A World Without You(92)

Before he can protest again, I stop time. I need to stop the burning. The pain in my hand instantly goes away, and the flames slow to a wavering dance. The Doctor freezes, his raised arms immobile, reaching for me.

I turn away from him. Away from the exit.

? ? ?

I make it to the second floor quickly, but I have to hop over a part of the stairs that’s been damaged by the flames. The hallway for our unit is in worse shape than any other area, which isn’t much of a surprise, since the fire started in Sofía’s room. I creep forward, careful to avoid the giant flames that swirl up the wall, creating a beautiful pattern of destruction. I want to touch them, to hold fire in my hand the way Gwen does, but I worry that when I restart time, it will burn me like it did before. So I’m careful.

I see wet footprints on the carpet.

I tread over them, fitting my feet into the tiny prints. Carlos is leading the way for me, showing me the path I should take.

I wonder why Carlos has become this touchstone between Sofía and me, the guide leading me to my full powers. I know why he was important to Sofía: He was the first person she ever saw die. Death leaves a mark.

Maybe that’s why Sofía’s important to me.

Time erupts around me with a violent roar, the flames shooting out, the heat and smoke choking me. I drop to my knees. “No!” I shout to the fire. “NO! I have control!”

The flames mock me.

Through the haze, I see the flicker of an outline of a girl, running across the hall into Dr. Franklin’s office.

I don’t have control anymore.

But I can have Sofía.

I bend my head, pushing further into the fire. It’s hard to breathe. The smoke burns, the air burns, my lungs burn. I stumble forward, my arm over my nose and mouth. My hair feels hot on my head; my clothes feel as if they are made of embers.

Just a little further.

A little further.





CHAPTER 63


Phoebe I pick up the phone on the third ring.

“Hello? Hello?” a panicked voice calls out from the other end.

“Hello?” I say.

“Who’s this?” the voice demands. “Phoebe, is that you?”

“Yeah?” I reply warily.

“I need to speak to your parents! This is Dr. Franklin, at Berkshire Academy. I have to speak to your parents right away!”

In the background, I can hear a siren.

“Dr. Franklin? What happened?”

“Your parents!”

“They’re not here.”

Yes, that’s definitely a siren. And . . . a beeping sound. People talking. What’s going on?

“There’s been an accident—a fire.” Dr. Franklin’s voice is weary.

“A fire?”

“Have your parents call me right away!”

“Is Bo okay?” I ask, my heart catching in my throat. I never wanted this, I never thought the idea that he could be gone would hurt this way, a deep, sharp pain that crackles under my skin, into my bones, burning away the air in my lungs.

The line goes dead.





CHAPTER 64




I can feel something—someone—pinching my nose, forcing air into my mouth. I feel my chest rise with someone else’s breath, I feel my ribs pushed down under someone else’s hands.

? ? ?

It’s foggy, and I’m alone. The timestream has been a tapestry, spreading out like a blanket over the world, but it’s not that way now.

Right now, it is only two threads, hanging limply in my hands.

? ? ?

“We’re losing him!” a voice shouts. Someone cuts my T-shirt right in half and pulls it apart, all the way down to the hem. Something sticky is pressed onto my skin.

I hear sounds in the dense fogginess of this world where I exist now. A heart monitor, drowning out all other noise.

Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

? ? ?

Two threads.

Two choices.

? ? ?

A radio crackles. They’re taking me to a hospital. I can feel the needles in my arm and hand. I can hear the first responders talking in hushed voices. The Doctor is here. He’s telling them I don’t have any allergies, he’s calling my parents on his cell phone. Please, he says, please save him.

? ? ?

I see the girl. I know her immediately.

She’s not tall, but she’s not short. Average. Her hair is to her shoulders, her face is round, her hips are round, her arms long and straight at her sides. Her eyes search mine, a question there, suspended over their brown depths.

She is at the end of one of the threads in front of me.

She does not flicker this time.

She does not disappear.

She is not tantalizingly out of reach.

Instead, she steps forward, her fingers trailing along the thread leading to her. She’s barefoot and silent, her steps like a dance.

? ? ?

On the other thread, there is a sound.

Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

? ? ?

I know what two threads mean.

Other people may not see their choices, but I do. I see the threads of fate. I control them. I have two threads in my hand. All I have to do is let go of one and hold on to the other. The one I keep will become my reality, the only truth I know. The one I let go of will be nothing more than a faded dream, an opportunity I never took.