CHAPTER 19

THE DEPUTY’S EYES go wide when he sees us, turning them extra blue. Suddenly the drift is gone, replaced by so many thoughts: I don’t want to be seen like this, in my gray gown, all ghostlike. Wish I was somewhere else. Not seen.

But he is here, and I am here, so there is no choice.

All I can do is hope this is over soon.

I straighten up, try hard not to wobble when Miss Wallace walks me to his table. Sit down before she can try to help me. “I’ll be right over there, Dorothy,” she says, pointing to a spot near the entrance. I nod and she goes.

“You’re letting them call you Dorothy now?” Officer Worthy asks as he sits. I nod. “So things are … better for you here? Clearer?” I nod again, but he looks puzzled. “After our last encounter, I was expecting at least a cutting remark, if not a swift jab from you,” he says, and smiles. First time I’ve seen the deputy’s smile. Crooked but kind. I’d smile back but I’m not sure those muscles are working right. “Is everything all right?” he asks. “And I’m afraid I’m going to need more than a headshake.”

Time to speak, kill his concern so he’ll go. I close my eyes, take my time to string together the right words. “Yes, I’m fine,” I tell Officer Worthy on the other side of my eyelids. “It’s tiring to talk, ’cause of the treatment. But Dr. Sherman’s protocol is all to make me better.”

That should satisfy him—only when I open my eyes, there’s no satisfaction on his face. His brows are pinched together tight, his lips now an O like Georgie’s.

But it’s not till I hear “Christ” slip out under his breath that I realize what’s happened—

The deputy’s just witnessed my horror show.

Dr. Sherman, Miss Wallace, the rest of the staff, they’ve acted like I was speaking just fine, with their smile-nods. But all the time my words have been getting less and less fine, more and more slurred. Stunted. And I never noticed it changing—like the frog who doesn’t know it’s slowly boiling to death ’cause it’s happening bit by bit. Realizing I’m the frog fills me with shame and rage—fear too—and I turn away to stuff it all back down.

When I turn back, pity’s replaced alarm on Officer Worthy’s face.

And I don’t want to settle for pity.

So, I try even harder to speak right. Show him I’m fine. “Dr. Sherman says I’ll be recovered real soon and then I can go home!”

But it’s like cut-open Betsy, blood running down her face, wanting so much to make Gus understand about her transmitter. The harder she tried, the worse her horror show got. Officer Worthy’s leaning close now, trying hard to understand my words. I see his eyes go to my wedding ring.

“Your husband, he agreed to this treatment?” he asks.

Explaining Paul doesn’t know what they’re really doing downstairs—it’s too many words. So I nod, and now the deputy’s looking around the room like he’s searching for someone to arrest.

“Why are you here, Officer Worthy?” I ask, slow and careful.

The deputy’s fingers drum softly on the table.

“After the attendant took a crack at you that day on the driveway,” he says, “I decided to check in on you, make sure you were getting on okay here. But you were not an easy person to see. When I contacted Dr. Sherman, he said it wasn’t the right time yet for you to have visitors. So I waited. And waited. Weeks passed, but it never seemed to be the right time. So finally, I called Hanover’s superintendent, explained that I’d witnessed possible excessive force being used on a patient by a member of his staff. And as an officer of the court, I needed to officially follow up with a welfare check on that patient to ascertain she was okay, that there had been no more incidents. Otherwise I’d need to turn my report over to my superiors.”

“Lone Ranger rides again,” I say, and we laugh at my words from that day on the driveway. Feels good to laugh, like none of what’s happened has happened.

“So, you’re sure about this protocol of Dr. Sherman’s?” Officer Worthy asks.

“Used to think I was from the future,” I say, and he nods. So he knows. Dr. Sherman must’ve told him. That doesn’t seem right but maybe the doctor had his reasons. “I want to get better. Leave here.”

“Good,” he says, nodding. “That’s what I needed to hear.” He reaches into his pocket. “I have something for you,” he says, and pulls out a wrinkled piece of yellow paper. “Found this on the driveway after that attendant took you away. Pretty sure it’s yours.” The balled-up yellow note from my coat pocket. I remember. He pushes it across the table to me.

I’m sure what’s in this note is no good for my recovery. But the voice comes out of hiding to issue a last command before she flickers out of existence:

Look at it. Maybe it says who the doctor is!

And before I can smother the urge, smother her, I’m unfolding it. First word is three letters: B followed by i-x. Bix. Great, a note addressed to the voice.

But I wonder what I’d write her, so I move to the next word: u-n-d-o-u-b-t-e-d-l-y. So many letters. I sound each out, trying to form them all into a word, only it refuses to form, and now I’m jumping from word to word, looking for one I can crack—but find none.

Reading is mostly gone.

I feel my face growing hot, shame and anger rising again from this newest shrinking of me. Push the paper back across the table. “Can’t.”

On Officer Worthy’s face, new pity. I need this to be over. Miss Wallace is just across the room. I could call to her—

“Would you like me to read it to you?” he asks.

No. He should definitely not do that.

Only “Yes, please” escapes me, and he starts.

Bix,

Undoubtedly, you don’t want to hear any more from me about this mission to hunt down the doctor in ’54—and all the reasons why you shouldn’t be the one to go, so I’ll desist.

You were right, I should’ve been more understanding of your desire to opt out, become Kyung’s volunteer.

I’m still angry she went behind my back to enlist you. Still think her mission is premature. But it is your choice, your life, and I’m trying to make peace with it. Trying.

So now the housekeeping:

I reminded Kyung you’ve got over a year till your quarter hour, but our little control freak likes to be prepared, insists you carry a list of the addresses below. If things go south with the tether or the devil’s kiss comes early, you’ll have options for doing what’s necessary. Horrible options, but options:

35 Braddock Road, Norfolk, Virginia

644 Tilbury Street, Manassas, Virginia

892 Twin Forks Road, Alexandria, Virginia

Just promise me when you make it to 1954 in that jerry-rigged machine, you’ll be careful. As you know, 1954 has its own dangers.

—Ethan, your favorite twin

I invented a twin brother. And the rest of this gibberish.

“I’ve been wondering about these terms,” Officer Worthy says, “‘devil’s kiss,’ ‘tether,’ ‘your quarter hour.’”

“Your wife know what you do with your free time?” I ask.

He ignores my kidding. “Do you remember what they mean?”

Bix’s words. Soon they’ll be gone. “‘Quarter hour’ means twenty-fifth birthday,” I tell him, “and tether’s a … a connection between times … I think. Don’t remember devil’s kiss, or why those addresses.”

Now his eyes look like they want to hide. “What?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. “Tell me.”

“I drove out to them,” he says finally. “The addresses.”

“And you find?”

“Crematoriums. All three.”

Like the yellow note said: my “horrible options.” It’s all so, so dark. Why couldn’t I see how sick I was in A-Ward? Guess the frog was cooking too slow.

“I’m sorry,” Officer Worthy says. “I didn’t mean for you to learn—”

“How nuts I am? Already know. But you’re still here, asking questions. Digging.”

“I like a good puzzle.”

“All just things my sick mind made up. Like time travel, the Guest … even people”—I hold up the yellow note from “Ethan.” “I was starting to believe they were real.” The deputy’s eyes are hiding from me again. “What is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “It’s … It’s nothing.”

It’s definitely something. And I want to not care what that something is, drift past it like I have everything else on the way to killing the voice.

But I can’t.

“Tell me,” I say, and notice him looking over my shoulder at something behind me. Done it a couple times. I turn around and see Dr. Sherman and Nurse Wallace by the doorway, watching us.

What is the cop not telling you?

Maybe he’s working with Sherman and Wallace. Trying to keep you from the mission! Stop you from finding the doctor!

I’m trying to stay calm, let the drift take me away, but the voice won’t stop.

You’re gonna need to force him to talk—

Shut up! I silently shout at her, then reach my hand across the table, toward the deputy. “Please. Tell.”

The deputy’s eyes come back to me and he nods. “To hell with them. You deserve to know,” he says.

“Know what?”

“You’ve been lied to here,” he says.

“No, no one here’s lying to me…” I can feel my face growing hot, my thoughts prickly at his unwelcome news. My circuits are starting to overload. I don’t want Dr. Sherman and Miss Wallace to see me all agitated like this, try hard to jam all that Officer Worthy’s just said into a drawer.

But my drawers are too full. And now my head is filling with an awful high-pitched whine.

The deputy’s still talking, I can see his lips moving—but all I can hear is eeeeeee.