I frown at the road ahead and watch the white lines flicking by. I don’t owe Burnham an answer. I know that. I’m certainly not going to tell him that Linus and I didn’t have sex. But I have to say something.
“Linus doesn’t pressure me,” I say.
The car hums over the smooth road.
“Touché,” Burnham says softly.
I shake my head. He asked; he got his answer.
“If you don’t want to help me anymore, that’s fine,” I say.
“Wait a second,” he says. “I’m not helping you just because I like you. We’re a team, Rosie.”
“We are?”
“Berg messed up my life, and think of all those other students at Forge. We trusted that place, and he stole our dreams. I don’t mean mine, literally, but it’s effectively the same thing.”
A prickling of hope gathers in me. “You’re right,” I say. Burnham has always had an innate sense of justice. I knew that.
“We’re going to bring him down, Rosie. You can be sure of that.”
Wow, I think, and my hope is buoyed into something more certain. “Thanks,” I say.
“Of course,” he says. “Now, I’ve got stuff to do. Don’t drive too late. And be sure to eat something. Cheetos, at least.”
I smile. “All right,” I say. “Thanks again.”
He hangs up, and I’m left alone, still driving. It’s funny. With all the dips and turns our friendship has gone through, I feel closer to him now than I did when I was standing in his kitchen. I wonder if he feels the same.
My smile fades. If only I knew where Linus was.
5
LEMON SMOKE
INKY DARKNESS PRESSES against the windshield. It spreads, clinging, an ultra-blackness that blots out the stars, the road, and the headlights. And yet the Toyota’s speeding along. I can feel the momentum and hear the wind whipping past. In Fagan gloves like Ian’s, Linus has taken my place behind the wheel. Elation lifts my heart, but then I remember his eye and misery follows. With the dashboard casting a faint glow over his features, I can just make out his profile, but he won’t look at me. When I ask him where he’s taking me, he doesn’t reply, and then comes the creeping feeling that he won’t look my way because something’s wrong with his face. I know this, but I can’t see it yet because he hasn’t turned, and suddenly I don’t want him to. What if his other eye and his cheek are melting? My voice box locks onto itself. I can’t speak. A prickle scatters through my body, and at the same time, a leaden heaviness consumes my muscles. My heart beats harder, but it also feels thick. It feels wet.
I look down at my chest to find that black ooze is seeping through my shirt, from my heart. Linus! I whisper, terrified. Help me! I press against the wound of my heart, trying to keep the ooze in, and finally Linus turns to me. Where his face belongs, a boil of black sludge slowly churns around a single, clean, protruding eyeball. The eyeball slices open mechanically to reveal a tiny figure inside, a man at a control center with levers and cogs. It’s Berg. He smiles at me knowingly, and the black ooze gushes from my heart.
I jolt awake, gasping.
The car is filled with murky light. A film of moisture beads the windows. I’m in the backseat, parked on a deserted side road where I stopped when exhaustion caught up with me. My heart’s beating wildly, my skin’s slick with sweat, and I’m clutching my bulky sleeping bag to my chest.
“I’m okay,” I whisper desperately.
It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. A horrific blend of fears. Linus betraying me, Berg in charge, me helpless—these are all terrors I can’t bear to face.
I pull on my shoes, shove open the car door, and step out onto the dirt. Depthless violet touches everything, near and far. Dawn has come, the stars are fading, and I can’t see another car or a house in any direction. The only truth is red sand, mesquite, and saltbush sloping toward the distant horizon. I take a deep breath of the cool, tangy air and push my thick hair back from my face.
“I’m all right,” I say again, more certainly.
But my heart still aches. It’s been two full days now since I’ve seen Linus, and it feels like so much longer. I pull out the sticky note Peggy gave me and look at his number. It’s possible, I suppose, that it’s a secure way to reach him, but I don’t know if it’s worth the chance. He could be waking up in St. Louis, in an apartment I’ve never seen, sitting alone at the side of his bed, checking his messages to see if I’ve tried to contact him. Or he could be on location somewhere, drinking a cup of coffee in his stylish clothes, prepping to shoot another episode of Found Missing.
Finally, self-indulgently, I choose to imagine him asleep in his rumpled bed where we lay together. Early light is sifting in the dormer window, crossing his knuckles at a slant. He’s half in shadow, with his face relaxed and his dark hair a mess. He smells of cotton and salt, and his chest barely moves with his slow, even breath.
“No,” I mumble, sliding the note back in my pocket.
It’s no good thinking of him this way, reducing the real Linus to nostalgia. He isn’t mine. I can’t be with him now. My dream made that clear. No matter how little Linus is to blame for the camera in his eye, Berg rides along inside Linus like a tiny, perpetual spy, seeing everything he does, invading every aspect of his life.
A buzz in the car makes me turn, and I instinctively think it’s Linus calling. Instead, I find a message from Burnham that says he’s had a recyclable phone delivered to Thea already. It occurs to me then that Linus might have tried my old disposable phone, so I dig it out of my backpack. Sure enough, I’ve missed two calls from him. An odd little thrill goes through me, part relief and part power. I compare the callback number to the one Peggy gave me, and they’re different, which makes me all the more skeptical that either is secure.
What am I thinking? I just decided not to contact him. I’m not going to change my mind.
I do a quick check of Peggy’s Facebook page, but she hasn’t added anything new.
Unwrapping my last fresh recyclable phone, I dial up Thea. As it rings, I grab a bagel from my supplies and step out of the stuffy car again.
A girl’s quiet, uncertain voice comes on. “Hello?”
“Thea? It’s Rosie,” I say. “Did I wake you?”
Thea gives a soft laugh. “No, but this phone showed up only ten minutes ago. Imagine my surprise. How are you? Where are you?”
I am so, so relieved to hear her sounding normal. I barely allowed myself to think that she could be dead or back in a coma. Grinning, I meander into the desert, where dew has darkened the dust and the tops of pebbles.
“I’m in Arizona,” I say. “And I’m good. How are you? How’s the baby?”
“I’m exhausted,” she says. “You wouldn’t believe how tired. But my baby’s unbelievable. She’s absolutely incredible.”
“Really? I’m so glad. What’s she like? Tell me.”
“She’s the sweetest thing,” Thea says, her voice warm and dreamy. “She has these stern little eyebrows that’ll melt your heart. And she never cries. She’s sleeping now in a little bassinet right next to me. I just want to watch her, every second. Tom’s in love with her, of course. He’s a big fat marshmallow.”