CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The morning slides by in a blur of motivational speeches, lectures, pointless exercises, and questions. Too many questions.

Tell us about yourself.

What happened last night?

What are your greatest fears?

What do you hope to achieve in your time here?

Were you really in the park all night with Crosby?

Is something going on with you and Charlie?

What is your greatest regret?

Through it all, Bobby keeps his nose in a book, never speaking and never participating. Franklin doesn’t bother to chastise him, or to even acknowledge his presence, which, judging by the non-reaction of my floormates, is standard operating procedure.

Active Body, Active Soul is the only session that doesn’t make me want to crawl out of my own skin. We spend the time doing yoga, and despite the dirty looks from Abbey, I do find a bit of relief. A sense of calm pushes in at the edges of my mind, softening the persistent ache I’ve felt since arriving.

The relief is short-lived, though. Since the start of Morning Meditation, I have the feeling that someone, or something, is watching my every move.

“Don’t be paranoid,” Hannah tells me when I bring it up. “You’re just feeling on display, like a fish in a bowl. Happens to everybody. You’ll get used to it.”

At the start of free time, I spot Bobby making a beeline for the elevators. I run to catch up to him, and he invites me to join him on his walk to Jhana Park. There, we settle on a bench in a serene spot by the water.

Chin in hands, I lean toward him, pondering this boy-genius whom time has long since made a man. Here he sits, a life stopped before his birthday by his own hand. Forever a day shy of eighteen, time be damned.

It’s a struggle to find the right words for the conversation I’m eager to have. Bobby has been at Atman my entire life, and I have to know what’s keeping him here. My assumptions aren’t enough. My own death, the struggles I face to adjust to this new reality, the link-burst, the lectures—they should be more than enough to occupy my troubled mind, but there’s something about Bobby that tugs at my heart.

He’s in his own world, writing notes in his journal. I clear my throat. “Bobby?”

“Yes, Dez?” He doesn’t pull his focus from his work or even slow the pace of his writing.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You certainly may.”

“I’m not quite sure how to ask you this.”

“By all means, fire away. I am an open book.”

“You think we’re in another dimension, don’t you?”

The tip of his pen stops moving. He doesn’t speak.

“That’s what’s keeping you here, isn’t it?” I ask.

“You’re not like the others.” His tone of admiration and sad smile make an odd combination that’s hard to decipher.

“You’re treating death like a research project.”

He closes his journal and sighs. “Well, someone ought to, don’t you think?”

“Look, I’m way out of my depth here. I’m going off a single lecture from my AP Physics class last week.”

“What is your interest in my theories? Priorities would seem to dictate you be more concerned with your own predicament.”

“You got to be somebody, Bobby. You may have only lived a few months longer than I did, but you had your shot. You got to be brilliant.” I’ll never get my chance. To make a difference. To be somebody. To matter.

“Yet here we aren’t,” Bobby says.

“Yet here we are.” We stare at each other for a moment before I say, “You’ve been dead as long as you were alive, you know.”

He runs a loving hand across the cover. “No.”

“No?”

“As to your question, no. I do not believe we are in another dimension.”

“Then where do you think we are?”

Bobby scoots closer on the bench. “The question isn’t where, but when we are. I am quite certain this is all just a creative exercise of my brain. It would seem my aim was not as true as I had planned, and I am living a tiresome semi-existence on life support.”

“Your mom scattered your ashes at your family’s summer home on Nantucket. It was in the documentary.”

“Just the sort of thing a mischievous subconscious would tell me.”

“What’s the worst that could happen if you tried?” I ask. “If you did more than read a book through the sessions every day? If you gave in to this non-reality you seem to think we’re in?”

“One should avoid dispensing advice they, themselves, are unwilling to follow.”

“But I’ve only just arrived. It’s been eighteen years for you, Bobby. That’s a long time to be stuck here.”

He waves his hand like he’s swatting away a fly. “I’ve heard all of this before. Your aim is noble, but you have no chance of success.” He scuffs the toe of his shoe in the dirt, distracted. “I find your sudden fixation on me to be quite puzzling.”

“What if I told you something you didn’t know? Would that help convince you?”

“Ah, some sort of vital information to convince me you’re real. Clever, but unlikely. It would have to be something astonishing that I’d not come to on my own.”

“So, telling you scientists cloned a sheep isn’t going to cut it?”

“No.”

“How about a world-changing, history-making event?”

“Continue.”

It seems I’ve piqued his interest. I rattle off a lesson like I’m reciting the dry text of a high school history book. “On September 11, 2001, terrorists hijacked four commercial airliners, flying one into each of the towers of the World Trade Center and destroying both. One plane flew into the Pentagon, which suffered significant but localized damage. The final plane, which experts believe was meant for the Capitol building or the White House, crashed into a field in Pennsylvania after passengers attempted to take back control of the plane from the hijackers. In the end, three thousand civilians died and two wars were started.”

“While horrific, it isn’t unimaginable,” Bobby says, his voice soft. “The World Trade Center was attacked not long before my … apparent coma-inducing event. A more calculated attack isn’t outside the realm of something my bored mind could create.”

“I’m kind of surprised no one has ever told you about it before.”

“I tend to keep to myself.”

Frowning, I struggle to think of something, anything to convince him this odd existence is real. I decide to try the technology route. “Let me tell you about the smartphone. Very cool, and much less depressing.”

He looks skeptical. “A smart phone? Is it self-aware?”

“No, nothing like that, but it is pretty amazing. The cell phones you remember are dinosaurs. Imagine a phone the size of your hand that can access the internet”—I count off the points on my fingers—“give you driving directions, play music from your favorite artists, record video and take photos, recommend restaurants, show you where your friends are, and about a million other things, all with a touchscreen.”

“While interesting, it isn’t an enormous leap in logic. It is not beyond the realm of imagination. No, Dez, I’m going to need something bigger. A game-changer, as they say.”

“Challenge accepted. Let me think about it. I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“I wish you nothing but the best of luck in your endeavor.”

“I wouldn’t think someone like you believes in luck.”

Bobby bows his head in deference. “Quite true. It was merely a stylistic expression. An idiom, if you will.”

“Fair enough. I’m off to think.”

“Dez? Might I be so forward … ” He hesitates, and his cheeks turn crimson.

Bobby, blushing? Now I’ve seen everything. “What’s up, Bobby?”

“I would very much enjoy the pleasure of your company this evening.”

“I probably shouldn’t skip out on any more sessions. Franklin will flip out.”

Bobby bows his head in deference. “You might be pleased to hear I have it on good authority that there will be an ideal moment this evening during which we will be able to slip away undetected. I overheard a rather useful conversation this afternoon.”

“That’s handy,” I say.

“It is a rather routine occurrence, as my presence often goes unnoticed.” He puts his journal down on the bench beside him, at last giving me his undivided attention. “It would seem our young Heracles has a pressing appointment this evening that will require the escort of one Franklin Hicks. At the conclusion of Evening Reflection, we will be instructed to return to our rooms for quiet time, at which point Franklin and Herc will depart. As you know, quiet time leads directly into DSR.”

I nod, smiling. “So if we wait until he and Herc leave for the admin building, we can slip away without Franklin having any clue we’re gone.”

“And he always spends the DSR hours in his suite.”

“Do staff do DSR?” I ask.

“No, that is reserved solely for transitional souls.”

“What about us? Can we just skip it like that?”

“You can for up to two nights with no ill effect. Beyond that point, you may experience disorientation, drowsiness, nausea, and tremors.” He lists off the side effects like a narrator in a drug commercial.

Ask your doctor if skipping DSR is right for you.

I jump into the scheming with both feet. “If we arrive back on the floor after Franklin and Herc are in their rooms, no one will notice our return.”

“Our roommates alone will know we’ve left. Shawn is most accustomed to my, shall we say, unusual schedule.”

“Which just leaves Hannah. I’m sure she won’t say anything.”

“Excellent.”

“So what do you have planned for tonight?” I ask. “Are we hopping a train out of this place?”

Bobby chuckles quietly. “No, no, nothing of the sort, although that would be an interesting journey indeed. If you’d be so kind as to indulge me on an evening stroll, I think there is something you may quite enjoy seeing.”

“Is that so?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

His face goes red. “I did not mean to suggest … I was merely — ”

I let him flounder for a few seconds, until a smile gives me away. “Come find me when you’re ready to go.”

“If you’d like to meet me by the elevators approximately half an hour after Franklin’s departure, it would be an ideal time to take our temporary leave of floor ninety-five.” He grabs his journal, opens it again, and returns to his high-speed note taking.

After several minutes of silence, I get the impression I’ve been forgotten. I clear my throat to no response. “So, Bobby, should we meet at nine, then? Twenty-one hundred hours?”

His head snaps up and he looks at me with bewilderment. “Yes, of course. I thought we’d settled the matter.”

“Okay … well, I’d better get going. I’ll see you tonight.”