“I was enveloped in a ball of hard, glowing . . . something. And then everything went white. When it stopped, I found myself in this place with glimmering walls and flying trucks. I mean, what am I supposed to think?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah confessed. “I still don’t know.”
“Then how do you know I’m not right?”
In a more sober state, it might have occurred to Hannah to ask the Salgados to settle the matter. Instead she found herself considering the notion that she was in fact riding the jitney to her own eternal judgment. She imagined the panel would deliberate for ten seconds before sending her to the hazy gray place where mediocre people went.
“I’m sorry, Theo. I don’t think you’re right. I’m alive. I’m screwed up right now, but I’m alive. It’s the only thing I know for sure.”
To Hannah’s surprise, the idea only seemed to unnerve him more. He furiously tapped his bracelet.
“I talked to someone,” he said. “I’m not religious at all, so please don’t mistake me for the kind of person who sees angels everywhere.”
“Go on.”
“He found me at the bus station this morning. He was fierce-looking and—I say this heterosexually—very pretty. He said his name was Azral and that he’d never seen so much wasted potential in a person. He wasn’t the first to tell me that, by the way, and he certainly wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. But then he said I was moving on to a new world. That I’d finally make myself useful there. Then he gave me this bracelet . . .”
Hannah listened and nodded. She already had her next question lined up.
Theo shook his head at himself. “God. You must think I’m an idiot.”
“I don’t. Really. When I first got here, I thought this was Canada.”
After scanning her for ridicule and finding none, Theo leaned his head back and laughed. His face twitched briefly, like he was shaking off a fly.
“I’d been riding all night from San Francisco,” he told her. “So I was already at diminished capacity when I met the guy. I’ll also admit that I wasn’t entirely sober.”
“Theo . . .”
“My point is that I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Theo, did this guy have white hair?”
He stared ahead serenely. At this point, he’d lost all capacity for surprise.
“Yeah. I guess you met him too.”
The van pulled to a stop along the curb. Hannah looked out the window. They were still downtown, in a decidedly less ritzy area than the one she’d arrived in.
“We’ll be back,” said Martin. “We got two signals, so you’ll be in good company soon.”
The Salgados disappeared down an alley, between a dilapidated post office and a grungy diner. Hannah and Theo fell into an awkward silence. Suddenly the actress felt an eerie chill on the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her. She turned around and scanned the street. No one.
Soon Theo’s head dipped and his eyelids fluttered erratically. Hannah left him to his twitchy nap.
“Azral,” she muttered, in a vacant daze. It was strange to learn the name of the white-haired man after all this time. He was no angel. As sure as Hannah knew she was alive, she knew he was no force of goodness.
Four minutes after leaving, the Salgados returned without company.
“What happened?” Hannah asked. “I thought we were getting more people.”
Martin hurriedly texted his daughter. “False alarm.”
Hannah could practically feel his tension. His son looked downright disturbed. She opted not to inquire further. She’d had enough agitation for one ride.
The vehicle started up again. Soon Hannah drifted off into uneasy thoughts. A floundering actress, a droll cartoonist, and a law school dropout who got plastered at bus stops. Why us, Azral? What could you possibly want from—
“He’s right,” Theo murmured.
Hannah looked at him again. His eyes were still closed. She couldn’t tell if he was addressing her or merely talking in his sleep.
“I’m sorry. Who?”
“Zack. He’s right. It’s not enough money to get to Brooklyn.”
She sat forward. “Wait, what?”
A few drops of blood trickled onto his sweatshirt. Then a few more. Then his nose became a faucet. It didn’t take a nurse to see that something very wrong was happening inside Theo Maranan.
—
While the first two floors of the Pelletier building had been converted to office space, the top flight stayed true to its hotel origins. Thirty suites remained fully furnished with beds, chairs, and dressers. Only the locks and lumivisions had been removed, by order of the new owner, Dr. Sterling Quint.
Amanda emerged from her shower to discover that one of the physicists had taken her clothes for study. All she owned now were her gold cross necklace and diamond wedding ring. She was willing to let science have the ring, if science asked.
She fastened her robe and crossed the hall into Hannah’s suite, listening to the running shower through the bathroom door. She pushed it open a crack.