ZING.
Adam sprang out of bed.
He’d fallen asleep.
The videocamera was beside his bed.
Think.
Clear your head.
Okay, maybe this was some kind of vision. A concussion side effect.
But too many questions remained.
Why do I have no memory of Jazz or Grandma over the last four years?
How did that image of my old room get on the tape?
He couldn’t afford to doubt.
He had to try.
He had to plan.
What if the rescue failed? What if three o’clock came and went and Edgar was still dead?
That would be it. No adjusting the camera. No turning back again.
It’ll be like killing him twice.
Could he do something beforehand—keep him away?
He flicked on his desk lamp.
His clock showed 10:07 P.M.
Seventeen hours.
THINK!
Edgar’s room.
No. It was Ripley’s. Adam couldn’t pop over there at this hour. Ripley would steal the camera.
Edgar’s not the only one I can warn.
Adam reached for the videocamera. He turned it on and looked through the view-finder, scanning the room.
There. At his desk.
His younger self sat, fidgeting, absorbed in a computer game.
Adam put down the camera quickly and began scribbling on a pad of paper. He threw away several drafts until he got the note just right:
“There,” Adam murmured.
All he had to do was leave it — unobtrusively, hidden in plain sight where his younger self would find it.
No ghostly confrontations, no shock.
Simple.
Adam’s arms trembled as he picked up the camera.
Steady.
He focused again on his ten-year-old self. Slowly he moved his hand into camera range.
Both hand and note shimmered, airy outlines in the old room. He dropped the note.
He pulled the camera away.
But the note was on his floor, in the present.
Adam picked up the note. He looked through the camera again and held the note in the viewfinder’s range. Carefully he moved toward the bed and placed the note prominently on the old bedcover.
Again, he pulled the camera away.
The note was on his bed, as if the past didn’t exist. As if the whole thing was—
No.
Do. Not. Doubt.
The rules. There had to be rules for time travel.
I can’t bring anything into the past.
Maybe this was Rule Number One. It made weird sense.
Warning was out.
Rescuing was in. He’d proved that. Two lives saved. Nothing sacrificed.
Adam froze.
This is nothing like Jazz’s accident.
Two people were involved. One lived and one died.
What if rescuing Edgar meant changing everything? What if something had to be sacrificed to save him? Anything could happen.
Adam swallowed hard.
What if I die?