CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Russell:
Somebody was pounding on my head with a jackhammer. Another second and I was going to grab the idiot sitting across from me and drag him around the room in a choke-hold. Crack his lazy skull against the cement wall. Watch his blood pool on the floor. And laugh. I was going to laugh.
a€?Hey, this guy hasna€?t stopped laughing since we gave him that injection.a€?
Funny. This was all just too funny. My house was full of dead children, so instead of trying to catch whoever did it, the mugs decided to drag me in for questioning. As if I had any idea who did it. Or why. Like I would want to hurt my own little girl.
a€?I dona€?t like the look on his face. You think we should give him another dose?a€?
Did they really think I was crazy enough to hurt any little kid? I started to laugh until tears ran down my face.
a€?That drug isna€?t supposed to have this effect. You guys said he would answer our questions. But it aina€?t workina€?. Hey, Ia€?m talking to you! Can anybody hear me out there?a€?
I was done waiting for this human fungus to let me go, I was going to yank his ugly head off his double-ugly body, use it for a soccer ball, bounce it against the walls until somebody told me where Isabelle was and whether she was okaya€|
a€?Get this monster off me! I think hea€?s taking spikesa€”somebody get in here, now, this guya€?s as strong as a moose!a€?
Soccer ball bounce, dead man talk, get me outta here, get me outta here, or youa€?re gonna die, you ugly mug, Ia€?m gonna peel your arms off one at a time, then Ia€?m gonna snap your legs like breadsticks, and then Ia€?ll twist off your head. Bounce it around until all your teeth are gone. Ia€?m gonna laugh and youa€?re gonna be dead if you dona€?t let me see my daughter, let me know shea€?s okaya€|
a€?Hey! Domingue. Look!a€?
I lifted my head, loosened my grip on that lousy toad-eating mug, let him fall limp to the floor.
She was standing in the doorway. Tired, long hair still in tousled pig tails. Still wearing that tutu and black body stocking. My laughter melted into tears.
Isabelle. She was okay.
I fell to my knees. Somebody tackled me, pulled my arms behind my back, poured liquidmetal cuffs on my wrists. I rolled on my side so I could see her for one more second.
a€?Daddy.a€? A tiny smile curved on her perfect face. She held her arms out to me. But they wouldna€?t let her come any closer.
The bloodsuckers wouldna€?t let her come in.
The door closed and Isabelle was gone. A dream that never existed. The one good thing in my life. Gone.
Now there were five mugs in the room, all dressed in black. Two had some kind of hoods over their faces. As if it mattered whether I knew who they were or not.
a€?Ya gonna talk to us now, Domingue? Ya gonna tell us about that break-in that ya orchestrated?a€? one of them asked.
I grinned. That drug of theirs was like candy compared to what I was used to. They could ask all the questions they wanted. I was innocent and I knew it, and that was all they were gonna get out of me.
I closed my eyes and rode the wave. Like an expert surfer that knew how to navigate this opiate ocean, I could handle the swells and the curls, avoid the hidden shoals.
Because I had to survive.
For Isabelle.
?
I didna€?t know if it was day or night. It felt like Ia€?d been in this room for a week. I think I fell asleep curled in a corner and then when I woke up, every inch, every muscle ached. I wondered how much of that rotten interrogation drug they had given me and whether they would give me another go-round when they realized that I was awake.
But I was glad for the absence of my interrogators. Figured that they had all gone to sleep. I pressed my skin against the cold cement wall. The rough chill scratched my face, made me realize I was still alive.
I had to remember what I saw. I locked it deep within my brain where no drug could ever steal it. Isabelle. Safe. I hated to admit it, especially in this dark snake pit where the mugs had found a way to make my every thought known, but the fact of the matter was that I didna€?t care about the other kids. The ones that were dead. I only cared about one.
Mine.
It was my secret just how shallow my heart was. My secret cross to bear.
I could hear a symphony playing inside my soul. A bittersweet serenade. The battle between light and dark would be over soon. A crashing, thundering crescendo of violins and drums and wind instruments. Beautiful and sad. I could almost see my heart curling at the edges, burning, folding up into something hard. Like coal, it almost glistened.
Black and brittle and broken.
And dead.
?
The door flew open with a crash. I jerked awake. Didna€?t even know I had fallen asleep. Realized someone had removed my liquidmetal cuffs. I licked my lips and wondered how long it had been since Ia€?d had anything to drink.
a€?You got a visitor, Domingue.a€? A mug stood just outside the doorway. I couldna€?t see more than a dim outline of features, closely cropped hair, broad shoulders. a€?Fancy up, pal. Ita€?s your lawyer.a€?
A tall, slender man gingerly walked into the room, his features slightly feminine, long hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. He was some sort of hybrid. Ia€?d seen that model before, in the illegal chop shops that competed with Fresh Start on the black market. He had fair coloring, blonde hair and blue eyes combined with Asian bone structure. It was one of the latest prototypes that wed the exotic with the mundane.
He grimaced as he sat across from me.
This guy wasna€?t my lawyer, Ia€?d never seen him before.
The door closed.
a€?They cana€?t hear us,a€? he said, his words precise as he looked me up and down. a€?This conversation is completely private.a€?
I leaned forward. I could break this pretty boy in half if I had to. I thought about telling him that, but decided to wait and see what his game was.
He folded his hands neatly in front of him on the table. I could see that he had something tucked inside his right palm. Some sort of device. Maybe he was one of those new messenger models Ia€?d heard about, disposable clones built for one-way missions followed by a quick download.
a€?Youa€?re a Newbie,a€? I said, recognizing the unmistakable glitter. a€?A month old, maybe.a€? It was my turn to look him up and down. a€?East Coast chop shop. My guess is you came from Harry Kim.a€?
a€?Yes, of course. East Coast. You now have four minutes.a€? His eyes turned cold, his speech pattern skipped a beat, slipped into something almost foreign. He said a couple of words I couldna€?t understand, then he returned to English. a€?If we waste time, you will regret it.a€?
I shrugged.
a€?Where is Ellen?a€?
I felt the hair on the back of my skull stand up. I glanced around the room, tried to figure out if there were any cameras or recording devices that I couldna€?t see.
a€?I need to know the research progress,a€? he continued. a€?You havena€?t turned in any reports for several days and my sources have informed me that the last dog, Omega, is missing.a€?
a€?Okay, you wanna know what happened? She split, thata€?s what happened,a€? I said, trying to sound angry and betrayed, trying to keep my thoughts in check. a€?That mediocre research assistant your boss pawned off on me just disappeared. She ran off when the last dog died, thata€?s how much she cares about your little project. And this research is all a pile of crap, I havena€?t had anything to report because it all faileda€”a€?
a€?Thata€?s a lie. This model,a€? he made a sweeping gesture that referred to himself, a€?is equipped with many modern conveniences that Fresh Start does not offer. You are lying abouta€”a€? He paused and looked up to the right. a€?The dog, he is not dead; the research, it did not fail. And Ellen.a€? He took a deep breath. a€?You are at least telling a partial truth. She ran away.a€?
He glanced at his watch. a€?You have one minute. I have to tell you, this is your second warning.a€?
a€?What are you talking about?a€?
a€?We gave you a clear warning just before the break-in. We told your brother that we needed the dog. And the research. But now the stakes have gotten higher. For you.a€?
a€?You monsters almost killed my daughter last night! How much higher can the stakes get than that?a€?
He smiled: a thin decadent crescent that revealed dimples. a€?Do you really think that death is the worst thing that can happen to a young girl? Just how naive are you, Domingue?a€? He flashed long eyelashes at me, lowered his gaze flirtatiously. a€?I, myself, grew up in the Underground Circus, back in my first life. It would be delicious to teach your daughter a few of my own special tricksa€”a€?
I flew at him then, lunged across the table and grabbed him around the throat. We crashed to the floor and tumbled. But he didna€?t fight back. Instead, I saw a faint light flash in his handa€”the device he had hidden in his palm.
His limbs fell limp, his features waxen. His eyes met mine.
a€?Second warning,a€? he whispered.
Then he died.
I stood up and screamed, then I started to kick the weasel. Bones cracked in his chest and blood seeped onto the floor.
a€?Get in here and pick up your rubbish!a€? I shouted as I continued to beat his worthless carcass. a€?Hurry up and get your garbage before I make a mess!a€?
The door opened quietly and two mugs dressed in black, wearing hoods again, came in and carried out the dead Newbie.
Then another man walked in, someone Ia€?d never seen before. There was a weariness in his features, but his eyes were dangerously bright.
a€?Youa€?re free to go, Domingue. Apparently your brother threatened the jumps for every mug in the station if we didna€?t let you go,a€? he said. a€?So go ahead. Get outta here. But if I was you, Ia€?d use the back door. Therea€?s a mob waiting for you out front.a€?
?
The sun splintered through the darkness. Black sky changed to indigo.
I hovered in the doorway, an intruder in my own home. Black boot marks stained the floor; like a dotted line they led upstairs, where the investigation continued. Strange voices murmured. Someone was talking with a French accent, someone else was slipping through the bayou mud in Gutterspeak.
a€?I dona€?t sees how they gots liquid light. Ita€?s illegal for anyone a€?cept the lawmakers and the a€?sittersa€”a€?
a€?That was the idea. This stinks like a setup.a€?
a€?So ya still thinks theya€?re innocent, those Domingues?a€?
a€?I didna€?t say that. But we need to forget whose house this is or wea€?re gonna miss the important clues.a€?
a€?Ia€?ll tells ya the important clues. Them dead kids. Them sixteen babies that was burned alive. Thata€?s what ya needs to remember.a€?
I couldna€?t face the mugs that had taken residence in my daughtera€?s room. Instead I turned down a hallway, followed a path of polished wood and painted wainscoting. I could hear a faint hum in the distance, felt a slight electric buzz in the air. Saw a pale blue glow beneath the door as I came around the corner. Heard the whisper of voices.
The hallway smelled like a bakery: shelves lined with cookies and cakes, walls smeared with vanilla frosting.
I hate that smell. Virtual reality. The candy shop that never closes.
I heard crying, so I opened the door. My wife, Marguerite, stood in the middle of the VR room, wearing a VR suit, surrounded by about a dozen faceless, shapeless creatures that looked just like her. All sobbing and sniveling. It was her sous-terrain soci??t??: her flesh-and-blood surrogate family, grafted and stitched together from serendipitous encounters. They usually met in Grid chatter bars and, after several months of friendship and a brief civil ceremony, they chose assigned familial roles. Brother, sister, mother, cousin. Like children playing with blocks, they built their own fragile ancestry.
Weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. Thata€?s about all the sous-terrain soci??t?? was good for. This group of Stringers didna€?t even notice when a real live human walked in the door.
a€?Hey, I thought you were going to wait for me at the station,a€? I said, then watched as startled VR heads turned.
Marguerite swiveled to face me. Even with her suit on, I could see the tears glistening on her cheeks. Her voice wavered when she spoke, a€?I wasa€”I did, but the mugs made me leave.a€?
For a moment I realized how vulnerable she was, how our lives were never going to be the same after last night. I thought about the first time we met, that red dress she wore, the sound of her laugh. Then I did something I hadna€?t done in months.
I put my arms around her, held her for a long, quiet moment.
a€?Why dona€?t you turn that thing off and go take a nap,a€? I whispered. a€?Youa€?ll feel bettera€”a€?
a€?But the funeral is this afternoon. I need to invite my familya€”a€?
a€?Marguerite, youa€?re a Stringera€”a€? She didna€?t have any family. They were all dust in the wind and had been for years.
a€?Youa€?ve never understood what ita€?s like to be les enfants sans sourire,a€? she said as she pulled away from me. All the VR heads around her nodded, murmured in agreement. a€?To be one of the children of no joya€”a€?
For a second I thought I saw sixteen children, dead on the floor. Their ghosts seemed to surround us, filled the room. a€?Wherea€?s Isabelle?a€?
a€?Chaz wouldna€?t let me take her. He said Ia€?ll need at least seven guards before hea€?ll let her leave his hotel suite.a€?
I paused, frustrated. Felt tension building in my chest. I needed another gen-spike, but my stash was upstairs. And so were the mugs. a€?Okay, why dona€?t you round up ten or twelve guards. Wea€?ll pick her up after the funeral.a€?
a€?I dona€?ta€”I dona€?t know who toa€”a€?
a€?Just call Pete. Hea€?ll take care of it!a€? I snapped. I wanted the tension and the pain to stop, wanted her to shut up, to quit being weak. a€?And I told you to turn this off! I have a conference call with Aditya Khan in a couple of minutes.a€? I hit the DISCONNECT button and the glittering crowd around Marguerite faded away.
a€?I wasna€?t finished!a€? She pulled off her face mask and threw it on the floor. a€?You dona€?t care about anybody but yourself. For the past two years all youa€?ve done is humiliate me!a€? She paused, narrowed her eyes. a€?Do you think I dona€?t know what youa€?ve been doing, staying late at the office every nighta€”a€?
I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close. She winced in pain.
a€?What do you know?a€? I asked, my voice low.
a€?That youa€?ve been having an affair with that dark-haired research assistant of yours, that Ellen.a€? Her eyes blazed, a smoldering combination of fear and anger. a€?And apparently shea€?s had more than enough of you and your gen-spike Jekyll-and-Hyde routine, because she split. I dona€?t know what happened between the two of you and I dona€?t care, but the mugs are pretty hot to find hera€”a€?
I gripped both of her arms now. She cried out and her knees buckled.
a€?Theya€?re here now,a€? she gasped. a€?Upstairs.a€?
a€?What did you tell them?a€?
a€?Just what I said. Shea€?s gone. You two were having an affair. And I dona€?t care. About either one of you.a€?
I released her and she collapsed on the ground.
a€?Bastard.a€? She rubbed her arms, then glared up at me. a€?As soon as Isabelle gets back, Ia€?m taking her and leavinga€”a€?
a€?I dona€?t think so.a€?
She stood up and stumbled backward, away from me. a€?Ia€?m her mother.a€?
a€?And that death certificate we used came from my father. Legally shea€?s my daughter and youa€?re nothing more than a surrogate.a€?
Marguerite watched me like a caged tiger, all bristle and claws and dagger-sharp teeth, and all of it useless. a€?You wona€?t be able to stop me.a€?
I walked over and held the door shut so she couldna€?t leave. Crossed my arms. Flexed my muscles. Felt a left-over surge of gen-spike rush through my veins. When I spoke, my voice sounded like something out of a nightmare.
a€?Do you want to disappear like Ellen?a€? I asked.
She cocked her head, then her eyes slowly opened wider. She moved her mouth, but no sound came out.
I opened the door.
It took a long time, but she finally got the courage to walk past me.
Out of the room and away.