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.“I told him it was wrong to take you, but he wouldn’t listen.”“Mom, you’re not making any sense,” he said, turning away and shutting her out the way he always did when she was like this.“Fine,” she said, storming off toward the door and jerking it open.“Fine I’ll just handle it!” She stumbled out, slamming it behind her, and moments later Peter heard the car start in the driveway.He knew she shouldn’t be driving in her condition, and he suddenly had an awful vision of her crashing her car and killing herself.If his father was in a psych ward, and his mother was dead, what would happen to him?So he ran to the door and flung it open, just in time to see her peel out of the driveway and take off down the street, away from the house.Leaving Peter alone.He paused for a moment, there in the doorway, pressing the back of his hand to his lips.She’d left him.His father had left him, gone crazy or worse for who knew how long.The fear and anger over this latest in a long string of abandonments flared up bright inside him.And then faded.Because wasn’t he alone anyway? Hadn’t he always been alone?He closed the door and went back into the house.NEAR HARTFORD, CT 2008It had been touch and go for a while there.For one thing, she was working in a small, stripped-down lab without some of the heavier, more expensive equipment she normally relied upon.For another, the mysterious protein coating surrounding Peter’s DNA was much thinner, more delicate than it had been the last time she’d examined a sample of it.That degradation was probably due to the passage of time.Most likely, if a person regularly traveled back and forth between the parallel universes, exposing themselves to whatever unknowable forces existed within the wormhole through which they passed, then the residue would remain thick and easy to collect.But, like the fingers of a guitar player who is out of practice, which will soften and lose their calluses, the DNA of a person who hadn’t been through a wormhole in many years would no longer need that protective coating.From what she could see, it would become thin and patchy and start to slough away.That looked to be what had happened with Peter.She was infinitely grateful that she’d thought ahead, and managed to bring her designer virus to the point where it was ready to be fused with his DNA.And that she had located him before any more time had passed.Because in just another year or two, the organic coating she needed might have degraded to the point of being useless.She supposed she owed a debt of gratitude to the Englishman, as well, since she couldn’t have made this happen without his help.Too bad for him.Collecting everything she needed for her transition and pulling some directions out of the printer, she carefully slipped the newly enhanced virus into a padded inner pocket inside her purse, and crept up the stairs.Outside, dawn was breaking and casting a pale watery-blue light through the eastern windows.When she peered in at Peter, she saw that he was still asleep on his back with one arm thrown wide across the bed.Clearly, the action opera she’d composed for him had worn him out.She felt a kind of strange fondness toward him in that moment, knowing that she couldn’t have accomplished any of this without him.Then she turned on her heel and headed away from the house.Out in the driveway, she was about to get into their stolen car when she heard a distinctive, sardonic voice, bearing an all-too-familiar accent.“Clever girl,” McCoy said.She spun to face him, tightly gripping her purse.He was wearing a brand new plaid shirt and a broke-brim trucker hat over his thinning salt-and-pepper hair in a laughably unsuccessful attempt to look more American.At his elbow stood the blond thug who’d participated in the previous day’s orchestrated chase scene.He’d been following orders then, to make sure that she wasn’t really hurt during the charade, but he didn’t look as if he had any such instructions this morning.“Planning a little trip, are we?” the Englishman asked, snatching the printed directions out of her hand.“Reiden Lake? You have good taste, my dear.I hear it’s lovely this time of year.” He crumpled the printout and dropped it at her feet, glancing toward the thug.“Get the purse.”“No!” she cried, clutching it to her chest as the thug’s big hairy fist came down on her like a cartoon anvil.* * *When Peter woke up, he thought he heard voices out in the driveway, but he felt too lazy to go investigate.Then he heard Julia’s distressed voice yell out, and he scrambled to his feet.It took him precious seconds to remember first what had happened to his clothes, and then where the dryer was in this unfamiliar house
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