Quicksilver

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I said.

  “No,” said Sebastian mildly, “I didn’t. It’s being looked after, Tori. That’s all you need to know.”

  And there he went playing big brother again. “It’s Niki,” I said. “Like Nikola Tesla, Mr. Faraday, and you really need to get out of that habit. Or I’m going to start calling you by your real name, and we’ll see how much you like it.”

  Sebastian was silent, his eyes on the road. Then he said, “You know, at times it’s difficult to imagine how you became the most popular girl in your high school.”

  “You know exactly how I did it,” I said. “I watched people and did whatever it took to make them like me, or trust me, or feel like they owed me a favor. So they had to stop seeing me as an outsider, and accept me as one of their own. And don’t tell me that you don’t do the same thing, for exactly the same reasons.” I folded my arms. “The only difference between us is that you think you can manipulate me the same way.”

  “So there’s no such thing as kindness, only manipulation?” Sebastian shook his head. “That’s quite a cynical outlook, Niki.”

  “Oh, please. You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “Do I? I don’t think you know me half as well as you seem to believe.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine,” I said. “Far be it from me to violate your impenetrable air of mystery.”

  Sebastian gave me a sideways glance, and I could see I’d surprised him. “That’s interesting.”

  “What?”

  “Your vocabulary and diction just jumped several grade levels. That’s deliberate too, isn’t it? You keep your language simple so people won’t be threatened by your intelligence.”

  “Well, you see,” I said, “my mother taught me that it’s rude to make other people feel inferior.”

  Which was catty, and I knew I’d probably regret it. But Sebastian only looked thoughtful. “Yes, of course,” he said. “Your parents have obviously had a powerful influence on your life. Do you ever resent that? Have you ever tried to rebel?”

  “Are we playing Twenty Really Personal Questions now?” I asked. “Because I’d rather stick to Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Sorry,” said Sebastian. “I was only curious. I hardly remember my own parents at all.”

  Well, that was awkward. I looked away quickly, counting the telephone poles flashing by the window, and we drove in silence all the rest of the way to Milo’s house.

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  Milo was waiting at the end of his driveway, casually dressed and with a sports bag slung over his shoulder. “This trip had better be educational,” he said as he climbed in behind me. “Because not only do I have to write an essay about it, but there is zero legroom back here.”

  “What did you tell your mom?” I asked.

  Milo slid to the middle of the seat and leaned between us. “The truth, more or less,” he said. “Left her a note saying I knew this guy who was a scientist, and he’d invited me and another student to help him out with an experiment for a couple of days. Told her I’d cleared it with my physics teacher, which I actually did because Mr. Vanacek is on Facebook all the freakin’ time. So I’m sure Mom’ll be fine with it. Whenever she wakes up.”

  “Your mother’s still working nights, then?” asked Sebastian. “Where?”

  “Hospital,” said Milo. “She’s a trauma nurse. She wanted to be a surgeon, but, uh … that didn’t really work out.”

  We made a fuel stop before we hit the highway, and Milo followed Sebastian into the store to get some snacks. While they were gone, I threw our luggage into the truck bed next to the transceiver, then climbed into the back seat so Milo could have the front. He tried to argue with me about it, but I told him to shut up because I wasn’t being noble, I just wanted to go to sleep. Then I lay down and pulled Sebastian’s car blanket over my shoulders, in case anyone was tempted to doubt it.

  As I was drifting off, it occurred to me that Sebastian was even more tired than I was and probably shouldn’t be tackling an eight-hour drive at the moment, Sunday traffic or not. I was wondering fuzzily if I should say something to Milo about it when I fell asleep.

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  When I woke up, my mouth tasted thick and furry and my face was stuck to the seat. I rolled over, wincing, and rubbed my eyes. How long had I been sleeping? Longer than I’d planned, for sure. The sun was halfway to the horizon, and my left contact lens felt like it had been put in with superglue. Worse, the right one didn’t feel like it was there at all. I was lifting a tentative finger to check when I spotted the thin circle of grey stuck to the edge of my hand.

  Great. How was I going to put it back in now? My lens kit was in the bed of the truck.

  “… Literally, it means ‘joined sensation.’” Sebastian’s voice rose over the sound of the engine. “When two or more of the five senses are interconnected, so that when one is stimulated, the other responds at the same time. When I met Alison, I discovered that she not only had multiple forms of synesthesia—seeing sounds, tasting words, and so on—but that her perceptions were extraordinarily acute.”

  I’d propped myself up on both elbows, ready to ask Sebastian to pull over. But if Milo had got him talking about Alison, there was no way I was going to interrupt now. Carefully I lay back down and listened.

  “So there was no real reason for her to be in the psych hospital?” asked Milo. “They just put her there because they didn’t know what was wrong with her?”

  “Well, they had legitimate reason for concern,” Sebastian said. “There was a family history of schizophrenia, for one thing. Alison’s insistence that she’d seen Tori—sorry, Niki—disintegrate didn’t help either. And at times her reactions could be … violent.”

  “Whoa,” said Milo. “How violent?”

  “No weapons were involved, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Sebastian dryly. “Even in her worst moments, Alison never hurt anyone on purpose. But being exposed to the relay had a powerful effect on her synesthesia. After Niki disappeared, Allison’s senses were so raw that even the slightest touch felt like an assault, and when it became too much for her, she panicked and lashed out. So you can see why the police, and even her own family, made the mistake they did.”

  “And you’re sure it was the relay that did it?” asked Milo. “Because Niki and I were standing right there when you came through, and it didn’t do anything to us.”

  “No, but neither of you are synesthetes, let alone as sensitive as Alison. I admit I was skeptical myself at first, but once I’d seen the relay’s effect on her firsthand, there was no doubt.”

  And that was another good reason for Sebastian to keep his distance from Alison, now that I thought about it. Especially since he was still carrying the relay around with him, and there was no way—yet—to be sure it wouldn’t go off again.

  I played possum for another five minutes, hoping Sebastian would let something slip that I didn’t already know. But soon the conversation shifted to more casual topics, and by the time they’d started talking about the best places to eat in Sudbury, I’d had enough. I sat up, yawning, and asked, “What time is it?”

  “Four twenty,” said Milo. “That was a pretty impressive nap you took there. Want some Doritos?”

  With the taste of sleep lingering in my mouth, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted less. “Ugh, no,” I said. “Can we stop at a Timmy’s somewhere? I need coffee.”

  “We left civilization behind an hour ago,” Milo said, tipping his head at the windscreen. Rocky outcroppings and stands of evergreen trees lined both sides of the highway, with a glimpse of blue lake around the next curve. “I don’t think there’s anything for…” He trailed off as our eyes met.

  “What?” I asked, and then I remembered my missing contact. Which was really missing now, because while I was pretending to be asleep, it had dried up and fallen onto the floor. So now I had one grey-blue eye and one turquoise. “Oh. Y
eah, I know. I lost a lens somewhere.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?” asked Milo. “When I had contacts, I couldn’t stand to—” He frowned. “Wait. Who gets tinted contacts to make their eyes look less blue?”

  “People who are trying not to get recognized, that’s who,” I said. “You had contacts?”

  “For a couple years. But they bugged me and I kept getting eye infections, so finally I gave up and went back to glasses.” He studied me, still looking troubled. “But yours … they’re just for show, aren’t they? You don’t have any prescription at all.”

  I sighed and swiped the remaining lens out of my eye, rolling it between my fingers and let it fall. It wasn’t like my disguise had protected me from Deckard, and I was tired of wearing contacts anyway. “Yeah,” I said. “And for the record, I also dye my hair.”

  “Sure,” said Milo. “Makes sense.” But his voice was subdued, and I could guess why. He’d thought we were close, but he was starting to realize how little he knew about me. How many other secrets had I been keeping from him all this time?

  Too many. But even now, I was afraid of telling him the truth. I still wasn’t sure how he’d react.

  “I dye my hair too,” announced Sebastian. “Premature grey is so unflattering. Oh, look—is that a porcupine?”

  As distractions went, it was a brave attempt, or at least the parody of one. But since the porcupine in question was lying half-smashed at the side of the highway with one paw stuck pathetically in the air, it didn’t help much.

  “No,” I said wearily, “it’s a metaphor for this conversation. Can we switch seats now?”

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  We stopped for coffee and supper at a roadside diner north of the park. I’d eaten as much of my burger as I could stomach, and Sebastian and Milo were polishing off their slices of pie, when I remembered I still hadn’t texted my parents.

  Well, no point in putting it off any longer. I pulled out my phone.

  –On road trip with Milo and friend (responsible adult—no worries). Back in a couple of days.

  I sent that one to my mother, then added a line about Deckard being safely out of the picture for the time being, and sent it again to my dad. Of course my phone clanked and lit up in seconds with Mom demanding to know where I was going and why I hadn’t asked permission first. But when I explained that the trip to the observatory had come up at the last minute and that Milo had cleared it with his mom and teachers before we went, she calmed down.

  Dad’s response was shorter.

  –Stay safe and keep in touch. We’ll talk when you get home.

  Which would have sounded positive, except that I knew “we’ll talk” was Dad Code for “You’re in big trouble, young lady.” But the important thing was, my parents knew I was alive and well—which was a lot more reassurance than I’d given them the last time I disappeared.

  I just hoped this plan of Sebastian’s would work. Or else the next time I went missing, it really would be the last.

  Sebastian paid the waitress—in cash—and we headed back out to the truck. The sun was low in the sky now, casting long shadows through the trees and streaking the rocks with gold. The air smelled crisp and earthy. I breathed in slowly, savoring the wildness of it, and was surprised by a stab of homesickness—not for the south where I lived now, but for the north I’d left behind. I hadn’t thought I’d feel that way, after being trapped in one place so long. Maybe it hadn’t been quite so easy to pull up my roots as I’d thought.

  Or maybe it was just the untamed beauty of the landscape that made me hurt inside, because it reminded me of what I’d always wanted and was afraid I’d never have—a life that was simple and honest and free.

  Milo offered me the front seat again, and I took it without argument. According to the directions, we only had an hour and a half left to drive anyway. But when Sebastian returned from the back of the truck with a handheld CB radio, gave it to me, and said, “Channel 23. Once we get into the park, you’ll need to call out our direction and location every kilometer so the logging trucks don’t run over us,” I realized that we were heading into some seriously remote territory. Places where only loggers and hard-core wilderness trippers ever went, and if we broke down, there’d be no handy tow truck or passing Good Samaritan to help us out.

  In fact, once we turned off the highway, it quickly became clear that there would be no passing anything, period. The road was gravel and dirt, deeply rutted, and not much wider than the truck. We bumped along in silence for several kilometers, until we reached a closed gate with a warning sign beside it reading NO ENTRY. ROAD CLOSED TO UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES.

  “Now what?” asked Milo, but Sebastian merely shifted into park and jumped out to open the gate. He climbed up into the truck bed to check on the transceiver, making sure the straps that anchored it were holding and that the padding was still in place. Then he got back in and we started off again.

  “Now would be a good time to start calling out our location,” Sebastian told me, so I picked up the CB and spoke. “Black Chevy Silverado heading east at the two-kilometer mark. Over.”

  “This is amazing,” breathed Milo, draping his elbows over the back of the seat and resting his chin on his wrist. “I bet we see moose. Maybe even a bear.”

  “Moose are good eating,” I said. “Bears are just a nuisance. Move to Sudbury, and in a few weeks, you’ll be sick of them.”

  “You have no soul,” said Milo reproachfully, but I could see he’d recovered his good humor. Either the meal had lifted his spirits, or he’d finally got over the shock of finding that his pretend girlfriend was even more pretend than he’d thought. “So what’s the deal with building a giant antenna in the middle of nowhere? Was it some kind of secret military project or what?”

  “Nothing so exciting,” said Sebastian. “They just wanted to avoid radio interference. Niki, you’ve missed another mark.”

  This was getting tedious. I raised the CB to my mouth and called out our location again, this time in my chirpiest shopping-channel voice, which made Milo snicker. At the next mark I did it in broad Cockney and the one after that in a southern drawl—I figured if the loggers had to listen to me babble the same message thirty-eight times, the least I could do was give them some variety. By the time I’d worked my way through Bored Hipster Girl, Scottish Lassie, and Indian Telemarketer, Milo was wheezing with laughter. But Sebastian didn’t even crack a smile. His shoulders were hunched, hands tight on the wheel.

  Nervous driver? He hadn’t seemed that way before, but I suppose this part of the trip would be a challenge for anyone. With each passing kilometer the trees grew thicker and the swamps and lakes rose higher, so close to the road in places that a single rainstorm could have washed it out. And when I glimpsed a clear-cut patch in the bush and saw an enormous logging truck rumbling toward us, I realized just how vital that radio really was. If the driver had started off any earlier or been moving any faster, he’d have smashed us to bits.

  Suddenly playing with the CB didn’t seem like a game anymore. I called out our location one last time and handed it off to Milo.

  The shadows deepened as we drove on, clouds flocking in from the east to darken the sky ahead. Sebastian switched on the headlights, but with so many sharp corners in the road, even high beams made little difference. Then a pair of luminous eyes shone out from the underbrush—and something galloped right in front of us. Milo yelled and Sebastian slammed on the brakes, but too late. The wheels went over it with a soft, sickening thump, and we nearly skidded off the road before Sebastian wrenched the truck back on course.

  “What was that?” I gasped, twisting to look behind us. But the darkness in our wake was too thick.

  “Raccoon, I think,” said Milo, sounding equally shaken. “What is it with those guys, anyway? I thought they were supposed to be clever.”

  Sebastian didn’t reply. His expression was bleak, his eyes narrow, and his mouth a thin line. “You okay?” I asked him.

  “
Fine,” he said shortly, but I didn’t have to be Alison to know that was a lie. I watched him, my uneasiness growing. Sebastian had been driving for seven and a half hours, and I was willing to bet he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in the last seventy-two. How much longer could he go on before he collapsed?

  Fortunately, it was only three more marks before we spotted the yellow light pulsing out from the trees ahead, and our beams flashed over a sign reading MAGNUS LAKE RADIO OBSERVATORY. The crossroads offered us a choice of two gates, one chained shut and one angled half-open.

  “It’s too late to go to the antenna tonight,” said Sebastian, before I could ask. “It’ll take at least a couple of hours to set up our transceiver and connect it to the existing hardware, and we can’t send the signal until tomorrow in any case.” He steered the truck through the open gate, onto the paved laneway beyond. “We’d better check in at the bunkhouse. Dr. Newman’s waiting for us.”

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  Dr. Hal Newman, the director of the observatory, was a stout, grey-haired man with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes—in fact, if he hadn’t been clean-shaven, he would have made a fantastic Santa Claus. He seemed delighted to see us, especially Sebastian, and lost no time introducing us to his staff (Liz the site manager, Brian the engineer, and graduate student Jacques) and showing us around. The wood-panel walls and burnt orange carpeting hadn’t been updated since the disco era, but otherwise, the place was as clean and well equipped as any reasonable person could expect. I’d even scored a queen-size bed and a room all to myself, so I wouldn’t have to listen to Sebastian and Milo snore.