“She’s not going to die,” Lisa said. “We’re not going to let it happen. We can stop it.”
“We can?” Colin asked.
“Yes. We can.”
I stopped listening as soon as Lisa and Colin started arguing. My sister’s contorted face was seared into my mind. I thought about Mr. Utlet. We had done everything right. We stopped the robbers from killing him, we called the police, we did everything… and for what? He still died. He was still gunned down and not even by the bad guys.
There was something else. That moment just before the police shot him. I closed my eyes to remember. He was standing in the beams of light, and for a fraction of a second, I had imagined what the officers were seeing. I remembered fighting the urge to run out and shield Mr. Utlet from the bullets. And all at once it hit me.
“I was going to die!”
Lisa and Colin stopped shouting at each other and turned toward me slowly. Both of them looked confused and stunned.
“That’s why he was in the alley,” I said, before they could say a word.
“What are you talking about?” Lisa asked.
“The stopwatches. The ones we saw in the hospital.”
“What about them?” Colin prodded.
Lisa gasped. “There was one with your initials on it, wasn’t there?”
“Yes,” I said. “Colin saw it. Remember?” I looked at Colin, then back to Lisa. “Colin was right.”
“I was?” Colin looked even more shocked.
“It was meant for me,” I said. “I was supposed to die that day. He saved me. That’s why he was in the alley.”
“Those guys were going to kill you?” Colin asked. “For what? Your biology textbook?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe because I was going to get in the way of their robbery. Or maybe I was going to cut through that alley and get hit by a street-sweeper. Who knows? The point is he intervened somehow, and I’m alive.”
“But how would he know your name?” Lisa asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe he asked around. Maybe he followed me. Either way, he did.”
“Not to be a downer or anything,” Colin said, “but it could also be that the initials on the stopwatch were someone else’s. Or maybe he started out trying to save people, but eventually he really did go nuts. I mean, you heard Dmitri when he said suicide. As in he tried to kill himself.”
“Maybe,” I conceded. “It’s possible that he went nuts. I feel like I’m going nuts every time I see one of these stupid vis—” A shiver rolled up my spine and hitched the words in my throat. “But I think there’s something more to this. I really think he saved my life.”
“So there’s a way,” Lisa said before Colin could get in a word. “If you’re still alive, then Mr. Vidmar saved your life. And if he could save your life, then we can save Becky’s.”
We turned to leave, heading in the direction of my father’s office, but Colin stopped me by grabbing my arm. He pointed to the corner of the building. “Did you guys see that?”
“See what?” Lisa asked.
“That guy.” He took a few cautious steps toward the corner, then peered around the edge. “He’s gone.” He turned back to us. “You didn’t see him?”
“Colin, what are you talking about?” Lisa asked.
“There was someone there, watching us, but he took off as soon as I noticed him.”
“Wait,” I said, remembering the person from the library, “was he wearing a leather jacket?”
“You did see him!”
I shook my head. “No. I thought I saw someone at the library, though.”
“You mean you think someone’s following us?” Lisa asked. “Who?”
“Oh man,” Colin said, “what if it’s someone from the cult?”
I considered it for a half a second and then shook my head. “It doesn’t matter right now. My sister’s going to die, and we can’t let that happen. We can worry about who’s following us later. Lisa’s right. If Mr. Vidmar saved my life, we can save Becky’s.”
***
We rushed to my dad’s office and told him we were ready to go.
“You got the answers you were looking for?” he asked as we walked to the car.
“Most of them,” Lisa said.
My dad started the engine and pulled out of his parking spot. “I want you kids to know that you’ve made remarkable strides these past few days.” He glanced at me. “Going to a funeral, coming to the library to better understand what happened. I’m proud of you.” He smiled. “It will get better now, kids. I think after you go to Mr. Utlet’s funeral this Saturday you’ll see how much better you’ll actually feel.” He glanced in the rearview mirror and looked at Lisa and Colin. “Do you kids need a ride tomorrow?”
“A ride where, Mr. Curse?” Lisa asked.
“You kids have group therapy tomorrow.”
I groaned inwardly. I had forgotten about the sessions—and there was no chance my parents would let me skip the next one. But I had to try.
“Dad, I don’t think—”
“We had an agreement, son.” My dad’s voice was stern, but he was still smiling. “You’re going.”
Arguing would have been futile. I considered my options. I couldn’t pretend to be sick. My parents would see right through it. And even if they did let me stay home, they’d insist I stay in bed. I couldn’t help Becky from my bed. I had seen a movie once where a kid put sugar in his parent’s gas tank and it stopped the car from working. I considered stuffing my pockets with the tiny packets my parents used in their coffee and quickly wondered how many packets it would take to do the job.
“Your session is at ten, right?” my dad said, glancing at the rearview mirror.
“Er… yes, sir,” Lisa said.
“Well, if your parents need me to drive you kids, I’m happy to do it.”
“Thanks, sir,” Colin said. “I’m sure my parents would like that. I’ll double check.”
“Me too,” Lisa said.
I shifted in the seat. “How long are the sessions?”
Lisa groaned. “Two hours.”
“Unless Eric starts crying again. Last session was almost three hours, thanks to him.”
“So we’ll be done by noon.” I had to be near Becky at 2:23. As early as possible. “What’s Becky doing tomorrow?”
My dad cocked an eyebrow. “Becky? She’s probably going to spend the day packing. I’m driving her to camp at four.”
“So she’ll be home the whole morning?”
My dad smiled. “I doubt she’ll have plans, son. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to say goodbye to her after your session.”
A knot twisted in my gut. Any other time I’d be all too happy to see Becky leave for a couple weeks. But the thought of saying goodbye to her now, after the way she looked in my vision, was almost too much.
“Easy, champ,” my dad said, looking concerned. “She’s only going to be gone for two weeks.”
“I know that.” A drop of water hit my wrist. I rubbed it with my thumb and then wiped my face. Tears? I was crying? I used my sleeve and wiped my face again. “I’m not crying,” I lied. “I just got some dust in my eye.”
“There was a lot of dust in the library,” Lisa agreed.
“I didn’t think so,” Colin said.
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you, Colin?” Lisa muttered, though everyone in the car could hear her.
No way was I getting out of therapy tomorrow. I could take the tires off the car and my dad would strap me to his back and piggyback me to the office. You don’t shed tears for a sister going away to bug camp and not get sent to therapy. I was pretty sure there was a rule written in some how-to-be-a-brother handbook that specifically addressed that issue.