The dark-haired man who’d introduced himself as Cyrus’s friend had left a few minutes before, and when her boss didn’t answer his phone, Caitlyn Vaughn decided to check on him.
She found him tied to his office chair, slowly regaining consciousness.
His lips were stitched shut with thick black thread. His shirt was off; the skin of his stomach had been sliced open and then sewn back up. Beneath the skin something squirmed, then something else, until the whole surface of his belly began to quiver and bulge unevenly, and when she glanced at the aquariums in the corner, she saw that the one containing the roaches was empty.
There were only a few wasps remaining in the other.
Looking back at Cyrus, she saw a wasp squeeze out from between his lips, tug itself free, crawl across his cheek, and then lift into the air.
Caitlyn had never seen anything so disturbing and she felt repulsed. Turned away.
But then hesitated.
This was the man who’d slept with her and promised to leave his wife to be with her, but had not. This was the man who’d flaunted his affair with Riah Colette right in front of her, and then had sex with her right here in his office while she was just outside the door, forced to listen to everything.
This was the man.
He’d lied to her. Used her. Only. For. Sex. Betrayed her.
And so, as Caitlyn Vaughn went to the desk phone to call 911, just perhaps she did not dial the number as quickly as she might have if Cyrus had treated her more like a woman deserves.
I hear sounds wrestling for my attention. The river. A roar in my head. Sirens. A voice: “Jevin.” It’s Rachel, coming from somewhere beyond space and time, calling to me. “I love you, Jevin.”
Rachel—
No.
She’s gone, Jevin.
She’s dead.
She’s—
“Jevin—”
My head begins to clear.
No, it’s Charlene. Not Rachel.
Rachel drowned when she killed your boys.
It’s hard to open my eyes, and when I manage to at last, it makes me dizzy, but I see Charlene leaning over me. “Jevin! Thank God you’re okay!”
I cough harshly and my side roars with pain. I turn my head, spit out a mouthful of water.
Charlene eases her hand beneath my neck to support me.
Yes, those are sirens in the background. Around me light is swimming with sound. I close my eyes and cough, draw in as deep a breath as I can, try to lean up on my elbow, but my side screams at me again and I end up dropping to my back. Gazing at Charlene, I see that she’s soaking wet. “You pulled me out.”
“Yes.”
“Mouth to mouth?”
“Yes.”
Okay.
“That’s the seventh time I’ve drowned and you’ve saved me.”
“Who’s counting.”
“I’m glad you got out of those cuffs.”
“I’m glad I was wearing those earrings.”
I gesture toward the water. “Did he come up?”
She shakes her head.
A moment passes. I don’t know how to say this. “Charlene, did you, a moment ago… I thought I heard someone say ‘I love you.’ I thought it was Rachel.”
“Yes.”
“Was it …?”
“Yes.”
I can’t tell if she means that it was my imagination or if she means that it was her. For some reason it doesn’t feel right to ask her to clarify.
There are so many things I want to say to her. So many things I need to say. Her hand is still under my neck. “In the hotel,” I tell her, “you said that without hope you wouldn’t be able to make it through the day.”
Our thoughts can heal us or destroy us. Placebos. Curses.
“I remember.”
Blessings. A love that conquers death…
The idea that death could be conquered, that life would win in the end… an idea too good to be true, but also the most necessary truth of all.
“Prana.” The word barely comes out. I’m feeling weaker than I thought.
She leans close. “What?”
“The life-sustaining force. I finally know what it is. It’s hope.”
The placebo for grief, for hating yourself. The only way to move on.
“Yes.” Her eyes smile at me. And I can’t remember ever seeing her look so beautiful before. The longer we look into each other’s eyes, the more right it feels, and finally she says softly, “We’re entangled, aren’t we?”
I draw her close, and by the way I kiss her, I doubt she’ll need to read my mind to know the answer.
Another Goat
“That’s really nice,” I tell Xavier. We’re watching CNN. They’re re-airing the footage that a woman at Independence Park took on her cell phone of the guy stepping off the Franklin Grand Hotel on Wednesday. “You can’t even see the cables retract, not even on film.”
“And the explosion covers everything.”
“Misdirection.”
“Yup.” He dips a cracker into his cheese spread, swipes out a sizable dollop. “People see what they expect to see. Not what’s really there.”
I shake my head. “And you just rode down the elevator afterward?”
He shrugs. “I had a couple minutes to myself before anyone got up there.” He glances at the bag in the corner. “I always wanted to do that stunt. Something I came up with for your next stage show.”
“I don’t have a next stage show, Xavier.”
“Not yet, dude. But I know you, and you won’t be able to stay away from it forever.”
“Well, you made that look better than I ever could.”
He looks pleased.
The women and kids should be here any minute. He goes for another cracker full of cheese spread.
“I gotta ask you, Xav. What’s the deal with you and cheese anyway?”
“You want some?”
“No, actually, I have a policy: I never eat anything that smells like my feet.”
“I wouldn’t eat anything that smells like your feet either.”
“What I’m saying is, why are you eating cheese all the time?”
“You’ve heard of quirks, of course.”
“Sure.”
“Well, I felt like I needed one to be a more well-rounded individual.”
“You needed a quirk? What, are you serious?”
“Sure. It took me awhile to come up with something a little different. Subtle, a little idiosyncratic, but understated. I like cheese; it was a good fit. I’m much more interesting now. Don’t you think?”
“Um. Yeah.” The news program switches to early polling numbers for next year’s election. I flick it off. “Are you still planning to go to that tectonic weapons conference this weekend? You never told me.”
“I fly out early tomorrow. Donnie’s coming with me. He seems to have an interest in alternative news. Fionna gave him permission. She’s really keen on field trips.”
“I’ve noticed.”
As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door. “Are you guys ready?” It’s Charlene.
We join the women and four kids in the hallway and head for the elevators.
We’d decided to stay in Philadelphia for a few more days.
Some of our time had been spent, of course, in interviews with the police, the Secret Service, and the media, but surprisingly, the law enforcement officers hadn’t hassled us as much as I’d thought they would. Perhaps because of what we’d been through, or what we’d stopped from happening — the events the government was denying ever occurred.
Which didn’t surprise Xavier one bit.