IENDE Read online

  “I’m . . . sorry,” Remmie said, feeling bad about messing up Rachael’s outfit, and her nice makeup.

  “No, Remmie. I’m sorry . . . so sorry.”

  “I want to die.”

  “No you don’t. In fact, you’re going to be okay.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  PAIN SPIKED THROUGH Kyle’s cranium as he turned to see Victor holding a bandage against Eli’s chest. Kyle felt more coherent, strong, strong enough to worry about Remmie. There was a piercing screech from upstairs—Bosco. Rachael launched up the stairs. Kyle yanked the tube from his arm and tried to push his body upright, but a shock wave of dizziness threw him back to his pillow.

  Eli touched Victor’s face, his gaze studying. “Seems I was wrong.”

  Kyle slid his legs over the table and got to his feet, weathering the dizziness. “Get Eli on the table,” he whispered.

  There was a gunshot from upstairs, jolting Kyle, diverting everyone’s attention. Jack rushed to the stairs. Unstable on his feet, Kyle was powerless to help anyone, and he hated it.

  “Something tells me that shot was meant for Bosco,” Victor said. “Samuel, help me move Eli to the table.”

  Samuel stood there blankly.

  “He’s dead, gentlemen. I’m sorry,” Mr. Sands said.

  Victor looked at Eli, whose hollow eyes stared limply into space. Samuel checked Eli’s pulse.

  “He’s gone,” Samuel said, like a lost child.

  Victor struggled to lift Eli to the table. He and Samuel administered CPR.

  Victor said to Eli, “You’re strong, man. C’mon!”

  Samuel took Eli’s hand. “This was all a mistake.”

  Jack returned, followed by Rachael, her arm around a blood-soaked and haggard Remmie. Kyle, standing on his own, felt a flood of happiness. Remmie ran and put her arm around him, as his knees gave way, helping him stay upright.

  Victor moved his hands over Eli’s chest, wanting to compress, but the bullet hole was its center. He knelt and lay his cheek on Eli’s chest.

  Remmie said to Kyle, “I’m sorry about everything.” Watery trails began to cut through the coagulating blood on her face. “You’re going to be okay.”

  She put her head on his shoulder.

  FIFTY-NINE

  REMMIE SAT NEXT to Victor on the edge of the bed in the back bedroom. Kyle lay asleep.

  “I’m sorry about Eli,” she said.

  She looked at her hand, which had been tremoring since Kyle had taken a bullet to the head. She wondered if it would ever be steady again. Every noise, every object in her peripheral vision made her twitch. Exhaustion consumed her, but her racing mind wouldn’t let her sleep. And she felt ashamed in Victor’s presence, feeling maybe he held her responsible for Eli. She was unable to look him in the eye.

  She held herself responsible for Eli and Kyle. She had trusted Bosco and believed that her actions had given him the power to do what he did.

  Victor hadn’t spoken a word since they were forced back into the bedroom hours earlier. He finally broke his silence. “I know you blame yourself. Believe me, I’ve been there.” He touched her chin and pulled her gaze to his. His sad eyes held sympathy. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Except that it is,” Remmie said. “I trusted—”

  “I brought you into this. I got Eli into this . . . I made all of this. It’s over, Remmie. There’s nothing we can do to stop it now. And when it’s all done? You and Kyle? You’ll be fine. Life will go on.”

  “You’re giving up? What about my parents? Everybody deserves to decide their own fate.”

  Victor shook his head. “Nobody decided their fate. Hell, maybe those under ‘control’ will find freedom they never could have fathomed without it. There’s nothing left to fight for. It’s done.”

  “I activated Bosco, right? What happened? Why didn’t it work, or did activation make him go crazy?”

  “He didn’t go crazy. He shot Kyle in the head before you switched him on. He was crazy all along.”

  “But he was under control for a while. It was like a drug, but it wore off.”

  Victor’s eyes opened wide. “What?”

  “It was like it just wore off, you know?”

  “That’s it. That’s why . . .”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know why I never considered it. Maybe the reason they abandoned—”

  “Slow down. Who are they?”

  “The source of those things. Aliens, whatever? The human brain has a way of adapting. Maybe it just got . . . used to them. Maybe that’s why we, those with Malclenersy, aren’t under control. The Dames bridge pathways, but wouldn’t they still operate the same way on those with Malclenersy, injecting their own signals?” Victor looked as if he’d seen Jesus.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I can’t be sure of anything, but maybe the Dames just don’t work. And all of this was just the biggest wild goose chase . . . I’m so stupid! Why didn’t I stop and act like a scientist for one minute, test my hypotheses, verify my theory? Eli was right . . . and Rachael. I get so hung up on paranoid details I never step back to look at the big picture, ask the right questions . . .” He gripped his forehead, squeezing violently. “Whether control is real or not, we’ll find out. All Mr. Sands has to do is perpetuate the signal. The devices can be set to interact with each other. I believe this is the fourth state . . . when they’re close, they cause those other Dames in close proximity to activate.”

  “Like a spreading virus?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why did you program your device to do that? Why did you include the fourth state?”

  “I didn’t. Four is not the fourth state.”

  Remmie wished Victor would just spell it out. “Either way, you programmed the other three states. That is such a risk, to have that technology out there.”

  “No, it’s not a risk the way I set it up. And I’d hoped . . . that device was originally built with the hopes it could somehow deactivate the Dames, before I discovered people weren’t already active. And I needed that functionality to identify those with Malclenersy . . . the dots. That gave us an advantage.”

  “Do you love Rachael?”

  Victor’s eyes spread wide. “Where did that come from?”

  “Do you want her to be activated? How can you be sure that Bosco wasn’t under control? Maybe he attacked because someone else took him over. And what about higher states? Above four?”

  “I see what you’re saying. She’d be a reason to stop it? And yes, I don’t know much about higher states. In fact, there’s even more to it than that. Once active, the Dames can respond to other signals. The best analogy is AM/FM radio, like changing the transmission mode, then changing the channel. It’s an even more complex pattern embedded within the pattern. But the human brain may still be able to adapt. Though . . . if the Dames continue to change, in reaction to varying signals, maybe they stay ahead of the body’s ability to adapt, like certain diseases . . .” Victor hesitated, pensive. “I’m tired. We need to rest. We’ll think clearer with some sleep.”

  Remmie felt her eyelids falling. “Yeah, maybe my body is finally ready for sleep.”

  Victor laid a blanket across the floor. Remmie lay down next to Kyle. He opened his eyes and put his arm around her. She nuzzled up to him and closed her eyes.

  SIXTY

  KYLE OPENED HIS eyes to find Remmie’s face an inch from his, her soft nasal breaths brushing his chin, her clammy hand gently gripping his forearm. It was just like his dreams, except that he had a couple of holes in his head. His scalp was numb, yet he felt a grinding oscillation behind his eyes. Rays of morning light painted a flowery silhouette across the wall.

  “You’re awake,” Victor said from his makeshift floor bed. “I’ve been up for a few hours. I couldn’t—can’t—sleep. You’re going to be okay.”

  “Eli?” Kyle said.

  Victor’s smile waned and he whispered, “He’s in a better place, my friend. I
guess we all meet our destiny when we must. I brought him to his before his time. But there’s nothing I can do to change that now, so I’m going to stop it once and for all, for you, Remmie, and Rachael. I’m going to give you your lives back.”

  Remmie opened her eyes and put her palm on Kyle’s face. “You look better.”

  He smiled. “I feel better.” His eyes went back to Victor. “What are you gonna do?”

  “I got it covered,” Victor said.

  “What’s covered?” Remmie said.

  “Victor’s talking about doing something,” Kyle said. “I don’t know what.”

  There was a knock at the door and Rachael poked her head in. “It’s time for breakfast. You able to walk, Kyle?”

  Kyle pushed himself up, pain moving in random thrusts inside his cranium, never seeming to land anywhere particular. But he felt stronger. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Here. For the headache.” Rachael tossed an aspirin bottle to Remmie, who caught it and helped Kyle to his feet, the feel of her bony body a hopeful comfort. He felt closeness to her, somehow believing she would always be in his life, by his side. What had happened in the past didn’t matter. Only the present moment mattered and what lay ahead. They would be free to live their lives on their own terms, whatever happened with the Dames.

  Remmie handed him a couple of pills and a bottle of water. He forced down the tablets, weathering a mild gag.

  Victor helped Remmie stabilize Kyle. Rachael stepped aside, letting them walk ahead. She and Victor made brief eye contact. There was something communicated between them, it seemed, but only for a fading moment.

  SIXTY-ONE

  VICTOR PICKED AWAY at his egg-and-hash-brown breakfast, seated among all those who had survived—Kyle, Remmie, Anthony, and Samuel. From his peripheral vision, Victor watched Mr. Sands finishing his last few bites, overly smug.

  How could Sands be so calm?

  And when was Mr. Sands planning on revealing this earth-shattering revelation? So far, the breakfast conversation had consisted of Mexican cuisine and the weather, Mr. Sands making extra effort to avoid other topics. His incessant need to compartmentalize topics of conversation over meals was a characteristic Mr. Sands shared with Eli.

  Rachael and Jack stood guard, firearms in hand. Victor would play nice, be agreeable, for now. As much as he’d lost, he still had a few lives to watch out for.

  “Did everyone get enough to eat?” Mr. Sands said, placing his napkin on the table. “It seems Anthony was the only one to finish his breakfast—second helpings, even.”

  “Thanks for letting me out of that room,” Anthony said, looking younger and far plumper since Victor had last seen him. “I was getting tired of playing games on that retro Atari console. Of course, there was always the satellite porn. This hasn’t been such a bad ride.” He surveyed Kyle and Remmie, rubbing his hand on his napkin, which still sat folded on the table. “Will we be going home today? Is it okay to ask questions now? What was all that commotion yesterday? Kyle, what happened to your head? Did Tommy kick your ass?” He laughed like they were still back at the apartment in Ravdale.

  “You’re in a talkative mood today,” Mr. Sands said. “So extroverted, and no one to talk to for so long. You need to make up for lost social time. You’ll have it soon enough.”

  Anthony, Victor observed, was fat, ignorant, and happily content, oblivious to all that had happened. He was the only one who hadn’t changed from the moment he’d gotten into this, it seemed.

  Mr. Sands said to Rachael, “Take our guests outside for some air, except for Victor.” He pulled a gun from under the table.

  Anthony eyed the gun and let out a bullfrog burp.

  “Soon,” Mr. Sands said, “manners will be second nature for you, Anthony.”

  “Ex-cuse me.” Anthony sucked his teeth.

  Mr. Sands said to Jack, “Please clear the table, then take your place outside.”

  Victor caught Samuel’s eye.

  “I’m sorry, Vick,” Samuel said, getting to his feet. “My loyalty was to Eli, but we never meant for it to come to this.” He dropped his napkin on the table.

  Rachael shot Victor a longing gaze, as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t, wouldn’t. What was about to happen?

  Samuel and Remmie helped Kyle to his feet. Victor watched as they made their way outside. He felt as though shards of glass were slicing through the thin wall holding his emotions at bay, for he had an odd suspicion that he wouldn’t be seeing them again.

  But he needed to stay rational. Emotion could only result in more mistakes. Victor gazed at the gun.

  “You worried I’ll try something?” Victor said.

  “I am. But I have something important to tell you—show you. Something circumstances haven’t allowed for until now. And once you’ve heard me out, I’m certain this gun will no longer be necessary.”

  “I’m as curious as I’ve ever been.” Victor’s clammy feet swayed to the pattern of the Dames. He wondered if Mr. Sands would reveal that the Dames were inept after all, a twenty-four-hour drug that only works once.

  Mr. Sands looked like a clown in that moment, his red nose and chubby cheeks like Silly Putty, drooping, sagging. Victor wanted to slap a newspaper onto Mr. Sands face to see if it would pick up the newsprint. Victor felt compelled to laugh, unbidden—at Mr. Sands, at himself, at the present circumstance he had gotten himself into. It was ridiculous. He was probably bouncing around a padded cell right now and didn’t even know it.

  Mr. Sands pulled a small object from his breast pocket and placed it on the table: a voice recorder. “Have you ever experienced déjà vu?”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “Do you believe in past lives? Of course not. You’re a man of science. But you’re familiar with Jung’s archetypes? The collective unconscious?”

  “I’m familiar with Jung, and no, I don’t believe in past lives. What’s all this about? Just say what you have to say.”

  Mr. Sands pushed the button on the voice recorder. Victor felt a sudden constriction inside his cranium, not painful, but a pulling inward like his brain was elastic.

  “What are you . . . ?” His left arm felt weak, losing sensation. He grabbed at it with his right, and his heart skipped a beat. Then a memory of intense pain, as if a dull spear had pierced his chest.

  He began to rise from his chair.

  “Patience,” Mr. Sands said, his gun following Victor’s movement. “Please remain seated.”

  Victor slowly sank to his seat. Had he been drugged? Some kind of posthypnotic suggestion?

  “Trust me,” Mr. Sands said. “I mean you and your friends no harm. The high-frequency pitches emanating from the voice recorder are combined in a pattern meant to tap into memory and to stimulate higher senses—the ability to sense and decipher a band of electromagnetic radiation much broader than the visible spectrum made available through the eyes. This ability is available to the active anomaly, to a limited degree, when stimulated.”

  “Active anomaly?” Victor attempted to flush his mind, stay focused on the present moment.

  “You are the active anomaly. All with Malclenersy are. I was once an active anomaly, but now I am a merged anomaly. I have access to the higher senses without the need for stimulation, and I am able to interpret what I sense, much like recognizing a tree when you see a tree.”

  Victor was no longer able to keep his thoughts at bay. A flood of unfamiliar memories overwhelmed him, as if he were inside someone else’s head. He wondered if the Dames enabled some sort of telepathy. In his mind’s eye, he saw a pale green landscape with large debris filling the sky.

  Not telepathy. Mr. Sands must have slipped something into Victor’s orange juice.

  Mr. Sands switched off the voice recorder.

  “What are you doing to me?” Victor said. “Did you drug me?”

  “I’m simply giving you a glimpse into your collective unconscious. For me it is fully conscious.”

  “No,” Victor felt a froze
n clarity, that there was more in him than just him.

  “There are four states—seeker, observer, active, and merged,” Mr. Sands said. “You are active. I am merged.”

  Mr. Sands again switched on the voice recorder, this time the sound resembled the hum of an old florescent light. Victor remembered a storm at sea, a boat rocking. He remembered being washed over the side, flailing as his life slipped away. Another memory emerged where he looked over a canal surrounded by lush vegetation, submerged in the scent of flowers. He had trodden the canal’s chilled waters, his thin, frail arms unable to stay afloat.

  “What do you remember?” Mr. Sands said.

  “A ship, a storm . . . I also remember treading water in a canal, but not as myself,” Victor felt his body seize up, his breaths becoming short. “There’s not enough oxygen.” He gripped the table, an attempt to somehow anchor himself. “What are you doing to me?”

  “You’re having a mild panic attack, that’s all. Breath normally, relax. It’s okay.”

  Victor told himself he was okay, this was just a mind game, none of it real.

  “Memories of trauma are strongest and most likely to emerge from low-frequency stimulation,” Mr. Sands said. “It seems you’ve had a couple of run-ins with water.”

  “Just tell me what’s going on.” Victor locked his teeth, fighting an ominous truth trying to garner his belief.

  “Victor, I became merged purely by chance, a predestined accident. It happened while I was working for the government—SSA. Something triggered it. I don’t know what, how. And the odds dictate that I’m not the first one. But my predecessors, their Dames died with them and thus their truth was lost. They didn’t survive because the world did not yet have the technology to create the device you have created. And the world didn’t have you and your profound intellectual gifts.” Mr. Sands’ grip tightened on his gun. “Yet your unstable, paranoid mind, your bleeding heart, your unrelenting desire to overprotect those around you for fear of losing them—your mind was not suited to your gift, or my needs. That’s why this has been so difficult.”