Liz stepped onto the flagstone patio, looking around. A minivan was parked some ways down the road, and the mother was hurrying her child along to it.
“Cody! Come on!” she urged.
Liz ran after them. “Why don’t you come in? I have first-aid stuff for his cut.”
“I have a kit in the car!” the woman cried over her shoulder. “But thank you!”
“But—” Liz came to a helpless stop. “Who are you?” she called. “What were you doing on my property?”
The woman paused also. The two were almost at the car.
“I’m sorry—I don’t think I was supposed to be here now!”
Then the woman tugged the boy forward, keying the automatic sliding door and hustling her child inside.
Where was she supposed to be? Liz thought, as she watched them drive off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Tim Lurcquer showed up on her porch the next morning, dressed in uniform. He had broadened since high school, and he somehow looked a little taller as well, as if his new position suited him. His eyes were the same dark, penetrating pools and his hair had lost nothing to time.
“I’m sorry to come so early,” he said. “I have to be at the barracks in half an hour.”
“I was awake,” Liz said, stepping back to allow him inside. “Let me put on some coffee.”
In the few moments she’d been able to attain unconsciousness last night, her rest had been overrun by what she’d learned on that website Paul had visited. Or what she hadn’t learned. Letters danced through the shards of her dreams. Ps and Es and Ws.
She had been unable to guess Paul’s password. It wasn’t any of the ones they used for online banking, Internet shopping, or the private code the school wanted all children to have.
“Tim?” Liz said, pouring coffee. She had started to add milk—the way Paul took the one cup he allowed himself per day—when Tim put out a hand to stop her.
“Black is fine. Thanks.”
Liz looked down at his hand on hers. She set the jug of milk on the counter.
“You were going to say something?” he asked, lifting his cup.
She gathered her thoughts. “Something strange happened last night.”
He looked at her.
“A mother and her son were here in the woods near my house.”
Tim put down his empty cup. “What happened?”
Liz described the brief encounter.
“Did you get the license plate of the van?”
It hadn’t even occurred to her. She shook her head miserably.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Tim said. “Most people don’t.”
Liz turned around on a patch of kitchen floor. The one real lead she might’ve had and she hadn’t even recognized it for what it was.
“I tend to distrust coincidences,” Tim said, contradicting her thoughts. “Your kids disappear, another one shows up.”
Liz looked at him.
“I’ll ask the men who were on last night if anything matching the description of that vehicle came in. Tell me what the people looked like.”
Liz did, still feeling sick inside. The license plate. It had been right there, hers for the taking. “More coffee?”
Tim shook his head. “Listen, I checked into a few things.”
Liz set the coffeepot down on the counter with a brittle thwack. She’d been so consumed that she’d forgotten Tim must’ve had a reason for coming all the way out here.
“Your husband hasn’t used any of the credit cards you gave me,” Tim said. “There have been no withdrawals from either of your bank accounts.”
Liz frowned, questions beginning to coalesce in her mind.
Tim was watching her. “It’s pretty hard to hide these days,” he said. “What this means is that your husband isn’t leaving a record of his movements. And what that means is, he either prepared long and hard for this beforehand or he’s gone someplace where there’s no record to be left.”
Liz told Tim about the site she had found, or almost found, and he promised to check out PEW on his end. “Unless you just want to find some kid with mad skills,” he suggested lightly, brushing off the gray shirt of his uniform and straightening his hat as he left.
His comment gave Liz an idea. They probably couldn’t help with her password woes, but Eastern Ag was a repository of kids with skills. And it was where Paul had spent most of his time.
Liz caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she was about to leave, and stopped short. How could she have allowed Tim to see her like this? Not Tim, that wasn’t what she meant, but anyone? Her hair was matted and her skin pasty. Her eyes looked sunken into caves. The clothes she was wearing were the same ones she’d had on in Junction Bridge. The Eastern Ag students would never open up to this crazed hag, no matter whose wife she was. Maybe especially given whose wife she was.
Liz rubbed her face with one hand. She wouldn’t have believed a transformation this complete could take place in a matter of days.
On the other hand, it had taken less time than that to rid her of everything.
She climbed laboriously into the shower and located a change of clothes before setting out on her day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The students who worked most closely with Paul tended to congregate in a small office he’d procured for them. It used to be a supply closet, but Paul, the consummate recycler, had reallocated the space. Supplies that had mostly been gathering dust had been put to good use, and Paul had found some armchairs and a table destined for Wedeskyull’s Share/Care program. The hot plate used to belong in Liz and Paul’s own kitchen, as did many of the chipped mugs. Liz recognized them as she nudged the door farther open and walked inside.
Lia sat on one of the scruffy chairs. She was Paul’s most advanced student, doing a thesis on micro-farming. Liz had been surprised when Paul suggested she intern for them; she and Jill jokingly called Roots the garden that had grown, and they certainly didn’t consider it a farm.
Three students Liz didn’t recognize occupied the other chairs. All of them were pecking or scrolling away on tablets, the modern-day equivalent of heads being buried in books. Liz gave a small cough and everyone looked up.
“Liz!” Lia said, startled. She set aside her tablet and rose in one fluid motion. The high blades of her cheekbones had taken on a guilty flush and Liz had to stop herself from rushing to the girl and grabbing her arms. Lia knew something—how could it have taken Liz so long to think of this? Paul’s students, maybe her own intern, were going to lead Liz to her children.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been out to the farm in a few days,” Lia said. “The weeds must be getting out of control.”
Liz looked at her, silently urging the girl on.
“That bad?” Lia said, fidgeting with her hair. “I’ll be there today. Soon as I get done with a few things.” She gestured to her tablet.
Liz felt everything inside her deflate. Lia had been feeling badly about not working her usual hours when Liz was gone. A little mice-play-while-the-cat-was-away. She looked around at the others. “Have you seen Paul?”
They tilted their heads in her direction, their expressions uncertain.
“Professor Daniels,” Lia explained to the others, still winding spiky black hair around her fingers.
Understanding seemed to dawn among them. As if a reporter had called the president by his first name at a press conference.
“Right,” Liz said, still holding her position by the door. “Professor Daniels.”
“Classes don’t start for six more days,” Lia told her, speaking rather slowly and distinctly, as if Liz were unwell. “We thought he was away with you.”
Nods from everyone in the small room.
Liz looked at their upturned, innocent expressions, and she couldn’t deny a flick of anticipated pleasure. You think your professor’s so great? Well, let me tell you something.
She pictured disgust crawling over their faces as they finally took in the truth, and wished
that Paul were here to see it. But when she had finished telling them what their professor had done, their looks hadn’t changed much.
“What do you mean, Professor Daniels went somewhere?” asked a boy slouching in his chair. He had a triangular scruff of beard on his chin that gave him a faintly vampiric appearance. “He’s my thesis chair this semester.”
A female student with long blond dreads nodded, her expression reflecting pride. “Jake’s graduating early,” she explained, gazing adoringly at the boy who had just spoken. “He scored a killer job downstate. With the government. Thanks mostly to Professor Daniels.”
“Sara, enough.” Jake appeared less embarrassed than annoyed by the girl’s excessive praise. He looked down at his screen, fingers flicking rapidly. “I don’t have any email from him,” he said. “He’ll be here. He has to review my methods section.”
The certainty in his voice assailed Liz and she crossed the tiny space, looming over Jake in his chair.
He recoiled. The girl reached out and touched his arm, dropping her hand to rearrange the folds of her peasant skirt when Jake didn’t acknowledge the gesture.
“Look,” Liz said through gritted teeth. “You don’t have any email from Paul because he’s completely out of contact. He’s not emailing—he doesn’t even have his cell phone.”
“That makes sense.” A boy who hadn’t spoken until now looked up. He was quintessentially Ag with his buzz cut and jeans, the type of student who had comprised the population before it was invaded by Lestat and his dreadlocked love. “Professor Daniels has such a love-hate relationship with tech. Remember when he made us go a week without using our phones?”
Nods and smiles of reminiscence.
Liz wanted to reach out and shake every single one of them. They were all so placid in their regard, so hopelessly clueless. But they spent as much time with Paul as she herself did. These kids might know something, even if they didn’t know they knew it.
Lia came over to Liz and spoke gently. “Did you say he’s taken Reid and Ally?”
Hearing her children’s names brought on a crushing pressure behind Liz’s eyes. She tried to nod, but her head felt like it was caught in a vise.
Lia was guiding her. “Liz. Here. Sit down.”
Liz felt her legs give way. She sank onto a coarsely cushioned chair.
“That’s impossible. Professor Daniels would never do something like that,” said the girl who had the crush on Jake. Sara.
Liz closed her eyes against the nods and statements of assent that arose.
It hadn’t always been like this for Paul at school. His unwillingness to be diplomatic had cost him friends and promotions until the collegiate culture began moving in his direction, almost as if he were the moon pulling the tide. Right up until the day he had squired her children away, Liz would’ve said that these kids were right. Her husband would be incapable of deception, of masking a single one of his many thoughts, beliefs, and convictions.
“Guys,” she said, eyes still shut, “I know how much you love—admire—Professor Daniels. Believe me, I felt the same things for him for years.” She took in a breath of air that tasted stale. “And he deserves it. Paul—Professor Daniels is capable of some remarkable things.”
“Extraordinary things,” Adoring Girl said.
“He’s inspired me in a way nobody else ever did,” said Jake.
“He’s just so damn smart,” added the second boy. He rubbed his head, trying to flatten the bristles. “Remember that whole unit on how water’s going to be this century’s oil?”
“Embargoes,” Jake agreed. “Water cartels.”
“But the really brilliant part is he knows what to do about it. That filtration system he found—”
“His desalination theory—”
Liz felt a scream building inside her. If she couldn’t put a stop to this, she was going to do something a lot worse than desecrate their image of Paul.
“I know all of that,” Liz said. “Most of it anyway.”
Her words were lost in an excited brew of memories and ideas.
“Listen!” she cried.
The chatter continued.
“Goddamnit, I said listen!”
A shocked silence finally fell. Liz opened her eyes and took in the entire earnest ring of them. “I was there for all of that. And more.”
They were looking at her now with a blend of fear and interest.
“I remember the good old days before global warming when the energy crisis was just about fuel shortages. Paul’s father refused to wait on line, and Paul learned to run a car on ethanol they grew and distilled themselves. It was great. It’s all just great.” Liz held up a hand before the admiring clamor could begin again. “But Paul’s done something a lot less noble now,” she went on over the protests she could see mounting. “And it’s deprived me of my children.”
The faces that gazed back at her were as blank as a rolled-down shade. Even Lia refused to meet her eyes.
Liz felt the solid wall of their obstruction, and her body sagged in the chair. She knew this particular brand of unwillingness, borne of the disbelief that Paul could be anything besides the image he presented. She’d bought that image for the better part of two decades. Nobleman, thinker, provider, chief. A Robin Hood, taking bounty from the greedy lords of capitalism and spreading it out amongst the people. A visionary who would lead those people to a better day. These students weren’t resisting her only because she threatened their idea of Paul. Liz was threatening the entire world they stood to inherit.
“Is there anything?” she asked in a whisper. “I know this must all seem hard to believe, but is there anything that Professor Daniels was teaching—or talking about—last year that might give you an idea of what he’s doing now?”
Matching faces met her gaze. Heads shook at an identical pace.
“Sorry.”
“No, nothing.”
Liz dropped her head. Scuffmarks and scratches formed a frazzled pattern on the floor.
“Would you like some tea?” Sara asked. “It’s herbal, from right around here. Professor Daniels doesn’t allow coffee or real tea, of course. The miles traveled are far and away the worst. Except for maybe pineapples. Or non-hearty kiwis.”
“The mix is made at Mrs. Daniels’s farm,” Lia said to the others. “She knows its carbon footprint.” She turned to Liz, having the grace to look uncomfortable. “Would you like some?”
Liz’s response emerged brokenly. “No. No tea.”
She struggled to rise, but fell backward into the chair. Jake jumped up to help her, and she held out a hand, warding him off. He flinched, and Sara guided him into her reach while Liz finally got to her feet and pushed past all of them, feeling their breath and their heat and the pent-up energy inside them as she made her way out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The students may not have known anything, but Liz had gotten something out of the time she spent in that small, airless space. Only Paul Daniels could stick a bunch of kids into a column of closet and make them think that he was Superman.
Still, the place had been a repository of password possibilities. Paul’s students were the fastest ticket to whatever he was thinking about these days. Water cartels, embargoes, filtration systems, and desalination. Liz had glanced at the screens on each tablet to catch key words. Closed-loop farming. Humanure. Rooftop-ready soil.
Liz was headed down the hall when she noticed the secretary’s door standing open. She backtracked to the department, then crossed the wide corridor.
“Marjorie. Hi.”
Marjorie had filled this position since Paul had been a student himself, and she wore her seventy or so years well, mostly by not trying to hide them. Her steely hair fell in a neat bob, and her eyeglass frames were fashionable.
“Mrs. Daniels! I thought the family was on vacation,” Marjorie cried, rising from her wooden seat. Paul imposed upgrade-free living on the department as a whole. Marjorie’s desk was the same gun-metal gray as
her hair, its gouges rusted, and whatever pattern had once been on the rug was no longer detectable.
Liz should’ve been used to the sinking feeling by now, the jolt her knees gave, her body loosening against the door frame. How did no one—no matter how close to them Paul had been—know anything about this? Tim’s statement about it being hard to hide came back to her. Paul Daniels didn’t do covert. He was in-your-face, larger-than-life. At least he was right up until the night he had vanished.
“Mrs. Daniels? Are you all right?”
“Paul isn’t going to be here to teach,” Liz said abruptly.
Marjorie frowned. “Oh no. Has he gotten sick?”
Liz barked a laugh. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
The secretary frowned.
Liz straightened from her slump. “I don’t know where Paul is. He could be sick, but I rather doubt it. He’s made off with our children. I’m guessing you don’t know anything about that.”
“Your children!” Marjorie’s gasp was genuine. “Mrs. Daniels, that’s—”
“Crazy. I know.”
“I was going to say, not like Paul at all.” Marjorie paused. “Here.” She guided Liz into the office, shutting the door. “Now, what do you mean, he’s made off?”
Liz recounted the story soliloquy-style. The horror was that she was growing used to her speech, like an actor who had learned her lines. Except that in reality, her whole life with Paul had been an act, and now she was unlearning them.
Marjorie shook her head back and forth, tsking her tongue. “I don’t know what to say. I just can’t imagine Professor Daniels doing anything like this.”
“I know,” Liz said when the secretary fell silent. “I couldn’t either. I suppose I’ve had a few days to wrap my head around the flip side to Paul’s greatness.”
The secretary looked up, and Liz waited for a display of outrage, the electrified defense. But perhaps Marjorie had also left the Church of Paul at some point because she didn’t say anything. Her nails, polished clear, clicked against the surface of her desk.
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