Split Second

“My grandfather.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

Why did Trevor have to be so observant? “It’s been a while.”

The door swung open again, revealing my grandfather holding a walking stick and wearing a pair of headphones. The cord to the headphones hung down his chest and was plugged into nothing. He used the stick like a metal detector wand as he held it inches away from me, running it up one side of my body first and then the other. He did the same to Trevor. So weird.

“Okay, you’re good. Come in.” He gestured to both of us to follow him inside.

“Actually, Trevor was just leaving.”

“No, please, both of you come in.”

Trevor didn’t wait for a second invitation and walked by my grandpa and into the apartment. I sighed and followed him. My grandpa glanced up and down the hall, shut the door behind us, and bolted and chained several locks. I noticed the keypad to an alarm next to the door as well, but he didn’t set it.

“Addie. It’s so good to see you.”

I was so confused, and anger was beginning to build in my chest. My dad had kept this from me.

He led us into the living room, which was a cluttered mess of books, newspapers, and modified kitchen appliances. A computer sat on a table in the corner, a recent picture of my father and me filling the screen, only broken up by the icons. There were so many questions waiting to spill out, but there stood Trevor, taking everything in.

“This is Trevor, by the way. I met him here, in Dallas.” I hoped my grandfather understood what I was trying to say, because I couldn’t very well tell him, He’s a Norm, so don’t say anything incriminating. Not that it mattered. I had already done enough incriminating things to last a while.

“Trevor.” My grandfather shook his hand. “We don’t talk out in the open. If you have questions, you ask them in the box.”

“The box?” Trevor said.

He gestured to the sliding glass door, and through the windows on his back patio, I saw a large cardboard refrigerator box standing upright. A dark line in the shape of a door was cut into one side of the box. I had memories of him with my grandmother when I was young—pre-ability young. I remembered him being really fun. But was a six-year-old’s version of fun a seventeen-year-old’s version of slightly left of normal? I wasn’t sure. And that thought made my heart heavy.

“I have questions,” Trevor said, starting toward the door.

I grabbed onto the back of his jacket. “No. You don’t.” I had questions. I could start with the easy ones. “How long have you lived here?”

“Ten years.”

That’s when he died—ten years ago. So he’d been living here ever since? He was the family member Scar-Face had referred to. He had to be. So the Compound knew that he had left. But did they know he was here?

“Do you want something to drink? Only water. I make my own special filter to take out the stuff the government adds.”

“I’m good,” Trevor said.

We stared at each other in silence then. My grandfather smiled proudly at me as he fiddled with his headphones.

I looked at the box, then back to my grandpa. If it got him to answer some questions, I could go stand in a box for a few minutes. “I think I want to go to the box.” Trevor started to follow, and I turned on him. “I need to talk to him alone.”

Trevor nodded, then sat down.

By the time I got to the back patio, my grandfather was already inside, and the flimsy cardboard door stood partially ajar. I walked in, and he pulled it shut behind us. For a second I thought I’d see wires and lights, something to show it was actually shielding us from the supposed eavesdroppers, but it was just the inside of a really big box. I looked up. There wasn’t even a ceiling. Nice. I took a deep breath. “You’re alive.” I didn’t know why I was stating the obvious, but it seemed important to say out loud.

He got an apologetic look on his face. “I am.”

“But why? Why did you pretend to be dead? Why did you come here?” I asked.

“I had to get out of there. That place controls everything. Every memory you have is theirs. How do you even know what parts of your life are real?”

“What?”

“I’m a Healer. They can’t steal my memories. My brain heals itself when they try to shut off the paths. They can’t even give me new memories. So I know things. I know what they do. I couldn’t live there anymore.”

“What who do?”

“The Containment Committee. The DAA. They’re after them.”

“After who?”

“The people without abilities.”

“The Norms?”

“No. The people in the Compound without abilities. They don’t want them diluting the bloodlines. They steal them. Reassign them.”

He was crazy. I was standing in a box talking to my crazy, supposed-to-be-dead grandpa. I was trying to separate the crazy from the bits of reality.

He looked over my shoulder. “Have you told Trevor?”

“Told him what?”

“Told him about the Compound?”

“Of course not. That’s illegal. No.”

“If you want to borrow my box to tell him, you can. Because they might be listening. They follow all the Paras living Outside.”

“I don’t think they have the resources for that, Grandpa.” I sighed. This was pointless. My grandfather was paranoid and delusional. Was this the real reason he’d retired from the Bureau, the real reason he came to live on the Outside? Because he was crazy? “The Compound knows you’re not dead.”

“I know.”

“Do they know you’re here?”

“I’ve moved all over. I’m safe now. I managed to evade them several years ago.”

I nodded slowly. I wondered if he really had, or if they knew exactly where he was and considered him harmless. “It was good to see you.”

“You’ll come see me again?”

“Yes, of course.” A realization hit me. “Dad moved Grandma here for you.”

“I told him not to. She loved the Compound. She was like you. Divergent.”

“I know.” I started to leave, then stopped. “Grandpa?”

“Yes?”

“Did she have any other powers?” Maybe she’d kept things from me too. Just like my dad.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything else to do with manipulating time? As she got more advanced?”

“She could see two futures.” He said it in awe.

“I know. Divergence. But anything else?”

“Why? Can you do more?”

I started to say yes. I wanted to tell him, to tell an adult who might be able to help me understand. But as I looked at him and then at the box that surrounded us, I didn’t really think my grandfather would be able to help me understand much. “No. Just the two futures thing.”

I walked out of the box. Day had turned to dusk outside—pink clouds streaked the sky. I used to think the Perceptives made the sunsets more beautiful than they really were, but seeing the brilliant sunsets over the last few weeks made me realize that not everything beautiful was an illusion.

Back in the apartment, Trevor sat hunched over a newspaper. I thought he was reading it at first but then saw he was drawing on it. He stopped when he saw me and threw down the pencil.

“My turn in the box?” He said it with a smirk on his face. The kind that said he knew I wasn’t going to let that happen.

I smiled back. “Nice try.”

My grandfather slid the door shut. “Let me get you kids a snack before you go.” The hope in his eyes brought out the guilt in me.

“Okay. We can probably stay a few more minutes.”

He smiled and excused himself into the kitchen.

I sat next to Trevor on the couch and leaned my head back on the cushion, closing my eyes.

I could feel Trevor staring at me, probably waiting for me to explain to him what was going on. That was impossible, though. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. So I opened my eyes to tell him once again that I couldn’t, but he wasn’t staring at me. He was drawing again. Oh. Good.

He cleared his throat. “‘Man Rescues Infant. In a feat of heroism some like to attribute to a rush of adrenaline, a man in Dallas climbed five floors in under five minutes and rescued a baby from a building engulfed in flames.’”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s the article. In the paper. Your grandpa has the headline underlined.” He held it up so I could see. The only thing I saw was the head Trevor had drawn, its mouth wide open, eating the M in “Man.” He was a really good artist. I didn’t need to read the article, though. Maybe it was a Para, but not necessarily. Ordinary people did amazing things every day.

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, you can do that. I saw you in the bookstore with my brother. You saved him.”

I stood and walked to the window, looking down onto the street. “Listen, whatever you thought you saw, you need to forget it, because it’s only going to cause both of us problems.”

“I can’t do that. I overheard some of the Lincoln High football players talking in the locker room a couple weeks ago—soothing emotions, tearing muscles—and I tried to explain it away. But then you come here from Lincoln High. And you can do that.” He pointed at me like “that” was something visible on my body. “And I can’t help but think what they said was true.” He rubbed his shoulder. “It’s personal. I need answers.”

No wonder why Trevor hadn’t been easy to deter. He had heard something unexplainable. My appearance had brought him an explanation. I looked at his shoulder, and thought about what Duke and his teammates had done. “I’m sorry about your shoulder,” I said, sitting down again. “Duke’s a jerk. But I can’t give you answers. It’s too . . . dangerous.”

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

My grandpa came into the room, carrying a tray of cut vegetables. I grabbed a carrot stick and took a bite.

“I grew these veggies myself using my own special fertilizer.”

I resisted the urge to spit out the chewed-up piece of carrot in my mouth. Trevor raised his eyebrows at me and mouthed, His own fertilizer? I tried not to laugh.

Trevor stood. “Thank you for your hospitality, sir, but I need to get going. Do you need a ride, Addison?”

I looked at my grandpa, then shook my head no. I didn’t need to hold Trevor up from his plans any longer. I could take the bus back. “No, I’m good.”

My grandpa held the platter out to Trevor. “Take some food for the road.”

His hand hovered over the vegetable tray. Finally, he settled for a couple of cucumber slices, which he immediately palmed. At the door, he fumbled with all the locks and left.

I watched him go. Then my gaze drifted to the picture Trevor had drawn on the newspaper. Was that article about a Paranormal? Was that the kind of story that would alert the Containment Committee? And why did my grandpa have the article underlined? What if he brought other people here to the box to try to warn them with his crazy theories? He wouldn’t. Would he? If the CC thought he was harmless, that seemed like the kind of thing that might change their minds and bring them straight to his door. Or maybe he really had managed to evade them.