The Edge of Forever

by Melissa E. Hurst

  The Purists cast disgusted glances at me. Probably because I’m in my Academy uniform. I should have worn regular clothes, but I need the cloaking device when I get to 2013. If I could’ve gotten my hands on a Jewel of Illusion, or Jewill, I wouldn’t need my uniform. Those were cloaking devices implanted in jewelry. The government outlawed them soon after they were introduced to the general population. They claimed Jewills encouraged criminal behavior.

  “Abomination,” someone says from behind me. I whirl around, but whoever said it doesn’t confront me. Figures. Purists like to snarl and protest in large groups. Individually, they’re cowards. They know anyone who’s been modified can kick their ass.

  It takes another half hour to catch a shuttle to Willow Creek. I was surprised to learn the ghost’s house is still intact. It was a bed-and-breakfast in her time. Now it’s a museum run by a historical society. And not even a good one. It’s Purist controlled, meaning they give tours and lectures. No virtual sims of what life was like there in the past that would make the experience a million times better. Like I said, the Purists are a bunch of idiots.

  I stand in front of the museum for a few moments. It’s three stories tall, with wide, white columns along the front porch. It looks good for being so old. I guess the Purists cared enough to keep it in pristine shape.

  A stone path cuts around both sides of the house. I take the one on the left that follows a narrow driveway. A group of tourists are standing on the rear porch listening to a lecture given by a pudgy, balding man. I don’t understand how they’re staying awake.

  My DataLink chimes. It’s Zed. What could he want already? I accept the comm and immediately know something is wrong. Zed’s face is pinched in worry.

  “Dude, your mom knows,” he says in a rush. “She commed us and we told her you accidentally busted your DataLink. But she didn’t believe it when we said you had gone to set up some fishing lines.”

  I close my eyes for a second and swear under my breath. “What did she do then?”

  Zed takes a deep breath and then says, “It’s not good. She sent one of her space-bending buddies over to check on you.”

  A dull ache starts to throb at back of my head. I can’t believe it. Why does she always have to ruin everything?

  “Then she blabbed to our folks that we’re covering for you. They’re seriously pissed. We have to be back in New Denver within the hour.”

  “Did you tell her where I went?”

  Zed shakes his head. “We said you wouldn’t tell us. But what if she gets a Mind Bender to question us?”

  I want to die. I haven’t experienced a mind probe, but I’ve heard it’s like someone sticking knives in your skull. I didn’t want something like this to happen. The only good thing is that I never told Zed and Elijah my target year.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. I start to speak again, but freeze when three Space Benders materialize by the woods behind the museum. They’re dressed in dark gray uniforms, meaning they’re military. My mouth goes dry. Why the hell would military get involved? Immediately they spot me and start running.

  You’re supposed to find an isolated place to shift so you won’t appear in the same space as a person or object, but I don’t have time to do that. The Space Benders are pointing stunners in my direction. I’ve got to shift now.

  Shaking, I close my eyes and repeat July 4, 2013. July 4, 2013. July 4, 2013. I hold my breath.

  Then there’s nothing but the Void. No light, no sound, no air.

  My lungs are going to burst.

  I open my eyes to blackness.

  I’ve never shifted this far back in time, much less without a Chronoband. I must have done something wrong. I’m going to die. I fight the urge to breathe.

  Suddenly there’s bright sunlight and oxygen. I gasp and suck in a lungful of air. Smells swirl around me—freshly cut grass and something floral. And there’s a weird sound, like a mechanical sputtering, followed by the crunch of gravel. I look to my right. An old-style auto is a few feet away from me.

  It’s heading in my direction.

  14

  BRIDGER

  APRIL 10, 2013

  Brakes screech as I dive out of the auto’s way. Pain shoots through my left side as I slam into the ground.

  The engine shuts off. Then I hear a woman screaming, “Oh my God!”

  Footsteps thud around the truck. I look down. Holy fure, I’m still visible. This can’t be happening. I shrug off my portacase and roll on my back. A searing fire flares in my left knee. I hold still and wait for the pain to pass.

  The ghost, a woman with curly light brown hair, kneels by me. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth. I have to get away from her before I contaminate the timeline. Talking to ghosts is forbidden.

  “Are you sure?” She leans closer to peer at my face. “Do you think you broke anything?”

  I shake my head no. I try to sit up, but the pain in my knee stops me. I lie back down and blow out a few puffs of air.

  The woman searches through her pockets, muttering to herself.

  Another voice calls out from somewhere behind the woman. “What happened?” It’s a soft voice with traces of fear in it.

  The woman glances over her shoulder. “I need you to call 9-1-1.”

  No way, I can’t let her involve more people. “Please don’t. I’m feeling better. I just need to rest for a minute.”

  What I need to do is try to walk and assess the damage to my knee. If it’s not too bad, it will heal within a few hours. Thanks to all those genetic modifications the Purists hate so much. I start to sit up yet again, but I stop when I see who the woman was talking to. My mouth falls open. I must look as brainless as a Null, but I can’t help it.

  It’s the ghost Dad wanted to save—Alora. And she looks so much like Vika that I can’t breathe.

  “Are you sure you’re all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the woman says, her eyebrows knitted together.

  You have no idea, I want to say.

  “I think you should see a doctor.”

  “No, really, I’m fine,” I say, trying to ignore the cold clamminess of my skin. “Just let me walk it off.”

  She bites her lip and stands. “I don’t know.”

  “Aunt Grace, what happened?” Alora asks in a firmer tone.

  The woman, Grace, looks at Alora. “I was backing up and almost ran over him. I swear I didn’t see him. It’s like he came out of nowhere.”

  I let out a snort. Not so smart, but I can’t help it. She’s right and doesn’t even realize it.

  “So do I need to call 9-1-1 or not?” Alora holds up her phone. I gape at it, fascinated. I couldn’t imagine having to carry around something like that. DataLinks are way more efficient.

  “No,” I answer before Grace can. I extend my right hand in their direction. “Could one of you help me?” They stare at me like I’ve grown a third eye, so I add, “Please.”

  Grace sighs and grasps my hand. My knee throbs as she pulls me into a standing position. I sway a bit but force myself to stay up. Getting on my feet is the best thing I can do. I turn away from Grace and Alora and take a tentative step. The pain is still sharp. I take a few more steps and stumble. I wish they weren’t watching me. I wish they couldn’t see me at all.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you need to get off your feet,” Grace says, now standing next to me. Her eyes flick to Alora. “Help me get him inside.”

  “Really, that’s not necessary,” I say as Grace gently takes hold of my left arm. Alora picks up my portacase before grasping my other arm. My first impulse is to shake them off, but Grace is giving me a look that says she won’t take no for an answer.

  Alora rolls her eyes and shakes her head. I stare at her, unable to look away. Her face is rounder, and her eyes are a lighter shade of blue, but the resemblance to Vika is unmistakable.

  “You hush now,” Grace says to me. “I almost killed you
, so the least you can let me do is look after you for a bit.”

  The back porch stairs creak as we climb them. I hate to admit it, but I’m glad they’re helping. Hobbling up those few stairs makes my knee hurt even more.

  They escort me to a room at the front of the house made to replicate something from the late nineteenth century. I groan in relief as Grace helps me stretch out my legs on the couch and orders me to lean forward. She places a pillow behind my back.

  Alora stands a few steps away, watching me. I smile at her, and she quickly looks away. That’s definitely different from Vika—she would always stare me down. Even if I caught her looking at me first.

  “There, how’s that?” Grace asks once she’s finished fussing over me.

  “Good,” I say.

  “Does your knee still hurt?”

  “No, it’s fine as long as I don’t move it.”

  “That’s good.” Grace clasps her hands together. “I bet you’re thirsty. Do you like sweet tea?” I have no idea—I’ve never tried it. Before I can reply, she says, “I’ll get some for all of us. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

  Grace sweeps out of the room, leaving me alone with Alora. Alora’s mouth parts slightly as she glances at the doorway. It’s like she would rather do anything than stay in here with me.

  Then she looks down at my portacase clutched in her hands. “I guess you need this,” she says, setting it next to me.

  “Yes. Thanks for bringing it in.”

  “No problem.” She retreats to the other side of small table in front of the couch and sits in a green chair. “So, what’s your name?”

  “Bridger.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Alora Walker and the crazy lady is Grace Evans, my aunt.”

  I nod like I don’t already know this. I shouldn’t say anything, but I don’t want to act like an ungrateful jerk. Alora and Grace are trying to be friendly. I should show them the same courtesy, even though I really shouldn’t even be talking to them. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

  We’re both silent for a moment, checking each other out. Then Alora asks, “Where are you from?”

  I close my eyes. I should have known she would ask something like that. And I have to give her an answer. I guess it’s better to stick close to the truth. “Denver.”

  Alora leans forward. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “Go where?” Grace asks as she breezes back in the room. She’s carrying a silver tray with three tall glasses of tea. She places the tray on the table and hands a glass to Alora and me before sitting in a chair by Alora.

  “Denver,” Alora says, turning to Grace. “That’s where Bridger is from.”

  “Oh, how lovely.” Grace takes a sip of her tea and grins. “And what brings you to Willow Creek, Bridger?”

  I twist the cold glass in my hand and stare at it. Why do women always want to know every little detail about everything? It doesn’t matter what time you’re in, they’re all the same. I glance up and find Alora and Grace both waiting for my answer. “Um, I’m here . . .” What can I say? Then the answer pops in my mind. “I’m here because I’m looking for my father. He’s missing.”

  “Oh my goodness, what happened?” Grace asks.

  “He disappeared a few months ago.”

  “Why do you think he’s here?” Alora asks.

  Damn. It’s like I’m having an inquiry hearing. “I found a message someone sent to him. It indicated that he might be here, so I thought I’d see for myself.”

  Grace makes a tsk-ing sound and sets her tea on the table. “That’s awful. I really hope you find him soon.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “So I take it you’re here because you want to rent a room?” Grace asks.

  I almost blurt out no. But it would seem weird for me to show up at a bed-and-breakfast and not want to rent a room. But I can’t stay. I clear my throat and say, “Well, I was going to see if you had anything available, but—”

  “But nothing. You’re staying.”

  I knew from the start that shifting to the correct date would be difficult. I brought a few changes of clothing, some Calmer, and the cash Dad left. That was supposed to be for things I might need since I’d planned to camp in the woods if I had to wait a few days. Staying at the inn was never part of the plan. Interacting with ghosts was never part of the plan. But bumming my knee was never part of the plan either. It’ll heal quickly if there is no major damage, but spending the night in the forest might be too difficult.

  “Maybe for one night,” I find myself saying even though I know I shouldn’t. I reach for my portacase. “How much will it cost?”

  Grace waves a hand at me. “Not a dime. I almost killed you, remember? It’s the least I can do.”

  Alora lets out a strangled sound. I guess she doesn’t like the idea any more than I do. But at least I’ll get to keep a closer eye on her tonight. Maybe I’ll get an idea of what’s so special about her and figure out who’s supposed to kill her.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” Grace asks.

  “Yes, ma’am. I choked, that’s all.” She fidgets with the glass before setting it on the table.

  Grace checks her watch. “Oh crap, the post office is gonna close soon.” She stands and looks at me. “That’s where I was fixing to go when I almost ran over you. Alora, keep him company, will you? I’ll be back in a flash.”

  After Grace is gone, Alora pulls out her phone again. She chews on her lower lip as she taps something on the screen. I find myself staring at her mouth.

  What the hell, Bridger. Stop that, she’s a ghost!

  Alora slides the phone back in her pocket with a groan and stands.

  “Anything wrong?” I ask. I know it’s none of my business, but she doesn’t look happy. Her face is scrunched up like she’s either pissed or upset or both.

  “It’s nothing. My friend is mad because I left her and . . .” She shakes her head. “You don’t want to hear my drama. You’ve got enough to deal with.”

  “No, I don’t mind. It’s not like I can go anywhere right now.” I incline my head toward my hurt knee.

  “True,” she replies. “But I’ve got homework I need to do.” She glances toward the doorway. “Just holler if you need anything.”

  I want to tell Alora to stay. But that might wild her out, coming from a stranger. “Okay. And thank you.” She starts toward the door, but another thought occurs to me. “Hey, what’s the date? I can’t remember exactly.”

  “April tenth.”

  It’s like time stops. I blink a few times. Did I hear her right? April tenth? No, that can’t be right. It can’t. I can’t be three months before her death date.

  My stomach tightens, but I force a smile and thank her again. Then I flop my head back against the pillow as soon as she leaves. This is the worst. I could try to shift right now, but that would be idiotic with a hurt knee. I have to wait a little longer. Then I run the risk of not hitting the right date again. Or worse, I could revert back to my home time and have to face the Space Benders that the DTA will undoubtedly have stationed at this location. If I had a Chronoband, I wouldn’t have to worry about that.

  I don’t have a choice. I have to stay here, at least one night. I just hope I don’t contaminate the timeline.

  No matter what I do, I’m screwed.

  15

  ALORA

  APRIL 10, 2013

  As I climb the stairs, I glance back at the doorway to the front parlor. A small part of me wants to stay with Bridger like Aunt Grace asked. What if he needs something and I don’t hear him calling? That would be bad, especially since Aunt Grace did almost run over him. Then there’s the fact that he’s really cute. I could stare at his dimples for hours.

  I shake my head. Jeez, what am I thinking? The last thing I need to do is go mooning over a new guy. I mean, he doesn’t even live here. He might stay a few days, and then he’ll be gone. Besides, you can’t trust good-looking guys. Look where that got me with Trevor. I can
’t believe I fell for his line about wanting to help me study. I might as well have the word idiot stamped on my forehead.

  I stop in front of Aunt Grace’s door, my fingers hovering over the handle. This is it. She’ll be gone for twenty minutes or so—plenty of time to search the bottom drawer. But the moment I’m inside, my heart begins to thud furiously. “Get a grip,” I mutter.

  My legs can’t carry me fast enough to the dresser. The drawer creaks as I open it. And for the second time today, I get that punched-in-the-gut feeling.

  It’s empty.

  I should’ve known Aunt Grace would move everything. She doesn’t trust me. Well, I’ve got news for her. I’m not about to quit. This proves she has information that could help me. I close my eyes. Where would she have moved the stuff? If she took the time to get those old letters and pictures out of here, she definitely wouldn’t put them somewhere else in her room. And the guest rooms are definitely out.

  Which leaves the attic.

  I open my eyes and groan. Just freaking great. Aunt Grace always keeps the door to the attic locked. She says nobody at the inn has any business up there, including me. And the key to unlock the door is on her keychain.

  I need something to pick the lock. Something like one of Aunt Grace’s bobby pins. I cross to the mirrored dresser that doubles as Aunt Grace’s vanity. There’s a small wicker basket full of colorful ponytail holders next to her hair brush. I rummage through it, hoping a bobby pin is on the bottom, and nearly shout yes when my fingers close around one.

  I fly out of Aunt Grace’s room and down the hallway, stopping three doors to the left, and insert the bobby pin in the handle. I move the pin around gently, but the lock won’t open. I grind my teeth together and try again and again. Nothing happens.

  Finally after what seems like an eternity, I hear a tiny click and breathe a sigh of relief. The door creaks as I open it. I glance around to make sure I’m still alone before stepping across the threshold, stopping only to shut the door.