I sighed again. I was becoming a professional sigher. It was pathetic. Or maybe it was apathetic. God, weren’t those basically the same thing? I picked up a pen. It felt like a lot of effort. And I quickly ran through the calculations to determine the number of grams of saltpeter needed to react with a gram of sulfur. When it came time for the fair, we’d translate the process in neat print onto a colorful poster board, hell, maybe we’d just tear out the page of my notebook and slap it onto the poster board. Honestly, who cared? This was nothing compared with what I’d accomplished. This was pointless. Kid stuff.
When I’d circled the answer, I returned to staring out the window. Adam was out there with Meg. I had to keep reminding myself that he had killed Knox, that maybe he’d killed other people, too, except I could never get my mind around the idea that Adam was the Hunter. Something didn’t add up. He had a violent streak, but he wasn’t sadistic. It was more that he was being driven mad by how different he was. The truth was, I didn’t want him to be different. I wanted him to be perfect, and when he wasn’t, I had to send him away. I had no other choice.
Did I?
Outside, I watched the sky darken. Even though the sun hadn’t set, the looming storm made the use of lights inside mandatory. I glanced at the clock. It was after three in the afternoon. I chewed on the end of my pen and wondered for the millionth time this week what he was doing.
The first flickers of lightning lit the bellies of the clouds like camera flashes sparking behind a gray veil. I lifted my cheek from my palm. I thumbed the lightning charm dangling from my wrist and rubbed it between my fingers, making the gold metal warm to the touch. The little zigzags in the bolt dug into my skin when I pressed. The bulbs went off again. And suddenly, it was like the lightning had struck me. Maybe the experiment with Adam wasn’t over. Maybe he still could be a perfect specimen. Before, I hadn’t had the answer. The generators. But now …
The pen clattered to the table. Owen glanced up from fiddling with the fit of the glass tube. “What?” he asked.
“The storm’s only going to be here overnight.” I grabbed my rain shell off a stool. “After that it might be too late.”
Owen gently set the glass tube down on the counter. “What do you mean ‘too late’? What are you talking about? Too late for what?”
“The experiment.”
“This is our experiment, Tor.”
I punched my arms through the sleeves of my coat and pulled the hood over my ears. “This is college sophomore science, Owen, and you know it. I’m talking about the generators.” I pointed out the window where the fog rolled over the tops of the woods. “I’m going to get Adam. This isn’t over yet. I think I can fix this.”
“Tor.” Owen stepped toward me. I was already making my way for the door, skipping backward. “You can’t fix a body count. It didn’t work. We tried.”
“I know, but maybe I should still fix him. I have to go,” I said. “I’ll call you later.”
I backed out of the room, still watching the storm brewing outside.
“Tor!” Owen called, but I just pivoted and ran, ran for my car, ran for Adam, ran to chase the storm breaking overhead, and just hoped that I’d get there in time.
THIRTY-SIX
Lightning is caused by an imbalance between positive and negative charges. A single cloud-to-ground lightning bolt can contain up to one billion volts of electricity.
*
“Answer, answer, answer.” I shook the phone. This was my third call in a row. I dashed down the abandoned school hallway, dodging a yellow sign marking a puddle on the floor.
“No cell phones in school,” barked Old Man McCardle. He pushed the mop back and forth across the white tiles. The silver wisps of his hair covered only pieces of his bowed head, sun-pocked and wrinkled with age. A yellowing bandage, stained with dirt and sweat, wrapped around one of his hands.
I cupped the receiver. “I know, but it’s an emergency.”
I hurried past while he grumbled something after me.
Just as I made it outside, the line clicked over to voice mail. “You’ve reached Meg. If you’d like to leave a message, do so after the…”
“Meg, it’s Tor—Victoria—Frankenstein. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. This is urgent. I have something that will help Adam, but I need you to meet me at the lightning generators in the Hollows as soon as possible. Even if it’s raining. Tell Adam. He’ll know the spot.”
I could have sworn I’d told her to answer her phone if I called. Then again, maybe it shouldn’t have taken me a week to call. I crossed the parking lot and dropped into my car. I crumpled the flyer that I’d pulled from my backpack and threw it on the dash. Think.
I stared at my cell phone. But it remained quiet. Maybe this was some kind of sign. Maybe Owen was right. I’d been down this road. As unpleasant as it was to admit, Adam had malfunctioned. That was my doing.