unbreakable extra content booklet

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Extra Content for anUnbreakable

Summer

Contents

Unbreakable: An AlternateBeginning

When She Found Me

Operation Monument

Unbreakable: An Alternate Ending



“Unbreakable: An Alternate Beginning” Copyright © 2013 byElizabeth Norris

“When She Found Me” Copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Norris“Operation Monument” Copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Norris

“Unbreakable: An Alternate Ending” Copyright © 2013 by ElizabethNorris

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in

part in any form.

This booklet and the content herein was created for promotionalpurposes only, not to be reproduced or sold under any

circumstances.



Unbreakable

An Alternate Beginning

By Elizabeth Norris



Commentary from Elizabeth:

This wasn’t the first beginning to Unbreakable, butit was the one I wrote during my first round of edits.

Both my editor and I wanted to show Janelle andCecily together—show what they’d gone throughin the months since the events at the close of

Unraveling, as well as the evolution of theirfriendship.

It ended up being cut in a later round of edits andreplaced with a different scene. My editor saidthat she loved this scene, but she was alsoworried it was taking too long to get into the real

action of the story.

Unbreakable in its first incarnation was over115,000 words, which is 13,000 words longer thanUnraveling, and I definitely wanted to keep thepage count down, so this scene had to go.



07:02:29:37

The golden sky, streaked with shades of pink and purple,

reflects off the rippling ocean waves, suggesting today is going

to be nothing short of magical. The air is cool with slivers of

warmth hitting my skin when I move into a direct path of

sunlight. The wind brushes through my hair, and I can taste thesalt from the ocean. It’s the kind of day that will stick in my

memory for years to come, a day I’ll look back on and

remember with a secret smile and a flush of happiness.

Oh wait. That’s just Cecily trying to brainwash me with her

eternal positive thinking.

It’s sunrise and I’m awake, standing on the edge of a precarious half-destroyed pier with two antique fishing rods

and no bait, all but waiting for one heavy gust of wind to topple

the pier and throw me into the fifty-degree salt water.

“What is your malfunction?” I ask.

Cecily looks up at me, a small smile on her face. With the

sun hitting her hair at this angle, she looks like she’s got some

kind of halo. “This is the bait,” she says, a ripped piece of gold

tissue paper in her hand.

“This is never going to work,” I say, but I sit down next to

her and grab a sparkly piece of paper and pierce it with my own

fishing hook anyway.

“It’s shiny,” she says, as if glitter and sparkles solve

everything.

The real problem here is that we don’t know what we’re



doing. Neither one of us has ever really done this, unless you

count the one time last summer when I went out on a boat with

my sort-of boyfriend and his friends under the guise that wewere going fishing—in reality, all we did was drink a few beers

and enjoy the sun.

Oh, and we’re too close to the coast. I don’t know if anyone

has ever caught a fish from Scripps Pier, like I said when

Cecily asked me—I mean forced me—to come along with her.

I’m pretty sure that the two of us are going to head home

empty-handed.

“Cast your line,” Cecily says excitedly, her legs dangling

over the end of the pier.

I give her a sideways glance. “You have any instructions

for how I’m supposed to do that?”

Cecily laughs. “I don’t know. By cast, I really mean just

throw it out there.”

“I see we’re just relying on what we’ve seen on television.”

She shrugs, undeterred by my clear lack of faith in our

abilities.

I cast my line in some hideous imitation of what I’mimagining it should look like, and it barely reaches the water.

Cecily claps her fishing pole against her hand and laughs, but I

just roll my eyes.

“I can’t believe you got me out of bed early for this.”

We both know I’m lying. Because as ridiculous as this

excursion might be, if we did manage to catch even one fish, itwould be worth it.

After the longest twenty minutes of my life stretch by,



Cecily feels something. Her eyes are wide, her pale skin

flushed, and she looks at me, mouth ajar, pointing to her line

like the fish might hear her and escape.“Reel it in!” I say, unable to keep the anxious smile from

my lips.

She nods and starts rapidly turning the wheel. The line

stretches taut and the pole bends a little under the weight of

whatever is on the other end.

“Here.” I lean over, steadying the pole so she can reel

faster.

I can tell as soon as the line breaks the surface of the water

that we haven’t caught a fish. Whatever’s on the line looks like

a dark blob, tangled with a few lines of seaweed. At least it’s

not some kind of old boot. A cliché this early in the morning

might do me in.

As she pulls it up, I stand and grab the blob. It’s wet and

soft under my hands, and once I manage to free it from the

hook and pull the seaweed off, I hold it up. “Congratulations,

Cee. You’re the owner of a not-so-brand-new water-logged

hoodie.”She frowns. “It looks too big for me.”

It does. It’s black, or maybe navy blue, and it’s clearly

made and cut for a guy. If anything it looks like something Ben

would wear.

Just with that thought, I can almost see him in it, the hood

pulled up casting a shadow over his already obscured eyes, afew loose wavy strands of his hair peeking through.

I throw the hoodie at Cecily.

She’s not expecting it so it hits her in the face with a wet



plop. She jumps up, sputtering salt water. “Thanks for that,”

she says. “And by thanks I really mean you’re a bitch.”

My throat is thick with thoughts of Ben, and I don’t trustmyself to say anything. Instead, I salute her. We both already

know I’m a bitch.

Cecily turns, looking out into the ocean. The wind pulls at

her loose strands of white blond hair and ruffles her long-sleeve

t-shirt. She clutches the hoodie close to her chest, and I don’t

point out that she’s getting the front of her clothes all wet,

because her blue eyes are glassy, and for once, she looks like

she’s close to breaking under all of the stress that’s been piled

on her shoulders the last few weeks.

It’s only natural. Even Cecily can only relegate negative

energy to the back of her mind and channel it into positive

thoughts and ideas for so long.

But she surprises me, because suddenly she closes her eyes

and lets loose a scream.

It’s wordless at first, like she’s letting out a meaningless

string of sound, but then she pauses for a breath, and screams as

loud as I’ve ever heard her, “I WANT A FISH!”When she looks over at me, I’m struck a little speechless—

which doesn’t happen all that often.

“This is what I do to relieve stress,” she says quietly.

“You scream?”

She nods, a smile pulling at her lips.

“At who?”She shrugs. “Whoever’s out there. Just the world I guess.”

She looks back out at the ocean and takes a deep breath, before

letting out another long scream. This time she’s just yelling



“FISH,” but it seems to go on longer than anyone should ever

have to yell.

When she’s finished, I say, “I think you might needtherapy,” which makes us both smile, because let’s face it, we

all need therapy at this point—even the therapists.

“This is good therapy,” Cecily insists. “You should try it.”

“No thanks. I’d prefer not to lose my voice.”

She throws the hoodie at me. I’m a better catch, but it still

manages to fling water against my shirt.

“Look out there,” Cecily says, “and think about everything

you’ve lost, everything that’s changed, and then just close your

eyes and let it all out.”

In case I needed another demonstration, she turns back to

the ocean, takes a deep breath, lets her arms out wide, and

closes her eyes. When she screams this time, it is wordless, but

somehow I don’t need words to know what she’s trying to say.

I feel it. Everything she’s lost—Alex, school, friends,

cheerleading, her dreams, any semblance of a normal life—I

feel her letting go of it all through her voice. The sorrow of it

seems to reverberate in my bones.Because I’ve been carrying it around with me too.



07:01:58:25

I look out over the waves. The sun is higher in the sky now and

breaking through the marine layer, and its orange glow reflects

off the water. Closing my eyes, I turn my face into the light and

feel the warmth against my skin. Even though I don’t want to, I

let myself remember.

It’s been a hundred and forty days since I died.

It was just past five, the end of my last shift of the summer,

and I had two flat tires and BITCH written across my

windshield in neon pink car paint. The next thing I knew, an

old pickup truck was flying at me, and the warmth of the

engine, the smell of locking brakes, and someone shouting my

name were the last things I remembered.

It’s been a hundred and forty days since my whole world

changed.

Because I didn’t stay dead. Ben Michaels healed me and

brought me back, and because of him I woke up from a living

coma and realized I had a second chance. I don’t know how ithappened, but with his dark, deep-set eyes, his floppy brown

hair, his hoodie and Chuck Taylors, and his sweet half smile,

Ben Michaels changed my class schedule, argued with me in

English, took me to Sunset Cliffs, and made me love him.

And then he left.

I push out the breath I’ve been holding. It comes out shaky,and emotion stings my eyes.

It’s been a hundred and thirty three days since my dad died.

Because he didn’t know what kind of case he’d stumbled upon.



And it’s been a hundred and twenty days since I solved his

murder, saved the world, lost my best friend, and watched Ben

walk through a portal and leave this world.And now the whole world has changed—for everyone.

Clutching the random hoodie against my chest, I let it all

out. My dad is still dead. There won’t be any more X-Files

marathons or bad SyFy movies. Alex is still dead—his blood

still stains the ground just outside Park Village, and he’s never

going to drag me to another terrible action movie with no plot.

He’ll never have the chance to defy his mother and go to West

Point instead of Stanford. He’s never going to follow his

dreams.

For that matter, neither am I.

Because even though I don’t know what my dreams are,

things like college and traveling the world are out.

And Ben still hasn’t come back.

I suck in a breath and ignore the warm tears that streak

down my cheeks. I just think of my dad, Alex, and Ben—how

much I miss them and how it isn’t fair that they’ve left me here

to carry this burden alone.When I let my breath out, it comes in the form of a scream.

Because it isn’t fair. I saved the world but lost so much of

what I loved about it.

I scream.

Until my breath is gone, my throat is scratchy, and my

voice is almost lost. It’s wordless and it’s loud, but Cecily isright.

Somehow in that moment, I almost feel free.



07:00:45:13

On our way home, with Cecily at the wheel, we fall into

silence. The kind that says it’s okay that we failed because we

accomplished something else—something better.

Maybe this day was a little magical after all.

As she drives, I lean my forehead against the window and

close my eyes so I don’t have to see the rest of the world go by.

“Don’t do that!” Cecily says, snapping her fingers at me.

“And by that , I mean that weird sad thing where you go all

quiet and depressed.”

“I thought you knew I was lame like that,” I say, but I pull

my head back and sit up straight. She’s bossy, but right.

Cecily smiles. “I know you better than you think, J.”

“Did you know cheerleading is sort of a dead sport?” I ask.

“I’m not sure you need to stay so peppy.”

She gasps and pretends to be offended, but I know she’s

not. We both had a first class ticket to seeing the world change.

Well, maybe it was just me who had the first class ticket, butCecily has seen the after-effects up close and personal, even if

she doesn’t know the actual cause.

I’m about to say something else, but ahead there’s a house

that’s half-standing with a sunken roof, and in front of it a few

people are milling around looking at an assortment of stuff laid

out on the dead grass.Cecily sees it too. “Oh, a yard sale! I wonder if they’ll have

any popcorn.”

I doubt they will, but I don’t say that. Cecily is currently



obsessed with all the popcorn left in the world, and nothing I

say will deter her. Plus, we would stop anyway. These yard

sales are for trades. People need something—usually medicineor food—and they’re willing to give up other material

possessions in order to get it.

Of course, not many people have medicine or food to spare.

But we do. There’s a case of water and an economy-sized bottle

of Aspirin in the back of the truck. I can’t give it all away, but I

can give these people something.

“It looks like they have books,” Cecily adds, as we crawl to

a stop. “Maybe they’ll have something for Jared.”

He needs a new book. We can only reread Harry Potter

and the Order of the Phoenix so many times. As he’s pointed

out, it’s the middle of the story.

I get out of the truck. A man wearing broken glasses

approaches us, but I let Cecily talk to him. She’s the friendly

one after all.

There are some old clothes and blankets off to the side, and

then a row of DVDs. I look at them just in case there’s

something X-Files. We lost our collector’s edition box set whenour house collapsed. Electricity is too spotty still to play DVDs,

but once it comes back, my brother will miss them.

The collection is mostly indie movies so I head for the

books. It’s a lot of literary stuff, a lot of classics, and not

necessarily the good stuff in my opinion. I know I should want

to preserve Moby Dick or Great Expectations, but I just can’tmake myself do it. Then I see a flash of a red and black book

cover.

I reach for it, and turn straight into some random guy. He



drops all of the books in his hands, and even though it wasn't

really my fault, I'm about to apologize. Only the words get

stuck in my throat.“Sorry about that. The danger of picking up too many mass

markets." He smiles and everything about him is the same. The

wavy brown hair, the deep-set dark eyes, the self-conscious

half smile.

I close my eyes and wonder if I’m imagining this, but when

I open them again, he’s still there.

It’s like I’ve conjured him out of thin air.

"Ben?" I whisper.



When She FoundMe

An Unbreakable Short Storyfrom Ben’s Perspective

By Elizabeth Norris




This excerpt takes place just past the halfwaypoint in Unbreakable (from 02:22:39:00).

I decided to write When She Found Me from Ben’spoint of view because during this scene inUnbreakable, he’s relatively silent—somethingthat Janelle, for one, didn’t understand. I wantedto have a moment where I could show readerswhat was going through his mind.



1

Regret is a powerful thing.

It starts as a flicker. Something harmless thatpasses through your mind.

If you’re lucky, that’s all it is.

Not me. It grew: starting as a stiffness in

between my shoulders, the involuntary clenching

of my jaw, a pang deep within my chest. It spread:

hardening in the pit of my stomach, flooding

through my whole body, stretching out to my

fingertips and cramping my toes.

At this point I can’t be still. Even when I'm not

pacing, my fingers shake.

She doesn't remember me. Janelle: it's been

days. Her injuries are healing finally, but her

memory still hasn't come back. She must have

some kind of brain damage. It makes sense.

Trauma to the head is the worst kind of injury, and

I read somewhere that it can cause memory loss,

the kind that might never come back.I rescued her, but I was too late.

That's not what I regret, though. It's that I ever

got involved with her at all.

Everything good that we shared: every touch,

smile, look. Every moment that she was happy

with me, it's like they've all been erased. We could

start over, fill the holes in her memory with new

ones, but that isn't the only thing she's lost.

She's different. She doesn't smile or laugh



when I make a bad joke. She doesn't have a

snappy comeback or roll her eyes when I say

something ridiculous. She doesn't want to talkabout her brother or her dad, and I'm pretty sure

she doesn't care when I talk about mine. She isn't

interested in going home and she won't even let

me talk about any kind of plan to right the wrongs

I've committed. It's like she's broken, and no

matter what I do or say, I can't seem to put her

back together again.

The worst is late at night. When she thinks I'm

sleeping, she lies on her cot and cries. They're

silent tears. I only know because I can hear the

hitching in her breaths and the way she sniffs

every few minutes. I listen to her sorrow and it's

like I’m being torn in two. I’m helpless. There’s

nothing I can do or say to fix this, and the

frustration of that burns in my chest.

The girl I love isn’t the same anymore. It's

enough to break a guy's heart.Because she’s lost the will to live and no matter

what I do, I don't seem able to give it back to her.



2

“J?” I say, keeping my voice low when I enter her

room.She doesn’t move at first and I’m not sure if

she’s sleeping or if she just wants to be left alone.

Either way, I don’t know what my response should

be.

Her leg shifts and I figure she’s awake. “You

really need to eat something.”

I’ve never been good with this. Eli was

depressed when we first fell through the portal. He

missed his family. He was my best friend and he

was devastated. I didn’t know what to do.

Now it’s Janelle, and I still don’t know how to

react.

With Eli, I promised him we would get back and

I took action. I gave him something to do. It didn’t

exactly fix him, but it kept him from getting worse.

As I come up beside her, Janelle pushes herself

up. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I gesture to thesoup. “No chicken noodle this time.”

She turns her eyes on me, and something in

her expression looks familiar. There’s hope in it,

and it’s like something is threatening to crack

open inside me.

“You said tomato is your favorite so I managed

to get some for you.” I don’t tell her how. If she

does remember me and everything we’ve been

through, she won’t want to know that I’m opening



portals and traveling through them despite the

instability.

I move to feed her the soup but she shakes herhead.

“I can do it.” Her voice is scratchy and quiet.

Even that doesn’t sound the same. Or it does,

because it’s her voice, but it’s too sad and timid

and lonely, even.

I hand her the soup.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her as she eats.

She doesn’t respond.

I don’t know if it’s because she can tell I don’t

believe what I’m saying or if it’s something else

entirely. It’s hard to know how to talk to her now

that she’s so silent.

“I have a plan,” I say. It’s the basic outline of a

plan at best, but that’s never stopped me before.

“I’m going to get you home to your family,

Janelle.”

She looks at me. Those brown eyes have lostthe fierceness that they’ve held for as long as I’ve

known her.

“I promise,” I tell her.

She nods and puts the bowl of soup aside.

She’s only had a few bites. “Ben. Tell me

something about us?”

I was going to tell her she should eat more, but

maybe telling her about us will help her

remember. “What do you want to know?”



She shrugs. “One of your favorite memories?”

I nod and take a second to think. There are so

many memories of her that I held onto when wewere apart. The feel of her lips, the taste of her

skin, the smell of her hair.

Somehow I doubt telling her about that night I

came to her house in the rain is the right memory.

I was covered in Eli’s blood, for one thing, and the

warmth of her skin as she pulled me into her

drove me wild. There should be a less stalker-ish

memory in there somewhere. Something more

normal that isn’t going to scare her.

“Our first date.” A smile comes over my face as

I think about it. She looked beautiful. Her hair was

down, she was just in jeans and a t-shirt.

“Where did we go?”

“Sunset Cliffs.” I lean back slightly, and for a

second I could swear that I can almost smell the

ocean from that day. “I was so nervous. I think I

told you that later, but I actually pulled into yourneighborhood twenty minutes early and then

drove around the block almost eighty times

because of it.”

Her lips curve upward the slightest amount and

I feel warm all over.

“I knew you loved Roberto’s. Everyone with

ears knew that was your favorite restaurant,” I

add. “I remembered how somebody, I think your

dad, brought you a carne asada burrito from there



on your birthday every year so I drove there first,

got us burritos and guacamole and chips because

that’s my favorite.”“Isn’t that everyone’s favorite?” she says.

She’s teasing me. I can’t hide the way that

makes me feel. My smile is practically big enough

to break my face.

“Then after driving around your block forever, I

pulled into your driveway. I was ready to come up

to the door and introduce myself to your dad, but

you came out before I had the chance.”

I want to laugh, thinking back to that day. “You

sort of ruined my surprise. I had flowers for you,

but I didn’t have a chance to grab them from the

backseat because you were so ready.”

“I must have been excited,” she says.

I want her to know. I wish she could tell me that

she was excited. Not just because I didn’t know

that, but because I want her to slip, to get some

sliver of memory back before she realizes it. That’s going to be the only way to save her.

“It’s okay, the flowers would have been overkill

anyway.”

“Flowers are never overkill,” she says. It’s not

what I would have expected from her, but I don’t

care. Mentally I make a note that the next time I

portal out for something, I will come back with

flowers in hand.

“I almost chickened out when you first got in



the car and just took you to a movie, but I knew

how much you loved the beach and there was so

much more that I wanted to know about you, andso much I wanted you to know about me, so I

thought watching the sun go down over the water

at Sunset Cliffs was perfect.”

It was. I wait for her to say it, but she doesn’t.

“This Linkin Park song was playing when you

got in the car,” I say. I swear I’ve read somewhere

that sound can sometimes trigger memories. “I

was nervous and I didn’t know exactly what to

say, but I looked at you and you smiled so I turned

it up and sang while we drove.”

She doesn’t ask me to sing it now, but I start

anyway. I’m not a good singer and we don’t have

the wind rolling through the windows or the radio

to help keep from going too off-key.

I don’t care though. If there’s a chance, no

matter how small, that this will help, I’m not going

to waste time feeling awkward about it. Janelle watches me, her lips pressed into a

small tight smile, and I try to do whatever I can to

make it bigger. I even imitate the guitar riffs and

the piano melody when there’s nothing to sing.

I’m fumbling my way through the second verse

when it happens. I don’t know the words so I’m

making them up, looking forward to just breaking

into the chorus, when the door hurls open and

something crashes through it.



Someone.



3

I don’t have time to be alarmed or think that IA

has somehow found us. I don’t have time towonder if Eli has managed to get away and find

me here like we’d planned before everything went

so wrong.

I just turn to the sound and see her.

The world stops.

That’s the only way I know how to explain it.

My mind stops working.

Everything halts. I stop breathing. My heart

doesn’t beat. The blood stops moving through my

veins. The room almost seems to pulse and then

blur out, and all I can see is what’s in front of me.

Janelle.

Her dark hair is piled on top of her head. Her

face is red. She’s wearing something around the

bottom of her face. It covers her nose and mouth.

Reaching up, she pulls it down, revealing

cracked lips.“Ben,” she breathes, and I can hear the smile

in her voice.

The sound kickstarts my heart again and life

comes rushing back to me, roaring through my

ears. Blood rushes to my head, and the rest of my

body goes cold. I’m dizzy with the sensation of it.

Janelle.

I say her name. It just slips off my lips, and

some invisible weight leaves my body. It’s her. Her



voice, her smile. Even the way she stands.

I can see it in her eyes.

Only, it can’t be her because …I look down at the bed, where Janelle lies back

against the pillows. I don’t know what I expected,

but she’s still here.

I don’t know how to make sense of it.

It’s like my brain has just exploded or my life

has just stopped its forward momentum. I can’t

hear or think or even exhale. I don't know if

anyone says anything. There's white noise in my

ears, getting louder as I try to make sense of what

I'm seeing.

Somehow a question seems to surface. I don’t

think it, the way I normally would. It’s like it scrolls

in front of me, in bright neon flashing letters.

What have you done?

“I never would have believed this shit.” In the

back of my brain, which must still exist, something

recognizes that the voice sounds like Eli, but Ican’t look. I don’t know how to move anymore.

I’m not sure what the Janelle on the hospital

bed sees on my face, I’m not sure I have a face

anymore, but she reaches towards me and puts

her hand on my arm. It’s a light touch, meant to

be comforting I think, and it’s one of the first times

she’s actually made the effort to touch me. I

should relish in it, but right now it feels all wrong.

Because I’m realizing Janelle, this one, doesn’t



remember me because we’ve never met.



4

Time unfreezes and the ability to think rushes

back to me.I jump to my feet and step back from the bed.

Turning around, I realize Janelle, the girl I love,

who was right here, is gone now.

That was her, though. She knew me.

More than that, I knew her. The way she stood,

the expression on her face, the cadence of her

voice: that was the girl I fell in love with four

months ago. All those little things that I couldn't

quite put into words before, that girl had them.

This one doesn't. I look down at the girl in this

bed, the one I rescued and brought here. She is

Janelle, she's just not mine.



5

I try to go after her.

Eli is in the doorway, staring at the bed. Hesays something to me, but steps aside, and I move

past him.

We’ve been best friends for as long as I can

remember. He’s still going to be here later, no

matter how long it takes Janelle to understand.

He’ll forgive me if I don’t ask him what he’s doing

here or how he got out.

As I push through the door, though, I almost

walk into someone else.

Interverse Agent Taylor Barclay.

I should be worried that IA is here, but I don’t

care. My only thought is that he has something to

do with this, that he’s been with her. For how

long? He’s been taking care of her when that

should have been me, while I was here with the

wrong girl.

“Ben,” he says, holding a hand up and steppinginto my path.

“I have to go after her,” I say, trying to move

around him.

He shakes his head. “You’re going to need to

give her a minute.”

I ignore him, but again, he steps into my way.

“Trust me,” he says. His hands grip my arms,

holding me in place. “I know her, and you bursting

in there to explain isn’t going to help.”



Something about that burns my stomach and I

push his hands off me.

He pushes me this time, and Eli is at my back,only he’s pulling me back.

“Stop,” Agent Barclay says. “Look IA is after us.

Her too. If we can’t work together we’re all going

to die. The last thing she needs right now is to be

too distraught to be on her game.”

“I just have to explain,” I say.

“Explain what?” he says.

I don’t respond. I don’t actually know what my

explanation is. How do I tell her that I didn’t know

it wasn’t her?

“That you thought it was her. That you saved

her and brought her here and took care of her,

because you thought it was her? She knows that,

but you need to give her the chance to let it get

through her emotions.”

I shake my head. “I need to—”

“No,” he says. “Stay here, figure out whatyou’re going to say to her, and give me a chance

to get her to pull herself back together.”

I don’t want to stay here while he goes to her.

It should be me. I should be the one by her side,

the one to make her feel better, but something

about what he says makes me feel sick to my

stomach. What am I going to tell her? If he’s here,

if he’s right about IA looking for us, for her, we

could only have days left.



I relax, letting myself exhale. Then I nod.

Eli’s presence at my back slides away, and

Agent Barclay turns his back to me.As he walks away, I realize how stupid I've

been. I should have known. Even if they looked

the same, there were all sorts of alarm bells going

off in my mind and in my heart telling me there

was something about this girl, something that

suggested she wasn't the same as the one I loved.

I was just too stupid to put it all together.

“Don’t worry, dude,” Eli says. “I’ve already

forgiven you for leaving me in that shit prison.

She’ll get over this in no time.”

I look at Eli. "I should have known." He stares at

me for a long time before giving me a shrug. It's

half-hearted, even for him. I nod, and pull in a

deep breath. "I'll make it up to her, somehow."

"You will," he says, even though I wasn't really

talking to him.

He’s right, though. I will.Because I have to.



Operation:

Monument

An Unbreakable Short Story

from Barclay’s Perspective

By Elizabeth Norris



Commentary from Elizabeth: After the release of my digital novella, Undone,the lovely Jaime Arnold of TwoChicksonBooks.comtold me she wanted a scene from Barclay’s pointof view. I told her I’d have to see what I could do,but on the inside I couldn’t think of a good storyfor him to tell.

Then a few weeks later, I suddenly knew exactlywhat I would write.

Barclay is a character with a unique perspective.Unlike Janelle—or anyone else—he comes from aworld where he grew up believing in interversetravel. He understands the multiverse and how itworks. He’s also in charge, and he’s the kind of guy who knows more than he lets on.

All of this meant it would be fun to show hisperspective, because he could add so much depthand commentary. As a result, these are his notes,leading up to his involvement in Unbreakable.

They’re what Janelle would jokingly call his diary.



Date: 1/12/2013

Time: 20:53 GMT -5

Status: Mission Aborted

Eric is dead.

Operation Pale Sparrow is a bust.

I was right when I told him that the most innocent

sounding missions are always the worst. He didn’t believe

me. Just laughed it off. Now he’s dead.It was supposed to be a case of a missing girl. At

worst a dead girl, since missing girls can quite typically

end up that way.

It all started with an ex-pat:

Jonah Watkins was exiled fifteen years ago. He was

former government, a guy trying to climb the ranks of

New Prima.

He was also an idiot.

Damn guy got caught trying to bring in goods from

other worlds without paying the tax, something we take

very seriously. He faced up to 15 years. He was a softguy so he chose exile instead.

We moved his whole family to Earth 01456. It was

primitive but not unlivable—better than he deserved.

He’s still got family here in Prima though, and

occasionally they’d apply for the right Visa to go visit. Two

weeks ago his brother came back from a visit early andreported Jonah’s fourteen-year-old daughter was missing.

Tracey Linn Watkins.

Pale skin, fair hair, wide eyes, long face.



Wouldn’t normally be a case for IA but the

circumstances were weird. There were signs of a

struggle, but no trace of where she could have gone. Nobroken locks, no tire tracks, alarm still armed. No one

outside the house saw anything. It was like she just

blipped out of existence.

Add to that the fact that their house was in the middle

of a big soft spot and we knew something could be up.

It wasn’t exactly the kind of case Eric and I were usedto, but Jonah’s brother—Trip Watkins—he’s a big shot,

and he wanted the best on this case.

That’s how Pale Sparrow was born.

We were going to find Tracey Linn Watkins and bring

her back.

Eric and I are the best. Or we were. Now it’s just me.

Sweet little Tracey and the guy who nabbed her

weren’t supposed to be hard to find. Just a few tests to

judge the residue in the atmosphere from the portal that

had been opened and follow its resonance to wherever

it’d lead.The soft spot made it difficult, and so did the fact that

it’d happened months before it’d been brought to us, but

we pumped Jonah for some leads and started checking

the files for similar cases.

That’s where things went belly up. The more we

looked into it, the more we started to see connections.Other people missing. Similar cases, unsolved, and not

just from Earth 01456, but from all over.

It became clear this was bigger than just Tracey, the



pale sparrow.

Eric requested a team to further investigate and wrote

up the report.He always did. It’s not the way most guys work with

their partners. Some of them alternate depending on the

case, and others always pass it off to the one without the

seniority, but Eric was good at the paperwork, and that

isn’t my forte. He wasn’t too proud to do it because he

knew he’d get it done faster. That’s why we got along.Then the Director himself called us in. We met in the

conference room on the top floor of the building, and the

heads of all the major departments were there.

Our instincts were right—this wasn’t just a missing

persons case, but an interversial human trafficking ring.

The Director was making it top priority and putting just

about everyone on it.

Everyone except us.

He took us off because he said they had a suspect:

Ben Michaels.

I didn’t believe it. Neither did Eric.We said so and the Director dismissed us. He had

intel, he said, and we were too close to the case.

“I’ll talk to him.”

That’s what Eric said. I ranted in the elevator, swore

up a storm, even kicked the door. He just put a hand on

my shoulder, said those words, and an understandingpassed between us. Because Eric was a valued guy.

People listened to him.

I thought he’d fix it.



Those were the last words he said to me.

This morning I woke up around noon, which is status

quo for me on Saturdays. I had a message calling me intothe Director’s office. When I got there, he personally

delivered the news.

“Eric Brandt died this morning.”

I didn’t believe him at first. I laughed.

“He drowned in his bathtub. It’s a terrible accident.”

He handed me a report.I barely digested the words as I read them. A slip and

fall, blunt force trauma to the back of the head, consistent

with his body position. He lost consciousness and

drowned when the water rose over his head.

I didn’t believe a word of it.

“Take a few days off, Taylor.” I tried to protest. “You

can look at the scene yourself.”

So now I’m here. In Eric’s bathroom. The blood from

his head hitting the tile wall is still here. The shower rod is

dislodged from the wall, and everything looks the way

that it should.But for some reason I can’t shake the feeling that it

isn’t right.

A guy like Eric, who’s put away more people and

closed more cases than anyone in IA history, he wouldn’t

just slip and fall. If he did, it wouldn’t take him out. He’d

survived multiple gunshots and come back from a portalburn that’d almost debilitated his right arm.

He was supposed to go out better than that. He

deserved it.



I head to the kitchen and grab the scotch from the

cabinet above the fridge. Not the every day stuff or even

the good stuff that we used to toast every time wecompleted another mission. I go for the unopened bottle

that he got from the Governor six years ago for exposing

a terrorist threat within New Prima. A bunch of

environmentalists planned to bomb headquarters and try

to shut down interverse travel. Eric stopped them, almost

single-handedly.He was saving the scotch for something big,

something worth celebrating. I’d asked him one time

about it, and he told me it was for when he did something

worthy of a monument. Those are my words. He was

more eloquent about it, talking about how he wanted to

be heroic, but the words don’t matter when they mean the

same thing.

They certainly don’t matter now.

There won’t be any monuments erected in Eric’s

honor. Not now that he’s dead.

I fill a glass too full, sit on his couch like I have somany times before, and then I drink it straight from the

bottle.

It’s good. Doesn’t even burn on the way down, but it

still makes my eyes water and my body heavy.

The last time I cried, I was five and my brother

accidentally broke my nose. He teased me about cryinguntil I punched him and made his nose bleed, too.

This time, I’m alone, and there isn’t anyone I can

punch in the face in order to feel better.



Date: 1/15/2013

Time: 19:38 GMT -5

Status: Bored and Suspicious

I’ve been slammed with desk duty.

I get it. My partner and mentor is dead. Plus I screwed

up royally on our last big mission. We were too close to

decimating an entire universe—too close to watching two

of them implode on each other. On top of that, I let twowitnesses who were guilty of infractions go home rather

than bringing them into IA. Sure, Eric said it was his

judgment call, but he isn’t here now.

That’s not the real reason I’m on the desk, though. No

one will say it out loud, but I’m here, working through

stacks of old paperwork and filing because I’ve made it

clear that I don’t think Ben Michaels is behind a human

trafficking ring. He doesn’t have the resources or the

brains, in my opinion. Not to mention the fact that the set

up for an operation like this alone would have taken him a

lot longer than just a few months.“You still here?”

It’s Hayley. I grunt rather than answer her. She’s

partnered up with Jimmy Mason, who’s okay if you like

‘em skinny and loud and obnoxious. Now she’s working a

real case and I’m stuck here like a glorified analyst.

“I know you’re an overachiever, but that paperworkwill still be there tomorrow. Come to dinner with me.”

I shake my head and make a lame excuse for why I

can’t without looking her in the eyes. It would be hard to



turn her down if I was looking at her. We did dinners—

and a lot more—before, and it was a mistake. She feels

too much.When she’s gone, the floor is empty. Everyone is

either off for the night, out on an assignment, or

downstairs in the situation room.

Hayley was right. This paperwork isn’t about to go up

in flames.

But that’s not why I’m here.I slide my chair over to Eric’s computer and log in with

his ID. It’s an offense that could get me fired—using

someone else’s ID—but Eric wouldn’t have minded if he

was alive, and now that he’s gone he’s certainly not going

to care.

Lucky for me, our IT department is so backed up, it’ll

be weeks before they discontinue his information.

I log in easily and open up his op notes folder.

No one will tell me anything about Operation Blue

Fire, which is the official name for the Ben Michaels

human trafficking case. I’m not sure if Eric managed totalk to the director or not, but he was going to try to pull

up some intel we could use to make our case.

I still don’t know. The op notes folder is empty.

All his notes and reports are gone.

And that wouldn’t have come from IT. If they’d gotten

rid of anything, it would have been his whole username,and all the op notes would have automatically been

copied to the server. That’s IT protocol.

The only reason they would be gone is if someone



deleted them.

I’m not IT or anything, but I blew through advanced

computer engineering at North Point. I know how toretrieve what’s been erased.

It takes me a good twenty minutes, but when I’ve

restored all Eric’s files, I go into his history.

If someone deleted files—even if it was Eric—the last

few things that were open have to be valuable.

No one deletes an entire folder of op notes if theydon’t want to hide something.

At first I don’t understand what I’m seeing.

The most recent file—it’s dated 1/12/2013 at 9:45 a.m.

Two hours after Eric’s time of death.

What’s worse is what it says.

It’s a report claiming Ben Michaels is a viable suspect,

one who’s considered armed and dangerous, that I’ve

been compromised by personal feelings, and that

includes a list of possible targets to bring into IA to assure

Ben’s cooperation once captured.

At the top of the list, it says Janelle Tenner.



Date: 1/16/2013

Time: 00:17 GMT -5

Status: Stakeout

I leave from my apartment.

My building is shielded, I’ve removed the tracking

device from my quantum charger and because I’m

portaling into a soft spot, it’s not likely to register on

anyone’s radar.Unless of course someone’s watching my building. If

they are, I’ll have to deal with the fall out later. Next time I

do this, though, I’ll be more careful.

Earth 19402 is quiet and dark.

I’m not surprised. The electricity will probably be out

for months, maybe even years unless they can get their

act together.

The time zone here is three hours behind my

operating time, but it might as well be past midnight.

There’s hardly any sign of life. No one is outside.

Everyone’s tucked away in their houses, apartments, or even barracks.

A flicker of candlelight is the only thing that singles out

Janelle’s bedroom.

I know it’s hers because Eric and I were each here a

few times to do follow ups and keep tabs on how things

were progressing.What I need to know now is if she’s there.

After seeing the report, I looked up each of the

targets. According to logs at The Piston, one of IA’s more



infamous prisons, all of them were in holding cells in

solitary confinement. That sounds harsh, though it could

easily be explained away—solitary keeps them from thereal criminals.

I’ve already decided someone in IA is dirty. There’s an

inside man, a mole, who’s been bought out by the

trafficking ring. That’s the only way to explain Eric’s

computer and the report.

It turns my stomach to think about it and to wonder who it could be, so I don’t. I focus on what I need to do in

order to stop them.

The first step is Janelle.

Even if Eric wasn’t dead, he wouldn’t have written that

report. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t something in

there that was true.

I’m not as emotionally detached as I should be.

Eric knew that, but he wouldn’t have called me out to

the director.

He thought it was a good thing.

Having something to lose made me smarter, that’swhat he’d said three months ago when we wrapped the

case and brought back Reid Suitor’s body.

A silhouette moves to the window, and I know it’s her.

The outline of her face, the ponytail—I recognize them

and exhale. She leans against the wall, looking outside.

There’s nothing to see because it’s too dark, but I don’tthink that’s the point. She’s seeing something in her mind:

the way the world had been, the devastation, or the way

she wants it to be in the future. I can’t be sure which.



I like her.

I didn’t at first. I thought she was some spoiled self-

absorbed teenage girl who should be out shopping withDaddy’s credit card and out of my way.

I’m not exactly sure what it was that changed my

mind.

Maybe it was the way she slipped out of my car and

pretended she belonged at the crime scene the night that

a portal spiraled out of control and ripped through thathouse. She looked a little pale at the end of the night but

she managed to keep the contents of her stomach down.

Or it could have been the way she tried to blackmail

me for information after her father died. Or that she was

the one who solved our case. We had dead-end leads

until she tipped her hand and accidentally told me what

she knew.

Actually it might have been the way she looked into

my eyes, pointed her gun at me, and flicked off the

safety. There was no doubt in my mind that she’d shoot

me if she thought she needed to. Consequences bedamned.

She was like me.

I could respect that. She had attitude, confidence, and

the intelligence to back them both up.

She leaned into the light, and for a split second I

caught a glimpse of her face and the dark shine of her hair, and then the candle flickered out.

She’s here. Which means, if they have a Janelle

Tenner in custody, it’s not the right one.



I don’t know exactly what that means, but I know I

need to keep it that way.

Briefly, I debate whether I should tell her, but I nix theidea almost immediately. Explaining what I know of the

situation will only distress her. I don’t have a plan of

action, and there’s nothing I can tell her to do.

She doesn’t need to know. At least … not yet.



Date: 1/18/2013

Time: 03:44 GMT -5

Status: Committed

Hayley screams when I wake her. “Are you out of your

mind?” She throws her pillow at me and I let it hit me in

the face.

I might very well be out of my mind.

“You’re lucky I don’t sleep with my gun. I could haveshot you for sneaking into my bedroom.”

I bet Janelle sleeps with her gun. The thought flickers

through my mind before I can stop it.

“What do you want, Taylor?”

I sit on the edge of Hayley’s bed and after a few

seconds, I just spit out what I’m thinking. “I need to know

if I can trust you.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Of course you can.”

I tell her about Eric’s computer: the deleted files and

the false report written and submitted after his death.

Then I start to tell her my theory: there’s a mole in IA andBen Michaels is a convenient scapegoat with an ability IA

is afraid of.

“Please tell me you don’t actually believe that,” she

says. “When’s the last time you slept?”

I tell her the truth, that it’s been a few days, but I

interrupt her before she can tell me I don’t know what I’mtalking about.

“Just think about it. I know how it looks, but Hayley,

this is the real thing.”



“Eric is dead.” Her voice is soft but firm. “Taylor,

you’re not sleeping, you got kicked off your case and put

on desk duty. You’re bored so of course you’re seeing aconspiracy when it’s not there.”

I shake my head. “I’m not making this up.”

She touches my face, her fingers warm against my

skin, but somehow it feels wrong and I slide away,

pushing to my feet.

“You can trust me,” she says, but I don’t believe her this time. I haven’t even told her the worst part.

I’ve committed treason.

Things that won’t just get me fired, but could get me

executed.

I logged into Eric’s account in the middle of the night,

and I changed every reference to Janelle and her earth

from all of Eric’s and my reports. If they actually want to

find her, they won’t be able to. I’ve also stolen the

blueprints of the Piston and hacked into confidential

psych files for just about everyone in IA who has a higher

clearance than Eric did.The mole has to be someone high up.

“Taylor, are you listening?”

I don’t answer.

“You can trust me, but I’m not going to get caught up

in whatever conspiracy you’re chasing. You should let

this go, take time off, and grieve. You’re allowed to behuman.”

I nod, like I agree with her, but I wonder if she sees

through it. I turn to her, and in her face, I’m pretty sure I



see that she can tell she’s lost me.

Hayley is wonderful. She’s smart, funny, beautiful. I’ve

known her for years. My family loves her. But I don’t, notthe way she loves me at least, even though I’ve tried. I

wonder if I’m capable of love.

It was selfish of me to come here, to put her in

danger, to pull her into this, when I can’t give her what

she deserves.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t put you at risk like this. If it’s just a theory, it could cost us our jobs. If it’s not …”

It isn’t what she wants to hear, but she doesn’t

disagree. I let myself out.



Date: 1/22/2013

Time: 09:30 GMT -5

Status: Game Changer

The assistant to the deputy director assigns me the new

operation.

Operation Starlight:

Find and arrest Janelle Tenner E 19238, charged with

suspicions of aiding and abetting the terrorist BenMichaels E 19317. Deliver her to IA headquarters for

questioning.

There’s a packet of notes, including the most likely

places to find her as well as the information about her

and her home world. I don’t need to read it. For a couple

reasons. First, I wrote most of it. Second, any information

worth reading in there is deliberately wrong, including

her.

The Janelle in love with Ben Michaels is from Earth

19402. She doesn’t exist on Earth 19238, which will give

me some time to figure out what we’re going to do.I look up from the packet at the assistant to the deputy

director. “She hasn’t been helping him. Sources suggest

they haven’t even had any contact since he portaled

home.”

“I just issue the orders.” He shrugs and reminds me

why I’ve never much liked Max Tillson. He’s a paper pusher without any real ambition. He’s in his fifties,

already counting the days until he can retire, assisting a

guy twenty years younger than he is.



Rather than argue with him when it isn’t going to

matter, I nod like I’m going to follow through and get up.

As I’m coming out of the office, I run into DeputyDirector Struzinski who’s got a cup of some kind of

gourmet coffee that makes my mouth water.

“Barclay,” he says, offering me his hand. “I’m sorry

about this.”

I wait for him to say more. I used to be in awe of

Struzinski. After North Point, I was compared to him a lot—the guy who flew up the ranks the fastest before me.

The youngest deputy director IA has ever had. He and

Eric were friends, drinking buddies before they got older

and life got in the way.

“Starlight,” he says. “I know how much you want to get

off the desk. I pushed your CO to give you something

productive. This is the only way I could get you involved

in the case.”

I nod. “Anything’s better than the desk.”

He smiles. “You’re telling me. If my wife wasn’t so

anxious, I never would have let them pull me out of thefield.”

I don’t tell him that’s a good enough reason as any to

not have a wife. Or that maybe he picked the wrong wife

if she can’t handle his job. It’s his business, not mine.

It occurs to me that ever since meeting the deputy

director’s double on Earth 19402, for some reason I likethe real Struzinski less. I can’t pinpoint why exactly.

Maybe it’s him, or maybe it’s a lingering dislike for his

double, or maybe it’s just that the experience is messing



with my mind.

Seeing doubles is a job hazard that can have serious

consequences. It’s why we’re required to see a shrinkonce a week for an hour once we’re in the field.

“Thing is,” I say carefully. I gesture to the operation

notes in my hand. “I thought we already had her.”

“No,” Struzinski says. “One of her doubles was

arrested for possession with the intent to distribute, and

she was questioned, but turns out it's not the real girl.” Hepauses. “Look, I’ve read your report. I know you thought

highly of her. Chances are, she doesn’t actually know

anything. With a case like this, we just need to double

check.”

I want to tell him that’s not necessary, that I’ve kept

tabs on her. But I don’t. For some reason I feel like I need

to keep the information to himself.

Someone in IA is testing me. After what happened to

Eric, my loyalty is in question.

Until I know who’s involved, I can’t trust anyone.

Not even if I think they’re innocent.



Date: 1/24/2013

Time: 14:41 GMT -5

Status: Weighing Options

I have two options:

1. Bring her in and keep trying to crack the case.

2. Ruin my career by declining the mission.

I’m not going to do either.

I put my sunglasses on and pull the baseball caplower on my head. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I

walk out into the fray of people.

They’re in line for water and canned food—rations that

the military is dispersing to the remaining civilians.

At the front, guarded by four soldiers, Janelle and

another girl, a young blond, are handing out the supplies.

As they should be, her movements are mechanical, her

responses succinct. Everyone gets the same equal

share. She isn’t swayed by the range of emotions they

show her. Tears, anger, pleading, even niceties—none of

it moves her. She must have seen enough of all that.Last night, at my desk, it occurred to me I might be

able to create a third option.

Janelle can help me crack the case. That means I

can’t bring her in. She wouldn’t be much help if she was

in holding in solitary confinement in the Piston. Unless of

course I could get her out.That’s when I started to come up with the plan. My

own operation. The one where Janelle would help me

solve this human trafficking case and find the mole in IA.



The one where we’d have to go rogue and work against

the organization I’d dedicated my life to.

It was crazy. The more I thought about it, the crazier itseemed. I’d have to be a lunatic to go through with it.

That’s what Eric would have told me.

True, he wasn’t always a "play by the rules guy"—you

can’t be a play by the rules guy if you want to be great.

Greatness comes with rule breaking. You have to take

big risks to have big rewards.But breaking a few operation rules here and there and

working against an IA mission are two very different

things. Eric would never have committed treason. At

least, not what I’m thinking about doing. Not the kind

that’s punishable by execution.

Watching Janelle as she gives orders to marines a

few years her senior, I know she might be just what I

need.

The person I can trust.



Date: 1/24/2013

Time: 21:43 GMT -5

Status: Operation Monument

I follow her the rest of the day, looking for an opportunity

to approach her. A few times I think she sees me or that I

might have an opening, but something always gets in the

way.

So I follow her home.Her brother answers the door. He’s grown in the four

months that have passed since I’ve been in the same

room with him. He looks a little more like their dad, who

was a good guy.

Jared recognizes me and starts to ask what I’m doing

here or something, but I don’t have time for him to play

grown up. I kick the front door open all the way, grab him

by the shoulder and push myself behind him.

I see her. Janelle moves into the hallway facing us.

The expression on her face makes me smile. I can tell

she’s trying to think of all the different ways she’s going tomurder the intruder who has her brother—me.

The sunlight is behind me so I kick the door shut.

“What’s the matter, Tenner? You look like you’ve seen a

ghost.”

She puts her hand on the wall, relaxing slightly, before

she remembers that I haven’t always been on her side. And I still have something that belongs to her.

“Why don’t you head upstairs, kid?” The easiest way

to diffuse her is to get him out of the situation.



When he’s gone, I lift my hands and take a step

towards her. It’s good to see her again, to be in the same

room with her. I’d forgotten how invigorating she couldbe.

“Tenner, relax. Just here to talk. I didn’t mean to

startle you.”

“So you come to my home and scare my brother,” she

says. She’s clearly pissed.

That’s the moment I know. Lunatic or not, this willwork. I’m without a partner and she’s the only person who

could replace Eric and manage to work with me. I just

have to convince her that I’m right.

So I don’t tell her that her brother is a big boy and she

should stop sheltering him. I shrug and say, “I knocked.”

She folds her arms across her chest and gets to the

point. Another thing I appreciate about her. “What do you

want?”

This will be the greatest risk that either of us have

ever or will ever take. Nothing would be bigger than this.

Which means if we pull it off, it would be the greatestaccomplishment of our lives. This is epic career making,

monument style shit.

Screw Operations “Starlight" and “Pale Sparrow” or

whatever name IA would assign to what we’re about to

do. I’ve never liked those stupid names. I used to tell Eric

all the time that we should just once have an OperationGet Shit Done.

So that’s what this will be. It’s a suicide mission. A do

or die.



It pains me to admit the truth, but I do.

“I need your help,” I say.

This is my Operation Monument.



Unbreakable

An Alternate Ending

By Elizabeth Norris




This isn’t so much a different ending, as it is anextra ending. It’s the chapter that would comeafter the final chapter in Unbreakable.

Many people have asked, and as of right now, Ihave no plans to release another book in theUnraveling series. This is the ending I want for Benand Janelle. They’ve been through so much—they’ve lost people they shouldn’t have had tolose.

I want this to be their happily ever after.

While I’m flattered and thrilled whenever someoneasks if there will be another book for them,“happily ever after” doesn’t make good fiction. It’sthe stress, the tension, the moments when you’renot sure that they’re going to make it, that makeyou keep turning pages to find out if they do.

That said, if I had to peek into their future andwrite more of their story, this is what I’d see.



The ceremony is not short.

In fact, if anyone had bothered to run the schedule by me or ask my opinion, I would have said it was too long by at least

three hours. No one did.

It's also too crowded.

Every Prima politician and IA official is here, every

photographer and journalist, and thousands of people are

huddled together watching us from the lawn below. It's

impossible to make out anyone's faces. So despite the fact that I

know Jared and Struz and Cee are all out there, being

supportive and most likely cold—I don't know where they are. I

can't help it, that makes me fidgety. They're out there, watching

me on some kind of ridiculous jumbo-tron, and I'm stuck

staring into a sea of faceless colors, hoping all the flashes don't

blind me before this thing finally ends.

The breeze kicks up, moving through my hair, and I shiver

and fight the urge to hug my arms around my chest or jump a

few times to boost my heart rate. Just because a few days ago

the season had technically changed from winter to spring,doesn’t mean the weather got the memo.

It's been sixty-seven days since I was last here. On Prima.

Somehow while I was back home, it was easier to forget

everything that happened. What we'd been through, what had

happened—who we'd lost. There was so much to do, so much

to focus on to get everything back together again, that there

wasn't the time to look back and reflect.

Now, it feels different.

It's like something is wrapped around my heart and it's



tightening, slowly but steadily. And I don't know how to stop it.

Robert Barnes, who's officially just been named the new

Director of IA, stops speaking and turns to us. I shift my weightand try to keep my face blank. The crowd cheers as he reaches

out to Elijah, shaking his hand. Ella Manderlay, one of the

high-ranking officials in Prima’s aristocracy leans forward,

tying a medal around his neck.

Ben is next.

IA was quick to thank all of us and throw a medal our way,

once the story of what happened got out. Not that I can

complain, Ben and Elijah deserve something. I do too, I guess.

It’s just that a medal doesn't really change anything. It

doesn't heal Elijah’s leg or cure any of us of the nightmares.

It doesn't bring people back from the dead.

Next to me, Hayley steps forward. The roar from the crowd

picks up. She's wearing her official IA dress uniform, with her

black hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. They

easily recognize her as one of their own. It doesn't hurt that

she's young and pretty, either. Her eye makeup is dark, and her

eyes are glassy.Robert leans in and whispers something in her ear. She

looks down, and her shoulders quiver.

I know how she feels.

When it’s my turn, the crowd gets even louder. People rise

to their feet. It doesn’t seem real. This adulation should be for

someone else.I step forward anyway, keeping my shoulders back, my

eyes straight ahead, fixed on an invisible point where I can look

at nothing and see everything at the same time.



Robert’s hand is warm and rough as it clasps my own. He

speaks in a low voice. “Have you thought about what I said?

We wouldn’t be here without you.”I know what he wants from me, and I’ve already decided to

give in. Because I have thought about what he said. It’s true

that even more people would have died if I hadn’t been crazy

enough to do the things I did, and this medal and his words are

a gesture of goodwill. But I can’t help myself when I respond,

“A lot of people aren’t here anyway.”

His face flushes with color, and he steps back as Ella moves

into his place. I lean my head down and her arms come around

me. The ribbon catches a few stray strands of my hair, but I

ignore the pinch.

“Thank you, Janelle,” Ella says.

As I straighten, the medal falls against my chest. The Gold

Star is heavy and cold. I know it’s IA’s highest honor, but it

feels like just another dead weight I have to carry.

I step back in line next to Hayley, my left arm brushing

against Tomas Barclay’s.

He accepts the Memorial Gold Star on his brother’s behalf.He handles the uproarious display from the crowd, and

Robert’s soft words as well as can be expected. I’m close

enough to see the tightness in his throat, the exaggerated way

that he swallows, as if he’s trying to digest the emotions

threatening to overwhelm him.

They don’t look much alike. At least, not to me. Tomas isslightly taller and thinner, and despite the similarities in their

facial features, the Barclay I knew had an insolence to his

smile, an arrogance to his expressions that his brother just



doesn’t have.

Robert moves back to the podium. “We stand here today

because of the actions of these four individuals and a fewothers. It was because of Agent Taylor Barclay that we’ve

rooted out the corruption within our own ranks, and we stand

ready to re-dedicate ourselves to serving and protecting our

own world.”

It’s not his words that make it happen. It’s some kind of

weird combination of the tears I’ve refused to shed since I got

home and the fact that Hayley and Tomas won’t let anyone see

them cry.

I think of Barclay and what he expected of this moment. I

wonder if this is it. Would he want someone to throw

themselves to the ground and bemoan the fact that he was

gone? Or would he want us to stand here in silence?

Somehow my throat gets tighter and my eyes burn.

He deserves to see someone cry for him.

I let myself go. Warm tears streak down my face and I do

nothing to stop them or wipe them away. I think of how he

ordered us around with complete conviction despite how scaredhe must have been. That he faced execution for treason to help

Ben and me.

I remember the look on his face, pale and pained, when he

reached out, clasped my hand and said, “We made a good team,

Tenner.”

Robert has stopped speaking—his voice drowned out by thenoise from the crowd. Coming back to reality, I focus my eyes

on the here and now, and realize my tear-streaked face is front

and center on the jumbo-tron. The cameras have zoomed in on



me and are fueling the media frenzy that has become Barclay’s

true legacy.

Ever since the press got a hold of the story, they’ve turnedhis last days into some kind of real life soap opera, complete

with corruption, betrayal, and a love triangle.

The people of Prima have painted me as a hero, and Barclay

as the guy who loved me and did all of this to protect me.

I don’t let my eyes roll at the crowd no matter how much it

gets under my skin. I want to tell them he was a guy who

didn’t need love, a guy who did this because it was the right

thing to do.

But today isn’t about me.

Even though it isn’t true, I imagine Barclay would like the

attention.

And of course, I’ve said all that already, and the more I’ve

denied our love affair, the more the paparazzi have latched onto

it.

I resist the urge to look at Ben. I know it must irritate him

too, but he hasn’t said anything about it. I think he’s decided

I’m mad enough for both of us.When Robert finally manages to finish his speech, he steps

aside and looks at me.

For a second, I don’t know what he’s doing. He’s supposed

to step forward and unveil the monument. Instead, he says,

“Janelle, it should be you.”

Actually it should be Barclay himself or his parents, if theywere alive, or Hayley because she does love him. But none of

them are going to take this from me.

I let my body carry me forward.



The material of the sheet is heavy and thick, not like a real

sheet that would be in someone’s bed. It has weight to it. It’s

coarse under my fingers, and for some reason that makes mewonder, what was the last thing Barclay touched?

Thinking back to that night, I try to remember. Was it my

hand or did I let go before he died? Does it matter?

With a tug, I slide the sheet down, and the noise of the

crowd explodes to an unfathomable level. Silver and white

confetti rains down around us, and the ground vibrates

underneath me.

Barclay should have lived to see this.

If he hadn’t saved me, he would have.

Later, when it’s all over, after I’ve shaken too many hands and

been forced to smile and answer questions, I collapse into a

cushioned chair on our hotel suite.

On the floor, Jared compares my Gold Star to the silver

ones Ben and Elijah received.

“Janelle’s is bigger,” Cecily whispers, just loud enough that

you can tell she wants everyone to hear her.“Not that much,” Elijah says, reaching for my medal.

Struz plucks it out of my brother’s hand, just before he can

reach it. “I’m going to have to work harder. I want a medal.”

I feel hands on my shoulders, they’re warm and strong, and

I can’t help leaning back into him. “You can have it,” I tell

Struz. “My aim would have been shit if not for you.”Cecily runs his fingers over Elijah’s medal. “Janelle’s is

also shinier and worth more money than yours.”

“Gold is tacky and you know it,” Elijah says.



“Um, gold is precious,” she says.

“I’m precious. I was the goddamn pivotal piece of the

plan,” he protests. “They just gave her that one because the press thinks she’s prettier than me.”

They keep going back and forth—it’s something they’ve

become very good at over the last few months.

We’ve all fallen into new roles.

Struz is heading up a new branch of the FBI: the Interverse

Division. They’re focused first and foremost on guarding the

homeland from interverse attacks as well as keeping people

from opening portals. He’s modeling the division after IA, a

little at least, but it’s much less about policing interverse travel

in other worlds.

Instead, he’s brought in scientists and technology from

Prima in order to line soft spots with hydrochloradneum and

develop software to detect breaches in the atmosphere.

I know he’s pleased with what they’ve done so far.

The reconstruction effort is moving along at a breakneck

pace. There’s still a lot of damage to our world that needs to be

repaired, but the quality of life is rapidly recovering. Becauseof Prima’s aid, we have food, medical supplies, and electricity

back.

Jared is talking about college. Cee jokes that she wants to

start an interverse travel agency, but even if the powers that be

on Prima were going to let that happen, I know she wouldn’t

ever really leave the humanitarian stuff. She’s practicallyrunning the shelter down at Petco Park.

Elijah smiles and leans into her as she teases him. He’s

been her right hand since we came home. They work side by



side and he takes her orders better than I ever did. They also

touch each other when they don’t need to.

They’re clearly together. My only question is whether or not they’ve realized it yet.

I wonder if I’m doing the right thing by leaving them. And I

wonder how I’m going to manage to tell them.

Ben leans against the arm of my chair. His hand slides

down my shoulder until his fingers reach mine. He squeezes

lightly and I return the gesture.

I haven’t told him yet either.

I look into his dark eyes. He gives me a small half-smile,

and I know that he’s worried about me. After two months of

living under the same roof and stealing moments to ourselves

when Struz isn’t paying attention, Ben knows me better than

anyone.

There’s no way he hasn’t realized that I’m preoccupied.

That he hasn’t asked about it just means that he’s waiting for

me to tell him.

I reach for him, and he leans in. His lips are warm and soft.

Nose to nose, cheek to cheek, our faces seem to fit together likesome kind of human puzzle. He exhales, and I breathe in. The

feel of him steadies my resolve.

I know what I need to do.

Struz clears his throat, and Ben pulls back.

His smile is too big, his face flushed with color. “Come

outside with me,” he says.I look at Struz. “We’ll be back.”

He knows something is up too, so he nods.

I grab the dark aviator sunglasses from the kitchen table



even though it isn’t sunny out and Ben hands me my coat as we

leave the room.

Outside, with my hair tucked into my hat and my faceobscured, we walk down the sidewalk. Two overly dressed

people, hands intertwined, outside in order to get some privacy.

I feel older than I must look.

For a while we don’t say anything. We fall into step with

each other, walking without direction.

Finally, when we reach the new park that’s been erected

around Barclay’s monument, Ben says, “You need to let go of

the guilt. Your father, Alex, Barclay. None of their deaths were

your fault.”

I’m not sure that’s true. But even if it is, that doesn’t fill the

emptiness inside me every time I remember they’re gone.

“I know,” I say even though I don’t feel it.

He squeezes my hand. “They wouldn’t want you to be so

heavy with their memories.”

I nod. In my head I know he’s right. I’m just not sure that I

know how to let it all go.

“I love you, but I can’t compete with ghosts,” he adds.That makes me look at him.

“That’s just the media. You don’t have to compete with

anyone.” We both know they’re just trying to force a story.

“I don’t mean it like that,” he says with a sad smile. “I

know you love me, but I also know that you need to say

goodbye.”He looks at the monument and adds, “I’ll be right here

when you’re ready.”

I bite my lip, but I do what he says and move to the



monument.

It’s Barclay himself, only eight feet tall. He’s dressed in

what I’ve been told is IA’s standard field uniform so he looks alittle like a soldier. He’s holding his gun, like he’s ready to take

aim. It’s actually a position I’ve seen him in before. Many

times.

It’s made of some kind of glass that I’ve only ever seen on

Prima. It’s clear with some kind of reflective quality to it, so it

looks slightly different depending on the time of day. Today,

during the unveiling, it looking like a liquid metal giant. Now,

in the dark, it has the same black inky look of a portal.

I reach out to touch the inscription. My fingers trace the

embossed letters:

Special Agent Taylor Barclay

(1990-2013)

Protecting us against enemies

interversial, international, and within.

I feel more than see someone come up next to me.

Hayley is here.

We stand next to each other without speaking for a longtime. Looking into the glass likeness, I think of my father and

Alex and even Barclay and what they would say about my

choices. They would all want me to be happy—my father most,

of course—but they would all want me to do what they can't.

I turn to Hayley. "They should have let you pull the sheet

down. You meant something to him."She shakes her head and offers me a ghost of a smile. "It's

nice of you to say that. But he was never going to have room

for me in his life. Everything was about IA. About being a



hero."

He is one now. Being a hero is what killed him. I wonder if

he'd take it back now that he knows what it would cost him. If he could have seen this future, would he still have saved me?

That conceited asshole, he probably would have.

"He was a hero," I say. "The best kind." Even though I'm

mad at him for dying, I'm not about to deny that it's true.

Hayley's bottom lip quivers. She didn't want a hero and I

get that.

"I think he loved you the only way he knew how," I say.

"I know," she says, her voice breaking as she stands. Before

she walks away she says, "I also know that I wasn't the one he

went to when he was in trouble."

Right, because he came to me.

He knew somehow that we’d make a good team.

Now he’s gone, and I miss him.

And I miss my father and my best friend.

I know people say that time heals all wounds, but I’m not

sure they’re right. I don’t feel like I miss them any less than I

did when it first happened. I still feel that crushing emptiness.It’s just that I’ve gotten used to it.

I look up at Barclay’s statue. Somehow the glass has

managed to capture the nuances of his face and convey his

confidence in a way I hadn't thought possible. I wish I knew

what he’d say about it if he was here.

I wish I could give my father and Alex each a tribute likethis. They might not have meant as much to the people of

Prima but they meant everything to me.

Instead I have to give them something else. I have to move



on and do the things they can't.

After too many minutes to count, I ignore the do not touch

sign, and I run my fingers over the glass of the statue, and Imake the decision. For good this time. No more deliberating or

putting it off.

I’m going to join IA.

Like my Dad and Barclay, like Alex wanted to—I’m going

to devote my life to something bigger than myself.

Ben is still where I left him. I'm going to get this over with

quick. Just blurt it out. Faster will be less painful.

But he doesn't give me the chance.

“I know.”

The words are quiet and even, and they don’t leave room

for interpretation. I don’t need to ask him what he thinks he

knows.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I say without looking at his

face. I need to stay logical, stay focused. “I just need to do

this.”

I don’t add that I’m restless and worried about the future.Or that I don’t know how to relax anymore. When we’re home

I look at the world around me and don’t know how I fit into it

anymore. I have Ben and my family and my friends, but I don’t

have direction. Everything feels too … still.

But Ben knows all that. We sat on the beach holding hands

and watching Cecily burn her Prima sweatshirt, and wecommiserated about how those five days had changed us.

It’s more than just that—and he knows that too. I don’t trust

IA or Prima. Robert might be convinced he’s flushed out



everyone who was dirty, but I’m worried there are people out

there he hasn’t caught.

Ben pulls both of my hands into his. He pulls them to hislips. His breath is warm and as it touches my skin, I shiver and

press closer to him.

He kisses my fingertips.

“You’re not mad,” I breathe.

“I’ve known for a while,” he says. “I was just waiting for

you to come to terms with it.” Then he leans in pressing his lips

to mind. My fingers cradle his face and I relax into him. He

tastes minty, and I feel his arms circle around my back.

Everything around us falls away as he explores my mouth with

his tongue.

“You’ll wait for me?” I whisper between kisses.

He shakes his head.

“I have to go,” I whisper.

“I know. That’s why I’ll go with you.”

I pull back because I’m not sure I heard him right. I know

he doesn’t want to go to North Point and train to be an IA

agent, not when they just want to keep any eye on him.“We’re going to see this through together,” he says, pulling

me back to him.

His fingers slide under the hem of my shirt and I don’t care

that anyone could walk by and see us.

We can do anything if we’re together.

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