by Kira Peikoff
“Arianna!” Megan exclaimed sternly. “You have to figure something out. Or am I doing all of this for nothing?”
“No…”
“I seriously want to believe you. I’ll see you tonight. Around eight.”
“Thank you so much for calling,” Arianna said. “Take care.”
She hung up feeling chagrined. Here was Megan, going to great lengths to help her and the others escape; then there was Sam, toiling away over the cells in the lab; and the Ericsons, both tirelessly keeping up the practice, as long as they had to; and then there she was, contributing nothing.
But she dreaded facing Trent.
Part of her wondered about that, though. As much as she hated their phone calls for the sake of Dopp’s listening pleasure, those moments made her feel most alive. Her heart pumped harder at the sound of his voice, like an addict sneaking a hit. That she derived any enjoyment from these brief conversations was a source of shame. And yet, she was starting to glimpse the logic behind Trent’s lies. In order to do so, she had to view him as an entirely different person from the one she thought she knew: not as an uninvolved writer, but as someone who had endured an ideological reversal at her hands, which had then resulted in a moral dilemma.
Maybe, said a small voice in her head, maybe keeping her ignorant had been a prudent decision after all. She thought about the night she took him to the lab. She had put herself in a dangerous position, while showing him the extent of her trust. The truth would have shattered everything between them at that point. Her vulnerability would have been too fresh, his betrayal too cruel. Megan was right. Maintaining a façade was the only way he could have protected her from Dopp, and from herself.
Whether she could ever love him again was another story. How could she regain trust in him after all that had happened? But that was the least of her worries. What mattered now was his access to the other side. In merely two and a half days, they needed a plan. How she wished they could speak face-to-face. But she was cornered, here at the clinic with the inspector and anywhere else with Dopp, who would certainly notice if Trent entered her building.
Tonight, she remembered, was Wednesday, the night of her weekly piano lesson at Trent’s apartment. Although it was nearly impossible for her to play anymore, she had insisted on keeping up the lessons. The teacher had been gamely cooperating, although they all knew it was becoming futile. Arianna looked down at her fingers and wiggled them; they moved slowly, as if in a vat of viscous fluid. There was hardly any point in going tonight, unless just to hear the teacher play. And then she gave a little gasp.
“What happened?” the inspector asked.
She coughed. “I just got a sharp pain.”
“Oh.”
“It’s okay, it went away.”
The inspector’s eyes glazed over.
She took her cell phone out of her purse and, without hesitation, called Trent.
“Hello?” he answered after only one ring.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Hey! How are you feeling?”
“Eh. Tired. I’m calling about my lesson tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” His voice let on disappointment. “Should I cancel it?”
“Actually, no. I thought you might, but I still want to try,” she said carefully. “So I’ll be there around six thirty.”
A moment went by as he processed surprise. “Great!” he said.
“See you then.”
She closed her phone with amusement, thinking how baffled he must be. But tonight was the only opportunity, in spite of Dopp’s phantom ear, that they could talk in person without worrying about being overheard.
* * *
When Sam arrived at Arianna’s apartment later that night, duffel bag in tow, he knew better than to ring the bell. Instead he twisted the doorknob, and as he expected, the door opened. Anticipation gripped him as he walked into the foyer. He looked left, to the kitchen and right, to the living room, but she was nowhere to be seen. A loud laugh track sounded down the hallway from the television in her bedroom. He set down his bag on the wood floor, wondering if he ought to turn around and leave, rather than risk bothering her, but his desire to see her was too strong. Now that she was no longer sucked in by that traitor—that greatest of blessings in disguise—Sam was allowing himself to dream again. As fraught with danger as the future was, there lurked romantic undertones that thrilled him. With the cells growing to plan, Arianna would soon receive the transfer, and then they would escape and live together, in perhaps the most unexpectedly desirable outcome possible: He was going to spend every day with her, watching her health improve, and rejoicing from both his brilliant success and her constant company.
Of course, Sam knew there was still a considerable hurdle they needed to overcome, namely how to evade that bastard outside. But it was outrageous to think that a nosy bureaucrat might prevent her from receiving the transfer that ought to save her life, the transfer that would be the culmination of months of dogged work and risky maneuvering. No, that possibility was incomprehensible. If Sam could make a major scientific breakthrough, then the rest of the group ought to be able to handle some tactical planning.
“Sam,” came a whisper. He looked up. Arianna was wheeling down the hallway with a tired smile, her bedroom door closed behind her. He broke into a grin.
“Hi,” he whispered back as she stopped in front of him. He motioned to his bag on the floor. “It’s all ready to go.”
“Good, I was just packing, too. How long have you been here? I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Well, that was the idea. Not long, maybe a couple minutes.”
“So how are you?” she asked. Sam smiled—that was one of the things he loved about her. What was a common throwaway remark, she meant as a sincere inquiry.
“I’m pretty excited,” he said. Up close, her skin looked as thin as cheesecloth over her bones, and it made him want to shudder. The transfer would not be coming a day too soon. “How about you?”
“All I can think of is two more days.”
“Same here.”
“How are the cells?” she asked.
“Four perfect embryos so far. I’m just about ready to extract the stem cells and then inject the growth factors.”
“Tonight?”
“As soon as I get back.”
She beamed. “So you think this is really going to work?”
“I have every reason to think so.”
“It’s just so incredible.” Then her face darkened. “All we need is a way to throw off Dopp.”
Sam’s pulse quickened in defiance. “I could kill that asshole.”
“Luckily, I don’t think you’ll have to. I’m going to talk to Trent about it tonight and see how he can help us.”
“You’re going to give that liar the time of day!”
“We can’t afford to cut him off, Sam. Plus, it does seem like he only meant the best for me.”
Sam felt himself panicking. “So what does that mean?”
“What do you mean?”
Sam shook his head. “He’s not going to flee with us, right?”
“No, I don’t see why he would. Dopp isn’t after him, and I’m pretty sure he wants to keep it that way.”
“Fine.”
“Look, I know you don’t like him, but—”
“No kidding,” Sam muttered.
“But try to think of it from his point of view,” she said. “He took risks to protect both of us. The lab is still safe, isn’t it?”
“So you’ve forgiven him, then?”
“Enough to cooperate.”
Sam scowled. He could still hear laughter flowing in muted bursts from her bedroom.
“I know you’re a hard sell,” she said softly. “And I understand, especially when it comes to the DEP. But I need to get going now.”
“Where are you going?”
“To his apartment for my piano lesson. I think it’s the only place and time that we’ll be able to talk privately.”
> “Why?”
Her lips spread into a mischievous smile. “Because of the music.”
* * *
Trent and Molly were both waiting at his apartment when Arianna arrived. The sight of her, after four days of separation, was both heartening and alarming; she had returned, but when had her illness become so obvious? Was it possible that in the short time they were apart, her face had thinned—or had Trent not noticed before? Either way, he tried not to reveal his dismay as he let her in. Unsure how to greet her, unsure in fact why she had even come, he ventured to lean down and kiss her on the cheek. She didn’t turn her lips to him, but she also didn’t stiffen against his touch.
“How are you, dear?” Molly asked, standing behind Trent. “I’m glad you decided to come tonight.”
“Me, too. Even though these things are pretty useless.” She lifted her hands. “But I still want to try.”
“As you should,” Trent encouraged.
She wheeled past both of them to the keyboard. He followed, and moved the bench out of her way. “There you go,” he said, gesturing to the empty space. “Park and play.”
She nodded with a small smile and pulled herself up to the keyboard. Before he walked away, he leaned his head close to hers and whispered, “What’s up?”
Wait, she mouthed.
Confused and intrigued, he walked across the room to the couch and sat down. A slab of plastic bounced in the pocket of his sweatshirt, but he had to gauge the right moment before taking it out. For now, he would have to wait. Molly sat on the bench near Arianna and instructed her to warm up with a scale. As the notes rang out, Trent thought of Dopp, and wondered where he was parked. Dopp had called him at work earlier in the day to check up on the office, and to confirm that he had correctly overheard Arianna say she would be coming tonight. Dopp’s words were clipped, his tone urgent. It was obvious that his confidence had vanished, and Trent did not have to ask why.
Everyone was talking about the governor’s ignoble fall, and the state’s pressing business that would finally be dealt with. But while the newspaper editorials were heralding Albany’s emergence from inertia, Trent’s coworkers were sweating. Dopp had laid off four people in the last three days. More cuts were sure to follow. But Trent was detached from the office’s collective anxiety; all it meant to him was that Dopp was growing progressively intent on finding a reason to arrest her. She had to know it, too. Trent yearned to ask her about Friday night’s scheduled transfer and its logistics, and to implore her to be cautious. It seemed cruel for her to be so near, like an ocean taunting a parched sailor.
Trent listened to her stumble over Bach’s “Minuet in G.” The tempo was painfully slow, and the notes jerked together as if they were bumping over a dirt road, staccato and uneven.
And then in the middle of a phrase, the notes stopped. Trent heard her sigh. She leaned her elbows on the keyboard, creating a dissonant splash of sound. Molly put a hand on her back and said nothing.
Arianna turned to her. “I’m sorry to waste your time. I just can’t do it anymore.”
“Don’t apologize. You’ve made a valiant effort.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
Molly smiled sadly and rubbed her back.
“I hate to leave things on such a depressing note,” Arianna said, pausing. Then: “Maybe you could play something for us?”
Molly’s smile brightened. “Well, I haven’t given a concert in years, but I suppose I could try. What would you like to hear?”
“Something inspiring.”
Molly nodded. “Let me see. Come to think of it, there’s a piece that reminds me of you.”
“Really? How so?”
Molly made a gesture with her fist. “It’s got a real oomph at first, an intensity, but then it turns out to be very gentle and beautiful.”
Arianna looked pleasantly taken aback. “Well, thank you, I can’t wait to hear it.”
“I played this with the New York Philharmonic a long time ago. Let’s see how much my fingers remember.”
“Great,” Arianna said. She casually let her black pocketbook slide to the floor next to the keyboard. “I’ll get out of your way.” She turned in her chair and grinned at Trent.
He shook his head with an amused smile. When she reached him, he helped her out of her chair onto the couch and whispered: “You are one smooth woman.”
A powerful chord boomed, followed by rapidly descending triplets. Trent recognized it right away; it was the Grieg Piano Concerto.
“I hope Dopp enjoys the concert as much as we will,” Arianna whispered back. Trent snickered softly, and she smiled, putting a finger to her lips. Being so close to her again elated him, and he barely hesitated before pulling her into his arms.
She resisted slightly. “I’m not fully over it,” she whispered, but Trent could tell she was well on her way. “You still lied to me.”
“And I’m not even that sorry,” he whispered back. “Or else you wouldn’t be here.”
“I get that,” she said. “And that’s why I am here.”
Arpeggios rolled up the keyboard with magical fluidity as the melody began to dance in the upper register. For a second, Trent was mesmerized by the teacher’s mastery of the music, and awed that his amateur instrument could produce such a rich sound.
“We need you,” Arianna said into his ear. “To help get rid of Dopp on Friday night.”
Trent grimaced. The concerto’s uplifting tone suddenly sounded incongruous, the wrong soundtrack to such a meeting. “Do you have any plans so far?”
“We’re going to flee. Me, Sam, and the two doctors. It’s not safe for us to stick around. And I refuse to live my life being constantly monitored.”
Trent stared at her in shock. “To where?”
“Sam still has an old apartment up near Columbia that he never got around to selling. Megan’s been nice enough to prep it for us. We should be able to lie low there for a while.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. I guess until they stop actively looking for us.”
“But—you’re going to make yourselves fugitives!”
“It’s a step up from prisoners.”
Trent nodded. “So how long do you need to lose him for?”
“The transfer should take about forty-five minutes. And then Megan will be in a car waiting outside and we’ll hightail out of there.”
Trent swallowed; his mouth was dry. “That’s a pretty long time. And if he sees you go into the clinic after hours, he’ll definitely follow.”
“I know. That’s why we need you to help us distract him somehow.”
“But—he’s so intent right now, you can’t even imagine. For him to leave you alone would almost be a miracle.”
Arianna frowned. “There has to be a way!”
Trent studied the desperation in her eyes, the total unacceptability of failure, and he knew that he had to come up with an answer. This was not a time to bemoan his lack of cunning, to pass on the torch and wipe his pitiful hands clean.
“I’ll figure something out,” he vowed.
“We only have two days.”
“I know that. I just need time alone to think.”
“I should have come to you earlier,” she moaned softly.
“I wish you had.”
She sighed, and Trent’s heart tightened.
“Wait,” he said. “Before I forget, I have something to give you.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slender black cell phone. The front display was covered with a piece of adhesive clear plastic.
“It’s clean,” he said, handing it to her. “I bought it today, after you called to tell me you were coming.”
Her mouth hung open. “Thank you so much!”
“No problem. It’s for emergencies only—don’t use it regularly or he’ll get suspicious about why you stopped using your real cell. And keep it on silent always, so he never hears it ring.”
She nodded. “Is it unde
r your plan?”
“No plan. It’s a TracFone with sixty prepaid minutes. You can always buy more time and it’s anonymous.”
“Thank you, thank you! I feel so much better having this.”
“I thought you would.”
She leaned her head back against his arm and closed her eyes. The concerto had reached the eye of the melodic storm, the passage of gentle beauty that Molly had described. But between the quiet notes, a harmonic tension lingered. Trent closed his eyes and pulled Arianna a little closer.
TWENTY-ONE
Dopp peered out of his driver’s-seat window. In the middle of a snowing Thursday afternoon, the side street next to the clinic was deserted. Icy brownish slush, marked with tire imprints, coated the asphalt. Dead trees lined the sidewalk, their spindly branches reaching for warmth long forgotten.
Dopp pushed open the door and thrust his cramped legs out into the freezing air. How much longer would he have to stand this confinement? Arianna was the one who was supposed to be sitting in a tiny cell, not him. But she was still saying nothing to anyone.
Even so, he had to keep faith. God was testing his patience and wanted him here for a reason. God would not make him wait here, day after day—while his wife was about to burst and while the department was on the verge of extinction—without bestowing a worthwhile payoff.
With his feet hanging out of the car, ice-cold snowflakes settled on his ankles and soaked into his socks. He drew his legs back inside and pulled the door shut. Still no sound from the radio interceptor, except an occasional cough or sneeze. He hoped that Stewart, the new inspector who was also the dourest of his remaining employees, was giving Arianna one of his professionally dirty looks.
Dopp had never doubted his intuition about people before. It had been scarily accurate his whole life. The first instance had been when he was a boy and his gut feeling had tipped him off to his father’s infidelity. Then as he got older, Dopp realized that he had an uncanny knack for spotting liars. Along with a strong sense of ethics, he had the perfect prerequisites to become a cop, as friends and relatives used to tell him. But he saw his talent differently: his intuition was evidence of a spiritual connection between him and God, who had granted him this sacred link for a reason—to enter the ministry. And so he did, and stayed, until Joanie came along and changed everything. Thrown from his calling, Dopp had lost his way for a while as he struggled to make sense of the urgency that drove him into her arms. He knew he needed to find his way back to God, but how to do it was a mystery.
