Rewind (7 page)

He and Adam both took off after Lianna. She raced into the clearing and mounted her bike.

Ripley reached her first. He grabbed hold of Lianna’s bike handle with one hand. With the other, he pulled the backpack off her.

“Ripleyyyyyy!”
Lianna cried out.

“Take it!” Ripley shoved the backpack into Adam’s arms.

He was holding Lianna back. Restraining her.

Ripley.

Adam was stunned. “Thanks.”

“Just go before it’s too late!”

“NO-O-O-O-O!”

Lianna’s voice faded as Adam raced toward the lake.

He glanced at the time.

2:46.

Power switch. On.

Viewfinder. Up.

Adam looked through it.

The image was fuzzy. White. As it cleared, revealing the frozen lake, Adam panned left to right.

There. By the pine grove. Three bulky bodies. Hockey jerseys over down coats.

Edgar.

Even from this distance, he was impossible to miss. Skating around with the puck. Faking left. Right. Taunting and teasing.

The other two were skating after him.

Go to them. Now.

He had to set the camera down. Someplace where no one would see it.

Adam looked around frantically. Behind him stood a gnarled tree, with a fork about three feet off the ground.

He jammed the videocamera into the fork. Pressing his eye to the viewfinder, he focused on the trio.

They were fighting now.

This was the part Adam didn’t remember. The part Lianna had told him about. The fight between Adam and Edgar.

The fight that killed my best friend.

He managed to keep his finger on the zoom button, making the image rush closer.

The two kids were in a wrestling hold. Edgar pushed, and they split away from each other. Glaring angrily. Yelling inaudible words.

Adam got a clear look at both of their faces now.

Edgar’s.

And Lianna’s.

Lianna’s?

Adam’s younger self was off to the side, looking bewildered. Shouting something that looked like “Stop.”

No. This isn’t what happened.

This isn’t at all what Lianna said.

Young Adam was grabbing Lianna’s jersey now, trying to pull her away. Edgar was laughing, shaking his head, skating away with the puck.

With a sudden, angry swipe of her arm, Lianna broke away from Adam’s grip.

She skated after Edgar, her hockey stick chest-high.

Adam’s younger self was after her, but she’d had a big head start.

She raised the stick.

With a sharp thrust, she brought it down on Edgar’s head.

Edgar fell sharply to his knees. He clutched his skull, howling in pain.

Young Adam turned to Lianna in disbelief. She backed away silently, blankly.

Below Edgar, the ice cracked.

He fell into the water, screaming.

GO!

The older Adam ran forward, around the tree. Into the camera’s line of sight.

Blip.

Snow crunched under his shoes.

Wind lashed his face.

Edgar was about fifty yards away—floundering, bobbing in the water. Alive, but barely.

Adam—thin, scared, ten-year-old Adam the Wimp—was lying on the ice, right hand locked around Edgar’s wrist. Lianna was backing away, slack-mouthed.

As the older Adam ran, his lungs bursting, he remembered the dreams. The images he had buried under guilt and fear and misplaced trust.

It wasn’t me. It was Lianna.

“You killed him!”
The words burst from his wind-seared lungs.

The young Lianna screamed, “No!”

Adam dived, his own hand outstretched.

He landed hard.

On bare ice.

Solid, snowless ice.

Edgar was gone.

The younger Adam and Lianna, nowhere.

Adam spun around.

Lianna—fourteen-year-old Lianna—was running into the woods, the video camera tucked under her arm.

We underestimated her.

Sometimes the bad guys win.

“N
O-O-O-O-O-O-O!”

Adam sprinted back across the ice.

He saw Ripley emerge from the woods, racing after Lianna.

As Adam reached the edge of the lake, Ripley tackled Lianna to the ground. The camera tumbled away.

Adam ran for it, but Ripley was there first.

Lianna leaped onto Ripley’s back, digging her fingers into his arms. “It’s too late, Adam!”

Ripley thrust the camera toward Adam. “Go for it!”

Adam grabbed the camera. For a split second, he caught Lianna’s glance.

Desperate. Afraid.

She didn’t know he’d already seen it.

“Go!”
Ripley repeated. “I’ve got her!”

Adam ran back onto the ice, digging hard. He’d have to do this on the fly, the way he’d handled Jazz’s accident. He lifted the view-finder awkwardly to his eye.

Edgar wasn’t underwater yet. The younger Adam was still on solid ice, pulling hard.

The young Lianna stood frozen. Shocked. Motionless.

Yes. This was in the dream.

But so was —

Crrrrrrrack!

The ice broke for the second time. Adam saw his younger self fall through the crack. Still holding Edgar’s hand.

The older Adam ran faster. Crouching, holding the camera with his left hand, he reached with his right.

The outline of his hand was faint. But there was no mistaking the feel of Edgar’s hockey glove.

HOLD HIM!

He pulled. Hard. Edgar’s eyes were closed now. He was dead weight.

Dead,
wet
weight.

Adam heard Lianna’s voice now. Screaming. She was running away.

The younger Adam was fighting for his own life, gasping for air, flailing his arms.

A sacrifice.

“No!” Adam cried out.

He wanted to reach for his younger self. But he couldn’t let go of the camera.

I can’t let myself die!

Edgar’s hand was growing softer in his. As if it were dematerializing.

DON’T LOSE HIM.

Adam concentrated. The grip tightened.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his younger self moving closer, ramming his shoulder into Edgar’s side.

Gulping water, turning blue, the younger Adam was trying to shove Edgar out of the hole.

The older Adam jerked backward. Suddenly Edgar was sliding toward him,
upward,
over the jagged lip of ice.

It was going to work.

Just hang on…both of you…

The older Adam gave a strong yank.

His left foot slid.

Edgar’s hand slipped out. His body dropped away.

Adam pitched forward. He opened his mouth in a silent scream.

The camera fell from his eye.

His hands reached out—to nothing.

In a flash of brilliant white, he saw the camera drop.

Through the ice.

Into the past.

Into the lake.

With Edgar.

How could he have lost it?

Perhaps we can bring it back.

No. Some things even we can’t do.

G
ONE.

It was all gone.

Into the crack,
Adam realized.
It fell into its own image of the past.

He knew he should scream. Or cry. But he couldn’t.

He didn’t feel a thing.

Adam surveyed the smooth, unbroken ice. The snowless banks.

His arms were no longer wet. His head no longer ached.

Like it never happened.

As if he’d just awakened from another of his dreams.

Maybe that’s all it was. A trick of a disturbed mind. A four-day haze of memories coming unchained. Like Lianna said.

But it was over. And this time he remembered everything.

This time he knew the truth.

Lianna had lied to him. That was why she’d tried to take away the camera. So he couldn’t see. So he couldn’t know what she’d done.

She killed him.

Maybe.

Without the head injury, Edgar might have survived. He might have been conscious longer. He might have been able to hold tighter. To respond to Adam’s help.

What was the difference now?

Edgar had died.

Twice.

Adam realized that through all the deception, Lianna had been right about one other thing.

He couldn’t take it.

He began to shake.

A moan welled up from somewhere deep inside him, buried under four years of grief. It exploded from his mouth. Then another, and another.

No one responded. Lianna and Ripley were probably halfway across town by now.

He sat there until he couldn’t moan anymore. Until he could barely feel.

Later—how long? Five minutes? Two hours?—Adam pulled up in front of Ripley’s house.

To thank him.

To let him know how much Adam had misjudged him.

But also to ask his advice. Eventually Adam would have to confront Lianna. One-on-one. And Ripley would know how to do it.

He rang the doorbell once. Twice.

Finally he heard a commotion inside.

The door flew open. “Heyyyyy, what’s up?” called a familiar voice.

Adam’s throat locked up. He tried to speak, but no sound would come out. “Adam? Did something happen?” Adam swallowed hard and blinked. Then he looked up at his friend’s face.

Edgar.

I didn’t think he could.

A little faith is all it takes. Sometimes.

T
HE FURNITURE.
T
HE
P
ERSIAN
rug. The grandfather clock.

It was all back.

Edgar’s stuff.

Edgar’s house.

“Uh, Earth to Adam,” Edgar said.

“Where’s Ripley?” Adam asked.

“Ripley who?”

“You don’t—he didn’t—but Lianna
killed
you.”

Edgar gave him a strange look, then called over his shoulder, “Hey, did you happen to kill me?”

Lianna walked in from the kitchen, munching on a Ring-Ding. She was dressed in a hockey jersey. “Don’t tempt me.”

Adam was reeling.

Ripley’s family never moved here.

Because Edgar lived on.

And so did Lianna’s lie.

“Adam?” Edgar asked. “Are you all right?”

Adam shook his head. “No. I’m not.
Nothing
is. Edgar, remember that accident four years ago? On the ice? You—you were supposed to die that day!”

Stop. His death never happened, Adam.

“Is this some kind of weird joke?” Edgar asked.

“Do you remember what happened?” Adam struggled to keep his voice calm.

“You
know
I don’t,” Edgar replied. “I was wiped out, just like you. Traumatic stress, whatever they call it.”

Adam faced Lianna. “What did you tell him? You saved me
and
him? You’re twice a hero?”

Lianna groaned. “God, you’re not bringing that up again, are you? Okay, you want to take credit for it? Fine.”

“It’s a lie,” Adam said. “You were the one fighting with Edgar. You hit him with a hockey stick.”

Lianna’s face turned pale. “Where did you hear that crazy idea—?”

“Then, when we fell through, you just stood there and watched. You didn’t get help. After a while you started screaming — someone must have heard it.
That’s
how we were saved. How convenient for you that Edgar and I didn’t remember.”

“No one was there, Adam. No one could have seen any of that!”

“I was there, Lianna. I saw.”

“Oh. Right.” Lianna let out a strange, nervous laugh. She began backing up toward Edgar’s door. “This is like some kind of buried memory that came back in one of your dreams? This is silly, Adam. I’m hurt.”

Edgar looked from Adam to Lianna. “Where are you going?”

“
He’s
the one lying, Edgar!” Lianna swallowed hard. Her eyes darted. “You have no proof, Adam.”

“Do
you
?”

“I will not stand here and be insulted!” With that, she ran out of the house.

Adam fought the impulse to chase her.

Let her go. For now.

“Do you really remember?” Edgar asked, his face full of doubt.

Adam nodded. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Below them, the front door slammed. Edgar sank onto the bed, lost in thought. Confused.

Maybe it’s best to just leave it alone,
Adam thought.

Let it die.

The squeal of tires made Adam jump.

He and Edgar ran to the window.

The first thing Adam saw was a hockey jersey.

Lianna’s.

She was lying on the road, facedown.

A car had skidded to a stop, diagonally across the road.

A green Volvo.

Lianna’s grandmother was pushing the driver’s door open, screaming.

“Oh my god,” Adam murmured. Edgar was already out the door. “Let’s help her!” Adam followed. It was the least he could do.

Case File: 6791

Name: Adam Sarno

Age: 14

First contact: 54.35.20

Acceptance: YES

Peter Lerangis (b. 1955) is a bestselling author of young adult fiction; his novels have sold more than four million copies worldwide. Born in Brooklyn, New York, Lerangis began writing in elementary school, inventing stories during math class—after finishing the problems, he claims. His first piece of published writing was an anonymous humor article for the April Fools’ Day edition of his high school newspaper. Seeing the other students laughing in the corridors as they read it, planted the idea in his head that he could be a writer. After high school he attended Harvard University, where he majored in biochemistry and sang in an a cappella group, the Harvard Krokodiloes. Intending to go on to law school, Lerangis took a job as a paralegal post-graduation. But after a summer job as a singing waiter, he changed his path and became a musical theater actor.

Lerangis found theatrical work on Broadway, appearing in
They’re Playing Our
Song, and he toured the country in such shows as
Cabaret
,
West Side Story
, and
Fiddler on the Roof
, acting alongside theatrical greats such as Jack Lemmon, John Lithgow, Jane Powell, John Raitt, and Victor Garber. During these years, Lerangis met his future wife, Tina deVaron, and began editing fiction, a job that would eventually lead him to writing novels of his own.