of whom will contain strands of me. If I ever see you again, we can talk about this further. But I’m growing tired.

  Set the machine for one hour. Then let go. You’ll know what it is when you feel it. You won’t be afraid.

  Thank you, Audie, for the gift of allowing me to be a teacher again. It has been an honor to meet such a brave and intelligent girl. I know you will do great and wonderful things with your life. You already have, simply by living as you are every single day.