Page 186 of Under Story

Eli hoots. But the tingle passes, and the watch returns to stillness.

“It’s not enough,” says Laurel. She can feel how close they are, the answer only a hairsbreadth away.

“The overtaker told us that he met two other travelers—a different couple,” Eli says. “He said they had an instrument. Could it have been something like this?”

“Maybe. But the instrument Kenji mentioned used nuclear technology, right? It must have been able to generate a huge amount of energy. I don’t know where we’d find that kind of power.”

As she speaks, thunder cracks overhead. Lightning illuminates Gloria’s garden.

Laurel and Eli look at each other. Then she lunges out of bed and carries the watch to the door. When she opens it, cold blasts into the room, and a swirl of snow lands on her feet. The next bolt of lightning strikes so near that she can smell it.

“Eli, look!” Laurel cries.

For the dials of the watch have begun to revolve. All four hands spin wildly, like eyes rolling in their sockets.

—

They take slippers from the closet: Laurel wears Gloria’s, and Eli steps into Paul’s. Holding each other, squinting, they make their way through the yard. Every roar of thunder seems to shake the ground beneath them. The watch revolves for a moment more before its hands begin to slow. They stop at the current year and date: January 24, 1996.

“What should we do now?” asks Laurel.

“In my diagram of the Duoverse, the antiuniverse is on the bottom, so maybe we should leave the lower face alone. That would make sense, wouldn’t it?” Eli is frenzied, nearly tripping over his words. “And then, in the top face—because we want to go to our universe—maybe we’re supposed to set it to the time we want.”

Laurel can’t think of a better approach. “The bottom face is where—and when—we’re coming from,” she says, to make sure she understands. “The top face is where and when we want to go.”

“That’s right,” says Eli. “Let’s try to move the hands.”

Laurel nudges one. It swings easily now: the electricity has acted like grease.

Eli laughs with happiness. “Do you realize what this means? We can set the date to August 2014, right before Silas died.”

It would be so easy. But—

“We can’t,” says Laurel. Her mouth is suddenly dry.

“What do you mean? This is what we’ve dreamed of since McMurdo: a time machine.”

“If we don’t cross at the same time as our doubles, we could destroy them. That’s what it said in the other Laurel’s letter. We have to pick a date that matters to everyone.”

“I’m sure they know about Silas by now!”

“And we know about Celeste. It would be just as fair to choose a time before her life ended.”

Eli breaks away and makes a sound of anguish.

“Maybe it’s okay to cross at different times,” he says. “They didn’t know for sure.”

“Maybe,” says Laurel. “But the only thing we know for sure is what worked before. We came through the portal at the same time, and everyone survived.”

Wet up to his knees, Eli paces. “That might not be true. The other Laurel wrote her letter before they left for McMurdo. We don’t know what happened after that. They could have died.”

“But I can feel her.” Tears freeze on Laurel’s cheeks. “I know she’s still alive.”

She reaches the probe of her mind behind the curtain that keeps them apart. She can sense Laurel Two do the same, seeking her own consent. All her life she thought she was alone, not knowing she walked with another: her shadow self, her mirror self, too far to touch, but almost, almost. They have not met each other, but they are each other, slant. For Laurel and Eli to erase the Twos would be a profound violence. Only at their end of their lives should they have to say goodbye to each other.

“There’s only one date that means the same thing to the four of us,” Laurel says. “October 9, 2017: the last time we all crossed over.”

She walks to Eli, pulling him close. His cold cheek is pressed to hers. Laurel speaks into his ear; she must be strong for him.