Across The Universe Part 4

Dante returns to the center of the room and holds up Dena's universe again. The last of the stars inside the orb die and the swirling universe within fades away, leaving the crystal clear. I'm ready to turn around and leave the horror behind me when I see a dot of black form in the center of the orb and spread outward. Pinp.r.i.c.ks of light-stars forming-swirl into existence within.

"A new universe born from the old," Dante announces. "So it is and has always been. Let us honor Dena by watching over this new world with the same reverence we pay all the others."

The members of The House begin to take leave, filtering out of the lobby. I stay frozen in place, watching on as Dante drops the orb back in his pocket and walks down the hall and out of sight.

"What happens now?" I ask.

"A new Watcher will come into being. One that will be a.s.signed to watch over the new universe," Nim says.

"And Dena?"

"Dena's gone," Elli replies. When I glance up at her, her expression is hard. I've never seen her look so bitter before, and the look fails on her face as much as sadness fails on Nim's. "She's lost in the void now, and it's as if she never was."

I let my gaze fall to the door and think of the enveloping silence, the pull of the void. The memory sends shivers down my spine. Nim and Elli urge me backward and I retreat like all the others, ashamed of the feeling that wells up deep inside my gut.

I shouldn't forget Dena. She was a Watcher, like me. She should be honored. But instead, all I want to do is forget.

Chapter Seven.

After Dena's funeral, I can't sleep. Nim tries to comfort me but after a time she gives up, leaving me alone to stare at the ceiling until my limbs begin to feel antsy and I have to get up and move. I travel through the halls of The House, making a pit stop to pick up the orb that holds my universe, and not halting again until I reach the Watch Room.

When I enter, I find that I'm not the only Watcher there. Another sits off to the side, about to set the orb that holds his universe in a clear basin just like the one I come to stand in front of. He is young like me, and greets me with a nod and a smile.

"If it isn't Amara, the newest Watcher to grace our ranks!" he says.

He knows who I am, but I've never seen him before. "I haven't had the pleasure," I reply.

The man steps away from the bowl, pockets his...o...b.. and strides over to me. "My name's Oman. I was at your a.s.signment ceremony, but you probably didn't see me. I stood in the back."

"Were you there when they sent Dena into the void, too?"

Oman inclines his head and lets his expression go serious. "Unfortunately, yes. She's the first dying Watcher I've ever witnessed. I guess it's for the best, really-means I won't ever see one again. At least, not in my lifetime. My mentor says the chance is astronomical."

"I guess you're right." I lower myself to the floor, coming to a sitting position in front of the basin. "Still, it's sad."

"Don't think of it that way," Oman says. "Dena chose the life of a Watcher, and she knew one day that meant she'd die with her universe. It's not sad-just final."

A grin twitches at the corner of my lips. "That's a good way to put it."

Oman pats my shoulder once before going over to his own basin and taking a seat. He's about to drop his...o...b..into the bowl when a sudden urge overtakes me and words spill from my mouth.

"Have you ever seen anything weird in your universe? Something that didn't seem to belong?"

Oman furrows his brow. "Like what?"

I shrug. "Something dark and cloaked. Something that can turn to smoke, like us."

"Not that I remember. But I promise to look around next time I visit."

I frown, disappointed, and turn back to my basin. I hear the rustling of Oman's pocket behind me, the sound of his fingers brushing against gla.s.s, and when I look over my shoulder again he is gone. His...o...b..floats in the clear bowl, the universe inside projecting onto his half of the room, swirling and sparkling with the same intensity as mine does.

I drop my own orb into the basin before me and I become smoke, flying through the stars until I fall down, down toward the little blue planet called Earth.

When I land on the beach, Noah isn't there. The sand is damp beneath my feet and night cloaks the sky. Gentle waves lap at the sh.o.r.eline, creating a soothing sound that calms the anxiousness left over from Dena's funeral. I stay there for a while, just staring out at the lake, but Noah never comes to visit. I don't blame him. Last time I spoke to him, I'd been quite harsh, even though he was just trying to understand the world I'd brought down from the stars with me.

I trudge into the gra.s.s and walk on until I hit the road, where a neighborhood stretches out before me. Rows of quaint houses line either side of the street, lights shining through the windows while families lounge inside. I walk past driveways and mailboxes, parked cars and manicured lawns, following the curve of the road and enjoying the crickets chirping in the distance.

I come to a yellow cottage with white shuttered windows and a light blue door. The panes of gla.s.s open a portal to a scene inside where a family of four sits around a dinner table. The parents fuss over their smallest child-Lizzie-who refuses to eat with anything but a spoon. Noah sits next to her, an amused expression on his face as he waits patiently for the chaos to end.

Something akin to guilt clenches my stomach. I feel like I'm spying on an intimate moment, a piece of time I shouldn't see, and it's unfair for me to watch without Noah knowing I'm there. I convince myself that this is what Watchers are here for in the first place and tiptoe through a bed of bushes so I can get a better view of things.

I can barely hear their m.u.f.fled voices through the window, and I strain my ears to listen. Lizzie leans away from the table, her chair tilting back as she smiles, giggles, and dodges her mother's hands.

"I'm an alien!" Lizzie shouts. "I don't eat with forks."

"Enough of that," her mother says, grabbing her daughter's hand and wrapping it around a fork. "Dinner is no time for games of imagination."

"I have no idea where she got this routine from," the father adds.

"It's that story Noah told the other night. The one about the girl."

Noah slides farther into his seat, making himself as small as possible while his parents shoot daggers in his direction.

"Not my fault," he mutters. He says something else under his breath, but through the barrier of the window I can't hear it.

"Watch your mouth, young man!" his mother snaps.

Noah adjusts his gla.s.ses and runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry."

Finally noticing the tension in the room, Lizzie uses her fork to skewer a few carrots and shoves them in her mouth. Her mother sighs and drops back to her chair. "Really, dear. Must you eat like a horse?"

"So, kid, whatcha been up to after school these days?" the father asks Noah, intent on driving the attention away from Lizzie.

"Not much. Spending time on the beach," Noah replies.

"Still writing, I see? Can't find any spare time to join a sport or two? I heard the basketball team's looking for recruits."

"He always was better at soccer," his mother says.

Noah rolls his eyes. "Can I be excused?"

"You've barely touched your food, dear."

"You'll need the extra protein to try out for football next year," his father adds, punching him playfully in the arm. Noah raises his gaze to his mother, clenching his jaw and giving her a severe look. Her eyes toggle between her husband and her son several times before she makes up her mind.

"Oh, fine. But no midnight snacks."

Noah leaps up from the table and exits into the next room. I travel with him, rounding the house until I hear his footsteps through the thin aluminum siding. Eventually I come to another window-this one's open-and when I peek inside I see a bedroom. The walls are painted a dark blue and a desk b.u.t.ts up against a corner. The bed is draped in dirty laundry, and a dozen worn notebooks are stacked at the foot of the frame.

Noah barges into the room, falling face first onto the bed and groaning. He has only a moment of solitude before Lizzie breaks through the door after him. She leaps onto the mattress, bouncing playfully off his back.

"Watcha dooooing?" she asks.

Noah rolls over and pushes her off the bed. She lands on her rear end, still giggling, as he answers. "Trying to get away from you."

Lizzie pops up, pulls the desk chair over to the edge of the bed, and climbs onto the seat. "Nah-ah. You're trying to escape dad. You do that every time he brings up sports."

"Just don't tell him that, and we'll be square."

Lizzie eyes him with an intensity I didn't realize a child could have. "What's wrong, Noah? You seem sad." She waits for him to answer, and when he doesn't, she draws her own conclusion. "Do you miss her?"

Noah grabs a pillow and chucks it straight at Lizzie's face. She ducks just in time, and the missile collides with the side of the desk instead, knocking over a stack of notebooks.

"Get lost, munchkin."

"I knew it!" Lizzie says gleefully. "Noah and weird girl sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-"

"Her name is Amara," he snaps.

"You like her."

"Do not. I've only seen her twice."

"Doesn't matter. If you like someone you like them, and there's nothing you can do to make it stop."

Noah sits up. "You're seven years old. What do you know about liking someone?"

Lizzie pouts. "I'm almost eight."

"It doesn't matter. She's not coming back. I ticked her off," Noah says.

"Why don't you buy her something pretty? A necklace, maybe, or some flowers? It always works on mom after dad does something wrong."

"Won't help if I never see her again. Plus, she might not even be human."

Lizzie shoots him a devilish smile. "Noah's in love with an alien."

The word love turns my stomach to mush and quickens the beat of my heart. The concept nearly brings me to tears. I've heard Elli and Nim talk of such a thing-they say it's a common theme in all the universes where life exists-but I've never felt it myself.

What it would be like, to be loved. I imagine it feels like there's something more than the void beyond The House, something even bigger than s.p.a.ce and time and all the universes we watch.

Lizzie leaps from the chair and begins to shout at the top of her lungs, her words coming out as a half-song, half-taunt. "Noah loves an alien!"

She repeats it over and over until Noah jumps from the bed and chases her out of the room. His mom pa.s.ses by in the hallway, grabbing Lizzie by the arm and stopping both of her children in their tracks with one lethal glare.

"Stop it right now, you two. And Noah, close your window. It's freezing out," she says.

Noah strides across the room, and I duck into the shrubbery lining the house right before he bends forward and pulls the window shut. I can feel the cool night air coursing over my skin, but my heart feels warm.

Love.

Wouldn't that be nice.

I dawdle around galaxies, swimming through stars and black holes and planets before returning to the Watch Room. I stand up and grab my orb from the basin, turning to tell Oman goodbye before I leave. At first I don't think he's there-his basin is empty and he's sitting nowhere nearby-but then I see the tip of a sandal sticking out from the shadows that cloak the corner.

"Oman?" I ask. He doesn't answer. I walk over to him, nudging his foot with mine. His leg flops to the side like dead weight, and a shaking gasp fills the air.

I grab a torch from a sconce nearby and shift its light to fall upon the corner. Oman lays there, his shoulders half propped against the wall, but he doesn't look like the same person I met earlier. His pale skin has gone translucent, showing the silver running through his veins underneath, and his hands hang limp and shivering at his sides. As I sweep the torch over him his fingers unclench and something clunks against the floor and rolls away.

I bend over and catch whatever it is before it disappears into the shadows. As I stand up I realize it's Oman's universe-but not the healthy one that sparkled and swirled like before. It's filled with destruction, just like Dena's, planets and galaxies imploding in red bursts against the gla.s.s.

I kneel next to Oman, partially to comfort him, but also because my legs have turned to jelly from fear. "How did this happen, Oman?" I ask.

He takes another labored breath and lolls his head onto his shoulder so that his eyes meet mine. "Them," is all he says.

His pointer finger twitches toward the door and I instinctively spin around. The dim lighting obscures my view but I can just make out a cloud of black smoke curling underneath the door into the hall beyond. My blood runs cold as I rush to bring Oman to his feet. I want to chase down whatever just left the room, but I can't leave a fellow Watcher in this kind of condition, either.

"We've got to get to the Sick Room," I say through clenched teeth as I heft his weight against the left side of my body. I roll both of our universes into the pockets of my dress and begin to drag him to the door when the threshold opens and Nim walks in. She takes one look at Oman before dipping her head back out of the room and shouting for help.

Three more members of The House answer her plea. They surround me in a circle, each helping take Oman's weight from my shoulders and rushing him out of the room.

Nim strides to me and grabs my hands in hers. "What happened, Amara?"

I pull Oman's universe from my pocket and hand it to her. When she sees the destruction reflected in the gla.s.s, her eyes turn hard.

"He was fine before I went to watch," I say. "But when I got back he was laying on the floor and his universe was dying. How is this even possible? Didn't you say this only happens once every several billion years?"

"It must be a coincidence. A terrible one, at that."

I open my mouth, stop myself, and then change my mind again. "There's something else." Nim waits, her expression expectant. "Smoke. Like the kind we turn into when we leave to watch, only black as night. I only got a brief look at it before it filtered out under the door."

"Just a trick of the light, probably," Nim says, but she looks worried. "One of the torches burning out, perhaps."

I shake my head hard. "No. Oman pointed to it."

Nim grabs me hard by the shoulders. "Listen to me, Amara. You've been through a lot these past few days. And this-finding Oman dying-it's something no young Watcher should have to go through. Your mind is playing tricks on you as a consequence. It's best to forget what you saw before someone thinks you've gone mad and throws you into the void."

She lets go, smoothing the front of her dress and clearing her throat before adding, "I should go check on Oman. Get some rest, Amara. Use the time to reflect. And then return to your duties as Watcher with a fresh head."

Nim leaves the room, her footsteps fading down the hall. I rush out after her, looking both ways down the corridor, but there's nothing else there-no black clouds to speak of.

I recall the hooded figures I saw on Earth and the way they turned to smoke. Then the same smoke, curling under the door.