Page 21 of The Omega Trials: Part Three

“The crash,” Bishop responds without emotion. He doesn’t need to specify. Even if that wasn’t what came to me in the trial, I would still know. The crash that killed our parents,murderedour parents.

“Same.” Ecker finally turns to look at us, his brows knitted together. “Ti?”

“Same,” I confess. “But it wasn’t the crash itself. We were at the apartments, and the police were putting them in the van and they were fighting, resisting.” The hollowness in my chest carves a little deeper. “My dad was yelling for me to help. He kept saying, ‘They’re going to kill us. You can’t let them take us.’

“I fought so hard, but every time I would get past one guard, another one would appear, then two. I would break their holds only to be grabbed again.” All the while, my parents were kicking and screaming, doing everything they could to not get in the van.

I don’t know what hurts more. That I didn’t fight hard enough now or I didn’t fight at all then. Ten years ago, we just let them get in that van and drive away to their deaths.

“I was at the crash,” Bishop says. “I didn’t realize what it was until I heard my mom calling for help. She was trapped inside,and I tried to get to her, but my legs stopped working. I was still dragging myself to her when the car went up in flames.” He throws the stone into the lake. It disappears with a small, insignificant splash.

Ecker picks up a new stick. “Mine was like a bad dream on a loop. It was like I was out of my body, just a being looking down from the sky. I saw the van driving on the highway and then farther away, a semi losing control.”

He snaps the twig in two. “They didn’t see it coming. They couldn’t get out of the way.”Snap.“Then it would restart, and I’d get this feeling that this was my chance to change the outcome, that it was on me. I was watching for the semi, but it never came. Instead, the van blew a tire and ran off the bridge, into the water.”Snap.“It kept happening again and again in different ways, and every time I’d know this was my chance to save them, this time was it.”Snap. “Just for them to die over and over again, and there was nothing I could do.”

When he finishes, we just continue sitting in silence, nothing but the sound of the wind and snapping sticks.

The next morning, it’s time for Cora to transition from Doc’s makeshift hospital to Celia’s apartment. Sinclair wants to stop by her grandma’s place to grab some of her things.

“Since we’re here, does that mean we have to return the car?” Ecker asks about Griswald’s “borrowed” sedan as we get into the apartment’s elevator.

“Hell no,” Bishop says flatly as I smash the button with my finger.

“Cool.” Ecker sighs half-heartedly, and we’re all silent for the short ride up. Maybe we’re just all listening to the gears whir,waiting for them to give out due to Griswald’s no doubt half-ass job.

But more likely, we haven’t been able to shake the depressing simulation we underwent yesterday. Even Sinclair’s warm body wrapped around mine last night didn’t help. I didn’t want to fall asleep, scared of dreams that would only be full of black vans.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Sinclair mutters when we get to her old apartment. Rather than fixing the busted-down door, a tarp has just been nailed to the top of the doorframe.

“I’m sorry. We’ll fix it,” I say and hold up the edge for her to walk under.

“It’s not your fault—oh my god.”She gasps as if sucker punched and races to the kitchen sink.

Frantically, she soaks a sponge, drops to the floor, and begins hysterically scrubbing the dried blood still staining the linoleum. “Nobody—why didn’t anybody—I can’t believe nobody cleaned this, her blood,her blood.Well, of course no one did,” she scoffs. “Who would have? Me. I should have done this. I should have been there—” Her voice cracks. She stops scrubbing to squeeze her eyes shut.

“You let me handle this,” Ecker says, kneeling down and gently taking the sponge out of her hand. “You don’t need to be doing this.”

She sits back on her heels and bites her lip, tears brimming her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, okay,” she says softly, getting to her feet.

“C’mon, I’ll help you pack.” I reach out to place my hand on the small of her back but stop myself. I don’t know why.

As I follow Sinclair into the back of the apartment, Bishop adds, “And I’ll go see our favorite super about a door.”

Sinclair goes through Cora’s drawers, handing me clothing items to pack up in a duffel. After a few shirts, she pulls out a leather-bound notebook.

“Huh.” She turns it over and sets it on the dresser, not giving it a second thought.

There’s a design embossed on the cover, but it looks like someone tried to scratch it out.

“Hold on, is that flower an azure aster?” I realize.

“Why would she have . . .” Sinclair trails off as she opens it, reading the name on the first page. “Guinevere Azurite.” She quickly flips through the pages. “Oh my god, I think this is her diary.”

“Who?”

“My great-great-grandmother.”

Entry #1

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