by Sean Platt
On his way to the communication zone, Ephraim pulled up the Eden messaging app, found Altruance in the directory, and sent him a page. Nothing happened. Maybe he wasn’t using it right.
The ground sloped slightly upward, then down into the privacy dish where he’d called Fiona the day before. He pinged Altruance again and got no response. Then he used the Doodad’s phone app to dial Fiona. He waited.
What time would it be in New York if it was barely six here? Maybe midnight; maybe 10 pm. It didn’t matter. Ephraim didn’t give a shit if it was somehow 2 am on Christmas. Fiona paid a ton for her caregivers, and it was their job to be there for her 24/7. Either someone would awaken to answer Fiona’s phone for her or he’d wake them. Maybe she would already be up with her gear on and would answer herself.
Something was wrong, and Ephraim damn well intended get some answers.
But Fiona didn’t answer.
Worse, her phone didn’t even ring.
Ephraim pulled the Doodad from his ear and looked at its screen. It showed a connection trying to be made, but not quite making it. Three dots fruitlessly reaching for a fourth. He ended the attempt and tried again.
Nothing.
No ringing.
No connection.
He slapped the Doodad with his hand, the way his great-grandmother used to smack her ancient TV. Angry. Frustrated. Afraid, and feeling a little foolish, as if scared for no reason.
You saw an accident. That’s all. You didn’t witness a crime.
The man had a birth defect. You don’t know that all the ghosts look the same behind their masks.
Except that they didn’t scream or shout. They didn’t show concern, or even move from their posts.
He slapped the Doodad again. The touchscreen was lit; his slap opened the calculator app and entered the digits 3 and 5. For the thirty-five ways he was acting like a paranoid asshole.
Chill out. Nobody is blocking your reception. Nobody was listening in on yesterday’s call. Nobody searched your place. Altruance isn’t answering because he’s in the shower or something, removing the blood after peacefully leaving the scene. As you should be.
He should go home. Get clean. Change out of these disgusting clothes. Maybe take a nap, get something to eat. He’d gotten wasted, slept in a chair, then awoken to slaughter. No wonder he felt so edgy.
After trying Fiona and Altruance a final time, Ephraim left the communication zone. He walked toward what he suspected was home, though in the long morning shadows it was hard to be sure. The Eden app worked everywhere, so he tried a few more pages. Gus, Sophie, even Pierra. Never mind that it was early. He could apologize when they answered.
Nobody did.
Go to their homes. Knock on their doors.
But he didn’t know where they were staying, and although there was a directory somewhere in the app, showing up covered in blood on their doorsteps after paging them first thing in the morning wasn’t, logically speaking, the best way to make new friends.
He’d met these people two days ago, and everyone he’d paged so far was world famous. He had to let it go. Clear his thoughts and try his best not to be an overreacting dick.
He opened his door and entered, his attention drawn too late to a tiny scrap of paper on the floor. His door indicator, put there like a gumshoe to let him know whether anyone had entered while he’d been gone.
Had it just fallen and he’d missed it, or had it been on the floor all along? Had he even remembered to replace it after stopping by with Altruance? Or had he decided not to bother?
In his head, Fiona’s voice: Be very careful. If they catch you, I think they might k—
But catch him doing what? He’d done nothing worth catching.
He took a shower. Watched the water turn red, then pink, then swirl down the drain. The scalding water felt good on his skin. He spent more time in the shower than he normally would. His house was modest by Eden’s standards, but the shower was luxurious. It had three heads, all of which could be set anywhere from light spray to hard massage, hitting him from three directions. Bathing was a caress against the morning’s horrors.
He dried. Pulled on boxers, then paused with a pair of shorts in his hand.
He looked at his bed.
Then dropped the jeans and climbed into it, pulling the covers snugly around his body.
CHAPTER 16
HAVE SOME COFFEE
Ephraim blinked awake. The light was different, but he had no idea how much time had passed. He’d had a dream, but couldn’t remember what it was. There’d been something loud to end it — a jarring noise, like a landscape machine over a faceless drone.
He closed his eyes. Opened them. Stretched. The morning felt like the dream, rather than the dream itself. Maybe he’d slept the entire time. That accident with the ghost? He’d barely been awake, fighting the final threads of drug and drink. He felt better after some sleep, and the whole incident seemed further away. As if it had never even happened.
He reached for his Doodad. Altruance hadn’t responded to his pages, nor had anybody else. Maybe that was because he hadn’t paged them.
Absurd.
But he checked the messaging app anyway. There was no obvious outgoing box, though, so he couldn’t be sure whether those messages had been sent or not.
Ephraim stretched, uneasy, feeling like he was missing something.
His doorbell rang. Of course. It’s what had woken him in the first place; he’d heard the bell in twilight sleep. It must be Altruance. He’d seen Ephraim’s pages. Or, if this morning had all been some gory dream, the ring was Altruance merely stopping by.
It happened.
His phone lit, vibrating. Altruance could wait. Onscreen was a new page from Sophie Norris, an A-list movie star, contacting Ephraim. Why would she do that? Maybe she did like him. Or maybe she was replying to this morning’s page, if he’d sent one.
Her message was nondescript. Want breakfast?
Ephraim wanted to answer yes — probably also with Altruance, who rang his bell a third time, being patient and polite between attempts. But he also wanted to reply about what he’d seen. Just to make sure he wasn’t going crazy.
He had his MyLife recording to answer that question.
But when Ephraim tried to pull up yesterday’s visual memories, he found everything blank. He had no MyLife record of yesterday at all — none of it, from the Tomorrow Gene presentation through this very moment. It had been glitchy all day, but now — at the worst possible time — it was finally broken. Great. You didn’t take a MyLife into a repair shop. Fixing one required minor surgery.
Ephraim gave Sophie a simple yes, saying he’d follow up once he had his head straight. Then he got dressed. The doorbell rang again. He called out, “Hang on, hang on” as he walked toward the hall.
Ephraim stopped, puzzled, looking into the bathroom.
Hadn’t he tossed his blood-soaked clothes into a pile by the shower, figuring he could deal with them later?
If so, the clothes were gone.
A fifth ring.
He went downstairs and opened the door, his mouth halfway open to ask Altruance what he remembered from the night (the morning?) before.
But instead of one large black man, Ephraim saw two smaller white people. Elle and Nolon, their saccharine smiles right out of a chewing gum commercial.
“Oh. Hi,” Ephraim said.
“Good morning, Mr. Todd,” Nolon said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Sure.”
“Have you had anything to eat yet?” A stupid smile. “Any coffee, at least?”
Yes. Coffee. At a closed bar on the east lawn, beside the massacre.
“Um …”
“The office has excellent coffee,” Elle said.
“That’s nice.”
“Would you like some?”
Ephraim looked around. The way Elle offered, you’d think she’d brought an unrequested coffee pot. “No thanks.”
But Nolon was already gesturing
. Assuming his answer. His hand was raised down the front path away from Ephraim’s house, toward a golf cart waiting at its end. Where there was coffee? None of this made a goddamn bit of sense.
“Please,” Nolon said. “Have some coffee.”
“Why?”
“Because either way, we’ll need you to come with us.”
CHAPTER 17
TELL YOU A SECRET
“Mr. Todd? Are you okay?”
Ephraim looked from the golf cart to Elle. From Elle to Nolon.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Ghost.
Ephraim ignored the remark. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I haven’t even had breakfast.”
“That’s why we asked,” Elle said, the smile plastered on her face. “We’d be happy to take you to breakfast.”
“I meant a good breakfast.”
“We can take you anywhere you’d like.”
“Why do I have to go with you?”
“We just have some additional paperwork for you to sign.”
“What paperwork?”
“It’s easier explained over a meal.” Nolon gestured again. “Please.”
“I have breakfast plans with Sophie Norris.”
Nolon’s smile broadened. “That’s lovely! Hop in. We can pick her up as well.”
“It’s supposed to be just the two of us.”
“We won’t intrude.”
“I’d rather not. No offense.”
“No offense taken, Mr. Todd,” Nolon said. “Unfortunately, this paperwork is quite important.”
“Then bring it to me. I’ll sign it here.”
“There are also things we need to explain.”
“Can’t I just read something? I’m supposed to be a guest. I’m trying to relax.”
“It won’t take long,” Elle told him.
“I’ll come down to the office later. On the Reception island?”
“Oh,” Nolon said, tipping his head. “We wouldn’t want to make you go all the way back there. It’s such a long tram ride just to sign some boring papers.”
“Boring but important,” Elle clarified.
“But I promise it’s no trouble,” Nolon said. “We’re here to serve you in any way you need.”
“Okay. Good. You can serve me by not making me do this right now. We can do it later.”
“It really is quite urgent,” they said together.
Ephraim felt himself starting to sweat. “Why are both of you here? Don’t you have other things to do?”
“No worries,” Elle said, reaching for Ephraim’s hand. “There’s always plenty of us to go around.”
“Later,” Ephraim said, pulling away, backing up behind his front door.
“Five minutes,” Elle insisted.
“Later.”
Ephraim shut the door. He waited for them to knock again or ring the bell as they’d repeatedly done, but after a few moments of long, heavy breaths, nothing came. Eventually, the waiting got to Ephraim. He moved to one of the long windows beside the door, peeling the curtain back to look out at an empty porch, the golf cart gone.
Ephraim’s Doodad vibrated in his pocket. He jumped as if poked with a cattle prod, then pulled it out. The screen showed Altruance’s photo, and a page that had come to his Doodad instead of his apparently broken MyLife. The message read, Hey man. We need to talk.
Ice in his blood. Six words and no specifics, stirring Ephraim like a cauldron. The curt message felt dire, its weight like an anchor.
We need to talk.
At least Altruance had made it home.
Unless someone had taken Altruance’s Doodad and was pretending to be him.
Okay, Ephraim typed. I’m meeting Sophie for breakfast. You can join us.
The single word came back like a sledgehammer.
Alone.
When and where?
My place. Right away. Don’t tell Sophie where you’re going.
This wasn’t right. This, in fact, felt very wrong.
Let me call you, Ephraim messaged. He needed to hear Altruance’s voice if this was him. He needed to read his mood.
I can’t talk now.
Ephraim typed, I don’t mean talk about what you want to discuss. About something else.
Again, somehow deadpan despite being mere pixels: I can’t talk now.
Ephraim looked at the screen with a slamming heart. He saw three shaking dots at the bottom, an indicator that Altruance was typing.
A new message came through:
Now.
Ephraim went to the kitchen window. It looked out the back of the house, up the bluff, in the general direction of Altruance’s mansion. The vista offered no answers, but the sense of wrong was like a fire blanket.
Sophie. He’d have to talk to Sophie, then find Altruance — in person, together, somewhere public.
Another knock on his door. Ephraim ignored it, hands trembling as he tried to return the Doodad to his pocket. He turned toward the back door, toward Altruance’s, and was about to sneak out when he heard a small ticking from the front of his home.
Like a lock sliding out of place. Disengaging, to open a door.
He turned. The front door, at the opposite end of the central hallway, was swinging open. There was a man on the stoop, details obscured in silhouette from the brightening sun.
Run.
“Ephraim? I just want to talk to you.”
The voice was friendly. Familiar.
A subtle change in tone, and then he went on. “You want to come over. You want to talk to me, too.”
It was true. It shouldn’t be, but it was. Ephraim's feet moved, and his twitchy fear retreated.
All was well. Why wouldn’t it be? He was in paradise.
The silhouette dulled. Ephraim could now see features. The man had longish blond hair. Straight teeth. Blue eyes. A lean frame; not broad. A handsome face, fuzzy with stubble. He was wearing board shorts as if he’d just come from surfing. A clean white shirt with nothing on it.
“I’m the same person I’ve always been, Ephraim.”
It was Nolon.
But he was different, both hair and clothes. Nolon had been clean-shaven ten minutes ago while standing at the door with Elle, but now his cheeks had several days’ worth of growth. His manner had changed, transformed in some way that Ephraim couldn’t explain even to himself, just like Nolon’s voice.
“What the—?”
“I need you to come with me,” Nolon said.
He moved out of the dim light, stepping through the unlocked door. Ephraim gritted his teeth and backed away. Nolon advanced to match him.
“Get out,” Ephraim said, his calm finally broken. “I paid to be here. Paid a lot. I need some space. Be a good host and get the fuck out of my house!”
“I’ll tell you a secret, Mr. Todd,” Nolon said, his voice moving from familiar to false-casual. “I’m not a great host. And I’m not asking.”
Ephraim retreated, finding his back against a wall.
Then Nolon came at him, hands rising and eyes deadly.
CHAPTER 18
PERSECUTION COMPLEX
“I know what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You were asked nicely to comply. Everyone has been so polite. But you, Ephraim …” Nolon shook his head. “Where were you last night? Where did you go?”
“That’s none of your fucking business.”
Nolon touched Ephraim’s shoulder. He ducked away, scooting out between Nolon and the wall.
“Come with me, Ephraim.”
“I said no.”
Nolon grabbed his arm.
Ephraim tried to pull away again, but this time the concierge was prepared and held fast.
“Let go of me.”
“This won’t take long.”
“What won’t take long? What do you want?”
Nolon pulled. The man was surprisingly strong. Ephraim grabbed a wall sco
nce, but with Nolon on his other end his grip slipped easily away and his feet scrabbled on the hardwood.
He looked forward as Nolon turned back to meet his eye. The geniality he’d seen so far from the man (though this wasn’t the same Nolon, was it?) had gone missing. Same with the Wrigley smile, the vacant blue gaze, the just-let-me-know-what-you-need brand of servitude.
The concierges he’d met at Reception were like cruise activity guides. The man holding his arm now was like warden dragging him to the chair.
You’re being ridiculous. He just needs you to fill out some paperwork.
But this isn’t how bureaucrats and paper-shufflers drag people into compliance, said a much more reasonable internal voice.
Ephraim’s skin, under Nolon’s fist, felt raw as he pulled against it. His feet were useless. One foot struck an umbrella stand and scattered the contents.
And suddenly everything was clear, hitting Ephraim in one gestalt dump.
It wasn’t paranoia. It was fact.
They know. They know everything. They know about Fiona because her scrambler device didn’t work. They know everything I said to her, and all she said to me. They know about Jonathan; they know his disappearance is why I came — plus Fiona’s reasons for sending me. They have my brother. Or had him. Maybe he came here as a spy like I did, and they killed him. Just like they’re going to kill me. Same reason they’ve somehow messed with my MyLife implant. Because I know their secrets. And out here in international waters, Evermore can do whatever it wants, including murder.
Ephraim’s fingers hooked around a bend in the wall, gripping, his body yawning between corner and Nolon’s pull like taffy. Nolon pulled harder, and ripped Ephraim from his edge.
They collided, tangled, then fell to the floor, Ephraim on Nolon.
Ephraim shot to his feet. Nolon grabbed him by the ankle before he could run.
Before he fell again, Ephraim had a thought
(What the hell am I going to do? Run? Where the hell am I going to go? I’m on an island)
