Page 50 of Intersect

With his words, my heart is hollowed out, empty. “At some point?” I ask. “That could be…that could be more than two weeks from now.”

“I know,” he says.

He sounds tortured by it. And I’m tortured by it. This might be all the time I have and he’s the way I want to spend it. Him and only him. “Come home,” I beg. “This isn’t worth it. Please.”

“Don’t do that to me,” he whispers. “You know I have to stay. I have to see what she knows and what she wants. It’s the only way I can think of to help you and I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t.”

“And what happens when you find her?” I ask desperately, pacing the room. “She’s more likely to kill you than she is to sit down and have a nice heart-to-heart.”

He pauses. “Actually, Cecelia suggested that killing her would solve everything.”

A startled laugh escapes my throat. “Killing her? Holy shit, Parisian palm readers are dark.” He’s silent in response. “Why are you not laughing? It’s obviously a completely insane thing to say.”

“Quinn,” he says reluctantly, “it’s…something to think about. Remember what Rose told us? That stealing someone’s spark can strengthen yours? Well, maybe if you steal Sarah’s it will cure this thing.”

My mouth falls open. I can’t believe Nick, of all people, is in favor of this. “Your career is dedicated to saving lives. You cannot actually be suggesting I kill a woman in cold blood on the off chance it might allow me to live?”

“She tried to kill you first, remember?”

“Nick,” I breathe. “I…I don’t even know what to say. We have no idea if she was actually trying to kill me and I just…no. I can’t kill anyone. I’d never be able to live with the guilt.”

“I could live with it,” he growls.

It’s easy to say when you haven’t done it yet. I have though. I wake each morning sick about what I might have done to Ryan, and it wasn’t even this version of me who’s responsible. “No,” I tell him. “I won’t let you do that for me, if it would work anyway, and it wouldn’t.”

“I’m just saying it’s something to think about.”

I can’t. I won’t. If my desperation to stay alive is going to turn me into a monster, I don’t deserve to live in the first place.

* * *

I wake early the next morning and come downstairs with my bag packed. My mother is already up, sitting pale and bleary-eyed, both palms pressed to a cup of coffee.

Her eyes go to my bag and her face falls. “You’re leaving already?”

We haven’t always gotten along, especially of late, but I hate that I’m disappointing her. “There’s a doctor in New Jersey I need to talk to. Are you okay?” I ask.

“I was thinking we could spend the day together,” she says quietly. Her palms press harder to the coffee cup. They are nearly bloodless. “We could go to Philadelphia and get lunch, go to the Barnes Foundation. You always loved that when you were little.”

“I have this appointment, Mom, or I would.”

She nods but I swear to God it looks like she’s about to cry, and I think it has nothing to do with my tumor.

* * *

I arrive at Dr. Grosbaum’s house just before lunch. I’ve decided to keep the trip from Nick since he’d worry unnecessarily, and if it’s okay for him to break into the home of a potential murderer with supernatural powers and not mention it until afterward, I can probably visit a neurologist with some offbeat ideas and not mention it either.

The sight of his house no longer scares me. It just makes me sad. How long has he been waiting for his wife to return? Will he die alone, still waiting?

He steps back in silence as I walk through the door.

“I owe you an apology,” I begin, as I follow him to his office, but he waves my words away.

“Several universities thought the same things you did and were far ruder in their dismissal,” he replies. “I’m accustomed to it. But I’m curious to hear about this time traveler you met.”

We both take the seats we took a few weeks ago. My heart lurches a little at the emptiness of the chair beside me. Nick should be here. He should never have left.

“She was young,” I reply. “Barely even a teenager. I saw her once in my head when I’d blacked out, and she insisted I hadn’t blacked out at all, that we’d just passed each other time traveling.”