A Million Worlds with You
Page 81
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Paul won that fight. At least he had that moment of triumph just before the end.
I continue, “What do you think Josie’s going to become after you put the thousand pieces of her back together again? If you think she’ll be your daughter again, the same girl you lost, you’re wrong. She’ll be haunted by lives she never lived. Controlled by desires she never felt. Unable to love the people she loved before or to promise that she can keep from hurting anyone who crosses her path. Your version of me called Paul ‘Frankenstein’s monster,’ but really it was Josie she was describing. Josie is the one you’re turning into a monster.”
Finally, my parents are speechless. It takes Dad a long time to muster the ability to say, “We’re close, so close—”
“You’re willing to condemn Josie to a living hell just so you don’t have to grieve anymore. Oh, wait! You are going to keep grieving. Just like I had to mourn my dad months after I knew he hadn’t really drowned. Remember how you made me think he’d drowned?” Tears well in my eyes again. “No wonder you don’t care if Josie turns into a monster. You’re all monsters already.”
The silence that follows seems to last for years. I wonder dully whether they’ll try again to make me work for them. What else can they do to me? Destroy my dimension, probably. That would be the only way to eliminate me as a risk forever.
For a moment I imagine our home in the Berkeley Hills, with its cozy great room, the potted plants and the rainbow table, the chalkboard wall of equations, and the constant chatter of scientific theories, geeky jokes, and boundless affection. It seems like the house stands for our entire world, the one that’s about to be lost.
“Look,” Mom finally says, gesturing to the glass chamber. “Marguerite, please, just look.”
Look at what? The chamber is empty—or is it?
My jaw drops as I realize that there’s a translucent shape at the heart of the chamber, the color of fog, almost invisible. After a few moments, I finally recognize what I’m seeing: Josie. She lies there, hands over her heart, the posture she must have been in when she activated her Firebird for that last fatal jump. The universe or universes Triad have already destroyed sent their splinters back, which is just enough to recreate this much of her—a suggestion, a shade, only a hint of the body they’re trying to reanimate.
When they look at old paintings under infrared light, sometimes they see the shadows of figures the artist painted over, or outlines of people they meant to draw but finally chose to leave out. That’s what Josie is now, just a blurry shadow that doesn’t belong anymore.
“Oh,” I say. “Not a monster yet. Only a ghost.”
“Marguerite, stop it,” Dad snaps. “We can’t quit. Not this close to success. Not even if—if—”
Not even if we know it’s the right thing to do. That’s what he’s not saying. Mom and Dad can’t lie to themselves any longer, but they also can’t turn back. Their maniacal commitment won’t let them—and they can’t let Josie go, not while they can actually see her lying here, so close to resurrection.
I have to set them free. I have to set Josie free. I have one last chance to stop this, if I act right now.
While my parents stare, transfixed, at my dead sister’s face, I bring my bound hands to my chest; I have just enough freedom to wrap my fingers around the Firebird. Leaping away would change nothing, and it would save me only for a few hours or days.
But there’s incredible power stored inside this locket—and in Moscow, Paul showed us all how to set it to overload.
I close my eyes. I envision his hands, mimic his movements. Did I get it right? A faint vibration between my fingers tells me that I did.
“Josie would never have wanted this,” I say. “Not your version, not mine, not any Josie ever. She said so.”
My parents look at each other, more surprised and dismayed than I’d thought they would be. “It doesn’t matter how long we have to work with her,” Mom finally says. “Or how difficult it is. We will put Josie back together again.”
The faintest warmth emanates from the Firebird in my hands, as though I had just ended a journey. In some ways, I guess I have. “That’s not what I mean. Josie won’t be able to go on, knowing how many people died so she could live. She’ll hate herself for every breath. And she’ll never feel the same about you, or the other me, or Conley. So you’re robbing her of everyone she’s ever loved. Some resurrection. You’re not bringing her back from heaven. You’re making sure Josie’s life will be a living hell.”
But I can save my sister. I can save my whole world. Everyone but Paul.
The metal against my palms warms even more—becomes hot—
“What’s that sound?” Dad, who’s been trying to ignore me, jerks around and looks at me. His eyes widen. “Dear God.”
As fast as I can, I lift the Firebird over my head and hurl it at the glass. One pane shatters, sending shards flying in every direction. The Firebird itself lands in the middle of Josie’s shadowy half-form—the body that is only just becoming observable again—and for a moment it glows red where her heart ought to have been. My mother screams, and I wonder just how big the boom is going to be.
When it blows, the explosion seems to roar through all the dimensions at once.
When I come to, only a few minutes must have passed. Broken bits of glass and metal pepper the floor, and most of the nearby computer panels have gone dully dark, their world-ending calculations concluded for now. I lie on one of the tables, and my hands are no longer bound.
The absence of my Firebird feels so strange. I’ve become so used to the sensation of that weight on my chest, the metal against my skin. By destroying my Firebird, I stranded myself in this dimension forever—or until they decide to exile me to some other dimension so they can bring Wicked back home. She could return to this body at any time, but I’ll own her consciousness as long as I remain. Will they put me back in my own universe to die along with it? Or will they cast me into some random, unfamiliar place to blunder through my last hours alone?
My head doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel dizzy or nauseated. My blackout doesn’t appear to have sprung from a concussion. Maybe a human consciousness tethered to a Firebird reacts this way when the Firebird suddenly ceases to exist.
I continue, “What do you think Josie’s going to become after you put the thousand pieces of her back together again? If you think she’ll be your daughter again, the same girl you lost, you’re wrong. She’ll be haunted by lives she never lived. Controlled by desires she never felt. Unable to love the people she loved before or to promise that she can keep from hurting anyone who crosses her path. Your version of me called Paul ‘Frankenstein’s monster,’ but really it was Josie she was describing. Josie is the one you’re turning into a monster.”
Finally, my parents are speechless. It takes Dad a long time to muster the ability to say, “We’re close, so close—”
“You’re willing to condemn Josie to a living hell just so you don’t have to grieve anymore. Oh, wait! You are going to keep grieving. Just like I had to mourn my dad months after I knew he hadn’t really drowned. Remember how you made me think he’d drowned?” Tears well in my eyes again. “No wonder you don’t care if Josie turns into a monster. You’re all monsters already.”
The silence that follows seems to last for years. I wonder dully whether they’ll try again to make me work for them. What else can they do to me? Destroy my dimension, probably. That would be the only way to eliminate me as a risk forever.
For a moment I imagine our home in the Berkeley Hills, with its cozy great room, the potted plants and the rainbow table, the chalkboard wall of equations, and the constant chatter of scientific theories, geeky jokes, and boundless affection. It seems like the house stands for our entire world, the one that’s about to be lost.
“Look,” Mom finally says, gesturing to the glass chamber. “Marguerite, please, just look.”
Look at what? The chamber is empty—or is it?
My jaw drops as I realize that there’s a translucent shape at the heart of the chamber, the color of fog, almost invisible. After a few moments, I finally recognize what I’m seeing: Josie. She lies there, hands over her heart, the posture she must have been in when she activated her Firebird for that last fatal jump. The universe or universes Triad have already destroyed sent their splinters back, which is just enough to recreate this much of her—a suggestion, a shade, only a hint of the body they’re trying to reanimate.
When they look at old paintings under infrared light, sometimes they see the shadows of figures the artist painted over, or outlines of people they meant to draw but finally chose to leave out. That’s what Josie is now, just a blurry shadow that doesn’t belong anymore.
“Oh,” I say. “Not a monster yet. Only a ghost.”
“Marguerite, stop it,” Dad snaps. “We can’t quit. Not this close to success. Not even if—if—”
Not even if we know it’s the right thing to do. That’s what he’s not saying. Mom and Dad can’t lie to themselves any longer, but they also can’t turn back. Their maniacal commitment won’t let them—and they can’t let Josie go, not while they can actually see her lying here, so close to resurrection.
I have to set them free. I have to set Josie free. I have one last chance to stop this, if I act right now.
While my parents stare, transfixed, at my dead sister’s face, I bring my bound hands to my chest; I have just enough freedom to wrap my fingers around the Firebird. Leaping away would change nothing, and it would save me only for a few hours or days.
But there’s incredible power stored inside this locket—and in Moscow, Paul showed us all how to set it to overload.
I close my eyes. I envision his hands, mimic his movements. Did I get it right? A faint vibration between my fingers tells me that I did.
“Josie would never have wanted this,” I say. “Not your version, not mine, not any Josie ever. She said so.”
My parents look at each other, more surprised and dismayed than I’d thought they would be. “It doesn’t matter how long we have to work with her,” Mom finally says. “Or how difficult it is. We will put Josie back together again.”
The faintest warmth emanates from the Firebird in my hands, as though I had just ended a journey. In some ways, I guess I have. “That’s not what I mean. Josie won’t be able to go on, knowing how many people died so she could live. She’ll hate herself for every breath. And she’ll never feel the same about you, or the other me, or Conley. So you’re robbing her of everyone she’s ever loved. Some resurrection. You’re not bringing her back from heaven. You’re making sure Josie’s life will be a living hell.”
But I can save my sister. I can save my whole world. Everyone but Paul.
The metal against my palms warms even more—becomes hot—
“What’s that sound?” Dad, who’s been trying to ignore me, jerks around and looks at me. His eyes widen. “Dear God.”
As fast as I can, I lift the Firebird over my head and hurl it at the glass. One pane shatters, sending shards flying in every direction. The Firebird itself lands in the middle of Josie’s shadowy half-form—the body that is only just becoming observable again—and for a moment it glows red where her heart ought to have been. My mother screams, and I wonder just how big the boom is going to be.
When it blows, the explosion seems to roar through all the dimensions at once.
When I come to, only a few minutes must have passed. Broken bits of glass and metal pepper the floor, and most of the nearby computer panels have gone dully dark, their world-ending calculations concluded for now. I lie on one of the tables, and my hands are no longer bound.
The absence of my Firebird feels so strange. I’ve become so used to the sensation of that weight on my chest, the metal against my skin. By destroying my Firebird, I stranded myself in this dimension forever—or until they decide to exile me to some other dimension so they can bring Wicked back home. She could return to this body at any time, but I’ll own her consciousness as long as I remain. Will they put me back in my own universe to die along with it? Or will they cast me into some random, unfamiliar place to blunder through my last hours alone?
My head doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel dizzy or nauseated. My blackout doesn’t appear to have sprung from a concussion. Maybe a human consciousness tethered to a Firebird reacts this way when the Firebird suddenly ceases to exist.
