Death, Doom And Detention Part 12

"Yeah. I was there for almost a minute, maybe more."

She slumped against the wall in thought. "That is too weird. You weren't-" She glanced up at me, searching for the right words. "-gone that long. It's like time is different there. You must be seeing this stuff in one split-second flash, but your mind is interpreting it as longer."

She took out her journal, the one she kept notes in, and jotted down what was happening. I could only pray no one would ever, ever, ever find that journal. Then again, they'd probably think it was fiction.

"Maybe. I don't really know."

"So, what did you see?"

I lowered my head. "Right before the picture was shot, Cameron's dad said he was proud of him."

"Why would that make him sad?" She took the picture back. "He just seems so sad in it."

"Because his dad also said his mom was proud of him too."

"Oh." I'd knocked the wind out of her. "Right."

"Look at the date stamp."

She read the date, then looked back up at me.

"Cameron's mom died nine years before that picture was taken. It was the anniversary of her death."

Brooke let out a ragged breath. "How did I not pick up on that? I'm so stupid."

"No, you're not."

"I'll give this back to him. It's only right."

"I think if he wanted it back, he would've asked for it." I scooted toward her. "I think he likes you having it."

Her mouth formed a hollow smile. "What's it like?" she asked, and I knew she meant the visions, going into the pictures. I thought back and told her about the veil, about pulling it back and sliding inside the image. I told her what it felt like being there, incorporeal, outside my body. It was hard to put into words what I felt, but Brooke was pretty savvy. She imagined it, put herself in my shoes.

"So, every time you come back, there's a flash first? Right when the shot is taken?"

"Yes, but I'm beginning to think the light I'm seeing isn't actually the flash of the camera, but my trip back to the present."

"Lor, I gotta say, this is the coolest thing on earth. Honestly, just when I didn't think you could get any cooler."

I laughed, unconvinced. "I don't know. I mean, what good does it do? It's still not getting us any closer to stopping this stupid war that's supposedly coming. I'm still fairly useless."

"But how do we know that? I think we should tell your grandparents. They'll know what to do. Maybe there's some prophecy that will explain its importance."

"I will." When she cast a doubtful gaze my way, I added, "I promise. I'll tell them."

"When?"

"Soon. Tomorrow maybe."

Her mouth thinned and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Pinkie swear." Just then my phone beeped. Saved by the bell-like ringtone. It was a text from Grandma. She was ordering pizza. Guilt cut through me. I knew she'd been planning on making enchiladas. She probably thought I wouldn't want any. Which, if it meant eating with them, she'd be right, but it didn't make me feel any less guilty.

Since we were clearly stuck in my bedroom for the rest of the evening, Brooke and I decided to get ready for bed early while waiting for the pizza. May as well be comfy. Cameron came up to check on us twice before heading back outside despite the horrid weather. That guy had chops.

"I wish my parents were here," I said to Brooke. "They would know what to do." I took the picture I had of them off my nightstand. "I have a feeling my dad would have known more about all this than my grandparents do. I mean, he grew up with it. He learned from birth what it meant to be a part of this lineage. A descendant of the prophet Arabeth."

"That's true," Brooke said from the bathroom. "But your grandparents are doing an amazing job, considering they knew nothing about the Order until they met your dad. They've taken a lot upon their shoulders."

She had a point. Maybe I was being too hard on them. "They are pretty great, huh?"

"Yes," she said with a gurgle, clearly brus.h.i.+ng her teeth.

"We're about to eat pizza. Why are you brus.h.i.+ng your teeth?"

"I don't know. Seemed like the right thing to do." She spit into the sink, then said, "Do you want to try another picture?"

"No. It gives me an awful feeling. Like I'm intruding."

She leaned out the bathroom door. "You're a prophet, Lor. That's what you guys do. Get over it."

She was so brutal when she wanted to be.

Maybe I could try one more picture. I looked at the photo of me and my parents, ran my fingertips along the gla.s.s frame. I had just been born. We were still in the hospital, and I looked more like a burrito with a face than like a baby. The nurses had coc.o.o.ned me in a pink blanket. Mom looked spent but happy, her hair matted and a sleepy smile on her face. And Dad looked so proud as he grinned into the camera, his red hair thick and his eyes captivating.

What if I could relive such moments? What if I could see my parents again as I had Brooke's birthday party? It would be so easy.

With new purpose, I worked the back of the frame off and took the picture into my hands. I was going to lean back against my headboard, take deep breaths, and concentrate. But the moment my fingers touched the picture, I tumbled inside. The sheer curtain drifted apart and I found myself standing in the hospital room while Mom and Dad studied the infant me.

I was sound asleep, probably due to lack of oxygen from being coc.o.o.ned, as Dad wiggled my chin with a fingertip. "Just like my father's," he said, and I couldn't have explained the pride that welled inside me if I tried a thousand years. My incorporeal chest swelled with emotion.

My parents were right there. Right in front of me. So close, I could almost touch them. I wanted so much to run to them, to thank them for everything. I felt like I couldn't breathe, but could I breathe here at all? In this place of void?

I wanted to stand there forever and bask in their presence. It was like they were back. They were with me. But I had no way to pause the moment, and it slid forward despite my every desire to the contrary.

Mom stopped her cooing and looked over at Dad. "We should tell her when she's older."

I stepped closer. Tell me what?

Dad gave her a sad look. "It's not our secret to tell," he said, shaking his head. "Besides, what good would it do her to know the truth? To know that he's alive?"

What? Who's alive? What truth?

"I think I have this thing figured out," a man said, and just as Mom and Dad looked up, the bright light flashed and I was back on my bed, the picture in my hands, Brooke mumbling something about duty and how spying was a n.o.ble tradition. Just look at James Bond.

THE VAGUENESS OF TRUTH.

But what were my parents talking about? What truth?

"Mm-hm," I said to Brooke, pretending to listen. I closed my eyes, placed my fingertips on the picture again, and concentrated. But just as before with Brooke's, nothing happened. Maybe one shot was all I got. No replays or do-overs. I tried again and again, but nothing. Then I did as before with Cameron's picture. I took a deep breath and relaxed. A coolness washed over me, starting from my fingertips and fanning out over my entire body. I felt the molecules of my existence fade, become translucent like watercolors. Then fog. Time slipped out from under my feet. The air rippled around me. And the curtain appeared. I reached forward. Pulled. And went through.

Dad sat on the side of the bed and leaned over me to wiggle my chin. My mom cooed and swayed, just barely, back and forth. Beautiful and strangely elegant, like a princess. This time I tried to see more. To extract more from every word, every movement.

"Just like my father's."

The moment Dad said it, a sadness washed over my mom's face. She looked almost pleadingly at Dad. "We should tell her when she's older."

He looked down, shook his head in regret before refocusing on Mom. "It's not our secret to tell. Besides, what good would it do her to know the truth? To know that he's alive?"

Mom bowed her head.

"I think I have this thing figured out." It sounded like Granddad, but I couldn't be certain.

Their dispositions changed as they smiled for the camera. After a quick flash, I was back in my room.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course," I said before diving in again.

I did this over and over, trying to discover something new, a clue, a hint of whom they were talking about. I found that I could manipulate my position. One time I was standing directly in front of them, and the next, I was standing by the window. It took some practice to get there. When I could control my thoughts more, when I could move without being thrown out of the picture, I walked to the window and turned around. Grandma stood pointing at something on the camera as Granddad, younger and leaner, shooed her away.

"We should tell her when she's older," Mom said, and my grandparents exchanged glances-so quickly, I almost missed it.

"It's not our secret to tell. Besides, what good would it do her to know the truth? To know that he's alive?"

Granddad bit down, clearly bothered by something before saying, "I think I have this thing figured out." He raised the camera, and a bright light suffused the area. Then once again, I was back in my room.

They knew. Whatever it was, whatever secret my parents were talking about, my grandparents knew as well. And Mom referred to the secret, something they should tell me, right after Dad had mentioned his father. My dad's parents died before I was born. Is that what they were talking about? Their deaths? Or maybe it was how they'd died. Maybe they didn't want me to know. But they'd said he was alive. I bolted upright.

"Brooke," I whispered, not really sure why.

"Lorelei," she said in the same tone, strolling out of the bathroom in full pajama mode.

I grabbed my pajamas and ducked into the bathroom. "You will not believe what happened."

"Let me guess: You went into a picture of your parents when you were born?"

Peeking around the doorjamb, I said, "How did you know that?"

She held up the picture.

"Oh, right." I went back to changing. "And I can do it over and over."

"The same picture?"

"The same picture."

She hopped up and came into the bathroom to sit on the closed toilet. "Do you know what this means?" she asked, her voice filled with fascination.

"Of course." Then I thought about it. "Well, okay, no. Not really."

After blinking in thought a few times, she said, "Yeah, me neither."

"They had a secret." I pulled my top over my head, then continued. "My parents."

"And you learned this by touching that picture?"

"Yes. They were talking about it. About how someone was alive but they couldn't tell me who." I stopped and gazed at her point-blank. "I think my paternal grandfather is alive."

Brooke's jaw dropped open. "I thought he was dead."

"So did I," I said. "That's what they told me, but they were talking about my chin and how it looked like my dad's father's and then-"

"I love this place." Glitch walked in, his mouth clearly full.

Brooklyn stepped out of the bathroom. "Glitch, you need to knock."

"Hurry, close the door," I said, rus.h.i.+ng past him to do that very thing.

He had a slice of pizza in each hand. "Why? What's going on?"

Brooklyn glanced at me, her eyes pleading. "Can I tell him? Please? I'll do your algebra homework."

With a snort, I said, "I would let you kick him in the face for a free homework night. Deal."

"In the face?" he asked, his words m.u.f.fled.

"Lor has a new talent," Brooke said.

He swallowed hard, then eyed me. "Does it involve pole dancing?"

"No." She rolled her eyes. "Pay attention. Oh, my gosh, that smells so good."

"Fine," I said. "Go get a piece. We'll wait."

"No way." She crossed her arms and refused to budge. "You'll tell him."

"I won't tell him."

"Yes, you will. I'll just take one of his."