It’s such a simple request on the face of it, just dinner. But it’s not just dinner. He’s asking me on a date for real this time. And not just any date. My birthday is months away. I’ll be eighteen.
“You plan ahead,” I say.
He nods. Then he leans toward me, his face inches from mine. There’s time for me to move away if I don’t want the kiss. But I don’t move. And now I feel his hands on my shoulders, his lips on my cheek. His kiss is chaste in every way and loaded in every way. The moment is innocent, yet not.
And then it is over.
“This never happened,” he whispers.
I realize how long I’ve been waiting for that kiss. Since the time we locked eyes in the stone pool at the bottom of the Grand Hôtel. Since sharing coffee in the warm café on a chilly winter’s morning in Stockholm. Since he took me under his wing as the boys from school harassed me. All that time.
I watch as he retreats. One step, another. Part of me wants to tell him that of course I’ll have dinner with him. That we don’t have to wait until my birthday. But I have another feeling, too. One that surprises me.
I don’t want Dmitry to know that Rik has asked me out. Even less that he kissed me, however innocently. When I think about an event like my birthday, I want to share it with Dmitry. I realize that there could be no real celebration without him. I want to buy a giant ice-cream cake and watch him freak out over how delicious it is. I want him to make jokes and help me blow out the candles. I want to introduce him to my mother, to Lauren. There’s a bond between us, one I can’t describe. And it can’t be rivaled, not even by Rik.
I know this is ridiculous. Dmitry and I are just friends. But these are my feelings. And they’re real even if I don’t admit them to anyone but myself.
“I’ll see you at the table,” Rik says. And then he dissolves back into his role as Munn’s assistant, signaling the attention of a passing waiter and asking for the extra chocolate cake, just as Munn had instructed.
19
THE REST OF the evening passes as in a dream. I can only think about that kiss, about Rik, who glances at me every so often as Dmitry jokes about the wonders of chocolate cake. And about Dmitry, who makes me laugh and feeds me crumbs and speaks to me in Russian even though I don’t understand a word, because it cracks me up when he does this.
I don’t notice when Munn takes the check, or when Will sinks deeper into the wine. Coffee comes and goes, then suddenly we’re out in the night air.
Will puts his hand on my arm and gives me his keys. “How about you drive?” he says, his words slurring ever so slightly.
Munn nods his approval. “I think that’s a good idea,” he says, before disappearing into the car that has been hired for Dmitry.
Stuck with Will, who is too drunk to drive or even help navigate, I can no longer let my thoughts linger on that kiss with Rik or how to work out my feelings about Dmitry. Instead, I pay close attention to the GPS on my phone, navigating my way to the highway. Luckily, the night is clear, the traffic thin.
“That was a very good evening,” Will says. “Amusing company although . . .” He sighs heavily. “There really aren’t enough women in science.”
He smells of sour wine and aftershave and is sprawled out, taking up as much room as possible in the small front of the car. He removes his tie and stuffs it into his jacket pocket, then undoes the first three buttons of his shirt. I can see his pale chest, his flushed cheeks. He’ll have a hell of a headache in the morning.
“I don’t know your address,” I say.
“Oh yeah, we’ll need that. You know what else we need? Coffee.” He sits straighter in his seat, pointing ahead at a big sign ahead advertising doughnuts. “Pull in over there. Do you see the sign with the . . . what is that painted on the sign anyway?”
“A chocolate doughnut,” I say. “No, I don’t see it.”
“Oh, come on, be a sport. It’s a drive-through. Anyway, I need the loo.”
He gets his way. Of course. When he comes back with his coffee, I notice he’s swaying.
“Why didn’t you want one?” he asks. He takes a sip through the plastic lid on the cup, then makes a face and blows across the rim. “Afraid to spill it on your dress?”
“Yes,” I answer truthfully.
“Pretty dress,” he says. “Nice watch, too. Does it belong to you?”
“Please shut up.”
“I was only joking.”
“No, you weren’t.”
He sighs. “You looked lovely tonight. No, I mean it. You are a lovely young woman. And you’re going to be very successful. There’s no stopping that,” he says, almost as though he wishes otherwise.
He takes a few more sips of coffee, looking out into the night, then adds, “Munn is being very foolish with post-death recovery. He’s letting the government be in charge of it all. But if he were serious about it he’d do it through a private company. The discovery process would be halved, maybe quartered. Instead, he wants us to do it all. But we’re not big enough. You need giant organizations for this sort of thing. And you need them managed properly. Not by these . . . strange gifted children he hires. Don’t you agree?”
I check the GPS to see how much longer I have to endure him.
“Well?” he says.
“I don’t know how it all works,” I say, “but I do know we have a contract with the government. Even if Munn wanted to work with a private company, he couldn’t.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. There are no contracts for work on post-death recovery. We hadn’t set up a study on it yet!” He gets excited now, turning in his seat to face me. “There was never even a discussion about post-death recovery—no paperwork, no plan. You were in a laboratory late one night and got adventurous. It wasn’t like you were operating under anyone’s instructions. Post-death recovery is your intellectual property, not that of the Mellin Institute.”
“Well, then, I bequeath it to Mellin,” I say.
He chucks himself against the back of the seat. “Throwing away money!” he declares.
“What am I going to do, set up a lab in my bedroom?”
“Sell it,” he says, his voice suddenly gruff.
I realize that Will is serious. Yes, he might have had too much to drink, but he’s clearly given this a lot of thought. I concentrate on the road, hoping the conversation will drift to another subject or peter out entirely. But he continues.
“Munn wants to protect the world from post-death recovery because he fears some sort of social chaos, people demanding their long-dead relatives to be brought back to life or some such. That’s all nonsense. Do you know how many people have heart attacks in America? One every forty-four seconds. And don’t forget stroke victims, babies born with umbilical cords around their necks, the list is endless. We could help all these people, but Munn is in our way.”
“We work for Munn,” I remind him.
“That problem,” he says, “is easily solved.”
I wish he’d shut up. Just sitting in the car listening to him makes me feel like I’m betraying Dmitry and Munn.
“Kira, you’re a clever girl. But you’re young. You think it’s thrilling to be at Mellin. I agree it is far more innovative than anywhere else. But Mellin isn’t a moneymaker. You may not be worried about money now, but you will be eventually. And eventually may be too late for you. You’ve hit upon this opportunity early in your life. You either make something of it now or live with the regret.”
I try not to listen. I’ve got other things on my mind anyway. I have to sort out my feelings about Rik. He’s so nice and so good-looking. Why wouldn’t I want to have dinner with him on my birthday? I mean, I do want that, right?
“Perhaps you aren’t aware of how much money we are talking about,” Will says. When that doesn’t provoke me, he adds, “Don’t you want things? If not for you, then for your mother? You could live somewhere nice instead of that—”
“Stop!” I say. A guy like Will can’t even imagine what it mea
ns to “want things.” I’m only too aware of the debts my mother has. And how much medical care costs.
“What I mean is that you could make your mother’s life easier. Don’t tell me you’re not interested.”
For years, all I’ve thought about is how to provide for my mother. I’ve dreamed of what it might be like not to live in debt. But Will is wrong to imagine that post-death recovery is my intellectual property. Everything I learned at Mellin made it possible to recover those rats. If he thinks I’m going behind Munn’s and Dmitry’s backs when I owe them everything, he’s crazy.
“I think Dr. Munn will make sure we have enough,” I say finally.
Will grunts as though it causes him actual pain to hear this. “Munn doesn’t give a toss about you,” he says. “Look at him, taking us out to a fancy restaurant like he’s the king. Buying you off with chocolate cake. You don’t seem to understand, you were the one who did all the work.”
I can’t bear for him to sully the evening. I loved the restaurant, loved the views and food and company. I can picture Dmitry, sitting beside me with his cake fork. The unexpected kiss from Rik. But mostly I remember feeling as though I belonged. I’ve never felt like that before. The only thing that could have made it better would have been if Lauren had been there. I glance at her beautiful watch on my wrist.
Will shifts in his seat. “I don’t think you understand just how lucrative this discovery of yours is. I’ve been talking to some people. Very quietly, of course. These are very important people, Kira, and they’d like to meet with you,” he says.
“What people?” I say, appalled.
“You should be thanking me.”
“Will, what people?” I say fiercely. For the first time in ages I think about the red-haired man, about how he seemed to know everything about me, the pressure to meet his boss. “We’re not supposed to talk to anyone—”
“We’re not supposed to do a lot of things,” he says. “Anyway, since when do you follow rules? I seem to remember you being very happy to pretend you were qualified for the SFOF award.”
I’m furious now. “Who did you talk to, Will? Because I swear, if he’s the guy who stalked me at SFOF—”
“Pipe down,” he says. “God, you’re so dramatic.”
“Did the guy have red hair?”
“I don’t know,” Will says, then belches. “Why does it matter?”
I’m fuming, and actually quite scared about who he’s let know about post-death recovery. We reach his road and the small complex of condominiums where he rents.
“You’re an idiot,” I tell him.
“That’s my space,” he says, pointing.
I pull into a bay and take the car out of gear. My phone sounds with a text, but Will grabs it before I can.
“Oh look,” he says. “Rik is wishing you a good night. Isn’t that nice? I think that’s very nice.”
“Give me my phone,” I say, my jaw clenched, my hand reaching.
“I’m surprised there isn’t a text from Dmitry. He’s moony over you. I speak too soon!” he says. “There’s one from him as well!”
“I remind him of his sister.”
Will guffaws. “Oh, don’t be so stupid. He’s a man, if you hadn’t noticed. And I think you almost prefer him to Rik.”
“Give me back my phone!”
He holds the phone next to his shoulder, away from me, then gives up and tosses it on the dashboard. “You do prefer him, don’t you?” he says.
“Please, Will. I’d like to go home.”
“Fine, go home. I’d let you take my car, but I need it in the morning. We’ll get you an Uber.” He reaches across and pulls the keys out of the ignition, then gets out of the car. Stumbling forward, he says, “Come on! Let’s not wake the neighbors.”
I watch through the windshield as Will finds his house key on the key ring. He glances toward me impatiently, looking young and cocky and very drunk. Then a noise or movement catches his attention and he scans the cluster of flowering trees along a low wall. A worried expression crosses his brow. Something is wrong. I’m about to get out of the car when I see two men appear from the shadows, one on either side of Will. He doesn’t even have time to call out before his body hits the ground. Suddenly, there he is, sprawled out, the soles of his shoes catching the moonlight as he lies on the sidewalk. And now I’m losing all control, trying to lock the doors with hands that no longer seem to work, trying to call out with a voice that no longer makes a sound. I look for the keys, but they’re not in the ignition. Of course not. Will took them. The two men vanish as quickly as they appeared, and all I can think is that I need to call an ambulance, call an ambulance now!
My phone is in my hands, my fingers skidding across the numbers when the door flies open and I’m yanked from the car. A weight bears down on me. I can’t stand properly. Someone pushes my head. A jolt of pain hits high in the muscle of my right arm. I can’t remember falling to the pavement or how I land or what happens after that. I know I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Things are happening around me, the men crowding in. I have one thought: that I won’t be home tonight and that my mother will worry. And then it’s as though I’ve fallen through a rabbit hole into another world.
Part Three
Dragonfly
Whoever leads in artificial intelligence will rule the world.
—VLADIMIR PUTIN
20
I’M LYING ON a shallow mattress, a pine ceiling inches from my face, a noise roaring through my head. I shift slowly onto my side, feeling a hammering in my temple. I can make out a patch of carpet and a tiny closet without a door. A square of light comes into focus. It’s a window that is for some reason below me. Through it I see a plain of grass passing under an evening sun. Even this much light is too much. I wince and look away.
I’ve never been in a sleeping compartment of a train before, but I recognize it, maybe from the movies.
And then, bizarrely, I hear Will’s voice below. “I thought you were dead,” he says. I realize now we’re in bunks, him on the bottom. The springs of the mattress squeak as he stands to look at me. His hair is uncombed. His normally clean-shaven cheeks show a day’s growth of golden stubble.
“What happened?” I croak. The sound of the train is like a drill in my temple.
“I’m not sure. I keep trying to get the door open. They’ve locked us in here.”
“Who is ‘they’?” But he doesn’t answer. It’s hard to talk. My lips are stuck together and my throat feels like sandpaper. “Do you have any water?” I say.
“I wish I could take it off its hinges. The door, I mean. Do you know there’s not so much as a penny in this room I could use to turn a screw? And no water, either. Just cans. Here,” he says, and hands me a lukewarm can of 7Up.
I try sitting, but I feel nauseated. “I might throw up,” I say.
Suddenly, he launches into action, hooking one arm under my knees and another around my shoulders, dragging me off the mattress, the blanket flying. It’s all too fast. I’m dizzy. But he gets me to the bathroom just in time. It’s humiliating to retch like this in front of him, but I have no choice.
“Sorry to pull you about like that,” he says when I’m finished. “But if you’d been sick on the carpet we’d have to live with it for God knows how long.”
I reach above me and close the lid of the toilet, then flush. I feel better, though moving is a terrible effort. I realize I’m in bare feet and the dress from last night.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Will sighs. “I don’t want to say.”
But I think I know what’s going on.
Kidnapping doesn’t even sound like a real thing. It sounds like what happens somewhere else, to other people. But every thought in my head points to it.
“That Mellin researcher with the gambling debts. He’s not on an island drinking margaritas, is he?” I say somberly.
Will shakes his head.
“But why on earth would anyone want us?”
>
He shrugs. “You think I know? I’m going crazy in here. We’ve got cheese sandwiches—that’s it for food. Cans of fizzy drinks but no water. And you can’t even open a window.”
I rise slowly from the floor, leaning over the small sink and rinsing my mouth with the water from the tap. “Can we drink this?” I ask, pointing.
“I wouldn’t.”
I wash my hands, my face, letting the water run over my dry lips. It’s hard to resist the urge to drink it. Above the sink, where there may have been a mirror at one time, is a bare spot on the wall. No personal items, not a comb or a toothbrush.
Will sits on the lower bunk, leaning forward, his head in his hands. I see the band of paler skin where his watch once was. My own hand flies to my wrist and I feel a spear of loss as I realize that the watch Lauren gave me is also gone.
I move slowly along the walls, touching them with outstretched fingers, feeling for a weakness. The door is fastened by two bolts, locked from the outside. I can see where the screws had almost come through from the other side, two sharp lumps. Whoever put us in here meant business.
“I keep looking outside trying to figure out where the hell we are,” Will says. He stares out the window as we pass a field of wildflowers picked out by a low sun. “I can’t even tell if that’s sunrise or sunset. It’s like an endless blue cast.”
There’s a socket by the bunks, a plastic surround with two small holes made for round prongs, not the flat pins of American electrical plugs. I look for more clues and find a sticker with a pictograph that shows cigarette smoking is not allowed. At the bottom of the sticker is tiny writing. I’ve seen the same alphabet across Dmitry’s chess books. The Cyrillic alphabet.
I turn to Will. “It’s Russia,” I say. “We’re on a Russian train.”
“I don’t believe it,” he says, though I notice him regarding the window curtains with fresh interest. With their tassels and unusual design, they have a distinctly Eastern feel.
Dragonfly Girl Page 20
