by Jason Segel
Then Nasha looks up at me. My hand is still around Wayne’s throat. I can feel a weak pulse in his jugular, but he’s no longer fighting. Nasha’s eyes go wide and she shakes her head furiously and waves her arms in the air. It’s me she’s worried about. Not Wayne and not her mysterious employer. I can read her lips. She’s telling me not to kill him. I don’t know what reason she’d offer, but I do know that the police who will soon be arriving might have a hard time understanding why I murdered someone who’d threatened me with an imaginary gun. More importantly, I also know that I am not a killer.
I let Wayne drop to the ground. His body collapses into a pile so pathetic I don’t even bother to give it a kick. When I turn around, the man in the white coat is preparing to operate on Kat. Before he slices her open with his scalpel, I reach around and rip the disk off the back of my skull. I toss it and the glasses onto Wayne’s unconscious form. And then I leave the room.
I’m descending the stairs to the lobby when I realize I’ve lost track of AJ. The other employees are still clustered together against the back wall, but AJ has slithered away. All he’s left behind is a small puddle of blood on the floor.
“Nasha!” I call out.
She turns her head, aims her gun and fires right at me. The two shots, milliseconds apart, echo through the lobby. I hear a thud as something heavy falls to the ground, but I feel nothing. I glance down at my chest. There’s no hole. Not even a trace of blood. I look behind me and see Wayne lying at the top of the stairs. The weapon he’s still holding is definitely not imaginary. I spared his life, and he was going to kill me anyway. Now he’s taking what appear to be his last breaths. I wish I had something to say to the man who thought he alone could save the world, but I don’t. I rush forward, kick the gun out of his hand and watch as his eyes flicker and close.
“Hands in the air!” someone shouts. I turn back toward the lobby to see a SWAT team swarming in through the front door. One of the officers drops to a knee next to a body on the floor. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s Nasha. That’s when I remember the second shot. The officer checks her pulse and rises so quickly that my own heart seems to stop.
Then the cop motions to me. “She wants to speak to you!” he shouts.
I rush over to find that Nasha’s still alive. I kneel beside her, wishing I weren’t so familiar with scenes like this. Too many people have died in my arms. But when I take her hand and look down at her face, I know this isn’t going to play out like the others. Nasha is glowing as if she’s lit up from the inside.
“It’s okay, Simon,” she tells me. “I knew my time here would end this way. I’ve been waiting.”
“Nasha—”
“No, no, none of that. Don’t you see? We did it. We took them down. Here.” She holds out the hand she’s kept clenched in a fist. When it opens, I see a small drive. “Give this to Elvis. He’ll know what to do with it.”
I look down at the device in my hand. A human being is on it. “Are you sure?” I ask. I know Elvis is a genius, but I’m not sure I’d trust him with something so precious. I’m not even sure if I trust myself to transport it.
“You know, when I heard about you, I thought none of it could be true. I thought the old man had finally lost his mind. But he was so certain that I knew I had to take a chance. Turns out he was right all along.”
Her body is dying. Even I can see she doesn’t have much time left. I don’t know if she’s delirious. She hasn’t said a word about her daughter. I’m not sure I’m the one she should be talking about on her deathbed. Still, I can’t help but ask.
“What old man? Who are you talking about?”
Nasha smiles. “My boss,” she says. “You’ll meet him soon.”
There are a thousand questions I’d like to ask, but none of them are important at this moment. “Is there anything you’d like me to say to Busara?” I ask her.
“Yes,” Nasha says. “Give my baby a hug and tell her I’ll see her soon.”
The police are ushering the lab employees past us out the door. I can hear ambulance sirens drawing closer. When I look down and plead with Nasha to hold on for a few more minutes, I find she’s already gone.
Kat leaps on me the second I walk through the door and presses her lips against mine. As much as I’d like to spend the rest of my life kissing her, there are a couple of things that need to come first.
I gently push her back. “Where’s Declan?” I ask.
The tone of my voice dampens her excitement. “Asleep in one of the bedrooms,” she says. “Poor thing was exhausted when we got back.”
“Good,” I say. At least Declan’s safe.
Elvis approaches me. I can tell he knows.
“You’re alone,” he says somberly. “She didn’t come back with you.”
All I can do is nod.
“What’s going on?” Busara’s face has gone ashen. “Did something happen?”
“Do you have it?” Elvis asks me.
I hold out my hand. In the palm is the single most valuable thing I’ve ever held. Elvis takes it from me.
“She said you’ll know what to do with it,” I say.
“I do,” he responds. “She taught me.”
“What is it? Who said that?” Busara grabs Elvis’s arm. “Elvis, tell me.”
Elvis looks over at me. I suppose I have some explaining to do.
“After I was released from jail, your mother made me take her to the lab,” I say. “She wanted to download her memories.”
Busara’s eyes widen. “Why?” she whispers.
This time, Elvis answers. “So she could be with your father if something happened to her.”
“So something happened?” Busara croaks. “Are you saying my mother is dead?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “I’m so sorry.”
“No.” Elvis holds up the drive. “She’s right here. I’m going to reunite her with your father. That’s what she wanted.”
There’s a knock at the door. The four of us go silent. The knock becomes a pounding. Then the door caves in. Four FBI agents enter the apartment with their guns drawn. When they see us, they holster their weapons. I’m still on the verge of a heart attack, but Kat’s kept her cool.
“You know you’re going to have to fix that, right?” she says.
“Does this mean we’re under arrest?” Elvis asks.
“No, sir,” one of the agents assures us politely. “We just got worried when you didn’t open the door.”
* * *
—
I’ve spent the past six hours being interviewed by an FBI agent. Somewhere in the same building, Kat is being interviewed as well. Elvis and Busara stayed behind with Declan. They’ll all be interviewed at a later date. I’ve told Agent Brick everything I know—leaving out only the details that might make him question my sanity.
It’s a pretty bizarre story nonetheless, but Agent Brick has spent most of the time listening quietly and taking notes. The follow-up questions he’s asked have been simple and straightforward. It’s almost as if he’s heard the story before. My account is just further confirmation.
Then one of his questions takes me by surprise.
“What exactly was your connection to Abigail Prince?” the agent asks.
I’ve been through all of this. “When Kat and I were kidnapped by the Company, she helped us escape,” I repeat, wondering if he was really listening the whole time. “She wanted to help us bring down the Company because they framed her son for murder.”
“How did you first get in contact with her?”
I hesitate. I distinctly remember recounting this part of the story. “An anonymous person sent us Abigail’s phone number.”
“And you don’t know who it was?”
“No.” That’s what I told him the first time around, and technically it’s truth. It wa
s someone connected to Nasha Ogubu, but I don’t know exactly who it was.
“Hmmm.” The agent looks down at the information before him. “Abigail Prince was found dead this morning inside the Company’s lab.”
I suspected as much, but I’m still saddened by the news. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “I wish she could have lived to see what she helped us accomplish.”
Agent Brick closes his notebook and looks up at me. “Can you think of any reason why you are listed in Abigail Prince’s will as her sole heir?”
I have to stop and replay his last sentence inside my head. “What?” It doesn’t even make any sense. Abigail barely even knew my first name. She definitely didn’t know my last.
“Abigail’s son, Max, predeceased her. In the event of both of their deaths, her fortune will pass to you.”
I don’t know what to say. “I’ve only known her for the past few weeks. She changed her will in that time?”
“No,” says the agent. “According to the information I’ve been given, her will was written months ago.”
“And it has my name on it? Simon Eaton? That’s impossible. How did she even know who I was?”
“That’s a question we’ll be trying to answer in the coming days,” the agent says. I get the distinct impression that he thinks I know more than I do.
“I can’t wait to find out the answer,” I respond.
I sit silently as the agent makes a few notes on his pad.
“Am I free to go?” I finally ask. I’m dying to get out and talk to Kat.
“There’s one more pressing issue to discuss before you go. In the course of searching the Company’s laboratory on Franklin Street this morning, we discovered an automaton designed to resemble you.”
This shouldn’t be news. I went through all of this earlier. “I told you—when Kat and I were kidnapped, they scanned our bodies and stole a month’s worth of memories. They used them to make the robot clones.”
“Yes, I was listening. I wanted to let you know that the—ahem—robot clones were both taken into evidence. When the Bureau has finished—”
I leap in before I realize what I want to say. “Don’t destroy them yet.”
The agent raises his eyebrows. I’ve finally managed to surprise him. “I’ll make sure your preferences in this matter have been communicated. In the meantime, do not discuss the Company with anyone, including the press.”
“People deserve to know what’s happened,” I argue.
“The public will panic if the truth is told,” Agent Brick tells me.
“You’re asking me to keep my mouth shut about all of this?” I ask, stunned.
“It wasn’t a request, Mr. Eaton,” the agent says.
* * *
—
It’s after midnight by the time Kat and I are allowed to leave. We grab a cab and head across the Queensboro Bridge, back to the apartment we’ve been calling home. We find Elvis, Busara and Declan on the sofa when we arrive. A news program is playing on the television.
“Have you been sitting here all this time?” I ask.
Elvis snorts. “Not exactly. Declan climbed down the fire escape and went for a walk while Busara and I were…napping.”
I look down at Declan. “Where did you go?”
“There,” says Busara. She’s pointing at the television.
Elvis picks up the remote and turns up the volume. Declan is on the screen, speaking to a group of reporters gathered outside the Company’s lab on Franklin Street. He’s reading from typewritten sheets of paper. He keeps his eyes on the pages, as if he’s too nervous to look up.
“Several months ago, I was hit by a car while riding my bike. When I was taken to the hospital, the doctors told my parents that I was suffering from something called locked-in syndrome. In other words, I was conscious, but my body was completely paralyzed. I could neither move nor speak. I was locked inside my body. The doctors convinced my parents to let me test a new therapy for patients with locked-in syndrome. A disk was attached to the back of my skull and a visor was placed over my eyes. Together, they communicated with my brain and allowed my mind to enter a virtual world. There, I could not only walk and talk again, I was able to use all of my senses.” Declan looks up at the camera. His confidence is growing.
“My parents were told the disk had been invented by Milo Yolkin, the founder of the Company. They trusted that it would be safe. What they couldn’t have known was that I didn’t have locked-in syndrome at all. The Company was keeping me—and other patients like me—in a comatose state so they could beta test their new technology. You see, the disks Milo Yolkin invented had a bug.
“If you were hurt in the virtual world, the disk would convince your body that the injury was real. If you were hurt badly enough, it would kill you. In order to identify the source of the problem, the Company needed guinea pigs. I ended up being one of them.”
Declan puts down his notes. He’s standing on a busy street in Manhattan, but there’s silence all around. It’s as if the whole world is listening. “People died testing the disk. I don’t know how many, but I can give you the names of two people who were murdered by the Company. Carole Elliot and Marlow Holm. I only survived because there’s something different about my brain. For some reason, the disk wasn’t able to kill me. When the Company discovered this, I became their favorite guinea pig. At first, they were hoping to fix the disks. Then they decided they didn’t need to.
“Rich and powerful people were lining up to buy custom OtherEarth experiences. When paired with a disk, OtherEarth could make any fantasy come true—no matter how dark or perverted. The disks let users feel, smell and taste everything that’s happening. Some people have already died playing OtherEarth. Other people have stopped being able to tell the difference between the game and real life.
“OtherEarth made Max Prince kill his stepfather. The director who beat up his lead actress? He was playing OtherEarth, too. Other famous people have had their secrets stolen and used against them. And that’s not all the Company’s been up to. They have bodies stored in a lab on the fourth floor of this building. Some of the bodies belong to powerful people—and some of them are those people’s robot clones.”
“I know it sounds farfetched, but it’s true. The FBI raided this building this morning. I thought there was a chance they’d cover up what they found. I wanted to make sure that you all know the truth.”
Declan looks up at me nervously as the camera returns to an anchorperson.
“You were right about the FBI,” I tell him. “They made us swear to secrecy.”
“Well, it’s all over the news now.”
“Is the public panicking?” I ask.
“Yes. But don’t you think they should be?” Declan says.
“Absolutely,” I say as I sit down beside him. I’m starting to think this might turn out all right. “You did a great job.”
I turn my attention back to the television just in time to see seven glorious words appear on the screen. Is This the End of the Company?
Kat and I left our avatars in Albion, so we arrive ahead of the others. Who knows how many Otherworld years have passed since we last visited? And yet the little village where Bird lived looks exactly as we left it. From the outside, the stone cottages haven’t changed. The road that runs between them is still dirt. Beyond are the fields that were home to a herd of elephants. But I can see tall green mounds on the edge of the old town and a glass tower in the distance that tell me life in Albion is not completely the same.
Children come to the cottages’ windows as Kat and I walk down the street. A few naughty little ones run outside and follow us. They are beautiful beings—mixtures of every creature in Otherworld. Kat and I try several times to ask them if James Ogubu still lives in town. But whenever we turn to speak to them, they dart away, giggling.
We he
ad in the direction of Bird’s cottage. I worry that we may not be able to pick hers out from among the identical dwellings that line the lane. But as we draw closer, I can see there’s only one with a statue in front of it—and a quotation written on the wall by the door. Freedom Is Never Free. The statue, carved from stone, shows Bird as she looked when Kat and I first met her.
“She died five years ago.” The door of the cottage has opened. James Ogubu stands on the threshold. He’s wearing the same linen suit, but other than that, he’s entirely different. He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him.
“I wish we could have said goodbye. I’m so sorry we missed her,” Kat says.
“You haven’t,” James says. “Her body is gone, but her legacy is all around you. In all the ways that matter most, Bird is still very much alive.”
“Simon and Kat deserve credit too, you know.” Nasha has emerged from the cottage. She’s transformed as well. Her braids are down and her feet are bare. Even the black workout gear is gone. In its place is a pretty tangerine sundress. “These two helped make all of this possible. They played a big part in saving this world—and the one back home as well.”
“Maybe this one’s in good shape, but there’s still a lot more to do on Earth,” I tell her. “The Company’s done for—but there are other corporations like it.”
“You’ll have everything you need,” Nasha tells me. “If you don’t already.”
“Are you talking about Abigail Prince’s fortune?” I ask.
Nasha’s smile tells me she knows things that I don’t. “You still have some big surprises in store,” she says. “I wish I could be the one to tell you, but it wouldn’t be fair.”
