Memories from a Different Future: Jump When Ready, Book 2 (9 page)

The Whole Thing

That night, Ian watched a movie
with his parents, Margo having begged off saying she felt like spending some
time working on her writing. That was a new one for Ian.

“It’s what she likes to do these day,” his mother
explained in a resigned tone, conveying more concern over Margo isolating
herself than any possible enthusiasm or belief at the prospect of Margo having
developed a new interest.

Hours later, when the movie ended and his parents called
it day, Ian hung out downstairs for a while, at first talking to Lisa on the
phone and then after trying to distract himself by reading one of his father’s
old books. Still, it was hard to stop wondering why Julie had so clearly tried
to pretend she wasn’t home earlier that day. In that brief moment, when he’d
caught her at the window and their eyes met, Ian could have sworn he saw fear
there—just as he had when she’d been sitting across from him and her eyes
suddenly flew open. He knew he shouldn’t give it another thought—after all, she
was probably just weird—but he couldn’t quite manage to put it out of his mind.
What had been going on with her? What had she “seen” that frightened her enough
that she wouldn’t even come to the door?

“Screw it,” Ian said softly, deciding he might as well go
to bed too. He was almost to his room when he noticed the light under Margo’s
door. Not that there was anything particularly unusual about her still being up
but it surprised him a little to realize she’d chosen to remain alone all
evening and even now late into the night.

Ian knocked, figuring he should at least poke his head in
and say goodnight.

It took a moment before Margo answered. “What’s up?”

Ian swung her door open. “Heading to bed,” he said. “Just
thought I’d—” He stopped, seeing Margo’s bloodshot eyes, realizing she’d been
crying.

Margo turned away to face her wallscreen, where she’d
been killing time scrolling through her feed again. Ian had wasted plenty of
hours himself that way when he’d been a bored teenager. He still did, when he
had nothing better to do.

“Did something bad happen?” His gut told him it wasn’t
anything online that had made Margo upset, but you could never be sure. People
posted all kinds of stuff.

“What are you talking about?”

“You. You seemed like you might be upset about
something.”

Margo pointed her mouse and scrolled, still not turning
to face him. “I’m fine.”

Ian hesitated, not wanting to pry. “Okay.” He started to
leave again, then stopped. He had the strangest feeling they really need to
talk, that he had something to tell her even though he didn’t know what it was.
“Listen, maybe it’s none of my business. But, well, does life kind of suck
right now?”

Margo didn’t say anything for a moment, then she nodded.

“Anything in particular, or just sucks in general?”

Margo finally turned away from the screen. “In general.”

Ian hadn’t really gone through a whole lot of depression
when he’d been her age but he knew plenty of kids who had. Being sixteen wasn’t
always the best deal, especially if you were one of the kids on the
outside—less than beautiful and popular, not exactly sure where you fit
in—which was where it appeared Margo was living these days.

“I know it’s an ancient cliché,” Ian said. “But it gets
better.”

Margo sighed. “That old line. Right. Wasn’t that about
people being gay or something?”

“Yeah, I think so. Hard to believe anyone cared. Still,
it’s true for other stuff. For example, you’re not going to be in high school
forever. A couple more years and you’ll be in college, meeting totally new
people. You won’t have to worry about what people think or have to try and fit
in. Anything that’s bothering you now—or anyone—will be ancient history.”

Margo nodded again but didn’t say anything.

“Anyway, just trying to help,” Ian said. “I guess I’ll go
to bed.”

“Okay.”

He was almost at the door when Margo spoke softly. “I
don’t know, sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it.”

Ian turned. “If what’s worth it?”

“You know, the whole thing.”

Ian didn’t like the sound of that at all but wasn’t sure
what to say. So, he waited.

“Life. It just seems pointless sometimes. Think about it.
Do you know anyone who’s even happy?”

For some reason, it felt cruel to tell her the truth—that
he felt happy most of the time. He figured she didn’t need to hear that, at
least in this particular moment. “Yeah, sure. I know people who are happy. Look
at Mom and Dad. They’re happy.”

Margo laughed, but with a bitter tone Ian wasn’t used to
hearing from her. “What the hell is up with that anyway? All my friends say
their parents fight all the time. Mom and Dad probably just hide it from us.”

Ian shook his head. “They’ve always been happy together.
And they totally care about you.” Then, like it came out of nowhere, he knew
what it was he had to say even though he couldn’t imagine why. Still, he just
felt it. “And you need to be there for them, okay? They’ll need you to be there
for them.”

Margo met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Again the feeling that he just had to say it even if it
didn’t seem to make sense. “Like, if something happened to me. What if you
weren’t there for them?”

Margo frowned but genuine concern showed in her eyes.
“Why would anything happen to you?”

Why had he turned the conversation around to be about
himself? Still, maybe it would help if she realized other people depended on
her. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I don’t know why I said that. But Mom
and Dad are worried about you, I can tell. I’m worried about you. You seem
really quiet lately.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Margo said. “I guess I’ve been kind of a
dipshit. I’ll try to pull out of my little nosedive and get my act together.”

Ian smiled. Something told him she’d be okay. Partially,
an instinct, but Margo had always been resilient in the past. “Cool. Let’s have
a good holiday together, okay?”

Margo clicked the mouse and killed the wallscreen.
“Deal,” she said.

Just before Ian left her room, Margo said, “Everything’s
okay with you, right?”

“Definitely,” Ian said. “No worries, okay?”

Still, as he walked toward his bedroom, Ian wondered if
he might have just told Margo a lie.

Floating In The
Ocean

There hadn’t been time to talk again or try to formulate a
plan. Even as she thought it, Nikki couldn’t help wonder if a plan would even
do them any good. There had just been the one time when they’d actually tried
to make something happen on this side. Yes, they’d somehow managed to pull it
off and in doing so had actually saved Bethany’s life. At the same time, they’d
been shooting in the dark the entire time, struggling to be noticed and not
even sure they could be. And it wasn’t like things had changed. On this side,
they remained “ghosts,” invisible except for Jamie sometimes for fleeting
seconds where he could manage to shock the hell out of someone. And mute,
except for Henry, who could make himself heard from time to time. But not
always effectively. And not always when he tried. This time, there would be no
Curtis to pound on windows or toss things around to get attention. Nikki didn’t
say it –she didn’t have to since she suspected Henry and Jamie had to be
thinking the same thing—but obviously their odds of success weren’t good.
Martha had already said as much. They had almost no time to stop what was going
to happen and very limited means.

Still, they’d crossed over. What choice did they have,
even if that meant facing painful choices and possibilities? Like life, Nikki
thought. And maybe that was one of the biggest differences between the two
realms. On their side, there was no pain, no worry and no need to be concerned
about the choices you made. You had as long as you’d like, apparently, to keep
hitting the reset switch. You couldn’t fall off a cliff or drown in a river on
their side. You could
almost
experience those things if you wanted to
but not really. As soon as you felt fear, the air or water would lift you back
to safety again. It made sense to Nikki why some people waited so long to start
again. At the same time, it also made sense that sooner or later you had to
risk pain and heartache again in order to experience the opposite. Even as she
thought it, Nikki imagined Martha smiling. Or was she imagining it? It felt
like the ground had just shifted under her feet. A tiny shift maybe, but still
a shift toward something that would change eventually because sooner or later
things had to change.

But these were things to reflect more on later. Right
now, they stood in Ian’s bedroom while he sat on his bed talking on his
flexlet. Nikki had never been in Ian’s room before but she’d been in his house.
She didn’t want to admit it to Henry or Jamie but, yes, she’d followed Ian
around more than a few times. Watching, listening, hoping things would keep
going well for him. But maybe expecting something bad to happen? Nikki didn’t
want to think so but who could blame her?

“It feels like years,” Ian said. “You know what I mean?”
He listened to whoever was at the other end and then laughed. “Oh, come on.
Tell me you don’t miss kissing me.”

He listened, then laughed again, and said, “Exactly. I
miss touching you too. Remember that time when we were at that party and no one
was upstairs?”

“Okay, this is freaking me out,” Nikki said. “Is Curtis
really in there somewhere?”

“The new and improved, warm and fuzzy Curtis,” Jamie
said.

“With a different face,” Henry said.

“And brain,” Jamie said.

“I kind of miss the evil Curtis,” Nikki said. “We had
more in common.”

Henry nudged her with his elbow. “Yeah, right. I bet
you’re way more like the warm and fuzzy version than you’d ever admit.”

Nikki shoved him away and narrowed her eyes. “Feel like
testing that theory, ratface?”

Henry kept his distance. Still, he grinned, his eyes
alight. “I think I’ll hold off for now.”

“Good choice.” Nikki kept her gaze on his, not allowing
the smile she felt tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Ratface, that’s cold,” Jamie said.

“Whatever, spikehead.”

Ian sighed, then swung his legs off the bed. “I love you
too, baby.”

“He better not be talking to me,” Nikki said.

Ian stood and put his flexlet into his pocket. He crossed
the room, got a pair of boots out of his closet and knelt to lace them up.

“I guess this is the part where we better actually do
something,” Jamie said.

“I’m on it,” Nikki said.

She got closer to Curtis and closed her eyes, waiting for
the images and words to come. The fact was, she could never be sure what she
might get when reading someone. Images were pretty much guaranteed as were
words, typically, since most people took the time to verbalize their thoughts.
One thing Nikki had come to realize since discovering she could read the living
was that people actually thought everything at least twice. First, the thought
originated in its purest form. Nikki wasn’t sure what that form was, exactly,
but she supposed it was just energy. While the thought was already complete,
people then attached images to it, almost instantly, as well as a feeling of
some sort. Happy, angry, frustrated, worried. Then came the words. “Damn, it’s
Tuesday. I really don’t feel like going to math…” or “I need to remember to pay
back that money I borrowed from…” or “This is going to be such a great day…”
All of these things coalesced in less than a second for each thought, one after
the other, an endless stream of consciousness. It was so hard to explain when
Henry or Jamie or anyone else asked if she got something. Of course, she got
something! Each time, it was overwhelming how much she got. The challenge was
being able to sift through it in almost no time.

Ian’s thoughts came at her as they always did, which was
part of why Nikki had always enjoyed reading him before. Not that she’d admit
it to Henry or Jamie—and she hadn’t allowed herself to overdo it or delve where
she knew she had no right to go. But reading Ian was like floating in warm,
ocean water on a sunny day, something Nikki remembered well from her last life
in California. Stretching out and staring at the sky while the swells rolled
under her, both supporting and cushioning her back. Placid. Peaceful. And it
was no different now as images came, of Lisa smiling, laughing, hugging. Of
friends talking happily, gathered around a table. Of his parents and sister, as
he imagined them downstairs starting their day. The words came too, a flow of
them, swirling in the air like butterflies, none in those moments troubling or
concerning. This time, as always, it amazed Nikki that Ian had once been
Curtis. At one time, twenty years had seemed an eternity but now it seemed
nearly impossible that someone could change so quickly.

Nikki opened her eyes, knowing it had only been seconds.
Still, Henry and Jamie stared at her, waiting. “Nothing,” she said. “At least
not now.”

“Nothing at all?” Jamie said.

There it was but Nikki didn’t have time to explain. They
didn’t have time. “Nothing that matters. Right now, he’s fine. Nothing is
bothering him.”

Henry watched her eyes and it seemed almost as if he got
it. But, if anyone would, it made sense it would be Henry. While what he was
able to do was essentially the opposite from what Nikki could, the flow had to
be similar. Nikki imagined how it would feel to sometimes get through and other
times totally fail. All of that, for him, within seconds too depending on what
was going on inside the other person.

“We need to do something,” Jamie said.

“Obviously,” Nikki said, “but the question is what and
how.”

They watched as Ian got to his feet and looked at himself
in the full-length mirror on his closet door. He ran his fingers through his
hair, combing it back. He glanced at his shirt, his pants and boots, then again
at his face. He raised his eyebrows just briefly, as if to say, “Okay, good
enough.” Not a vain person, obviously. Something Nikki already knew about him.

“Speak to him,” Jamie said, even as he glanced at Nikki
to be sure.

Nikki nodded. “I agree.”

Henry looked back and forth between them. “What if it
freaks him out? We know that can happen.”

“We don’t have time to worry about it,” Nikki said.
“We’ll deal with it.”

Henry obviously agreed since a moment later he stood at
Ian’s side before he’d even left the mirror, just now adjusting the way he’d
notched his belt. Henry Spoke in his normal tone of voice, calmly, evenly.

“Ian, can you hear me?”

Ian left the mirror and crossed the room to his dresser.
He opened a drawer.

Henry glanced at Nikki, then Jamie. Nikki already
understood. What could he say to get through? Each time before, there had been
some way of establishing a connection.

Henry shook his head briefly, as if to clear his mind.
“Ian, I’m right here next to you.” He waited, then said, “You need to hear me.
Please listen. Something really bad is going to happen. Can you hear me?”

Ian reached into the drawer and took out his wallet. He
slid it into his back pocket. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t turn to
search for the origin of Henry’s voice.

“I knew you as Curtis. Does that mean anything now? It’s
me, Henry. You need to hear me!”

Ian froze, staring down at the top of his dresser. He
moved some scattered coins around with his fingertips as he thought.

“He heard Henry that time,” Jamie said.

Nikki rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I got that part.” Even as
she said it, she knew it was dicey territory. At the same time, she didn’t
doubt Henry knew the same.

Henry drew even closer to Ian, standing just behind him
at the dresser, off to one side, their shoulders nearly touching. “Curtis? It’s
Henry.”

Ian remained staring down. He whispered to himself,
“Okay, weird. I’m thinking about that Henry kid again.”

“I’m right here next to you!”

Ian shoved the drawer closed, wood hitting wood with a
clack. He shook his head, turned and walked toward the door.

Nikki met Jamie’s eyes, then Henry’s. She knew they were
thinking the same thing. “Should you push a thought at him?”

Henry hesitated, just briefly. “I don’t think so.”

“Why?” Jamie said.

“It won’t work. At least, not now.”

Ian clomped down the stairs, completely unconcerned and
totally unaware as they followed.

“First, even if I did push a thought,” Henry said, “and I
got through, I don’t think Ian would remember it tomorrow. Second—and I’m just
guessing here—there’s nothing for him to latch onto. I’ve been thinking about
it and I’ll explain later. We need to just hang for now and keep trying other
things. Maybe the push will work but I’m not sure now makes any sense.”

Nikki glanced over at Henry. “You said tomorrow. Are you
sure? Martha said three days.”

Henry shook his head. “That was yesterday here. So, it
has to be tomorrow when it happens.”

As always, it amazed Nikki how fast that time had gone.
It felt like minutes, the baking of a few brownies and a brief nap afterward.
She supposed it would never stop amazing her until she jumped in again. Then,
of course, she wouldn’t know the difference anymore.

“Shit,” Jamie said.

“Yeah, exactly,” Nikki said.

Downstairs, Ian’s family had gathered at the kitchen counter.
His mother was talking to someone on her flexlet, a tiny framed face looking
back at her, his sister listening to music through earbuds while scrolling
through images on a screen wrapped around her arm and his father stared at a
basketball game on another screen angled up from the counter.

“Seriously?” Nikki couldn’t help herself—the whole scene
was just so peculiar.

“I know,” Jamie said. “We thought mixed tapes were
mind-blowing.”

“We had one TV,” Nikki said. “Like the size of a dump
truck, the screen the size of a toaster. Black and white.”

“Weird,” Henry said.

Nikki took another look at Ian’s family. “We did talk
about things.”

“How did that go?” Jamie said.

She shrugged. “Some days were better than others.”

Jamie nodded. “Yeah. Same here. I would have killed for
some of this stuff. Damn, the headphones don’t even have wires anymore.”

“For like ten years,” Nikki said. “You really should be
more observant. You do have internet, right?”

“Whatever.”

Still, despite the separation offered by the technology
these days, when Ian came into the room his parents and sister looked up and
made eye contact.

“How’s it going, guys?”

Ian’s mother waved and smiled. She turned her flexlet
toward Ian and said, “Hey, talking to my sister.”

Ian waved. “Hey, Aunt Amelia.”

Ian’s father touched a button on the counter and the
basketball game froze in its 3-D image. “Just made some coffee,” he said. “Do
you mind filling mine while you’re at it?”

Ian smiled. “No problem.” He turned his attention to his
sister, who popped out one of her earbuds. “Need any coffee, Margo?”

Margo kept her eyes on Ian’s for a moment, then smiled.
“I think I’m good for the moment.”

Ian nodded. “Glad to hear it.”

Nikki couldn’t help notice that other message being
exchanged between them but there wasn’t time to think about much more than what
to do next. One thing did occur to her and, before stopping herself, she closed
her eyes and called out to Naomi and Simon.

Ian filled a mug for himself and brought the pot to the
counter to top off his father’s. He settled onto a stool, a moment later
staring at a screen of his own.

“Henry, try,” Nikki said.

His eyes met hers and she could tell he was thinking the
same thing—that there was probably way too much distraction going on. A few
moments later proved it as she watched him approach Ian’s family one by one,
speaking directly into their ears, each time being dismissed with a shake of
the head, a look out the window, or a brief pause of silent thought.

“There’s too much going on,” Henry said. “I can’t seem to
make a connection. At least not now.”