Echo 8

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  “The irony is cloying, isn’t it?” He turned to stare out the passenger window at the University of Washington campus as it flew by, too fast to compare to the image in his memory.

  “You killed yourself for some other reason, though, didn’t you?” she asked quietly. “You didn’t actually know about the asteroid.”

  Jake pressed his forehead against the cool glass and closed his eyes. The window bounced the moist warmth of his breath back into his face. “Do you have Ballard here, Tess?”

  A few beats of silence passed, and she said, “Sure, we have Ballard.”

  The Ballard neighborhood that Jake knew had been a very desirable area. The original, unincorporated town was built by immigrant Scandinavians right on Puget Sound. But over the last several years, rising sea levels and intensifying weather had resulted in frequent flooding. Abandoned by the wealthy and overrun by rats, it had devolved into slum housing.

  “I want to go to Ballard. Is that possible?”

  She didn’t answer, and he took it for a no. He suspected she intended to drive straight out of Seattle. But she guided her car off the highway at the next exit.

  “Okay, Jake. Your question about the Space Needle gave me an idea, and Ballard is not much out of the way. Plus there are newer cash machines there than in my neighborhood, with finger-scan access. It’ll point them right to us, but we’ll do our best to disappear after that.”

  A cash machine in Ballard? He doubted it. But he didn’t want her to change her mind so he kept his mouth shut.

  * * *

  Tess parked the car on Market Street, and Jake gaped at a neon cupcake sign in the window of a café—a café identical to one he remembered from the pre-flood Ballard. There was no sign of flooding here. No rats or stray dogs. No condemned buildings. No ragged children digging through the garbage.

  Coming here had been a waste of time. Even if Emily existed on this Earth, she wouldn’t live here. She couldn’t afford an area like this. He settled back against the seat, muttering, “I’m such an idiot.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Tess.

  “Long story.”

  She studied him a moment and then held her hand out to him. “Let’s do the transfer and get out of here.”

  He flinched against the car door. “Watch yourself, Espresso Chunk.”

  “Come on, Jake. We have to do it.”

  He picked up his hand and looked through it. He balled it into a fist and pressed it under his leg. He looked at Tess and swallowed. Her proximity was a fire in his throat. A fever in his head. A hunger, petulant from denial, gnawing its way out of his belly. His whole body quaked from the effort of maintaining the seven or eight inches of space between them.

  He wiped his sweating palms on his jeans and let out the breath he’d been holding.

  “One thing before we start,” said Tess.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m not so keen on the word ‘chunk.’ Maybe I could be Strawberry Swirl.”

  He laughed and rolled his head on the seat. “You can be dead if you don’t start doing a better job picking your friends.”

  “Lean back and relax. Rest your hand on the console between us, and try to think about something else.”

  He gave another bark of laughter but did as she asked. “I really don’t get why you’re doing this. I’ve already killed myself once, and even if my Earth hadn’t been destroyed, there’d be no one to care—I’m pretty much a waste of oxygen. Why wreck your life for this?”

  Warm honey seeped in through his hand. He sensed how close she was—no more than a couple inches away—and gripped the console.

  “I care,” she replied. “I don’t believe you’re a waste of oxygen. I don’t believe you deserve to die. None of you deserve to die.”

  “You can’t save us all. You can’t even save me.” He looked at her, noting the little upside-down “v” of irritation over the bridge of her nose. “Sweetheart, I know I talk a lot of shit, but I’m not screwing around now. Let me out here, and go back to Tall-Dark-and-Angsty. Go back to your job and your life. You deserve to be happy.”

  “It’s more complicated than that, Jake.”

  “Is it?” But he knew what she meant, or thought he did. Better than anybody. Maybe even better than Tess. “All of this is really about your mother, isn’t it?” The pain in her face should have been enough to stop him. “Because you couldn’t save her.”

  “You’ve been talking to Ross. The pair of you think you’ve got me figured out.”

  He scowled. “I have not.” Then he closed his eyes. “Okay, yeah. I have. But that’s not the point. I get it, Doc. Trust me, I get it.”

  He felt her hand inch closer, and his breath stopped. Every nerve ending strained toward the source of the energy that trickled into him, maddeningly slowly, like the last dregs in a bottle of syrup. He fought the urge to reach for her. To take more, faster. It was torture and ecstasy together.

  Blood surged in Jake’s ears, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He opened his eyes and turned in the seat, holding out his other hand. Understanding what he wanted, Tess reached out slowly with her other hand, and the current doubled in strength.

  Jake groaned and dug his shoulder into the seat.

  “Do we need to stop?” she asked.

  “Uh…” Energy surged to a crest, expanding in his chest. The bones of his fingers itched, and he wiggled them toward hers. He opened his eyes and looked at her—relaxed and focused, lips parted, oblivious to the threat swelling an inch away from her.

  Then she saw it in his eyes and dropped her hands, flattening her body against the car door. “Snap out of it, Jake.”

  Even as he leaned closer, his hand reached for the door handle. He shoved it open and flung himself out onto the sidewalk.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered, panting against the curb. But staring down at his knuckles he noted he was solid again, and with a few feet of distance between him and Tess, the spike of need began to flatten.

  “Jake?” A woman’s voice, but not Tess. Someone outside the car. He rolled over, blinking up at a feminine silhouette. The sun was directly behind her.

  “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

  Sweet Jesus. “Emily?”

  The woman laughed. “You’re high, right? It’s too early to be drunk, even for you. You better not have had a gig in my neighborhood last night and not even told me.”

  “Emily!” Jake jumped up. He almost pulled her into his arms, and then he remembered that was the last thing he could do.

  “Jake?” Tess had gotten out of the car and come round to his side. Her gaze flitted warily between him and the newcomer.

  “Hello,” said Emily, smiling. “I’m Emily, Jake’s sister.”

  Jake drank her in with his eyes—she was so beautiful. More beautiful than he remembered.

  “Sister?” Tess’s voice rose with surprise.

  Emily offered her hand, and Tess shook it. “I’m Tess.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Emily,” said Jake, “where’s Lucas?”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Who?”

  “My nephew—your son?”

  She frowned, her big brown eyes narrowing with worry. “You’re worse than high.”

  No Lucas. His heart flinched at the familiar pain. But Emily was alive here. “No, I’m sorry, Em. Forget it. I’m feeling a little confused. How are you? You look amazing.”

  She came a few steps closer, and he backed against the car. Tess stepped closer to Jake, almost between them.

  “You aren’t looking so good,” said Emily. “Are you sick?”

  “Yeah, I think I am—don’t touch me or anything.” He glanced again at the cupcake sign. “Do you want to get coffee?”

  “Jake!” Tess glared at him.

  Right. Stupid. BAD idea. He took a quick look around, noticing a mosaic-tile orca fountain at the convergence of Market Street and the old brick-paved Ballard Avenue.

  “Maybe we could
sit down for a minute, over by the fountain?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to my place? I can make you some breakfast. You could lie down. I have to work, but you could stay there as long as you want. You really look awful.”

  Jake shook his head, sick with regret. “Thanks, Em, but I have to be somewhere. I’d just like to talk to you for a few minutes, if that’s okay.”

  Emily nodded. “Let me grab a cup of coffee. I’ll meet you over there. Can I get either of you anything?”

  Tess gave her a strained smile. “No, thank you.”

  When she was gone, Tess said, “Seriously, Jake?”

  He closed his eyes nodding. “I know. Shit.” But he was so happy it was hard to be appropriately repentant. “I can’t believe this.”

  “How many reasons do you want for why this is a bad idea?” she asked.

  He fixed his eyes on her face. “She died on my Earth. It was my fault. I have to make sure she’s okay.”

  “Oh, Jake.” She sighed. He knew she understood. She wouldn’t deny him. “What if she hugs you or something?”

  “I won’t let her. Please, Tess.”

  “It’s not like I can stop you.” She rested her hands on her hips, studying him. “You look fully charged. But just a couple minutes, no longer. Then we’re heading for the light-rail station.”

  He nodded and they started for the fountain.

  “Another thing—obviously there’s another you here. If you’re not careful you could really confuse and upset her.”

  Tess was right; this was nuts. But he couldn’t help it. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

  She waited near the street while Jake sank down on the edge of the pool at the fountain’s base. A couple minutes later Emily crossed the street to join him.

  “Your friend’s pretty,” she said, sitting down beside him. “She seems nice. A little possessive, maybe.”

  “She’s okay. She knows I … don’t feel well. She’s worried.”

  Emily grinned. “She doesn’t seem afraid of getting it.”

  Jake let a dark chuckle escape. “She’s already had it. Listen, Em, I don’t have long.”

  He couldn’t help contrasting this Emily with his Emily. Married and divorced too young from a worthless, abusive punk, his sister was always losing jobs as she struggled to raise their asthmatic son on her own. Life had stamped the light out of her eyes, but she’d been too proud to accept any help from Jake, who, admittedly, had been only marginally better off than she was.

  This Emily was like a different person. Yet his gut—and his heart—told him she was the same in all the ways that mattered.

  “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

  “What, since I saw you last week?”

  Jake cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

  She sighed, drumming her fingers on her coffee cup. “Working my ass off as always. We hired a new designer, and he’s turned out to be a real diva. But our marketing budget is microscopic, so we can’t be choosy. I think Alex wants to get married. Beyond that, SOS.”

  “Alex wants to get married?” Relief washed over him. The worthless punk’s name was Tyler.

  Emily gave him a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I know. Twenty-six is too young. But he really is a good guy, Jacob.” Her mouth curved down. “I think he may be too old-fashioned for me, though. I don’t think I could marry someone without living with them for a while. What do you think?”

  “I think you should do whatever makes you happy, Em.”

  She shook her head, bemused. “Have you just found out you’re terminal or something? Last time we talked about Alex you said he was an arrogant ass. No, wait—that wasn’t it. You said he was a ‘neo-conservative, pseudo-intellectual, retro-riche, arrogant asshole with no soul.’”

  Jake raised his eyebrows. “I said that? I’m sure I was drunk. I’m the asshole, Em. You should know that by now.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re just passionate, and borderline bipolar. Now are you going to tell me what’s going on with you? Why you look like forty-days-and-nights-at-sea, and why that woman is lurking over there watching us?”

  The reference to Tess reminded him what he was messing around with. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  “You’ve been here two minutes!”

  “I know. I just wanted to be sure you’re okay. That you don’t need anything.”

  She watched him, baffled, as he stood up.

  “Do something for me, baby sister.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t come to any of my gigs on the east side, even if I forget and ask you to. It’s too late to be driving home that far. People drink and get in their cars.” Jake swallowed, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s just a bad idea.”

  “You know I never go anywhere I can’t get to on the Slinky. Besides, when did you start doing gigs on the east side? I thought you hated those people.”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess you’re right. Good for me?”

  Emily stared at him, possibly beginning to be alarmed. “Don’t I get a hug or kiss or anything?”

  “Not today. I’m sick, remember?”

  “Right. Can you come for dinner next week? Just you and me, no PUs, I promise. I’ll make puttanesca.”

  He smiled. His favorite on both worlds, apparently. “Sure. Give me a call in a couple days and remind me? I’m feeling a little fuzzy.”

  “Oh, I will. Don’t even try to wiggle out of this, Jacob.”

  He fixed his eyes on her face. “Make me stick to it. There’s no one more important to me than you.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “Go home and sleep it off, Jake. Say good-bye to your friend for me. She seems nicer than the last one. And not so top-heavy she defies the laws of physics just by walking around. Why don’t you bring her next week?”

  Could he possibly be this much of a hypocritical asshole in this dimension? Offended by pseudo-intellectuals and suburbanites while sleeping with girls with titanic breast implants?

  He swallowed, casting a glance toward the street. He was tempted to pretend, just for a moment, that Tess was his. But he’d already created enough problems for the other Jake.

  “I can’t, Em. She has a boyfriend.”

  Emily gave a trademark snorty laugh. “Like that’s ever stopped you.”

  “Don’t forget to call me, and I’ll see you next week. Take care of yourself, okay, sweetheart?”

  “Bye, Jacob.”

  Jake joined Tess and they hurried down the street, Emily waving after them. A warming peace stole through him, easing the cold ache of loss.

  “Are you okay?”

  He couldn’t look at her. “Yep. Let’s catch a train. Where are we going, anyway?”

  “I’ve had a brilliant idea. I’ll tell you on the way. But it could be dangerous.”

  “Great. I was counting on it.”

  DERELICT

  * * *

  The Kalakala began life as the Peralta, a 1927 San Francisco Bay steam ferry that was towed north in ruins after a fire destroyed its wooden superstructure. At the old Lake Washington Shipyards in Kirkland, workers grafted a daring new aluminum top on the salvaged iron hull, and the Kalakala debuted on Seattle’s waterfront on July 3, 1935. It soon became a world-famous, state-of the-art attraction, synonymous with Seattle long before the Space Needle became a landmark. Billed as the world’s first streamlined ferry, it excited imaginations about the future with its Buck Rogers rocket-ship lines and art deco style.

  —“Kalakala’s Table Set for Unseen Guest,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, February 13, 2002

  * * *

  ROSS SAT frozen and helpless as Tess walked away. With Director Garcia watching him from the other side of the table, Ross could do nothing but try to mask his rising panic.

  He told himself Tess wouldn’t be foolish enough to go through with a transfer. Especially not now. She’d know as well as Ross that Jake would be hungry and dangerous. And then there was the dislocation.

  But
this was Tess. She was never afraid when she should be. And the director had painted her into a corner. She’s more afraid of Garcia than Jake.

  “Ross?”

  He snapped back to attention. “Sir?”

  “I said I’m counting on you to control Dr. Caufield. I want the two of you focused on your assignment, and I want regular updates on your progress.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied vaguely, refraining from pointing out it would take more than Ross and Garcia to control Dr. Caufield.

  “Can I be frank with you, sir?” he asked, trying to stay in the conversation while worst-case scenarios played in his head.

  “Please.”

  “Dr. Caufield took the position on the task force because she wants to help these people. I’m not sure involving her with something like this is going to produce the results you’re hoping for.”

  “You seem to have established a rapport with her. I’m leaving it to you to bring her around. We can achieve our goals for this operation with three to six individuals. After that she is free to pursue her own research.” Garcia slid his cup out of the way and leaned toward Ross. “But she needs to understand if she doesn’t cooperate her career will be over.”

  Ross knew this was no idle threat. It didn’t matter that she worked for a private institution.

  “Now I need you to tell me more about the dislocation,” continued Garcia. “This could affect our plans.”

  “Yes, sir. It raises the stakes considerably.”

  “We’re in agreement about that.”

  “Dr. Caufield and I have both conducted transfers. The dislocation came with no warning. We need to take measures to ensure—”

  A gunshot sounded in the building, and Ross jumped from his chair. A moment later he and the director were running through the lobby.

  As they reached the lab he saw the door was secure, but he knew it was too late. His “worst case” had involved Tess running, but his brain had refused to believe it was possible. How many times did he have to learn that bad things happened when he ignored his gut?