“Why what?”
“Why me? Thomas doesn’t see visions of his analog,” I pointed out. “As far as I know, nobody else does, either. But I’ve been having dreams of Juliana since I was a kid. That can’t be normal.”
“Well, normal is relative,” Dr. Moss told me. “But it’s highly unusual, I must admit.”
“So why me?”
“Frankly, my dear,” Dr. Moss said. “I have no idea.”
TWENTY-THREE
“So that’s it?” I demanded. “You just don’t know?”
Dr. Moss shrugged. “I don’t have all the answers. If I did, the world would be very different.”
“I think Sasha was hoping to get advice about how to control what she’s seeing,” Thomas put in helpfully. “If she can force the visions, she might be able to lead us to Juliana.”
Dr. Moss paused to consider this. “I suppose you’re right. Well, the good news is that the connection has already been partially established. From what you’ve told me, I have to conclude that you are involuntarily witnessing events in your analog’s life in your most vulnerable moments—when you’re asleep, when you’re unconscious. When your mind’s natural defenses are at their lowest.”
“Yeah, except I don’t remember them clearly when I wake up,” I reminded him. “If I could only have a vision when I was awake, I might be able to get some real information.”
“There are other times besides sleep when your mind is similarly unguarded,” Dr. Moss told me. “When you’re feeling an extremely heightened emotion, for instance. Like fear, perhaps, preferably brought on by physical peril, when your mind is so busy defending your body that it can’t concentrate on defending itself.”
“Are you saying that if I can somehow scare myself enough, I might be able to force a vision?”
“I can’t promise you that,” Dr. Moss said. “But it’s certainly possible. The question is, are you willing to do what it takes in order to open the floodgates?”
Thomas, ever-watchful, noticed my apprehension and shifted closer to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” he said.
I closed my eyes, trying to shut everyone else out so I could think about Dr. Moss’s question properly. What was I willing to do? This was, quite possibly, my only shot at freedom, my only chance to get home. I was willing to do just about anything.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked Dr. Moss.
“That depends,” he said. “What are you most afraid of?”
“Er … I don’t know,” I said. “Snakes?”
“That’s not it.” Dr. Moss and I both turned to look at Thomas.
“Oh? What am I most afraid of, then, if you’re so smart?”
Thomas said nothing, only looked up at the ceiling and raised his forefinger in the same direction. I recalled sharply the fizz of anxiety that had traveled through me when I’d realized how high up we were in the Tower two days ago. He cocked his head at me knowingly.
“I really don’t think—” I began to protest, but Dr. Moss hopped off his stool and clapped his hands in a fit of excitement. Every scientist loves an experiment, I thought bitterly.
“You’re afraid of heights?” Dr. Moss asked. He lit up like a Christmas tree with glee. “Splendid. That’s it, then. Come now, hurry; I gather we haven’t much time, from the way Thomas has been eyeing his watch.”
“Wait,” I asked, following Dr. Moss and Thomas out of the lab. “Where are we going?”
“To the roof.”
I’d foolishly hoped they meant the roof of the Castle. At four stories tall, it wasn’t too high, and I thought I could stand it well enough. But the Tower was one hundred and fifteen stories, which was completely unmanageable, especially if we were going to be outside.
“What if somebody sees us?” I hissed as the elevator for the subbasements arrived at the main elevator bank, where we were to switch over to the one that would take us to the roof.
Thomas peered through the open doors. “There’s nobody in there. Quick, let’s go.”
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” I said, twisting my hands at my waist as the steel elevator shaft gave way to a glass one; we were riding up at the rate of about three floors per second. I covered my face and turned away from the view. “Oh my God,” I moaned. I hated heights, but I didn’t like elevators very much, either, and the combination amplified by the speed at which we were traveling made me want to be sick all over Thomas’s perfectly shined shoes.
“It’ll be all right,” Thomas said, putting a hand on my shoulder. He was trying to soothe me, but I didn’t want to be touched by anyone. I just wanted to go back down.
“Don’t comfort her, Thomas!” Dr. Moss admonished sharply. “She’s supposed to be scared—that’s the point!”
“So? I can’t just watch her suffer!” Thomas cried. Then, perhaps thinking the better of his outburst, he took a deep breath and regulated his tone. “If you want to stop, we can stop. You don’t have to do this. We’ll find another way, or we just won’t do it.”
“We’re doing this,” I insisted. “Dr. Moss is right. Just ignore me.” I was sort of hoping we’d never have to get to the top, that my immediate fear would be enough to trigger the connection I was looking for, but nothing was happening and I could tell that mere anxiety wasn’t going to cut it.
“Listen to the girl,” Dr. Moss chided him. “You’d think she was more of a lionheart than you are, the way you’re carrying on.” That did it; in the face of having his reputation as Brave Man on Campus sullied, Thomas stopped squawking and left me alone.
The elevator came to a smooth stop. I was trembling, and a panicked sweat was gathering around my hairline. The door opened and we stepped out onto the roof, into the bright afternoon sunlight. I followed Dr. Moss reluctantly to the edge of the building.
“Look down,” he commanded. After a moment’s hesitation, I did so. A wave of nausea bore down on me. The ground was so far away. “Stay here. Thomas, come with me.”
Dr. Moss led him to the opposite end of the roof. “Where are you going?” Neither answered me. I watched their conference; first, Dr. Moss proposed something, which Thomas vehemently opposed. Dr. Moss argued with him for several minutes and then, finally, Thomas’s objections were subdued. As they approached me, Thomas’s face was pale and drawn. Whatever Dr. Moss had told him to do, he wasn’t happy about it; his fists were clenched at his sides, and his mouth was a straight, unreadable line.
“Ms. Lawson,” Dr. Moss said. “Will you consent to do whatever it takes in order to force the connection with Juliana?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “What are you going to do?” I addressed these words to Thomas, who looked away, unable to meet my eyes.
“It’s best if you don’t know,” Dr. Moss told me. “Look again.”
I peered down and a feeling of light-headedness engulfed me. I was sure I was going to faint and began to step away from the concrete balustrade, an automatic response in the face of my worst fear.
“Now, Thomas!” Dr. Moss commanded.
In one deft movement, so swift and smooth it was almost graceful, Thomas grabbed me by my wrists, lifted me off my feet, and whipped me over the edge.
I opened my mouth to cry out, but no sound emerged. I was falling, falling, falling. I felt like I would never stop. And then I did. I was hanging off the edge of the roof, anchored only by Thomas’s tight grip on my wrists. I looked up, terrified, into his face, which showed the strain of bearing my weight as I hung thirteen hundred feet in the air.