by Jason Segel
Oh, that.
“Simon told me he went to Otherworld to find Kat,” Elvis says.
“Yes, but I was the one who gave him the disk. And I didn’t tell him how dangerous it could be.”
“Good God, Busara. Simon would have put on a bacon Speedo and jumped into a piranha-infested swimming pool for Kat. You should have given him a heads-up, but it wouldn’t have stopped him for a second.”
He’s definitely right about that. I feel Kat interweave her fingers with mine and I squeeze her hand.
“That’s not the point,” Busara says. “Don’t you see? Back then I would have done anything. I didn’t think twice about putting Simon’s life in danger. Something came over me, and all that mattered was getting what I wanted—revenge.”
“Why are you dwelling on all of this when Simon’s obviously forgiven you? People make mistakes, Busara. That’s part of being human.”
“I’d almost convinced myself that was true,” Busara says. “I thought maybe it was a onetime thing. Maybe that wasn’t who I really was. And then I met my mother.”
“What does your mother have to do with our relationship?” Elvis demands.
“She lied to my father. She spied on him for money, and she acts like it was no big deal. It was what she wanted to do, so she did it. It didn’t make any difference who ended up getting hurt.”
“You don’t know how much of that is true,” Elvis argues. “And for the record, I don’t think your mom is a bad guy. I have a hunch you don’t know the real story.”
“I know she lied to me,” Busara cries. “I know how much she hurt me. And now I know that’s where I get it from. If she can do it to me and my father, I can do it to you too.”
“What do you mean?” Elvis says.
“I mean someday, I’ll end up having a choice between doing what I want and what’s best for you. And I’ll end up choosing myself. Just like my mom did.”
“You’re wrong.” Elvis sounds completely certain. “About everything, Busara.”
“No.” I can hear her crying. “I’m not.”
Kat takes advantage of the pause that follows to whisper in my ear. “We shouldn’t be listening to this.” She pulls me back toward the treadmills, where she picks up a headset and drops it.
The clatter is loud enough to draw the attention of the two people in the next room.
“They’re back,” Elvis says. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”
“It’s already over,” Busara replies.
I hear footsteps approaching the door, and I quickly grab my headset and hop back on the treadmill.
The door opens and Elvis steps inside. If I hadn’t heard what just happened, I’d wonder if he had a terrible case of food poisoning. His face is a pasty white and he looks like he could vomit at any moment. I can’t think of anything to say, so I blurt out, “Daisy Bristol is dead.”
Elvis bows his head as if it’s too much for him to take. In the background, Busara bursts into tears. I should act surprised. That’s what I’d do if I hadn’t heard their conversation.
“I had no idea you guys were so fond of Daisy,” I say awkwardly.
“Yeah, she was a real badass,” Elvis says.
“If it makes you feel any better, she turned out to be a sociopath,” I mutter helplessly.
“Did you find Declan?” Busara asks as she wipes her tears away with the collar of her shirt.
“Yep,” I say. It’s only just dawning on me that we’re in a bit of trouble. “He’s at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital.”
“Well, come on, let’s go get him!” Elvis is already retreating to the other room.
“It’s not that simple,” Kat says. “The Company has the building under surveillance.”
“So we’ll wear disguises,” Busara says.
“You know that won’t work, and there’s no time for it anyway. As soon as Wayne finds out that Daisy’s dead, he’s going to know something’s up. We have to get Declan out of the hospital before Daisy doesn’t arrive at work in the morning.”
“Okay,” Elvis says warily.
“Which means you two will have to go in to get him out on your own. Kat and I would be spotted in a second.”
Busara clears her throat. “Is this really a two-person job?” she asks.
“Yes,” Kat tells her, firmly. “It is.”
* * *
—
There’s a black SUV waiting downstairs for us. Our hosts have been listening, but Nasha herself is nowhere to be found. Maybe she’s asleep. After all, it is two o’clock in the morning. But I have a feeling her absence has something to do with her daughter’s confession. It must have been hard to hear that your daughter’s worst fear is becoming like you. The whole thing is weighing heavily on my mind as well. If I could find a few minutes alone with Busara, I’d tell her I don’t blame her for introducing me to Otherworld. It happened for a reason. I would have gotten there one way or another.
There won’t be any heart-to-heart convos on this ride, though. Busara and Elvis are busy staring out the windows on opposite sides of the car.
“It’s Tuesday, isn’t it?” Elvis muses. “Lot of people on the street at two o’clock on a Tuesday morning.”
Tuesday? I have to think for a moment. It’s been a while since the days of the week made much difference to me.
“Technically it’s Wednesday,” Kat says.
I see Busara’s spine stiffen. “Wednesday the what?”
“No idea,” I tell her.
But the question seems to have a special meaning for Elvis as well. “Could it be the fifteenth?”
“Sounds about right,” Kat says. “What—”
Her question’s cut short when we’re all thrown violently forward against our seat belts as the car comes to a screeching stop. Through the windshield I see a young man caught in the glare of our headlights. He’s standing in the middle of the road, less than six inches from our front bumper. A hipster type with a nicely trimmed beard and chunky black glasses, he seems oddly unfazed for someone who was just a few inches away from becoming roadkill. He smirks as he lifts one arm, his hand shaped as if it’s holding an invisible gun. He aims the imaginary weapon at our driver and shoots. Before he sprints away into the dark, a triumphant smile spreads across his face.
“August the fifteenth at two twenty-five in the morning,” Elvis says. “OtherEarth went on sale at midnight.”
The chunky black glasses. I should have known. I wonder how many OtherEarth players are going to get themselves killed tonight.
We spot hundreds of gamers before we leave Queens. There are dozens more on the bridge to Manhattan. Most are on the south side of the bridge, aiming invisible firearms at something in the distance. I’d bet anything it’s Godzilla.
But the shit doesn’t truly hit the fan until we reach the island of Manhattan. Everyone we pass is sporting a pair of OtherEarth glasses. People are sprinting down the sidewalk as if something terrifying is right on their heels. Others have ducked down behind cars clutching invisible handguns.
“Oh my God.” Elvis points upward to where a man in glasses is scaling the side of a brick building. He’s at the fifth floor. If he falls, there’s little chance he’ll survive.
“This is incredibly dangerous. The cops need to shut it down,” Busara mutters just as a police car speeds past and pulls over in front of the building that’s being used as a climbing wall. I turn around to watch through our rear window. The cops get out and stare helplessly at the man high above them.
“How is anyone going to stop it?” Elvis says, taking the words right out of my mouth. “Most of this isn’t illegal.”
Up ahead we can see the hospital. It’s a tall modern structure with a brightly lit lobby that appears almost completely empty. Every security guard seems to be stationed outside on the si
dewalk, all of them keeping at least three gamers at bay. The building must play a role in some OtherEarth game. As we arrive at the main entrance, one of the gamers pushes through and a battle breaks out among the blue-clad guards and the mob in glasses.
“Go now,” Kat urges Elvis and Busara. “While they’re all distracted.”
The two hop out and head toward the entrance. Kat and I stay behind in the car and turn our attention to a tablet computer. A camera in Elvis’s hat lets us see what they see.
“You okay?” we hear Elvis ask.
“Don’t,” Busara snaps. “Everyone is listening.”
“Don’t what?” Elvis asks.
“Never mind,” Busara huffs.
“Oh, did you think I was going to say something about our conversation earlier? Don’t you think Simon and Kat deserve to know you’re an impostor?”
“Impostor?” The word seems to have hit her hard. She sounds devastated.
“Of course. The girl I’m in love with would never believe anything as insane as the crap you told me.”
“Insane!” Now she’s shocked. I doubt anyone’s used that word in reference to her before. “How can you say that?”
“Because I know the real Busara, and she loves me too,” he says. “That’s how.”
“But—”
“I have nothing more to say to you,” Elvis tells her. “Let me know when the real Busara is back, would you?”
“But—”
“Shhhhh!” he orders. “Everyone is listening! Right, Simon? You hearing all of this?”
God, this is painful. “Yep,” I say. “Loud and clear.”
* * *
—
Shortly after they remove his IV and peel the disk off the back of his skull, Declan should be able to get out of the hospital on his own two feet. There are clothes in Busara’s backpack for him—the sweat suit that Nasha gave her daughter back on the boat. It’s the only outfit we had that might come close to fitting a small thirteen-year-old boy.
The guards are so busy with the gamers outside the hospital that there isn’t much security inside the building. The only people Busara and Elvis pass are another couple dressed in dark workout gear. Their faces aren’t familiar at all, but something about them grabs my attention.
“Elvis, turn around for a second,” I say into the mike. His camera turns back in the direction he and Busara just came from. The guy is tall and thin and his girlfriend curvaceous with wild, curly hair. They’re headed toward the intensive care unit on the other side of the building.
“Who do those two people look like from behind?” I ask Kat.
“Us,” she says. “Do you think they’re trouble?”
I watch them walking away. “Probably, but I don’t know how. Pretty hard to hide weapons under those skintight gym clothes.”
“Hey, can we keep going?” Elvis says. “It really looks like I’m ogling that dude’s girlfriend.”
“Sure,” I tell him. “Keep going.” I don’t know what else we could do.
Those are the last two people they pass in the halls on the way to Declan’s room. The elevator is empty, and on the third floor, the medical staff and the patients who are able to get out of bed are all standing at the windows, looking out at the mayhem in the street below.
We find Declan on the third floor in room 321. The scene brings back memories I wish I could forget. The feed from Elvis’s camera shows a kid lying in a hospital bed, a sheet pulled up to his chest.
“He’s smaller in real life,” Kat notes. “He barely looks twelve.”
As Elvis moves closer, I can see Declan’s eyes moving beneath his eyelids. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was dreaming. A plastic tube inserted into his right arm delivers a steady drip of sustenance. Mixed in is the chemical that’s responsible for his comatose state. Busara steps into view. She bends over and slowly pulls the IV needle out of his skin. Then she gently lifts his head and removes the boy’s Otherworld visor and the disk from the base of his skull.
Busara returns his head to the pillow. A few moments later, Declan’s eyes open.
“What the—” he starts to say when he lays eyes on his visitors. He’s never seen Busara or Elvis in real life.
“Relax!” Elvis whispers. “Simon sent us.”
“Where is he?” Declan asks.
“Watching,” Elvis tells him.
“And waiting,” I say. “Now that Declan’s awake, get the hell out of there!”
There’s a flash of bright light, followed by the sound of an explosion. I’m still watching the camera feed. I see Busara grab Declan. She pushes him down to the floor and covers his body with her own. Then all I can see is a close-up of the floor.
“Shit!” our driver blurts out. It’s the first time I’ve heard any of Nasha’s men speak. I look up just in time to see a wall of the hospital collapse. An entire corner of the building follows.
“Elvis!” I shout in terror. “Are you guys all right?”
The camera rises from the floor. “What happened?”
“There was an explosion on the other side of the building,” I tell him. “You guys need to haul ass right away.”
“There’s a nurse on this floor who works for the Company,” Declan says. “If he sees us trying to leave, we’ll never escape.”
I see Busara dump the sweat suit they brought for Declan in the trash. What in the hell is she doing?
“Busara?” Elvis says.
“I’ve got an idea,” she tells him. “I’ll be right back.”
She ducks into the room’s bathroom and emerges seconds later wearing a hospital gown and a paper mask. She hands her shirt, jeans and shoes to Declan.
“Put these on,” she tells Declan. “I think they should fit.”
“Busara—” Elvis tries again.
“Trust me,” she says. “Declan and I are the same size. We have the same hair. If the nurse gets a quick look, all he’ll see is the hospital gown and the back of my head. He’ll assume I’m Declan.”
Elvis starts to argue, but Busara stops him.
“No, Elvis. I need to do this. For you and Declan. And for myself. I’m serious,” she says, but she doesn’t look it. She’s practically beaming with happiness. This is the chance she’s been waiting for—the opportunity to prove to herself who she really is. Busara leans toward Elvis. Their faces are off camera, but Declan’s snort in the background makes it perfectly clear what’s going on.
“I love you,” I hear Busara tell him.
“I know,” Elvis tells her. “It’s nice to have you back. Please don’t die.”
“I won’t,” she tells him. “My mother always told me I was bound for great things.”
Then she opens the hospital room door and disappears.
* * *
—
Down on the street, sirens and flashing lights surround our SUV. The fire and police departments have arrived on the scene.
Now that Elvis and Busara have been separated, there’s no way to know where she is. Elvis and Declan are still making progress. They’re coming out of the emergency exit with a terrified crowd of doctors, nurses and patients. A few people are crying, but most seem stunned silent. I wonder what will happen to those who are trapped in their beds.
I spot Elvis among the people who’ve made it out. He ferries Declan across the street to us and the two of them climb into the SUV.
“I’m going back in to get Busara,” Elvis announces.
“That’s not going to be necessary.” Kat points out the window. “She’s right there.”
A man in a nurse’s scrubs has just exited the building, holding Busara tightly by the arm. The man definitely works for the Company. If I had to guess I’d say it’s one of Wayne’s ninjas. Busara didn’t get away.
Elvis lurches for
the door handle but finds it locked. “Let me out!” he shouts at the driver.
“No!” I order. “Don’t open it.” Then I take Elvis by the shoulders. “You go out there and you’ll end up getting taken too. You don’t want to go through what happened to Kat and me.”
“I don’t give a shit!” Elvis struggles to break free, but I’m much stronger than he is. It seems strange. I wonder if that’s always been the case.
“Listen to me! If we want to save Busara, we’re going to have to give that guy something he wants even more.”
“What?”
“Unlock the doors and get ready to move,” I order the driver. We hear the locks open and I start to slide out.
“Holy shit, Simon! Where are you going?” Kat shrieks.
“The only thing that guy wants more than Busara is me,” I say.
I slam the door and start off toward the man. He sees me coming and drops Busara’s arm. I give him a wink and take off to the right. He shoots after me like a bullet. Every police officer I pass does a double take when they see me. At least one joins the chase. I know I’m not going to get away. I just want Busara to have enough time to make it to the car. Less than a minute after I took off down the sidewalk, I’m tackled from the side by a female police officer with a body that feels like molded concrete. I’m lying facedown on the ground with my arms cuffed behind my back when I catch sight of the black SUV I arrived in. No one else even seems to notice as it speeds off in the direction of Queens.
The door opens and a man in an old-fashioned check suit enters the room. He takes off his fedora and places it on the table before he takes a seat on the opposite side of the table. I watch him dig in his breast pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Then he props his feet up on the table, the dirty soles of his wingtips facing me. He lights his cigarette and exhales a cloud of pale blue smoke that hovers in the middle of the interrogation room.
“Gotta say, it feels damned good being on the other side of this table.” He takes another drag off the cigarette. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
