Future Shock (12 page)

09:40

We explore the house, going through bedroom after bedroom after bedroom. Seriously, how many guests does Future-Adam expect to have at once? There’s also a library full of old books—which Trent and I both
ooh
and
aah
over—plus an exercise room, a giant office, and even a freaking movie room. We practically have to drag Chris out of this last one.

We find some extra clothes laid out in what I assume must be Future-Adam’s bedroom. It’s not the biggest one or the fanciest one, but it is the
messiest
one. It’s the only room we’ve seen that actually looks lived in. The bed is unmade, clothes are piled on a chair in the corner, and there’s a glass of water on the bedside table. Future-Adam is kind of a slob.

Adam walks around the room, studying everything like he’s searching for clues to his own life. I can’t even imagine what it must be like, standing in your future self’s house, trying to piece together what happened to yourself in that thirty-year gap.

Zoe sifts through the clothes. “They look the same as what we’re wearing. Bleh.”

“Aw man, no smartclothes?” Chris asks. “I wanted to check them out.”

“It makes sense,” Adam says, pausing to examine a large mirror with a silver frame hanging on one wall. “If we went back to the present with different clothes, Aether might suspect something.”

“I guess,” Chris mutters as he grabs the largest shirt from the pile. He leaves the room to change, followed by Adam and Trent.

Zoe studies herself in the mirror, smoothing her damp blue hair, and sighs. “I could really use a shower.”

I gesture to Future-Adam’s bathroom. “There’s a bathtub the size of a small pool in there—feel free.”

She lets out a small laugh. “Maybe I will. What do you think of this place?”

“It’s…impressive,” I say as I pick out my clothes. “Except for this room anyway.”

“This room’s a bit messy, but Adam’s still a catch.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You think so?”

“Oh yeah. If I wasn’t already with someone, I would totally be into him.” She picks up her new clothes, hugging them to her chest. “I’m bisexual, in case that wasn’t obvious. And Adam’s hot, smart, funny…and in the future he’s a hero and superrich.” She gives me a faint smile. “But Adam only has eyes for you anyway.”

I don’t know what to say. Maybe it isn’t such a secret that he likes me. But that doesn’t mean either of us has to act on it. We barely know each other. And we have far more important things to focus on—like staying alive.

Changing in Future-Adam’s bedroom feels too personal, so we split up to find other rooms. It’s my first chance to be alone and I head into a bathroom off the front entry of the house, far from the others. The bathroom has a counter you can sit at with special lights and a mirror (for putting on makeup?), plus two ivory-colored chairs in the corner and a separate room for the toilet. I can’t imagine why anyone would need all this in their house. I half expect someone with a towel to pop out and ask for a tip.

I take a few minutes to change from my clothes into the dry ones Future-Adam left for us and clean myself up a bit. My hair is all stringy and has dried in a weird crunchy way, but without a brush, all I can do is run my fingers through it. I’m a mess, but at least I’m a dry mess now.

I sit at the counter on a fuzzy cushion with tassels and dig around in my backpack. The origami unicorn is a bit smashed from being stuffed inside, but the silver paper still glints in the light. I slowly unfold the paper, trying not to tear it as I unravel its intricate design. As it flattens out, I see numbers scrawled in black ink on the matte-white back:
73 21 12 37.

Huh? I read the line again, trying to make sense of the four numbers. I thought there’d be some secret message inside, some words of wisdom, something to explain what is happening to us—but all I get are numbers? What kind of sick joke is this? I know that Adam is a genius, but these numbers don’t mean anything to me.

I go over the message again. The numbers are mirrors, forming a palindrome. That must be a clue of some kind, but what? I rub my palms against my eyes.
Think
. Future-Adam wants me to understand whatever he’s trying to tell me. He wouldn’t make it too obscure or he’d know I would never figure it out.

I replay his words about the unicorn:
Open it when you’re at my house, when you’re alone and somewhere safe.
Somewhere
safe
—this could be a combination to a safe. But he didn’t tell me where the safe is, and I don’t have time to search this entire massive house.

No, Future-Adam would know that, so it can’t be too hard to find. There’s only one room that looks lived in, and that’s his bedroom. He left our clothes in there too. The safe must be in there.

The hallway outside the bathroom is empty. I walk through the silent, hollow house, my footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. I don’t see any of the others, but they’re probably still getting cleaned up.

I half expect Adam to be in his future bedroom, going through the dressers or something, but it’s empty. I shut the door behind me and scan the room. Where do rich people hide their safes? I search around the place quickly but don’t see anything that could hold a safe.

I sink down onto the bed, suddenly so tired I can barely move. It’s been about ten hours since we got to the future. Even though it’s only 4:41 p.m. here, to our internal clocks it’s after midnight. I’ve never been out of California, but I bet this is what jet lag feels like. I’d love to just lie down and pass out until it’s time to get back to the aperture. Let someone else figure out what’s going on—I’m
exhausted
.

But there’s no one else. I’m the only one who can stop these murders.

As I stand, I spot my reflection in the silver-edged mirror on the wall. That’s it! The mirror. That’s why the numbers were in that sequence. I rush over and peer behind the frame. There’s definitely something back there.

I grab the mirror and yank it off the wall. A small metal box is embedded underneath with a keypad on it. My heart races as I enter the numbers and the safe pops open.

Inside is a thick folder. Nothing else.

I flip the folder open and find page after page of information on each of our murders. This must be everything Future-Adam collected on our deaths. Police and autopsy reports. Crime scene photos. News articles. It’s all here.

I go through each page, soaking up everything like a sponge. Trent was killed first, with his time of death estimated between 3:00 p.m. and 4:30 p.m. His body was found in a dumpster, but he was killed in an abandoned building nearby where he’d been squatting. Zoe died next, between 4:30 p.m. and 6:00 p.m. in her girlfriend’s apartment, just like her sister said. No signs of forced entry. Chris is the third victim, shot two blocks from the auto repair shop where he works, between 8:00 p.m. and 11:00 p.m.

I’m last in the folder. My body was found on the beach, partially submerged in salt water, which washed away both fingerprints on the gun and gunshot residue on my hands. I had some injuries, but they thought they were from fighting with the others. And one bullet to the head, from close proximity. My mother’s watch cracked from the impact of the gunshot, freezing it at 11:38 p.m. That’s how they knew my exact time of death.

Through blurry eyes, I force myself to look at photos of the crime scenes and of the bodies. The police reports say the gun that killed us was a Glock 9mm with the serial numbers filed off. A photo confirms it for me—it’s the same gun as the one in my backpack. The police also have witnesses, fingerprints, and even strands of my hair, all tying me to the crime scenes.

The papers flutter to the floor. I slide down the wall and cover my face with my hands, trying to block out the horrible images that are now carved into my memory like into stone. All the bodies, bent at awkward angles, covered in blood. My own corpse, bloated and pale.

Any questions I had in my mind are gone. We’re going to die tomorrow, and all evidence points to me as the murderer.

“Elena?” Zoe calls from the other side of the door. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine.” I should show the others everything in this file. They need to know about their own deaths, to know the facts about what is going to happen to us. They’ll discover I’m the killer, but maybe they can figure out why I’d do this or how to stop me. And if they do something to me…well, at least I won’t kill anyone tomorrow.

I start to collect the papers but pause when I see the unfolded origami unicorn on the floor, where I must have dropped it. Future-Adam told me to open it alone. He left this folder for me, and only me. Not the others. Not his younger self.
Me
.

He trusts me to be able to figure this out on my own. Or else he has a damn good reason for keeping the truth from the others. All I can do is hope that he’s right.

I shove everything back inside the safe and slam it shut.

10:29

I wander around in a haze until I find myself on a wide lawn of grass trimmed with rosebushes and thick hedges. The sky has grown dark, and the sun dips into the ocean in the distance. We’ve run out of daylight.

There’s an amazing view of Los Angeles from up here, all twinkling lights and cloudy skies. The city of the future doesn’t look much different from the city I know. Downtown is wider and the buildings seem taller, but the residential areas all look the same, with a few pockets of high-rises scattered on the path to the coast. From Future-Adam’s backyard I can see it all.

I sink to the ground and wrap my arms around my knees. The grass is wet on my butt and a cool wind brushes against my bare arms, but I welcome the chill. It keeps me focused. I’ve done enough moping around. Now I need to sort through all the data I’ve collected in my head if I’m going to get us out of this alive.

I hear footsteps on the brick behind me but don’t turn around. I’m not in the mood for conversation. Maybe if I ignore whoever it is they’ll go away.

No such luck. Adam sits next to me on the grass, facing the view. I stiffen up, bracing myself for whatever he is going to say. I’m not ready to talk to him or to face the knowledge of how he feels about me. But for a few minutes, the only sound is the wind riffling through our hair.

“I don’t want to become this person,” he finally says.

“Why not?” Future-Adam didn’t seem that bad to me. The others thought he was crazy, but I see now that everything he did had some meaning behind it. There was a method to his madness.

“I live in this house, but it’s not a
home
. It isn’t me.” He rips grass out of the lawn and lets it fall between his fingers with a sigh. “I’m not married. I don’t have any kids. I’m all alone…This isn’t the life I want.”

I open my mouth but struggle with what to say. He’s rich in the future. Famous. Important. And he’s good-looking even in his late forties, so I suspect he could be married if he wanted to be.

But I understand the desire for a real home. And learning you’re going to spend the next thirty years alone can’t be easy either. “You’ve done great things in the future. You cured cancer. You saved millions of lives. You won a Nobel Prize.”

“But I don’t even have a
dog
.” His head drops, as if the thought of not having a dog in the future upsets him more than anything.

“A dog?”

“My dog, Max—I know he won’t be around in thirty years, but I always assumed I’d get another one.” He turns to look at me with tortured, blue eyes. “Why don’t I have a dog?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you work long hours now or travel a lot or…”

“And I failed,” he continues, like he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. “I watched all of you die and was unable to stop it or find out who did it. In the future, I have to live with that. Every. Single. Day.” He shakes his head. “No wonder I’m alone.”

I should do something or say something, but I can’t find the right words. I’ve never been good at comforting other people when they’re upset. He’s talking about his future self like he’s already become that person, but he’s not. He doesn’t have to be. But I don’t know how to tell him that and make him believe me. Instead I place my hand over his on the grass.

His gaze drops to my hand. “I’m sorry. I probably sound like a jerk whining about my problems when you’re…” His voice trails off.

“You just saw your own future. That can’t be easy.”

“I probably shouldn’t ask this, but what did he say to you? When you were alone?”

“He…” I’m not sure how much to tell him. Most of what Future-Adam said isn’t for this Adam’s ears, but I want to say something. I want to be honest. Finally I spit out, “He told me to trust you.”

Adam’s eyebrows dart up. “Yeah?”

I focus on an airplane flying overhead to avoid his gaze. “What did he say to you?”

“He told me to be careful. And…to not get too attached to you.” Adam shifts his hand to grasp mine, his pale fingers tangling with my darker ones. “I don’t care what he said. We’re going to change this future. I’m not going to let you die.”

Our eyes lock and my breath fails me. So much pain in those eyes, but so much determination too. He truly believes he can save me, and in that moment, I believe it too. My gaze flickers to his lips, and I want nothing more than to press mine against them, to forget everything except this moment. I lean into him, my face lifting to meet his. His breath flickers over my skin, and I part my lips—

“Adam? Elena?” Chris calls. “You out here?”

We jerk apart, the moment over. The outside world rushes in again. Cold grass on my butt. City lights stretched out in front of me. One day left to live. And Chris behind us on the patio, calling our names.

Adam rises to his feet. “Yeah?”

Chris eyes the two of us like he knows something is going on. “We’ve sat around long enough. Let’s get out of here.”

“Just give us a minute,” Adam says.

He holds out a hand and helps me to my feet. My skin tingles as my fingers grab on to his, but as soon as I’m up, I pull away and wipe grass off myself. I avoid his eyes—I can’t get sucked back into them again. It was good Chris stopped us before we kissed. There’s no point getting close to Adam if I won’t see him again once we get back to the present. He’s better off without me. With my impending killing spree and suicide looming over me, I don’t have time to get involved with Adam anyway.

Chris is right. We need to get going. Time is running out.