Tempest. Part 16

Adam flung the door open seconds after I knocked. I followed him through the dark living room, where it looked like his parents were cozy on the couch watching TV.

After he closed his bedroom door, I started in with the questions.

"So, can I ask what made you even think to do a paternity test?"

He was pulling items from his desk drawer. "It was after those caffeine pills I took to stay awake. I pretty much thought of everything. Mostly I wanted to see if there were similarities in your DNA."

"Why would that matter?"

"It answers some of the questions you've asked in your journal entries. If he does work for the CIA, wouldn't a time-traveling agent be a benefit to them? I can think of a million ways the government could make use of that."

"You thought maybe he can do it, too?" This was another theory we hadn't come up with before, but then again, Adam read all the notes about his future self. Now he was taking the next logical step in his insane thought process.

He shrugged. "Don't know. But it explains how he does the whole CEO and CIA thing. No reason to look further if there's no match. Do you know what date you're going to use?"

"Well, you and me had this plan ... in the future, to steal my medical records. I still think we could do this, but what about my mother's records? Maybe she's the reason I'm this way ... do they even keep records for people who are already dead?"

Adam's face took on a look of deep concentration and I could tell I'd just sparked something. "If you could go back far enough ... stuff like that was much less secure."

"Like I could just walk into the hospital and talk a nurse into leaving her station and hijack her computer?" I was half joking, but of course Adam took it as a serious plan.

He sank down onto the bed and glanced up at me. "Okay ... so, you and your sister were born at NYU Medical Center, which means your biological mother died there, right?"

"Right," I said slowly, absorbing the weight of that conclusion. I hadn't really thought of it like that before. All those times I'd been in that hospital ... never once had I thought about the fact that my mother and Courtney both died in that building. Over half of my family. Maybe all of my family, since my dad and I weren't biologically connected.

"Jackson?" Adam said, waving a hand in front of my face. "What we need is a date that you were there ... in the past ... preferably far in the past."

"I visited Courtney a bunch of times," I said.

He shook his head. "No, sometime when you were a patient. Or there for a sick visit or checkup with Dr. Melvin. If you go far enough back, like when they used to cart around medical records in file folders rather than a computer ... you could take a peek."

It must have been the shock of finding out my dad wasn't my dad, but the most perfect plan formed in my head. I knew of one date very far in the past that would work. And there was something I needed to see. "December twenty-fourth, 1996," I said to Adam.

"Great, and I think you should take a stab at getting a look at your mother's file if you can figure out how. At least give it a try while you're there." He handed me a stopwatch and a small notebook. "It still seems so strange that you can take stuff with you, but not bring anything back. Like there's some kind of force field around you when you jump. a.s.suming your notes are accurate."

"Well, you're about to get your own evidence to record." I clicked the stopwatch on and off several times like the older Adam had always done. "Do you think it would work if I was touching a person?"

"Not sure. But I don't want to be your lab rat for that one."

"Good point, it's too dangerous."

"We need to make sure the time you're actually gone is accurate. Tie the watch to your belt loop. As soon as you take in your surroundings, start it." He opened his closet and pulled out a black ski jacket and then pulled a blue stocking hat over my head.

I knew almost nothing about my mother. The name on my birth certificate said Eileen Meyer. But I didn't know what color hair or eyes she had. I'd never even seen a picture and suddenly I wanted to know. I closed my eyes and focused on a date much further than I'd ever traveled to.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1996.

The first thing I noticed ... after waking up in a pile of snow and hitting the start b.u.t.ton on the stopwatch ... was the Twin Towers, standing tall in the distance. Like some giant up in the sky had just set them right back in place. I suppressed a shudder at the sight of them and stood up.

I zipped up Adam's coat and waded across the sidewalk. I remembered this Christmas Eve so well. At least six inches of snow had fallen and Courtney and I were home with Dad, watching it come down as we wrapped presents for the party our neighbors hosted at midnight. It was the most excited I'd been in my six years of life. All the money in the world couldn't buy a perfect snowfall on Christmas Eve. Adam would probably call me careless later, but I had to see this again. Relive it. And then I could return to the plan of hunting down medical records. In fact, this event would lead me right to the source.

Everything glowed white. It was almost blinding. I made my way across the park to one of the baseball fields. I only had to wait about fifteen minutes before I saw the two little kids, dressed like punk rock marshmallows, dragging their dad by the hands. I leaned against the backstop of the baseball field so I'd have my back to them, and then I pulled the stocking cap farther over my ears and slipped on a pair of sungla.s.ses. There were a few other people around, so I didn't stand out too much.

"Jackson, why don't you start with the head?" Dad said.

It was hard not to react when he said my name, but I kept my eyes forward.

"No, I'm doing the bottom first. This dude is going to be huge," the younger me said.

"You never do what Daddy tells you to, Jackson. Santa isn't going to bring you anything," Courtney said in her know-it-all voice.

"He brought me a bunch of stuff last year."

"Let him do the bottom, Courtney. Somebody has to."

After a while, I shot a couple glances in their direction and saw the snowman coming to life.

"Let's give him three eyes like an alien," the younger me said.

"Ew! He's supposed to have a top hat and look like a man," Courtney said.

"Fine, I'm making my own."

I heard Dad laughing, but he didn't attempt to force me into working on Courtney's version.

"Daddy, why does Santa bring small presents to poor people?" Courtney asked.

"Duh, because their houses are smaller," the six-year-old me said.

"Who told you that, Courtney?" Dad asked.

"Silvia."

The babysitter from Puerto Rico. She stayed with us whenever Dad was out of town.

"What did she say?"

"Well, she told me her family always got fruit for Christmas and Santa brought it because they didn't have enough money to buy any presents," Courtney said.

From the corner of my eye, I could see her wrapping her scarf around the snowman.

"Silvia's from a different country. Everyone has their own customs," Dad said.

"I'm giving her half of my presents," Courtney announced.

"Yeah, I'm sure she wants your Barbie car," the little me said. "Silvia's, like, a hundred years old. She can't drive a Power Wheels. She can have some of my stuff."

"If you even get anything besides coal," Courtney said.

"I wouldn't care if I got coal. You can make diamonds with coal. Right, Dad?"

"Right ... and no one has to give their presents away. We can get Silvia her own gift."

"Can we take a picture of the snowman to show her?" the little me asked.

My voice had grown more distant and I knew what was coming. I held my breath and waited.

"What are you doing over there?" Dad called to the younger me.

"I'm getting some arms for my snowman."

I spun around even though I was risking being seen. I had to watch. The younger me started to climb the tree, jumping to reach a twig above his head.

Dad took off running toward the tree. "Jackson! Don't grab that branch!"

I almost shouted out to myself. The six-year-old version of me froze on a lower branch of the tree, watching the branch above his little head buckle under the immense weight of the snow on top and the tugging from a little kid who had just attempted to tear off a small piece.

Dad dove forward and grabbed the young me around the waist as he tumbled down, covering both of their heads with his arms. One of my younger self's hands had reached out to break the fall and hit the bare, frozen ground that the giant tree had s.h.i.+elded from the snow. I cringed and held my breath. Even from so far away, I could hear the bone snap. Or maybe I just remembered the sound so vividly. But it wasn't as loud as Courtney's scream. She ran to the fallen branch and stood over the little me. Her hands covered her face. "His arm fell off!"

That's when the younger me decided it was time to freak out and start crying.

"It's just broken, sweetie," Dad said to Courtney before picking me up off the ground carefully. He pulled my arm from the sleeve of my jacket and his face tightened. Courtney got one look at the bone poking through the skin and turned around and puked up the pound of cookie dough she had eaten earlier.

"I don't want to die," I heard myself wail. "Call Dr. Melvin, please, Dad."

"We just need to go to the hospital. You'll be okay, I promise," Dad said.

From a distance, I saw him turn his head to his sleeve and heard him say, "Edwards, where the h.e.l.l are you?"

Seconds later, a man ran past me.

"Excuse me, sir, do you need help?" he asked Dad.

"Yes, my son hurt his arm."

The man picked up Courtney, who had finished vomiting and started wailing out her apologies in case I was, in fact, dying. "I didn't mean that ... about Santa, Jackson. He's bringing you lots of stuff. I'm sooorry."

"That's a compound fracture. He's going to need surgery," the man called Edwards said.

The younger me held his deformed arm across his stomach and continued to cry, much quieter than Courtney's ear-piercing wail. Dad carried young me through the snow, walking fast. I watched the backs of their heads get smaller and smaller.

That guy Edwards was definitely some kind of agent. I remembered the man, but thought he had just come over to help. Dad never would have let some stranger pick up my sister. I had been a little distracted at the time from the stabbing pain shooting through my arm, and was probably too young to remember those details.

I pulled up the sleeve of Adam's jacket and ran my fingers over the scars from my Christmas Eve surgery, faded after so many years.

I took a cab to the hospital, where I knew Dad was headed. After reliving this day, I decided Dad didn't seem like someone pretending to be a father. His concern was genuine. It's possible he didn't know that we had no biological connection. Or he was just one of many adoptive parents who made the decision to keep that a secret.

Or it was something entirely different.

When the cab pulled up to the hospital, I had to dig into one of the tiny pockets of my wallet to get the oldest dollar bills out. Luckily, I had been collecting old money. Just in case.

I strode through the emergency room doors, hoping to get a better glimpse of the man Dad had called Edwards. They were nowhere in sight, and from what I could remember of that night, I was only awake for a short time before they wheeled me into surgery and put screws into my arm. I just needed someone to give me access through the closed ER doors.

"Can I help you?" a woman at the desk in front of the emergency room doors asked.

"Um ... yeah, I'm here to see my ... brother, Jackson Meyer ... he just came in with my dad. Hurt his arm."

"Name, please," she said, glancing up from the stack of papers in front of her, probably because I was staring at her like she had just spoken j.a.panese. "Your name, not his," she added.

Oops, hadn't thought about that little issue. "Uh ... Peter ... Peter Meyer."

She typed away at her computer. It was a thick monitor with one of those black and green screens. Something I hadn't seen for many years. Even the hairstyles of all the nurses I had walked past were so unusual. I would've laughed if the situation were different.

"Can I see some ID?" she asked.

Uh-oh, time to go.

"Yeah, I ... uh ... left it in the cab. I just called and the driver's on his way back. In fact, I should go down and meet him now. I'll be right back." I spun around and nearly ran into a man in a blue suit. He was well over six feet, with a shaved head and dark skin. He looked familiar. Very familiar.

"I think I can help you," he said in this deep, booming voice. It had just a hint of a Southern drawl.

"Really?"

He nodded. "Why don't you come with me."

It wasn't a question. I followed behind him, feeling totally freaked, but also dying to figure out how all of these people and events connected. Besides, it wasn't like I didn't have a way out of there.

I struggled to keep up with the man's long strides. He held the door open for the elevator and I stepped in. He swiped a card in a hole and a small door slid open big enough for his hand. I craned my neck, trying to get a good view. It was some kind of fingerprint scanner.

Was this normal security for hospitals? Especially in 1996? And why were we straying so far from the ER?

He kept his eyes straight ahead but answered my unspoken question. "The government wing of this hospital is only available to those with security clearance, but I'm sure you knew that already."

"Uh ... no," I said.

My voice came out like a scared child's and yet this man was cool and calm. Like he brought people to his secret fingerprint scanner place all the time.

I could feel the elevator moving down, but the numbers that usually lit up to tell you the floor you were on stayed dark. When the doors finally opened, I sucked in a breath. Four men with guns stood right outside the elevator. They all raised their weapons and pointed them at us. I froze in my spot, debating whether or not to push another b.u.t.ton.

"You can't go back up without clearance," the mystery man said.