by Amy Cross
He smiles nervously, as if he's started to think that maybe I'm insane.
"I have to go to Church Street," I say, hurrying past him and grabbing my clothes from the floor. Despite the pain in my shoulder, I start getting dressed as quickly as possible. "I have to find Compidome."
"Are you okay?" Reed asks, watching me from the bathroom doorway.
"Don't worry about me," I say as I hook my bra back on. "Just... Don't worry."
"I'd still like to buy you breakfast," he says. "It sounds like you've got some interesting stuff going on."
"It's nothing to do with you," I reply, feeling my panic starting to be replaced by a kind of cold-hearted determination. "Not anymore. It's just me." I pause as I realize that it's true: Chloe and Reed are both gone now, and as far as I know, I'm the only one left. "It's just me," I say again, as I struggle to get my shirt back on.
"You can't go out there like that," he says. "I don't quite get what happened, but we should both get to a hospital. I'll drive. Do you happen to know where I left my car?"
"You go to hospital," I tell him. "I'm going to Compidome."
"I can't let you just walk out of here with a wound like that," he replies. "Also, you seem kind of confused. Are you sure... You're not on something, are you?"
"Just go to hospital," I continue, grabbing my phone and heading to the door. "Oh, and you're not actually checked in here, so don't go to the reception desk when you leave. Just dump the key somewhere and get out of here." I stop as I'm about to open the door, and then I turn back to him. "Are you sure you don't remember me?" I ask. "Try really, really hard. Isn't there anything at all in your mind?"
He stares blankly at me.
Figuring I might as well try one last thing, I walk over and kiss him passionately on the lips, trying to recreate the sensation between us last night. I know it's a desperate move, but I have to at least try. The kiss lasts for a couple of minutes before I finally force myself to take a step back. "Please," I say after a moment. "Please, tell me you remember me now."
"I'm trying..." he says. "I'm really trying, but..."
Taking John Lydecker's I.D. card from the nearby dresser, I hold it up for Reed to see. "Do you recognize this guy?" I ask.
He pauses, as if he recognizes Lydecker for a moment but then loses the memory. "I don't think so..." he says. "Where did that come from?"
"You mind if I take it?" I ask.
"Sure," he says with a shrug, "but, are you sure you don't want to get breakfast? It's totally on me. I'd feel really bad about just letting you walk out the door like this. I'm not the kind of guy who has random flings with people he doesn't even know."
"I'm not the kind of girl who does that either," I reply sadly.
"So..." He pauses, waiting for me to take him up on his offer. It's clear from the look in his eyes, however, that he has no idea who I am.
"Go to a hospital," I reply, turning and pulling the door open. Although Reed calls after me, I hurry along the corridor and quickly call an elevator. After a couple of minutes, figuring I don't have time to waste, I decide to use the stairwell instead, so I push a nearby door open and start running down to the ground floor. Before I get all the way, however, I stop for a moment as the full enormity of this situation hits me. Tears start to flow down my cheeks and I have to sit on the steps for a moment as I realize that not only am I completely alone, but the situation is getting worse. First Chloe, then Reed. It must be only a matter of time before something happens to me.
Dr. Stef Grant
Today
"This place is amazing," I say, stepping out of the elevator and finding that we're in some kind of huge, open-plan office space, with glass walls all around the edges. It's almost like being in some kind of high-tech futuristic building, and as I walk over to a window and look out across the city, I realize that something about this whole situation feels very wrong. "This building can't exist," I continue, turning back to face Lacey. "I've never seen a building this tall in New York."
"Good," she replies. "That's the idea."
"How do you hide a building?" I ask, unable to work out what, exactly, is happening right now.
"With technology," she replies, still holding the gun nervously in her hand. "Compidome has developed some truly revolutionary systems, Dr. Grant. When this is all over, I'd be happy to show you some of our best work." She pauses. "There's a place at the company for you, you know. I was going to offer positions to both you and Dr. Cooper when we get out of here."
"If we get out of here," I point out.
"I think we'll be fine," she replies, glancing nervously across the room for a moment, almost as if she expects to see someone. "As I explained, once we've got what I need, we'll go back to the boat, I'll arrange for the storm to be stopped, and we can sail off out of here."
"Sounds simple," I say.
She smiles.
Turning to look out the window again, I realize that even though the storm is still raging, I can't hear anything other than the distant hum of the building's air-conditioning system. Rain is swirling through the air on the other side of the window, and from this high vantage point hundreds of meters above the city streets, it's almost possible to see the entirety of the storm as some kind of huge cloud of rain and wind, hanging perpetually above New York. It's hard to believe that the city can survive such a huge tempest, and the damage is plain to see: Central Park looks as if it has been ravaged, and there's debris being blown through the air. The whole city looks dull and gray under the afternoon sky, and once again I can't help seeing the buildings as a series of tombstones.
"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Lacey says after a moment. "A whole storm, held in place, able to be directed. If I want it to move half a mile to the north, I can call our base and it'll only take about an hour to arrange. South, east, west... Whatever. It took a long time for mankind to gain control over the elements, but now that it's happened, the feeling is just..." She pauses again. "Pure power, Dr. Grant. Imagine if you could decide when this storm ends. Wouldn't you feel as if you're somehow above the rest of the world?"
Glancing over at her, I see that she's staring out at the storm. It occurs to me that I could maybe try to grab the gun right now, but I figure I need to wait a little while longer. There's no room for error here.
"It's hard sometimes," she continues. "To maintain perspective, I mean. It would be so easy to start thinking that we're..." She catches herself before she finishes the sentence. "You understand, right? The most dangerous thing in the world would be to start thinking that we're up there with the gods. It'd be totally natural to react that way, but we have strict screening programs in place, Dr. Grant. We only hire men and women of science. People who won't be tempted to consider themselves to be gods, just because they might invent something that gives us power of the entire world."
"You think men of science are immune to ego?" I ask.
"I think we have to take every possible precaution," she replies firmly.
"And this company," I reply cautiously, "this whole building, exists in the heart of New York, with no-one being aware of it?"
"More or less," she says. "As far as anyone else is aware, Compidome doesn't exist. We don't seek or claim credit for our work. We just get on with our programs and focus on the results. We exercise real power, but we do it behind the scenes. Sometimes we leak our developments to other companies if we really want to get things out there, but Compidome is a company that has absolutely no ego. We should be the most famous organization in the world. We could overthrow any government in less than twenty-four hours, but we..." She pauses. "There. See how easy it is to get carried away? I was starting to brag, Ms. Grant. I was allowing my ego to break through. Compidome isn't that kind of company."
"Then what are you?" I ask.
"Good question," she replies. "Sometimes I wonder why we bother accumulating so much power. I guess my theory is that the best way to wield influence is to do so without anyone knowing that you even exist. That wa
y, no-one ever pushes back. No-one ever thinks to question whether you've become too big." She seems lost in thought for a moment. "People see this building every day. They see us towering over New York, almost double the size of the next tallest building, and do you know how they react? They ignore us. We have technology that makes them not notice us, but sometimes I wonder if maybe there's a little more to it. Maybe the technology only works so well because, deep down, people don't want to acknowledge that we exist."
Before I can reply, there's a distant banging sound somewhere in the building, and Lacey looks visibly concerned. The sound continues for a couple of seconds, before the whole place falls quiet again.
"I guess noises from the outside get in occasionally," she mutters.
"Sounded more like it came from inside," I reply. "Are you sure this place is empty?"
"We need to get to my office," she says, still aiming the gun at me. It's as if my question, which she carefully avoided answering, has brought out a little more venom. "Turn around and walk straight ahead. I'll tell you which way to go."
A few minutes later, we're in a smaller, glass-walled room, with a desk at the far end. Although she's still got the gun absent-mindedly pointed at me, Lacey is busily going through the contents of the desk drawers, pulling out large bundles of documents and setting them out as if she intends to go through them. For someone who claims to be so completely in control, she certainly seems to be in something of a panic right now, muttering inaudibly to herself as she checks page after page. Whatever she's looking for, the search is consuming her attention, and for the first time since we got here she's allowed the gun to point away from me. Still, I'm too far back to make a lunge for the weapon, and I wouldn't have a chance if I tried to run. One thing's certain: I believe that she'd shoot if she felt it was the only way to stop me from getting away.
"So what exactly are we supposed to be getting from here?" I ask eventually, edging closer and hoping she won't notice.
"It's amazing," she replies, staring at the documents, "but even though we live in an age of micro-processors and quantum computing, we still seem to have this almost pathological desire to print everything out. Back-up copies. Hard copies. Copies here, copies there. It all has to become permanent at some point, doesn't it? And sometimes the result is that we cause real problems for ourselves."
"So you're clearing out the evidence?" I suggest. I'm still getting closer, but I have to be careful in order to ensure that I don't cause her any alarm.
"Nothing so graceless," she replies, "but that's not a bad analogy. I just need to know where certain things are kept. We're going to be going upstairs in a minute, to the main lab. That's where the really important experiments began, and it's where..." She pauses as she flicks through one of the documents. "This is a list of access codes," she continues. "They're so sensitive, so goddamn fucking important, that we never digitized them. I always insisted that there should only be one copy of this document, hand-written and left in my desk at all times. I should have taken it with me when I left New York, but I finally realized that the codes needed to be here, in case I didn't make it back." She pauses again. "One four eight two," she mutters, as if she's trying to commit the code to memory. "One four eight two." She glances at me. "Remember that for me. One four eight two. One four eight two. One four eight two."
"One four eight two," I reply, even though I have no idea why I should help Lacey. I guess I'm just playing along until I can get that gun out of her hand.
"One four eight two," she mutters, before glancing at the ceiling. "This isn't going to take long, Dr. Grant. We just have to go into the lab, resolve a few difficulties, and then leave. If everything goes according to plan, we'll be back at the boat in a few hours."
"And if everything doesn't go according to plan?" I ask.
"It will," she says firmly, as there's a brief return of the banging sound from earlier. It's almost as if someone or something is hitting some pipes elsewhere in the building, and the look of concern on Lacey's face makes it clear that she's nervous. "Believe me," she continues eventually. "We have every right to be here. This is my company, and I'm entitled to come and retrieve my property."
"Even from the middle of an empty city?" I reply. "An empty country?"
"We have to go back to the elevator," she says, adjusting her grip on the gun for a moment, as if she's making sure she's got me in her sights. "We have to just get this over with and then get out of here before..."
I wait for her to answer. "Before what?" I ask eventually.
"Before you annoy me so much," she replies, "that I accidentally put a bullet in your forehead. Now move!"
Caroline Jones
Fourteen days ago
As soon as I step out of the hotel's main entrance, a woman in a large fur coat almost walks straight into me. At the last moment, she stops, stares at me for a fraction of a second, and then steps neatly around me, before continuing on her way. As I turn to watch her leave, she stops again and glances over her shoulder, as if she's not quite sure who or what she just saw. Eventually, she turns and continues her journey, but it's as if, for a fraction of a second, she was aware of me.
And then, like everyone else, she forgot.
Taking a deep breath, I start walking along the sidewalk. Part of me is terrified that Reed is going to come running after me, demanding answers and trying to help. On the other hand, another part of me is terrified that he won't come after me, because that would almost certainly mean that I've been forgotten. The thought of him standing in that hotel room, trying to work out exactly what happened and who I am, is soul-destroying; for a moment today, I felt as if he and I had some kind of connection, and I allowed myself to believe that no matter what else might happen, there was no way the connection could be broken. Now, however, I'm alone, and it's clear that time is running out. It's as if -
Stopping dead in my tracks, I suddenly realize that I'm almost back at the spot where Reed and I left John Lydecker's body. Sure enough, he's still there, slumped on the sidewalk with people absent-mindedly making their way around him on either side. My first thought is to cross the street and keep as far from the body as possible, but after a moment I realize that something about his body seems to have changed. Edging closer, I finally see that his entire face seems to have melted into a uniform fleshy surface, as if his eyes, mouth and nose have sealed up. Whatever happened to Chloe back in the coffee shop, it looks as if exactly the same thing has happened to Lydecker, and despite my revulsion, I can't help but stare for a moment.
"What's wrong with him?" asks a voice nearby.
Turning I see that a young boy, about nine or ten years old, has stopped a couple of meters away, and he's staring down at Lydecker's corpse. It takes a moment before I realize that I've seen the boy before: it's Tommy, Reed's son. I have no idea what he's doing here, but he seems to be transfixed by the sight of Lydecker. While everyone else is walking around us, Tommy's getting closer.
"You can see him?" I ask.
Ignoring me, Tommy takes a step toward the body.
"How can you see him?" I continue, watching as he gets closer.
Getting down onto his knees, Tommy seems stunned by Lydecker's body. He clearly has no idea that I'm here, but somehow the image of Lydecker is getting through to him, and slowly he starts reaching out to touch the corpse.
"No!" I say, pushing his hand away. He turns to me, and for a moment it's as if he sees me, but then he blinks a couple of times, looks down at Lydecker, and starts reaching out to him again. I grab his arm and pull him further away this time, and he looks completely shocked, as if he doesn't understand what's happening. He makes eye contact with me for a fraction of a second, before blinking a couple of times and turning back to look at Lydecker. For a moment, he saw me; and then, as usual, I seemed to vanish from his mind.
Reaching into my coat pocket, I pull out an old lipstick that I haven't use for months, and I quickly scrawl a message on the sidewalk: 'Stop!' Once I'm done, I
turn to see that Tommy seems to have noticed the message, even though he's frowning and doesn't seem to understand quite where it came from. I don't know what would happen if he touched Lydecker, but something tells me that he should probably keep as far back as possible.
"I don't know if you can hear me," I say, staring at him, "but you need to just leave this thing alone, okay? It might be dangerous. It might be infectious, so just..." My voice trails off as I realize that he's starting to move away again. He seems to be extremely cautious, as if he's not entirely sure what he's seeing. "This man isn't anything to do with you," I continue. "He's just... I don't know who he is, but he's not a part of your life."
Seemingly in shock, Tommy shows no sign that he can hear me.
"Your father's in the hotel," I say, pointing at the nearby entrance. "He's in there!"
Tommy continues to stare at Lydecker for a moment, but suddenly a voice calls out from nearby.
"Tommy!" Reed shouts, standing outside the hotel.
"He's here!" I call back to him, but it's clear that he can't see me. As Tommy gets to his feet and runs over to Reed, I realize that somehow they're back to normal. It's as if, following Lydecker's death, Reed was reabsorbed into his life, with the torn edges healing over until neither of them are aware that anything unusual happened. At the same time, I guess Reed has completely forgotten about me, which would probably be a small price for him to pay if it means he's got his son back. Despite the fact that I feel completely alone, I can't help but be happy that Reed has his family back.
I spend the next couple of minutes adding a few more warning messages around Lydecker's corpse, figuring that it'd be best if no-one gets too close. Tommy was probably only able to see Lydecker because of his close personal exposure to whatever has been happening, but I still feel as if there's a danger that Lydecker's body could cause more problems, so I make sure to add plenty of warnings before finally I step back and realize that I've done everything I can here. Reed seems to be absolutely fine, and hopefully no-one else will go near Lydecker, even if they somehow manage to see his body. Turning, I hurry along the sidewalk, determined to get to Church Street so that I can try to find the Compidome building.
