The Edge of Forever

by Melissa E. Hurst

  It’s General Anderson.

  He fixes me in a stony stare, only looking away when he reaches us. “Excellent job, Lieutenant,” he says to the Space Bender.

  “Thank you, sir,” she chirps.

  “You are dismissed. Report back to headquarters immediately.”

  “Yes, sir,” she says moments before vanishing.

  General Anderson’s gaze falls on the DTA official next. “You’re also dismissed. Please assist with the memory erasure of anyone who witnessed Mr. Creed’s appearance earlier.”

  The official gives a curt nod and stiffly walks toward the museum.

  General Anderson’s eyes swing back to me. Seconds stretch into eternity before he says, “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “Probably not. He should have known better than to come out here and stick his nose in something that doesn’t concern him.” Another familiar voice floats from somewhere behind General Anderson. A low groan escapes me before I can stifle it. It’s Professor March. This day keeps getting better and better. If my mother comes out next, I’m going to ask them to go ahead and shoot me. Professor March stops next to General Anderson. “Care to tell us what kind of havoc you’ve created?”

  Despite being in this mess, I’m relieved. I didn’t do any permanent damage in 2013 if he’s asking me that. But from the looks of those two huge soldiers standing by General Anderson’s shuttle, I’ve stirred up something big. I decide to play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

  “Right. So you lied to your mother for no reason and come all the way to Georgia for fun? Try again,” Professor March says, folding his arms over his chest.

  The way Professor March looks makes me pause. He cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows. What is he trying to tell me?

  “Enough of the games,” General Anderson snaps. He marches up to me and stands so close I can smell stale coffee on his breath. “We used a Mind Bender to extract information from your friends. I don’t know how it’s possible, but we know somehow your father made contact with you on the Foster Assassination time trip. We know he left you a message. What we don’t know is why he did that or what year you shifted to. I’m sure you can appreciate the seriousness of your situation, so don’t lie to me.”

  My mouth falls open. I’d give anything to find out how Dad kept them from witnessing him at the Foster Assassination. But that’s not even the most important thing. The fact that they’re asking me all these questions tells me that the DTA wouldn’t send another investigative team back to follow Dad while he was still alive. Meaning this isn’t considered an immediate threat to our present.

  So the only way General Anderson can get answers is by questioning me. If he sent a team back without authorization, the Chronobands would record the trip and alert the DTA.

  Very interesting.

  Professor March adds, “Think carefully. Your future depends on it.”

  A strange sensation startles me. It starts deep in my skull, a slow pressure that gradually increases. My eyes grow wider with the realization of what’s happening. A Mind Bender is trying to hack my memories. I glance around the area, but nobody else is in sight. Whoever it is has to be in the shuttle. General Anderson or Professor March must have sent a signal to the Mind Bender to search my thoughts.

  Hell no. That’s not going to work.

  Without closing my eyes, I concentrate on one thing—my father. He taught me to build a mental block to keep Mind Benders from extracting information. During our practice exercises, I always focused on the sound of his voice as he walked me through the steps.

  Son, you’ve got to think of a mental block like it’s a real wall. Think of yourself putting up a barrier between you and the Mind Bender. Layer by layer, brick by brick. Picture the brick wall as an impenetrable fortress, one that can’t be cracked, no matter how tough the assault may be. You’ve got to be stronger than that. And you are strong. Just believe in yourself.

  I’m not sure if it’ll work. Still I cling to the memory as if it’s the only source of light in a dark room. Gradually the pressure fades to a dull ache.

  My eyes flick to Professor March. He gives the smallest shake of his head. I almost stop breathing. The Mind Bender will sharpen the next attempt to extract my memories.

  But nothing happens.

  My gaze shifts back to General Anderson and I force myself to hold his stare. “I don’t have anything to say, sir.”

  His jaw clenches. “I’m giving you the chance to help yourself. Don’t make the same mistake your father did. What was Leithan doing? What year did you shift to? Why did he want you to go?”

  General Anderson might as well have punched me in the stomach with those words. If I’m not mistaken, he didn’t know what my father was doing in 2013.

  My mind is reeling. My father—Mr. Always-Follow-the-Rules—really had gone rogue. My hands tighten to fists.

  “I see you’re not going to cooperate.” General Anderson spins on his heel and zeroes in on Professor March. “I thought you said he would cooperate if you came.”

  Professor March shrugs. “I guess I was wrong.”

  The general stomps toward his shuttle, barking at the soldiers, “Escort Mr. Creed to the shuttle. Now!”

  As the soldiers advance toward us, Professor March looks at his hand. His fingers uncurl, and something falls to the ground. It’s a stunner. “Your father would be proud of you,” he whispers.

  Time seems to have slowed to a crawl. I watch him turn and head back to the shuttle. I glance from the soldiers to the stunner. For a moment, I consider leaving it. I’m already in so much trouble. If I pick up the stunner and use it, I could be nulled if they catch me. Or even executed. I’m not sure it’s worth it.

  But the game has changed. Dad wasn’t on an assignment with the DTA. He was working for someone else. Probably whoever wrote the message I found on the hidden DataDisk. General Anderson wants to know.

  I want to know.

  I lunge for the stunner. The soldiers look shocked for a moment, but quickly swing their stunners at me.

  “Stop him!” General Anderson shouts.

  My fingers close around the weapon and I swing my arm toward the soldiers. I fire repeatedly while rolling to the side. Shots whiz past me, then the soldiers slump to the ground. I scramble to my feet and aim at General Anderson.

  “You’re making a big mistake,” he says, his face a bright shade of red.

  I hesitate, my hand shaking again. So much for the Calmer working.

  “If you do this, I will find you. And I will bury you.”

  This time I fire. General Anderson joins the soldiers on the ground.

  Professor March blows out a puff of air and runs a hand across his neck.

  “Professor,” I begin, but he shakes his head at me. He mouths, shoot me.

  My heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my body. I want to tell him I can’t, that I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to do any more damage. But he’s right. General Anderson will suspect something if I don’t shoot him. I raise the stunner again and fire.

  For a few moments, I stay frozen in place. Professor March lays there, muscles jerking. Guilt floods through me. I can’t believe I shot him. I know he’ll be okay. But still, I’ve never shot anyone before today.

  I lean over and dry heave, thinking I’m now a walking dead man. I’m so furing screwed.

  “Hey!” I look toward the back porch of the museum. A DTA official is standing there. “Stop!”

  Time for me to shift. I close my eyes and concentrate on Alora’s death date again, this time welcoming the nothingness that devours me.

  19

  ALORA

  APRIL 12, 2013

  My stomach churns as I wait for Sela in the parking lot. Trevor hasn’t tried to talk to me once, not even in history, but he could still try to trap me out here.

  I shield my eyes from the bright sun and search through the students. When I finally spo
t Sela racing toward me, doing an awkward speed walk, I allow myself to relax.

  When she sees me, she gets a very large, manic-looking grin. “You’ll never guess what just happened.”

  “You won the lottery.”

  “No, although that would be nice.” Once we’re in the car, Sela’s grin manages to grow even bigger. I can’t help but smile back. “Levi invited us to a party at his house tomorrow night.”

  And just like that, my smile vanishes as if someone flipped a light switch. Levi Banks is the only child of parents who have more money than sense, as Aunt Grace says, and rarely stay home. As a result, Levi likes to throw parties whenever they’re out of town, but you can only go if you’re invited.

  He’s also one of Trevor’s best friends.

  Sela pulls out of the parking lot. “I was talking to Jess at my locker when he stopped. He was so nice. He said he couldn’t believe he’d never thought to invite me before. He even said I could ask anyone I wanted. So of course Jess and Miranda are going. But you have to go, too.”

  It’s strange Levi decided to invite all of us just when Trevor has decided to make me his latest conquest. Really strange. I glance back to Sela. I hate to spoil her excitement, but she’s forgotten my situation. “Well, I would go, but I’m still grounded. Remember?”

  Sela’s smile falters. “Seriously? I thought your aunt would’ve let you off the hook by now.”

  I shake my head. “No. She said I’m free after the weekend.”

  “That’s so not fair.” Sela drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “You know, maybe I can talk her into letting you go anyway.”

  “It won’t work. When Aunt Grace makes up her mind about something, she sticks with it.”

  “Maybe,” Sela drawls, “but she loves me to death. I bet you ten bucks that I can sweet-talk her into letting you go.”

  “You’re wasting your time. Besides, she’d never let me go to one of Levi’s parties. She’s heard about them.”

  “Girl, do you think I’d tell her the truth? I’m not even telling my parents. We’re officially going out to eat and to see a movie.” Sela uses air quotes when she says officially.

  There’s no point in arguing with Sela. She’s high from the invite and nothing will put her in a bad mood. Well, I’m sure she’ll be in a less happy mood once Aunt Grace shoots her down, but it won’t last long. Sela will go to the party anyway, along with the Brainless Twins. That thought sends a twinge of jealousy shooting through me. I don’t want to go. Really. But Sela already spends a lot of time with Jess and Miranda when I’m not around. The three of them going to the party together will just further set me apart.

  By the time Sela parks on the inn’s circle driveway, she’s decided how we’ll fix our hair and planned a shopping trip to get new clothes.

  While I climb out of the car like an old lady, Sela bounces out with the energy of a small kid. “Hurry up, slowpoke,” she calls over her shoulder.

  She’s nowhere to be seen by the time I lug my books inside, but voices chime from the kitchen. The smell of something freshly baked saturates the air. I drop my books on the table by the stairs and hurry to the kitchen, where I find Aunt Grace spreading the last bits of strawberry frosting on a pink cake. From the bewildered expression on her face, I can tell Sela has filled her in on our fake plans.

  “I’m sorry, hon, but Alora can’t go out this weekend. Maybe y’all can wait until next week. Provided that she stays out of trouble.”

  I flash an I-told-you-so look at Sela. She ignores me. “But Mrs. Evans, I’ve already bought the tickets for the movie and everything. I’ve been planning this for ages.” Sela proceeds to spin an elaborate story about how she wanted to take her three best friends out to show us how much she appreciates us and for making her feel so welcome since she moved to Willow Creek. From anyone else, it would sound like complete bull, but I have to admit Sela makes it sound real.

  By the time Sela finishes, Aunt Grace is chewing on her bottom lip. “Sugar, I didn’t know you had such a hard time. I guess I can let Alora off the hook early.” She puts the spatula in the frosting bowl and folds Sela into a hug.

  Sela grins over Aunt Grace’s shoulder and flashes two thumbs up at me. I have to choke back a snort. I didn’t believe she’d be able to pull it off. Then a sinking feeling settles in my chest.

  Now I’ll have to go to that stupid party with Sela. Wonderful.

  As Sela extracts herself form Aunt Grace’s hug, we hear a muffled shriek. We scramble over to the sink and peer out the window. An older-looking couple is in the backyard, halfway to the garden, carrying on about something. It looks like they’re talking or arguing with someone else, but I can’t make out who it is.

  “Who are they?” I ask Aunt Grace.

  “That’s Mr. and Mrs. Jamison. They dropped in today and are staying for the weekend. Nice couple, but a little odd.”

  Sela lets out a low whistle. “Who’s the hottie with them?”

  I glance back out the window. Mr. Jamison has moved out of the way, revealing the third person. “No way,” I whisper, feeling a tingle in my stomach.

  It’s the guy who was here a few days ago.

  “I wonder what he wants,” Aunt Grace mutters as she heads for the back door. Sela and I follow.

  “Hello? You never told me who the guy is,” Sela says as we descend the back porch steps.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  Ahead of us, Mrs. Jamison is waving her arms wildly, gesturing toward Bridger, while Mr. Jamison snaps a picture of him. In return, Bridger holds his hands up like he doesn’t want to have his picture taken. I’m surprised he’s still wearing the same uniform he had on the other day. And he looks like he recently took a dirt bath.

  “Will you stop that?” He asks in an exasperated voice.

  “What’s going on?” Aunt Grace asks when we join them.

  Mrs. Jamison turns to me, her face a kaleidoscope of excitement. “Can you see him?”

  “See who?” I ask.

  “The ghost!” she yells, pointing to Bridger.

  “I’m not a ghost!” he shouts, looking at me. “Tell her.”

  “Charles, she can see him! Oh, this is marvelous!” Mrs. Jamison fans herself. “Lordy, I’m light-headed.”

  “Calm down, dear,” her husband says, patting her on the shoulder. “Remember your blood pressure.”

  Sela giggles. I scowl at her before repeating Aunt Grace’s question.

  Bridger points to Mrs. Jamison. “This woman thinks I’m a ghost. Obviously, I’m not.”

  “Yes, he is. He appeared out of thin air. Charles and I saw him. Didn’t we?”

  “We sure did,” Mr. Jamison replies, snapping another picture.

  I close my eyes. Great, we have ghost hunters staying with us. We get those from time to time, since the inn is a former plantation house. They’re always convinced that spirits of Civil War–era people haunt places like this. “He’s not a ghost. I know him.”

  Instantly, the Jamisons’ excited expressions disappear like someone erased them. “You know him?” Mrs. Jamison asks in a disbelieving voice.

  “Yeah. I met him a few days ago. His name is Bridger . . .” I raise my eyebrows at him.

  He looks stunned for a moment before answering. “Creed. Bridger Creed. And I am not a ghost. I promise.”

  “But we saw you appear out of nowhere.”

  Aunt Grace sighs. “Mrs. Jamison, it is hot outside. Maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you.”

  “But—”

  “My niece and I met him two days ago. He’s new in town and he’s most definitely alive.”

  The Jamisons cast a wistful glance at Bridger. I can practically see their dreams of finding a real spirit slip away.

  “Dear, I guess we need to go get ready for supper,” Mr. Jamison says, taking his wife by the arm. “Sorry to bother you, young man. It was an honest mistake.” He escorts his wife back to the inn.

  “Wow, talk about crazy.” Sela breaks th
e silence, twirling a finger next to her temple. She smiles at Bridger and offers her hand. “Since Alora has forgotten her manners, I’ll intro myself. I’m Sela Perkins.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he says. From the tone of his voice, he doesn’t mean it. He toys with the bag strap hanging over his shoulder and flicks his eyes back toward the forest.

  “So, what brings you back?” I ask. “We didn’t expect to see you again after your disappearing act.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to be here again so soon, either.”

  Aunt Grace props her hands on her hips. “That was rude of you to up and leave without saying goodbye.”

  Bridger’s mouth opens and shuts several times before he says, “I’m sorry about that. It’s just that I got an urgent call from . . . my mother. She needed me back home and I had to leave right then. I didn’t want to bother you anymore.”

  “But everything’s okay now?” Aunt Grace asks. “How about your knee?”

  “Everything’s fine, so I came back to look for my father again.”

  Aunt Grace’s face softens. She glances to me, then back to Bridger. “Well, my offer still stands. You’re welcome to stay here.”

  Bridger doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. It’s like he’s trying to figure out the pieces to an invisible puzzle. Finally he says, “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Well, come on inside and I’ll show you to your room.”

  A slow smile spreads across Sela’s face as we watch Bridger and Aunt Grace walk to the house. “So he’s new in town, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sah-weet.” Before I know it, Sela calls out, “Hey, Bridger, wait up.”

  I stare openmouthed as Bridger faces us. Aunt Grace tilts her head to the side. I don’t have any choice but to follow Sela and see what she’s scheming.

  “Are you gonna be in town long?” she asks.

  He nods. “I think so.”

  “Oh, good. Then you’ll need someone to show you around.”

  Bridger now has a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. I probably look the same because I know what Sela is about to ask.

  “I was thinking,” Sela continues, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, “you could go out with me and Alora and some of our friends tomorrow night. We could show you around.”