by C. P. James
“We own land in the mountains. I camp there sometimes, but only by myself. We’ll stay in the city tonight and get what we need in the morning.”
He saw some of the intensity in her eyes ebb, if only a little. If what she needed was a few days to process everything, it wasn’t a problem to give it to her. He was a little worried about what her mother—the president—would do, but he would deal with that later.
“I’d like that,” Jayla said, with a faint smile.
43
The two Secret Service agents were acting grave, as though they expected Erik to share their deep concern when he really didn’t. What he wanted was to go back to bed.
“He comes and goes as he pleases. I’m betting Jayla does the same. They’re legal adults. They probably got a room somewhere.”
Jeff (was he the tall one?) tapped a few notes into his device. It had gone on like this for nearly an hour. The agents came knocking at 2 a.m. and explained that they had lost track of the First Daughter, and that she was most likely with Lars. Erik explained repeatedly that his son didn’t make a habit of checking in, and that weeks often passed without hearing from him. That he happened to have Jayla with him wasn’t of any particular concern to him, and there was no reason for anyone to be freaking out. He was made to say whatever he knew about Lars’ political affiliations (none), what countries he’d lived in (too many to remember) and who his associates were (no idea).
Finally, the short one (Scott?) said they were done and left information about how to reach them should Erik hear from Lars. He remained in the living room and read until he was confident he could fall back asleep. The sun would be up in less than an hour.
Though he intended to read, he mostly thought about Heidi. She was an enigma to him, in more ways than one. Firstly, she was a medical mystery. The actual Cure injection included isotopes that could show any lab whether an individual had received it or not. This was one of the first things Erik’s team verified, and she’d lit up the screen, though not as brightly as usual. That was peculiar.
Knowing that, a separate team looked into her family history, going as far back as the late 1800s when her ancestors came over from Denmark. Her entire family tree was mapped and indexed, with impressively comprehensive details about who lived where, when, and what they did. The next most likely reason she was alive and healthy was due to some mutation that actually subdued or delayed the deadly gene switch. It wasn’t uncommon for certain ethnic backgrounds to show unusually high resistance to, or propensity for certain genetic disorders. Though not every theory and trail along this line had been followed to its end, Erik knew in his gut it wasn’t the answer.
Unfortunately, other than these two possibilities, the theories were few. One was that either her or her mother’s blood chemistry had somehow rendered inert the complex cocktail of proteins, viral vectors and peptides that formed the Cure, leaving only the isotopes behind. Another was that the actual injection had been mislabeled, or hadn’t been properly administered. These theories held water but were impossible to prove, and in any case they weren’t useful because they couldn’t lead to a treatment. That still was the ultimate goal.
Medical mysteries aside, Heidi was hard to figure. She was beautiful in all the ways Lucy hadn’t been—earthy, practical, and warm. She had a quality—maybe it was all the time she’d obviously spent out in the sun doing stuff—that Erik thought of as golden. They didn’t spend that much time together. Effectively she was little more than a neighbor of GIG’s who lived in a lavish guest house in exchange for her time. As long as anyone believed she could be part of a solution, she seemed content to stay.
The time they did spend, however, was intense. He was drawn powerfully to her, and he thought it might go the other way. If it did, she wasn’t the type who would let on anyway, which only magnified her allure. Still, he felt he caught enough lingering glances or subtle bits of body language to think that there might be more to their relationship. Unfortunately, he’d nearly run out of legitimate reasons to keep her there.
And then there was Geller. He was uncharacteristically hands-off when it came to their investigation, so much so that it felt odd. Maybe he was just being deferential, but that wasn’t his style. He seemed confident from day one that Heidi had nothing to offer GIG or the millions waiting to die, so it wasn’t clear to anyone why he was hanging around. He had a theory. It wasn’t very likely, but he couldn’t bring it to the fore until all other possibilities had been exhausted. That time was drawing very near.
44
Lars had to pull the car up by the front door of REI to load everything up. He got a 4-person tent, sleeping bags, everything they needed to cook, and a bunch of other stuff. Jayla stayed in the car for fear she might be recognized—especially if her mother had engaged federal resources to find her. She also wanted to protect Lars if that was the case. She remained in the car while he stopped at a grocery store, handing Lars a letter she’d addressed to a strange address and name in DC. She explained it was an emergency address she could use to reach her mother.
He studied it for a moment as though unsure what to do—the mail system had gone private many years ago and was passed around from company to company like a hot potato. He didn’t even know who operated it now. It was generally quite expensive, but most grocery stores could still mail letters. Although it was clear she didn’t want to be found for a while, it was smart to send word she was okay, lest half the government descend on Colorado to try and find her. All this went through his head in the space of two seconds, and so he took the letter into the store and mailed it. Thirty minutes later he returned with what looked like a month’s worth of food.
They drove in silence. She didn’t have anything to say just yet, and she could tell he was being respectful of that. They entered the mountains near Boulder this time, going west for a while on a winding road before angling north, until even the remote community of Nederland was a good hour behind them. Eventually, Lars turned into an overgrown drive blocked by a gate. He got out, unlocked a chain, pulled in and re-locked it behind him. She assumed they were close, but going was slow on the rough road. They drove what seemed like another 15 miles though it was probably closer to 7 or 8, and finally stopped when the road basically just petered out. Lars killed the engine and looked at her.
“We walk from here,” he said, and got out.
It took some time to load their supplies into a huge pair of backpacks, though it would’ve taken longer if Jayla didn’t know camping as well as she did. She even paused to show Lars a few tricks she learned about packing from a Chilean guide, and they smiled at each other for the first time since the previous morning.
They hiked in for about two hours, stopping once for a snack, and Lars led her over a small ridge that pitched steeply down to the most pristine mountain lake she’d ever seen. It was maybe 200 yards across and half as wide—basically a big rain barrel—and the bottom was so clearly visible through the glassy water that it looked fake. They hugged the ridge line to the left, eventually traversing downward as the grade softened. After a while they reached the edge and Jayla instantly removed her boots to plunge her aching, hot feet into the cold water.
“I call it Teacup Lake,” Lars said, peeling off his boots as well. “I don’t know if it has another name.”
“It’s incredible!”
There was only one logical place to pitch camp: a thinly grassed patch on the opposite shore surrounded by scrubby pines. She started to walk out further, but was immediately surprised by how deep it got. She stumbled a bit but Lars caught her arm in his strong hand and steadied her, saving her from an unplanned swim.
“Thanks.”
By the time they circled around, figured out their new gear and set up camp, the sun had already dipped below the edge of the ridge. Lars gathered some firewood and she tried to put a meal together from their supplies, which she now realized would probably last about 10 days, give or take. It would be enough.
45
The car. Connie understood every detail of the timeline the night of Jayla’s disappearance save for one thing: Why didn’t the agents simply wait at Lars’ car?
The way Scott and Jeff explained it, they lost Lars and Jayla in the confusion after that kid from the band died, then ended up following two people who looked almost exactly like them to another car, which they followed halfway to Pueblo before realizing it wasn’t them. She failed to understand how such an egregious error was possible. Of course, she had to admit to herself that assigning a detail to Jayla probably wasn’t necessary in the first place. Yes, she’d always had some sort of tail on her as long as she was abroad, but she knew how to take care of herself.
Jesus, she’d never gotten used to that. She thought of herself at 15—a nervous, scrawny, outwardly confident but insecure kid who hadn’t planned her high-school career beyond making the debate team and playing alto sax in the better of the two bands. She’d never even had a boyfriend. She had plans, and she pursued them with unwavering tenacity: Lawyer. Judge. State Attorney General. Senator. President. Her career—her life—had a trajectory. If this, then that. Then, if all goes well, that. She didn’t and couldn’t understand this life of artificial urgency, of trying to find meaning and purpose within its crowded bookends.
Many chose a hedonistic, indulgent, lawless existence free of long-term consequence. And really, why wouldn’t you? Why choose restraint when you knew how and when you’d go? It was a problem—especially considering the great empathy that most people had for the Perfect Generation. For the bad ones, it made people easy targets; kindness was easy to exploit. Still, the overwhelming majority chose a life of travel, exploration, and brief but meaningful friendships. So it was with Jayla.
A soft rap came at the door to the Oval Office, and Ethan, her assistant, poked his head inside.
“Madam President, Jim’s here to see you.”
“Send him in.”
Jim Dougherty was her chief of staff. A pain in the ass, but hard-nosed and a stickler for detail. She’d finally trained him to call her Connie, which had taken almost two terms. He carried an envelope.
“Thanks for seeing me, Connie. Security’s been over this thoroughly and we verified the handwriting. I wouldn’t bother you with it unless it seemed important.”
“A written letter? Is it Jayla?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She donned her reading glasses and took the envelope, which bore a Denver postmark. Jim took a seat across the desk from her and leaned forward as she read, as though ready to spring into action at any moment. Constance hadn’t actually seen her daughter’s handwriting since she was in school, and there’s no way she would’ve recognized it herself.
Mom,
As you probably know, I was one of the 10,000 people who watched Marius Beecher die. Lars and I had to get away from everything. We are okay.
Marius was an amazing talent and his music was important to people. But just as I felt I was part of a larger community, I realized that the thing we share isn’t how we live. It’s how we will die. It’s violent and bloody. There’s no dignity in it. To know and love someone is to risk watching them die. It’s no kind of life.
Lars and I are young and in love. We are beautiful. Our time together is beautiful. We are surrounded by splendor. There is only one way to preserve this moment just as it is. So many moments will be taken from us, but not this one. I won’t let it.
I am sorry. Just know that I am happy. This isn’t your fault.
Love,
Jayla
She folded the letter and and tucked it back in the envelope.
“Jim, get me the FBI field office in Denver. Right now.”
46
The sleek maroon SUV hummed along the winding gravel road, its electric motor no louder than the gentle breeze that stirred the encroaching firs and aspens. Erik didn’t know exactly why he was going, or what he was going to say to Heidi when he got there. Whatever he said, it had to be enough to keep her from leaving.
At that moment, however, his foremost thought was of Lars. The kid was a free spirit, with his own agenda. Sometimes he was around, but mostly he wasn’t and that was okay. Erik always felt that he would’ve been a model father given a normal situation, cheering a kid on at soccer games and admonishing him for not studying hard enough. But the Cure had robbed him and millions of others of that normalcy. He’d felt that loss acutely, and it drove him to find a solution. Lars had something special to offer the world, and Erik owed him the opportunity. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t going to win any awards for parenting. The boy had turned out pretty well in spite of the icy relationship between him and Lucy. He wasn’t worried about the fact that he disappeared with Jayla—in a way it was actually amusing—but he did worry a bit about the possible repercussions.
As usual, the immense house had a persistent look of emptiness, a dual function of its excessive scale and its dated architecture. He pulled in under the portico driveway and put the car in park, still unsure what he was really even doing there. After a few moments he got out and tentatively rang the bell. Heidi answered wearing yoga pants and a sports bra, her face flush and moist with sweat. Her hair was pulled up in a tangle that would elegantly undo itself the instant she removed a single strategically placed clip.
“Hey,” she said, surprised.
“Did I catch you at a bad time? I can swing by later if you—”
“No, no, it’s fine. Actually I was debating going longer, but now I have a reason to stop. C’mon in.”
He’d been there dozens of times with other guests, but not with her. It felt more lived in, somehow, like she was the trophy wife of some absentee tycoon. She padded over to the built-in fridge.
“Want a smoothie? I make a mean one,” she said.
“Actually, that’d be great. I haven’t had breakfast.”
“Most important meal of the day,” she said. “Guess I don’t have to tell you. So what’s up? If you came for a urine sample, you’re like five minutes too late.”
She peeled bananas and sliced strawberries and kiwis into a giant blender as she talked, then started measuring out mysterious powders by the tablespoon. Then she started scooping in ice.
“Tempting, but no thanks,” he said. “I just wanted to talk, I guess.”
“Hold that thought.”
She activated the industrial blender, which sounded more like a fighter engine than a kitchen appliance. Within ten seconds, the mixture was a silky pink froth. She flicked it off and poured the contents into two tall glasses, filling them perfectly. She proffered one to him.
“Monsieur,” she said grandly. “Oh shit, wait!”
She dashed around the end of the huge island and rummaged around in a drawer until she produced two oversized straws, then hurried back around to give him one.
“Thanks,” he said, grateful to have another few seconds to gather his thoughts. The smoothie tasted as good as it looked—fresh and sweet, with a little grit from whatever vitamins, bee pollen or whatever she dumped in there. She didn’t seem like she needed an energy boost, but he did. He certainly needed something.
“Wow—it’s awesome,” he said.
“Right?” she said, smiling, and sucked down a few huge mouthfuls. Then she leaned on the counter and looked at him expectantly. “So, what brings ya by? Need to poke me again?”
“The genealogy work is pretty much done,” he stammered. “They’ve gone back to two generations before your great, great, great, great grandparents landed on Ellis Island.”
“Geez. That’s … thorough.”
“Yeah. And we’ve pretty much ruled out any mutations. In fact, your DNA is basically flawless.”
“Hooray for me.”
“Right, but …”
“But it doesn’t get you any closer to a solution.”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s next?”
“I don’t know. We’ve learned about all we can about you. At any rate, we have enou
gh samples that if there was something we missed, we could go back. The only thing left is—”
“Gee, Doc, It’s starting to sound like you don’t need me here anymore.”
“Technically, no.”
“What about non-technically?”
He looked at her for what seemed like a long time, trying to read what she wanted to hear.
“I guess there’s a part of me that doesn’t want you to leave.”
She raised her eyebrows and took a long drink. “What part is that?”
He set his smoothie down and moved slowly toward her. She locked her eyes on his and didn’t move.
“The part that wanted you to be the answer.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
A tendril of her blond hair, still damp with sweat, clung to the side of her face. He reached slowly up and moved it out of the way, behind her ear. His mouth was dry and hot. He wasn’t lying when he told her he didn’t know why he was there, and yet in this moment he knew. Heidi was bursting with life, and so, it seemed, she could remain for quite some time. A few weeks back, she potentially was the most important woman in America. Now, she was almost free to be a tumbleweed again, unbound by anything and anyone.
But though her significance to the world had lessened, her significance to him had only intensified. She was like the knife that could finally cut the thin, but consequential thread between him and his late wife, and he realized now that he wanted her to. There was a certain intimacy to their relationship, but it had been professional and arm’s length. Part of it was decorum, but part of it was out of some perverse notion that he was supposed to be alone.
He pulled her face to his and kissed her deeply, hoping it would be like riding a bike. It wasn’t that there hadn’t been women since Lucy, but not like this. They weren’t the kind of girls you kissed just to kiss. This was different. He wanted to get it right, and when her fingers curled around the bottom of his shirt and tugged it free of his pants, he figured he probably had.
