“I have breaking news in the Elusion story. Someone with insider information got in touch with me after the big Orexis press conference announcing that Elusion received CIT approval and the program would be launched nationally,” she says, her voice seemingly filled with more emotion than an aspiring journalist should really have.
I lean in, staring Avery down with a scowl.
“My source tells me that there is a hidden object inside all the Escapes—a firewall, to be exact—that lures uninhibited and vulnerable users closer to it every time they use Elusion, stimulating some kind of neurological response. We believe this firewall was specifically designed by developers at Orexis to create a biological addiction to their product so they could make billions!”
I throw my hands up in the air. Avery is totally fabricating things. I have never seen one of these firewalls of hers while in Elusion, and I was just there with Patrick.
“And it’s working. Orexis stock is at an all-time high. Elusion users are finding themselves going back in more and more often, unable to control their urges. And the CIT did nothing to stop them. A new scourge is about to affect our country, turning the people we love into . . . E-fiends!”
E-fiends?
A tad dramatic, but I have to give her credit—she looks like she believes what she’s saying. In fact, I never would’ve believed Avery Leavenworth could be so emotional.
“Soon my source will go on record to verify that Orexis falsified their test data to get their precious safety seal! Soon this company will be brought to its kn—”
I hit the Pause button, but given the surge of anger that’s slicing through me, I’m surprised I don’t throw the remote at the screen.
But as much as I wish I could just discount Avery as a nasty, pathological liar, I can’t. And that’s what makes me even more frustrated.
I look deep into the freeze-framed eyes on the screen and realize I’ve had it all wrong. Avery isn’t causing problems for Patrick out of maliciousness. She actually thinks she’s saving the world. And because of her fervent belief, people are starting to take notice. People like . . . Josh.
There’s only one solution: I have to prove to Avery, and to everyone else, that she is wrong. And there’s only one way to do that.
I need to find the firewall.
When my eyes blink open, I have to immediately shade them with my hands. It’s not Elusion’s signature white light that’s interfering with my vision, but an array of shocking colors. The sky is a shade of bright peach, the scattered clouds an effervescent pink so fluffy and low I’m tempted to jump up and tear off a piece like warm cotton candy. The sun is centered directly above me, a swirling, pulsating mass of hot purple and robin’s-egg blue.
I push myself up, wiggling my toes in the plum-and-bright-red-speckled sand that sparkles around me like a sheet of tie-dyed diamonds. My pale skin looks perfectly bronzed against a green halter-top bikini that magically gives me an hourglass shape.
I push myself to my feet, transfixed by the shining silver sea, its waves cresting into a foaming kaleidoscope of colors before crashing to the shore.
This is not the same tropical Thai beach that I visited the day after I found out my father was never coming home again—the one with the lush, heavy palm trees and blue-green water with dark seaweed floating in clumps underneath the surface, the one that looked like a real place. This Escape destination is a confectionary creation, rebuilt and redesigned by Patrick and his new team of programmers. The only thing that remains from before is the faint fairy-dust outline of every piece of stimulus surrounding me.
But why?
The question doesn’t linger in my mind for long. The wondrous lull of trypnosis is penetrating every one of my brain cells. When I take a deep breath of the invigorating, sweet sea air, my inner serenity takes over and pushes out any remnants of nagging thoughts about the dismantling of my father’s world in favor of this fluorescent hyperreality.
A mellow breeze gently blows my hair, and I tuck it behind my ear. I turn toward the water as it begins to rise and crest, reaching into the peach sky and rushing along the shore with a thunderous roar. I stand up, my feet cushioned by the soft, cool sand, and walk toward the water, reaching it just as a frothy wave breaks. I laugh and jump back in delight as the water splashes all the way up to my stomach, causing my skin to glow. I take a step forward and then another, wading into the silver ocean. It feels as if the tide is moving not around me but through me, encouraging me to go farther with every wave. When I’m thigh deep in the sparkling water, a thought tugs at me and I pause.
I have a feeling that there is something I’m supposed to do.
The crash of another incoming wave distracts me, and I turn to face it head-on, welcoming the water as it spills over me. I flip on my stomach, gracefully riding the wave toward shore. When I reach shallow ground, I push back toward the sea, my legs moving in a fluid and effortless motion. I swim until I lose sight of land, then float on my back, my legs spread out in a V shape, my cheeks soaking up the rays of the aqua-pearl sun. It’s hard to explain the feeling inside me, but I trust the water to deliver me to safety.
By the time I coast back to shore and open my eyes once again, the miles of wild-colored beach have been replaced with a dense, tropical forest that’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I step out of the sea, water droplets lingering on my tanned skin as I walk toward a cluster of leafy, blue-feathered palm trees with cream trunks surrounded by giant flowers with brilliant red and yellow blooms the size of human heads. I turn toward the palm tree and run my fingers over the fuzzy fibers of its pale trunk. It’s soft, like cotton.
My gaze is diverted once again to the sparkling silver ocean, and I smile widely when I notice how all the craggy pockets of land that jut out seem like a long strand of precious multicolored jewels. The azure sun is beginning to set, inching closer and closer to the horizon, so I decide to skip along the shore, my feet splashing in the water. I have so much energy ripping through me that I feel strong enough to move a mountain, but for some reason, all I want to do now is collect the violet and minty green seashells that are scattered everywhere I look.
I wander and search for a while, although I have no idea for how long. But I stop when my shadow grows tall and only a small sliver of the sun remains. I breathe in the fresh air, which is tinged with a fragrance of hibiscus, determined to capture this feeling of freedom and bottle it up inside me forever.
I bend down to pick up another shell—a dark burgundy one with lots of coarse ridges—when I notice something peculiar. Off in the distance is a grayish, fuzzy wall that extends into the sky like an impenetrable fog. I feel a tingling near the base of my neck as I’m overcome with a sense of purpose.
I’ve left something unresolved.
What is it?
The sky is fading from peach to black as the remaining sun recedes behind a cluster of blood-red clouds.
The firewall.
I came to Elusion to find the firewall.
I drop the shells and begin to run toward the looming curtain of gray in front of me. The breeze transforms into a strong wind, blowing my strawberry-blond hair in all directions. I follow the shoreline, watching how the light colors become swallowed by darker ones. The water is changing too, the silver hue being consumed by inky darkness.
I hear a thunderous crack, followed by another and then another. And suddenly, I stop.
I’m not alone.
There’s a man standing nearly two hundred feet in front of the wall that reaches toward the heavens. He’s not facing the water but staring directly at me, as though he’s been waiting here for my arrival.
I know there’s an emergency button on my wristband that would send me spiraling back to the real world, but I’m not afraid.
Even in the darkness, I recognize him.
His lips slide up in an all-too-familiar grin. “Regan,” he breathes.
And then I’m racing toward him as fast as I can, my heart lodging itsel
f in my throat. As soon as he’s in range, I throw my arms around his neck, clinging to him so tight I might crush him and nestling my face in his chest. He holds me, cradling my head with his warm hands.
“My girl,” he whispers.
This is real. He is real. I know it. I can feel it in my bones.
“Oh my God, Dad. I thought you were dead,” I murmur through chattering teeth.
My father pulls back abruptly, staring desperately into my eyes.
“Listen to me. You’re not safe,” he says, shaking me by the shoulders. “No one is safe. You need to find me. . . . I’m—”
All of a sudden, I can’t hear him anymore. My ears are flooded with a deafening bolt of static, and though his lips are moving, I have no clue what he’s saying. The crackling sound gets so loud I almost let him go to cover my ears with my hands, but then a hurricane-force gust wallops us both, threatening to rip us apart. I grip his arms, and he holds on to me, his face straining while our bodies buckle under the intense pressure. The windstorm funnels around his legs, lifting them off the ground.
“Don’t let go, Dad!” I shout. “Don’t. Let. Go!”
But it’s no use. Something enormous and invisible erupts from the sky and plucks him out of my grasp with one greedy snap. I scream, my arms feeling like they’re trapped in quicksand. I watch, helpless, frozen in place as he is taken away from me, sucked into the fuzzy gray wall as though he is being eaten alive by an insidious monster.
Then I’m slapped by a quick flash of white light, and in one frightening instant . . .
I’m home.
I can’t open my eyes or move my legs. The only thing I can control is my left hand, which I use to peel off my Equip visor in one sluggish movement. I try to lift my head, but it feels like I’m being weighed down by hundreds of wet stones.
I lie there, as what I just saw sinks in.
My father. He was right in front of me. I talked to him and held him in my arms.
I need to figure out what’s happening. I have to call Patrick and tell him everything—even if I’m not sure what it all means.
Another minute passes by, maybe two, and I’m able to open my eyes. I’m sprawled on the couch, facing up so my gaze is trained on the ceiling. I crane my neck and push my shoulders forward, but then nausea hits my stomach, knocking me flat on my back. My head is pounding and my ears are ringing. I try to swing my arm down so I can grab my bag—my tab is in one of the interior pockets—but my arm still doesn’t have full function yet.
I have to fight through this. After another thirty seconds, I regain a little more strength and slowly lower my trembling hand toward my bag. Thankfully, I left the zipper open, so when my hand dips inside for my tab, my fingertips graze the smooth, slippery touch screen. I’m unable to grasp it. I try again, focusing harder this time, pitting myself against the stiffness that’s disappearing from my muscles.
Finally, I manage to wrap my fingers around the tablet, pull it out of my bag, and drag it up to my face. When I pull out my earbuds and press the Call button, I open my mouth to say Patrick’s name—his number was the first one I entered into my voice-activated dialing list—but nothing comes out. It’s like my throat is coated with the Florapetro grit I sometimes inhale when I forget my O2 shield.
After swallowing a few times, I’m able to say, “Call Patrick.”
The tablet dials, but the call goes directly to voice mail. I let out a soft groan. Will I even be able to say more than two words right now?
“Leave a message and I’ll call you back pronto,” Patrick’s recorded voice says in a half-business, half-playful tone.
“Patrick,” I say hoarsely. “My dad. I saw him . . . in Elusion. What’s—”
A long, high-pitched buzzing interrupts me, followed by an automated response:
“The recipient’s inbox is now full. Good-bye.”
I hang up and curse under my breath, pushing myself up on my elbows and shaking out my feet. I hope that partial message saved on Patrick’s tablet, but I know I can’t count on it. And I can’t wait. I have to return to that beach in Thailand this very instant and figure out what’s going on.
I type in my destination code, but it won’t go through.
I try a second time and receive an error message, blinking on the touch screen in bold red letters like a broken traffic light.
MANDATORY LOCKOUT: YOU MAY RE-ENGAGE ELUSION IN 51:37 MINUTES.
I enter the code again, and the same message pops up. I bow my head, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I totally forgot that my dad added this safety measure to protect people from exposing their brains to intense hypnosis without giving themselves adequate recovery time.
There has to be some kind of special administrator code that can circumvent the timer, or at least I’m praying that there is one. As luck would have it, the only person who’d know it isn’t picking up his damn tablet. So I call the InstaComm at Patrick’s penthouse apartment atop Erebus Tower, where I’m met with another dead end. Then I break down and call his office. I usually don’t like to bother him while he’s at Orexis, but obviously this is an emergency. I ask his executive assistant to patch me through to him, but after keeping me on hold for ten minutes, he tells me Patrick is at an important meeting off-site and that he’ll leave word with the second executive assistant, who’s in charge of his return calls.
Unbelievable.
But wait, there is another person who needs to know what happened.
Mom.
I frantically dial her private number, hoping that she’ll answer right away. She can’t be too far into her shift. In fact, she’s probably just getting settled in at HR and going through a reorientation program or something. But soon her voice mail kicks in and I quickly press the Disconnect button on my tablet.
How can I possibly explain on a message that I saw my dad in Elusion? Mom would probably call back and ask me to come down to the hospital so the psych staff could check me out. It seems like the only thing left to do is stare at my watch for the next hour, willing each restricted minute to disappear into thin air.
When the last one finally does, my fingers fly to the touch pad of my wristband and the screen of my tablet, furiously entering every critical numeric code. I can feel beads of perspiration trickling down the sides of my face, and I wipe them away with the shoulder of my shirt. Then I put on my visor and reinsert my earbuds.
When the immersion countdown begins, I feel like my chest is filling with helium. A tickling sensation ripples up and down my limbs, making all the little light-blond hairs on my skin stand on end. A large swath of incandescent light covers everything in sight, and when it dissipates, I’m transported to the same beach where I saw my father.
I look around, stunned.
There must be some mistake. This can’t be the same Escape I left an hour ago. If it is, something terrible has happened here. It looks as if a bomb has exploded, leaving devastation everywhere. Fierce scarlet-colored ocean waves batter a torn charcoal shoreline. The extraordinary flowers have been scorched, so all that remain are burned fragments of stems. The forest is totally obliterated too, and the stench of decaying vegetation thickens the air so much I have to cover my nose with my hands. I’m yanked left and right by howling, storm-grade winds that spray salt water across my cold, bare skin, each and every droplet stinging me like acid rain. The wall that my father was sucked behind is nearly impossible to see, fading into the pitch blackness that surrounds me.
The environmental conditions aren’t the only things that have changed. I’m jumpy, nervous, filled with an overwhelming sense of doom. Then I begin hearing faint voices inside my head. At first I can’t make them out, but as the wind strengthens and shifts, I start to hear them taunting me relentlessly.
You’re going to lose Patrick.
Your mother doesn’t care about you.
Your father is dead; don’t you wish you were too?
Shaking them off with a sharp flick of my neck, I take a deep breath and f
orce myself toward the swirling sea, moving closer to the spot where I saw my father. Each step becomes easier, and soon I’m running, the wind blowing my hair every which way as my feet sink into the sand. As I reach the edge of the water, I trip over a piece of pale gray driftwood and fall to my knees. I push myself up as another turbocharged current of air sprays sand into my face.
“Dad!” I scream, shielding my eyes from the debris. “Where are you?”
I look toward the firewall, but I can barely make it out through the dust fragments flying around me. A deafening clap of thunder sounds as a bolt of lightning streaks through the midnight sky, striking the beach only inches from me. I jump up and run in the other direction as hail begins to fall in heavy sheets, pelting the sand with pebble-size rocks of ice.
A roar comes from the horizon, so loud I’m certain the world is about to crumble. In the distance, far on the edge of the bubbling ocean, a cone of water rises out of the sea, twisting ferociously, like a violent tornado. I remember my father telling me a long time ago that I couldn’t get hurt in Elusion, but suddenly I’m doubting his words. Even so, I’m not leaving until I find him again. I crouch down in the sand, hugging my legs to my chest, bracing myself for whatever happens next.
Just as the funnel is about to suck me into its vortex, the rotating column suddenly turns away. I tilt my head up and watch as it practically flies back over the water, disappearing into the sea’s horizon. But it has left something behind. A number is carved into the sand in front of me.
5020.
It’s a message. A message I’m certain is from my dad.
Then, from out of nowhere, two strong arms grab me from behind and yank me up.
“I’m getting you out of here, Ree,” Patrick says, holding me tight.
“No!” I say, fighting him off. “My dad is here! We have to find him!”
Patrick reaches over and presses the emergency button on my wristband.
Elusion Page 9
