Superposition (15 page)

“That's the most ridiculous theory I ever heard,” Colin said.

“Wait,” I said. “This is the important part. If Alessandra could split, then why not Elena and the others? They were about to leave the house. What if one version of them
did
leave the house, before the varcolac arrived, and thus weren't killed?”

“This is wishful thinking,” Colin said. “Don't do this to yourself.”

“It makes sense,” I said. “The varcolac wouldn't arrive at a single, discrete point in time and space, like we would. Its arrival would be smeared over a range of times and places, with some probability.”

“You're losing me,” Colin said.

“Me, too,” Marek said.

I growled, angry at them. Why couldn't they understand? “When you go somewhere, you arrive at one time,” I said. “At five o'clock, say. But a varcolac doesn't. It arrives at 4:45 and 4:46 and 4:47, through to 5:15, and may eventually resolve to only one of those arrival times, though some have a higher probability than others. That means it arrived both before
and
after they left the house. They became entangled with its probability wave and split, one version of each of them heading off in the car to the NJSC, oblivious, while the other versions were caught and killed.”

Silence. “Well,” I said. “What do you think?”

“A lot of crazy things have happened today,” Marek said. “Sure. I believe you.”

Colin yawned. “It's two-thirty in the morning,” he said. “Could we figure out what universe we're living in tomorrow?”

I apologized and let him go. I didn't know how I was going to sleep, though. I was buzzing. They were out there somewhere, alive. Tomorrow, I would find them.

Colin left us with a promise to bring us breakfast in the morning. I tried to convince Marek to take the other bed, but he insisted on the floor. The bed springs were old and creaked loudly, but as soon as I lay down, exhaustion took over, and I knew I was going to sleep after all. With a last nervous glance at the backward mirror, I closed my eyes. I dreamed of an endless hall of mirrors and of Elena, always just glimpsed in a reflection, but never there when I turned around.

I woke to Colin shaking me, his eyes wide. “Jacob. Jacob! Wake up. You have to see this.”

I groaned and sat up, slowly registering the unfamiliar surroundings and remembering the horror of the day before. “Why couldn't you have let me sleep?”

“Look.” He thrust a piece of smartpaper into my hand. It was a news feed, and I read the headline.

SWARTHMORE PROFESSOR ARRESTED
FOR MURDER OF QUANTUM SCIENTIST

I scanned the article and saw my name and an old picture of me. According to the article, I had been arrested for the murder of Brian Vanderhall, who had been found shot to death in his office at the New Jersey Super Collider. There was nothing about the deaths of my family, just that I had been picked up at my home, and the police were making no further comment.

“Why would they lie about that?” I asked. “You'd think they'd want people to know they were looking for me.”

“Maybe they aren't.”

“What do you mean, they aren't? I'm a murder suspect; of course they're looking for me.”

Colin smacked me on the side of the head. “Wake up. You were the one going on last night about being in two places at once. Why should you be any different?”

CHAPTER 16

DOWN-SPIN

“The People call Sheila Singer to the stand,” Haviland announced.

Terry cursed and started rummaging through his papers in a way that did not inspire confidence. “Your Honor,” he said, still rummaging. “I have no knowledge of this witness.”

Haviland's smile grew brighter. “Her name was provided to the defense weeks ago, in the discovery process. She works at the New Jersey Super Collider.”

Probably twenty percent of the NJSC's three thousand employees had been on the prosecution's list of possible witnesses. Terry had made me go through them all and identify all those I knew, had ever worked with, or had seen during the events of last December third. It was a standard lawyer trick, apparently, to drown the opposition with irrelevant entries in order to hide the ones that really mattered.

“What is her relevance to this case?” Terry snapped.

“I hope her testimony will make that plain.” Haviland was positively beaming now.

“There's nothing irregular here, Mr. Sheppard,” Judge Roswell said. “The name is on the list. You may proceed, Mr. Haviland.”

Terry glared at me, but I shrugged. I had no idea who Sheila Singer was, and when she took the stand, I was even more confused. She was twenty-something, slender, with a low-cut, turquoise blouse and a short, black skirt that revealed legs a half mile long. If I'd seen her before, I would have remembered. She flashed a brilliant smile at the jury.

“Ms. Singer, please state your name for the record.” She did so, and he asked her to tell the court what her job was with the NJSC.

“I'm a receptionist and tour guide,” she said. “I meet visitors who come to the center, and I sometimes take groups through the parts that are open for tourists.”

“Do you get a lot of tourists?”

“Of course. It's the biggest scientific instrument ever created.” A sly smile at the jury. “Some people think the bigger the better.”

I coughed. Haviland looked a little annoyed. “Were you working on December third?”

“Yes,” Singer said. “I was stationed at the reception desk in the Feynman Center. That's where I work when I don't have a tour, so I can answer questions, give out maps, that kind of thing.”

“So, your desk is the first thing a visitor sees when they enter? The first place they would go to ask a question?”

“Yes.”

I could tell Terry was dying to object and ask what the point of this line of questioning was, but he held back. It was probably just what Haviland was waiting for.

“Do you know Jacob Kelley, the accused?” Haviland asked.

“No. I don't think we ever met,” Singer said.

“But on December third, you heard his name, didn't you?”

“Yes. There was a woman who asked for him. She seemed quite upset.”

“Did the woman say who she was?”

“No. She had three children with her, two girls and a boy, and she said she was looking for her husband and asked if I knew how to contact him,” Singer said.

I stood up slowly, staring at her.

“What time was this?” Haviland asked.

“Just before five o'clock.”

“How can you be sure of the time, Ms. Singer?”

“Visiting hours end at five o'clock. It was the end of my working day.”

Haviland pushed a button on a remote control, and a picture of my beloved Elena appeared on a large screen. “Is this the woman?”

I felt a lump in my throat, just seeing her picture. It had been so long since I'd seen her. It seemed like another life. I felt like I was choking, like I was going to cry right there in the courtroom. They had been there, right there at the NJSC. They
had
split when the varcolac came to the house, and here was the proof.

I realized everyone was looking at me, and Terry was frantically tugging at my sleeve. Judge Roswell glared at me. “Mr. Kelley, sit down.”

I sat. “I'm sorry, Your Honor.”

Haviland gave me a predatory smile and turned back to the witness. “Ms. Singer, let's be clear. Mr. Kelley claims that he saw his wife and children dead in his house in Pennsylvania more than an hour before you claim to have seen them in New Jersey. Were they dead when you saw them?”

“No, sir.”

“Ms. Singer, how long have you been working at the NJSC?”

She blinked at the sudden change of direction. “A little more than a year.”

“And in that time, how many visitors have you seen?”

“Oh, hundreds. Gosh, I don't know, maybe thousands.”

“And the woman who was looking for Mr. Kelley, had you ever seen her before December third?”

“No, just that once.”

“Can you be absolutely sure she was Jacob Kelley's wife?”

Her mouth pouted prettily. “I'm very sure.”

“I remind you that you are under oath, Ms. Singer.”

“She didn't tell me who she was, but she looked just like the picture,” Singer said. “If it wasn't her, then she had a twin sister.”

With shaking hands, I snatched one of Terry's legal pads and scribbled a note on it.

Terry read it, looked at me, and wrote, “Why?”

I wrote, “Please, just ask.”

He shook his head, but he tucked the legal pad under his arm.

“And what did you tell Mrs. Kelley?” Haviland asked.

“Well, I felt sorry for her, you know?” Singer said. “She said he might be with Mr. Vanderhall, so I looked up the building and told her.” She put a hand to her cheek. “I had no idea that her husband had killed the man. The poor woman.”

“Objection,” Terry said, but the judge was already nodding.

“Ms. Singer,” she said. “Whether or not Mr. Kelley killed Mr. Vanderhall has not yet been established. Please limit your answers to the questions being asked.”

“Of course. I'm sorry,” Singer said.

“Your witness,” Haviland said, and sat down.

Terry stood and took the lectern. He flipped through his legal pad for a moment as if marshalling his thoughts. He obviously hadn't planned to interview this woman, which meant he wasn't prepared. The old adage that you shouldn't ask a question to which you don't already know the answer meant that he should just sit down again. He frowned and stared at his pad. I knew he was deciding whether to ask my questions or not.

“Mr. Sheppard?” the judge said.

He seemed to shake himself. “Just a few questions, Your Honor. Ms. Singer, did you happen to notice if the woman you saw was wearing a wedding ring?”

Singer brightened again. “Yes, she was. I always notice that sort of thing. It was a sweet ring, small, you know, but sometimes that means more than some enormous diamond. Maybe the guy doesn't have a lot of money, but then it's really for love, you know what I mean?”

“Did you happen to notice . . .” Terry paused. “Did you happen to notice which hand the ring was on?”

“Well, of course,” Singer said. “It was on her left hand. I told you it was a wedding ring; where else would it be?”

I knew the jury wouldn't understand why I was smiling, but I couldn't help it. At least an hour after I had seen them dead, my family had been alive. Singer had seen
my
Elena, not the backward version of her I had found in the house. It meant my theory about them splitting had been correct after all. It meant my family was really alive out there, or had been two months ago. But if that was the case, what had happened to them? Why had no one seen them since?

“Mr. Kelley,” Judge Roswell said in her stern voice. Her face was too pleasant to pull it off effectively, and she looked more like a scolding grandmother than a fierce authority figure, but I knew her affable appearance wouldn't stop her from holding me in contempt of court, so I sat down quickly.

“I'm sorry, Your Honor,” I said.

“Mr. Sheppard, is there a point to this line of questioning?”

Terry glared at me. “I apologize, Your Honor. I have no further questions.”

CHAPTER 17

UP-SPIN

I needed help. Colin had given us a place to stay, at least for the time being, but I needed to figure out what was happening. I needed to find out if it was possible that a different version of my family was still alive, and if so, where they might be. Marek was self-employed, so he had some flexibility, but he still had to fulfill his contracts, not just stay with me all the time. Besides, Ava—his wife and Elena's sister—hadn't been pleased that he had been gone all night without calling, and she didn't like his explanation that he had been with me. She had seen the headlines, too. I only heard one side of the conversation, but she sounded furious and upset.

I left Alessandra in Colin's safe house and borrowed Colin's car. Jean Massey lived in a two-story condominium in Princeton, not far from the college. She understood the physics involved, and she worked at the NJSC. I couldn't just stroll around the facility asking people if they'd seen my wife and kids. The police would still be crawling everywhere, and I was a murder suspect. Jean could ask around though, if she was willing.

She answered the door, and when she saw me, her eyes flew open wide. “Jacob? Is that really you?”

She had a smartpaper in her hand, and I could see the headline on the newsfeed. She knew I had been arrested. “I can explain,” I said. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” She held the door open, briefly looking out past me to see if anyone else was there. “What's going on, Jacob? The police were all over the facility yesterday, looking for you, and the paper this morning said you had been arrested and your family was missing.”

“It's a long story,” I said.

She pointed me to a seat in her living room and offered me coffee. The room was sparsely decorated, with a few inexpensive prints and personal knick-knacks. A baby swing sat in a corner, and there was a tiny pacifier on the coffee table next to a stack of diapers and scattered physics journals.

“I left you in Brian's office, and then I never heard from you again,” Jean said. “Then the police came and said Brian was dead and asked all sorts of questions about you, and then this . . .” She held up the news article. “Why aren't you in prison? Are you out on bail?”

I explained everything as best I could. I told her about finding Brian in the bunker, about the varcolac, and about seeing the second Brian, and what he had told me. I told her about racing home and finding my family dead, escaping the varcolac again, and evading the police.

She asked a lot of questions, but she didn't once question my sanity or the truth of what I was saying. She seemed to have no trouble at all accepting the idea that there were two of me. I figured she'd spent so much time thinking about quantum physics that it seemed more natural to her than the normal world.