“No.” He folds his arms over his chest. “But I did have to do the first sixty days alone. I thought I was losing my mind. Nothing I did made a difference. I kept getting brought back to the beginning over and over and...” He glances out the window and the rest of his sentence is muffled.
“And what?” I prompt.
He glances at me before he drops his arms and says, “It was scary, okay? It was so fucking lonely. I tried everything I could think of to get you to remember me, but you never did.”
Until I did remember him. There has to be a clue in the fact that we started remembering at different times. And yes, I could needle him. Solitude is still better than dying. But remembering three of those deaths is enough. Remembering all sixty-some dates and not having any control over when they end or how to get out of them would be a whole other thing. If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome, then what’s defined as being forced to repeat something over and over with no control over the outcome at all?
So, because Clarissa reminds me frequently that some people respond better to empathy than they do to my usual “what are you going to do about it?” forthrightness, I say, “It must have been really hard.”
Jasper gives me a sad smile that makes me want to say more kind things. “It’s better now. I know you don’t like me much, but I’m glad you’re here.”
Ouch. I bite back a bunch of protests because if I talk too fast, I’ll almost certainly say the wrong thing. It’s not that I dislike him. In fact, I’m starting to like him more than I should given his career choices. I’m not completely oblivious of my own superfamily and stepfatherly privileges. I know finding work can be tough, but he’s clearly got real marketable skills. Ezekiel would probably give him a position at Ziro Labs if I asked, especially after Jasper wowed him with his IT wizardry tonight. Yet somehow Jasper chose Walter Wolfe. There have to be better ways to get a job after you flunk out of med school besides hitching your wagon to organized crime.
Speaking of which... “You know we’re going to have to go check out that machine, right?”
He blanches so much it’s visible, even in the dark car. “Maybe we don’t?”
“No, we really do,” I say. “If he’s got a time machine so powerful you don’t even need to be near it to move back hours, think about the scientific advancement he’s achieved.”
“That’s what you want to see it for?” he asks, incredulous. I try not to feel hurt. There goes Morgan the nerd, all excited about science again.
“We need to know who built it,” I explain patiently. “Whoever they are, they’re the only one who can get us out of this.”
“But what if they aren’t?” Jasper says. “What if there’s another way?”
“Like what?”
“Let’s ... let’s lie low.” He glances at me nervously. “Give me a few days to figure out how to do it safely. We’ve never really stayed together before. What if we see if we can keep you alive?If we hide out, we might—” The longer he talks, the faster the words come out until he’s practically pleading, but the flaw in his thinking is evident.
“Jasper, we already covered this with Ezekiel. You think I wouldn’t have accidentally stumbled onto a way to stay alive after sixty tries? It’s statistically impossible to die randomly every single time. Someone is coming for me.”
“But you don’t...” He winces. “Look, if spending sixty days trapped in the same day was scary, Walter Wolfe is scarier. We can’t just walk into his office and ask about his time machine.”
“But you work for him, don’t you?” I ask.
“Yeah, but we’re not exactly buddies. Wolfe Tech isn’t some family organization like what you and Ezekiel have going. I’m a henchman.” His voice rises with frustration, seeming even louder in the confined space of my car. When I glance at him, he’s torn off his toque and is clenching it so tightly in his lap that his knuckles are white. “Don’t you get it? I look tough when he has business associates stop by and pick up bags of stuff I’m not supposed to know about but are almost definitely drugs or money. If I were in a comic book, I’d be a guy in a nondescript red shirt and a mask who was only on page to be cannon fodder.”
“A red shirt would be better than your hat,” I mutter.
That stops him halfway through his rant. “What’s wrong with my hat?”
I stare at him. “Please. Do you think it’s fashionable?”
“It keeps my head warm.” He stretches the tattered wool between his hands.
“It’s spring. It hasn’t been below freezing in over a month.” On a whim, I reach across the console and snatch the hat from him. His hair is sticking up in a million different directions, so I pat it down for a minute before he swats me away.
“Don’t think you can cute your way out of this,” he says.
“I’m not trying to be cute.” The car jerks as I whip my head toward him again. “Wait. Do you actually think I’m cute? You weren’t kidding before?”
He laughs. It’s a big, open sound, and the tension in the vehicle dissipates. Before Jasper can answer my question, though, his stomach lets out a rumble that nearly shakes the car’s windows.
“Jesus, I’m starving.” He rubs a hand over his belly. “Look, whatever we do next, can we please go get something to eat first? If we’re going to storm the castle at Wolfe Tech, at least don’t make me do it on an empty stomach.”
“Sure. Why not?” I say. “With my luck, I’ll choke on a French fry.”
“Don’t say that.” He shoots me a soft smile, and once again I’m annoyed by how much I don’t dislike him. Yes, I need him, but he’s not an awful person. At least in noncriminal settings. I don’t know what to do with this information.
