Good thinking, he wrote, pushing the paper to the glass.
She bowed and broke into a grin.
When he turned back to the screen, she popped her head out. It was disorienting to suddenly hear the sounds of life.
“Excuse me?” she called. “Hello?”
“Is there a problem with the computer?” a young man with a thick Australian accent asked, and he rushed over to her booth. She didn’t recognize him and he didn’t seem to recognize her, so he must have been a Kymberlin transplant from another EUS. “They’re still a bit glitchy.”
“No, no,” Lucy said and she smiled conspiratorially. “Do you have a master control to the boxes?”
“You mean...can we override the playlists and pump in any song we select from our mainframe?”
Lucy nodded with her eyebrows raised in expectation and excitement. “Yes! That! Can you do that?”
“Can we do that?” the young man called to a second young man behind a big counter. Just like in some music store in a big city, the counter was covered in famous concert posters. They were relics now; artifacts of the old world, stored in this place as a reminder. “Yeah, we can do that,” he said nonchalantly.
Lucy jumped and whispered a song into the young man’s ear. He raised a single eyebrow, smirked and started to walk away.
“And can I have paper, too?” She clapped her hands.
He obliged, handing over a small stack and a pen.
“You two kids on like a date or something?” he asked with a smile.
“I think so,” Lucy replied with a blush. “Okay. Play my song next.” She slid back into her booth and shut the door.
Grant still bopped along; he turned when he saw her and wrote something down.
Welcome back! Listening to Elvis Costello. And he had drawn a wobbly smiley face.
Then he pulled the paper down and his face went neutral. He looked up to the ceiling, confused. She watched as he stared at his computer and tapped it with a finger. When he realized he had been hijacked, he smiled at Lucy and saluted her. He poised his pen above the paper, but didn’t write. Lucy could tell he was listening to the lyrics, decoding them as they poured into his booth.
Wow, he wrote.
Eels, she wrote back. Daisies of the Galaxy.
He closed his eyes, a smile still plastered on his face. When he opened them he wrote: You knew this would get to me. I will be far away soon. But I’m not the one who’s sad, Lucy. Not about that. He was listening to the words she chose for him. Really listening.
She nodded.
Why are you sad, then? she wrote.
His hand hovered over the paper and he wrote down, I’m sad because it’s unfair to ask you to choose. He showed her. She read it again and again. He took the paper down. I love you he wrote next.
I loved you first she wrote back instantly.
LIES! Grant wrote next. The song must have ended because he put his finger up and she saw him leave the booth. When he came back, he wrote a new note: Your turn.
With a sudden burst of drums and twangy guitar, Lucy’s booth erupted into song. Even though she was expecting it, the music overwhelmed her. It was so loud and rich, as if nothing else in the world existed except for this one song, played for her by a boy she loved.
Then the singer began. A moody, melancholy voice. Lucy listened and listened. Like Grant, she tried to decode. It sounded so familiar and so unfamiliar at the same time. Then the chorus hit her.
She wrote: Whoa.
He wrote: Yeah.
She wrote: Seriously. Whoa.
He wrote: You know it?
She shook her head. So, he wrote: The Smiths. There is a Light That Never Goes Out.
Resting back against the booth, Lucy closed her eyes and let every chord and strum and beat rush over her. It was a message, loud and clear. She wiped away a tear before Grant could see. Then she stood up and put her hand flat against the glass; Grant reciprocated. They stood like that until the song was over...the lyrics still echoing as Lucy realized and internalized their significance.
He didn’t have to ask her to choose between a life on the shore and a life on Kymberlin. He made it clear that the choice was a life with him or a life without him. And he deemed it a privilege if she chose him, but one thing was clear: both paths were littered with heartache.
Grant slipped out of his booth and joined her inside hers. It was a tight fit and Lucy squeezed against the edge, her hip pushing into the computer console. Grant leaned down and kissed her, slow and purposeful. She could feel the questions on his lips, the worry of goodbye on his tongue.
Here they were on their first real date. A bona fide, old-world date. Perhaps the last one they would ever have. Because soon Grant would be dead to her. His life on the Island would end. Soon he would leave Kymberlin. Forever.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ethan knocked once. Cass answered in a nightgown and black fuzzy slippers, and she held the door tight against her body, opened just wide enough to let her head pop out and Ethan see her in her state of undress. He smiled, but she looked stern, impatient, and anxious. Instinct kicked in and Ethan moved to try to peer beyond her doorframe, but she slipped out into the hall and shut the door behind her, crossing her arms around her and grabbing at the small open fabric at the top of her chest. Her legs were dotted with goosebumps and she jumped slightly to warm up.
“You have a visitor?” Ethan asked with a smirk. He hoped it didn’t come across as upset or prying; he didn’t care if Cass had let someone stay over. She didn’t owe him anything. She was not his girlfriend, and in many ways, it would make leaving easier.
“It’s not what you think,” Cass replied.
“But you have someone in your apartment that you don’t want me to see? No, it’s fine, Cass. I’m going.” He turned and started to walk away, but Cass reached out and grabbed his wrist. Stopping, he turned to her and smiled. “Cass, look, I’m not upset. You’re an attractive and powerful woman, you can have all the visitors you want—”
Cass rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Ethan,” she said, but even her words of annoyance were coated with charm. “It’s Blair.”
“Oh,” Ethan replied with a smile, while his brain tried to fathom how the onetime enemies had found themselves congregating together. “I had no idea. Well, good for you. That’s a little confusing, but—”
“Shut up, Ethan,” she said it again, slower this time, more emphasis on her exasperation. “They took Teddy from her last night.”
He let her words register and felt the color drain from his face. He put a hand out against the hallway wall to steady himself. “Who? Who took Teddy?”
“Huck and the guards. Allison has Teddy now.”
“The nanny?”
“Blair came to me,” Cass said slowly, with emphasis. “She thought I might have had a fortified plan...for getting him back...and I do, Ethan. But it would be better for you to lie low. Don’t get involved with this. It’s for your own protection. I can promise you that.”
Ethan groaned. “No.” He hit the side of wall and the bang reverberated down the hall. “Cass...I need Teddy. I need Blair to have Teddy,” he trailed off and swore under his breath. “That won’t work, Cass. This won’t work.”
“You need Blair to have Teddy?” She raised a discerning eyebrow. “That’s a shift.”
“I just mean...he doesn’t belong with Allison. Or Huck. Look, Cass, I don’t have a lot of time here...”
She looked at him apologetically, even though there was no way for her to know what he was upset about. He wanted to tell her, spill all the secrets right there, and lay his heart and plans bare. She deserved to know, he thought. Then he realized the truth. They were both working in the shadows, keeping each other in the dark—all to protect each other. He’d done nothing but bow at the altar of Cass, all but worshipping the ground she walked on. His sister had been partly right—he had entertained thoughts of what a life would be like with Cass. Cass was easy to love; she was a
siren and he was a drunken sailor.
“I need to talk to Blair. Alone. Let me into your place,” he said.
“No,” Cass answered. The top part of her nightgown fell open a bit and she snatched it back up, gathering the fabric in a fist. “It’s for your own good. Stay out of this, Ethan.”
“Why did Blair come to you? What does she want, Cass?” He felt his stomach clench and ache. Cass didn’t know the whole story; she was working with only half of the puzzle, and Ethan still wasn’t convinced Blair’s intentions were good. What prevented her from outing the survivors and keeping Teddy for herself?
“She wants us to help her get Teddy back...then she plans to escape the Island. But now I’ve already told you too much…you have to go.”
“I need to talk to Blair. Move, Cass.” He took a step toward the door, but she blocked his way.
“This does not concern you right now, Ethan. Whatever happens with Blair and me is none of your concern. After your father lost his position last night and the drama of Grant, maybe give this particular adventure a rest. Okay? Please understand. You need to back away from the door...”
Ethan acted out of instinct and out of panic. He put his hand out and grabbed Cass around the shoulder, and turned her into to him. Then he leaned down and kissed her, spinning her into him and away from her door, positioning himself closest to the knob. He could feel her reacting to him, first with surprise, and then shifting into the kiss. There was not a single moment of resistance, although he had prepared for her to shy away from his lips and his touch. Instead, she kissed him back, and not the slow tentative kiss of someone unsure, but with the power and relief of someone who had wanted to kiss him for a long time. For a second, he forgot his place and his plan.
He felt his resolve shifting as he began to kiss her stronger and with more intensity; her lips were soft against his, her skin smooth under his touch. He let his hand wander to her waist. She touched his face.
Then he reached down with his free hand and found her doorknob. He pulled back and looked at her; a coy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was amazing. And she had kissed him back. Ethan closed his eyes before he changed his mind, and then he was quick, possessing a certain agility that he did not know he had recovered. He turned the knob, opened the door to Cass’s apartment and darted inside, leaving his kissing partner dazed and confused in the hallway. By the time he saw her eyes flash with understanding, he was already standing on the other side of the door, shutting it swiftly. Then he hit the lock and stood back.
He could hear her banging with her fists, swearing at him in a jumble of French and Creole and English.
“Ethan King. This is a bad idea!” she called. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”
Blair sat crouched on Cass’s couch, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hair wild, and her eyes bloodshot. She looked at Ethan and then the door and glared at Ethan with a glacial disposition. Sitting on the coffee table in front of her were a series of Tarot cards. They were lined up and splayed out facing Blair, and he walked over and peered down at them. When he looked back up at Blair, she was wiping tears from her eyes.
“I don’t have long,” Ethan said quickly, putting up his hands like Blair was holding a gun at him. “So, please listen. Listen carefully.”
She looked like she was about to burst into sobs, but she didn’t fight him. Cass’s knocking died away as if she realized its futility.
“Did you tell Cass about the others?” Ethan asked, spitting the words out.
Blair narrowed her glare. Then she shook her head. “You don’t trust me...”
“You can’t tell her.”
“I...” Blair started. “I told her...just Teddy and I...” She was struggling to put her words out. Taking a deep breath, she grounded herself and stared right at Ethan. “I wanted to see if the cards were in my favor. Everything else Cass told me came true. She’s a prophet,” Blair whispered.
“She can’t know,” Ethan said. “If you’re serious about reuniting Teddy and Darla...” he looked at her and waited.
“I am,” Blair answered. She sniffed. “I am.”
“Good,” Ethan said. “Cass can’t know. You have to protect her at all costs. You understand?”
She swallowed. “Cass told me that you’d want to keep Teddy...”
“Cass doesn’t know about Darla. And she should never find out. There’s a reason she’s in the hallway and I’m in here. This is about Teddy. And if your father ever finds out she helped him escape...”
Blair looked at the floor. Cass’s knocking resumed.
“Blair...” Ethan asked again. “Help me save Cass. Don’t tell her a damn thing.”
“Yes,” she said, but it came out like a squeak. “Yes,” she said again, stronger this time. “I have a pilot. That’s all I can offer. His name is Hank. I negotiated for him to leave, too. He has a wife who was left behind...she missed her plane…my dad didn’t let him go back for her. He wants to go to her. Just to see. From there...I don’t know.”
“Are you going?”
She went silent. “I don’t know,” she whispered. She looked up at Ethan, and then leaned down and touched one of the cards Cass had laid out for her. The cards were set up in a cross pattern, and Blair kept her finger on the middle card. “I don’t think I should,” she replied. “This one...this one says that in the physical realm I am needed to help change the tide of a great battle.” She picked it up and then put it back down. “And this one...says my spiritual energy is being zapped by someone who rules over me.” She looked up to Ethan, pleading. “If he thinks he’s lost me, too...Kymberlin will never know peace. If I want the best for Teddy and Darla and…the others? My father would never recover. I want to go,” Blair said, her eyes filling with tears again, “but I can’t. I’m doomed and destined to remain here...”
“I can make it work,” Ethan said. “You say the word.”
“No,” Blair said again. “You don’t know what he’d do. You’ve never seen his grief firsthand. I’ve lived it my entire life.”
Cass had resorted to a steady knock-knock-knock every second.
Ethan started back to the door. “I need your pilot in the Remembering Room in an hour. Not a word. I need you to promise. Please, Blair, Cass can’t know.”
“You love her?” Blair said, and she nodded toward the door.
At first Ethan didn’t understand, and then he turned back to Blair and shook his head. “I could have. In a different world.” He stepped back up out of the sunken living room and unlocked Cass’s door. He opened it wide and waited for the onslaught of her wrath. Still clutching her silky black bathrobe in one hand, her other hand poised in midair, Cass looked at him.
Without a word, she unclenched her hand and in one big swoop slapped Ethan across the face. Rubbing his jaw, he took a step toward her, his hands out in front of him in supplication, but Cass glided past, her shoulder hitting his arm as she moved past him and into her house. She slammed the door behind him.
Ethan knew right where to go. He left Cass’s apartment and wandered back to the North Tower, then he went to the levels that housed the science and industry labs and made his way to his father’s lab. Although his father had been stripped of his clearance, Huck wouldn’t have taken his lab away yet. And without anywhere else to hide, it was the only place Scott could have disappeared to. Ethan walked past the guards and knocked on the unassuming white door down a brightly lit hallway. Scott’s name was still there in a brass plaque, although it looked like someone had tried to pry the plate off with a sharp object: there were deep scratches at the corners.
Scott opened the door and looked at his son, then opened it wider.
Thankful not to have another door slam in his face, Ethan entered the large open room. His eyes went up to the tall ceilings, the white walls, and the rows of laboratory equipment. It was all unused and shiny.
Several cardboard boxes were filled with papers and picture frames. Ethan picked one up: it was a
picture of their family, everyone happy and smiling, not a single member blinking or making a silly face. It must have taken them twenty or more shots to get that moment—even Harper was smiling, the twins on either side holding her gloved hands.
Scott didn’t try to engage Ethan in conversation. Instead, he merely went about his business. He put file folders and personal items in a box. Then he moved to the back of the lab. Imbedded into the wall was a metal incinerator. Scott tossed vials and plastic containers into the glowing fire and shut the door. He set the timer and walked away.
Ethan watched as his dad approached. Scott sniffed. “They’ll have to start from scratch. It’s my intellectual property.”
“You’re not a member of the Board, but that doesn’t mean you’re free from Huck. He still owns you.”
“I’ll destroy it all,” Scott said slowly. “I suppose you’re right. But at the moment, I’d say Huck is more a man of impulse. He’ll resort to other methods before having to wait for a recreation. Besides, if he wants to recreate the virus, then he’ll need me. Never render yourself useless. Isn’t that what I used to say?” He drummed his fingers on a folder and then threw it into the box; it landed askew and several sheets of paper fluttered out. “There wasn’t much left anyway. A few vials. I left most of my work in Nebraska…”
“Yeah, to kill Copia. I heard.” Ethan crossed his arms.
Scott shrugged. “Were you here for something specific?”
“I need a bomb,” Ethan replied. “On a timer. And big enough to blow up a helicopter.”
Scott stared at Ethan and then ignored him. He walked over to the cardboard box and shoved the loose papers back into their folder. Then he walked to a filing cabinet and began rifling through the papers—picking out some to keep and some to leave.
“Dad...”
“Leave, Ethan,” Scott said. “That is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever asked me and not only will I not help you, but I can’t help you. Do you even understand what that would entail? Furthermore, I’m a biologist, not a chemist. I’m not the man you want for this job.”
The Virulent Chronicles Box Set Page 108
