Future Shock (11 page)

08:25

My stomach twists. Maybe Aether wasn’t lying to us about the possibility of brain damage from looking up our future selves. Could this be what the scientists were talking about when they were worried about something happening
again
?

My God, is this the reason I end up killing the others and myself?

“Hold up,” Chris says, jumping to his feet. “Are we gonna be brain damaged too?”

“What does that even mean?” Zoe asks, her voice rising.

“No, we were all fine—at least while we were in the future,” Future-Adam says. “And I was okay when we got back. I lied to Aether and said I didn’t remember anything to protect all of us. I assume the rest of you did the same.” He pauses, frowning. “Although I can’t say for sure what happened to you. We were split up for questioning as soon as we returned to the present. After that, I never saw any of you again.”

“You never saw us again?” I glance at the younger Adam and our eyes meet. The idea of never seeing him again bothers me more than it should.

“No,” the older version says. “I heard two days later that you were all dead.”

“So you don’t know for sure if we were brain damaged or not?” Zoe asks.

Trent starts flicking his lighter on and off. “Maybe that’s why Adam’s the only one still alive now. They killed the rest of us off because we were damaged and he wasn’t.”

Chris glares back and forth between the two Adams. “Or maybe he’s been working for Aether this entire time, and all of this is bullshit.”

Adam throws up his hands. “I’m not working for them!”

“My younger self is telling the truth. I started working for Aether to find some explanation of why you were all killed. With Lynne’s help, I made sure Project Chronos was shut down and buried forever. That’s why the research facility was empty when you arrived. I couldn’t risk anyone finding out about it.”

“Do you know why we ended up thirty years in the future instead of ten?” I ask.

“I believe the accelerator malfunctioned. It’s possible someone tampered with it, but I could never find any evidence of that, and I don’t know why they would want to send us thirty years forward instead of ten.”

My mind races, processing his words. Everything Future-Adam’s told us makes a lot more sense than me killing the others and then myself. Aether must have set me up to protect their secrets. There’s just one question that his story doesn’t answer.

“Why did Aether let you live?” I ask.

“I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times over the past thirty years. I wish I had an answer for you.”

His voice sounds sincere, but it’s hard to believe he’s telling the truth. How could he not know why he’s still alive? He must have learned
something
in the last thirty years while working with Aether. Or there must be something that set Adam apart from us, other than the foster care thing.

“So if you’ve lived through everything we’ve been through now…” Adam says. “What can we do differently?”

His future self gives him a sad smile. “We did have a plan to stop Aether and to protect ourselves, but it didn’t go the way we wanted. Maybe all of you can succeed where we failed.”

“What kind of plan?” Chris asks, his voice skeptical.

“Blackmail. We tried to get evidence about what Aether’s been doing to make sure we had leverage against them when we got back to the present. But things went wrong, and the evidence was lost.”

Trent and Chris exchange looks like they’re not buying this. “But how do we get evidence?” Trent asks.

“Talk to Dr. Walters. He lives in a retirement home in the Valley.” Future-Adam checks his watch. “We don’t have much time, and I need to talk to my younger self alone for a moment.” He opens the door and gestures toward it. “Adam?”

Adam stands up slowly. As he follows his older self into the hallway he looks like he’s about to face a firing squad.

“I don’t trust either of them,” Chris says as the door shuts. “Do you believe any of this shit?”

Trent shoves two of the sodas in his backpack. “I don’t know.”

“I believe him,” Zoe says.

“No surprise there.” Chris turns to me. “Elena?”

I’m not sure how much to say before I talk to Future-Adam myself. His story feels right, and it matches up with what I heard Dr. Kapur and Dr. Walters say. I want to believe Future-Adam, but I still have so many questions and suspicions. I don’t think we’re getting the whole story.

“It could be the truth,” I finally say.

The door opens and the two Adams walk back in. A short talk—I wonder what they said to each other. Adam stares at the floor, the baseball cap low so I can’t see his face.

“Time’s up,” Future-Adam says. “You should head back to my house to change clothes and clean up before you meet Dr. Walters. You’ll also need to get fake fingerprint IDs from this guy I know called Wombat. My car has all the addresses you’ll need programmed into it.”

“You’re not coming?” Adam asks.

“No.” He checks his watch again. “The police will be here any minute to arrest me.”

“Arrest you?” I ask, while Trent blurts out, “What?”

“Come on.” Future-Adam opens the door and slips into the hallway, disappearing before we can ask him what’s going on.

We scramble to grab our coats and backpacks, then hurry after him. He’s waiting at the end of the hallway in front of an unmarked, extra-thick metal door, which has both a fingerprint scanner and a keypad. But he doesn’t open it.

Chris points a finger at Future-Adam, once we catch up to him. “Tell us what the hell is going on.”

“The police connected my fingerprints to everything you’ve done,” Future-Adam says, like he’s explaining something obvious. He starts down the hallway again. “But it’s okay because I need to be in custody when you break into this place later.”

I nearly drop my backpack. “Break in? Why would we—”

“To get the evidence, of course.”

“But…” Adam stares at his future self like he’s crazy. “If you knew you’d be arrested, why let this happen? Why not just pick us up earlier at the building?”

“Because if I’m in police custody when you break in, then Aether won’t suspect it was me. I’ll just claim someone stole my identity.” He turns another corner and opens a door to a gray stairwell before we can ask him any more questions. “Take these stairs down to the parking garage and get my car. The police can’t know you’re here.”

“But—” Adam starts.

Future-Adam presses the jammer into his younger self’s hands. “Take this and make sure it’s green when you don’t want to be recorded. Now go!” He shoves Adam toward the stairs and nudges Zoe forward next. Chris and Trent follow, but just before I head in after them, Future-Adam grabs my arm. “Elena, wait.”

He closes the door to the stairs, so we’re alone in the hallway. “I’m sorry, Elena. I did everything I could to protect you.”

He’s thirty years older than me, but in his eyes I see the same Adam I know and feel that same connection between us. “Thanks for not telling them about…you know. But why are you helping me?”

“You know why. Or you will soon.” He turns away, his face drawn. “It’s painful to see you, knowing I failed to save you. The guilt, after all these years…it’s still just as strong.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Aether did this. But we’re going to change it this time.”

“I don’t think you can.” His voice is rough, pained. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean? You said we could get evidence—”

“I’ve had thirty years to go over those twenty-four hours in the future more times than I can count, to figure out what we did wrong, what we could have done differently…but all I’ve learned is that you can’t change the future. I’ve tried, Elena. And I’ve failed.”

“Then why bring us here?” I ask, stepping away from him, my temper flaring. “Why help us at all?”

“I had to do something. I just don’t know…” His voice trails off. “There might be one more thing. But no—” He stops and shakes his head. “I already know you won’t listen.”

“I’m listening!” I practically yell at him. We have to be able to change the future.
We have to.
“What is it?”

“You need to trust me. Not me now, but…past me. Current me for you. Trust that Adam when the time comes. He’s a good guy. Sort of an idiot sometimes, but he just wants to do the right thing. And…he likes you a lot.”

Something flickers inside my chest. I don’t know what to say to that. I had some idea that Adam liked me, although it’s something else to hear his future self say it out loud. But I don’t know if I can trust him. I want to, but I have so many questions, so many doubts. My instincts always tell me to trust no one but myself, but maybe this time they’re wrong.

“What about the origami unicorn?” I ask. “Why’d you leave it for me?”

“Ah yes. I knew you’d find it. Open it when you’re at my house, when you’re alone and somewhere
safe
.”

The elevator dings and slides open around the corner. I hear heavy footsteps and someone says, “We’re on the sixth floor.”

“They’re here. You need to go now.” Future-Adam throws open the door to the stairs again. I rush through but glance back at Future-Adam one last time. I have a million more questions, but there’s no time to ask them. “I hope you can prove me wrong. I hope…” He pauses, taking a long breath. “I hope you can change this future.”

The door shuts with a loud thud, and I’m alone in the gray stairwell. I linger for a second, straining to hear something on the other side of the door, but there’s only silence. Future-Adam should be okay—the police won’t do anything to him. But if they catch me, I can’t say the same for myself.

I run down the stairs, my shoes pounding on the metal. It’s six flights back to the lobby level and another two down to the parking garage. The others are waiting there, their faces full of unasked questions.

“The police are here. Let’s go.” I keep my face blank and head for Future-Adam’s car. I have nothing else to tell them.

The car opens with Adam’s fingerprint, but Chris gets in the driver’s seat. This time we have room to spread out, but I still end up next to Adam in the back. We both try to snap our seat belts in at the same time, and our hands brush against each other’s. My eyes jump up to meet his. I can’t help but wonder what Future-Adam told him.

Can I trust either of them?

09:11

The car knows where to go and needs no help from us to get to Future-Adam’s house. We turn off Sunset Boulevard and pass under a sign that says
BEL AIR
. The car takes us up narrow roads and winding hills, driving past ornate fences and ivy-covered walls. Sometimes I get a glimpse of massive houses behind them, like the kind I’ve only seen in movies.

The car stops at a tall metal gate that opens automatically for us. Adam sucks in a breath as we pull into a circular driveway lined with grass so green it looks fake and perfectly trimmed topiaries of elephants, giraffes, and even a dragon. The car parks in front of a huge mansion with stately pillars and massive arches, and all I can do is stare. I knew Future-Adam is rich, but until now it never really sank in that he’s
a billionaire
. This place could probably house ten families at least.

“Dude,” Trent says as we get out of the car, “you’re loaded.”

“Yeah,” Adam says, but he doesn’t sound too excited about his future wealth.

I study his expression but try not to look too obvious about it. Ever since I learned he likes me, I don’t know how to act around him, like I know a secret no one else does. He
shouldn’t
like me. He seems like a good guy with a real future ahead of him, and I’m…I’m bad for him in every way.

It’s stopped raining, but thick clouds darken the sky above us. The air smells of wet plants, and a cool breeze makes me pull my jacket around myself.

“We should go in.” I need a moment alone, away from the others, so I can open the origami unicorn and find out what message Future-Adam left for me.

Adam doesn’t move. Under the brim of his baseball cap, his eyes dart around, taking everything in. Beside him, Zoe has her sketchbook out and is drawing everything she sees.

“Let’s go then,” Chris says, nudging Adam toward the front porch.

The door has a bronze knocker in the shape of a lion, about the size of my head. Trent uses it to bang on the door, but there’s no answer. “No one’s home,” he says. “Adam, you’re up.”

After a second of hesitation, Adam places his hand on a smooth, black panel on the door, like we saw at Shawnda’s apartment. There’s a click, and the door creaks open.

It’s dark inside, but I glimpse hardwood floors covered in patterned rugs. None of us step forward. I definitely don’t want to be the first one to go in. Not that I think anything bad will happen to us, but it just seems wrong to enter someone’s house like this. Although I guess technically it’s Adam’s house—or will be someday.

Adam straightens up, visibly steeling himself, and then ventures inside. I follow, stepping on the thick rug, and wonder if I should take my shoes off or something. A light flicks on overhead, revealing an entryway with only a small wooden side table and an ornate mirror. It’s warm now that we’re inside and I want to take off my coat, but I don’t know where to put it. Something about the house makes me feel like I should whisper and try not to touch anything, but I run my hand along the shiny, dust-free table anyway. Future-Adam probably has servants to keep the house clean, although it seems to be empty right now.

“This is your place, Adam,” Chris says. “Give us a tour.”

“Doesn’t really seem like my kind of place,” Adam mumbles as he walks farther into the house.

We step into the longest living room I’ve ever seen. I swear it must be big enough to fit the Robertsons’ entire house inside. It’s filled with what I assume is antique furniture, all lush fabric and scrolling wood, in colors like navy and burgundy and gold. Heavy curtains block out all natural light, and art that looks like it should be rotting away in a museum watches over us.

“This place is
sweet
,” Chris says, flopping down on one of the love seats with little wooden feet.

He’s right, but there’s something sad about it too. Empty. Lonely. It looks staged, like it’s all for show to prove how rich and important Future-Adam is. There are no photos anywhere. No trinkets. No clutter. No dogs running around or kids playing. It doesn’t feel
lived
in.

“Dude, I’m starving,” Trent says. “Where’s the kitchen?”

I’m pretty hungry too, now that he’s mentioned it. Our last meal was at lunch before we went to the future, but that was—I check my watch—over nine hours ago. And who knows when we’ll have a chance to eat again before we return to our time.

“Didn’t Aether pack us some food?” Zoe asks.

“Yeah,” Chris says. “But I bet this place has something better than soggy old sandwiches.”

We wander through wide hallways until we find the kitchen, with its dark-green marble counters and shining stainless-steel appliances. The fridge looks wide enough to pack a couple bodies in. I can’t imagine anyone needing
that
much food.

Chris jerks the fridge door open and a whoosh of cold air rushes out. We peer inside, but all I see are half-empty salad dressing bottles and a plastic container with something growing in it. Suddenly the idea of soggy sandwiches doesn’t sound too bad.

Zoe wrinkles her nose. “I guess your future self orders in a lot…”

“Step aside. Let the master get to work,” Trent says, brushing past me.

“The master?” Chris asks, crossing his arms. “You?”

Trent starts pulling things out of the back of the fridge and from inside the pantry. He checks each item and either tosses it on the counter or in the nearby trash bin. The rest of us just stare at him. I’m not sure if I’m more blown away by the fact that he’s taking charge for once or that he seems to know what to do with all this food.

“What, like you’ve never seen a guy cook before?” Trent checks the drawers next and keeps poking around until he finds whatever he’s looking for. Within a minute he’s got the stove running and is throwing things in a skillet. “We’re having breakfast, even though it’s the middle of the afternoon. It’s the best I can do.”

“Hey, breakfast is always good,” Adam says.

“True that.” Trent points his spatula at him. “Just remember to go grocery shopping in thirty years.”

“Uh…I’ll try.”

We ease ourselves onto bar stools perched in front of the center island and watch Trent do his thing. The skillet sizzles as he throws some bread and eggs onto it.

“Where’d you learn how to cook?” I ask as the delicious smell of frying food fills the air.

“My parents were junkies. They’d shoot up and sit around all day watching talk shows and forget they had a little kid to feed. Sometimes I’d sneak over to my neighbors’ place and they’d cook for me. They were from El Salvador and made the best damn pupusas you’ve ever tasted. I learned a lot from them before the state took me away.” His voice sounds casual, but his eyes are glued to the skillet as he talks. “After my last foster home went to hell, I took off. Been living on the streets ever since, shelter-hopping and grabbing food where I can. Cooking skills come in handy when you’re on your own.”

There’s a long moment of uncomfortable silence, the kind that comes whenever someone ventures into TMI levels of sharing. I’ve heard of other kids who bailed on the foster system and went homeless. It’s a tough life, but sometimes it’s better than whatever they were dealing with in their foster homes. I’ve considered going out on my own plenty of times when things got really bad. I was just too chicken to actually do it.

“That’s cool,” I say, breaking the ice. Trent looks up at me with a grateful smile.

“Yeah, man,” Chris says. “I wish I knew how to cook. And Adam
definitely
needs to learn.”

We all laugh and the nervous energy in the room vanishes. Trent serves us French toast with maple syrup, along with some bacon he somehow managed to find. I don’t know if any of it is fresh or not, but it all melts in my mouth and fills me with warmth. Turns out Trent’s a pretty damn good chef.

We all sit around the island counter and eat while teasing Trent about his cooking skills and Adam about his future self’s empty fridge. We don’t bring up what Future-Adam told us or how we’re all going to be killed tomorrow. We just stuff our faces and pretend we’re five ordinary people hanging out together with our whole lives ahead of us.

But even though we laugh and smile, our fate hangs over us like a reaper’s scythe. I can’t forget it, no matter how hard I try. The clock never stops ticking—and I only have a few more hours to stop all of our murders.