Think.
You don’t really need that tape.
The camera will work without it. It did for Jazz.
Just don’t let Ripley near the camera before tomorrow.
“Sometimes I don’t know what I see in him,” Lianna said quietly. She began running her fingers through Adam’s hair. “I mean, we’re still together and all, but each day we seem farther apart.”
Adam felt a sudden rush of feeling. And exhaustion.
His eyes were beginning to close.
“Go ahead,” Lianna whispered. “Sleep.”
She put a movie in the VCR. A dreamy, sappy soundtrack began to play.
Adam drifted off in a cloud of thoughts—Ripley, Lianna, Edgar, and a thousand other people all swirling around to the music of Lianna’s video.
Then, once again, the accident began to assemble itself in a dream. Once again, he saw the ice and the swirl of hockey uniforms.
But the perspective was different. The dream was framed as if Adam were watching the past through the videocamera lens.
And just as the event unfolded, just as Edgar began skating around the younger Adam, taunting and teasing, Adam felt a tug. As if someone had entered the dream and was trying to take away his camera.
Ripley. It must be Ripley.
Adam’s eyes opened.
Lianna was slowly pulling the videocamera out of his arms.
“What are you doing?” Adam cried out.
Lianna recoiled, letting go of the videocamera. “Nothing!”
“You’re taking it!”
“I am not ! How could you even think that? I just wanted you to be comfortable.”
Easy. Take it easy.
“Sorry,” Adam muttered.
“Adam, you are paranoid.”
“I know. It’s just—I had this dream—I was watching the accident—Ripley was taking my camera away.”
“Adam, trust me. He will not get that camera. No way. No matter what he tells me to do—?
Lianna’s face suddenly froze.
Adam’s sleep-addled mind snapped to full attention. “What has he told you to do?”
“Nothing.”
“Did he tell you to take the camera?”
“It doesn’t matter, Adam. I have a mind of my own.”
Adam felt a chill. He took the camera and stood up. “I better get home. Sorry, Lianna. I guess I am paranoid—and nervous.”
Lianna shrugged and turned back to the TV. “I’ll let you know how the movie ends.”
Adam felt weak as he walked home.
He glanced backward at Grandma’s car.
Was it there earlier?
He couldn’t remember.
Maybe the whole episode was all some kind of concoction. Maybe Grandma and Jazz never died.
After the accident, the doctors had told him he’d had a concussion. Concussions were serious. You may forget things, they’d said. You may see things that haven’t occurred.
And it may not happen right away. It may happen much later, when you least expect it.
Four years later?
Was that what was happening?
Maybe the camera was one big illusion.
Maybe I’m totally cracking up.
No. Not new.
13
Z ING.
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
You don’t really need that tape.
The camera will work without it. It did for Jazz.
Just don’t let Ripley near the camera before tomorrow.
“Sometimes I don’t know what I see in him,” Lianna said quietly. She began running her fingers through Adam’s hair. “I mean, we’re still together and all, but each day we seem farther apart.”
Adam felt a sudden rush of feeling. And exhaustion.
His eyes were beginning to close.
“Go ahead,” Lianna whispered. “Sleep.”
She put a movie in the VCR. A dreamy, sappy soundtrack began to play.
Adam drifted off in a cloud of thoughts—Ripley, Lianna, Edgar, and a thousand other people all swirling around to the music of Lianna’s video.
Then, once again, the accident began to assemble itself in a dream. Once again, he saw the ice and the swirl of hockey uniforms.
But the perspective was different. The dream was framed as if Adam were watching the past through the videocamera lens.
And just as the event unfolded, just as Edgar began skating around the younger Adam, taunting and teasing, Adam felt a tug. As if someone had entered the dream and was trying to take away his camera.
Ripley. It must be Ripley.
Adam’s eyes opened.
Lianna was slowly pulling the videocamera out of his arms.
“What are you doing?” Adam cried out.
Lianna recoiled, letting go of the videocamera. “Nothing!”
“You’re taking it!”
“I am not ! How could you even think that? I just wanted you to be comfortable.”
Easy. Take it easy.
“Sorry,” Adam muttered.
“Adam, you are paranoid.”
“I know. It’s just—I had this dream—I was watching the accident—Ripley was taking my camera away.”
“Adam, trust me. He will not get that camera. No way. No matter what he tells me to do—?
Lianna’s face suddenly froze.
Adam’s sleep-addled mind snapped to full attention. “What has he told you to do?”
“Nothing.”
“Did he tell you to take the camera?”
“It doesn’t matter, Adam. I have a mind of my own.”
Adam felt a chill. He took the camera and stood up. “I better get home. Sorry, Lianna. I guess I am paranoid—and nervous.”
Lianna shrugged and turned back to the TV. “I’ll let you know how the movie ends.”
Adam felt weak as he walked home.
He glanced backward at Grandma’s car.
Was it there earlier?
He couldn’t remember.
Maybe the whole episode was all some kind of concoction. Maybe Grandma and Jazz never died.
After the accident, the doctors had told him he’d had a concussion. Concussions were serious. You may forget things, they’d said. You may see things that haven’t occurred.
And it may not happen right away. It may happen much later, when you least expect it.
Four years later?
Was that what was happening?
Maybe the camera was one big illusion.
Maybe I’m totally cracking up.
No. Not new.
13
Z ING.
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
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