Free The Edge of Forever by Melissa E. Hurst Page B

into a million pieces. I have to get away before I say something I’ll regret. I bolt out of the kitchen, ignoring Aunt Grace calling my name. I know she won’t follow. She has to finish cooking for our precious guest.
    I stomp up the stairs, not caring that I probably look like an angry toddler. I’m so busy thinking dark thoughts about Aunt Grace that I don’t notice the guest at the top of the landing until I almost smack into him. “I’m so sorry,” I say.
    I have to strain my neck to look up at him. He’s tall, with graying brown hair and an athletic build, probably in his late thirties or early forties. He’s actually kind of nice-looking for someone so old. But for some reason, he’s staring at me with a shocked expression on his face.
    “Is something wrong?” I ask.
    The weird look is quickly replaced with a warm smile. “No. You just kind of remind me of someone.”
    “Oh, well, sorry I almost ran over you.”
    “Don’t worry. I’m not hurt,” he says.
    Slipping around him, I mutter, “Well, okay then.”
    He reaches out and places his hand on my arm in almost the exact place I felt the touch earlier. I try not to jerk my arm away.
    “Are you all right?” he asks.
    I wonder if he heard my argument with Aunt Grace. Probably, with the way voices carry in here. “I’m fine. I just have a headache and I need to lie down for a while.”
    “That’s a shame. Mrs. Evans said supper would be ready around six, so I’m heading downstairs a bit early. I haven’t had time to check things out. I’m Dave by the way. Dave Palmer.” He thrusts his hand out at me and I reluctantly take it. It’s too warm and moist and I want to wipe my hands on my jeans as soon as I let go.
    “I’m Alora. Nice to meet you,” I mumble. “I better go. My head’s killing me.”
    He steps to the side and waves me past. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
    I hurry down the hallway, past the guest rooms, to my bedroom—the last one on the left. Once inside, I flop down on the bed. My chest heaves as I try to calm myself. I wish today would hurry up and end. Aunt Grace’s denying she knows anything about my past is driving me nuts. It doesn’t make sense, hiding details from my life, and I hate how it makes me feel like a freak.
    The more I think, the angrier I get. If Aunt Grace is going to keep lying to me, then I’ll have to find out myself. Surely if there was a bad accident, it would’ve been reported in the news, or maybe Aunt Grace has some secret information she’s hidden from me. If I could find something, it could jog my memories.
    I massage my fingers over my temples. The pain is awful, worse than I’ve ever had before. If I had more energy, I could go for a run to the river—that always relaxes me and makes me feel like I’m in control, like I can leave my problems behind. My eyes are so heavy, though. I close them and succumb to sleep.
    Chirping crickets and croaking frogs are the first things I hear when I awake. I stretch and then frown. I’m lying on something hard, something wooden. Alarmed, I bolt upright. It’s night and a full moon hangs low in the sky, framed by stars. I’m on the pier at the river, behind the inn. Fear rips through my body.
    What’s happening to me?

9
    BRIDGER
    MARCH 11, 2146
    T he first thing I notice when I enter Mom’s apartment is a burnt smell. Shan is standing in the doorway of the kitchen. His hair, light brown like Dad’s, sticks up everywhere. At thirteen, Shan is as tall as me, but he’s all arms, legs, and elbows.
    “What happened?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
    “I overcooked the protein pie again.”
    I snort. “I take it you were in a Sim Game?”
    “Yep. I was running for my life during the 2056 Cali earthquake. It was a blast.” He takes a bite of a sandwich—probably a vegi-spread, his favorite—and says, “You might want to avoid Mom. She’s in a mood.”
    “Yeah, what’s new there?”
    Shan shrugs. “Hey, just thought I’d