He broke out a cooler and bag of briquettes from the trunk, and carried it to a table by a rusty grill. He started the briquettes.
"How about a beer?" he asked.
"You brought beer?"
He grinned. "You might not have won, but some kind of celebration still seemed in order. You made a lot of money along with way, didn't you?"
"A fair amount." She chuckled softly. "But Brad, I didn't lose. I did turn down the suite of powers and, I thought, the money that went with them. I tossed the 'Ambrosia' drink down a sink. But when I met this morning with Professor Wendell Martin – the 'Omniverse-founder guy' – he said they'd decided that I had solved the final stage and deserved some compensation."
"They decided to award you the fifteen million?!"
"Nope." She met his gaze, a slow grin breaking out. "Seventy-five million, OD. That's a bit over twenty-five million in actual US dollars."
Brad sank down on the edge of the table, his face glazing over in shock. Alex had the impression the table was all that was holding him up.
"You're not joking...are you?"
"Nope."
"Wow...that's great!" His brow creased. "But...why? Why increase the money award that much?"
"I guess they were impressed by my saintly refusal of the power-trip."
"And they rewarded you." Brad nodded and half-smiled as if it was starting to make sense. "Rewarded you for being good."
"Proves they aren't quite as smart as they think they are," Alex laughed. "It was pure selfishness on my part."
"How?"
"Where's the challenge with that level of power? And why would I want to screw up my favorite world playing at being a god?"
Brad's smile faltered. "Favorite world?"
Alex fought a moment of regret over saying that. But fuck it and Brad's disappointment.
"That surprises you?" she asked. "Haven't you noticed that here I'm a gimp? That I'm so weak and stiff that some days I could barely walk from the front doors at the computer building into class?"
"You didn't seem so gimpy or weak today."
"Doesn't change the inevitable trend. A good day today, a heart attack, seizure, or stroke tomorrow. In the Parallel Worlds, I could press the heaviest weight in the gym. In that world I can fly."
"I get it." He'd turned away from her, jaw set, and started dragging foodstuff out of his cooler. "But that pretend world can't save you, Alex. What if instead of playing games you focused your superior brain on finding solutions...even a cure?"
"I have an even better idea, Brad. Why don't you go fuck yourself?"
He held up his hands. "I'm sorry. You're right, it's not my place to advise you about stuff. If I were in your position, I might feel the same way."
"Is this what you wanted to talk about? Why you drove me out here?"
"No, no, not at all. It's just when you said you liked someplace else better, someplace where I'm not..." He shrugged, his face coloring under his wispy blond beard.
Alex stared at him for a moment before speaking in a softer voice. "You could always visit. See how the other half lives."
"But your avatar is male."
"We could hang out as buddies."
"I thought that was Brandon's role."
"I've heard it's possible to have more than one buddy."
"Yeah," he said. "If I wanted to be your buddy."
Alex didn't have the heart – or stomach – for kicking Brad in the balls, as was her wont. Not now, anyway, riding the mellow tide of post-workout endorphins. Brad seemed to lose interest in pursuing the careworn topic, too. He got busy lighting the briquettes and breaking out the hors-d'oeuvres – a covered plate of cheese, crackers, and sausage. He handed Alex a bottle of locally brewed beer, which she gratefully accepted.
"To the Omniverse," he said. "And being rich."
They clicked beers. They traded smiles. Nice toast, she thought, and Brad seemed to mean it.
"Not rich," said Alex. "But not exactly poor, either."
"Heh. I'd trade for your poorness in a minute."
"I could help you, you know." She hadn't intended that, and from the awkward twist in Brad's mouth, he would've appreciated it if she hadn't. "Or not. I was just thinking I'm buying Bran a new AFIRM. Maybe you could use one, too."
"Isn't the newest model over a million dollars?" Brad grimaced. "If I had a million dollars I sure could think of a few other things I'd rather spend it on than a VR machine."
"Maybe I'll just give you a million dollars, then."
"Why?"
"I seem to recall you saving my life once. You know, carrying me into the ER and all."
"Nothing anyone else in the gym couldn't have done. Besides, you weren't dying. Didn't the doctors decide it was most likely a blood sugar thing?"
"Knowing me, I could die from a blood sugar thing."
"Well, uh, thanks, but I don't want your money, Alex."
"I know." Alex batted her eyes. "You want my heart."
He swooped in with such suddenness and force that she had no time to get her hands up. By the time they were up his mouth was smacking into hers and she was gripping the bulges of his broad shoulders. The kiss was hard and unyielding, accompanied by bristly abrasiveness from his beard. Like kissing a Brillo pad with lips. Slightly repellant but sexy in a weird, sadomasochistic, kinky way. Interesting. The first time she'd ever kissed a man.
Brad pulled away with a gasp. A gust of warm peppermint-freshened breath tickled her brow. He stared at her, his face filled with schoolboy apprehension.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Was that okay?"
"In what sense?"
"I mean...was I, you know, too pushy?"
"Aren't guys supposed to be pushy?"
"No. I mean, not to the point of being disrespectful."
"I wouldn't worry about it."
"But...you said you've had sex with women...female simulated humans? Female avatars?" His Adam's apple bobbed. "Do you worry about, you know, making the right moves? Being respectful?"
"God, no."
"You're like a virtual 'bad boy,' then?" He was trying for a smile but coming up short.
"I guess. But it's not as if I have ever force myself on anyone. Remember, my avatar looks something like you, so girls are usually pretty eager to give it up."
"I look a lot like me and that hasn't been my experience." His chuckle sounded strained.
"We've had this discussion before, Brad. It doesn't improve with repetition."
"I know." He appeared to be debating whether to say more and finally nodded to himself. "I'll get the steak started. I know it's got the heart-clogging fats, but at least it's grass-fed the way you like."
"I'm more worried about the hormones, antibiotics, and pesticides, so you did good."
Brad dropped the steak on the grill with a small, private smile of satisfaction. It occurred to Alex that, with the exception of a couple of four-eyed geeks in high school, no one had ever been romantically interested in – not to mention aggressively pursued – her. Well, she thought with a frown, not true: Brandon had expressed a romantic interest...or at least an interest in screwing her. On second thought, though she'd never questioned him on it, Alex assumed Brandon had a friendship with benefits relationship in mind. He'd never said or implied anything otherwise.
Brad, on the other hand, had made it clear he wanted a "real" Good Guy™-style committed relationship. Christ, he probably wouldn't fuck her until she'd pledged her undying love for him. But, strangely, watching him now – in full man-mode with his fire and steak-grilling – the idea of a "real" relationship didn't strike her as completely, irredeemably stupid. Sure, it was kind of dopey, as was Bradley, but then what did people do that wasn't to one degree or another?
So after they'd chomped through their steak and potato salad meal and polished off another bottle of beer, Alex was feeling half-accepting of Brad's overtures – until he gently set a small jewelry box in front of her plate.
Oh God.
Her last bite of potato
salad stuck halfway down her throat. With great deliberation and a sense of self-preservation, she swallowed it down with a gulp of bottled water.
"Sorry," he said with a strained laugh, "I should've waited until you'd finished."
Alex wiped her mouth with a paper towel. "What's in it?"
"Open it and see."
Alex was hoping it was earrings or something similarly trivial. That would be corny but okay. She cracked open the box. The gold ring with the large white diamond was the opposite of okay.
"Is that a real diamond?" she choked out, still not completely free of the potato salad.
"Yes."
"That looks big. And expensive."
"1.2 carats. VS1 quality. Don't worry, I can afford it."
"Oh, I doubt that."
He spread his hands. "I make decent money on the side with my personal training and work at the Jefferson coop. Plus my grant."
"That's not what I meant. Unless I'm misunderstanding the significance of this ring."
"From your face, I think you do understand. It's an engagement ring. I'm proposing to you, Alexandra."
Of all her bizarre moments both in and out of virtual reality, this had to be the most surreal. It was almost too surreal for words. She hadn't even agreed to be his girlfriend.
"I know what you're thinking," he said. "This is completely crazy. We've only gone on a couple of dates. You've made it clear you're not interested in a relationship."
"Good. I wouldn't want to think I've led you on. And as you said, we haven't even really dated. What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking I don't want to date, Alex. I want to skip all the bullshit. I want you to be my wife. I want to be your husband. I want a life together."
"Why, for Zeus's sake?"
"Because I love you."
Holy fuck. Bran was right. Aided by a savior complex combined with some powerful form of self-hypnosis, Brad really had convinced himself that he was in love with her.
"I know you don't feel the same way about me," said Brad. "But I'm not talking about getting married tomorrow. I'm talking about an engagement. I guess you could call it a declaration of intent, as my lawyer brother might say. Serious intent."
"Just out of curiosity, how do you see this working?"
"I thought we might move in together, for one. Share our lives."
"Share the same bed?"
"I'd like that."
Alex made herself finish her beer. It had taken on a slightly sour taste. She was surprised that she hadn't already thrown the ring and its box back to him. That surely was going to happen. Why the hesitation? She wasn't eager to hurt his feelings?
"Settle down, raise a family?" Alex asked. "I could be a stay-at-home mom! Drive the kids to soccer practice in a big fucking van! Join the PTA!"
"I was thinking of skipping kids," said Brad. "Why add to the world's overpopulation – other than personal ego? I'd rather focus on helping people and on being with my soulmate."
"You're so noble, Brad."
"Or maybe I'm just being selfish." He shrugged and smiled. "I don't know. I've just never felt this big urge to bring children into the world."
"What if I wanted children?"
Brad looked like someone had goosed him. Alex broke out laughing. Brad's face sagged with relief.
"Almost had you for a second," said Alex.
Brad gave her a sheepish smile. "But being serious...I would want you to be happy. I'd be willing to compromise to make that happen, even if that meant having a family."
"You're so sweet, Brad. I can see you telling the kids: I didn't want you, but you were a compromise to your mom's happiness."
"Damn, Alex, you can be such a..." He bit off the ending.
"Ball-buster?"
"Critical person. It's always sarcasm with you."
"Another reason we're not compatible. And that wasn't sarcasm."
Brad let out a long, weary sigh. "No one's perfectly compatible. And it doesn't change the fact that I love you."
"Why do you love me, Brad?"
"I've asked myself that. It kind of surprises me, too." His sheepish smile had returned. "But I think one thing is you're so..." He tapped the picnic table. "Real. Compared to you, every girl I've been with seems fake. You're sarcastic, but you're honest. No bullshit. And the way you don't let your illness get you down, the way you kick ass in school and in your virtual reality. It's kind of...I don't know...heroic?"
Alex turned away from his earnest brown eyes. She braced her hands on the table and concentrated on breathing in and out, steadying herself. She couldn't deny that his words were getting to her, the big blond bastard.
"Also," Brad chuckled, "despite what you think, you're pretty cute."
"Now I know you're delusional."
"And you've got a good heart, too –"
"Enough," Alex growled.
"Sorry if I overdid it. But it's honestly how I feel."
"And how you feel has nothing to do with wanting to save a poor little cripple – AKA White Knight Syndrome?"
"You're not a cripple, Alex."
"Semi-cripple? Handicapped?"
Now it was Brad's turn to look away, down at the slow, muddy creek that sloshed along the fringes of the UC park. A few seconds slogged by.
"I don't know," he said. "Maybe I do like the idea of being needed by someone. You're not the first person who's said something like that. A girlfriend once accused me of having a 'do-gooder complex.'"
Alex laughed quietly. "Better than a 'do-badder" complex."
"I also like the idea of being close." He hesitated. "You know, in case you need someone. I'd like to be the person who will always be there for you."
Alex braced her hands on the edge of the bench, as if preparing to leap to her feet and run. God, was she really that much of a cliché – a girl? Doubtful. But she was only human, and having a personal savior at her beck and call had its appeal. Waking up in the middle of the night in a daze and having Bradley lying at her side, his large, muscular body all wound up and ready to serve with its masculine power.
"Before you say anything definite, Alex," said Brad, "I want you to know that if you say no, I will never ask again. We can still be friends, of course, but I won't harass you about that or about being my girlfriend again."
"A one-time offer, then."
"Yes."
Alex stared at her feet for several moments. One of her shoelaces was starting to fray. How symbolic. She held her breath and released it. It's okay to have fantasies, she thought. But not in this world.
Alex reached out, closed the ring box, and slid it firmly across the table just short of Brad's knee. He eyed it with a downcast face – as close to impassive as she'd ever seen him – only a hint of hardness in his jaw betraying his emotions. He scooped up the box and stuffed it into his pants pocket.
"Okay," he said. "Well, I probably should be getting you home."
Chapter 23
ALEX'S SEARCH FOR THE elusive "Dr. Evil" was proving problematic. Her initial idea of searching for unusual numbers of deaths associated with a hospital, clinic, or private practice, had swiftly floundered in a sea of death statistics. She located certain hospitals that experienced more deaths, but they were places like Detroit or Chicago where more deaths were a given.
She tried searching for female doctors with virtual degrees, but found that information publicly unavailable, perhaps because it wasn't considered noteworthy. Next, she cross-referenced "doctors" with "virtual reality." That, somewhat unexpectedly, got a few hits. Four names cropped up as "pioneers" in using VR to teach medical skills. Three of them were middle-aged men. One appeared to be a young black woman in her mid-thirties, having the same last name as one of the men. Coincidence or was she his daughter? But the dude was white.
Dr. Rose A. Lanson.
Alex's spidey-sense was tingling. The doctor had a flower in her name and a last name that sounded a lot like "Lawsone." The "A" might even stand for "Ann(e)" – much like the Evil D
octor avatar's first name ("Ana"). And like Dr. Evil, Dr. Rose Lanson had both psychiatric and general medicine degrees. She also matched Ana Lawsone's good looks – fine features, slim and rather buff – judging from the photos.
Was it possible that she'd just pinned down Dr. Evil's identity in the same way the evil doctor had likely pinned hers down – by referencing her name? It was comforting to believe that she wasn't the only one dumb enough to give her avatar part of her real name. But even without the name similarities, how many doctors held the necessary certifications to practice two very different professions? A quick search indicated almost no one did.
So where did Dr. Rose Lanson work? Her brief bio on the page placed her in the St. Louis Medical Center and also in something called the Best Life Wellness Clinic, where Dr. Lanson appeared to serve a dual role as physician and psychological counselor. Looked like a lady with a plan.
Alex found no suspicious deaths associated with the Wellness Clinic, which catered to health-minded and probably financially well-off people. Plenty of deaths in the St. Louis Medical Center, but then again, in a big city teeming with poor, sick people, how could even a devoted homicidal sociopath cause much more than a tiny ripple in that River Styx?
Alex called the Wellness Clinic and talked to some chirpy dude named Dr. Kyle Silver, who talked the place up as if it were the Eighth Wonder of the world. Hyperbaric chambers, intravenous Vitamin C, heavy-metal detoxification, chelation therapy, and a host of cutting-edge tests and treatments that would "identify your physical issues" and "custom-tailor treatment protocols" to address them. He rattled off several patients who had reversed everything from cancer to severe fibromyalgia. It all sounded so good that Alex was half-tempted to fly out there and see if they could work their alleged miracles on her.
"What about Friedreich's ataxia?" she asked. "Ever treated anyone with that?"
"As a matter of fact, we have," Dr. Silver assured her smoothly, not missing a beat. "We worked with one last year and achieved, in my opinion, amazing results. I would be happy to put you in contact with her, if she's agreeable to that."
Alex stared down at her phone, her fingers clenching around its smooth blackness, rocked by unexpected desires. Though her parents had consulted with leading specialists and adopted cutting-edge diet and exercise regimens, they'd never gone the "miracle clinic" route. Mainly, because none had offered any realistic prospects for treating FA.
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