Unfurl (The Ripple Trilogy)

by Cidney Swanson

  Pfeffer’s concern for Will was genuine, the spoken words matching the unspoken thoughts.

  “May I have your permission?” asked Pfeffer, assembling a syringe and needle.

  “Go ahead,” I murmured.

  “Sam?” called Christian, alarmed.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “He’s not our enemy.”

  I caught more from Pfeffer’s anguished mind. Regrets, fears, anger and self–loathing. All the wasted years … my failure to sabotage Helmann. These things he repeated again and again in different forms.

  Pfeffer gave Will the medication, and I watched as his eyes fluttered open. He’d never looked so good to me, but I didn’t have long to enjoy it.

  During the moment it took me to tell Will that everything would be okay now, Mickie had leapt up from the couch and, running at Pfeffer, she head–butted him.

  Chapter Forty–Three

  * * *

  THE SAMINATOR

  · WILL ·

  My sister pissed off is something you don’t want to be in the same room with. After she’d knocked Pfeffer to the ground using her noggin, she lost her balance and fell over, but that didn’t stop her trying to kick his butt across the floor like he was a soccer ball.

  “Mick,” I groaned. “How’s Sam supposed to shoot him with you going all bend–it–like–Beckham?”

  She stopped kicking and commenced hurling curses through her gag. She was admirably successful getting the words out.

  “Everyone, quiet!” ordered Sam. She turned to Pfeffer. “I want to know what is going on. Start with why you didn’t shoot me full of Neuroplex. Or whatever Helmann meant for you to give me.”

  He shook his head. “I was trying to save your life. You’re the last living descendant of Elisabeth de Rochefort, beloved by my friend Waldhart de Rochefort.”

  Sam looked puzzled. “How can you work for Helmann and still call yourself Sir Walter’s friend?”

  Pfeffer shook his head slowly and sighed. “I never served Helmann. I pretended so that I might prevent the annihilation of billions.” In a voice full of anguish, he continued. “But I’ve failed. His secret died with him, and we are all powerless to stop him.”

  Sam stared at him like she was making up her mind. Then, slowly, she nodded. “I can hear the truth,” she said. “I can hear your thoughts.”

  Mickie started in again, although it didn’t sound so much like curse words anymore. More like questions. I tried to sit up, but the pain in my leg—dull, distant—wouldn’t let me.

  “Look,” Sam said to Pfeffer, “I am close to trusting you right now, but you just killed Sir Walter—” Her voice choked and tears hung on the lids of her eyes. I wanted so bad to comfort her.

  Pfeffer tried to interrupt, but Sam held up a hand. “No more talking from you yet. Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to untie Mickie’s hands, slowly, while I stand here with two guns aimed at your head.”

  He nodded and complied. As soon as my sister’s hands were free, she spun around and clocked her ex–advisor on the jaw. He wiped blood from his lip, but made no attempt to defend himself.

  My sister reached for the gag and tore it off. “That was for lying to us,” she said. “And this is for tying me up and rippling with me.” She pulled back to nail him a second time.

  “Stop!” Sam shouted.

  And my sister actually listened. Maybe because Sam had a gun in each hand. It was like Sam was some avenging angel whose wings had unfurled. Man, I loved her.

  “I did not end Waldhart’s life,” said Pfeffer, taking advantage of the silence. “He’s only asleep, contrary to Helmann’s orders.”

  Sam turned to him. The hope in her eyes about broke my heart in half. “Check Sir Walter’s pulse,” she said to my sister.

  Mick nodded and walked to the old man’s body. “His heart’s beating,” she reported.

  Sam closed her eyes and took a slow breath. “Mickie, please untie him. And then Christian.”

  “Someone should tell Bridget everything’s okay,” I said. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth. “And someone should get Gwyn out of that ridiculous suit.”

  My sister volunteered.

  Sam turned back to Pfeffer. “What was in the shot you gave Sir Walter?”

  “A sedative.” Pfeffer reached inside a pocket, then changed his mind, withdrawing his hands and placing them in the air, like someone surrendering. “Inside my jacket, you’ll find a set of syringes. I can tell you which one will awaken Sir Walter.”

  “Don’t trust him!” said Mickie, as she finished untying Christian.

  “It’s okay,” said Sam. “I can hear every thought he’s thinking. We can trust him.”

  Christian stood about as successfully as you’d expect from someone who’d been duct–taped to a couch and shot in the arm. I tried not to begrudge him the smile Sam shot his way as he approached us.

  “You can really hear Pfeffer thinking?” I asked Sam in a low voice.

  “She is a true de Rochefort,” said Pfeffer, smiling sadly. He removed his jacket and spilled a half dozen syringes upon the table between me and Sir Walter.

  “Dude,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s like, a whole pharmacy in there. What is it with Geneses and needles?”

  “Which one will awaken Sir Walter?” Sam asked, clear and focused as I was fuzzy and slow.

  “The blue–banded ones are deadly,” he said. “The yellow–banded one will bring Sir Walter back to a fully alert state. The clear is the sedative.”

  “Franz used a red–banded one on Christian earlier,” said Sam.

  “That’s Neuroplex,” said Pfeffer.

  “Which prevents rippling,” said Sam.

  Pfeffer’s brows pinched together. “How did you know?”

  “Do you see Christian rippling? We’re not idiots,” I mumbled, feeling very tired and ever so slightly happy.

  Sam smiled as she seated herself on the table beside me. “Go ahead,” she said to Pfeffer. “Wake Sir Walter.”

  “He needs to be told that you are a de Rocheforte,” said Pfeffer, looking sadly from my girlfriend to Sir Walter.

  “He already figured it out,” said Sam. Then she made this small gasping sound. “That was why you sent Mickie and Will to Las Abs? To find me?”

  “I hoped they might,” said Pfeffer. “I told them to try.”

  “You might have mentioned what we were supposed to try,” I muttered, remembering how my sister and I had argued over the meaning of his cryptic words two years earlier.

  Pfeffer turned back to me, but Sam urged him on. “Wake up Sir Walter,” she said again. “Can you reverse the effect of the Neuroplex as well?”

  Pfeffer nodded as he chose a needle.

  “You sure, Sam?” I whispered, turning my head toward her. She smelled so good it hurt to breathe for a minute.

  She nodded, setting the guns down so she could place her small hand in mine. Squeezing my hand tightly, she called to Christian. “You okay?”

  “I am well, Mademoiselle,” he said. “Truly. My uncle bound my wound most admirably.”

  Christian smiled at Sam, and I thought maybe I liked him better all ashen–faced.

  Sam reached behind me to help me sit upright. My leg didn’t seem to hurt as bad as I knew it should.

  “My head feels weird,” I said.

  “Pain meds,” Sam murmured in my ear, helping me stay propped up.

  We heard a stuttering intake of breath from Sir Walter as his eyes fluttered open. He looked freaked when he saw Pfeff hovering over him like a big old bird of prey.

  Pfeffer backed away quickly, nearly stumbling over Helmann’s dead body.

  “It’s okay,” said Sam to Sir Walter. “Pfeffer’s a friend. He’s kept very busy behind enemy lines.”

  “Pfeffer killed Helmann,” I added. That got the old dude alert real fast.

  I pointed to where Helmann’s body sprawled upon the stone floor. And then I saw something impossible. Helmann wasn’t dead. From who–know
s–where, Helmann had retrieved another gun which he held unsteadily in his left hand. Training it on Pfeffer, he pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Forty–Four

  * * *

  FALLEN

  · SAM ·

  Someone screamed and I realized it was my own voice. I clapped a hand over my mouth, stunned at what had just happened. Will and I reached for the guns upon the table, but before we had a chance to fire them, Christian had launched himself upon Helmann. Pulling the dagger from his fork and knife case, he slit Helmann’s throat.

  The action overlapped with Pfeffer’s choked cry: “No! Don’t kill Helmann yet!”

  But it was too late. Blood poured from Helmann’s neck. He wouldn’t recover this time.

  I turned aside, my stomach at last beginning to revolt against the day’s dreadful events.

  And now Pfeffer’s fallen form lay still, in apparent silence, a small red spot upon his side blossoming rapidly. I felt Pfeffer’s fear, but it wasn’t fear for his own life. Desperately, Pfeffer spoke to his oldest and dearest friend.

  “The Angel Corps have begun a work of great destruction,” he told Sir Walter, “There are pass–phrases, but only Helmann knew them … you must discover the phrases! Stop them!”

  Sir Walter interrupted him. He cradled Pfeffer’s head within strong arms. “We have the passwords, my friend.”

  “Impossible,” said Pfeffer to Sir Walter. As he whispered the words, I saw the color draining from his face.

  “Ripple!” I shouted the command to Pfeffer.

  He closed his eyes, perhaps trying.

  But it was too late. He had no strength now to save himself.

  “No!” I cried, running to Pfeffer’s side. I looked across to Sir Walter. “We have to take him together.”

  Sir Walter nodded. We encircled the dying man and vanished with him.

  Save him! I called to Sir Walter.

  I shall do my best, replied the old gentleman.

  I rippled solid again.

  There was nothing to do now but wait.

  Chapter Forty–Five

  * * *

  THE WILL TO LIVE

  · WILL ·

  We found things to do while Sir Walter remained invisible with Pfeffer. Sam covered the bodies of Helmann and Franz using carpets from the floor of the great hall. Then, with help from Sam, Mickie got me into a French ER where I got a gnarly cast up one entire leg.

  Only after I was released would she take care of Gwyn and Bridget. Gwyn’s mom did not like spending time in the old castle with all those dead bodies, especially the one that had been rippled away. Gwyn had awoken from her drugged slumber by the time we returned from the hospital.

  “Please don’t talk about the dead guys in Ma’s hearing,” said Gwyn. “She thinks it’s not proper or something.” Gwyn leaned her head on Bridget’s shoulder. As she gave her mom a big squeeze, she stage–whispered, “You’re so Chinese, Ma.”

  But I noticed tenderness in each of their expressions, and I figured things would be a lot better between them from now on.

  I crashed for awhile, what with the pain meds and Sam at my side. Much later, after the sun had set, I awakened as Sir Walter came solid, stretching and looking tired. Just behind him, Chrétien, arm swathed in clean bandages, rippled solid. He gave his injured arm a small shrug, which made Sam laugh.

  “You shrug just like your dad,” she said to Chrétien.

  He smiled and gave her a little half–bow.

  “Does it hurt bad?” she asked.

  “It is nothing,” he replied.

  Which kind of ticked me off, because my leg was killing me, but no way was I going to complain if Chrétien didn’t. Sam didn’t seem to know which of us to feel more sorry for, and that ticked me off, too.

  Sir Walter had arranged for Gwyn and Bridget to take a private jet back home.

  “Two journeys by private jet?” murmured Bridget to her daughter. “It’s like I always tell you: investing for the long term really does pay off.”

  My sister drove them to the airport because Sir Walter wouldn’t leave Pfeffer. Nor would he answer any questions about Pfeffer, giving me his familiar, “Later, later, dear boy,” speech.

  Sir Walter waited until my sister got back from her airport run. Then, before the flickering red glow of dying embers, Sir Walter told us about Pfeffer. “It would appear that my dear friend has lost the will to live.”

  “What?” whispered my sister.

  “He has refused to allow me to either to locate or to remove the bullet lodged in his side,” explained Sir Walter.

  “But he can’t—you can’t—” Mick couldn’t finish her sentence. She crinkled her face like she was trying not to cry.

  “Nor does he wish to cause more pain for any of us,” said Sir Walter. “You, least of all, Mademoiselle Mackenzie.”

  This made my sister lose it, and tears spilled down her face.

  “It appears that we are at an impasse,” said Sir Walter, pulling hard on his goatee.

  Mick was a total wreck. I mean, it’s not like her temper hadn’t taken her places in the past that she regretted, but her attack on Pfeffer was pretty much the worst thing she’d ever done. When you beat up on a guy who’s trying to save the world, you’re going to feel some guilt. More than anything, she wanted the chance to apologize face–to–face.

  Sam insisted this was impossible. She kept going on about what Pfeffer’s color looked like just before she and Sir Walter rippled him to safety, so we were all pretty sure that bringing him back solid would be a death sentence.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “But I don’t get it—why he’s just giving up. We’ve got the password, we know where the Angels are, we’re all alive, and we’re going to figure out a way to save the world. So what’s Pfeff’s problem?”

  The French gentleman rose and began pacing. “He has done things in the past two years which he regrets greatly.”

  “He saved us all,” said Mick, sniffling and twisting a ratty–looking tissue.

  “He did,” said Sir Walter, “But he also feels the weight of those who have perished these past three days. It is a burden from which he does not know how to release himself. Do you recall, Will, the payment entries he was making in Rome, the day we visited his office?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “He made a habit of deleting zeroes from some payments, such that certain properties were not acquired by Helmann for the placement of the sleeping Angels.”

  “That’s great,” I said.

  Sir Walter frowned. “I agree, and he did other things as well to hinder Helmann’s efforts. But Pfeffer finds it difficult to let go of the guilt he feels that some buildings were acquired. That some of the sleepers were awakened and have carried out their deadly task.”

  I made a small noise in the back of my throat. “That’s crazy.”

  Sam, at my side, held my hand so tightly. “It’s not crazy, Will. Guilt has its own rationale.” She slipped her hand from mine and stood. “I need to speak with him.”

  Chapter Forty–Six

  * * *

  SPACE OF FORGIVENESS

  · SAM ·

  Approaching the empty space where Professor Pfeffer lay, I rippled to make sure Pfeffer could hear what I had to say. Once I was invisible, I placed myself beside him and brought an insubstantial hand to his hidden shoulder.

  Professor? Can you hear me? I waited for what seemed a long time. Just as I was about to try sending written words instead, Pfeffer replied.

  I am here, he said.

  We all wish you would let Sir Walter heal you. Or allow us to take you to a hospital. I hesitated. Mickie feels terrible for hitting you and for the things she said and thought about you. She’s tormented, not being able to ask your forgiveness.

  Tell her she has my forgiveness, he said. If it is of any value.

  Of course it’s valuable, I said. I hesitated and then launched into the conversation I really wanted to have. There are few things of more wort
h than true forgiveness. My step–mother taught me … she taught me forgiveness is one of the greatest acts of love we can offer to another. Or to ourselves.

  Someday you will understand that there are acts which cannot be forgiven, said Pfeffer. Some errors are too grave.

  I don’t believe that, I said.

  You are young, child.

  I gathered my courage in a tight bundle, pressing it to my heart as I told him how my mother and my childhood best friend had died because of something I’d done. I told him how I’d carried the weight of that guilt for years. How it had bent my soul until I didn’t know how to move without it pressing upon me.

  Pfeffer spoke when I had finished. Child, the fault was not yours. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  I know that now, I said. But at first, I couldn’t see that clearly any more than you can see things clearly at the moment. I hesitated, but then pushed forward. I understand now that my mother would have died regardless. I realize that there is a difference between intending a thing to happen and causing it to happen.

  I felt Pfeffer’s laughter, harsh. So you think that I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  No, I said. You were in the right place. Pfeffer, everything you have done for two years and more has cleared the way for saving billions of lives.

  Samantha, my actions—my direct actions—have cost thousands their lives, he said.

  I felt the weight of his guilt. And that is where you and I have lived the same tale. Those thousands would have died regardless. Just as my mother would have died regardless. In both cases, the deaths would have happened because Helmann intended them. If you had not caused them, he would have made certain that someone else did. Can you not find a space within yourself, a space where forgiveness is possible?

  We sat in silence. I sensed the conflict within him.