The Collide

by Kimberly McCreight

  Klute hangs up and disappears again from view. A moment later, there is the distinct smell of smoke. And then Klute is there again, making his way calmly back to the van. The driver never even opens the door. Jasper ducks into the woods and out of sight as the van heads back his way.

  By the time the van has driven past and out of sight, the burning smell is much stronger. It brings back thoughts of Cassie, which make Jasper feel sick and guilty as he makes his way quickly to see what’s on fire.

  As soon as he steps past the first building, there’s the actual fire; the size for sure of that cardboard box. And when Jasper is close enough, he can definitely see that’s exactly what’s burning. The box is already mostly just a pile of smoking black ash. What the hell was Klute burning, and why? If it was taken from Wylie’s house, it can’t be good, none of it. This Jasper really does need to tell Wylie—right now.

  Before Jasper turns to leave, he peeks into the windows of the back warehouse. It has a long center hallway, with dozens of little rooms off to either side. Like half office, half prison. If somebody is going to work there, it’s going to suck. But nothing in that warehouse tells Jasper why the hell Klute drove all the way out here. Or what he was burning.

  But note or no note, Jasper needs to tell Wylie. As soon as he can find her.

  JASPER GOES BACK past Wylie’s, but there’s no sign of her. By the time he gets to campus, he’s so fixated on thinking about that agent and the box—and how to tell Wylie—that he doesn’t even notice that he’s carried Lethe’s fixed bike all the way up the stairs instead of locking it outside to the rack next to his dorm.

  “Damn it,” he mutters at the top of the steps. He’s still looking down at the bike in his hand when he steps through the stairway door and almost collides with Chance.

  “Dude,” Chance says, jumping to the side just before getting nailed in the shins by Lethe’s bike. He turns back at the top of the steps, narrows his eyes at Jasper. “Man, you look like ass. You okay?”

  No, Jasper’s not okay. And he’d like to tell Chance all about it. But where to start? He hasn’t even told Chance anything about Wylie. He didn’t want to have to explain the detention facility, and not because he was ashamed—that’s the last thing he would ever feel. But because it’s no one’s business but Wylie’s.

  “Yeah, I’m cool,” Jasper says.

  “You just missed some girl.” Chance is halfway down the steps. He pauses, looks back. “She came by looking for you.”

  “What girl?” Jasper asks.

  “Cute, wild eyes. She didn’t tell me her name. I told her I might not see you—I’ve got a hot date.” He winks. “I’m not planning on being home anytime soon. Anyway, she left you a note, and cookies. You’re lucky I was on my way out when she got here, otherwise they’d be gone. Save some for me. You still owe me.”

  Inside his dorm room, Jasper puts Lethe’s bike down. Sure enough, there is a paper plate on his desk piled high with chocolate chip cookies and wrapped tight in cellophane. Even as he’s staring down at the note taped to the top (not in Wylie’s handwriting), he’s still stupidly hoping the cookies might be from her.

  Dear Japer,

  Thanks so much for getting my bike fixed. Sorry I was a bitch before. Bad day.

  xo,

  Lethe

  Nope, definitely not from Wylie. It was nice of Lethe, though. And for just a split second, he finds himself thinking: maybe she’s . . . But he pulls himself up short. He’s just considering Lethe because she’s there. Available. That actually isn’t a reason to like someone.

  Jasper takes a deep breath, opens the plastic, and picks up one of the cookies from the plate. He takes a huge bite and drops himself down hard onto his desk chair.

  Whatever. At least he knows he’s got problems, right? And it’s not like he’s rushing off to find Lethe right now just because she made him feel good for a second. It’s slow progress, maybe. But it’s still progress.

  Jasper pops the rest of the cookie into his mouth and closes his eyes. He’s tired as hell now; all that running away from the truth has beaten the crap out of him. It’s only five thirty p.m., but maybe he’ll just go to sleep, be extra rested for early morning practice. He’ll have to kick ass for sure at the next one. And the one after that. Make Coach forget that he’s pissed at him. And everything else might look different in the morning anyway.

  Jasper gets up to head over to his bed, but too fast. He’s sent off balance by a head rush. The room begins to spin. He feels like he might throw up, too. Jasper puts his hands out to steady himself, but just grabs a fistful of air. The ground shifts to the side. And all he sees is the ceiling. In motion.

  TOP SECRET AND CONFIDENTIAL

  To: Senator David Russo, Senate Armed Services Committee

  From: Department of Military Intelligence, Buildings Department

  Re: Lease Extension

  May 5

  Your extension of lease arrangement for use of Properties 2642 in Massachusetts, 1754 in Arizona, and 1619 in Washington, DC, has been approved. Please provide all budgeting details and a Request for Proposal for the interior construction of each site as soon as possible.

  The project has been given Level 1 Security Clearance, and associated confidentiality rules will apply. This will be the final communication regarding this matter. All further records regarding the use of these properties shall be maintained by your office alone.

  WYLIE

  IT’S FIVE THIRTY P.M. WHEN WE ARE FINALLY DRIVING OUT OF BOSTON, following Elizabeth’s maps toward Framingham. Detective Oshiro stays close behind. We’ve agreed to ditch Gideon’s phone as soon as we are outside Boston proper. It’s hard to think of cutting ourselves off completely. My mom’s emails haven’t told us much so far. But who’s to say Rachel might not send more? And the next one might finally matter. Still, it’s too much of a risk to keep the phone. It would be one thing for somebody to have been following us around Newton. We can’t have them following us now.

  Oshiro asked for us to wait until the end of the endless day before going to Framingham. He was expected at work, he said. Not being there could raise suspicions. But I think, more important, he hoped to dig up something about where our dad was that would make it so we didn’t have to go at all. Apparently, he’d struck out. We would have spent the day digging around ourselves, but Oshiro made it a condition of him helping that we didn’t.

  So instead, Gideon and I had just done our best to make it through the long day. That had meant heading downtown to the movies—a double feature of old martial arts movies. Gideon’s pick, not that there was a lot on offer.

  “Pull over there.” I point at a gas station off a short exit along the busy stretch of highway.

  Gideon obliges, checking to be sure that Oshiro has time to follow. I’m already leaning out the car door, about to quickly toss the phone, when I notice a text from Rachel.

  Where is Wylie? She better not have left Newton. It’s a violation of the terms of her bail.

  She hasn’t. I swear, I type back. There’s some relief in pretending for a moment to be somebody other than me.

  Come home, Gideon. NOW. Your mom will be here soon. She is going to need Wylie’s help when she gets home. She sent another email, too.

  There is an attachment, which I quickly tap open and read:

  To: Wylie

  From: SwimTeacher

  Re: July 2

  Dear Wylie,

  On my way back from California. I can’t wait to see you. Dr. Oduwole says that she told Dad that the Outliers might have just become visible now because of our relatively recent reliance on technology. She believes that it has changed the structure of our brains, shrunk our gray matter, specifically.

  But there’s something else, Wylie. She told Dad all this. He knew. But she says that Dad wanted to keep it a secret. It’s really weird. Dr. Oduwole said she wasn’t comfortable with that. She and Dad had a big argument about it. She thought maybe he was working with someone on the side
, was selling the research.

  I’m not saying that Dad did anything wrong, but Dr. Oduwole was worried. And so am I.

  I love you always,

  Mom

  I feel a wave of anger, followed by a guilty twist in my gut. Is she seriously accusing my dad of something? All because some random doctor said so? I don’t care whether Dr. Oduwole worked with our dad or not. We don’t even know her. My mom shouldn’t be out there chasing answers in the first place. Of course, as I sit there in that deserted gas station with Gideon, on my way into who knows what, I’m not exactly one to talk.

  Okay. Be there soon, I type in response to Rachel.

  GIDEON, I MEAN IT!! RIGHT NOW!

  I turn off the phone.

  “Rachel?” Gideon asks. I nod. “She must be pissed.”

  “Yup,” I say, feeling weirdly glad she’s mad. Like a two-year-old, I just want to piss someone off.

  I use a safety pin to dig the SIM card out of his phone, a trick I learned from Riel. When I finally have it out, I open the door and toss the phone. It thuds loudly to the bottom of the empty garbage can. Terrible regret comes with the sound. Like I am totally and completely wrong about something. I’m just not sure yet what.

  GIDEON AND I ride for another thirty minutes until we finally reach the dot on the map Elizabeth gave us: the American Legion Hall, Framingham, Massachusetts. The place that last cell phone call was made from. It’s a small brick building with a white pitched roof stuck onto the front, which makes the whole place seem off-kilter. Or maybe that’s just how I feel. I’m trying hard not to let myself feel much of anything. Because we have no choice but to see this through.

  Gideon pulls into a parking spot near the front door. Oshiro pulls into one much farther back and in the shadows. We agreed before we left that Oshiro would wait outside and out of sight. He will still be close enough to know if we’ve run into trouble, or to notice when we don’t come back out. We have fifteen minutes before he comes in after us.

  “Are you sure you still want to do this?” Gideon asks as I reach for the car door. I can feel his dread. No, it’s worse than dread. It’s fear.

  I force a smile. “Define ‘want.’”

  “I’m serious,” Gideon says, motioning to the half-filled, very dark parking lot. “There are obviously people in there. Like a decent number. We have no idea who or why. We could be walking into anything.”

  “I know. And I know the person who called me might not even know anything about Dad. This might all be about her getting money from us or something. But it’s the only lead we’ve got,” I say, looking over at the Legion Hall again. And I don’t feel a twinge of doubt about going inside. “This Legion Hall is us heading in the right direction. And I think we need to keep on going to find Dad. He needs saving.” I turn back to Gideon. “But those are all just ‘feelings.’ They’re not like bits of data or something. You should know that before you come.”

  As Gideon stares at me, I feel the exact moment he calms, a little. The instant he chooses to believe in me.

  “Okay, then,” he says, opening his car door. “That’s good enough for me.”

  WE MAKE OUR way inside the Legion Hall’s deserted lobby. The walls are dark stone, the floor polished brick, and there is a long row of flags along one wall. It is cool inside and slightly damp, like a basement. There are some tables piled high with random pamphlets: bereavement support, veterans’ services, computer tutoring for the elderly, lawn services, and dog-walking—there’s not much rhyme or reason to any of it.

  On the wall opposite the tables is a set of closed doors. A handwritten sign reads: Meeting 6 p.m. We can hear voices, laughter, clips of conversation on the other side. Gideon nods as I pull open the door, bracing myself for military men—it is a Legion Hall, after all. Cunning like Kendall, or huge like Agent Klute. But when my eyes fix on the scene—old people, young people, middle-aged, round and thin, short and tall—it has the warm, chaotic hum of a community meeting about to start. No, maybe an AA meeting. AA makes me think of Cassie’s dad. And my mind sticks hard. It had been so awful seeing Vince at Cassie’s funeral. He’d been heartbroken about Cassie, and so angry at me. But can I really blame him? After what happened to Cassie, I still kind of blame myself.

  And, of course, thinking of Cassie just makes me miss Jasper all over again. That stupid note.

  I look around again at the assorted faces, smiling, chatting, greeting one another in small clusters; none of them seem to have even noticed that we came in. They are ordinary, small-town people, friendly-looking, welcoming. Chairs are lined up facing an empty podium at the front; a few people are already seated. At the side of the room, there is a table with a sad collection of store-bought cookies on a paper plate next to some Styrofoam cups and two containers of orange juice.

  “Let’s sit down,” Gideon says through gritted teeth. “Whatever it is, it’s about to start.”

  He’s right. People have started moving toward the chairs. When the room finally quiets all the way and we are seated, I feel my attention pulled left. There are two teenage girls sitting over there—cute tops, strappy flat sandals. Pretty, but not noticeably so. Except they stand out for me. Because when I look at them, I feel like I’m missing something important. The most important thing.

  “Hello, everyone,” a man calls from the front of the room. He has well-coiffed grayish hair, a fashionable white linen shirt, and an expensive watch. Much more sophisticated than most of the audience. “As always, we’re so glad you’re here. As most of you know, I’m Brother John. And no, I am not back for good. I’m just filling in again tonight. Hopefully, I will be able to continue carrying the torch for a few days more. I know how popular the meetings here have become since I took my leave a few months ago. But I won’t take that personally, not to worry.”

  He looks around the room, beaming. Real joy, that’s what he feels. Despite all the people in the room and how far away he is, it glows from him like a spotlight. I brace myself as his eyes pass our way. I wait for them to catch when he doesn’t recognize us. But they just move on, calmly, serenely. Welcoming.

  “Tonight, I’d like to start with something from Sir Isaac Newton: ‘Gravity explains the motions of the planets, but it cannot explain who set the planets in motion.’ I think this quote is particularly relevant to our mission. Because there is, of course, space for science and spirituality not just to peacefully coexist, but to enhance each other. That has always been our goal.”

  He keeps talking. About faith and proof, belief and facts. And he’s a good talker, with a nice, soothing voice. Everyone is really listening, too. For sure the meeting is spiritual-ish, but not an official religion. At least not a traditional one. But a kind one, for sure. The kindness in the room grows stronger the more he talks. I’ve never read people in a room like that: all committed to a single, positive emotion. It’s overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

  Soon, I’m floating on it, suspended in a warm pool. Weightless and free as the room drops away. For one long minute, then two.

  I am jerked awake then. When I look around, everyone has their heads bowed, eyes closed. Silence.

  “Toward the light,” Brother John says.

  “Toward the light,” everyone repeats.

  Just like that, the spell is broken. People’s random emotions flood in—kids, stress, work, I’m hungry, I’m cold. Brother John motions with his arms outstretched like an angel, beckoning. People begin to rise. Soon they are dispersing slowly across the room.

  “Is that it?” I whisper. “It’s over already?”

  “‘Already’?” Gideon asks. “I felt like it was never going to end.”

  “Oh, I guess I got distracted.”

  “There’s juice, though,” Gideon says. He raises his eyebrows when I look confused. “That’s what he said: ‘We’re finished, but please feel free to have juice.’ Nothing about the cookies, just the juice, which if you ask me, just makes the whole thing even more sketchy. I mean, he might as w
ell have said, ‘Drink the Kool-Aid.’”

  I stand because everyone else already has. “Do you want some juice?” I ask.

  “Um, no, I don’t want some juice,” Gideon says like I’ve definitely lost it. “I’m not interested in getting roofied.”

  “Roofied?” I ask. I just can’t follow him. I feel so clouded.

  “Wylie, what’s wrong? You seem so out of it.”

  “How long was he talking exactly?”

  “A half hour maybe,” Gideon says. “Circling around and around the same idea, this whole science-and-religion-together idea. Which, I’ve got to be honest, started to sound like he mostly wants to ignore the whole science part. But, whatever, to each his own. Everybody else seemed super into it.”

  “Crowds usually make it so I can’t read anything,” I say. “But this was like a single roar. It was”—my voice catches—“huge.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t already had some of the juice?” Gideon narrows his eyes at me. It’s a joke, sort of. “Listen, I want to get out of here, and we are already way over our limit with Oshiro. So much for him checking on us. You want to see if we can find out anything about Dad’s phone before he does come in?”

  Gideon is right. I need to focus. “We should talk to those girls over there first,” I say, pointing to the two who drew my attention before.

  “Okay, lead the way,” Gideon says, relieved. All he really wants is to get the hell out of here.

  THE GIRLS ARE sitting side by side, hovering over a phone when we get to the other side of the room. One has waist-length, pin-straight blond hair and very white skin, the other short, light brown curls and freckles. They seem to be debating somebody’s half-naked selfie on Snapchat.

  “She could have Photoshopped it, though,” the blonde says. “All I’m saying is that it could have happened.”

  “I don’t think so,” the girl with the curls responds. “No one’s that good at Photoshop.”