Free FutureImperfect by Stefan Petrucha Page B

tried all the drugs I could, trying to see what he’d seen. And even though I never did, when Siara came to me, well…in a way, it seemed like another chance.”
    The lines in Harry’s forehead went deeper still, surrounding his intent brown eyes with folded skin. Tippicks leaned in closer. “So, Mr. Keller, tell me, is it at all possible that it is true?”
    Harry moved his head a bit, struggled to swallow. He licked his dry lips and stared Tippicks in the eyes. “Yeah, it’s true. Well, I don’t know about your father, exactly, but everything Siara told you is true.”
    To be sure, Tippicks repeated it as best he could remember, and Harry confirmed each detail, adding some of his own. By the end of it, Tippicks wasn’t sure how much time had passed, or how much longer he’d have before Shinn returned, so he became a bit more hurried.
    â€œHarry, the parallels are amazing, but—”
    Harry sighed. “None of it’s proof.”
    â€œYes. Exactly. Is there anything you can predict? Anything you can show me?”
    Harry shook his head. “Not now. The drugs keep me out.”
    â€œSiara said you took her there,” Tippicks said. “Could you do that for me? Send me to A-Time?”
    Harry shrugged. “Maybe. We could try. I might be able to talk you in, but I couldn’t go with you, and it’s dangerous.”
    Tippicks chuckled. “I grew up in the sixties. What could be more dangerous than that?”
    â€œOkay. Umm…pick something to stare at.”
    Tippicks focused on a potted tree a few feet away. Some of the leaves were brown and dry, ready to fall off.
    â€œOkay, got it.”
    As he stared at it, Harry spoke. His voice was slow, slurred, but there was a lilt to it, a droning, like he was reciting a poem or chanting:
    â€œLook at the edges of the branches, the side of the pot, the color of the wall behind it. Keep staring.”
    Tippicks did as asked, but his head still hurt and the potted plant still looked just like a potted plant, no different than it had a second ago. Its edges vibrated a bit, but he was sure that was because he was so tired. How much had he slept in the last few days?
    â€œThink about how all that—tree, branch, color, wall—how they’re all just words.”
    Keller’s voice droned on. It had a vague melody to it, something an awestruck girl like Siara Warner might think of as hypnotic, but it only irritated Tippicks, made him feel foolish. What was he doing encouraging this boy’s delusions? What was he doing, trying to relive such an old pain at Harry Keller’s expense?
    â€œâ€¦just lines your brain is making, they’re all really part of one thing, part of the same thing, and you’re really just imagining that there’s any pot or tree or wall.”
    He should tell him to stop. He should apologize, to Harry, to Shinn. His behavior wasn’t just unprofessional, it was inexcusable. His father had been the victim of a severe mental disorder, same as Harry Keller. He was just treading over old ground, trying to get blood from scar tissue. It was time to let go and grow up.
    â€œHarry,” he began.
    He was about to say, “Stop” as gently as he could, when the edges of the brown leaves blurred into the wall. He was certain it was his failing eyesight, his headache, so he blinked, but the distortion only grew. His eyes were focused; he could feel it. It was the plant that blurred.
    He felt a twinge, a strange fear, as the leaves pulsed green with life, then one by one turned brown and fell. At the same moment, the leaves grew smaller, receding into their stems, which flushed from brown to green, then wavered and shrank back into the soil.
    What’s happening?
    He raised his hand to rub his head but felt his fingers still on his lap. He turned but saw his body remain behind. His head didn’t hurt anymore. He’d left the pain behind. He