part 4

Late the following afternoon we lay in bed, basking in the summer sun, sated with sleep and sex, loosely entangled in the bedsheets and each other, when the unraveling began.

Adam’s phone rang.

“Pizza Hut.

“GT, what’s up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course not.

“Fuck you, I said no. What is this?

“That fucking moron . .

“No.

“Jesus fucking Christ . .

“I know, I know, but Jesus, Gary . .

“I know, I appreciate that . .

“Holy . . shit . .

“Holy . . fucking . .

“I don’t know!

“Alright, listen . .

“No, just listen for a minute. It’s not a fucking bomb ok? I can’t tell you what it is, but it’s not a bomb and you’re right, he knows that . .

“I know, good call . .

“I have no fucking idea. I guess I’ll just have to go down there and deal with it.

“I don’t know. Let me think about it . .

“I know, I know . .

“Yeah, I know. Listen, thanks Gary, I mean it. And don’t worry, you’ve done the right thing.

“Yeah, I’ll let you know . .

“Thanks again . .

“Ok, talk to you later.

He hung up and stared at me, fuming.

“Adam, what?”

“I don’t even know what to say,” he answered, “it’s like something out of, I don’t know . . “

“Well, tell me something. There’s a bomb?”

He slipped out of bed and started hunting for clothes.

“No, there’s no bomb. That was Gary Tseng, one of the lab assistants. Here’s the story. First of all, last month Chapman had him put a camera in the storeroom. He’s been taping everything that happens in there whenever the light’s on.”

“I can’t believe it! He can’t do that!”

“Well, shouldn’t. He can and he did.”

“You were treating him pretty civilly for someone who’s been spying on you.”

“No, no, Gary wasn’t spying, he hasn’t seen any tape, he just installed the equipment, it’s his job.
Sounds like a sweet setup too, sound, the works. I didn’t know the department had that kind of money.”

“That doesn’t matter, someone was spying on you! You know, I’ll bet Dr Osbourne had something to do with it.”

“Wow, I can see you’ve got your radar on, I was just going to tell you about that. I guess he went to Chapman and told him I might be making a bomb.”

“I thought so. He’s always been suspicious of you.”

“Yeah, not without some justification though. He helped me with some of the nuclear conditions that make it dangerous.”

“And because you wouldn’t disclose what you were working on, he got resentful. And jealous of the attention your project was drawing even though you were trying to avoid it.”

“Well, I know, but the camera was Chapman’s idea, the lying, worthless piece of shit. And it gets better. This morning Gary’s down at Klein doing whatever it is he does there on a Sunday when Chapman pops in on him. He wants to know if I ever told him what I’m working on. No. Has he ever seen it? Duh, it’s in a lab storeroom and he’s the lab assistant, he’s seen it a hundred times. Does he have any idea what it is? Yeah, Gary tells him, it’s a transmogrifier. That’s a joke, which Gary has to explain. Then Chapman leaves.”

“This is all illegal, Adam.”

He nodded and continued. “So Chapman comes back later and wants to know if any of the components I’ve asked him for are dangerous. Not by themselves, no. Why? Chapman tells him he’s watched a tape of me from last night . . “

“Oh my God . . ”

“Right, he knows. But he tells Gary he’s just curious. Then he leaves again.”

“Adam, if he knows what it is it changes everything.”

“Exactly. There’s more. He comes back an hour later and tells Tseng not to discuss this with anyone, and he emphasizes anyone, and says he’s afraid I might be working on some kind of bomb and he’s going to clear the fourth floor while he investigates.”

“I see. Bombs explode horizontally.”

“Right. So Gary tries to go have a look, and there are campus security guys on the stairs telling him he can’t go up there because there’s some kind of leak or toxic fumes or some such bullshit.”

“How many people are there on a Sunday anyway?”

“Well, not many but there’s always somebody, even if they just stop by to get a crack at the copier. Anyway, Gary thinks Chapman is a scum-sucking toad and doesn’t like getting jerked around so he called me to let me know what’s happening.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea. Any suggestions?”

“I think you should call the police right now.”

“I think I’d like to talk to a lawyer first. That’ll have to wait until tomorrow though.” He thought for a moment. “Fuck it. I’ll tell you what, let’s go for a drive. Let’s run up the canyon and have dinner on a rock someplace where we can see a hundred miles. What do you think?”

“Adam, this is serious. You’ve built a time machine and Dr Chapman knows about it. If he can spy on his own faculty he’s capable of anything. He could say the whole thing is university property, lock you out of the building and take over the whole project himself.”

“Well, not really, he can’t do the physics. He’d be staring at the . . . “

“This is not about the physics, it’s about the politics, it’s about the power. He’s the chairman of the physics department of a state university. You are nobody, you’re a temp. He can do whatever he wants and you can’t stop him. All you can do is . . “

“I know, I know, you’re right. He’s in physical possession of The Thing and the computers that run it and all I can do is go to court and fight him and the whole institution, and even if I win, it could take years.”

“That’s all I’m saying. Maybe it’s not a good time for a picnic.”

“Well, you’re right about all that, but this isn’t just about The Thing, it’s also about the physics and the physics are here.” He pointed to his head. “He can have that worthless pile of scrap metal, I don’t care. He doesn’t understand it, and even with help, he’s not going to be able to reverse engineer it, even with the specs on the computers. He can’t use it as it is, so what’s the point? All the revisions it needs are in my head and on the hard drive in the next room, so I don’t need him or the U. If he locks me out, I can still go anywhere I want.”

I felt a lot better. “Well that’s a relief. And maybe he’s not even trying to steal it, maybe he realizes how important it is and just wants to protect it.”

“I hope so. I guess we’ll find out. Ok, no picnic. Let’s have some grub, then I’ll trot on down there and see what we’re dealing with.”

We dressed and ate, then Adam decided he wanted to organize and archive some files on his computer and upload them to encrypted remote sites for safekeeping. He hadn’t been at it long when he stuck his head out the door of the study. “Guess who I just heard from.”

“Dr Chapman?”

“Yes indeedy. He seems to think I need to come down there this evening to talk about my project.”

“Did he happen to mention anything about illegal surveillance?”

“Not a word.”

“Did you tell him you talked to Gary?”

“Of course not!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take my sweet time.” he replied, then disappeared.

I tried to take my mind off the situation by looking at some sample itineraries for trips to the Mediterranean. About eight o’clock Adam came out of the study looking frustrated and angry.

“Uh oh.”

He nodded. “I got some more phone calls.”

“From Dr Chapman?”

“One of ‘em. Wants to meet. Says it’s important. Says it can’t wait.” He took a deep breath. “Heard from a couple other guys too.”

“What’s wrong now?”

“Things are heating up. The best report I got is from Rupesh, one the the TA’s. He said guys in suits and sunglasses and earpieces started showing up around six thirty. Guys in whites and fatigues about a half hour later. There are black vehicles with generic license plates all over the place.”

“Oh, God.” I was exasperated. “What’s wrong with these people?”

“Well, I wasn’t that concerned until this.” He stepped to the window and pointed.

“What is it Adam?”

“Come look.”

I did as he suggested. Everything looked normal to me. Wait . .

“Across the street at the end of the block.”

There, in the fading daylight, parked opposite our apartment a few doors down, was a black van with tinted windows.

“They pulled in a couple minutes ago. The driver didn’t get out, he climbed in back.”

I felt a sudden chill.

“Chapman’s called in the cavalry.” Adam said quietly.

“This is crazy.” It was all I could think of to say.

“God damn right it’s crazy, I got so paranoid I scrubbed my hard drive. It’s time to put a stop to this.”

“Do you think he’s still there? It’s nearly nine.”

“Oh, he’s there all right, and I’m on my way. We need to get this straightened out right fucking now.”

He picked his keys off the table and turned as he opened the door. “Maybe you should stay here until I get back.”

“Maybe I should go with you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, this is between me and him.”

“Ok. Be careful, Adam.”

He winked and was gone.

As soon as he closed the door my stomach tightened with a sudden foreboding. I tried to dismiss this as childish paranoia but the sensation remained.

I went to the window and watched him walk to his car. As he opened the door, he waved to the black van and saluted with his middle finger. Then he drove away.

My head was spinning. What was happening? Could it be that Adam really was building a bomb? Was he crazy after all? I tried to find something to occupy myself but all I could do was wander aimlessly from room to room. My head started to hurt so I turned off all the lights and sat in a chair in the dark, waiting for whatever was to happen next.

I waited until I heard the explosion and then I knew that he was not crazy and that whatever had happened was very, very bad, and that my life would never be the same again.

Our apartment was four blocks from Klein Hall and the sound of the blast broke two of the windows and left my head ringing. I found myself on the floor and didn’t know if it was the force of the concussion or my own involuntary reflexes that had thrown me there. I lay for a few moments trying to clear my head and then the implications of everything that had happened came suddenly into focus all at once.

I scrambled to my feet and leaped forward, bursting through the door and along the hall, then down the stairs, taking them three or four at a time. I fell at the bottom of the landing, felt nothing as I bounced off the floor, and hurled myself out the front door past the cars at the curb. I ran down the street as the night filled with strangers leaving their homes to see what had happened, then turning to flee falling debris, bricks and burning cinders. I ran on.

It was more than a quarter of a mile, but it seemed like only a few moments before I came to the scene. None of the emergency vehicles had begun to arrive and I stood for a moment alone on the lawn outside the building, numb and panting hard. The structure was four stories high and nearly half the top two stories of the north wing were missing, completely gone. Flames continued to burn in the bowels of the open cavity. I looked around and most of the other campus buildings seemed structurally intact although those near the explosion showed signs of damage. There were no windows left in any of the buildings I could see. I began to hear sirens and as I turned to look in their direction I saw, parked at the curb, empty, its windshield smashed and covered with debris, Adam's faded silver Cherokee.

I started to scream. I was still deep in oxygen debt from running and my screams were short and abrupt as I gasped for air between each staccato wail. Apparently I fell to my knees and continued to scream until I lost consciousness. That's what I've been told, I still don't remember, even now. I regained consciousness as paramedics were loading me onto a gurney, and I fought until they sedated me.

I awoke in a hospital the following morning with a chemical hangover. It was a beautiful summer day and the sun was streaming in the windows. I lay for a time looking out at a cloudless sky and feeling vaguely disoriented. Gradually I began to wonder where I was and how I had come to be there. When I remembered what had happened I starting screaming to be let out until they threatened to pump more drugs into me. I eventually managed to regain some measure of self-control and from a more stable demeanor was able to convince them to release me. While I was waiting to be processed I liberated my phone, and visibly trembling, called Adam at home and on his cell. Nothing.

I checked my messages. There were 39. Friends and family, frantic, investigators of one kind or another, serious, reporters, irritating. I couldn’t face any of them, let alone all. I changed my greeting to advise callers that I was unharmed, that Adam was missing, and that I would be unavailable for some time.

I used the word ‘missing’. I repeated it over and over to myself. Adam was missing. Adam wasn’t dead, annihilated instantaneously by a quirk of his own genius, he was missing.

I called the admissions desk to see if he had been admitted. He hadn’t, nor had they admitted any unidentified patients. I tried the other hospital in town. Negative. I called the police. They knew nothing of his whereabouts but were very much interested in finding him as well. In fact, they had a few questions for me . . where was I calling from? . . they would send someone over right away to . .

I hung up.

I caught a bus back to the university and approached the scene of the explosion cautiously. Klein Hall had been cordoned off and the place was crawling with local police, federal agents, national media, and plenty of people I couldn’t identify. The street in front of the building was outside the boundary and most of the vehicles parked the night before were gone. The few that remained included a faded silver Cherokee.

The sight of it produced a wave of nausea and despair. Hyperventilating, I fought the sensations and approached the vehicle sobbing quietly. The windshield was smashed and the roof and hood covered with dents and debris. Shaking, it took me a moment to thread my key into the doorlock, but the door opened easily and I surveyed an interior covered with broken glass and lumps of brick and mortar and other detritus, most of it on the passenger side. I brushed off the seat, slipped in, and tried the ignition. It started instantly.

I was surrounded by three levels of law enforcement in a car with no windshield, but no one was paying any attention to me. I backed it out carefully and drove it home.

Someone had closed and locked the door to the apartment, and it appeared just as I had left it except that both our computers were gone. Sobbing again, I collected a few things, returned to the car, and toured auto glass installers until I found one that could replace the windshield while I waited. Then, still seated amid shattered fragments of window glass and Klein Hall, I headed for the coast and my parents and drove all night.

I had been calling Adam continuously, but once on the road I was determined to constrain my impulse to a schedule, once an hour, on the hour. Twelve hours, thirteen calls. Thirteen times four and a half rings until the voicemail picked up.

I never called him again.

Twelve hours I was alone with hope, a longtime companion. I learned I didn’t know her at all.

Hope changes nothing.

At her heart, hope is nothing more than wishing for something, wanting, sometimes desperately, for something to be true.

This can be a powerful tool. Hope can marshall the resources of the body and the mind. Hope can fuel the will to take another step, crawl another inch, stay alive another hour. Hope can feed the drive to keep looking, keep thinking, to never give up.

More often than not, hope is not enough, and in the end we find only the fate we sought to cheat, but hope can mean a fighting chance as long as there is any possibility, however remote, to make a difference. Hope is the great motivator. Hope alone changes nothing, but hope gives us the strength to try to change what might be changed.

I had no place for hope.

There was nothing I could change.

Adam was dead.

There was no body, of course, no . . proof. That left an open door to legions of possibilities, to hope. He could have been anywhere else. He could have been in another campus building, he could have been having coffee in a restaurant with Dr Chapman, he could have decided to take a vacation, he could have been . . anything, kidnapped by pirates, for God’s sake.

But he wasn’t and I had to come to grips with that. My hope for these alternatives was only a wish, a dream that everything was different. My hope could only keep me from the truth.

Twelve hours later I stood on a cliff overlooking the Pacific, watching the breakers smash against piles of granite boulders. I had left hope behind. My only companion was grief. I embraced her with all my heart.

It was not the house I was raised in, and even though it was spacious and new and they had decorated it with many things from our childhood, it was not the home I remembered and I never got over feeling like a guest.

Of course there was no avoiding questions, from the university, the police, the FBI. They wanted to know about Adam, if he was mentally unstable, politically subversive, sexually deviant. I refused to talk to the media. The official story was that he had made a bomb and detonated it prematurely once it had been discovered. His motive was subject to speculation and there was no shortage of that. I suppose I should have wondered as well, but I never doubted and I told no one the truth. It was pointless and I didn't care. They would never believe me and they would never understand.
Eventually they were satisfied there was nothing more to be gained from me and I was left to myself and my family.

There was no shortage of tears. Mine and my sister’s for Adam, my mother’s for the three of us, and occasionally my dad’s for everything his girls were going through.

I was thankful for the luxury of freedom, but I knew I needed to keep busy. I ran on the beach in the morning, read all the news of the world online, shared household duties with my mom and yardwork with my dad. I shot hoops with my brothers when they came to cheer me up, listened while they shared their stories of marital turbulence and bliss.

I talked long hours with my sister about entering the university in the fall, what course her life might take, and the prospect of what she could only think of as College Men. I encouraged her to consider that, however promising the label, finding an Actual Man in a box containing mostly boys free of adult supervision for the first time in their lives might prove something of a challenge.

I considered singing again on the weekends but learned I couldn’t finish a song without seeing Adam’s face, so I began tutoring summer school students from the community college and found it a productive way to distract myself and pick up badly needed cash. As time went on I sought referrals from the university and eventually had all the work I was willing to take on.

Often I would return to the beach in the evening to lay against the dunes in the setting sun facing the sea, dig my fingers and toes into the sand, and let the wind bring to me the sounds and smells and ocean spray, the same sensory symphony that draws so many, over and over, to that slender ribbon of intersection between land and sea and sky.

This embrace of the elements brought moments of solitary tranquility, but conspicuous in his absence was the partner with whom I had come to share everything, and in the end I could only feel desperately alone.

Still, as much pain as there is in loss, it is the nature of things, a crucible we must all pass through, and mine was not as great as millions face each day. Even grave wounds can heal and my environment was rich in love and understanding. Time is the key, and there is no time machine to cheat the long, wretched, march of moments leading to the healing of the heart.

The summer passed slowly, yet it passed, in the usual way, one warm and sunny day at a time, each an increment in my restoration, undetectable in isolation, small but undeniable in ensemble.

There were more smiles and more laughter and eventually it was time to live my life again.

It was a year before I could go through Adam’s things.

Four years after that I was deep within a hard won equilibrium, my wounds become scars, my scars
fading, when he called me on the phone.