He stiffens at my sarcasm. “I wish I’d known about all that sooner,” he tells me. “I wish you’d told me.”
“What difference would it have made?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just sits there, probably staring at my back. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking about how much money it must have cost to buy those kidneys, and where that money must have come from.
“Anyway,” he finally says, “I’m glad to hear it. Kyle’s a sweet little kid.”
I think about how ironic it is, how all these years Kelly took care of his little brother. It was slowly killing him, eating away at his soul piece by piece. And now that Kyle is finally going to be better, it’s Kelly who needs saving.
And I can’t do anything about it.
I wait for his next question, the one where he asks me if I’ve been sharing my inhaler with him, despite Grandpa’s admonition before he died not to do it. I have been sharing, if he must know, though honestly it’s none of his business. So what if my prescription runs out? When it happens, it happens. If it keeps Kelly alive a little longer and shortens my own life by a lot, then it’ll be worth it. I mean, what’s the use of living if Kelly dies?
“I’ve been doing a little digging around,” he tells me. “I pinged the pharmacist and asked about the— Jessie, please, turn around and talk to me face to face. This is important.”
I don’t. I don’t move at all. I’m curious and angry, surprised and yet not. Mostly curious.
“I asked about your medicine. I know you get it straight from your doctor, but I wanted to talk to someone else about it, get a second opinion. You know? I asked him about the deprolidone.” He pronounces the word carefully, as if he might trip over his own tongue and set off an alarm or something. “I asked what it’s used for.”
“And?”
“He said he wasn’t familiar with it and would get back to me. When he did, he was acting real strange. He asked me why I needed information about it and how I’d heard about it. I told him it turned up in one of my investigations. I didn’t mention your name. Probably a good thing I didn’t.”
Now I turn over. The feeling of vertigo is much stronger now, the edge of that hole much closer. I’m teetering, ready to fall. “What else did he say?”
“He refused to answer any more questions. Told me not to contact him again. I decided then to pay an old friend at New York Med a visit, a biochemist. Well, that’s what he used to be anyway, before. I drove down tonight. That’s where I’ve been for the past few hours.”
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded scrap of paper. It’s strange to see it here, in this setting, like a relic from the past. Nobody actually writes notes on paper anymore. That’s what the Memo App on the Link is for.
“He told me deprolidone is a Class Z drug. It’s on the government’s top-five most-controlled chemicals list. Jessie, he warned me to stop asking questions about it.”
“Controlled? What for? They afraid I’ll get addicted to it or something?”
“He couldn’t say. Or wouldn’t. But he was adamant. He told me to drop the whole matter.”
“But you didn’t.”
He shakes his head and exhales deeply. My brother’s only twenty-five, and yet in this light he suddenly looks years older. “I tried the black streams. Got nothing. I’ll keep trying. Something doesn’t fit here.”
After he leaves, after his footsteps fade down the hallway and the sounds of his snores hit my ears, I slip out of the room and down the stairs. Grandpa’s office is locked, but I know where he kept the key. I let myself in and turn on the light. Then I search.
It’s almost three o’clock when I find what I’m looking for, a single paragraph in a report given in testimony to Congress by then-senator Lawrence Abrams about an experimental treatment called RDL-418, chemical name of deprolidone: “RDL-418 was found to bind tightly to the infective prion and its various subforms. But rather than blocking disease progression, it actually prevented the prion’s detection in all known diagnostic assays. It is the opinion of this expert that the chemical be hereby banned, as its use may in fact counter any effective treatment at such time when one is discovered.”
Not a treatment, but a mask, just as Brother Matthew had said.
I reach for my Link. Kelly answers my ping almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for me.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Let’s do it.”
The line is silent, just the usual low electrical buzz of the Stream. I can almost hear him thinking, wondering why I’ve changed my mind, and then this irrational fear comes over me that he’s going to back out. But he says, “Okay. When?”
“The sooner, the better. Friday.”
I disconnect, but I don’t close my Link. Instead, I stare at the photo he sent to me back in Long Island City, the one from that day we first broke onto the island. I stare at it until the first traces of light begin to seep into the sky.
I replace the papers in their files, lock up Grandpa’s office, and get ready for the day.
Chapter 33
I finally get a visit from my two police friends the next morning, Fat Al Shithead and his slightly less intolerable partner Hank. Just like last time, they pull up to the curb in their patrol car just as I’m leaving for hapkido practice. Unlike last time, I don’t invite them in. In fact, I pretend I don’t even see them and instead continue on down the street.
“Miss Daniels!” Fat Al calls, huffing after me down the sidewalk. He gets in front of me and tries to stand in my way, but I sidestep him and keep going. “We need to have a word with you.”
“I’m late for hapkido practice,” I say. I consider striking an exaggerated karate chop pose, but I doubt he’d make the connection to our last conversation. And even if he did, he still probably wouldn’t get the irony. And, frankly, I’m too tired to really care anymore.
The other car door slams and then I hear Hank running to catch up. “I’ll walk with her,” he tells his partner. “Why don’t you bring the car around and meet me downtown in an hour?”
Fat Al mutters. “Too fucking hot out here to walk anyway.” And he turns and leaves.
Hank gives me a wink and a smile. He exudes a lot more confidence than last time, sauntering with that easy policeman walk, thumbs hooked onto his belt, chewing a thick wad of gum and matching my pace step-for-step. I try to imagine Eric acting like this but I can’t. “Nice day,” he says, smacking. The sound assaults my eardrums.
I shrug.
“Perfect for taking the kids fishing, for example. You fish?”
“No.”
“Yup, just go down and rent a boat, sit around for something to happen. Nice day all right.”
I look over, wondering what he’s trying to do. I ask, “Do you have kids?”
“Me?” he says, looking surprised. “I do, but they ain’t here.”
“Where are they?”
He shrugs and doesn’t answer, just smacks his gum and keeps walking, eying me out of the corner of his eye.
I look behind us, see Al following slowly in the car. Hank waves him on. The car speeds up, passes us, then turns at the next intersection.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Just to apologize for the way my partner acted the last time we spoke. He’s old school, you know. He can be a bit…” He snaps his fingers, searching for the right word.
“Abrasive?”
“Let’s just say his methods are a bit out-dated. He doesn’t understand how these things work anymore. The rules have changed since he was in the academy.”
“And how is that?”
“New country, new priorities. It’s all about setting the right priorities, you know. Old Al, he tends to focus on the minutia, rather than the big picture.”
“And what is the big picture?”
Hank chuckles, but doesn’t answer, just shakes his head and keeps right on walking, a smug grin on his face. I’m not naïve enough to recognize that this isn’t abo
ut an apology. He’s waiting, stalking me like a cat stalks a mouse through the long grass, waiting for me to drop my guard for just a second.
A couple days ago, Eric had tried to assure me not to worry. He told me that he’d spoken to all the parents, provided alibis and such. Basically told everyone to lie. So Kelly’s parents informed the police that the whole missing persons case was just a big misunderstanding.
“But what about Ashley?” I’d asked him. “What about Jake? Grandpa?” He’d replied that he was dealing with all that and told me not to worry.
People have died. People are missing, and he tells me not to worry. You can’t just sweep things like that under the rug.
“Thought you might like to know,” Hank says, blowing a bubble, then crackling it between his teeth, “that we’re closing our investigation. Glad to hear your boyfriend is safe and sound. No worse for the wear.”
I turn and stare at him, incredulous. No worse for the wear? Safe and sound? Are you kidding me?
“Congratulations on the engagement,” he adds. “When’s the big day?”
I stop, shocked. “How did you know?” Not even six hours and already a complete stranger knows. Not even Eric knows.
He laughs easily. “Just a guess. You have this…glow about you.”
Bullshit. They’ve been listening in on your pings.
“Anyway, seems all the loose ends are tied up.” He winks again.
I open my mouth.
“What? Is there something more I should know about?”
He’s still smiling, still smacking that gum.
“No.” I start to walk away.
“There is one other small detail,” he says. He grabs the strap of my equipment bag, stopping me again. “The matter of that other boy.”
“Which other boy?”
“There’s more than one?”
I don’t answer.
“I’m referring to the young man, Mister Esposito. Although you were probably thinking I meant the jacker boy. We were wondering if you happened to know where he went.”
“Jake?”
“The testimony against his uncle was quite damning. Convicted on all charges, colluding to engage in acts of sedition against the government, etcetera. Had to try the nephew in absentia, given his whereabouts are unknown. We believe he’s fled the country.”
“Fled?”
“Unless, you have information to the contrary.” He laughs. “But of course you wouldn’t. Would you?”
I find myself going numb. Mister Esposito convicted of treason? Jake?
“What’s going to happen to him?” I hear myself ask.
“The uncle’s sentence has already been carried out. He was immediately conscripted. Too bad he couldn’t serve in the Omegas, being former military and all. But he had a prosthetic leg. Did you know that?”
I’m having trouble processing this. Why didn’t Eric tell me? Why didn’t I know this before? “Already carried out?” I stammer.
“Oh yes. Just yesterday, in fact. Right before the other boy’s arraignment. Already reanimated. I heard he was sent to the mines. Can’t walk, but he can still dig.” He laughs. “Don’t tell no one. I ain’t supposed to know that.”
I remember Micah laughing that day, right before we were kidnapped by the SSC, saying he set Joe Esposito up with a couple prostitutes up in Albany to keep him from discovering his equipment and van and nephew were all missing. Then Eric saying he was arrested, the prostitute claiming he was somehow connected to the SSC. I can’t believe this happened. It’s too quick. Things are happening behind the scenes too quickly.
“So, yeah, it’s not looking too good for your friend.”
“Who?” I ask, blinking stupidly.
“The jacker. Your friend Mister Sandervol.”
There’s that word again.
“He’s not my friend,” I say. My voice is coming from far away. “Not anymore.”
“Yep. We had a hard time finding solid evidence of his involvement, but in the end it was the communications between him and Esposito that nailed it for us.”
No. None of this makes any sense.
Hank raises an eyebrow, as if daring me to challenge him, to say something that will give me away. Except something tells me he already knows more than he’s letting on.
“I trust you’ll be attending Mister Sandervol’s trial this week?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice, Jessica. May I call you that? The young man will be testifying on his own behalf, trying to sway the court. The judge will undoubtedly be seeking character references. Your input could help tip the scales, either in favor of conviction or against. You could help save his life. Or send him away.”
“Why should I care? Besides, I thought they didn’t allow people to speak at these hearings.”
“This is a special case.”
I don’t know what to say. I can feel myself losing control—not emotionally, but rationally. I don’t know who the good guys are anymore, or the bad guys.
I sigh and shake my head. “I’ll be there.”
Hank nods knowingly, and now I see that my initial assessment of him was way off. I’d almost liked him—after first thinking he’d be the hard-ass cop and then finding out it was his partner who really was—but now I see that they’re both bastards, just in different ways.
“We’ll see you at the hearing on Wednesday, Jessica. Ten thirty.” He starts to walk away.
“That’s it?” I shout at his back. It’s driving me crazy, this charade we’re playing. I don’t care what happens now. It’s not like things could get any worse than they already are. “Isn’t there anything else you want to ask me about?”
“Like what?”
“Like, where Ashley Evans is?”
“Miss Evans and her family have moved out of the area. The paperwork is all in order. Apparently she forgot to mention this to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other things to attend to.” He says this last bit firmly. The cold look in his eyes tells me not to push.
“Damn it!” I shout. “We went to Long Island! All of us. Jake was bitten. Ashley was—”
“You’re mistaken, Miss Daniels,” he says, turning. Now his face is hard, his eyes dark. “Long Island is an impenetrable fortress. Nobody can get onto the island, not without permission of the government, anyway. And nobody—not the living, and certainly not the Undead—can get off it without the government’s blessing.”
“Are you freaking crazy? We were there! It was easy. I have proof!”
“Maybe you didn’t understand me the first time, Miss Daniels. You weren’t there. I strongly urge you to stop claiming you were. For everyone’s sake, including your own.”
I open my mouth and gawp.
“Good. Now, are we going to have any trouble?” he quietly asks, making me feel like a misbehaving child.
I snap my mouth shut and shake my head.
He leans back and nods, hooking his thumbs again onto his belt. His gum crackles, sounding like distant firecrackers. “Enjoy the rest of your day, then. Until Wednesday.”
Chapter 34
“You shouldn’t have said anything,” Eric tells me. “You don’t know how bad things are right now.”
I want to tell him that he doesn’t know how bad things are.
“Please, Jessie, just leave it alone. You’ve got more important things to focus on.”
“What? Like planning Kelly’s funeral?”
And your own.
“Like pretending my best friend isn’t dead?”
He gives me a shocked look. “I meant your wedding.”
I laugh in disbelief.
“I’m marrying a dead man!”
“And I’m doing everything I can to find out how we can stop his infection, Jessie! Please, just… I’m working on it, okay?”
“Like what?”
“Like I went back to LI to get Halliwell’s body.”
“You did?”
“It wasn’t there.
The car was still there where we left it, but someone—Arc, I supposed—must have come and taken the body.”
Or he got up and walked away.
“No…”
“Just let me do my thing, Jess. You focus on the wedding.”
“Well, there’s not going to be a stupid wedding anyway,” I reply. “Who wants to come see a couple people get married if we’re just going to turn into zombies in a couple weeks.”
He doesn’t catch that I’ve included myself. “It could be months, Jessie.”
“Week, months, years. What the fuck does it matter? Don’t you see, Eric? It’s not just Kelly. Or me. It’s all of us. We’re all dead. We just don’t realize it yet.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes in a long, deep breath, then slowly lets it out. “Have you talked with Mom yet? She deserves to be there at least, when you go fill out the paperwork.”
I throw my hands up in the air and storm out of the house. He calls after me, asking me where I’m going. I don’t answer.
I ping Kelly and am not surprised to find that he’s skipping classes again with Reggie. None of us wants to go back. If we get caught, we could be in serious trouble.
Ha! Like that means anything anymore.
“We’re at Reggie’s,” he tells me, “just hanging out.”
“Hanging out,” I repeat, testing the words on my tongue. They taste strange; they sound strange. Once more I just want to scream at how ‘normal’ everyone is trying to act. But I don’t. I have to make the most of what little time we have left.
I feel antsy, too full of energy. Hapkido practice had turned out to be a total bust. The studio was dark when I arrived there after my pleasant little conversation with Hank. The door was locked and a sign was posted outside that said, “Closed until further notice.” I’d tried to see inside, cupping my hands around my eyes and squinting into the darkness through the dusty glass. All the sparring equipment was still there—the bags and the staffs and pads—but the place had this look about it, like it hadn’t been used in days. The door to Rupert’s office stood open and there was a mess inside, things that usually sat on his desk but were now scattered over the floor. The angle was wrong, but what I could see was enough to tell me he’d either left in a hurry or somebody had ransacked the office. Or both.
S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND, Season One Omnibus Page 116
