by Cat Patrick
“And then you got all lovey-dovey with Matt and really forgot about it,” Megan teases.
“Yeah, but it makes sense,” I say, ignoring her comment about Matt. “What if Nora did see me, and she told someone? What if God relocated her and her family so she’d keep quiet?”
“That’s a little far-fetched, but for the sake of argument, why would they agree to be relocated?” Megan asks.
“Maybe they didn’t,” I say. “Maybe God threatened them.”
“Or paid them off,” Megan says excitedly. “Maybe he gave them millions of dollars in hush money.”
“Maybe,” I say, genuinely considering it. “Except you’re forgetting the file.”
“That you claim to have seen at three in the morning after you had a sweeps-week moment with the guy you like, and that mysteriously disappeared after you saw it.”
“Are you saying that I imagined the file?” I ask seriously.
“Or dreamed it,” Megan says, matching my tone.
“It was there,” I say flatly, annoyed that she’s challenging me on this.
“Okay, I believe you,” she says, too quickly, which is even more annoying.
“If you’re going to cave so easily, why argue in the first place?” I ask, rolling my eyes at her. She doesn’t answer, so I continue. “Anyway, the file for Case Twenty-two says that the subject was Revived. As in dead and brought back to life.”
“Even if the file’s real, that entry could be fake, to cover up the money.”
“Or it could be real,” I say.
Megan shakes her head at me. “So, let me get this straight in my Wade-sized brain,” she says. “You’re saying that Nora saw you in that mall and told somebody, threatening to expose the program. And you’re saying that God found out about it and actually killed Nora so that he could Revive her and relocate her, all to make sure she didn’t talk?” Megan lifts her perfectly manicured eyebrows expectantly. “That’s your theory?”
“Yes,” I say decisively. “That’s my theory.”
Megan’s quiet for a few moments, considering. She squints her eyes at the ceiling and bites her pinkie nail. Then finally, she speaks: “I guess it could work.”
“You’re totally annoying,” I say.
“But you love me.”
“I do.”
“What should we do now?” Megan asks. “I mean, if your theory is true and God’s killing anyone who knows about the project…”
I suck in my breath so hard I think my lungs might explode. It makes Megan jump.
“What?” she asks, wide-eyed.
“Do you think Matt could be in danger?” I say, realizing what I might have done to the guy I like.
“No,” Megan says reflexively to reassure me. But the concerned look on her face tells me otherwise. “And the difference is that if this is true, Nora was threatening to out the program. No one knows that Matt knows, and he won’t tell anyone.” She pauses. “Right?”
“No,” I say uneasily. “At least I thought he wouldn’t.”
“He won’t,” Megan says quietly, as if she knows him. “You have good instincts with people. I’m sure you can still trust him, even if he’s being a child right now.”
“I hope so,” I say, worried anyway. “But oh my god, what about Nora? If it’s true, seeing me in that mall ruined her life.”
“You can’t take all the credit,” Megan says. “People make their own decisions. Maybe she saw you. But she could have minded her own business and stayed right there in Michigan. And besides, I’m not even one hundred percent convinced.”
“Look up Nora Fitzgerald on Facebook,” I command, fed up with the back-and-forth. Megan crawls off the bed and searches for Nora.
“No account,” she reports. “But maybe she’s one of those dorks who’s taking a stand against social networks. We should totally blog about that, by the way.”
“She’s not,” I say. “But just in case, search for Gina Geiger. She’s Nora’s best friend.”
“Okay, here’s Gina,” Megan says. “Whoa, check out that red lipstick. Is she a tranny?”
“Focus,” I say. “Look through her friend list.”
“Love to, but I can’t without friending her. Want me to?”
“No, let’s figure it out another way.”
“Should I go back to the original plan of friending Nora directly?” Megan asks.
“Shh,” I say, holding up a hand. “I’m thinking.”
The room is still for a few moments.
“Just Google Nora Fitzgerald and see if anything comes up,” I say as a last resort. I listen to Megan’s nails clicking against the keys.
“Here’s something,” she says, clicking on a link. I climb off the bed and walk up behind Megan as the page is loading. I realize that we’re looking at the Frozen Hills newspaper, then scan the rest of the page. Megan and I both gasp when we see the headline:
LOCAL TEEN KILLED IN DRUNK DRIVING ACCIDENT
“I guess you were right,” Megan says quietly.
“Guess so.”
twenty-seven
An unwilling night owl, I’m not asleep when I hear a knock on the front door at five AM. I wonder whether Alicia’s expecting someone as I listen to her shuffle through the condo to answer. There’s whispered conversation, and I’m surprised to realize that one of the low voices is Mason’s. Footsteps approach and the door to Megan’s room cracks open, spilling in a stream of light.
“Daisy?” Alicia whispers. “Mason’s here to see you.”
“Okay,” I whisper before crawling over the sleeping Megan. I tiptoe across the carpet and close her door behind me. When I’ve joined Mason, Alicia leaves us alone. I’m light sensitive and squinting, with my arms over my chest and my hands in my armpits because I’m not wearing a bra.
“I’m going to take you back to Omaha,” Mason says softly. “Cassie’s going to finish up here. I’m so sorry to tell you this, but Audrey’s in a coma. It’s likely that she’ll die very soon.”
My jaw drops. I blink. I blink again.
How can he tell me this when I’m still wearing pajamas?
I’m not sure why I expected a filter from him. He deals in death: It’s clinical, not personal. I’m not sure why I expected more of a warning from Audrey. I’m not sure why I expected anything at all. This is how people with no access to Revive end their lives: inconveniently and with no buffer.
They go into comas.
And die.
twenty-eight
I’m so concerned about Audrey—playing a loop of the last few times we saw each other in my head—that I’m barely even aware of the flight home. When we land, we get our luggage and find the car, then head straight to the hospital from the airport. But even as we’re driving there, Mason tries to talk me out of going.
“Daisy, I brought you back so you could say goodbye to your friend, but I’d like you to consider something.”
I don’t speak, so he goes on.
“You don’t have to go to the hospital. Audrey would understand.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice hoarse because I haven’t spoken for so long.
“I thought a lot about this on the plane,” Mason says. “People flock to deathbeds because they think that it’ll be better for them to say goodbye, to hold their loved one’s hand. But Daisy, sometimes it isn’t better. That image of them dying sticks with you. But still, people do it. And I’m happy to take you there if you want to go. I’m just saying that it’s okay if you want to hold on to the image of Audrey smiling and laughing and remember her that way. Because she’s not laughing right now. She’s not awake. She’s barely alive. A machine is breathing for her. Do you understand?”
I don’t speak right away. I think of Audrey in the hallway at school that day, of the perfect picture of her. Fleetingly, I consider what Mason is saying. But skipping the hard times just so I can remember the good doesn’t sound like the right thing to do. In fact, I’m not even sure Mason believes his own ad
vice.
“I’m going,” I say flatly.
“I’m not sure that’s the right decision.”
“But it’s my decision, right?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Then I’m going.”
Walking under the arch leading into the hospital, I have knots in my stomach. I’m surprised that I’m actually afraid to see Audrey, like the permanence of her impending death might be catching or something. But I know in my heart that I need to be here.
We walk through the doors and across the vast lobby. With its muted colors and three-story wall of windows, the light, bright hospital seems to be telling me to feel hopeful. But I don’t.
We make our way to the ICU waiting room. There are tables arranged like a lounge, chairs near a TV, and couches along several of the walls. All of the furniture is either an unrecognizable shade of nothing blue—like that background color that comes standard as computer wallpaper—or something between peach and salmon. The room is bigger than our basement, but there are only five people inside: the McKeans—minus Audrey—Mason, and me.
When we walk in, Matt peels his eyes away from the window to look at me. The rest of his features are indifferent, but I can see wreckage in his eyes. Despite his behavior the last time I saw him, I want to run over and try my best to save him. He looks away before I finish the thought.
Mrs. McKean is stirring tea in a paper cup; Mr. McKean is pacing. I wonder who’s with Audrey until Mr. McKean explains to Mason that visiting hours are over for the afternoon.
“That’s too bad,” Mason says. He glances over at me before saying in a hushed tone, “When would be a good time for us to come back? Daisy would like to see Audrey.”
Mr. McKean looks at me sadly. He gives me a weak smile, then deals a blow to the gut. “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he says to Mason. “Only immediate family is allowed in the ICU.”
“I see,” Mason says in his businesslike manner. Irrationally, I wonder if Mason called ahead and asked Mr. McKean to lie, but in my heart I know that Mason would never do that. He only brought up not saying goodbye in the car to protect me.
Feeling helpless, I trudge to a seat stationed against the wall farthest away from Matt and flop into it.
The men speak in hushed tones for what feels like an extremely long time. I try not to listen as Mason gently offers to help in any way he can. He even goes so far as to offer counseling to Matt, which irritates me even though I know he’s simply trying to maintain cover. I bite my thumbnail. Matt stares out the window. The men shake hands. Mrs. McKean stares at her tea. Mason walks over to me.
“I’ll take you back to the house.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
“That’s it.”
Exhausted and hating hospital policy, the second I walk inside our house, I go to my room and climb under the covers. Not long after that, Mason appears. He sits down at the end of my bed and lightly touches my foot through the comforter. Then he puts his hands in his lap.
“Daisy, would you like to go back to Seattle and spend a few more days with Megan?”
“I want to stay here, just in case they change their minds,” I say.
“That’s highly unlikely.”
“Still.”
“I thought that Megan might boost your spirits,” Mason says. “You two seemed to be having fun. And then I could help Cassie—”
“Is this really about you wanting to go back and get the test done quicker?” I interrupt.
“No, but that would be a side benefit,” Mason says honestly.
“Just go.”
“I can’t leave you here alone.”
“You’ve left me alone a million times,” I say, shaking my head at him. “Get someone to check in on me if you’re so worried.”
“I…” Mason stops. I can tell he’s considering it.
“It’s fine, Mason, really. I’ll be fine. And besides, I sort of want to be alone, anyway.”
Mason nods, understanding. Like me, he enjoys solitude.
“Well, if you really don’t mind, perhaps I’ll call James.”
Two hours later, I’m alone in an empty house on the worst day of my life.
I’m startled awake, and at first I think I slept for twenty-four hours. Then I realize it’s the same horrible day: the day that started in Seattle and ended with me alone in an empty house, forbidden to see my dying friend at the hospital.
I lie still for a minute, thinking of all that’s happened and all that’s gone wrong. I sit up and rub my eyes, growing more and more agitated. Finally, when I can sit still no longer, anger and adrenaline catapult me out of bed and down the stairs. In the middle of the open area between the kitchen and the living room, I turn around, unsure what to do.
Because I have to do something.
And then the answer hits me like a hailstorm.
I run toward the basement door. I turn on the lights and gag on the smell of rat poop as I descend. At the bottom of the stairs, I make sure that every light does its job. I want to see everything: the medical equipment; the rat cages with furry, squeaky test subjects inside; the small, locked closet where they keep the firearms.
I want to see the black case.
Mason’s voice saying In case of an emergency, runs through my head.
If this isn’t an emergency, I don’t know what is.
I reach the case but hesitate before opening it. Somewhere deep inside me, I know what I’m doing is wrong. But then I think of Audrey. I think of Matt. I think of God and the program and Nora. How God controlled Nora. And how, with rules and oaths, he’s controlling me.
I think of Megan.
I think of taking control.
And then, with no more hesitation, I punch in the first code.
At six thirty, I stand alone on the river walk, watching the people move like ants through downtown after a long day at work. Mason and the other agents call them—the normal people—Unenlightened. More like untouched.
I hear the rhythmic thud of feet running toward me but I don’t turn to look. They slow as they approach, and then stop. Raspy breath sounds next to me, but there’s nothing else.
“I want you to know that I’m not doing this for you,” I say, keeping my eyes on the skyline.
“You have your reasons,” Matt answers gruffly. “Can we just do this? I need to get back to the hospital.”
I turn to face him. Our eyes meet for the second time today. And for the second time, despite hating him, I want to hug him. But I don’t. Instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out a tiny loaded syringe with a plastic cover over the needle.
“Burn the syringe after you use it,” I say to Matt.
“Okay.”
“I’ve never actually seen this done on a human,” I continue. “But I think you just give her the whole dose.”
“Where?” he asks. An evening breeze blows his long hair into his eyes. He shakes it out like he’s mad at it.
“I don’t know,” I say. I try to think back. Once I had an IV when I woke up. Maybe twice. “Does she have an IV? You could put it in that. Or just into her arm.”
“Okay,” Matt says, sounding unsure.
“Matt, you don’t have to do it if—”
“Yes, I do,” he interrupts. “I have to. It can’t hurt her. I mean she’ll already be—”
“I know,” I jump in, not wanting him to say it. “But I want you to know how big of a deal this is,” I say, thinking of Nora’s situation.
“I’m not going to get you in trouble,” Matt snaps.
“I’m not talking about that,” I say calmly. “There are worse things than me getting in trouble.”
Matt looks at me, waiting for an explanation, but I stop talking and shove my hands into my jeans pockets. I don’t want to scare him, especially right now. Because in my heart I know he’ll do it anyway.
“Just be careful, okay?” My tone is pleading, and I can see in his mellowed gaze that I’ve gotten through.
“I will,”
he says quietly. He takes a step away. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Of course,” I say, but it comes out a whisper.
Please let it work, I think.
I watch Matt walk away. He looks back once, and when he does, there’s a flash of something sweet in his eyes. But then he turns away again, and too soon, he’s gone.
twenty-nine
In the middle of the next night, something awakens me. I look at the clock: It’s 2:38 AM. Unsure about what pulled me from sleep, I listen to the sounds of the darkness. A tree brushes against the glass outside my window; car tires squeal in the distance. I listen for Mason’s snores before I remember he’s not home.
I feel alone, but I’m not afraid. I relax and listen to the world until the creaks of the house and the barks of the dog next door blend into the background and I manage to fall back to sleep.
When I wake again, my brain is muddy. It’s daytime, but the world is too still. The sun is on the wrong side of the house. But also, there’s something else.
Somehow, in the core of me, I know.
I reach for the phone next to me. I text Matt to confirm.
It happened in the middle of the night.
Audrey is dead.
thirty
Mason’s on his way back from Seattle, again, but for now I’m by myself. Honestly, I feel like I have been this whole time. If James checked up on me, he did it invisibly. Guess that makes him good at his job.
I brush my teeth, think about the fact that Audrey is dead, and throw up. Then I brush my teeth again. I stare at myself in the mirror for a long while, not really seeing. I start to feel trapped in my own skin, like I need to move or I’ll go crazy. I rush out of the house, not knowing where I’m going. I walk a few blocks, then text Matt.
Daisy: Where are you?
Matt: Home.
Daisy: I’m coming over.
