“ADAM, THIS IS CREEPY.” Lianna paced the room.
I can convince her.
“I saw Edgar,” Adam blurted out. “A few minutes ago, when I looked through the lens.”
Lianna blanched. “But you couldn’t. Edgar is dead.”
“Not four years ago. Not yet.”
Ripley glared at him in disbelief. “You superimposed images over an old cassette.”
“Then how did the image move that book?” Adam asked.
“Coincidence,” Ripley said. “It fell.”
“I pulled it down!” Adam insisted.
Ripley grabbed the camera and thrust it toward Adam. “Okay, time traveler. You have special powers? Prove it.”
Adam’s fingers closed around the videocamera. He looked for a place to set it down.
No.
You’ll be in the same room as Edgar.
Inches from him.
Knowing he’s about to be killed.
And you won’t be able to do a thing.
“I can’t,” Adam said. “Not here.”
“I thought so,” Ripley said with a grin. “Okay, guys, we’ve had our fun. I have hockey practice in ten minutes.”
“Adam?” Lianna said. “Was this all some kind of joke?”
She was glaring at Adam. Disappointment, accusation, betrayal, and fear all passed across her eyes.
He was losing her.
His only possible partner.
Do it, Sarno.
Stand up for the right thing once in a while.
He slid a pile of papers to the back of Ripley’s desk and set the camera down. “Okay. I changed my mind.”
He turned the camera on.
Lianna’s eyes fixed on him.
Ripley yawned.
Slowly Adam stepped in front of the lens.
“I still seeeeee you…” Ripley taunted.
Blip.
Adam felt a momentary pull. A smear of color, the pop…
And then, blue.
Edgar’s blue.
Adam was facing Edgar’s mirror. It showed an empty room.
No reflection. As if I’m not here.
He moved closer.
And he saw the room wasn’t empty.
Edgar was behind him to the left. Still sitting at his desk. Writing. His back to Adam.
It hurt to see him. Worse than Adam expected. He felt it sharply in his gut as he turned around.
He wanted to yell out. Warn him.
But Adam was a phantom. A ghost. Invisible and silent.
How can you be sure?
Try it.
“Edgar?” Adam walked closer, his voice little more than a whisper.
Edgar didn’t turn around. He was writing intently.
Adam looked over his shoulder. Edgar was recording hockey statistics. Goals and assists for each player. Game by game.
Several columns were full of numbers. The right side was blank—the upcoming games, beginning January 16.
Games Edgar would never play.
Reach him.
Adam lifted his hand. He placed it on Edgar’s shoulder.
He could feel the fabric. Barely.
But Edgar wasn’t reacting.
REACH HIM!
Adam tried again. As if the touch would pull Edgar away from the lake. As if it would shield him, protect him from death.
Edgar dropped his pen.
With a flick of the wrist, he swatted his shoulder. Right where Adam had touched it.
Blip.
The surroundings melted into a brief swirl of blue.
Ripley’s room instantly materialized around him.
Ripley was holding the camera. The red light was off. “Enough,” he said.
“What are you doing?” Adam pleaded.
“Not Oscar material,” Ripley remarked. “I’d say C plus for the hysterical emotions, but A minus for the pantomime.”
“Pantomime? But Edgar was— couldn’t you see?”
“Adam,” Lianna said, “you were here the whole time, doing all these strange gestures.”
This is not happening.
Adam took the camera out of Ripley’s hands, set it back on the desk, and turned it on. “Go. Somebody try it besides me!”
Ripley grinned. “Escape into the past!” he cried, grabbing Lianna by the waist.
“Ripley, no!” Lianna screamed.
But it was too late.
They were both standing in front of the lens now.
Lianna was sweating, glancing around uncertainly.
A look of wonder passed across Ripley’s face.
He sees it!
“Can you hear me?” Adam called out. “What do you see?”
“Oh, wow…” Ripley said. “There’s Washington crossing the Delaware…Lincoln emancipating the slaves…Leave It to Beaver making its season premiere…”
Lianna rolled her eyes. “Ripley, you’re a jerk.”