“That depends on the nature of the things in question.”
“I’m talking about Proactive Citizenry, and the truth about it,” he tells her. “I broke into their computer network, and I know everything. I know that Proactive Citizenry controls the Juvenile Authority. And that they want to increase the scope of unwinding so all those condemned kids can be rewound into this army you’re creating.”
Roberta sighs. “We don’t control the Juvenile Authority, we just have considerable influence.”
“ ‘We,’ ” says Cam. “So it’s back to ‘we’ again. Not ‘they.’ You must be out of Proactive Purgatory.”
“I’ve always been appreciated, Cam,” she tells him. “My work speaks for itself. It always has.”
“Does your work involve clappers?” he asks. “You’re aware that Proactive Citizenry created them as well, aren’t you?”
She knows denying it will only jam a wedge in their rapport, and right now she needs that rapport. She needs for him to trust her unconditionally. So she breaks with all protocol, and tells him the truth.
“First of all, that’s not my department. And second, we didn’t create them. Clappers were blowing themselves up long before we had anything to do with them. Proactive Citizenry merely gives them money and direction. We shape their violence toward a purpose—so that it serves the greater good.”
He nods, accepting, if not entirely approving. “There certainly are historical precedents for manipulating the public through fear.”
“I prefer to see it as opening people’s eyes, so they continue to see the sense in unwinding.”
Cam looks down again and shakes his head slowly. “I don’t want my eyes opened—I want them closed. I don’t want to know any of this. Please, can you tweak me again, Roberta? Can you give me a new worm to make it all go away?”
She kneels beside him and puts her arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. “Poor Camus—you’re in such pain. We’ll find a way to make that pain go away.”
He rests his head on her shoulder. She can feel his relief. It’s as it should be. As it must be. “Thank you, Roberta. I know you’ll take care of me.”
She reaches into the pocket of her blazer. “Haven’t I always?”
“I know you’ve been there for me,” he says. “When my thoughts went astray, you fixed them. When I ran away, you found me and brought me home.”
“And I’m here for you now,” she says as she pulls out her pistol. The one she always keeps in her nightstand, but until now, has never needed to use.
“Promise me you’ll fix it all.”
“I promise, Cam,” and she brings the muzzle of the gun to his forehead, knowing that this will fix it all. “I promise.”
Then she pulls the trigger.
68 • Cam
Cam couldn’t be sure where this would end until he saw the metallic flash of the gun when she pulled it from her pocket. Now, as she speaks calming words to him, and brings the pistol to his forehead, he closes his eyes. He suspected it might come to this, but he didn’t want to believe it. Now he has no choice.
He’s made his decision. He won’t stop her. He won’t resist. He allows her to complete her deadly intention.
The trigger engages.
The hammer releases.
It flies toward the chamber, and strikes it.
But instead of a gunshot comes a harmless click. Still, that tiny, impotent sound tears through Cam’s brain just as effectively as a bullet. Roberta has failed him. He’s not surprised, but he’s deeply disappointed.
Before Roberta has a chance to react, he wrenches the gun from her hands.
“Do you really believe I’m such a pathetic wreck that I’d sit here and let you kill me?”
He stands up, and Roberta, off-balance in her murderous crouch, stumbles, breaking a heel before rising to face him.
“Your gun hasn’t had real bullets since we got here. I made sure they’d be as false as you are.”
“Cam, please—let me explain.”
“You don’t need to,” he tells her. “Your actions speak louder than your lies—they always have. But there’s something I need to explain to you.” He waves the gun, using it to point around the room. “This room is full of surveillance cameras. If you’ll notice, several of them have been repositioned to this very spot, providing various angles of what just transpired here. The rest are still positioned on the rewinds . . . and every single camera is currently streaming live to the public nimbus.”
She gasps audibly. Roberta Griswold is speechless! It’s so wonderful to see her speechless that Cam smiles, feeling every seam on his face tingle with triumph. “I’ve already confirmed that the feeds have been picked up by the media. Of course, it wouldn’t do to have just silent video feeds. That’s why I rigged your phone to stream audio as well. Everything you’ve just said—about Proactive Citizenry building this army—about how they fund and ‘direct’ clappers—it’s all public knowledge now, being heard by thousands, maybe millions, as we speak. You wanted to reach the world with your work. Well, my dear sweet mother, you’ve just succeeded.”
She opens and closes her mouth a few times, like a goldfish that has leapt out of its bowl. “I don’t believe you,” she finally says, but her voice is shaky. “You’re not that underhanded!”
“I wasn’t at first,” he admits, “but I’ve learned from you.” He looks to the rewinds on either side of them. “I couldn’t bring myself to kill them, but they don’t have to die to kill the program, do they?”
That’s when her phone rings.
Cam winks at her. “The backlash is already starting. Go on, answer it—the call will stream live too, and I’m sure there’s plenty of people tuned in who want to hear what your bosses have to say about all this.”
She pulls out her phone and checks the number. Cam doesn’t know who’s calling, but whoever it is, it must terrify her, because she drops the phone and crushes it beneath her one good heel.
“End transmission,” Cam says, with a raised eyebrow. “But that’s all right, the damage has already been done.” He takes a moment to eject the gun’s clip and pulls from his pocket a fresh cartridge filled with real bullets. He snaps it in place with a click far more satisfying than the impotent sound of the hammer when the gun was to his forehead.
“Can you hear it crumbling, Roberta? Not just your work, but those alabaster pillars that hold up Proactive Citizenry—the ones you were all so arrogant to think could never fall? And all because of you. I can’t even imagine what they’ll do to you. Not just the public, but your associates in Proactive Citizenry.”
Then he tosses the loaded pistol to her.
“But you’re in luck. Those cameras are still streaming, which means the show’s not over.” Then he nods. No more gloating. Now he gives her a solemn acknowledgment of her final responsibility to the world, and to herself. “Give them a proper ending, Roberta.”
Then he turns and strides to the door without looking back.
69 • Roberta
She watches him go, then just before he leaves, she aims the gun at the back of his head. She holds it steady . . . but doesn’t fire. If she kills him now, it will only be worse for her. So she lets him leave. The door closes, and she’s alone.
No, not alone—because she’s surrounded by the fruits of her labor. Fifty hideous rewinds that will now be a part of no army. There will be no careful introduction of them to the public—no spin doctors can repair this and make it look any less horrible than it is. The public will see their creation as an atrocity, not as an opportunity. These rewinds will be shunned, Roberta will be despised, and Proactive Citizenry will hang her out to dry, if they let her live at all.