Words fell away and I experienced instead the emotions he felt. Anguish. Grief. Blame.
His thoughts came to me in the merest whisper: This space … perhaps it exists.
Then let us go seek it out, I said. And it was as if I took his hand and walked forward with him. Together we leaned into the imagined space of forgiveness, wondering how much of a load it would support. Like children pushing into a strong wind, we angled and canted and found it each time strong enough to bear the weight of all we had been and all we had done and all we had become.
Pfeffer wept. And I wept. And we clung to one another until at last, he let go of blame, of guilt, of loathing and there was just Pfeffer and he just … was.
I rose and returned to Sir Walter and the others, solidifying.
“He’ll let you heal him, now,” I said to the French gentleman.
Chapter Forty–Seven
* * *
SAVING THE WORLD
· SAM ·
Sir Walter was able to work the bullet free and Pfeffer rested through the night, recovering from wounds physical and mental. I stayed at his side, invisible, in case he needed someone.
At some point in the dark hours before dawn, Pfeffer rippled invisible.
Samantha? he called.
I’m here, I replied. Um, I hate to mention it, because you’re probably in a lot of pain, but Sir Walter did recommend staying solid so that you could heal.
The pain is unimportant, said Pfeffer. I can bear that well enough. But if I am invisible, I can show Sir Walter more quickly what must be done to stop Helmann’s mad apocalypse. It preys upon my mind, each hour that is lost while I lay here.
I hesitated. I knew he’d heal faster if he could complete this penance, this act of reparation. Okay, I said.
I awoke Sir Walter and together we watched and listened invisibly as Pfeffer unveiled Helmann’s plan.
Pfeffer described how his father had placed cadres of five upon the top floor of buildings throughout the world, in areas where he wished to decimate populations quickly. We heard the insanity of it all: how Helmann would first leak information to news agencies of supposed victims of a rare and deadly disease; how Geneses’ Angel Corps would then offer vaccinations to the population; how the inoculations themselves would accomplish the millions of deaths; how Geneses “wouldn’t give up, even in the face of such ravaging disease”; how the world would praise Geneses and the Angel Corps for their dedication.
The operation was to last eighteen months and accomplish the deaths of five billion souls. Supposed cures would be discovered along the way, but the cures would only work on the so–called “racially–pure,” by which means Helmann intended to demonstrate the superiority of some races over others, as well as to spread fear of those races that didn’t respond to the “cure.” As governments faced economic and social disaster of unprecedented proportion, Helmann would be ready to step in, setting up puppet dictatorships and maintaining order through force.
An especially cruel twist in all this was that the members of the Angel Corps would actually believe they were doing good. None of them had been informed as to the deadly nature of the supposed–vaccines. In fact, in order to calm detractors—people like my dad who leapt to the true conclusion—several Angels had recently inoculated themselves. When they died, the imaginary plague was blamed, not the vaccinations. Because who would knowingly inoculate themselves with something deadly?
All this, and more, Pfeffer swiftly passed to us. What would have taken hours to describe aloud, he accomplished in mere minutes. He then shared an idea for halting the deadly Angels. After that, he slipped back inside his body, grimacing, and he rested.
As dawn approached, Sir Walter woke Christian, Will, and Mickie and laid out Pfeffer’s plan.
“Pfeffer believes that the black book which he stole should be used as a means of persuasion,” said Sir Walter. “But not for the government officials whom I sought to influence. No, the black book will mean most to those other children of Helmann—the Angel Corps—who will recognize both the man and his methodologies in the journal. When they see what monstrosities he was capable of, it is Pfeffer’s belief that they will cease their attempts at inoculating populations.
“They have been raised to value compassion without making distinction among races, as it would not have served Helmann’s purposes for them to share his prejudices before his planned apocalypse.”
“The Angels will be left rudderless,” said Mickie. “This will challenge all they’ve believed, to learn they were meant to kill and not save lives.”
“Indeed,” said Sir Walter.
“Pfeffer can help them learn to forgive themselves,” I said. “I’m sure he could.”
Sir Walter nodded. “Your idea has great merit,” he said. “When I rescued him from Helmann’s abandoned complex at the close of World War II, it took years for him to readjust to his new picture of the world.”
“I will do it,” said Pfeffer’s soft voice, startling all of us with his appearance. “But first, you must allow me to come with you and speak with the Angels you awaken today.”
We turned, startled by his sudden appearance.
“My friend,” began Sir Walter, “You must heal.”
“I’m well enough,” said Pfeffer. “I can stay invisible for much of the time. But I must be allowed to speak to the first cadres you approach.”
“If you’re invisible for long stretches,” said Mickie, “You won’t have a chance to heal.” Tentatively, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“My dear,” he said, shaking his head slightly, “The type of healing which I require can be accomplished best if I accompany you.”
Mickie’s eyes drifted to Will. “I don’t get to go,” she said, her voice low. “Someone has to stay with Will, and I can’t ripple like the rest of you.”
“I’ll stay,” I said.
I didn’t need to be invisible to feel the emotions rolling off of Mickie. She was in anguish, torn between the need to care for her little brother and an incredible desire to get out there and undo Helmann’s work.
“I don’t even want to go,” I said. “I’ve spent enough time with Helmann’s sons and daughters to last me several lifetimes.”
“I want Sam,” said Will to his sister, “Not you.” He smiled at Mickie as he said it.
And she smiled back.
By late that morning, plans were agreed upon and Pfeffer, Mickie, Christian, and Sir Walter departed for one of Helmann’s Angel Corps buildings in a Jewish neighborhood of Rouen. I wanted to spend every minute talking to Will, but Pfeffer had said Will needed rest and gave him a mild sedative before they left. Will fell asleep in minutes, and I must have needed sleep as well. I drifted off and only awoke when Sir Walter’s party returned, marching noisily up the marble staircase.
As they entered the great hall, I shuddered. Someone who looked very much like Hans had replaced Christian at Sir Walter’s side.
“Allow me to present Günter,” said Sir Walter. “He’s agreed to speak to officials in the French government about the imminent threat to public health.”
“Where’s Christian?” I asked, panic slipping into my voice.
“Where’s Pfeffer?” asked Will, waking beside me.
“They are quite well, quite well,” said Sir Walter, smiling broadly. “They’ve chosen to travel with the others—ah, let me see if I can remember—with Georg, Hansel, Martina, and Friedrich, that is, in order to inform cadres in Clichy–sous–Bois and Lyons as to the true nature of Dr. Girard’s intentions.”
“It’s working, then,” murmured Will.
“Thank God,” I said.
“Quite so,” said Sir Walter. “And we must depart for Paris. Mademoiselle Mackenzie, I wonder if you would accompany me, and Günter, as an expert witness?”
“Expert?” she asked.
“We will be explaining certain technicalities as to the unique abilities of Helmann’s children,” said Sir Walter. “I believe you
were Pfeffer’s best pupil?”
“Only pupil,” said Will, punching his sister’s shoulder.
Mickie flushed bright pink. “Of course I’ll help,” she said.
Mickie hugged her brother and then turned to me, telling me to keep him in line.
“Absolutely,” I said.
Chapter Forty–Eight
* * *
YOU’RE MY AFRICA
· SAM ·
I felt remarkably awake and well as they departed, leaving us alone before a roaring fire.
“I don’t think I’ll need to sleep again for a long time,” said Will, yawning.
I smiled. “That’s nice, considering it’s just us.”
I drifted closer to Will, feeling the tiniest bit shy, but mostly feeling like I needed to kiss him before another minute passed.
His mouth felt hungry against mine. I liked it. And then I liked it too much. I’d forgotten how Will’s kisses made me ripple.
Will leaned back, away from the icy air that was me, sighing.
I brought myself back solid. “So, um, about the vanishing–when–we–kiss?”
Will turned his dark eyes to meet mine. “Yeah?”
“Christian gave me some hope on that one.”
“Hope? Hope, how?” asked Will.
The look on his face, doubtful, confused me.
“Hope, like, ‘hopeful,’” I said. “What other variety of hope is there?”
He looked down at his shirt, picking at a loose thread. “Sam, Chrétien’s the one you asked about first when Sir Walter returned just now. Is Chrétien … is he in love with you? Did he kiss you? Do you like him?”
“No! And no, and no!” I said, trying not to laugh. “If I liked him, would I do this?” I pressed my mouth over Will’s. His lips tasted good. Not food–good, just Will–good. I sighed as I felt my skin disappear.
“I don’t know,” said Will, to empty air. “Geez, Sam. He’s taller than me. He’s faster than me—” I interrupted Will, coming solid. He shook his head, continuing. “He’s way politer than me and richer than me and he’s a freaking de Rochefort. What’s not to like?”
“Hmmm,” I said, tracing my finger along Will’s collar–bone, where it pushed out against his shirt. “He’s got a lot going for him when you put it like that. Really only one major drawback.” I rested my palm against Will’s chest, just over his heart.
His eyes flicked down to my hand. “What’s that?” he whispered, voice low and throaty.
I leaned in, resting my forehead against his chin, inhaling the scent of him: rich, warm. With my free hand, I reached for a handful of his curls, weaving them through my fingers. My voice came out a bare whisper. “He’s not you.”
And this time when he kissed me, I tried so hard to stay solid, but his hair tangling in my hand was soft and his mouth on mine was sweet, and after a moment, I melted away.
“Sam,” he whispered to the thin air that was me.
I returned solid.
“What?”
“I missed you so bad,” he said.
“Me? The Incredible Vanishing Girlfriend?” I asked, smiling. “Hey, that can be my secret super–hero identity.”
Will laughed. “Sam, do you have any idea how badass you looked the other day with a gun in each hand?”
“Seriously?”
“You were like…the Saminator. Only way hot,” he said, eyes wide with admiration.
“Well, I hope you enjoyed it, because that’s the last time I ever plan on holding a firearm,” I said. Then I punched his shoulder. “Boys.”
“I’m just calling it how I saw it,” Will said, shrugging. “So tell me this hopeful news about kissing. The news that doesn’t involve you and Chrétien together.”
“Okay, so, Christian told me this heartbreaking part of Sir Walter’s life story. He and Elisabeth were madly in love.”
“Like, Elisabeth de Rochefort? Mrs. Helmann?” asked Will.
“Yeah,” I said. “But Elisabeth and Sir Walter thought they couldn’t ever have kids if they got married, because, well, because she always rippled when they kissed. And having heirs was a big deal in the 1300’s. So she married Helmann in order to have a child and keep the family estate together.”
“Sorry,” said Will, “But I’m totally missing the hopeful here.”
“I know!” I said. “Isn’t it awful? I mean, I guess Helmann wasn’t as completely Voldemort–ish back then, but she married him and not Sir Walter because of … well, their little problem …”
“Idiots,” murmured Will. He tucked a hair behind my ear.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, “It’s tragic.”
The hair slipped loose again and Will reached for it. This time his hand lingered, tracing my ear, running along my jaw line.
“Do you want to hear the rest?” I asked, my voice rasping, “Because that is seriously sexy, and I’m about to vanish.”
Will dropped his hand, leaned away. “I want to hear. Absolutely. There is nothing I want more than to hear the rest of this completely ridiculous tragedy.”
I frowned at him. “You’re hopeless. Anyway, so a couple of hundred years later, after Elisabeth had died, Sir Walter met this husband and wife who were both ripplers and who told him if they’d just stuck it out—Sir Walter and Elisabeth—then Elisabeth would have eventually been able to … you know … stay solid. When they … kissed.”
Will flushed and I realized my face felt hot, too.
“Well, okay,” he said. “I think that sounds very hopeful.”
I smiled.
“But, Sam?” His dark eyes got large and earnest. “I’d stay with you anyway. I will stay with you either way.” He lowered his eyes and voice. “You’re more than just your body to me. I love you. Invisible. Solid. Whatever.”
Which led to quite a lot more kissing and equal amounts of me vanishing. Finally we lay still and solid, just grateful to be together. The fire now burned low in the enormous hearth and we murmured together about what we could see in the glowing embers.
Then Will kissed me softly and said he had something for me. He reached into his jacket pocket.
“I’ve kept it with me,” he explained, “Ever since Christmas, which is what I bought it for, except when I showed it to Mick, she was all, no way are you giving that to a girl, and then I forgot about it until after you’d already gone through security at the airport.”
I remembered the sick feeling in my stomach as I’d walked away from Will that day. “I’m never leaving you again,” I said. “You’re my Africa, Will.”
He looked at me curiously. “I’m your what?”
“You’re the shape I fit into. Like South America fit into Africa before the continental drift.”
Will guffawed. “Right then. We’re putting a stop to any further drift.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Smiling, he handed me a box. Small. Unwrapped. Made of shiny white cardboard that had been creased from sitting for months in his pocket.
“I hope you like it,” he murmured.
Curious, I lifted the lid. Nestled inside, on a cottony bed, sat a twist of silver fashioned into a willow leaf that curled back around on itself. It was a ring.
I stared at its perfect replication of the leaves I knew so well from back home. From mornings spent with Will running at my side. Swish, swish, swish as we passed the stand of willow trees.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
I could hear the worry in his voice.
“Mick said I had no business giving a ring to a girl who was just my friend, and that’s all we were on Christmas, but now, I thought—”
I stopped his mouth with mine, pulling back just before I started rippling.
“It’s perfect,” I murmured.
“Really? Because I could get you something else. Yesterday was Valentine’s. I could get, you know, chocolate or whatever.”
“Yesterday was Valentine’s Day?” I asked.
“Uh–huh,” he said. “We we
re a little busy.”
“Then we have lost time to make up for,” I said.
I kissed him again, a tiny hush of a kiss.
“And Will? About the ring? I love it.”
“You do?”
I smiled. “I do.”
THE END
Acknowledgements
Many people have contributed to make this book, and this series, a possibility. In addition to those I have acknowledged in earlier books, I am grateful to Natalie, Susan, Chelsea, Araina, and Kris, and to Sarah and the Women’s Night Out Book Group in Eugene, Oregon. Your passion for my stories has been very heartwarming!
To my teen groupies, Rachael, Kate, Isabel, Toby, Misha, and Madeleine: your enthusiasm has meant more than you’ll ever know. Thanks for loving Sam+Will.
I’m grateful to Chris and Jacob, who, between them, make my book readable and pretty when combined with the artistry of Claudia at phatpuppyart.com.
An additional thank you to my family members for putting up with me as I burned dinners, forgot to pick you up from events, and otherwise put mothering off to one side in order to talk with my imaginary friends. You are all way more supportive and wonderful than I deserve.
Author’s Note
Regarding Catholicism: I am not myself Catholic. When I was little, I was so jealous of the Silva kids down the street who got to go to catechism class. They explained it was like school. I loved school. It was unfair that they got EXTRA SCHOOL and I didn’t! Perhaps all the research I’ve done this past year in regard to being Catholic has been a way of making up for missing catechism. All that to say, any errors of commission or omission regarding Catholicism are unintentional and are mine alone.
If you are interested in the grim history of the Eugenics movement in the United States during the early twentieth century, a quick internet search will provide ample returns upon the subject.
To cheer yourself up after, I recommend spending some time viewing Chagall’s paintings, mosaics, and glass–work. His autobiography also makes fascinating reading.
Unfurl (The Ripple Trilogy) Page 21
