I think back to what Paul told me in San Francisco. He’d found the dimension that was spying on our own, and proved what Conley was up to. Yet he wouldn’t come back with me because now he had learned something else, something important. Something he couldn’t tell me, because it would be too horrible if he were wrong . . .
When we travel into a new dimension, our bodies are “no longer observable.” At the time I left home, the authorities hadn’t yet pulled Dad’s body from the river. They were dredging for him then—dipping nets into the water, sending divers down into the muck. I was hardly able to think about it, because the images were so horrible. Worse was the idea of Mom having to go identify the body after it had been in the river for a few days, after it no longer looked like Dad, or like anything human.
But what if he wasn’t lost in the current? What if his body was simply not observable, because he was kidnapped into another dimension?
What if Dad isn’t dead? What if he’s right here?
“Marguerite?” Josie copies Mom’s hand-to-the-forehead move. “You’re seriously zoned out.”
I can’t even bother with an excuse. “Be right back.”
Heart pounding, I walk into the kitchen area where Dad is finishing up. He gives me a pleasant, somewhat distracted smile. “Don’t tell me you’re still hungry.”
“Can we talk?”
“Of course.”
“Not here. In the corridor, maybe.”
Despite his evident confusion, he says, “All right.”
Nobody pays any attention to our stepping outside our quarters; Mom is in the bedroom she shares with Dad, and Josie is already concentrating on her computer again. The corridors of the Salacia aren’t necessarily private, but most people seem to be eating dinner now, which means my father and I are alone. Our only witnesses are the fish swimming by the porthole window.
Dad’s not wearing a Firebird. Then again, if he’s been kidnapped, someone brought him here and then stranded him. Without his own Firebird, Dad not only wouldn’t be able to get back home; he wouldn’t be able to receive any reminders. He would have no idea who he is. My father would be only a glimmer within this version of Dr. Henry Caine—a part of his subconscious.
The part that would still hum a song by the Beatles.
“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” Dad folds his arms in front of his chest. “What’s this about?”
“I need you to trust me for a minute.” My voice has begun to shake. “Okay?”
By now Dad looks deeply worried, but he nods.
I take the Firebird from around my neck and put it around Dad’s. He raises an eyebrow, but I ignore him, instead going through the motions that will set a reminder. I drop it against his chest, realizing I’m holding my breath—
“Gahhh—dammit!” Dad says, staggering backward as he grabs the Firebird. But then he freezes. First he slowly looks down at the Firebird in his hand, recognizing it, then lifts his face to mine. “Marguerite?” he gasps. “Oh, my God.”
It’s the same face, the same eyes, but I see the difference. I know my dad.
Then I’m laughing and crying at the same time, but it doesn’t matter, because Dad’s hugging me, and we’re together, and he’s alive.
And now I know why Paul brought us here.
25
“DEAR LORD.” DAD RUNS HIS HANDS THROUGH HIS HAIR, AS absolutely bewildered as anyone would be to wake up in another dimension. “How long has it been?”
“Almost a month. It’ll be a month on January fifth, so, three days from now.”
“A month gone. No, not gone. I remember it—I was aware—but it was the strangest state of being, Marguerite. The way it is in dreams sometimes, when you’re both watching the events around you and living them at the same time. It never occurred to me to wonder where I was, or why.”
Maybe this fugue state is what it’s like for most people traveling between dimensions. “You remember now,” I say, taking Dad’s hand. “And I’ve got the Firebird, so I can remind you as much as you need.”
By now we’re sitting together in the cafeteria. This late, no one else is here, and the illumination comes mostly from external lamps filtering through the windows. In the dark waters beyond, the occasional fish swims by, but the currents have become choppy as the storm front starts to come in. Even the fish are looking for safe coves now. Mom and Josie must realize Dad and I are having a heart-to-heart about something—though nobody could blame them for not guessing exactly what.
“My poor darling Sophie.” Dad closes his eyes, as though in pain. “And Josephine. My God.”
“They’ll be okay as soon as you’re home.” A broad smile spreads across my face. Home. I get to take Dad home.
“I don’t know whether to strangle Paul and Theo or thank them. Both, I think.”