Unraveling

  “I’m up. I’ll be right out!” I call, before shaking Ben.

  He just groans.

  “Hey, get your ass out of my bed and somewhere not in sight so I can open the door.” His eyes open. “I’m serious. I’m not about to try to explain to Jared that we didn’t actually sleep together and what you’re doing in my bed.”

  Ben smiles a half-sleepy, half-purely-guy smile. “We did just sleep together.”

  “You know what I mean,” I hiss. “I’m not about to have the ‘I did not just have sex with that boy’ talk with my little brother.”

  He smiles again, but this time he slides out of bed and onto the floor so the bed is hiding him from Jared, and I get out of bed and go to the door.

  “I can’t even remember the last time you overslept,” Jared says when I open the door.

  “Yeah, I know,” I say, herding him away from my bedroom and down the stairs. “I’m actually not feeling that great,” I lie. “I think I might stay home. But I’ll get you some food if you call Alex and see if he’s left yet.” He probably has, but he’ll probably also turn around and come back.

  It takes a sesame bagel with cream cheese and five dollars to buy lunch, plus promising Alex that I plan to tell Struz what’s really going on, to get Jared out the door, but I do it. And I try to do it without smiling like an idiot the whole time—which means I have to not think about the fact that Ben’s upstairs on the floor of my bedroom.

  When he comes downstairs after Alex’s car has pulled out of the driveway, I’m paralyzed for a second. I’m sure he’s about to say that last night was the mistake, that we have to go back to ignoring how we feel about each other, that he’s scared.

  But he doesn’t. He hugs me and kisses me once. No, twice. Before he says, “I have to go home and check in with my foster parents and call Reid.”

  I nod. “What hospital is Elijah at? I’ll call and see if I can get an update.”

  “I think they would have taken him to Scripps,” Ben says, his face tight.

  “I’m sure he’ll be okay,” I say, even though I don’t know that. “I’ll call Struz and ask him about the Interverse Agency, and then you, Reid, and I should meet up and figure out what we’re going to do next.”

  Ben nods and looks away. “There’s something else about last night that I haven’t told you yet.”

  Blood burns in my head, but my whole body feels too cold. “What?”

  Ben squeezes my hand. “In the safe, with the ID, Eric Brandt had a couple of files. I didn’t have time to grab them because that was when he came in, but I saw them.” He pauses, and I can’t will myself to breathe until he keeps going. “They were files about your dad and Ryan Struzinski—Struz, right?”

  I nod, but I can’t speak. Files on my dad. And Struz. I want to ask what else was in the safe, was this guy following them around, keeping tabs on their schedule, what?

  “I think you should tell Struz everything. I don’t know what else we can do about it, but they could at least detain this guy and try to figure something out,” he says.

  I let out the breath I was holding and gasp a little, trying to refill my lungs. The headache I didn’t realize I had is suddenly gone, and I could cry with relief. Because he’s right. Alex has been right this whole time. I need someone to take this off my shoulders. But it was Ben’s secret, and…

  “They might detain you,” I say.

  He nods and then gives a shrug. “We’re running out of time.”

  We sit in silence for a second, and then Ben pulls me into his arms and hugs me again, even more tightly this time. “I think, based on the files,” he says, and I don’t need to hear the end to know what he’s thinking.

  It’s already occurred to me.

  Eric Brandt may have killed my dad.

  02:09:31:38

  When Ben leaves, I call Struz again. And this time I leave a message. “It’s Janelle. I think we should talk. I have some information—not about whatever was in the safe. I don’t know anything about that. But I do have information I think you need. Call me when you get this.” And then I add, “But don’t worry. I’m fine,” because I don’t want him to jump to conclusions.

  As I’m hanging up, the doorbell rings.

  I look around, trying to figure out what Ben forgot, but nothing jumps out at me, so I just open the door and figure I’ll let him come in and grab it. And hopefully steal one more kiss before he leaves.

  But it isn’t Ben on my doorstep.

  It’s Barclay. Only he’s shaved his facial hair, and he seems young, almost boyish. Except for the look on his face—that’s determined, and a little terrifying.

  “Hey,” I start to say, but he shoulders his way past me and inside the house, shutting the door behind him.

  “We need to talk.” This is serious Barclay—Agent Barclay—and I resist the urge to touch the light bruises on my arm, left over from where he grabbed me the other day.

  He’s not wearing standard FBI uniform—instead of a suit and tie, he’s wearing a black jacket, a fitted gray T-shirt, black cargo pants, and military-style black boots. From the bulk in his jacket and pants, I can tell he’s packing at least two weapons, one on his right ankle and one in a holster under his left arm. This means he’s right-handed.

  “Did you find out who that guy is?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure that’s not why he’s here. In fact, I know that’s not why he’s here.

  I don’t know why he is. But I know it’s not good.

  Humans have precious few instincts, but that’s because we don’t listen to them. We let logic and knowledge get in the way. My dad always said that when instincts are at war with something society has taught you, listen to your instincts first and ask questions later. Logic tells me Barclay is a good guy. Struz trusts him, my dad trusted him enough to bring him into our house, but he knows Brandt, and the fight-or-flight instinct I have right now is so strong, I’m practically twitching to get away from him.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I fold my arms across my chest and position myself between him and my dad’s office—where the gun is. Barclay is stronger, faster, and a better shot than I am, or at least that’s a safe assumption. But we’re half a room from the study, and if I get a jump start on him, I might be able to get in there, shut and lock the door, then grab the gun and get behind reasonable cover before he can stop me.

  Might.

  With this last resort in the back of my mind, I take a deep breath. And then I stand my ground.

  I refuse to be afraid of an overconfident jerk like Taylor Barclay.

  “I underestimated you,” Barclay says with a nod. “I thought you were just some spoiled kid who was going to end up being a waste of my time.”

  “I’m glad to see you got over yourself,” I say with a roll of my eyes. No one would say I can’t do bored and bitchy like a champ. “Please tell me this isn’t your version of an apology.”

  He flashes me a smile and shakes his head. “I’m onto you. I know this is an act.” He gestures to the kitchen. “You should sit down.”

  But I don’t want to do that, because that’ll put me farther away from the gun.

  Only I screw up. I glance toward the study and Barclay catches me. He’s better than I would have thought.

  “Is that where your dad’s gun is?” he asks. “I’m surprised Struz let you keep it, though maybe not that surprised. He’s not quite as strict with you as he should be—though neither was your dad.” He takes a few steps back, putting at least three feet of distance between us, and I almost ask him why he’d bring up my dad. But I need to keep a cool head. If I can’t go for the study, I could probably get to the front door and outside, where there might be witnesses, before he gets to me.

  “What do you want?” I ask, because I’m ready for him to cut to the chase.

  “Who told you about alternate universes?” he asks.

  “Physics class.”

  He smiles, and it should be nice. He’s an attractive guy. Only it’s t
he kind of smile that screams, I’m about to win. I’ve seen that smile in enough of the movies Alex makes me watch, right before the villains deliver their diabolical monologues. Only something tells me Barclay isn’t the kind of guy to make such a lame action-movie mistake.

  “You’re a good liar, probably good at reading people too,” he says. “If we had more time, I might actually kind of respect you. But here’s the thing—you’re right.”

  I’m not sure what to say, so I just wait for him to keep going.

  “We don’t have time for you to bullshit me, because this world is about to collide with another one, and life as you know it? Over.” He takes a step toward me. “I’ve been following you, and I need to know which of those guys you’re hanging out with is the one who told you about alternate universes.”

  He takes another step toward me, and this time I can’t stand my ground. This time, I take a step back.

  “I’m not going to tell you anything. No matter what.” And I mean it. I don’t know what he’s capable of—but I won’t let him be capable of making me talk.

  He pauses, and I can see that he’s thinking. Then he changes tactics, shrugging out of his jacket and letting it fall to the floor. In addition to the gun, there’s a holster for some kind of long knife.

  “Here’s the deal, Tenner. I’ll be honest with you, and then you’ll be honest with me. An information trade. You should respect that. So here’s the truth: I’m not an FBI analyst.”

  Which means the question is, Who is Taylor Barclay?

  02:09:22:03

  This is where things get weird:

  Ben was right when he told me there’s a multiverse.

  He just didn’t have all the facts.

  The multiverse is bigger than I ever could have imagined. Hundreds of thousands of alternate Earths with varying technologies, structures, cities, civilizations—even life-forms.

  I obviously come from this one, my Earth. Ben comes from a different one.

  Taylor Barclay is a guy who comes from a third one that’s more technologically advanced. The one that’s named itself Prima.

  Somewhere along the line in history, several universes, including Prima’s, realized they weren’t alone—that there were other alternate universes. They developed the capabilities and technology for travel between them. But because it was dangerous, with possible catastrophic consequences, Prima instituted laws about interverse travel.

  And they policed it with a group called IA, the Interverse Agency.

  Interverse agents have metal necklaces they wear with an electronic charge that allows them to travel through the activated portals, and they take vitamins and injections to keep themselves safe from the radiation.

  They also have quantum chargers, digital handhelds like cell phones, which activate and open portals. A quantum charger can pinpoint universes, like a navigation system, so they know where they’re going. But it does more than that. It stabilizes the portals.

  Because that’s what Ben has been doing wrong: He’s been opening portals, but his portals have been unstable, and that instability is why they were bringing people and things from other universes over here when he opened them. It’s also why it’s been bringing this world closer to Wave Function Collapse. And consequently, why the portals attracted attention from IA.

  Taylor Barclay isn’t an analyst for the FBI. He’s an agent for IA.

  So is Eric Brandt. They’re part of a small task force that’s been sent to this universe to find out who or what is causing the disturbances. And to put an end to it.

  02:09:18:52

  “And if you can’t?”

  “Can’t what?” Barclay asks.

  “Figure it out, put an end to it?” I say. “As in, what happens if you fail?”

  Barclay looks at me, and any humor or arrogance leaves his face. “Tenner, we don’t fail. We have a fail-safe device.”

  “A fail-safe?”

  “Of course.” He laughs. “You think this is the first time someone in one universe has been fucking everything up?”

  I’m not sure what to say to that.

  Barclay sighs. “Okay here’s an example. Before I was born, two universes actually declared war on each other, but casualties kept spilling over. People were traveling through other separate universes to stage attacks. Sometimes people in those universes got killed or sucked into the fighting. Too many portals were opening, and it started having adverse effects on the universes between them. Earthquakes, floods. IA had to step in.”

  Earthquakes, floods. Like what’s been happening here. “What did they do?” I whisper.

  He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “They destroyed them.”

  02:09:11:37

  He says it so matter-of-factly, like two worlds being destroyed is commonplace—and maybe it is to him. But it makes me feel like the walls are closing in on me.

  I wave a hand for him to continue, and he sighs. “The goal is to keep from letting two universes collide and destroy each other, because in addition to the lives lost, it would have rippling effects and potentially affect the stability of interverse travel and life in other universes.”

  And I know what he’s not saying. Because the concept of the “greater good” is universal—or multiversal or whatever.

  If they can’t stop the universes from colliding, the fail-safe is going to be to go ahead and destroy one. The one that’s the problem—mine.

  Oh my God. “That’s what the UIED is for,” I whisper. I feel like I’m choking and someone punched me in the stomach at the same time. I’m looking at The End. And there might not be a thing I can do about it.

  “The Oppenheimer,” he says with a quick nod. He must see the surprise on my face, because he shrugs. “We had an Oppenheimer too. He just discovered a different kind of bomb. A more powerful one. It’s—”

  “The destroyer of worlds, I get the significance,” I say. My eyes are leaking, because Barclay and his IA task force are planning to destroy my universe in two days. Even if we can manage to hold off Wave Function Collapse, some higher-up on a universe light-years away—or whatever—is going to decide our fate. Nothing I do is going to matter.

  “It’s the only way to preserve the stability of other universes,” Barclay whispers.

  “I hope you’re not trying to make me feel better.”

  He shakes his head. “Look, the FBI wasn’t supposed to find the Oppenheimer. I brought it here as a fail-safe, but I fucked up. Eric and I came over to investigate deaths from suspected unstabilized activity. The first crime scene we were at, it took us longer than it should have. We had to rush out of there. Police traced me back to my hotel, and I had to bolt. The Oppenheimer was in my room. I had to infiltrate the FBI to get it back.”

  “You’ve got it now?” I ask. “How?”

  Barclay nods. “I knew where your dad was keeping it, but I didn’t have the clearance. Until you gave me the files. I managed to swipe it from his safe yesterday.”

  His safe. No wonder Struz is freaked. The UIED is missing.

  “Look, I’ve got it now, but you were right that day at the café. That earthquake was a sign, and there will be more. More destruction before it’s all over. According to command, I’ve got a little more than forty-nine hours to arrest or kill whoever’s responsible, or I’m leaving the Oppenheimer somewhere safe and going home.”

  “You could just disable it. You could—”

  “Didn’t you hear what I just said? The earthquake was only the beginning. This world is starting to crumble. Haven’t you been paying attention to the tornadoes, the flooding, the hurricanes? It’s getting out of control. When two worlds collide, the ripples affect every world around them. There are thousands of different universes. And they’ll all get hit with earthquakes, tsunamis, all the stuff happening here now. Millions of people will die. You want that on your conscience?”

  I don’t say anything. I don’t have to.

  Barclay nods. “I certainly don’t want it on mine, and I don?
??t want to be stuck here when the world ends.”

  “And if you do find out who’s opening the portals and stop them?” Since that’s the point.

  “I’ll disarm the Oppenheimer and go home.”

  I breathe a little easier at that idea. That is what I want.

  “Did you kill my dad?” I ask, even though the answer won’t change anything.

  He shakes his head. “I liked your dad. He was onto us—at least onto Eric—but I would have brought him in before killing him. Besides, I’m only authorized to kill whoever’s destabilizing worlds.”

  “Did Eric kill him?”

  He shakes his head.

  “You’re sure? I deserve to know.”

  “You do. But you’re looking in the wrong place. I don’t know who killed him, but it wasn’t Eric.”

  I don’t know what else to do. So I sit down on the floor, and I tell him.

  I don’t use names, and I try to avoid telling him personal details. But I give him the facts.

  A couple of kids from an alternate universe stumbled on a failed experiment, only they accidentally made it work—they opened a portal and fell through. And then couldn’t get back.

  So now they’ve been trying to get home. They just didn’t know what they were doing.

  “And they made it?” Barclay asks, pulling out his quantum charger, which apparently also doubles as some kind of advanced smartphone. I remember it from his car. It looks like a Game Boy. “They must have taken hydrochloradneum or the radiation would have burned them up.”

  “Hydro what?”

  “Hydrochloradneum,” he explains as he uses the touch screen on his charger. I try to watch and memorize what he’s doing in case I ever need to work one. “It’s a chemical compound that can be produced as a bright yellow liquid or a powder. It looks a little like Gatorade. It hasn’t yet been discovered in this world, but among other things, it nullifies the effects of radiation.”