A World Without You (8 page)

SHIT.

Why didn't I think of this before?

What have I done? I'm so sorry, Sofía.

Witches
. The answer was staring me in the face this whole time. And I love history. I love it, and I didn't even notice.

That plaque. The one on the chimney: Originally built in Salem in the 1660s, like the Isaac Goodale House of Ipswich, and moved to Pear Island in 1692.

Salem. 1692.

The Salem Witch Trials.

Berkshire is on Pear Island, just outside of Ipswich. But while they're called the Salem Witch Trials, they took place all through this area of Massachusetts.

I didn't just send Sofía to the past. I sent her to the
Salem Witch Trials
. In modern-day clothes and with the power to turn invisible. Sure, none of that will make her look like a witch.

Oh my God.

Oh my
God
.

I stuck Sofía in the worst possible past she could be stuck in.

My fingers itch to pull up the timestream, but I can't, not with the government officials here now. That black hole in the weave of time . . . the way Sofía's string disappeared into it . . .

Maybe it's already too late. Time is fluid; while I've been trying to find a way to go back to her, she's been living through the Salem Witch Trials. But maybe that's what the black hole is. Maybe it's proof that she's
not
living it.

Maybe I've already killed her.

• • •

If a tree falls in the forest, and no one's around to see it, can a time traveler still go back and prevent the tree from falling in the first place?

That's the question that has haunted me since I first discovered my powers. Because, see, that's the way time works. If something happens, it becomes an immutable fact. History is irreversible. It took me a long time to realize this. I can't change what has already happened.

I tried to do the obvious hero stuff when I first discovered my power. Stop terrorist attacks, warn people of natural disasters. I had all these elaborate plans. I just wanted to help. But time didn't want help.

Time won't let me change it. I am, at best, an observer.

I cannot rewrite history.

But not all history is written. That's my only comfort now. Sofía is trapped in a different time period, but that doesn't mean I can't save her. The unknown is my only comfort. As long as there's no proof that Sofía is gone forever, that means I still have a chance.

However . . . if I find her grave, if I see her name written in the prison records, if she's one of the witches whose death was recorded . . .

Then I will have failed. History is immutable. Once she enters history, I can't change it.

There would be no hope.

It quickly becomes clear
that all the tutors either believe Sofía's dead or are playing along for the inspecting government officials. Classes were a laughable affair today, all free time and busywork, and when I ask Ms. Temple for permission to use my free time in the library, alone, she says yes immediately.

I have my notebook in front of me, hoping that I'll come up with some brilliant plan to save Sofía, but I'm paralyzed by what Harold said, so I just keep jotting down notes about Salem, always afraid that I'll come across Sofía's name in the list of accused witches.

Witches.

I never thought witches were real, but what if there were people like us back then? The Doctor says that no one knows for sure how many of us there have been throughout history. We keep our powers hidden for a reason. But maybe the witch trials happened in part because at least some of the “witches” were just powered people like me . . . like Sofía.

If the witches have Sofía, maybe she's safe. Maybe they're hiding her. Maybe they realized what she was, and they're protecting her.

Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

The first thing I bring up online is a list of the women who were put on trial in Salem and the surrounding areas. None of them are named Sofía Muniz, but there are at least five people who were taken prisoner whose names no one bothered to record. So either the witches are keeping Sofía safe (hopefully), or they're real, evil, magical beings and Sofía has to hide from them (unlikely), or Sofía's one of the unnamed prisoners (shit).

Or she's safe, using her power of invisibility to protect herself. Sofía's smart. And it's far better for her to be stuck in that world than, say, Harold, who'd probably be hanged on the spot, or Gwen, who'd probably welcome the burning-at-the-stake thing. I pull my notebook closer, making a rough sketch of the area of Massachusetts that was affected by the trials, marking down every name and method of death with little
X
's on the map. There aren't that many near Pear Island, but they could have taken her inland . . .

But even if Sofía is safe for now, she won't be okay forever. Still, Harold said Sofía's not a ghost, so for now I'm hopeful.

He also said, before, that some people die and don't come back. That was one of the first things he said, the day he introduced himself, that of all the people he sees in the afterlife, he's never seen his birth mother. But Sofía wouldn't do that. She'd come back to me.

She would.

“Hey, loser.” Ryan's voice snaps me out of my dark thoughts.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, moving to close my computer screen and hide my research.

Ryan shrugs. “Temple let me skip too,” he says. He stares at my notebook, and it rises in the air, landing neatly in his outstretched hand. “What the hell is this?” he says, scanning my notes. “Cake of piss?”

I try to act casual so Ryan won't think my notes are important. “I'm researching. For extra credit. Did you know that they made cake out of pee as a method to try to figure out who was a witch and who wasn't during the Salem Witch Trials?” I say as Ryan sits down across from me.

“Dude. Gross.” He tosses back my notebook. “Listen,” he says. “You're going to have to cool it with all the ‘powers' talk. You know you can't say that shit in front of the officials, right?”

“I'm not stupid,” I snap back.

“Debatable.” He watches me coolly, waiting for my reaction. When I don't give him one, he says, “So if you're Mr. Time Travel, why don't you just go back to the Salem Witch Trials and do all your research in person?” he asks, leaning back in his chair as if he's proven something groundbreaking with this statement. There's a hint of mockery in his voice.

“It doesn't work like that,” I say, trying to remain calm. Ryan likes to find ways to pick at people, pick, pick, pick until they break. It's part of his arsenal. The Doctor has said more than once that Ryan will develop stronger telepathy to go alongside his telekinesis. So not only can he move things with his mind, but he can read minds too. Or he'll be able to soon. It's hard to tell if that power has manifested itself yet, but what I do know is that Ryan is manipulative as hell.

“So Sofía's stuck in the past, huh?” Ryan says, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling as if that were more enjoyable than talking to me.

“Yes. You know that.”

“Yeah . . .” he says slowly. “But you're going to make sure you don't mention that in front of those government dudes.”

“I won't,” I say emphatically, hoping he'll leave now that he's gotten his answer.

But he doesn't take the hint; he stays right where he is. “I don't like them. Government officials sniffing around are never a good thing for a place like this. And Dr. Franklin . . .” Ryan shakes his head, his tongue pushing against his cheek. “I can't believe he actually gave them the tapes of our sessions. That's what was on that USB drive, you know. Videos. Of us. And . . .” Ryan waggles his fingers, and the pen he'd been twirling flies free, spinning toward my face until Ryan catches it with his telepathy and lets it fall harmlessly toward the table.

“The Doctor probably has a plan,” I say weakly, but I can't help but share Ryan's concern. The Doc was so casual about it all, as if the cameras and their contents were no big deal, when in reality they prove everything that Berkshire is trying to help us hide.

Ryan laughs bitterly. “Well, if he doesn't have our back, I do.”

I stare at him, trying to figure out what he means. Then I remember the Doctor's explanation that some files had been damaged, and he had to make the USB from a backup. Did Ryan corrupt the files? Did he alter them?

“The Berk is your first school like this, right?” Ryan asks. “I've been bouncing around special schools since sixth grade.
This one is my favorite, and I'll protect it, even if Dr. Franklin won't.”

Berkshire is supposed to be our safe place. Sure, it's in a crappy location, but it's
safe
. If the Doctor is willing to work with the government, though . . . if he's willing to share our secrets, then we're in danger. Every student at the academy, most of the teachers—we'd all be put under a microscope. Tested. Used. Treated like freaks.

Just like the witches in Salem. I glance back at my computer. I can't afford this distraction. I have to focus on Sofía. But what kind of future am I bringing Sofía back to if she's going to be just as persecuted here as she might be there?

“You tell me,” Ryan says. “What will those officials see when they watch those videos?”

I cringe. “They'll see Gwen summoning fire from the tips of her fingers,” I say weakly. “Harold speaking to the dead. And you. Moving things with your mind.”

Ryan nods slowly. “And think of the damage they can do with that information. That . . . proof.”

“But why would the Doctor—?”

“I don't know,” Ryan snaps. “But we have to make sure those suits don't see us using our powers on film, that they don't know what we can do, what Sofía could do. The fact that there are only two of them here—and that they seem to be rather low-rung—means they probably just have some vague suspicions, if that. If we nip this in the bud now, we can survive this and go back to being anonymous and safe.”

I lean over the table. “They
have
the files, though.”

“Really?” Ryan says, a smug look on his face.

My eyes widen. “What did you do?”

Ryan pulls an innocent face. “Maybe the reason I asked to be excused from class was because I saw Dr. Franklin take those two officials out for a tour of the school. Maybe I didn't come straight here. Maybe I went somewhere else instead.”

“What did you do?”
I ask again.

Ryan pulls a USB drive out of his pocket. “And I took care of the backup files too. Dr. Franklin needs a password that isn't just his cat's name.”

I look around. There's a librarian in here—somewhere—but she's usually just playing solitaire on her computer near the front, only ever actually doing real work when a student calls her over. “You're going to get in so much trouble!” I say in a low voice.

My words trigger a complete change in Ryan's attitude. All playfulness and smugness disappear, replaced by harsh ferocity. “I am
not
going to get in trouble, because you're not going to tell one damn person about this, you understand?” He leans over the table, getting in my face. “And if you do, you'll regret it.”

Ryan's never been exactly friendly or easygoing, but I had no idea his demeanor could flip so easily.

I raise both my hands. “I wasn't going to say anything,” I say defensively. “But it's not like they're going to just be like, ‘Oh well, lost all the files, no big deal.'”

Ryan leans back, a satisfied grin on his face. “Yeah, we're going to get searched for sure.” He pulls out a brand new pack of gum, unwraps it, drops the cellophane on the library floor, and selects a piece to start chewing. He doesn't offer me one.

“So what're you going to do?”

Ryan appraises me. “What are
you
going to do?”

I shrug. “I dunno, dude.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Look, even if I smash this thing with a hammer, they'll find the pieces and know that it was one of us who stole the drive. When they can't find the drive on us, they're going to search the trash and everywhere else. It'll make them even more suspicious if they find it destroyed, and besides, these things are shitastically difficult to break. The trick here is to make them think they just lost it. It was all a bad accident. I didn't delete the Doctor's backup files, I just corrupted them. It'll make it look like he formatted things wrong when he copied them to the drive. All a bad accident, no one to blame. Especially not us.”

“Why don't you just alter the files?” I say.

“I did; I told you I corrupted the Doc's backup.”

“No, I mean with . . .” I raise my hands near my head and waggle my fingers. “With your powers. Why not just make it look like we're normal and not powered?”

Ryan snaps his gum, thinking. “I tried that,” he says. “But I haven't really done that sort of thing much. Maybe I messed up. Maybe they'll break through what I did.”

“So what are you going to do with the drive?” I ask. “Throw it in the ocean or something?”

“Nope.” Ryan winds the chewed gum around his finger, then bites it off. “That's where you come in.”

“Me?”

“You.”

I stare at him blankly.

“You and Gwen are the only two people in our unit who go home for the weekends.”

“So?”

Ryan stands up, drops the USB drive on the floor, and crushes it with his heel, grinding the black plastic into the hardwood. Then he leans down, pulling out the wad of chewing gum, and sticking all the little pieces to it. “So,” he says, cramming the gum and the broken drive under the table, “when you go home, stop by here first. Grab the drive and put it in your pocket. Throw it away at your house. The evidence will just disappear.”

Ryan stands up. “Come on,” he says cheerfully. “Time to get back to class.”