OtherLife

by Jason Segel

  I glance over at the two-way mirror. There are people behind it, no doubt.

  The Kishka laughs. “You worried the cops will think you’re bananas?”

  I nod.

  “You don’t need to move your lips, kid. I can always hear you, remember?”

  Sure would have been nice to know that a little bit earlier. “Is this normal?” I ask in my head.

  “Having conversations with someone who’s supposed to have died forty years ago?” He shrugs and offers me an impish grin. “Probably not.”

  No shit. “No, I meant this. I’ve been in here by myself for hours now. Is this some kind of mind game?”

  “I have a feeling they’re busy with other things. Something big is going down.”

  And I’m stuck in a fucking interrogation room with a hallucination.

  “I heard that,” the Kishka says. “I prefer to think of all this as a glitch.”

  What?

  “Glitch comes from glitsh. You know that word? With an s at the end instead of a c? Of course you don’t. Your mother married a WASP. It’s from Yiddish. All the best words come from Yiddish. It means slippery place. That’s where we are right now—you, me and the whole fucking world. A very slippery place.”

  I’m almost positive I’ve never heard the word glitsh before. If the Kishka’s a hallucination, how could he know words I don’t?

  “I’m not a fucking hallucination,” he sighs. “Why is it so hard to get that through your skull?”

  Suddenly this conversation seems way more important than it did a few seconds ago. If he’s not a hallucination, what the fuck is he? If he knows things I don’t, what can he tell me?

  I don’t get to ask. The door opens and a woman enters. I recognize the suit before I realize who’s inside it. In an instant, she has her arms wrapped around me. The smell of her shampoo brings back memories.

  “Mom. How did you get in here?” I whisper.

  “I’m your lawyer.” She steps back and wipes away a tear. Once it’s gone, it’s hard to imagine it was ever there. “So you know, whispering won’t do any good. If anyone’s on the other side of the glass, they can hear anything you say.”

  She walks around the table and takes the Kishka’s seat. He’s gone, but he’s left his mark. My mother sniffs the air.

  “Has someone been smoking?” she asks. “They’re not allowed to do that in here.”

  “Not while I’ve been waiting,” I tell her.

  “Good.” She sounds unconvinced.

  This is not the mother I grew up with. She may be wearing my mother’s suit, but the two women are not the same. This is the woman I saw on Nasha’s spy cameras. The one I saw wearing jeans and boots. Nasha told me my mother has changed. I’m starting to suspect that this is who she really was all along.

  “What’s going on?” I ask her.

  “There was a terrorist incident at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital early this morning.”

  “Yeah, I know, I was—”

  “Stop.” My mother holds up a hand like a crossing guard. “Let me do the talking for now.”

  “Okay.”

  “A bomb was detonated in the intensive care unit. Five patients and three members of the medical staff are dead.”

  “Oh God.” My head drops into my hands. What’s wrong with me? I saw it happen, and I never thought about the humans inside.

  “A camera in the lobby captured a video of the two suspects entering the building and walking toward the intensive care unit. The people in question resembled you and Katherine Foley.”

  She must be talking about the couple in black workout clothes who caught my eye at the hospital. “It wasn’t us. It was—”

  All my mom needs to do is raise her hand again.

  “It is believed that the suspects’ target was Scott Winston, CEO of Chimera Corp. Until recently, he had been staying in the ICU directly above where the bomb was positioned. The blast killed the new patient who’d been moved into the room.”

  “But Scott Winston survived?” I asked.

  My mother nods. “He did,” she says. “He regained consciousness yesterday evening and was taken to another part of the hospital. Apparently, the move was done in secret. The people who attempted to murder him weren’t aware it had taken place.”

  “Wow,” I say.

  “Wow indeed,” my mother agrees. “But that’s only the first bit of information I need to give you.”

  Good God, there’s more?

  “Scott Winston has released a statement to the press. He claims that the video that captured the shooting last week was forged. He says that he saw the two people responsible. He is one hundred percent certain that they were not the same couple shown in the video.”

  Declan had the answer all along. Scott Winston was the only person on Earth who could exonerate us.

  “Winston’s statement got the police searching for new footage. They found a video posted on some tourist’s Twitter account. The real assassins appeared to be two men in their late twenties.”

  “So they know Kat and I are innocent?”

  “They do.”

  “Then why am I still here?” I ask.

  “I’ve asked them to keep you here,” she says. “Until it’s safe for us to move you.”

  “Us?” I groan. “Don’t tell me Dad’s here too.”

  My mother chuckles. “No,” she says. “I traded that family for another.”

  My dad’s a douchebag. If I were my mom, I’d get rid of him too. But what is she trying to say?

  “Come on,” my mother says, cocking her head toward the door. “They don’t need to keep you in here anymore. You can wait somewhere that’s a bit more comfortable.”

  “I’m free to go? Don’t they want to interview me?”

  “Of course they do. I’ve arranged for you to speak to the FBI later today. You can walk out the front door of the station any time you like,” my mother tells me. “But I wouldn’t recommend it just yet. The Company will have people watching the building.” She leads me out of the interrogation room and through a room filled with cops at their desks. A few hours ago, I was number one on the most wanted list. Now, no one even looks up as I pass. It’s as if they’re all doing their best to pretend I’m not here.

  I want to ask my mother how long I’ll have to wait before I can safely leave, but there hasn’t been an opportunity. She passes an elevator and opens the door to the fire stairs instead. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to follow. My mother catches the door just before it swings closed. “Let’s go,” she says, waving me over.

  We descend three flights, passing no one on the stairs. “Can you please tell me what’s going on?” I ask.

  “You’ll find out in a second,” my mother says.

  We emerge in a basement where a beat-up Subaru is idling. The man behind the wheel is indescribably bland. I know in an instant that he must be one of Nasha’s men.

  “Get in,” my mother orders. “She’ll be here shortly.”

  “She—you mean Nasha?” My mother nods. “How the hell do you know Nasha?” I never introduced them. As far as I know, they never met back in Brockenhurst.

  “Nasha and I have a mutual friend.”

  Just when you think your mind can’t be blown. I guess my mother’s contact list includes professional spies as well as mobsters. “Who?” I blurt out.

  “Her employer.” My mother is smiling. This is so unbelievably weird. My mother knows Nasha’s boss but I don’t. “You’ll meet him soon too.”

  “Just tell me who he is,” I plead.

  My mother shakes her head. “I promised I wouldn’t yet. Just get in the car, Simon. I’ll see you when all of this is over.”

  I watch her walk back to the stairwell door. She gives me a little wave before she vanishes inside. I think she
’s doing this to torture me.

  I open the door of the Subaru and slide inside. There’s a tablet computer on the backseat. Its presence cannot be an accident. Nasha’s employer must want me to have it. I tap the Home button and the screen comes to life. Live feed from a cable news network is playing. I can see a reporter broadcasting from the hospital that was attacked. The volume is turned down, but a chyron reads, Thirty people now presumed dead. All so the Company could murder a single man. I wonder if Wayne is feeling proud of himself right now.

  The video switches over to a man sitting in a hospital bed holding a microphone. I assume it’s one of the people who survived the bombing. And it is. At the bottom of the screen a new chyron introduces the man as Scott Winston, CEO of Chimera Corp.

  “When I saw the footage of my attempted assassination, I immediately knew that the video had been altered. I saw the two people who shot me. Their faces are still etched into my memory. I know with absolute certainty that the two teenagers who have been accused of the crime are not the people I saw that day. I also knew that I had been the victim of a very sick joke.”

  “Joke?” the reporter scoffs.

  “Sorry—poor choice of words, I know. There’s only one software that can alter video so seamlessly. It’s produced by my corporation. The people who attempted to murder me used my own tools against me.”

  “Had you ever considered that the software might be used in a situation like this?”

  Scott Winston stays silent for a few seconds as the reporter patiently waits for his answer. “The idea had been raised by people within my corporation. At the time it seemed strictly theoretical. I did not take the threat seriously. I do now. I’ve ordered a review of all products currently in our innovation funnel. Projects that are deemed unethical or dangerous will be terminated. I hope it doesn’t take another tragedy for other businesses to do the same.”

  The camera cuts back to the news anchor. “That was Scott Winston speaking from his hospital bed earlier today—”

  The door on the other side of the backseat opens, and I jump halfway out of my skin.

  “I’m surprised you still get nervous.” Nasha pokes her head into the vehicle. “Haven’t you figured out you’re the hero of this story? Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  “Heroes get killed off sometimes,” I say. “Besides, who says I’m the hero?”

  Nasha laughs as she slides in next to me. “Everyone, kid. Took me a while to believe it too. You don’t exactly look the part.”

  I yawn. This shit has gotten so boring. I don’t even have the strength to argue. “Is Kat back at the apartment? Are you taking me there?”

  “Not yet,” Nasha says. “I need to make a quick detour. I’m hoping you’ll agree to come with me.”

  I’m not sure I want to go anywhere alone with Nasha. “Where?”

  “To the Company’s lab. It’s time for me to get paid.”

  “I don’t get it,” I say. “What’s at the lab?”

  “You’ll see,” she says.

  “I hate to disappoint you, but I can’t get you in there.”

  “I don’t need you to,” Nasha says. “He’s going to let us in.” She points her thumb backward.

  There, lying on the row of seats behind us, is Todd.

  “Hey, buddy,” I say. “How ya doing back there?”

  Todd can’t say much with the gag stuffed in his mouth, but he manages to give me a very meaningful stink-eye.

  “Is it really necessary to keep him tied up like that?” I ask Nasha.

  I can tell by her grin that it isn’t. “We take all available precautions when dealing with Company employees.”

  Seems wise. I’m not going to argue.

  Nasha leans forward and taps the driver on the shoulder. “Let’s get going.” Then she turns back to me. “It’s seven-thirty. Todd says lab employees start arriving at work around eight-thirty. We need to be finished and out by nine.”

  “Nine? Don’t we want to be out of there before the employees start showing up?”

  “We’ll be on Todd’s floor. The other employees won’t bother us. We need to be done by nine because that’s when the authorities are going to raid the lab. This is the day the Company goes down.”

  I should be thrilled. This is what I’ve been working for, and I hope Nasha’s right. But something inside me is telling me it won’t be that easy.

  “You bet your ass it won’t.” My head jerks toward the front passenger seat. The Kishka’s sitting there.

  “Simon?” Nasha asks. “Is something wrong?”

  “What?” I force myself to turn back toward her.

  “Did you see something? Or someone?” The way she asks the question makes me think she might know—and her expression tells me that might be okay. But I’m not going to spill the beans about the Kishka with Todd lying in the backseat.

  “No,” I tell her. The Kishka has vanished. “We just need to be careful.”

  Nasha studies my face. “We will,” she says.

  * * *

  —

  Now that the sun has come up, there are more OtherEarth players on the streets. Half of New York must be planning to call in sick from work today. I’m sure this would be the biggest story of the day if not for the hospital bombing. Riding down Park Avenue, I count four ambulances pulled to the side of the road where EMTs are caring for injured players. Around Fifty-Second Street, I spot a sheet-covered body being loaded onto a gurney. Nearby, there’s a pool of blood on the sidewalk. The guy must have fallen from one of the buildings that line the avenue. His plunge doesn’t appear to have disturbed the other players in the vicinity. A woman sprinting down the sidewalk runs straight through the blood splatter, ignoring a furious cop who’s trying to protect the scene.

  This is bedlam. Did Wayne know what he was unleashing on New York? Was this part of his plan—or just an unintended consequence?

  Once we pass Grand Central Terminal on our way downtown, Nasha reaches back and snips the ties binding Todd’s arms and legs. As soon as his hands are free, he removes his gag.

  “Jesus, lady!” he says. “I don’t know why you’d expect me to help you. First you kidnap me and then you keep me hog-tied for hours. That’s not exactly how you make friends. Who the hell is this woman, Simon?”

  “I’m the only thing between you and the death penalty,” Nasha says. “I think you’re the one who needs to be busting their ass to make friends.”

  Todd looks over at me.

  “She’s right,” I say. “Be nice, would you?”

  Todd slumps back angrily and keeps his lips shut for the rest of the drive. When we arrive, he lets us in. We walk through the dark lobby to the elevator.

  “Good morning, Todd,” says the elevator. “Starting early today?”

  “You know me, Dot,” he drones. “I never quit.”

  “I sense an extra three hundred and nineteen pounds.”

  “I’m bringing two in for downloading,” Todd says, punching the number three.

  “All right, we’re here,” Todd grunts when we step off on the third floor. “What is it you want?”

  Nasha’s eyes are roaming the room, taking in the equipment that surrounds the two dentist chairs and the strange helmets suspended above them. At last her gaze settles on Todd. “I need you to download everything you can—my memories, my personality, everything,” she tells him.

  I can’t have heard right. “You want him to what?” I blurt out before Todd can utter a word.

  “Once it’s all downloaded, Elvis will upload it all into an Otherworld avatar,” she says.

  “Elvis doesn’t know—”

  Nasha stops me. “He does. I taught him how.”

  “How do you—” This time, I stop myself. There’s only one answer that makes sense. “Did you and James have this planned
all along?”

  “As much as I’d love to tell you the whole story, this isn’t the time or the place.” Nasha sits down in one of the white leather chairs. “We need to get started.”

  When Todd walks over to Nasha’s chair, her arm darts out. She grabs a fistful of Todd’s shirt and drags him toward her. “I’m trusting you with my brain, boy,” she warns him. “Anything goes wrong and Simon’s going to make sure you end up frying in a different kind of chair. We clear on that?”

  “Crystal,” Todd tells her. “Go ahead and get comfortable. The procedure will take about thirty minutes.”

  “Awww. Look at you making nice,” Nasha replies, letting him go. “I appreciate that.” She adjusts her position and Todd lowers the helmet into place. Soon Nasha’s entire head has disappeared inside it.

  The sight of Nasha’s motionless, black-clad body makes me uncomfortable. This is how I must have looked when the Company raided my brain. Utterly defenseless.

  “What do we do now?” I ask Todd.

  “Wait,” he says, taking a seat on the only stool in the room. I could sit down in the empty reclining chair next to Nasha’s, but I’d rather stand.

  “How’s all this stuff work?” I gesture toward the machinery.

  “You really think you’d understand if I told you?” Todd asks. “Or was that just an attempt at small talk?”

  “Never mind,” I say.

  “So this is James Ogubu’s wife,” Todd says. “I guess I should have recognized her. She’s been working with you to take down the Company?”

  Todd takes my silence as confirmation.

  “It’s pretty ironic, don’t you think?” he asks. “Ogubu started all of this. Now his wife has to clean it all up.”

  Now he’s got my attention. “What are you talking about?”

  “Without James Ogubu, there would be no disk. Without him, we wouldn’t be able to download memories. If you think about it, every shitty thing the Company has done can be traced right back to him. I’m going to end up dead or in jail because of James Ogubu.”