I have no idea what all of this means. It seems like every particle in my body is being severed by this bottomless feeling of dread. But are Josh and I in any real physical danger? Is this exactly what happened to Anthony before he slipped into a coma?
“Dad, please! Come back!” I scream so hard I’m surprised my voice box doesn’t rupture. Josh grabs my hand and squeezes hard.
My father isn’t here. Not anymore.
Nothing is. Nothing but a pure white emptiness that’s headed in our direction, threatening to wipe us out.
“Regan, we have to go,” he says.
I squeeze his hand back, and he knows I understand. So we let go of each other and press the emergency buttons on our wristbands, surrendering to the all-too-familiar brightness that will carry us back home.
TabTalk Message
From: Heywood, Joshua
To: Welch, Regan
11:14 p.m.
R u okay?
TabTalk Message
From: Welch, Regan
To: Heywood, Joshua
11:20 p.m.
Yes, I’m fine. On my way to see Patrick.
TabTalk Message
From: Heywood, Joshua
To: Welch, Regan
11:22 p.m.
He won’t listen. Not even 2 u.
TabTalk Message
From: Welch, Regan
To: Heywood, Joshua
11:25 p.m.
Yes he will. I won’t give him any choice.
TabTalk Message
From: Heywood, Joshua
To: Welch, Regan
11:26 p.m.
Want me 2 come?
TabTalk Message
From: Welch, Regan
To: Heywood, Josh
11:27 p.m.
No. You’ve done enough damage already.
TabTalk Message
From: Heywood, Joshua
To: Welch, Regan
11:27 p.m.
Guess I deserve that.
TabTalk Message
From: Heywood, Joshua
To: Welch, Regan
11:28 p.m.
Don’t u think u should hear me out b4 u cut me loose?
TabTalk Message
From: Welch, Regan
To: Heywood, Josh
11:29 p.m.
Haven’t made up my mind. Until then, just let me be.
“Hey, is that David Welch’s daughter?” says one of the hundred reporters who are perched outside the entrance of Erebus Tower, a steel hotel and apartment complex so tall it rises above the oil-filled clouds, practically disappearing into the sky.
“No, I don’t think so,” replies another reporter. “That girl is way too old to be her.”
I duck my head and fight my way through the huge mob, which is at least twice the size of the one at Orexis. I pull up the hood of my jacket, thankful my O2 shield seems to be obscuring my identity. In the past few months, the media has left me alone and the sudden attention makes me feel vulnerable. I remember how Patrick was right by my side after my dad died, when the media scrutiny was at its worst, protecting me from all the interrogating questions and judgments. Making sure I was safe.
Now that Patrick himself is the target of the press’s latest scandal cycle, there’s nothing anyone can do to make these bloodhounds lose his scent. In fact, he can officially count me as one of the angry pack, especially after seeing my dad again and the horrifying vanishing act I just experienced in Elusion. Patrick has a lot to answer for, and tonight he’s going to tell me everything.
Or else there are going to be major consequences.
As I continue to push through the throng, I glance up at the building. At almost two hundred stories, it’s high enough that glass windows are allowed on the top five floors. Now that it’s stopped raining, the peak of the tower appears to glow with a beautiful gauzy light. Only the wealthiest tycoons in the area actually live at Erebus, and Patrick bought one of the units just a few weeks ago.
In a million years, I never would have thought that the first time I came here would be to take my best friend down.
The media have surrounded the building, and there’s a huge police presence. Stuck in the middle of the frenzy, I stand on my tiptoes and peek through the crowd enough to see that the officers are wearing protective helmets with built-in O2 shields, as if they’re afraid the mob might turn violent. They are hastily trying to construct a small path so that the wealthy clientele of Erebus Tower are able to enter and leave without being mauled.
I have to make it through there somehow.
I tug the strap of my bag away from my shoulder and shimmy it down my arm, which isn’t easy, since I’m pressed up against people at every turn. Then I move it to a small space in front of my knees and blindly feel through the stuff inside with my right hand. Once I locate my passcard, I wiggle enough so that I can reach my arm up and wave it around in the air, praying this hunch of mine will work.
“Let me in! I’m a resident!” I shout, hoping that one of the cops will hear me through my O2 speaker and let me through. “Please! I need to get inside!”
Luckily, someone does hear my squawking. A policeman waves a beer-bellied security guard forward, who blows a shrill whistle that makes everyone cover their ears.
“Step aside and let the young lady through!” the guard orders with a rather intimidating, deep voice.
There’s a slight shift within the group, and I’m able to slip through tiny gaps here and there until I reach the path the cops are clearing out. Once I manage to make it past them, the guard takes my card and holds it up against his handheld reader. After a short beat, the words ACCESS GRANTED, PENTHOUSE SUITE 1950AB appear on the screen, so he nods and says, “You’re good.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. I was hoping Patrick had given me a courtesy code for his apartment, but I wasn’t sure.
As the guard opens the electronic gate with the remote that’s built into his code reader, a young, clean-shaven bellman motions for me, his arm outstretched. I grasp on to his gloved hand and he pulls me inside the gleaming lobby. The backlit onyx ceiling soars above me, casting a soft glow on the beautifully handcrafted white marble pillars that line the room on the north and south sides. Even though it’s nearly midnight, impeccably dressed hotel guests are still milling about in the space, either strolling through the area with colorful cocktails in their hands or reclining on the black and ivory French provincialstyle sofas that are arranged around a classic gray château fireplace.