Innocent Bystander (3 page)

Burnett ushered Henri out of the elevator and down the gray hallway of the fourth-floor, off-campus apartment building. On his ninth step, Henri stumbled and crashed to the carpet in front of apartment 405. As Burnett yanked him to his feet, the door swung open. A young woman poked her head out.

“Hey, Em,” Henri said, a noticeable slur in his words.

“You okay?” Emma asked.

“One too many Coronas at Charlie’s Place,” Burnett said. Everything about Emma said money, and lots of it: her Prada leather sandals and Alexander McQueen cotton tank top, her perfect manicure and expensive perfume. Plus the fact—at least he believed it was a fact—that she had somehow managed to procure the apartment two doors down from Henri. Rumor had it she’d paid a small fortune to have the previous residents “relocated.”

The problem was he had trouble admitting to himself how much he envied Henri. Emma’s eyes were the perfect shade of blue, a hue nestled between indigo and sapphire. And the way her shoulder-length light brown hair set off her eyes made it hard to look away when she spoke.

Even in flats she had Henri by an inch.

He wasn’t sure what she saw in him. Whatever it was, it had kept them together for two years, not counting a pair of short breakups.

Emma closed the door behind her. “Let me give you a hand.”

She took his arm and the two of them guided Henri down the corridor and stopped at his apartment. She searched Henri’s front pocket for his keys, dug out his keychain, and selected the correct key.

Once inside, Henri plopped on his ripped-up sofa. What little furniture he owned was worn and faded. Even the laptop computer, which sat on a third-hand desk, had to be more than five years old. Half-a-dozen small piles of unwashed clothes littered the floor. Burnett wondered how Emma could allow herself to set foot in the place.

She walked over to the balcony door and slid it open to allow a breeze in on the warm May evening.

“Want to grab me a beer from the fridge?” Henri called to whoever would listen. “
Merci
.” No trace of accent remained in his speech.

Burnett and Emma exchanged a glance, but neither moved. He switched on a table lamp, then stood beside her.

“He drank a lot, but not a ridiculous amount,” Burnett said. “He’ll probably just pass out in a little while.” He hugged her and strode toward the front door. As always, he fretted over the likelihood that he’d held her too long or too tight. It’s a curious quirk of fate, he reminded himself for the thousandth time, when your closest friend happens to be dating the most beautiful woman you’ve ever met.

The uneasiness lingered as he reached for the doorknob. Before he could twist it, a muted creak inside the apartment froze his hand. Emma’s expression suggested she’d heard the sound as well.

“Is someone else here?” Emma asked in a tone jealous women have perfected over the centuries.

“It’s them,” Henri said and catapulted up from the sofa. “I told you they’ve been following me.”

Emma hushed him with a wave of her hand.

“I see this black sedan behind me sometimes,” he said. “It disappears. Then reappears.”

Henri had long suspected that a few of his more radical scientific notions had aroused the government’s curiosity. It mattered little whether he was on or off his medications, he fervently defended this belief. In recent weeks, however, his paranoia had snowballed.

A moment of silence followed while Burnett listened for any further sounds. “Probably nothing. The wind.”

“Would you mind taking a look?” Emma asked.

He wanted to leave them alone. More than that, 7:30 had come and gone and the good folks at the hospital were adamant about not allowing visitors after 8:00. His father, learning to walk again after a near-fatal car accident six months earlier, had fallen and fractured his skull, necessitating two additional surgeries. Today was the first day his doctors had permitted visitors.

After a hasty nod he zigzagged past two piles of clothes and arrived in the hallway. He entered the bathroom and peeked behind the shower curtain—no one hiding there. The medicine cabinet called to him. He faced himself in the mirror and debated whether or not to open it.

The decision was interrupted by the man who returned his gaze. He shut his eyes. It was too late. His reflection lingered crystal clear in his mind’s eye. His hair, usually neatly combed, was not. More than a few gray hairs had begun to intrude upon the black ones. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and that alone made him appear older. The hint of bags beneath his eyes offered an unwelcome reminder of his true age. No longer could he pass for one of the twenty-one- or twenty-two-year-olds who shared many of his classes.

He opened his eyes and dipped his head. With a heavy sigh he tugged the medicine cabinet’s handle—empty inside save a bottle of Tums slanted against the mirrored wall. A glance in the garbage can revealed several used tissues and an empty pack of Marlboro Lights.
So he’s smoking again
.
Odd I hadn’t noticed.

Burnett crossed the hallway and arrived in the bedroom. Compared to the living room, it looked immaculate. A pair of pants and several worn shirts lay strewn across the bed. His gaze slid across the room. No one here either.

The closet door shook. He waited, curious whether it would shudder again. It didn’t, and he wondered if he’d imagined it. Far too many curious events had occurred the past few days. These, coupled with his vivid dreams, sought to further blur the already hazy line between reality and imagination.

He strode to the closet door and nudged it open. Three shirts draped over a plastic hanger hung in the corner. All his remaining clothes, and there were quite a few, had been fashioned into a teepee on the carpeted floor.

He lifted a jacket from the summit of the teepee, revealing the crown of a girl’s head. She sprang to her feet, and Henri’s clothes tumbled to the floor.

Burnett guessed her age to be about fourteen or fifteen; maybe sixteen on a good day. Levi’s jeans hugged her waist and a loose, gray T-shirt almost covered her shoulders. A lock of brown hair drooped down over her left eye. She brushed it aside.

“Who are you?” he asked. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer.

He latched onto her forearm and escorted her into the living room.

“Who the hell are you?” Emma asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice calm. “I must be in the wrong apartment. I’m looking for Henri Laroche.”

Henri, who’d risen from the sofa, said, “That’d be me.” He leaned forward, stumbled, and gripped the desk for support. “I know you?”

“My name is Audrey Lansing. I need to talk to you.” She paused to eye Burnett and Emma. “Alone.”

Henri smiled and looped an arm around Burnett. He dragged him to where Emma stood and wrapped his other arm around her. “These are the two most important people in my life. I have no secrets from them.”

“I’m sorry,” Audrey said, “but I really need to tell you this in private.” She peeked behind herself, as if mentally measuring the distance to the door.

“We can go,” Burnett said.

“No,” Henri said. “I have nothing in my past I’m ashamed of. And I don’t know her. So there’s nothing she can say you and Emma can’t hear.”

Audrey took a half-step backward. “I should probably come back.”

“If you must,” Henri said.

Audrey stood in silence for several seconds. “No. I can’t.”

She cleared her throat, then shifted her weight from one foot to the other three times. “You can’t turn in your extra credit paper for Professor Desmond’s class.”

Henri laughed, but it was light-years from an amused laugh. “May I ask why?”

“You already know,” Audrey said. “The dream you’ve been having. The one that wakes you up every night.” She paused for dramatic effect. “It’s real.”

Henri stared at her. “How do you know about my nightmare? How could you know about my paper?”

“Only one way,” Audrey said.

Henri trembled. His face assumed a greenish tint.

“I don’t know who you are,” Burnett said, “or what you’re talking about, but you need to go.”

“No.” Henri staggered a step closer to her. “How do you know this?”

“Because your paper is perfect. Everything in it is exactly right. That’s why you’ve been having the dream. That will be the future if you turn in the paper.”

Henri bent over the side of the couch and vomited.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Emma asked. She glared at Audrey. “Who are you?”

Audrey stood silent, her stare fixed on Henri.

Emma traced tiny circles with her fingertips on Henri’s back. “You okay?”

He straightened up without a word. His gaze settled on Audrey. “Are you psychic?”

The young girl shook her head.

“What, then?” Burnett asked. He sharpened his best sarcastic tone. “You’ve come back in time to make sure he doesn’t submit the paper?”

She nodded.

He let out a derisive snort, then grabbed Audrey’s wrist and steered her to a corner. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but it has to stop.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

The temptation to reveal that he’d been having the same dream grew. He resisted it.

“I’m more than a little confused here,” Emma said.

“Then you’re free to go,” Audrey said.

“And you’re free to get your ass kicked, little girl,” Emma replied. “I don’t know how you found out about his paper or his dream, but you can see what it’s doing to him. Now tell him who you are and how you know so much.”

“He already knows I’m telling the truth,” Audrey said. “And he knows what he has to do.”

“If I don’t turn in the paper, I’ll fail the class. And if I flunk out, my father’ll kill me.”

“And if you do …” Audrey said, but chose not to finish the sentence. “You have to decide what’s more important.”

“His sanity is more important,” Burnett said and dragged her to the door. “You need to leave.”

“I said I want her to stay. I want to hear more.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Emma asked. “It’s obvious she’s crazy.” She clasped his hands, interlocking their fingers. “It’s just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“She knows everything,” Henri said, appearing quite sober.

“Who else have you told about the dream?” Emma asked.

“Nobody.” He freed his hands from Emma’s grip and rubbed his temples. “The two of you. Joel. Desmond, I guess.”

“Who else?” Burnett asked. “Exactly.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s here to prevent me from causing a nuclear holocaust.”

“Listen to yourself,” Burnett said. “It’s crazy.”

“No. No, for the first time things are starting to make sense.”

“So,” Emma said, “you’re not going to submit your paper? And you’re going to flunk out because this little skank makes up some ridiculous story?”

“I want to know more,” Henri said.

Burnett heard not just eagerness in his voice, but terror. And he knew, without a doubt, that Henri would not submit his paper. He also knew there was no way he was going to convince him tonight that this girl had to be making up an elaborate lie.

“Thirty-four years from now,” Audrey said, matter-of-factly, “a machine will be constructed based on your ideas. It’s designed to send a living creature into the future—a rat. After the rat is successfully sent eighteen hours into the future, every developed nation decides it has to be the first to send a human.”

“I can’t believe I’m even asking this,” Emma said, “but how exactly does this lead to the end of the world?”

“Can you imagine going back to the past with a present-day army or going into the future and bringing back more advanced technology? No nation wanted to let another one be able to do that when they couldn’t. The result: World War III.”

“I have to admit,” Emma said, “you don’t talk like any fifteen-year-old I’ve ever met.”

“I was raised by my uncle. He was part of a group trying to build a machine for the U.S.”

“You mean ‘will be,’” Emma said.

Burnett leaned forward. “Question. If the world blows itself up attempting to build one of these things, how’d you get here?”

“My uncle’s site was one of three in the United States trying to build a machine. The only one that wasn’t completely destroyed.”

“And the reason he didn’t come himself?” Emma asked.

Audrey bowed her head. She sniffled and cleared her throat, her first display of emotion since she’d entered the room. “He was dying of radiation poisoning. Besides, it takes much less energy to send a ninety-pound person through time than a hundred-and-eighty-pound person.”

She had an answer for every question. Either she had rehearsed this many times or she was telling the truth. Burnett found it impossible to accept the second option.

A tear rolled down Audrey’s cheek. She wiped it away and raised her eyes to Henri. The silence between them fed the tension in the room.