by Ben Farthing
"Nowhere around here," said the woman.
But Everard realized what Bill Bill meant. He looked at the girl, seeing the photo of Ryker instead, the face that was so much like his.
They'd said Ryker had the attitude of a rebellist, even if she wasn't one.
The girl's dull brown eyes closed, resigned to wait in stillness.
Everard would go crazy with a single four-hour shift. And somewhere Ryker was hooked up like this, never getting a moment of freedom.
He wanted to smash this disgusting machine. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to get outside and feel the open sky above him, the anonymity of the city around him.
But if he let himself get involved, there was a chance that he ended up plugged in and paralyzed like this. He'd risk that if it were Abby or—god forbid—Liz on that submarine. Not for anyone else.
Everard stepped toward Bill Bill. "Just lay out for me what you're saying. If I join your club you'll send your bluecoats to go get her? Because I'm still not interested."
"Bluecoats? Oh, you mean the Regulars. No, that'd be too obvious. You stick around long enough to learn your bent, and I'll put out an unofficial bounty for her rescue."
"No."
"Seriously?" said Loretta. "She's your sister. Imagine being drained like that all day."
"Then you rescue her."
Bill Bill scratched at his white stubble. He grimaced. "I sorta thought that would do it. Didn't peg you as so heartless."
"I'm not the one with the means to rescue her. I never asked anyone to drag me to this freakshow. I'm going home, sleeping for fourteen hours, and then I'm going to watch a damn baseball game."
And somewhere in there call Abby.
"Please," said the attendant, "take your argument outside. You're bothering the batteries."
"Gladly," said Everard, heading for the door. "Because I'm leaving."
"What about Undone Duncan?" asked Bill Bill. "Or Inc?"
Everard turned back around. "You said they wouldn't come after me."
"I said I could stop them."
"That's how it is? If I don't do what you want, you look the other way while I get skinned alive?" And what if he fought back. Would they go after the people he cared about?
"Why shouldn't I?" Bill Bill said it less like a threat and more like a giddy declaration of checkmate. "I don't even know you."
Everard was trapped. He couldn't go home if the Perforated Woman would just come after him. "What do you want?"
"Tell Loretta everything you know about the booms, and stay around long enough to learn your bent."
Everard had negotiated enough contracts to know an undefinable deliverable when he heard one. "Make it specific."
Bill Bill clapped. "There's the Everard I know and love."
"You just said you don't know me."
Bill Bill waved away his objection. He tapped his left knee. "My knee's acting up again. When you can deny my limp, we'll say the deal is done."
"How long will that take?"
"Impossible to say. Maybe a few weeks. You're practically living without authority already, so probably shorter. Denying a minor injury like this isn't too hard."
"He's trying to offer you your first taste," said Loretta, "to get you hooked."
"What do you say?" asked Bill Bill. "Do we have a deal?"
"No."
Bill Bill pulled at his wild, white hair. "What do you want?"
"I deny your limp, you make every Periphery freak leave me alone—not just the ones we mentioned. And any normal people the freaks might hire."
"I'm not a genie from an eighties horror movie. There's no secret trick with my offer."
"I'm not finished. Only reason I didn't cut town already is I'm afraid they'll go after a couple people I care about."
"I'll make sure they're protected," said Bill Bill.
"Not you. Her."
Loretta shook her head. "I don't offer protection services."
"I saw the whole world afraid to even talk to your husband. He's the most protected man in the city."
"You couldn't afford my rates."
"He can."
Bill Bill chewed on his lip. "Deal."
"I didn't agree to this," said Loretta.
"Name your price. This is a rebellist we're talking about. One I actually like."
"Fine. Minnie will blow a gasket when she sees the figure."
"You let me worry about that." Bill Bill offered Everard a handshake. "Are we straight, or are you going to throw in anything else?"
"Go ahead and put that bounty on rescuing Ryker." If Everard had all the cards, he might as well. He gripped Bill Bill's hand. "And I want something to eat. Your cat stole my sandwich."
Chapter Sixteen
INTERLUDE
The apex predator hesitates.
The threat from the southwest continues; the intruder from elsewhere still attempts to expand its territory, claiming the low city on the river that neither has claimed. The intruder must be repelled.
But from the northeast, something has followed.
The apex knows this scent: the father of an early morning meal so many decades ago. The morsel squirmed and convulsed on the apex's antlers; its blood left a tangy residue that pulsed when the father was near.
Only once has this patriarchal hunter drawn near. The apex, caught in a shrieking snare, wounded by the father's attack. Once it realized the true threat, avoiding the hunter was simple.
But now, in its sudden flight to counter the encroachment from the southwest, the apex has revealed itself, and the father has followed.
Above the open water where fresh mingles with brine, the apex senses its hunter ahead.
The lone figure stands on the shore. It waits.
The apex will not face the foreign intruder with this annoyance swatting at its hooves. It dives at the father, the force of a hurricane behind its wings.
The father raises its arms, aiming the favored weapon of the new, soft prey. A roar of light and sound misses the apex.
It leads with its antlers, razor tips poised to slash apart their target. The apex passes through the illusion, howls in fury. The trap springs, knives pierce its sides to scrape against bone. The apex rips them out, flings them into the trees.
The scent of the father is all over; he has spread himself along the bank, up the trees, through the mud. The apex thrusts his bats's wings down, itself into the air, relying on its vision and hearing to locate its target both hunter and prey.
A net of barbed chains envelops the apex, digging into its flesh. In cold fury it shatters the metal. Blood and links join the father's scent on the ground.
The apex rises and then dives, swoops along the shore to rise again. Circles, dives. Repeats. Brushes off attacks of spears, acids, bullets. Until the scent in the mud and trees grows stale, and the fresh scent announces itself, faint but distinct, beneath the water.
Triumph joining fury, the apex dives once more, the cool of the water easing its wounds. Its antlers rend, fling the father onto the mud already littered with blood and traps.
It catches intestines in its fingers, pulls.
The father screams, curses in one of the languages of the new, soft prey. He cries for his lost child, that meal from so many decades ago. The child's blood - now part of the apex's flesh - hears its name, answers in anticipation of reunion.
But the apex has no time to feast. It clamps its jaw on the father's throat, watches him release his lifeblood to the earth. It bursts back into the sky.
The foreign intruder draws closer to the city, breaking the unspoken agreement to leave it a buffer between their haunts. That will not be allowed.
Wounds already healed, the apex continues its journey.
Chapter Seventeen
A few minutes later, Everard sat across from Loretta in a dining hall. A massive fireplace took up one wall, thankfully unused, since the humidity emanating from the kitchen was already overbearing.
Waiters brought out plates of bre
ad, meat, pickles, and cheese, all drizzled in vinegar. Everard devoured everything. D.C.'s obsession with artisan foods was good and all, but sometimes you couldn't beat good old meat and cheese.
Loretta questioned him about his run-in with the Perforated Woman that afternoon, and about what he'd seen in the Junk Shoals. She asked for details about the boom he'd felt down there, everything from the size of the barrel to what he meant by "hyenas ripping up my insides."
After the meal, he agreed it was safest if he didn't go home yet.
A waiter showed him to a guest room. It was a cross between a high-quality colonial bedroom suite and a military barracks. Eight bunk beds lined the wall, each with a cherry frame and the most comfortable mattress he'd ever felt.
The waiter apologized that the finer rooms were unavailable, since the Burgesses were currently hosting a dignitary from Wyoming, and those smaller chapters always brought along an overly large retinue to appear important.
Everard didn't care. Now that he was full, all he wanted was sleep. Besides, this place was pretty awesome. The bathroom even had a fresh toothbrush, razor, and phone charger.
And soon as Everard plugged his in, it rang.
He didn't recognize the number, but some irrational part of him thought it might Abby, so he answered. "Hello?"
"Everard Harrison."
Right away, he recognized Bowman's voice. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking how he got Everard's number. "I'm not buying you a new tie."
"You couldn't afford anything worth wearing. I'm calling to offer you a favor."
"Not interested." Everard opened a drawer, looking for toothpaste.
"I think you are. See, I did some digging, and it turns out you're a man of many secrets."
Everard shut the drawer. These freaks already wanted him because of his supposed ability. The last thing he needed was for them to find out about his living under the radar. At least, he hoped that's what Bowman meant. "What do you want?"
"To sit down and talk. The CEO and I have a proposition for you."
"Why do half you freaks not even have names?" asked Everard. He tapped his fist on the counter. "And why would I be interested in anything you have to offer?"
"Because you want to keep your secrets safe."
"Fuck you." Everard ended the call. He leaned over the sink.
That was stupid. He should have stayed on the line longer, found out what Bowman actually knew.
The prick just had to phrase it like that. "Keep your secrets safe." Now Everard didn't know if Bowman was talking about Everard's false identity, or Abby, or if he'd somehow found out about Liz. If he was threatening either of them, Everard couldn't let it stand.
He checked the time. One-thirty. He couldn’t call Abby until she woke up, but then what would he tell her? The best he could do would be to tell her to lock her doors and get ready to call the police. Abby had lived in D.C. her whole life, and not always in the east end. Her locks would already be tight, and she already knew how to recognize potential danger.
Liz, on the other hand, loved meeting new people. She'd never been robbed, exactly, but she'd willingly handed over her birthday money because a stranger asked for it. Everard needed to warn her to be careful. She wouldn't mind being woken up.
He hesitated. Maybe Inc didn't know a thing about Liz, or even about his false identity, and this was a trick. What if they'd bugged his phone somehow? It'd never left his pocket, so it'd have to be some weird Periphery trick, but that didn't sound so far fetched.
Then again, if they could magically tap into his phone, they already knew half his secrets. It was worth the risk.
He texted Liz. You awake?
He walked out of the bathroom and went to turn off the lights. The lightswitch was taped over, with a note "Keep Lights On Until the Boogeyman is Contained."
Not that he'd be sleeping tonight anyways. Too much racing through his mind.
His phone buzzed with Liz's response. Yes!
He sat down on the most comfortable mattress he'd ever felt. The tag read "Blessed By the Hagiomagi of Saint Rose."
Liz responded again. Skype?
Everard opened the app and called her. However they were connecting to the cell networks in this nook, it was strong enough for video calls.
The call connected, and Liz's breathing came through, but the screen was still black.
"Is your lamp on?" asked Everard. "I can't see you."
Liz laughed. "Oh, whoops."
A lamp clicked on, bathing her in orange light.
"Actually, you should probably sleep with that on tonight." She was outside the city, but it couldn't hurt to be safe.
"My head hurts too much." She spoke slowly, each word requiring heavy focus.
"Please."
"I don't want to, Everard."
It'd taken him over a year of visits to get her to start calling him Everard. Now that she lived in a group home, none of her housemates or the nurses knew he'd ever been called anything else.
"Is that why you're still awake?" he asked. "Getting bad headaches again?"
"Julie took the lavender candle you brought me."
A decade later and she was still getting bullied. "I'll bring you another one. Do you have any Tylenol in the kitchen?"
"I don't like pills." Her motor skills had never fully recovered. Swallowing pills was tough for her. "I want you to come visit again. I want to show you the picture of a flower I took."
He'd been down there two weeks ago, when he'd started the Fairfax job. Her home was a few miles farther south, in Prince William. "I will. Soon."
"Tomorrow?"
"Not tomorrow. Maybe next week." Not until he knew no one would follow him. "Listen, I need you to do me a favor."
"I don't want to get out of bed, though."
"This'll be easy, I promise."
"Will you come visit?"
"Maybe next week."
She raised her voice. "No. Tomorrow."
Reasoning with her when she got upset rarely worked. It was all about emotions with Liz, although Everard figured that was pretty much true of anybody. "If you do me this favor, I'll come down as soon as I can—I think next week—and we'll go to Yankee Candle and buy you lavender for your headaches, and you can take pictures of the shelves. We'll get another big one printed off for your wall."
"I want a picture of the European ones. I like the red and purple."
"So can you do me a favor?" He felt like a dick, since he hadn't addressed her frustration that he wasn't coming tomorrow; he'd only made her think of how happy she'd be when he finally did make it down there. But this about her safety, so maybe it was okay.
"Fine, Everard."
"Look out your window and see if there's any cars."
The view on his phone swept around Liz's room. It went black again.
"See? Only Mr. Rick's truck." Mr. Rick was one of the nurses. The group home was an old donated farmhouse. If anybody was out there, they'd stick out like a sore thumb.
"It's too dark," said Everard. "I can't see. Look out all the windows. Do you see anybody?"
"Everyone's asleep," said Liz.
"Please check for me."
She shushed Everard and slipped out of her bedroom, peeking through living room and kitchen windows. "I told you. Nobody," she whispered.
Everard relaxed. This mattress was amazing. "Thank you. I'll come visit as soon as I can. We should both try to get some sleep now."
"Okay." Liz looked down, bit her lip like she always did before saying, "I love you."
Everard inhaled. Exhaled. "We're friends, Liz."
"Best friends?"
"Definitely."
The injury couldn't touch the sincerity of her smile. "My head feels better. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
They ended the call.
Despite the godly mattress, Everard couldn't sleep. He kept seeing flitters of holes across the walls, but he knew his mind was playing tricks on him, because those same wall
s kept shifting into the gaping maw of the reskinning machine.
More than once, as his eyes closed, he felt a leech-like tube hooked into his neck and draining him of energy.
His world had increased infinitely in size and possibility, but it was those simple images that clogged his mind.
Even imagining his own bed brought no comfort. His home wasn't a fortress. It was standing in an open field and inviting skinless men or sociopathic suits with magic lighters to come kill him. Or whatever it was they wanted to do with him.
The world was a bizarre place. He already knew that. He'd never experienced such a sudden, massive shift in perception, but it surprised him how quickly his mind was accepting it. D.C. had a dark, other-dimensional underworld that he'd never heard of. But so what? The surrounding states had so many counties he'd never heard of that he found out about new places all the time. Any given day, he could turn down a new road, and discover some corner of reality he never knew existed. Was it such a big deal that now some of those corners didn't take up space the same way he was used to?
Hey, believers talked about Heaven and physicists talked about string theory. Half the world already rejected the "what you see is what you get" version of reality.
Still, he wasn't sure when he'd sleep again. Heaven and other dimensions didn't necessarily include women with holes in their skin or little girls with extra legs poking out the small of their back.
An hour passed before Everard realized his problem. He was trying to reason with his frenzied mind, rationally discuss these new threats. That didn't work for Liz, and it wouldn't work for him.
He asked himself what he was feeling, the same way Mr. Rick told him to ask Liz what she was feeling when she got upset.
Sure, there was fear. But that wasn't what bubbled to the surface.
He was depending on Bill Bill to keep him safe. Even once he finished his part of the deal by figuring out whatever trick would get rid of Bill Bill's limp, it would still be up to the old man to keep Inc and the Perforated Woman away from him.
He felt frustrated and weak. He was back choosing between two awful options—lets these freaks tear down his private life, or depend on Bill Bill to protect him.