“Does anyone here have an object? Something your parents might have given you?” Martin asked the kids as he approached them.
Heads shook in response.
“It all burned,” Cameron said. “My guitar strap, my songbook, all of it.”
“Or we left it back where we came from,” Trent added. “You couldn’t carry much to Xibalba.”
Martin thought of his own situation. His father had given him two things—his book and his alarm clock. Both were gone.
“I have something,” Henry said. “But whatcha need it for?”
“To test a hypothesis,” Martin explained.
“That like a science experiment?” Henry asked. “No thank you. Don’t want it melted and covered in chemicals.”
“It won’t melt,” Martin assured him.
“You’re gonna need to show me what you’re gonna do first.”
“That’s fair,” Martin said. “Come inside with me.” He turned to head back to the machine.
“What are we supposed to do with …?” Darla motioned to Marjorie, who was still sitting in her chair but not paying attention to the conversation. Through the torchlight, Marjorie was surveying the burnt remains of Xibalba, as if examining a person’s face she only barely recognized.
“Tiberia could bring her to the hospital,” Martin suggested. “Room 512. There’s a journal there. Show it to her. Tell her it’s Kitten’s.”
“And why should I listen to you?” Tiberia asked.
“You don’t have to,” Martin said. “Henry and I are going in the machine. We’re going to turn it on again. The rest of you can do what you want.”
He could have told them his plan, but showing was so much better than telling. He didn’t even wait to see their response. He trekked back to the machine and went inside.
Henry joined him a few minutes later.
“Anyone else coming?” Martin asked.
“Naw.” Henry walked over to the controls and reached his hands out like he was going to adjust a dial.
“Don’t touch. It’s already set,” Martin scolded.
Henry shrugged and pulled his hands back. “Whatever. If you turn it on, is it gonna make us feel all gooey again?”
“Did Darla tell you that?” Martin checked the controls to make sure Henry hadn’t changed anything. He hadn’t.
“No,” Henry said. “I felt it myself.”
“Wait … what?”
“Man, you’re dumb. I was in Darla’s luggage on the day of the launch, you stain. I’m supposta think you got a good hypothe-whatever, and you can’t even sniff out a stowaway?”
There was no denying one advantage Henry’s short stature afforded him. He could fit in things. It was funny, really, and Martin might even have laughed at the thought of Henry stuffed in a piece of luggage. But he had an important question to ask.
“So you felt it then? And you were okay with it?”
“I ain’t afraid of nothin’,” Henry said. “If Darla was okay with it, then so am I. It felt kinda good, right?”
“It’s because it did something good,” Martin said. “It brought Marjorie to us.”
Of this, he was sure. The last time he’d turned on the machine, he had been operating on faith. Now he was operating on logic. Logic told him that the machine was never designed to take them anywhere.
“Rice,” Henry remarked. “Marjorie has the same last name as Kelvin, you know?”
“I know,” Martin said. “It’s because she’s his mother.”
“Who told you that?”
Martin didn’t bother explaining the obvious. Rather, he put out his hand. “What do you have for me? Your object?” he asked.
“Oh. Right.” Henry reached down beneath the collar of his shirt. A leather cord was strung around his neck, and he pulled at it until a black metallic cylinder emerged.
“Your scope?”
“From my rifle,” Henry said. “Dad gave it to me for my first huntin’ season. Never needed it for huntin’, though. I’m better than that. So I never screwed it on. Only used it for watching.”
“Can I take it?” Martin asked.
“Depends what you do with it.”
“I’ll show you.”
He led Henry through the interior door to the second chamber and to the wall next to the basin. “Your father taught you how to hunt,” Martin said. “Mine taught me how to build. He told me this part of the machine was its heart. I didn’t fully understand why until now.”
“Sounds like you’re writing a friggin’ valentine,” Henry said with a snort.
“Not exactly,” Martin replied. “Put the scope in the basin.”
“Why?”
“You haven’t figured it out?”
“Figured what out?”
“It’s probably better if you see it.”
Martin had the pendulum in his hand and was about to let it go when he realized that he should give Henry the honor. There had never been an apology, from either of them. Sure, Henry had broken into his personal page, but Henry hadn’t started the fire. Martin’s book probably would have burned anyway. What Martin had done to Henry was much worse. It was deceitful and vindictive, and it had put Henry’s life in danger.
Letting Henry drop the pendulum was a small gesture that would echo through the rest of their lives. That was Martin’s hope, at least.
“Let it go,” Martin said, handing Henry the pendulum. “That’s all you have to do.”
Henry didn’t hesitate. He dropped the pendulum, and the sequence was complete once again. It swung back and forth and ticked out its steady rhythm. Martin pointed to the crack beneath the door to the heart. Light, strong and warm and pure, came rushing at them.
“It’s happening,” he said.
They couldn’t resist. Energy enveloped them, and they began to laugh, and they laughed for as long as the machine held them under its spell, and for the first time since meeting him, Martin saw joy in Henry’s face. He liked that side of him. Henry looked like a kid, a true kid.
Then it all went away—the sounds, the light, the feeling in their guts.
Henry spoke first. “So what’d it do?”
“Go back to the basin and you’ll see,” Martin said.
“It melted my scope, didn’t it?”
“Just go back to the basin.”
Henry couldn’t have known what lay beyond the door to the machine’s heart, because he threw it open as he would any door. To him, it was just an obstacle in his way from one place to another. It wasn’t a gateway; it wasn’t a turning point—at least, not until he stepped through it.
His scope rested in the basin, and in front of the basin, on the floor, sat a man. His legs were splayed out to the sides, and he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Henry stopped, and Martin watched as he fixed his stare on the man’s muddy boots.
The man grumbled and moaned, as if woken from a deep sleep. His eyes remained closed as he pulled his hands away and placed them on his paint-splattered jeans. A wispy goatee of red and gray hairs sprouted from his chin, and when he opened his mouth, he yawned and he ran his tongue along his bottom lip, moistening it with spit.
“Who’s that?” the man asked.
When it looked like Henry might topple over, Martin placed his hands on his shoulders. Quick breaths sent tremors through Henry’s body, and Martin instinctively tried to calm him by patting his back. It seemed to work. At the very least, Henry didn’t slap his hand away.
“Is someone there?” the man asked. He began rubbing his brow in an attempt to break the seal that was holding his eyelids shut.
“It’s me,” the boy whispered. “Henry.”
“Henry?” the man said. “What’s going on?”
“We found you, Daddy.”
His eyelids peeled back, and Martin saw the amber irises of Henry’s father. They were identical to those of his son. Henry crawled toward him.
“Henry?” his father said, recoiling.
“It’s okay,” Henry said.
“What happened to you? Your face looks different.”
“It’s been so long since I seen you,” Henry said. “Daddy, I’m so glad you’re back.”
“Where are we, boy?” his father asked. “Who done that to your face, Henry? Where’s Mom at?”
This wasn’t the time for explanations. When Henry’s crawl brought him to his father’s side, he collapsed on the man. He wrapped his arms around his chest and nuzzled his face into his armpit. He began to cry.
“I missed you so much, Daddy. So much.”
Henry’s father didn’t look up to see Martin standing in the doorway. He closed his eyes and bowed his head and petted his son on the back. “Whatever it is, it’s gonna be fine,” he whispered. “Come on now, Hanky. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”
Martin backed away and let them have their moment alone. When he exited the machine, he discovered that Tiberia was gone, and Marjorie with her, but the rest of the kids were still there. Darla approached him first.
“What’s the matter?” Darla asked.
“What do you mean?” Martin said.
“You’re crying.”
“I am?” He brought his hand up to his cheek.
“What happened to Henry?”
Martin smiled. “Leave him alone for a while. He’ll be out eventually.”