IENDE Page 11

  Remmie was thinking that they were about to get another crazy theory. “So, what does that mean? And if that’s true, then why are people after us?”

  Eli stepped into the gap in the table and flipped the large horizontal lever below the electrical panel. The power went out for a few seconds. Remmie’s neck muscles tensed.

  “Sorry, I just switched from battery power to the grid,” Eli said. “I probably should have told you the power would go out a few seconds. I try to use battery power as much as I can—we have photovoltaics on the roof. It’s not easy maintaining a house like this, and funds are getting low. But the equipment down here draws a lot of juice, and the batteries can’t handle it.” He flipped a couple of switches and pushed a button on the microscope. “Just give it a second to boot up.”

  “You switched to regular power, like power lines?” Kyle said. “That was quick.”

  “When I switch to battery power, the lights can go out for as long as a minute, just the way the system’s set up, but switching to the grid is quick.” Eli flipped another switch on the microscope. “Okay, it’s ready. Please, take a look in the viewer. Then I’ll answer your questions.”

  Kyle leapt to the viewer. “Do we get to see?” He stepped back and looked at Remmie, catching himself. “Sorry, I mean, ladies first.”

  “Just look, Kyle, really.”

  Kyle put his eyes to the viewer. “It looks like one of those balls on the top of a Star Destroyer.”

  There they were, their entire lives upended, and Kyle was talking of balls and Star Destroyers. Yet his words made her feel anchored somehow to her simple life. Kyle kept it safe, salvageable, keeping her emotions from jumping the ship of sanity, slowing the gradual fading to memory of the simple life she had led before this began.

  She stepped up to the viewer. There was a round surface protruding from a wavy goo. The object was smooth except for a half dozen evenly spaced, shallow square protrusions with short needles at the center of each, like a prickly ball. She became skeptical. For all she knew the twins could have put a View-Master slide, digitally manipulated, that was a zoom in of a Star Destroyer.

  “There are thousands of these in our heads,” Eli said. “Everyone who’s lived over the last millennium or more has had these in their brains. And they’re quite elusive. But once Victor found one, we were able to find more. I think he told you he’s been to ancient sites. He could sense them because he—”

  “He what?” Remmie said, expectant, a gurgle firing in her belly as her mind struggled to make sense of what she had just seen.

  “So, the problem is—” Eli said.

  “If they’re inactive, we have nothing to worry about,” Kyle said. “But why are people after us? Nobody’s under control. What about all those crazy people we—”

  “Exactly. Therein lies the problem, right?” Eli switched off the microscope.

  “But Anthony?” Remmie suddenly wondered why Eli had taken Anthony away if he wasn’t under control. She was again thinking it was all a scam.

  “Oh my God,” Kyle said. “Why don’t you just go and jump into bed with Anthony now—”

  Remmie launched into Kyle’s face, her fist an inch from his gut, unable to speak.

  Kyle looked down at her fist, his lower lip pulled back, revealing his crooked bottom teeth.

  “Look, I don’t have time for a lover’s tiff here,” Eli said. “What I have to say is important to your survival.”

  Remmie turned back to Eli. “Fine, go ahead. But I want my question answered.”

  “The people you’ve encountered, the ones interested in Victor,” Eli said, “there are a lot like them. They know about the Dames. They want to activate the Dames.”

  “But wouldn’t activating the Dames put them under control too?” Kyle said. “Do those people all have Malclenersy?”

  As annoying as Kyle was, Remmie did think he asked good questions. And Remmie’s mind struggled with the opposing stories of the twins. Yin and yang, up and down, active and inactive. She almost laughed. And the funniest part was that she was sure Victor could answer any question Eli could, from his own perspective, and it would sound just as convincing, but mean totally the opposite.

  “No, they don’t all have Malclenersy,” Eli said. “If their Dames aren’t active—or better still, not present—it won’t be an issue. And Anthony . . . Victor researched you two, carefully. Anybody else is a risk. Not because they’re under control, but because there are a lot of people interested in the knowledge Victor possesses. He’s the only one who’s activated them, or deactivated them for that matter.”

  Suddenly Eli turned away and gripped the table tightly. “There’s nothing controlling humanity. But Victor believes they’re active, and it’ll be a tough sell to change his mind.” Eli sighed. “For multiple reasons. We parted ways before I ever had a chance to digest any of this. Victor believes people are after us because they’re under control. But they’re after us because they know that we know. And they know Victor can activate them. Now, those people know that you know. We’re all targets, and nobody can be trusted. I won’t harm your companion, but I won’t allow him to walk freely. Anthony’s safe, in there.” Eli pointed toward the far door. “I gave him a sedative so he could relax.”

  “Are you going to tell Victor about the Dames not being active?” Kyle said.

  “I’ve started that conversation many times but I’ve gotten no traction. There’s more than one reason he needs to believe they’re controlling humanity. And things are complicated between him and me.”

  “What? Victor steal your sweetheart or something?” Remmie said.

  “No, nothing like that.”

  Like Victor, Eli was a bad liar. He rolled his eyes away a lot, pulled at his ear, mostly whenever he mentioned Victor’s name. Maybe it was brotherly rivalry. Over a girl for sure. But if she had ended up with Victor, she must have been the charity-case type, because Eli was the bad-boy type and far more attractive.

  “Whatever,” Remmie said. “So, what are we supposed to do? If what you’re saying is true, are we just supposed to spend the rest of our lives here?”

  “No. The only answer is to destroy the Dames. Then it won’t matter who knows what, and you can resume your lives.”

  “And how are we supposed to do that?” Remmie said. “Wait, you said Victor had activated someone, but also deactivated—”

  “He doesn’t realize it, but he did activate someone. But he also deactivated someone, a different someone. I understand what he did but have no idea how he did it. His device was complex and disappeared with him. For now, you’ll stay here. There’s a lot you can help out with. And Victor can figure out how to destroy them if anyone can.”

  “But you just said he deactivated someone, so he already knows how to shut them down,” Remmie said, wondering how Victor had deactivated a different someone . . . How did they get activated in Eli’s version of the Dames? “And what about people with Malclenersy?”

  “Maybe,” Kyle said, “he means that there are too many people to destroy the Dames person by person, like testing for Malclenersy, remember? He needs to find a way to destroy people’s Dames en masse.”

  “En masse? Really?” Remmie said.

  Kyle crossed his arms. “What, I can’t know some Latin?”

  “It’s actually French,” Eli said. “Although French is descended from Latin. But we digress. It’s not about destroying the Dames en masse. That’s a different issue entirely. First, it’s about eliminating the Dames without killing their host in the process.”

  Remmie felt an electric charge bolt down her back. Victor had killed someone with his experiments? She didn’t want to ask. And Eli appeared increasingly uncomfortable.

  “What about people with Malclenersy?” she said.

  As Eli elaborated on how Malclenersy operated, she realized he might as well have been Victor. They were spouting the same story, with just a few of the parts switched around, like Baptists arguing with Nazarenes. Which wa
s just perfect. As if one them wasn’t enough, now she had two, battling it out about the details, and she was caught in the middle of their craziness.

  “The truth is, the closest the Dames are to active is in us—those with Malclenersy.”

  Remmie’s patience was on a downward spiral, as was her ability to follow his story. This was too much. Was Eli suggesting that Victor had deactivated someone with Malclenersy?

  “The Dames don’t control those with Malclenersy per se,” Eli continued, “but they do dominate Malclenersy sufferers’ lives via the pattern.”

  Remmie began wiggling her toes to the pattern. Did that pattern define her? If it weren’t there, would her life be different, would she be different? Maybe she’d been wasting so much energy following that pattern, that was why she wasn’t able to focus on building a successful life.

  But she felt less comfortable when Eli spoke than when Victor spoke. With Eli it felt more real, more serious, more threatening. Victor felt like house arrest or community service. Eli felt like maximum security. She realized that until that moment she had felt like she could walk away if she really wanted to, but now she felt under the control of someone else’s will—a prisoner. Was she? Could she just leave?

  One way to find out. “I’ve heard enough. I want to go home.”

  “You can’t,” Eli said.

  “I’m not going to be part of this.” Remmie turned and walked toward the stairs, her knees now trembling.

  “You can’t leave,” Eli said.

  Remmie sped up her pace. “You can’t stop me.”

  Kyle suddenly perked up. “Hey, if there are groups out there, vying for the solution to start up the Dames, then why do they care about us? I mean, who’d believe any of this anyway? We’re just a couple of stupid kids. What can we do for them? We clearly can’t stop it; we don’t know who’s searching for us or where they’re at. What do they gain by coming after us? I agree with Remmie. Let’s go home. The odds dictate leaving whether this is true or not.”

  Remmie paused. That was actually clear thinking. Maybe Kyle did have a few smarts up there. But then she realized that his argument further pointed to the possibility that the twins were simply out to harm them or use them, maybe frame them for a crime.

  “Victor can activate the devices,” Eli said. “Like I told you, he has activated them, in someone, you understand? And people out there know about it.”

  “But Victor’s the one who knows how to activate them,” Kyle said. “Remmie and I don’t. Nobody’s gonna care about us.”

  “But you know Victor. And me. You know of this place.” Eli looked around as he spoke. “You’ve been exposed to us. And that makes you a target. They don’t know what you know.”

  “Shit,” Kyle said. “That makes sense. I mean, assuming you guys aren’t psycho. But us knowing is more of a liability for you. That’s why you want us to stay. So we should go.”

  At that, Remmie resumed her trek to the stairs. “You coming Kyle?”

  Kyle dashed to catch up with Remmie. Eli followed, but kept his distance. When they reached the kitchen, Victor was still sitting at the table, looking blankly at the wall, but the dishes were gone.

  Eli sprinted past Remmie and Kyle, blocking their exit. “I’m sorry.”

  Remmie knew they were no match for Eli, but motioned to Kyle. She wanted to make a run for it.

  “What about Anthony?” Kyle said.

  She had forgotten about Anthony this time.

  “If they want to go then let them go,” Victor said. “Anthony too.”

  “Are you crazy?” Eli said.

  “No, but I think we’ve both made a lot of mistakes in all this. And letting them go suddenly feels right.”

  “But everything . . . are you kidding? You created this mess—”

  Victor stood and took a step toward Eli, his stance ready for something physical. Remmie was thinking it would be a good time to sneak out. If those two started fighting, she and Kyle would have a good head start. But she was pretty sure Eli would come out on top, quickly, leaving little time.

  But if they escaped, they could go straight to the police and have the cops handle extricating Anthony. If they stayed, they would all three be screwed.

  A crashing noise came from the direction of the front door, followed by the rapid approach of footsteps. Eli’s cocked gaze aimed at the entryway, fists balled. Victor’s attack-ready body sagged, his face looking aged. Remmie was ready to turn and flee to the basement, but her muscles felt weak, a hopeless buzzing atrophy.

  Four men dressed in black T-shirts and khaki cargo pants burst into the kitchen, guns in their hands, two of them familiar faces—Rich and Jack.

  “Everybody on the floor!” said the largest of the men, unfamiliar—tall, linebacker build, crew cut, and a deep, raspy voice.

  Victor and Eli got to their knees, hands out. Remmie and Kyle followed suit, moving their hands behind their heads.

  TWENTY-TWO

  THE LINEBACKER PULLED Kyle to his feet and began to frisk him. Kyle let out a giggle.

  “You think this is a joke?” the man said.

  “I’m ticklish”—giggle—“I can’t help it.”

  The man grabbed Kyle’s hair, yanking his head upward. “How does that feel?”

  “It hurts.”

  Kyle flipped his head free, but then the linebacker grabbed him by the shoulders, lifted him off his feet, and jammed him against the table, which dug into Kyle’s lower back.

  “I’ll drop you—” the man said.

  “Leave him alone!” Remmie said.

  “Leave him be, Tommy.” An older man emerged from the entryway. He was tall and thick, short gray hair, balding, chubby pale cheeks, and a large, high-gloss nose that drew the eye. He wore a suit, and his tasseled dress shoes clicked on the hardwood floor.

  Tommy put Kyle down. He cringed and massaged his lower back, which felt like it had been pinched with binder clips. The suit guy must have been the honcho.

  “You’re going to behave yourself, aren’t you, Kyle,” said the honcho.

  Kyle wondered how the honcho knew his name. Then he saw Remmie flinch as an unfamiliar man approached her. A tall, wire sculpture of a man, shih tzu brown hair, a few-days’ patchy shadow on his face. Kyle flung his fists into the air, a primal indignation seizing his will at the thought of her being frisked.

  “I won’t try anything,” he said. “But you need to leave her alone!”

  The honcho said to the man, “James, let the girl be. No need to frisk or bind her.” His directive gaze rested on the twins. “Tommy, why don’t you help the genius brothers onto a couple of chairs.” A grin parted the honcho’s cheek, causing a ripple of folds with a Boulange road network of spider veins. “Rich! Jack!”

  At the unspoken command, the two men swiftly disappeared down the back hallway, presumably on their way to the basement. Tommy now stood over Eli and Victor like K2 over the Rockies. They remained silent, their faces emotional mirror images—hollow, defeated.

  “Remmie, Kyle, have a seat,” said the honcho, speaking like he’d just met them at a pool party. “We have a lot to talk about. You may call me Mr. Sands.”

  Kyle’s primal confidence was now crashing. He realized that it didn’t matter if Victor had been telling the truth or not, whether Eli was holding him and Remmie prisoner or not. They were prisoners now, and no choices remained other than those presented by their captors. The four of them were now lined up in front of the table. Remmie’s expression was one of hopeless loss. Kyle felt sympathy for her, and guilt.

  “I’m sorry, Remmie,” he said.

  “Hey, it’s not your fault.” She half-smiled. “And thanks for sticking up for me.”

  Remmie’s statement warmed Kyle’s bones, fueling a need for her to know he was a good person, with depth and feelings. He knew he was good for her, and she for him. The thought he wouldn’t have that chance rekindled his fleeting anger.

  “How did you find us?” Victor said.
<
br />   Mr. Sands hesitated, studying Victor, before his eyes went to Kyle. “Your traveling companion, Anthony? He sold you out. You remember Bosco—you met him at the warehouse. He, Rich, and Jack convinced Anthony that they worked for the government, that you’d gotten involved in a matter of national security, and that your upstairs neighbor, Victor Harris, was a wanted man.” He eyed Victor. “And it seems Anthony possesses considerable unresolved financial burdens. We bugged Anthony, and he made an extra effort to stick with you in your travels. He led us here. And . . . I would have been satisfied with just Victor, but to have Eli as well? Priceless.”

  Rich and Jack emerged from the back hall with Anthony, his hands bound. Rich pushed him forward. He stumbled, almost falling face-first into the table.

  “Hey, I thought I was helping you guys,” Anthony said. “Ungrateful bastards. Why won’t you let me—”

  “You self-centered eunuch!” Remmie flung her hair back, double-barrel flared nostrils.

  Kyle didn’t care about Anthony, Mr. Sands, or the gunmen. He focused only on Remmie. He wanted to reach out, take her hand, and walk away, explore the world together. But that was not in the odds, at the moment. He was beginning to realize that he’d never had much control over his life, and choices weren’t presented often. But he rarely took advantage when they were. He’d chosen to come with Victor. Now he saw zero choices.

  “I thought you guys were being taken advantage of by Victor,” Anthony said, looking at Remmie. “I was helping.” Tommy thrust Anthony in a chair next to Eli.

  “Anthony is as gullible as the two of you.” Mr. Sands looked at Kyle and Remmie.

  “They have a pretty extensive laboratory down there,” Rich said.

  Mr. Sands said to Victor, “Is this where you attempted to deactivate her?”

  Victor looked like a cornered bull snake. He violently pulled at his binds. Eli looked away, the muscles of his thin face tensed as if he was struggling to contain an eruption.

  Mr. Sands said to Remmie, “Did he tell you?”