When the World was Flat (and we were in love) (29 page)

It was like she was giving me permission. “I love you, Mom,” I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth and surprising both of us.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” she said and then I was in her arms and she was rocking me like a baby.

I could have cried on her shoulder for a thousand lives.

 

The walk to Rose Hill was both too long and too short.

As I cut through the vineyards, heading in the direction of the mansion, I dug into the depths of my mind, looking for the solution to sliding. The Solution. A light bulb illuminated the word in my mind. It had been the name for the injection, but it was also the name for the series of equations of the theory of everything. The letters and numbers of my tattoo came to mind, as well as their meaning.

“Distance equals Speed multiplied by Time…” I whispered, climbing through a wire fence that separated two vineyards. And then the remainder of the equations followed, one-by-one, as I called them like long-lost friends, knowing their sound waves would cause a chemical reaction that would allow me to slide. “Energy equals Mass…” I continued on and on until I found myself in the formal gardens at Rose Hill. I had one last equation, but I wanted to be in the courtyard when I slid. If Mr Green had been telling the truth and I was lost in the slide I wanted it to be my final resting place, so to speak.

I thought my heart would be pounding as I walked up the flagstone path, but it was as slow as a funeral march. I stood in the courtyard, listening to its steady thud beneath the bubbling of the fountain and the trill of birds in the canopy. The dappled sunlight moved across my upturned face, tickling me with cool shadows. I held on tight to the straps of my bag and closed my eyes.

This. Is. It, I thought.

“Hello?”

My eyes flew open at the sound of his voice, both rough and smooth. For a moment I thought I had slid and found Tom in my second dimension, but when I turned I saw it was London Tom. I flushed, like a child caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

He studied me with those piercing blue eyes. His hair was half an inch longer than my Tom, curling around his ears. He was wearing a bright red T-shirt that clung to his form and I resisted the urge to throw myself at him, tuck myself into his arms and lay my head on his chest.

He frowned, an expression that seemed as foreign to him as smiling was to my Tom. “Do I know you?” he asked.

I blinked back the tears, wondering whether to tell him we were soulmates. “No,” I whispered. A few dreams of other dimensions did not mean he knew me at all. He was looking at me through a peephole. It was like crossing paths with someone who had taught you in fifth grade in another dimension and spending five minutes wondering where you had met. Unless you were merged, none of this made sense. And even then… I thought of Jo.

“Lillie?” His tongue rolled across the double Ls with familiarity and my eyes widened.

Tom shook his head and laughed at himself. “Sorry. I know I sound like a stalker, but for the past – God, eight months? – I have been dreaming about you every night.” He winced, as if I was going to start screaming for help. “I know. I know. I need my head read. I mean, what was I thinking flying halfway around the world to meet the girl of my dreams?” He grinned apologetically. “Sorry. That sounded cheesy.”

I suddenly realized the space behind my ear was as hot as the sun. “Did you die?” I asked sharply. “In your dreams?” My heart was squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. No. No. No, I thought, clutching my chest as I remembered Tom saying he would rather merge than leave me.

He nodded, regarding me like I was clairvoyant. “In the first dream I was killed by…” he hesitated, giving a nervous laugh “…myself.”

My hand moved to my throat, as a small sob came out of my mouth. Tom had pipped me at the post. I was about to risk my life and limb to be with him, but it turned out he was ten steps – or eight months – ahead.

He had merged, risking killing either himself or the other Tom in a game of Russian Roulette. The prize was keeping his promise. “I will find you,” he had told me, and here he was in the flesh, but not in spirit. The chamber had spun and the gun had gone off, leaving me with a Tom who thought the world was flat.

This was what Mr Green had meant when he said Tom was gone. The weight of his loss was like a thousand dimensions on my shoulders and I sunk to my knees, releasing my throat and allowing my sobs to echo through the courtyard.

“Are you OK?” the merged Tom asked nervously. He held up his hands, as if showing me he was unarmed and began talking rapidly. “I have this as well. I thought you might— I mean, I know it sounds silly, but…” He nodded towards his pocket, before reaching down as slow as you like and retrieving a necklace. My sobbing subsided as I watched the key spin on its broken chain, catching the sunlight like a mirror ball. “Do you know what this is? Is it yours? Because…”

I put out my hand and he lowered it into my palm without another word, the chain curling like a tiny snake. I climbed to my feet and turned towards the fountain. The mossy bricks were damp under my hand as I walked around its edge. I stopped when I reached the opposite side and bent down, scratching at the earth that clung to the clay until I could see an etching of a key, like a brick stamp.

I used my fingernails to prise the brick from its lodgings. It was two inches wide and in the gap behind was a wooden box. I used the key to unlock its lid. In the Seventh Dimension this box had contained an engagement ring. In the Thirty-Fifth Dimension it contained…

I opened the lid and saw a crumpled photo. It was the photo of us from the Seventh Dimension.

Tom leaned over my shoulder, making my skin tingle with his proximity. “Is that… us?” he asked, his smooth features crinkling as he searched his memory. There was a pause. I was holding my breath.

“Wait,” he said and his pale blue eyes seemed to shimmer in the afternoon light. “I think I remember…”

I exhaled.

 

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank first and foremost my wonderful agent Meredith Kaffel. You have been the mentor in my monomyth. Thank you for leading me to the ultimate boon and ensuring
WHEN THE WORLD WAS FLAT (AND WE WERE IN LOVE)
did not end up as just another file on my computer.

 

A heartfelt thank you also to my amazing editor Amanda Rutter for loving this novel as much as Meredith and I. I am pinching myself even now that you wanted to share my story with the world. Thank you too for the honor of being able to call myself a Strange Chemist.

 

An enormous thank you to all those who read the multiple drafts of
WHEN THE WORLD WAS FLAT (AND WE WERE IN LOVE)
, including friends, family and fellow authors. Special thanks to my friend and writing buddy Jennie Cowley, who was the first to read – and thankfully to love – this novel. You have been the fuel in my tank on this road to publication.

 

Thank you to my family for their constant love and support, even when I am buried under a pile of books or in the middle of a manuscript. In particular, thank you to my mom Pauline Jonach and late stepfather Ron Revitt. You introduced me to the arts and encouraged me to follow my dream of being an author. A shout out also to my sister Kara Jonach, who was on hand whenever I needed a hand translating from Australian to American. And much love to my long-suffering husband Craig Barnard for understanding my long nights and weekends spent writing
WHEN THE WORLD WAS FLAT (AND WE WERE IN LOVE)
.

 

Lastly, thank you to all of those who will read this novel. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

 

 

STRANGE CHEMISTRY

An Angry Robot imprint and a member of the Osprey Group

Lace Market House

54-56 High Pavement

Nottingham NG1 1HW

UK

Angry Robot/Osprey Publishing

PO Box 3985

New York

NY 10185-3985

USA

www.strangechemistrybooks.com
 

Strange Chemistry #17

A Strange Chemistry paperback original 2013

1

Copyright © Ingrid Jonach 2013

Ingrid Jonach asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Cover art by Argh! Oxford

Distributed in the United States by Random House, Inc., New York.

All rights reserved. Angry Robot is a registered trademark and the Angry Robot icon atrademark of Angry Robot Ltd. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are theproducts of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Sales of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book iscoverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsoldand destroyed”and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.

eBook ISBN: 978 1 90884 459 0

Printed in the United States of America

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1