“Certainly.”
Marlowe stood next to Jericho’s bed, examining the metal cage that kept Jericho breathing. “I invented this, you know. It’s no substitute for good lungs, but I’m working on that. I understand you like mechanical things as well.”
Jericho did not answer.
“So. Tell me,” Marlowe tried gamely, “what do you think is man’s greatest invention?”
Jericho turned his head just slightly toward Marlowe, looking him straight in the eye. “God.”
He waited for Marlowe to be shocked or horrified. He waited for a lecture. Instead, Marlowe had put a hand on Jericho’s head like a father, saying quietly but firmly, “I’m going to help you, Jericho. You’re going to get up from this bed. You’re going to walk and run again. I will not stop until you can, I promise you.”
And just like that, the snare of hope trapped Jericho again.
Marlowe made good on his promise. But like all deals with the Devil, there were drawbacks. In the past ten years, his relationship with Marlowe had gone from idolatry to rebellion and resentment.
Fathers and sons.
“What if I don’t want to be your experiment or exhibition any longer?” Jericho said. “What if I want to be my own man?”
Marlowe’s eyes flashed. Jericho knew that look well. The great man did not have much patience for insubordination.
“You want to be your own man? Be your own man. Without this.” Marlowe held up the precious vial of serum and stuffed it into his pocket.
Jericho squirmed a bit. What game was Marlowe playing now? “You wouldn’t do that,” he challenged. “You care about your experiment too much.”
“I could start over with somebody else.”
“If you could do that, you would have already. And that golden boy or girl would be standing on the stage with you.”
“Fine. Go without the serum, then,” Jake said evenly.
As far as Jericho knew, Marlowe’s little blue miracle powered the machinery of his body. It kept his heart beating, his lungs breathing, his blood pumping. And it kept his mind from devolving into madness. Marlowe was bluffing. Had to be.
Jericho was scared, but he refused to let Marlowe win. “All right. Maybe I will.”
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Why not? What will happen if I do?”
Marlowe didn’t respond.
“I deserve an answer,” Jericho said, raising his voice. He banged his fist on the table, toppling some of the buildings on Marlowe’s artfully arranged Future of America model.
“Careful,” Marlowe cautioned, and Jericho wasn’t sure if he meant the model or Jericho himself.
“I honestly don’t know what will happen. Because you’re the only one who’s come this far. Just you.” Once more, Marlowe leaned forward, his face grimly determined. “Jericho, let me help you. You’ll get your girl. You can have everything you want. Together, we will be part of greatness.”
Just like on that spring morning ten years before, Jericho could feel hope’s snare around his ankle. If he submitted to Marlowe’s grand plan, became part of his experiment, could he have a better chance at happiness? Would he be considered not a freak but a golden son—a prototype for the new, exceptional American? Could he have everything he wanted?
Could he have Evie?
Choices.
Already Marlowe had restored order to the toppled model, everything in its place.
“I’ll think about it,” Jericho said, enjoying the irritation flitting across Marlowe’s face. The great Jake Marlowe couldn’t control everything, after all.
“As you wish,” Marlowe said.
He went to his left pocket, fished out the small vial there, and placed it in Jericho’s palm.
Jericho stared at it, confused. “Where are the others?”
“You earn them. That is one month’s supply. I’m giving you thirty days to make up your mind. After that, you’re on your own.”
“Isaiah!” Memphis shouted. “Did you do this?”
He showed Isaiah his defaced poetry book.