So Close to You (So Close to You - Trilogy) (17 page)

“Lydia, I need you!” Mary’s voice cuts through the loud murmurs in the room and I scurry back over to her side. This is a Mary I haven’t seen yet—focused and serious. I join her next to a bed where she’s tending to a boy around our age with a large cut on his shoulder.

“Hold this down on his chest.” She hands me a long, thin cotton bandage. I hesitate, my hand hovering over the soldier’s bare skin. He sees it and laughs.

“I won’t bite, darlin’.” His deep Southern accent reminds me of Lucas, but his dark eyes remind me a little of Wes.

What is wrong with me? Why am I even thinking about either of them? I put my hand roughly on the boy’s chest. He grunts, and Mary shoots me a look.

I hold down one corner of the bandage while Mary wraps the other end around and around his shoulder before securing it. She sits back, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

“You’re all set, Private Marshall. I bet it’ll heal up real quick.” She smiles flirtatiously at the young, dark-haired soldier. Now that the job is done, Mary’s back to being Mary.

Private Marshall leans in closer to her. “It will with such a pretty nurse to take care of me.”

I roll my eyes. “Mary,” I interrupt, “I need to get some air.”

She winks at the injured boy and then stands up. “Go ahead, Lyd, I still need to feed Private Jenkins, and Nurse Linny wants me to sort some supplies. It might be a little while before we can leave. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me.” I pretend to grimace. “I just can’t handle all this blood.” It’s not exactly true, but I
do
need an excuse to get outside so I can sneak into the officers’ barracks.

Mary looks concerned. “If you want, I can go get Daddy and we can leave....”

I wave my hand at her. “No, no, it’s fine. Just give me a minute. I guess the hospital isn’t really my scene.”

She laughs. “You say the strangest things sometimes.”

As soon as I’m outside, I scan the clearing. There are four buildings in a wide semicircle. Three of them look almost like houses, with windows and decorative roofs. The fourth is the fake white “chapel.”

The clearing is empty in the late afternoon. In the distance I can hear trucks driving throughout the camp, and every once in a while the sound of gunfire. I put my head down and quickly walk toward the officers’ barracks. Mary pointed it out to me earlier, saying that Dean lives there when he can’t leave Camp Hero.

No one is outside the building, but when I peek through the windows, I see a guard standing just inside the entrance. I duck down when he looks in my direction. Trying to find another way in, I walk around the building. There’s one large window in the back that faces a hallway. I push at the glass. It’s unlocked and it slides up with a low creak. I freeze. My back is to the dense woods, but the guard might have heard the noise. I wait, holding my breath. One minute, two. Nothing happens. My hands slowly unclench.

Using the ledge, I pull myself up and through the open window. I crawl into a long and narrow hallway. It’s empty; all of the officers must be out training. Before I start to explore, I carefully shut the window behind me, worried that if someone sees it open they’ll sound the alarm.

There are several doors in the hallway. I slowly open one of them. Inside is a medium-sized room with two beds and two small desks pushed up against each other. Dean probably doesn’t have to share a room, and so I shut the door again. I notice there’s a small plaque next to it that says
SECOND LIEUTENANT QUARTERS
.

I search until I find the door that says
FIRST LIEUTENANT QUARTERS
and carefully step into the room. This space is smaller but there’s only one bed and one desk. A high window in the corner gives the room a little bit of light. Everything is covered in a thin layer of dust, as though it’s been a while since anyone was last here.

I open one of the desk drawers. On the top is a letter addressed to Dean Bentley. At least I know I have the right room. I set it aside and pull out a large, folded piece of paper. I spread it out on the desk. It’s a map, showing an aerial view of Camp Hero. All of the concrete bunkers have been highlighted.

Dean supposedly stays here all the time. So why does this room seem unused? And why does he need a map of the concrete bunkers?

I put the map back and try to open one of the smaller drawers. It won’t budge. Kneeling down, I notice a keyhole. I reach up to the bun at my neck and pull out two bobby pins. I bend the metal into a straight line. Using a technique my dad taught me after I’d been locked out of the storeroom in his shop one too many times, I push one pin into the keyhole and hold it there, then put the other pin into the top of the lock and jiggle it. There’s a small clicking noise and the drawer springs open.

I peer inside. The drawer is empty. Defeated, I move to shut it again. But as it closes, I notice something glint from far in the back. I reach in, and my hand closes over a long piece of metal. I take it out. It’s a thin, rectangular shape with several holes and squares cut out of it. My heart starts to race as I realize where I’ve seen it before.

“Lydia.”

I whip around, holding the piece of metal out like a weapon.

Wes is standing in the doorway wearing an army uniform. I was so caught up in what I just found, I didn’t even hear him open the door. Some spy I make.

“Where did you get that?” His voice is low and a little dangerous. I tense automatically.

I’m too rattled to come up with a good lie. “I found it in the drawer.”

He stares at me and doesn’t move an inch. “Put it back.”

“This is the same key you used to open the bunker that leads to the underground labs. What is it doing in my great-grandfather’s desk drawer?” My voice is high and breathless, the words falling out of my mouth before I really have a chance to process them. As soon as I see Wes’s face, I know I’ve said too much.

His jaw tightens, like he’s clenching his teeth hard. But then he sees me flinch and he sighs. He walks forward slowly. “Your
great-grandfather
?”

I squeeze the metal key tightly in my hand, but I don’t say anything.

“I suspected that you could be related to the Bentleys … but I didn’t know how.”

“Why?”

“Because you look like them. You share mannerisms. The way you run your hands through your hair, just like Mary Bentley. And you bite your lower lip when you’re uncertain about something.” His gaze drops down to my mouth, and all of a sudden the room feels like it’s too small, too tight. “Which is something Mrs. Bentley does as well.”

I hadn’t noticed that, and I’m surprised that Wes has. But that also means— “You’ve been spying on me!” I look at the door quickly, horrified that someone might have heard me.

“Don’t worry.” Wes’s mouth tilts up in a sort-of-but-not-really smile. “I took care of the guard.”

I glare at him. “But you
have
been spying on me.”

“Yes.” He says it without any regret or explanation.

I raise my eyebrows. “That’s it? Yes?”

“Lydia.” He meets my eyes. Even in the dim light coming from the small window, I feel myself get pulled into his stare. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

It’s not easy, but I turn my head away. “Right. So that I don’t step on an ant and cause an earthquake in fifty years.”

“It’s not a joke,” he says, but there’s something in his voice that makes me think he’s a little amused.

“I know.” I slump back onto the desk and hold up the strange key. “I just found proof that my great-grandfather is a part of the Montauk Project.”

“You should put it back and come with me.”

“I can’t.” I straighten and walk over to the high window. I’m not tall enough to see out of it, even when I stand on tiptoe. “Dean disappears in three days, and all I know is that he’s somehow involved in the Project. I need more answers.”

I turn back to Wes, not really sure why I’m telling him all this. It’s not that he puts me at ease. If anything, it’s the complete opposite. But he’s the only one who knows the truth about me. And I feel like I can trust him. He seems serious about wanting to help me—or at least to get me out of here so that I don’t screw up the future.

Wes runs his hand along his jaw as he watches me. “Dean Bentley disappears?”

“Yes. I don’t know why or how, though now I know it has to do with the Montauk Project. But the possibilities are endless.” I start to pace the small room. “He could go on a time travel mission and get lost. God, he could even fall down a flight of stairs in those labs. Maybe it’s time I told him the truth.”

Wes goes stiff. “No, Lydia.” He steps forward and takes hold of my arms. “You cannot tell him. You don’t know what the consequences would be.”

I’m frozen. This is the first time he’s really touched me since he grabbed me in the woods. Only this time my arms are bare and I can feel his skin against mine.

I pull away from his grasp. “Do
you
know what the consequences would be?”

“No. No one does, that’s the whole point. But if you tell Dean you’re a time traveler, that’s a … huge interference.”

“How do you know? Maybe this is fate. What if I’m
supposed
to come back here to warn Dean? Maybe we can’t change the future, even if we try.”

His eyes darken, until they look black in the thin light. “Trust me, you can.”

I feel my patience start to wane as I remember that I know nothing about Wes and who he really is. “How do you know that?”

“I … work for the Montauk Project. I know that we can change history because I’ve seen it happen before, and I’ve seen the ramifications, too. You being here is a rift in time, and what you do here will affect everything that happens along our time line.”

I try to work out the logic in my head. “But if history changes, then how can anyone be aware of it? Wouldn’t we all just conform to the new version?”

He turns away and stares at the blank wall above Dean’s bed. “It doesn’t work like that.” When he looks back at me, another mask has fallen over his face. “The minute you got into the TM you stepped outside of time.”

“TM?”

“Tesla’s Machine.”

“Seriously?” I give him a look.

He ignores it. “You don’t exist in the time line right now, and therefore anything that changes within it can’t affect you.”

I push my bangs up off my forehead, thinking hard. “So if I alter history and then go back home, the world could be completely different.”

He takes a step closer to me. “You’d be the
only
one who knew that something had changed. Your friends and families could have different memories of you. You might be an entirely different person to the world around you, and you’d be playing catch-up with your own life.”

“What if …” I pause, taking a breath. “What if I erase my own existence? What if my parents never meet?”

He tilts his head slightly, watching me carefully. “You wouldn’t stop existing because you’re outside the time line. But if you went back to your time, then no one would know who you were. There would be no record of you ever existing.”

I close my eyes. It’s comforting to know that I can’t erase myself by accident. But is a life without friends or family who remember me, who know me, even worth living?

If I screw this up, if I guess wrong, then everything I know might disappear. Should I just go back with Wes right now?

As hard as I try, I can’t shake the image of my grandfather walking away from me in the rain. I know what he would do in my place. He would try to save his father, regardless of the risks. And I think of Mary. Of Dr. and Mrs. Bentley. They seem so happy now, like such a loving family. Losing Dean won’t rob them of that, but it will change them forever. If I save Dean, then I’d be saving them from that pain.

“Lydia, you can’t tell Dean.” Wes’s voice is firm.

I put my hands up. “I get it. You don’t want me to mess with time. I understand, Wes.”

Even as I say the words, I realize that I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to try to save Dean, regardless of the consequences. I have to believe that changing his history can only improve my family’s future.

“Promise me you won’t talk to him.”

“I promise,” I agree, and I mean it. I can’t see how talking to Dean will help yet anyway. He won’t tell me anything, and I still don’t know what I’m warning him about. I need more information. And there’s only one place left to look.