ADAM SAID HE’D BE at Lianna’s by 7:00. And it was already 6:50.
He took a deep breath and looked out his bedroom window, toward the Frazers’ house.
Their front door opened. Lianna emerged, frowning. Arms folded, she paced across her porch.
She’s mad at me.
No. He wasn’t late yet. It was something else.
She’s just had a fight with Ripley. She’s dumping him.
Because of me.
Adam felt a rush.
He was happy. Exhilarated.
Forget it. Don’t even think about it.
He could not allow himself to be distracted. Lianna was a friend. Nothing else.
Besides, girls like her didn’t go out with guys like Adam.
He pulled himself away from the window. The videocamera was sitting on his bed. He picked it up, trying to decide whether or not to take it.
Outside, a little dog was yapping loudly—Stetson, the mutt that belonged to Lianna’s next-door neighbors. Adam watched him scamper onto the Frazers’ porch, leaping onto Lianna’s leg.
Adam smiled. Stetson looked a lot like Jazz.
Jazz. Who died the night before Edgar did.
Tonight. Adam lifted the videocamera to his eye. He trained it on Lianna’s house.
The street was no longer a streak of dry blacktop.
It was snow-covered, just as it had been four years ago. A melted snow dinosaur stood on the lawn. The snowplows had been through, piling the drifts high against the curb. But Lianna’s driveway had been dug out, and a dark blue Chevy was parked in it.
Adam could see the entire Frazer family silhouetted in the living room lights —the ten-year-old Lianna, her parents, her brother, and someone else…
The front door opened. Jazz came scampering out first, followed by the others.
Under the porch light, Adam could see a shock of white hair.
Lianna’s grandma.
She was heading for her car.
Jazz was jumping up, placing his paws on her coat. Grandma petted him.
She’s going to kill him.
Adam looked up. Into the present. Lianna had returned into the house. The street was empty.
He grabbed the camera, bolted from his room, and raced outside.
As he ran toward Lianna’s, he raised the camera. The rubber flap of the viewfinder pounded into his eye socket.
His feet pounded dry pavement— even though the image was snowbound, his body was behind the lens. In the present.
Grandma was in the car, waving out the window. The exhaust pipe belched smoke.
Clunk. The car shuddered as she put it in gear. She looked over her right shoulder.
Mr. Frazer shooed Jazz away from the back of the car. Yapping wildly, the little dog ran to the front.
“NO!” Adam yelled. Uselessly.
The car lurched forward.
Still holding the camera to his eye, Adam ran toward Jazz. He reached his other hand forward.
STOP HIM!
His hand was in the frame now. Adam could see its faint shimmer.
He felt Jazz’s fur.
He shoved as hard as he could.
The motion threw him off balance. The camera went flying.
And Adam fell in front of the car.