tried all the drugs I could, trying to see what heâd seen. And even though I never did, when Siara came to me, wellâ¦in a way, it seemed like another chance.â
The lines in Harryâs forehead went deeper still, surrounding his intent brown eyes with folded skin. Tippicks leaned in closer. âSo, Mr. Keller, tell me, is it at all possible that it is true?â
Harry moved his head a bit, struggled to swallow. He licked his dry lips and stared Tippicks in the eyes. âYeah, itâs true. Well, I donât know about your father, exactly, but everything Siara told you is true.â
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 wasnât sure how much time had passed, or how much longer heâd have before Shinn returned, so he became a bit more hurried.
âHarry, the parallels are amazing, butââ
Harry sighed. âNone of itâs proof.â
âYes. Exactly. Is there anything you can predict? Anything you can show me?â
Harry shook his head. âNot now. The drugs keep me out.â
âSiara said you took her there,â Tippicks said. âCould you do that for me? Send me to A-Time?â
Harry shrugged. âMaybe. We could try. I might be able to talk you in, but I couldnât go with you, and itâs dangerous.â
Tippicks chuckled. âI grew up in the sixties. What could be more dangerous than that?â
âOkay. Ummâ¦pick something to stare at.â
Tippicks focused on a potted tree a few feet away. Some of the leaves were brown and dry, ready to fall off.
âOkay, got it.â
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:
âLook at the edges of the branches, the side of the pot, the color of the wall behind it. Keep staring.â
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?
âThink about how all thatâtree, branch, color, wallâhow theyâre all just words.â
Kellerâs 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 boyâs delusions? What was he doing, trying to relive such an old pain at Harry Kellerâs expense?
ââ¦just lines your brain is making, theyâre all really part of one thing, part of the same thing, and youâre really just imagining that thereâs any pot or tree or wall.â
He should tell him to stop. He should apologize, to Harry, to Shinn. His behavior wasnât 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.
âHarry,â he began.
He was about to say, âStopâ 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.
Whatâs 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 didnât hurt anymore. Heâd left the pain behind. He