Tyler heard a voice, though. A familiar voice.
He sat upright, his backbone rigid, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and, like Gramm had taught him during the days before the transport van arrived, reached out to find an Internet connection he could ride through the ethers to find Patricia. They were just outside Philadelphia. The voices wreaked havoc on his concentration.
The static roared.
A small wave of panic tossed him head over heels, like a surfer crashing through the undercurrent.
TYLER!
“Take the next exit!” Tyler slammed his fists on the wire-mesh window. “The next exit!”
Gramm jumped. “What’s wrong?”
Tyler squatted in front of the window. He had agreed to the transfer orders that would take him to Attica, agreed to be shackled like any other prisoner in case they were inspected. All the papers were in order, nothing would stop them from getting close enough that he could make a detour into New York City.
He would lay his body in the Institute and, when the time was right, exit it for good.
“What’s wrong?” Gramm asked again.
Tyler braced himself on the seat as the van took the exit. He locked eyes with Gramm. Their biomites synchronized, their thoughts mingled like salt in the ocean.
It was Samuel’s voice.
Tyler never felt the transport van pull into the rest stop, didn’t feel it jerk to a stop. He didn’t bother releasing the driver’s mind from his control. As a result, the driver sat like a mannequin. The authorities would eventually find him sitting in a puddle of piss, with his stiff hands on the steering wheel.
Tyler lay on the bench, eyes closed.
He pined for the quick slip of the needle, the direct pipeline to his beloved. But Gramm was there. He was already an expert at navigating the wireless connections. He carved through the cloud of voices like a missile guiding him through black cyberspace to find Patricia.
She was still in her own Foreverland, waiting for Tyler.
When he arrived at her side, she frowned.
Something was wrong.
35. Alessandra
New York City
The air had become gritty. It scratched Alex’s throat.
Somewhere, sirens were singing.
She felt warm, felt full. She was almost asleep when the voices returned.
Hundreds of them.
Someone carried her through the white noise that stuck to her throat, crashed in her lungs. It was the breath of the universe.
I am the universe.
And that thought gave her comfort.
She was everything and wanted nothing more.
Just to sleep.
In bliss.
I love.
Perhaps it would have all ended there, she would’ve gone to sleep forever had the visions not come. She hadn’t even realized that her senses were gone, that sight, smell, touch and sound had been replaced with the endless field of static, this amniotic world of voices.
It started with antiseptic—a distinct flavor of evergreen pine that clung to her tongue and sinuses beneath the ever-present smell of lilac. It reminded her of something, of somewhere.
There were halls. Long white halls.
Hard floors and open doors.
Wet fur.
The Institute.
Her eyes snapped opened. The white static evaporated in the present moment where two people, one on each side, held her hands.
A boy.
A girl.
They led her through the animal lab, past Coco splayed on the center table to the door on the other side, the door she had seen once before...
Pressure hardened between her eyes, in the center of her forehead. Pressure that condensed and hardened like a collapsing star.
The door opened.
She saw the table.
She saw the very old woman, saw the needle.
But on the other table.
The other table.
She saw.
The pressure burst between her eyes, filled the universe with scorching light, radiated pain to the hundreds of voices that cried out, that shrank into silence. The explosion released memories.
She knew everything there was to know. She knew the truth.
Alessandra was awakened.
——————————————
Times Square.
Lights sparkled. The streets empty.
The buildings punched the gray sky.
Rain fell like heavy drops of mercury, snapping on the asphalt, pressing her shirt against her skin; rivulets raced down her face, dripping from her nose, tasting warm.
Salty.
The giant screens that advertised Broadway shows were blank, overlooking the heavy rain that filled the street, raced down the gutters. Trash drained into the storm sewers.
Thunder rumbled.
The screens came to life, flickering like lightning.
Images flashed in a blur of colors. She stood in the middle of the empty street, rain pouring down, watching the images slow like a roulette wheel. They weren’t advertisements for Kodak or Virgin Records or a Broadway show.
They were memories.
Memorial Day. She was six. They were in the park, having a picnic. She was flying a kite with her cousins, holding the string as the plastic wings rattled in the wind, climbing into the sky. She was sucking on a Popsicle stick, watching her parents argue.
Watching her dad leave.
Drive away.
Forever.
Graduation day. She finished college at the top of her class, gave the honorary speech, and received offers from a dozen companies, one of which she accepted.
The Washington Post. Where she met Samuel. He was short and stout, prematurely balding. Smart and funny. They married two years later.
Lightning shredded the sky.
Samuel doesn’t look like that.
They got married at Martha’s Vineyard. They were career-minded, ready to change the world. They lived in Washington, DC. She covered politics for the paper. He was a lawyer.
But Samuel doesn’t look like...
Alex worked ten years for The Washington Post. Samuel took a job in New York and they moved again. Alex continued investigative reporting. She wrote books, toured the country.
She got pregnant.
But Samuel...
They hadn’t planned it, but things happen. Her career had always come first, but the pregnancy changed her.
Pregnant?
She never wanted to be a mother. She had seen too many bad things to bring a child into this world. But when she gave birth, everything changed.
Her world suddenly had meaning.
Rain gushed into the sewers. The heavens opened and dropped rain like a bucket, obscuring the birth of her little boy. He had a name. They were holding him.
Smiling and holding him.
Her little boy had a name.
He had a name.
Lucas.
A shiver ran down her back, kicked her legs. She fell on the dashed crosswalk, punched in the gut. Lightning splashed the gray sky that engulfed the skyscrapers, temporarily blinding her.
A solitary car was coming down the road.
The blurred headlights moved slowly down the side of the road, the reflection stretching over the asphalt. A streetlight turned red. The car stopped.
Alex stood.
Blood was smeared on her knees. Her hands.
Her leg began throbbing. She’d only fallen on her knees, but her whole body suddenly ached. She looked up; the car was still waiting on the light.
All alone.
You need to move, she thought. Move!
Despite the empty roads, panic gripped her. She wasn’t thinking of herself. The car had to move. It has to move! She sprinted with her hand out, her bare feet slapping the pavement. On the screens, the memory reels displayed the present moment.
The car’s at a stoplight.
She didn’t watch the images, becau
se she already knew.
The stoplight turns green.
She remembered.
The car eases into the intersection.
“No,” she cried.
A truck blew through the red light; its front bumper crushed the driver’s side door. Glass shattered.
The car spun away from the delivery truck.
The radiator hiss cut through the crashing rain. Steam poured from the grill. Fluid dripped to the pavement; glass scattered like ice chips.
The headlights askew, one working.
Samuel was trapped, the steering wheel wedged deep into his belly. There was blood on his bald scalp, his eyes blank.
Alex put her hand to her mouth and tried to stop the tears.
She tried to open the door, but the handle had been sheared away. She reached through the window and grabbed her husband’s shirt, muttering his name as if she could wake him up because this couldn’t be happening.
Because she forgot this was a memory.
It was happening again.
So consumed by Samuel—broken ribs poking through the shirt, the empty eyes—that she’d forgotten about the backseat.
Until she saw a yellow dump truck.
And a small shoe.
She backed away from the car and closed her eyes.
Lightning struck one of the buildings. She was on the ground. She’d fallen. Her legs too weak to stand, she pulled herself up the steel carnage to see into the backseat.
To see the little body.
“No.”
Lightning struck again. It filled her with rage. The memory had settled in place. She remembered now. Remembered leaving the Institute, remembered it was Samuel that picked her up with Lucas in the backseat. They’d gone to the museum while she was touring the facilities. They were going to drive around and wait for her so they didn’t have to park.
Coco opened her eyes.
She’d gone to the doctor, but the accident wasn’t a hallucination.
“No. No, no, no, NO, NO, NO!”
Lightning. Thunder.
The creak of metal, the tinkle of glass.
She tore the back door off its hinges, flung it like a plastic toy, pulled her son from the backseat.
His body so small, so fragile.
The rain washed the hair from his eyes.
She cradled him while tears flowed. And the rain fell harder, muting her sobs, her cries. Her anguish.
The screens were blank.
She cried for the loss of her son and husband, but more than that, she wept for forgetting them. How could she let this happen? How could she go on with her life without their memory?
How could I forget his name?
The screens flickered and began to play forgotten memories. They played out what had happened after the accident, how she had survived, had gone home, how her parents cared for her, brought food to her bed, took her to physical therapy, moved into the house. Did everything a parent would do for their child.
But Alex couldn’t carry the pain and loss. Life no longer had meaning and she wanted out. She wanted everything to go away.
The Ballards did that for her.
She’d gone back to the Institute and never left.
The images on the screens proved it: Alex on the table, a needle in her head.
Her past rewritten. The accident erased.
Too risky to ever remember having a child. She loved him too much. It was best to forget him. They erased it all.
Entirely.
Forever.
How could I?
The rain continued. She wouldn’t let it stop.
Alex curled over Lucas’s body until her back ached, her knees throbbed. Her eyes swelled. Her grief had no sense of time. Her tears flowed for eternity.
Shallow rivers coursed down the gutters, falling below the street. The city was still empty, cars parked at the curb. The accident was still in the intersection, the engine no longer steaming.
“It doesn’t have to be this way.” The screens were filled with faces. An older woman, her hair gracefully gray, cheeks rosy and plump and dented with a comforting smile. “Those are just memories.” Her voice echoed down the empty street. “Thoughts.”
“You’re so much more than memories.” It was an older man—handsome, genteel, hair graying like the woman. He looked so familiar. “You are much more than any man, woman or child. You’ve given birth to a universe, Alessandra.”
“You are a goddess,” the old woman added.
“We chose you because you are a strong woman that loves deeply; a woman with the potential to create new worlds, give rise to a home for millions of souls where suffering no longer exists.”
Alex squeezed her son. He was so cold, so still. “Why did I forget?”
“He’s not dead,” the old woman whispered. “In your new world, he lives. Love, Alessandra. You are so filled with love. Even now, you can feel it swelling inside you. The memory of your pain only serves to hide that love. Put down your suffering, Alessandra. And be your love.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“This is your Foreverland, where anything can exist,” the old man said. “Only you can bring heaven to earth. You, Alessandra. Only you.”
Alex couldn’t let him go. She would never put him down; she would hold him in her arms until her life ended. She would never forget him again.
“Don’t end your life over a memory,” the old man whispered. “You are Foreverland.”
They weren’t here; she could feel it. They were in another world. That’s why they were on the screens—they were projections.
They did this to me.
They were the ones that put the needle in her head, rewrote her memories, made her life perfect. They were the Ballards. She hardly recognized the younger versions of their elderly selves. She was seeing their idealized forms. They wanted her to be here.
They erased Lucas.
And they needed her.
I am Foreverland.
She was the buildings, the pavement, the rain. When she was sad, it rained. When she was happy, it was sunny. The sky above, the air she breathed, the food she swallowed...this is all me.
But something was out there, something above the sky, far beyond the atmosphere. The noise was out there. The static.
The voices.
She had heard them ever since she woke up in this Foreverland, but now she could feel them. Out there—where the voices were calling from—that was where true suffering existed.
But this is my lilac world.
“Yes,” Patricia said. “You are this world, Alessandra. You are the Foreverland no one could be. You have given rise to all of this; it is you that has sacrificed so much for so many. Even your son, your only son, will find life again in your world. He will live again.”
There was nothing she could do to save them. She couldn’t bring them back, not on earth. But here, where she was a goddess, where she, Alessandra, was the universe, where it would be her laws that physics obeyed. It would be her will that determined reality.
She could bring them back, will them into existence.
“Yes.” Patricia’s face loomed larger. “No more sadness.”
“No more suffering,” Tyler said.
“Only love.”
“Love.”
“If you sleep,” Patricia said. “Sleep and give your love to the world.”
Alessandra began to rock her boy. His face so perfect, so peaceful. She sang to him, promised she wouldn’t let anything hurt him, ever again. If she had to sleep, she would sleep for him.
“Mama’s here,” she whispered. “Mama’s here.”
Her eyes grew heavy.
The weight began to lift from her. Lightness filled her heart. The gray sky parted. A beam of light fell on her like she was the only thing in the world that existed.
Because I am the world.
“Mama’s here.”
She would sleep for her son, for her husband. For the world.
A s
hadow fell over her.
Two strong hands gripped her shoulders. They coaxed her to stand and lifted her to her feet. The old man and old woman raged, their voices echoing throughout the city.
Alessandra wanted to sleep, wanted to take away the world’s suffering, to soothe her baby boy. But she let the hands pick her up and put her on her feet. They held her upright and shook her until her eyelids—her impossibly heavy eyelids—became slits.
The voices grew louder.
“Wake up.” A woman held her steady, jewelry jingling on her wrists.
Lips painted bright red.
36. Tyler
New York City
Tyler paced around the rooftop pool and splashed frigid water on his face until his shirt was soaked. He kneeled on the concrete deck. Water dripped from his nose, shattering his reflection in the pool.
It’s over. Just like that.
A lifetime of work had come undone in a matter of hours. Was it Reed? Was he that far ahead of them?
He wanted us to see it.
It wasn’t enough to destroy everything, he wanted them to see it unravel. Tyler and Patricia peered like voyeurs into Alessandra’s world from the safety of Patricia’s Foreverland. They watched her walk down the street, watched her memories come to life. They watched her wake up. She was going back to sleep, this time willingly. She would give herself to Foreverland, for her boy, for her husband.
And then Barb arrived.
“How the hell did she get there?” he said.
“It’s over,” Patricia said.
“I want to know how the hell she got there!”
“Don’t raise your voice to me.”
“One of your Investors, Patricia, waltzed into Alessandra’s Foreverland like a goddamn revolving door!”
“Isn’t it obvious? She was sent to wake her.”
“I want to know how she separated herself from Cynthia!”
He ripped the sodden shirt from his chest and slammed it into the pool. It floated like a dead body.
How could Barb separate herself from Cynthia? And why? Barb shared that body; why would she leave it? It didn’t make sense. At the very least, she should be helping the Ballards, not tearing down a lifetime of work. She would know the potential of Foreverland, would know that she could be immortal. It’s why she went out to the wilderness in the first place, why she kidnapped Cynthia. If Alessandra went to sleep, Barb could have anything she wanted.
Ashes of Foreverland Page 22
