Rewind Read Free Page A

the binding as he pulled.
    But the book barely budged.
    It was as if it were made of some strange new substance—somehow solid but somehow not, a density of air.
    He pulled harder. Really yanked. The book teetered toward him.
    Thud-thud-thud-thud.
    Adam spun around. Behind him, the book fell to the floor.
    Dad was charging angrily up the stairs. Adam recognized the heavy footsteps.
    But which Dad? Past or present?
    Whatever. He was in the wrong place for either.
    He leaped out of camera range.
    Blip.
    His room—his current, totally solid room—materialized around him.
    Dad of the present charged in. His eyes shot right to the videocamera. “This is your homework?”
    “Video class,” Adam blurted out. “I mean, video project. Communication arts class.”
    “Where’d you get this?” He was heading for the camera now.
    “No!” Adam rushed in front of him.
    But it was too late.
    Dad lifted the camera to his right eye.
    And looked through.

Order a file on the father.
    Not necessary.
Why?
    Because only the boy can see.

6
    “I T’S BROKEN.”
    All day long, Mr. Sarno’s words stayed with Adam.
    He didn’t see it. Lianna didn’t see it.
    I’m the only one.
    Which meant either the camera was defective, or Adam was crazy.
    The tape would tell. He was dying to see it.
    He kept the videocamera with him in school. It was in the old backpack, stuffed into the bottom of his pack. Now, as he pedaled away from school with Lianna and Ripley, he could feel it jabbing against his back.
    “I hate surprises,” Lianna remarked.
    “You’ll like this one,” Adam said.
    “It better be good,” Ripley grumbled. “And quick. I have hockey practice.”
    They glided onto Locust Avenue and then swerved up Ripley’s driveway. “Ripley,” Adam said as he dropped his bike in the backyard, “it’ll blow you away.”
    If it works.
    Adam hadn’t seriously thought about the alternative. But as he climbed the stairs to Ripley’s room, he began shaking.
    What if it doesn’t?
    Humiliation. His friends would know he was loony.
    Stop. Think positive.
    If it did work, if he’d captured the past on tape, if the camera was seeing what happened four years ago…
    Saturday. Three o’clock.
    The accident.
    He would have to go there. Take the video-camera to the lake.
    And see.
    No. Don’t even think about it.
    It would happen again. Before his eyes. No more fragmented visions. No more blocked memories.
    Cold, hard images.
    He would know. For sure.
    And that part scared him the most.
    Ripley had to force his bedroom door open against a pile of old clothes. They slid into the room, sweeping puffballs of dust before them.
    “How can you live like this?” Lianna asked.
    Ripley picked up the pile and tossed it onto a wicker basket full of mud-encrusted football gear. “The butler’s on vacation.”
    Her lips curled in disgust, Lianna sat on the edge of Ripley’s bed.
    Adam set his backpack next to her. He pulled out the other pack and placed it on the bed. The unmarked manila envelope peeked out of the open zipper. Taking out the videocamera, he ejected the tape.
    Rrrrrrip. Lianna was tearing open the manila envelope.
    “What are you doing?” Adam cried out.
    “It might have ID.” Lianna pulled out a sheaf of newspaper clippings. “Oops. I’m sorry, Adam. Why didn’t you tell me this stuff was yours?”
    She held out the pile. From the top article, a headline jumped out at Adam.
    TEN-YEAR-OLD EASTON BOY FALLS THROUGH ICE, DIES
    Death Could Have Been Averted, Police Chief Says
    Adam quickly paged through the others.
    Inquest Rules Death an Accident … Suspicions of Foul Play Investigated … Easton Parents Demand Safety Referendum …
    All clippings about Edgar’s death.
    Fresh clippings. With straight-cut edges, unyellowed by time. Police memos, hospital notes, detective reports—stuff Adam had never even seen before.
    What on earth — ?
    “They’re not mine,” Adam said.
    “Who else could they belong to?” Lianna