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  “Mechanical failure?” Kevin asked.

  “No, all the readings looked normal until you touched her hand, Ned. MEG’s running just fine.”

  “So what the hell just happened?” Ned demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Joe said. His expression was bleak.

  Maybe it was time to open her eyes and let them know she could hear them, Abby thought. But she was kind of afraid to open them. What if something weird had happened and she couldn’t see? Or she saw everything entirely differently? Black and white? Totally blurry? Or everyone looked like a phosphorescent blob? She’d better find out, she decided, and pried open her eyes. Hmm . . . everything looked pretty normal. That was good.

  Ned noticed first. “Abby? Can you hear me?”

  “Of course I can hear you. What happened?” She took stock of her surroundings. She seemed to be sitting in the MEG seat, but the SQUID helmet was gone and MEG’s top part had been cranked up out of the way. Good, Abby, at least part of your brain is working, if you can remember SQUID.

  “Everything was going fine until I touched your hand,” Ned said. “That’s all I did.”

  “But when I touched yours, this didn’t happen.” Yay, Abby—your recent memory seems to be intact!

  “No, not at all. Did you feel anything, right before you lost consciousness?”

  “Flashing lights. Noises. Confusion. And then it all just stopped. Can I get out of this thing now?”

  Ned laid a hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy just a little longer, until we’re sure you’re all right. You passed out.”

  But Abby was staring at Ned’s hand on her shoulder. She could see it there. She could feel the pressure of it, and the warmth through her shirt. But she couldn’t “feel” it. “Take my hand,” she said, reaching out to him.

  He quickly folded her hand in his. She looked at him. “It’s not there.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “The . . . thing. What happens when we touch. You know. Kevin, do you see anything?”

  “No, but the conditions aren’t the greatest right now . . .”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Abby kept her eyes on Ned, who still held her hand. Nice warm solid hand—but no sparks. “Joe, what happened? What do your machines tell you?”

  “Not much. There was a spike when Ned touched your hand, and then things went haywire. I thought maybe there was a surge in the computer system, but everything seems fine now.”

  “Did it come from the part of my brain that you were watching? I remember you mentioning that it was the same as in Ned’s scan.”

  “More or less. More widely distributed, and definitely stronger. I’ll have to analyze the readings more carefully.”

  “I want in on that too,” Kevin said quickly. Joe glared at him but didn’t say no.

  Abby sat up and swung her legs over the side of the chair. Ned was quick to place a hand on her arm. “You sure you’re ready to get up? You don’t feel dizzy or shaky?”

  “No, actually, I don’t. I feel normal. Except for”—she laid her hand over his, where it rested on her arm—“this. What isn’t there.”

  “Abby, let’s worry about that later. You’ve had a shock of some sort, and your neurons may be scrambled at the moment. Why don’t I take you home so you can rest?” Ned still looked worried.

  “I haven’t done anything that requires resting. I’ve been sitting in a chair. Then something happened, and I don’t even know what. Was I unconscious long?”

  “No, only a minute or two. As far as we could tell, your pulse was normal, and your breathing was too. You sure you shouldn’t see a doctor?”

  “I don’t have a local doctor. And I don’t want to try to explain this to an emergency room doctor.”

  “Abby, you passed out!” Ned protested.

  “I know I did. And no, I’ve never done that before. Well, except for that one time in Waltham with you. But physically I feel fine, and I’m not just saying that. But you’re right—we should go home so we can think about what just happened here.”

  “I’m so sorry, guys . . .” Kevin began.

  Abby turned to him. “Why should you be? You did what we asked you to do. From all I’ve read and heard, it’s a safe machine. Whatever happened came from inside me, and that’s what Ned and I need to figure out. Joe, thank you for letting us use MEG. You’ll tell us what you find on the recordings?”

  “Of course.” Joe looked confused, like events were moving too fast for him. So did Kevin. Abby almost laughed: had they expected her to act like a helpless female? Dither or babble? Swoon? Or had she already done the swooning part?

  Ned just looked concerned. “I’m all right, Ned,” Abby told him. “Really. I just want to go home now.”

  “Then we’ll go home.” Ned stood up and looked at the other men. “We’ll keep in touch, and if anything new pops up, I’ll let you know. Joe, you’ll give us the final results—Kevin has my email. I appreciate both of you setting this up. And don’t blame yourselves—we couldn’t have seen this coming. If we’re lucky, Abby will be fine. We done here?”

  The other two nodded mutely. Ned helped Abby up, and they headed toward the stairs.

  Joe followed quickly. “Let’s take the elevator, just in case. And I have to see you out, input the right code for the doors.” He led them to the elevator, and from there to the front door. “Good-bye,” he said uncertainly.

  They stood on the sidewalk, in the fresh autumn air. “You sure you’re all right, Abby?” Ned asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Physically, anyway. I’m not a frail flower of femininity, you know. But we have to figure out what went on in there, and home would be a better place to do it.”

  “Then let’s go home.” Ned led Abby back to where they’d parked the car, beeped the locks, and handed her in as if she was made of glass.

  When he had climbed into the driver’s seat, Abby turned to him. “Kiss me.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I have to know if the Thing has come back yet.”

  He took her head in both hands and kissed her gently, warmly, as if she was precious and breakable. It was a very nice kiss, Abby thought—but It wasn’t there.

  Ned pulled back and studied her face. “No?”

  Abby shook her head—and burst into tears.

  Ned did the best he could do, taking her into his arms and holding her until she stopped sobbing. Occasionally he’d say quietly, “I’m sorry.”

  Eventually Abby pulled herself together and wiped her face. “Stop apologizing—you haven’t done anything wrong. And you went through the process with no problems. So this is my fault.”

  Ned didn’t answer right away. “There’s no fault involved, Abby. We both wanted to know more about this phenomenon. We did our homework—we didn’t just go in blind. MEG is non-invasive and safe enough for small children. I can’t recall any mention that anyone has been hurt by it, unless researchers are burying a heck of a lot of data.”

  “So I’m not just sort of abnormal, I’m really abnormal. Squared,” Abby muttered.

  “Abby, let’s take this one step at a time, okay? It just happened. Maybe it will reverse itself—today, or sometime soon. Maybe it never will, and it’s been erased from your brain. Would that be so awful?”

  “Will you still love me if that’s true?” Abby mumbled into his chest.

  “Of course I will. I fell in love with you, not your psychic powers, and we still haven’t figured out how big a part of you they are. Or were. I thought you weren’t sure you even wanted them.”

  “I wasn’t sure, but I’d like to have some say about whether I keep them,” Abby protested. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m upset. I’m also hungry. Can we go home and get some lunch and not gnaw on this for a while?”

  “Of course we can.”

  Wise man that he was, Ned kept silent on the drive back to Lexington. Abby spent the time trying to sort out what she felt. Her time in MEG had done something to her, she knew that much. But MEG hadn’t add
ed something, she’d taken it away. How was that even possible? A giant machine sucking neurons through her skull? Not happening. So It still might come back. Was that what she wanted? She had to admit she wasn’t sure. But she was pissed off that she hadn’t had time to explore it as fully as she wanted. Now that she knew that she wasn’t the only one to have it, it had become more important to her, and she wanted to see it through.

  If she could.

  Chapter 27

  Back in the kitchen at the house, Abby sat at the table and sulked. There was no better word for it. She was acting childish and she knew it. She’d had this shiny new psychic toy—even if it was one she hadn’t asked for and didn’t know what to do with—and now some meanie had taken it away. Or broken it. It wasn’t fair. She’d just been getting used to it and now it was gone.

  Ned wisely remained silent, making grilled cheese sandwiches.

  Which made Abby madder. Shouldn’t he be upset too? Okay, unreasonable again. But their relationship, from the first day, had involved the unexpected psychic abilities they shared. At first Abby had worried that he saw her as an interesting test case, and she’d been really annoyed when he told her that he had the same capabilities—after he’d been testing her for a while. She’d forgiven him for that. He was, after all, a scientist, and he couldn’t skew the experiment from the start. But it had hurt, just a bit.

  He’d more than made up for it since, hadn’t he? He’d helped her emotionally when she had sent Brad packing, but he hadn’t pursued a relationship with her until she had signaled that she was interested. And neither of them had anticipated the intensity of their physical responses to each other. Who could have? They’d both had some experience with other people, but they’d agreed from the start that what they had together was a whole different order of magnitude.

  And that part might be over now. She would really miss what they’d had.

  Which was not the point. She had had this thing; she had apparently lost this thing, thanks to MEG. Maybe that was temporary, or maybe not. She hoped that Kevin and Joe had collected enough data from Ned and from her to prove it existed in some physical way, although maybe not enough to work out the hows and whys of it. So in a way they knew more now than they had a few hours ago, but that still wasn’t a lot.

  That didn’t make Abby feel much better. Scientific research was well and good, but this was her life. This thing had already cost her a job she liked, and had made it more difficult to find another one. Maybe if she explained to Leslie that it was gone, Leslie would take her back at the museum? Not likely. Trying to help Ellie was more important than a paycheck. But maybe telling Leslie would inspire her to try and zap it out of Ellie, which would be wrong. Or that was what she thought. Leslie might see it differently.

  Ned set a plate with a golden-brown sandwich oozing melted cheddar cheese in front of her. He sat down opposite her with one of his own. “Something to drink?” he asked formally.

  “I bought some cider at the market,” she replied, equally stiffly.

  Ned got up, retrieved the cider from the refrigerator, found two glasses, and set them on the table. Then he resumed his seat. “Abby, we have to talk about this. We can’t ignore what happened.”

  “Why not?” Abby said bitterly. “Nobody would have believed that handy ability was there if we’d told them. If it’s gone now, nobody will either know or care.”

  “I care.”

  “Sure you do. Because with it, you get plenty of really hot sex.” Low blow, Abigail.

  “Abby, that’s not fair. You should know me better than that by now.”

  Abby took a moment to rein in her boiling emotions. Where the heck did those emotions reside in the brain? Near the psychic generator? She took a bite of her sandwich, stalling. Another bite. Damn, it was a good sandwich. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of taste. Or her hearing or vision or ability to walk and talk and remember. Could have been a lot worse, couldn’t it? She could have turned into a vegetable. But then, she wouldn’t know she was a vegetable, would she?

  She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Ned. I’m acting like a spoiled child whose new toy has been taken away. It’s going to take some getting used to.”

  “I know that,” Ned said.

  “And now I’m scared and angry and frustrated, and you’re the closest person around that I can take it out on.”

  “I know that,” Ned said.

  “And if you say that one more time, I’m going to throw something at you,” Abby threatened.

  “What do you want to do about it?” he asked.

  “You mean, other than whine about how unfair it all is? I don’t know.”

  “Well, I can give you space, leave you alone. Send you on a great vacation—alone—to some very exotic place where you’d have no associations with any departed relatives. Or we could sit down and make a plan. Or we could just wait and see if it comes back. And don’t even think about asking me how long we should wait—this is uncharted territory for both of us. I know that saying ‘wait and see’ is not a very satisfactory answer.”

  Abby looked down to see that she had finished her sandwich: her plate was bare. She drained her glass of cider. “Ned, make love to me.”

  “What? Now?”

  “You afraid I’ll bite your head off? Or that I’m using you for my own devious schemes?”

  “No, I don’t think that. My touching you was what precipitated this whole mess. Heck, maybe MEG was jealous and took it out on you. You’re hoping that a more intimate connection might jump-start it again?”

  “Something like that.” Abby watched his expression, trying to gauge his reaction.

  “How can I turn down such a romantic proposition?” he said, smiling—then raised one hand. “Before you get mad, I do understand. In the interests of science, of course. You want to do this right now?”

  “Why not? I have no other plans for the day.” She tried not to sound bitter.

  He stood up and extended a hand to her. Abby took it—hoping, hoping, but It wasn’t there. “Let’s go.”

  • • •

  They knew each other well enough to know what pleased them—physically. Ned was still treating her as something fragile, but even if he’d thrown her on the floor and ravished her, it wouldn’t have made a difference. The physical act was perfectly nice, thank you, but missing the fireworks she’d come to prize. Not that it was Ned’s fault—he did everything he could have done. When they were finished, when their breathing had slowed, Abby asked, “Was it different for you?”

  “Without the psychic connection? Well, yes. All the parts worked, but there was something missing. You?”

  “About the same.” Abby rolled onto her side so she could look at Ned directly. “If it doesn’t come back, should we call it quits?”

  “Abigail Kimball, do you really value yourself so little?” Ned said, his tone tinged with anger. “You’re a smart, capable, interesting woman. I could add a few more adjectives, but you get my drift. Just because this one small thing is gone doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You are not It. It was only a small part of you. Most of the world gets by just fine, in bed and out, without It. Satisfied?”

  Abby lay her head down on his chest, listening to his heart. “For now. So we’ll just wait and see.”

  Then she sat up abruptly. “Ellie and I are supposed to be painting the guest room tomorrow. Should I cancel that?”

  “Why? You think she likes you just because you both see dead people?”

  “Well, that’s part of it. But if my experience is limited, going forward, I won’t be as much help to her as she might need.”

  “Nobody else will be any better.”

  “Ned, if you’re going to have to take over that part of things, she’s going to have to know you’re her father. Leslie’s going to have to explain somehow.”

  “I know, Abby. But let’s not get into all of that right this minute, okay? Leslie and I need to talk. I know you think I’m just putting it off, and may
be I am, but only because I think it’s best for everyone involved. But if your . . . situation has changed, then we have to adapt to that. I simply have to avoid driving Leslie away and shutting down all avenues of communication.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you have all the painting supplies you need?”

  “I think so. I don’t expect to finish the job in one day, especially with those windows—lots of small panes and wooden bits. I think Ellie could finish the baseboards, and then I could start her on the doors, or at least the parts she can reach. From what I’ve seen, she’s careful, and she’s thorough, so she won’t get bored after fifteen minutes. But what should I tell her if she senses something different in me?”

  “You said you weren’t going to lie to her. You tell her it’s gone, and you don’t know if it’s coming back.”

  “How do I explain how it happened?”

  “You mean, we stuck your head in a machine and it fried whatever this thing is? That’s probably the wrong message for an eight-year-old child. But if she knows it can go away, maybe she’ll open up about how she feels about having It. You can just listen.”

  “That’s a good point, but it still feels a little dishonest. Of course, she’s come at it from a different direction: she’s always had it and known it. It’s the only way of seeing the universe that she knows. It’s only in the last couple of years that she’s come to realize that most other people are different. Look, all I want to do is help her. Make it easier for her to live her life.”

  “You do. You will.”

  “I hope so. Is Leslie dropping her off tomorrow?”

  “Yes, about ten, she said. That still work for you?”

  “Yes. Are you going to stick around? Not to paint, which is going to be our girly bonding experience, but just as general backup?”

  “If you want. I should be working on the storm windows anyway.”

  “You’ve found them all?”

  “Yes, in the basement. The problem is, they don’t all have glass or hangers or hooks to attach them. And most likely some are gone, or are too beat up to salvage. So I need to do some triage, and also figure out which one goes where. I hope earlier owners left some code or something.”