And so we stop in front of a door that looks like all the rest.
Daniela says, “I was thinking—all these other Jasons found their way back to their world. What’s to say one of them won’t find their way into wherever we end up? In theory, they all think the same way you do, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m not going to open a door, and neither are you.”
I turn to Charlie.
He says, “Me? What if I mess up? What if I take us to some terrible place?”
“I trust you.”
“I do too,” Daniela says.
I say, “Even though you’ll be opening the door, the path to this next world is actually one we’re creating together. The three of us.” Charlie looks at the door, tense. “Look,” I say, “I’ve tried to explain to you how the box works, but forget all that for a minute. Here’s the thing. The box isn’t all that different from life. If you go in with fear, fear is what you’ll find.”
“But I don’t even know where to start,” he says.
“It’s a blank canvas.”
I embrace my son.
I tell him I love him.
Tell him I’m so proud.
Then Daniela and I sit on the floor with our backs against the wall, facing Charlie and the door. She leans her head against my shoulder and holds my hand.
Driving here last night, I assumed that in this moment I’d be terrified of walking into a new world, but I’m not afraid at all.
I’m filled with a childlike excitement to see what comes next.
As long as my people are with me, I’m ready for anything.
Charlie steps toward the door and takes hold of the handle.
Just before he opens it, he draws a breath and glances back at us, as brave and strong as I’ve ever seen him.
A man.
I nod.
He turns the handle, and I hear the latch bolt slide from its housing.
A blade of light shears into the corridor, so brilliant I have to shield my eyes for a moment. When they finally adjust, I see Charlie silhouetted in the open doorway of the box.
Rising, I pull Daniela onto her feet, and we walk over to our son as the cold, sterile vacuum of the corridor fills with warmth and light.
A wind through the door carries the scent of wet earth and unknown flowers.
A world just after a storm.
I put my hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
“You ready?” he asks.
“We’re right behind you.”
Dark Matter was the hardest work of my career, and I couldn’t have pushed it across the finish line without the help and support of the constellation of generous, talented, and amazing people who brightened my sky during its writing.
My agent and friend David Hale Smith worked some serious magic this time out, and the entire team at Inkwell Management has had my back every step of the way. Thanks to Richard Pine for wise counsel when we needed it most, to Alexis Hurley for her brilliance and determination to sell my work internationally, and to Nathaniel Jacks, deal-paperer extraordinaire.
My film and TV manager, Angela Cheng Caplan, and entertainment attorney, Joel VanderKloot, are exceptional in every way. I’ve been so fortunate to have them on my side.
The team at Crown are some of the smartest people I’ve ever worked with. Their passion and dedication to this book have been nothing short of astounding. Thank you Molly Stern, Julian Pavia, Maya Mavjee, David Drake, Dyana Messina, Danielle Crabtree, Sarah Bedingfield, Chris Brand, Cindy Berman, and everyone at Penguin Random House for getting behind this book.
And a second thank you to my genius editor, Julian Pavia, who pushed me as hard as I’ve ever been pushed and made this book better on every page.
I couldn’t ask for a stronger group trying to make Dark Matter, the movie, a reality. Huge thanks to Matt Tolmach, Brad Zimmerman, David Manpearl, Ryan Doherty, and Ange Giannetti at Sony. And also to Michael De Luca and Rachel O’Connor, who were wonderful champions for the book early on.
Jacque Ben-Zekry edited all my Wayward Pines novels, and even though this wasn’t her book, she gave it the same care and attention as if it were. Dark Matter would be a shadow of itself without her insight.
The physics and astronomy professor Clifford Johnson, Ph.D., helped me to not look like a total idiot in discussing the broad-stroke concepts of quantum mechanics. If I’ve said anything wrong, it’s my bad.