Traveler (Traveler #1)(15)

“Really?” I look at Mario. “I could have been jumping into other realities on my own?”

“If you knew how,” he says. “You’re born with the ability, but we don’t let you in on the secret until we feel that you’re ready to accept the responsibility that comes with it.”

“And sadly, it appears our faith has been misplaced,” Rudy says. “This Traveler has their own agenda.”

“You may not have done anything,” says Finn. “Not in your own reality.”

“Great.” I fold my arms over myself. “So you’re telling me that ‘alternate me’ royally hacked somebody off and now I’m marked for death?”

“That’s how it looks,” Finn says. “So I’m going to watch your back, and Mario and Rudy are going to watch everything else. Whoever it is, they’ll have to tip their hand sooner or later.”

“Well then,” I say, standing up and dusting off my hands and behind. “Guess I’d better get back. How do I wake up?”

Finn looks at me funny. “You’re taking this awfully well.”

Mario gives me an all-too-knowing smile. “She thinks she’s dreaming. She doesn’t believe a word of what we’ve said.”

“You told me I was dreaming,” I point out.

“And so you are,” Rudy says. “That doesn’t mean we’re not telling the truth.”

“It’s easy enough to prove,” Mario says. “You’ve met Finn already in person.”

“I met a cute guy and now I’m dreaming about him.” I shrug. “What’s so weird about that?

“You think I’m cute?” Finn looks surprised and pleased. Mario just rolls his eyes.

“I think you’re all figments of my overactive imagination,” I conclude. “But that’s okay. I’ll wake up and write it all in my dream journal and maybe I can use it in a story sometime.”

“You do that,” Finn suggests. “But before you go, why don’t you give me your phone number?”

My eyes narrow. “You’ve already tried to get it, remember? I don’t pass my number out to strangers.”

“I’m not a stranger,” Finn says. “And besides, it’s only a dream.”

“That’s what she said,” Mario agrees. “Nothing but a dream. Right, Jessa?”

I look at the two of them warily. “That’s right.”

Finn reaches over and picks up my pen, opens my notebook, and looks at me expectantly. I dictate the numbers, and he copies them down before closing the notebook and tucking it under his arm.

I get out of my seat and Mario gestures to the red door.

“Just open it and step through,” he tells me. “You’ll be back in your reality.”

“All right,” I sigh as I walk over. I grasp the knob and twist, pulling the door open. “It’s time to wake—”

The next word is on my lips as I roll over in bed. My room is dark and the clock at my bedside reads 2:48 a.m. It takes me a moment to get my bearings.

And then my phone rings.





8

The Decision

I stare at the phone, and my hand fumbles with it as I switch off the ringer. The screen is still lit, and the glare of it seems ridiculously bright.

I reach for it again and pull my hand back, sure that it’s going to stop ringing any second. I even glance around a bit, on the off chance that I’m actually still asleep. I can feel the vibration of it on the mattress, and I manage to pull in a breath despite the tightness in my chest. My hand reaches for the phone again, and I press answer.

“Hello?”

“You answered,” Finn says.

“You didn’t think I would?” My voice sounds entirely too high and thin. My heart is pounding.

“I had my doubts. Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Completely understandable. Are you ready to know more?”

“I—Finn, I need some time, okay? And I can’t talk right now. I have to go to work early.”

“What time are you done?” he asks.

I know I probably shouldn’t tell him, but I do. “I’m off at twelve.”

“Meet me at Mugsy’s for lunch.”

“I don’t … I’m not sure.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises. “Good-bye, Jessa.”

“Bye.”

I end the call, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m suffering from some kind of delusion brought on by an undiagnosed brain tumor or something.

I groan and throw an arm across my eyes. This is nuts. This is nuts. This is nuts. I repeat it over and over in my mind, but even so, some part of me knows it’s true.

I lie there awake for a few hours until I finally drag myself out of bed and into the shower, and then I spend entirely too long choosing exactly the right sweater to pair with my jeans. I am brushing my hair when a text lights up my phone.

Crap. I’d forgotten all about Ben.



he texts.



I grab my phone, typing back:



It only takes a minute for the reply:



I pause a moment, considering. I’m really not in the mood for a horror movie. But then again, after lunch with Finn—or worse, without Finn, because this will have all been a delusion—I will probably need a little “normal.”