I'll Stop the World (90)

I considered spending the day on Mrs. Hanley’s sofa watching soap operas (a new obsession, and a secret I am determined to take to my grave), but after an hour of my eyes constantly being pulled from the TV to the window facing the Reynolds’s house, I realized that was a surefire way to make the day take a hundred years.

Half an hour later, I found myself back at Wilson Bridge, staring out over the water. I still can’t shake the feeling that there’s something special about this place. Is it just because it’s the last place I was before driving into the river? Or is there more to it than that?

This is the one piece that doesn’t seem to sync with the Robbie theory. All week Rose and I have been so focused on when I went back in time; we’ve never stopped to wonder about the where. I think part of me hoped that if I came back here, the missing piece would click into place.

But it’s just a bridge. Just a river. Nothing special about it.

The river seems angry today, churning and spitting far below my feet. It’s like it knows what’s going to happen. It’s like it shares my anxiety about stopping it.

Hours slip past, and I don’t leave. Sometimes I stand; sometimes I pace; sometimes I sit on the sidewalk with my back to the metal barrier that lines the edges of the bridge. Once, I climb up and over it, bits of orange rust flaking off onto my jeans and staining my hands, and look down at the water far below. The water that should’ve killed me but never got the chance.

I’m not going to jump. I still can’t help but wonder what would happen if I tried—the universe snatched me from the grip of gravity once before, flinging me into a totally different time rather than letting me fall—but not enough to actually do it. Even though I’m not entirely convinced I’m still alive, I haven’t yet made my peace with death.

Besides, we have a suspect. We have a plan. It’s going to work. It has to work.

I tell myself this all day, over and over, trying to force my insides to stop tumbling like the water below. Yesterday, for a brief moment when Rose and I returned to Mrs. Hanley’s, I felt calm, certain we were on the right path. But the more distance I gain from that moment, the more doubts pick at me, whispering that we might be wrong, we might be missing something, we might fail.

I stare out over the water, a sparkling cerulean ribbon, and wish that, just once, I knew what it was like to feel the certainty that seems to fit itself to Rose like a well-worn jacket. I wish I knew what it was like to have faith in something, anything, other than the universal inevitability of disappointment.

The temperature drops in the afternoon, the sun disappearing behind a wall of thick, rolling clouds. I remember Stan telling me that it was raining the night of the fire. This must be the pregame.

I slowly start to walk back to Mrs. Hanley’s house, flipping up the collar of my borrowed jean jacket to block the wind’s harsh bite and jamming my hands deep into my pockets to keep my fingers from going numb. The week started out warm, but the weather caught up with the calendar over the last couple of days, and now autumn has arrived in full force.

I should be hungry; I haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast this morning, two fried eggs and buttered toast, which I didn’t even finish—but I’m not. My stomach feels like it’s been filled with cement, which is slowly curing into a hard, heavy lump.

I try not to think about tomorrow, but my mind keeps coming back to it. Is there more I can do, besides stalking Robbie Reynolds? Could I somehow stop Bill and Veronica from—

I freeze midstep, listening intently. I could’ve sworn I just heard—

There it is again. Clearer this time.

A scream.





Chapter Fifty-Four


KARL

His fort was supposed to be his safe place. His fortress of solitude. The lone place where he was the one with the power, the one in control.

And then Robbie found it.

“Leave me alone,” Karl screamed, tearing through the trees without paying attention to where he was going.

Karl hadn’t seen them until it was too late. He’d been too excited about digging into the newest issue of Peter Parker, The Spectacular Spider-Man, which he’d picked up at the comics shop right after school, along with an older Incredible Hulk that he’d slipped into his backpack while the shop owner was looking for the Spider-Man book. He had planned to spend a blissful afternoon reading in his fort and tuning out the world.

Except no sooner had he entered his fort and pulled the comics out of his backpack than there were Robbie and his goons. Karl had no idea how long they’d been following him. He was sure he would’ve noticed them crossing the bridge behind him, so maybe they’d already been in the woods when they spotted him.

Not that it mattered. Robbie wasted no time in sweeping the treasures Karl had collected off the shelves onto the ground and ripping down the canvas he’d rigged to provide shelter. At first, Karl tried to stop him, but then he realized that as soon as they got bored with destroying his stuff, the only thing left to destroy would be him.

That’s when he ran.

Steve was blocking the path back to his house, so Karl ran in the opposite direction, toward the river. Branches scratched at his face as he crashed through the woods, sneakers crunching on a thick carpet of fallen leaves. Spiderwebs clung to his face and arms where he’d smashed through an invisible barrier, and he tried his best to wipe the sticky silk from his mouth and eyes as he ran.