“Is he all the way out in Luray?”
“No, he’s at Warren Memorial Hospital in Front Royal.”
Jacob blew out a breath. “Fine. What about Lindsey?”
“It’s better she hears about this in the morning. Or do you want to wake her at this hour to tell her that her biological father has been in a car accident?”
23
Summer’s Stash
Summer was on her knees, heaving, her breakfast coming up in a chunky red slop. The tile was cold and hard on her knees, her scrubs offering little protection. She stood and flushed the toilet, her legs shaky. She went to the sink, washed her hands, and rinsed her mouth. Summer glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her face and neck were flushed and blotchy. Her wavy brown hair was disheveled. She popped a mint, smoothed her hair, and left the bathroom.
She’d taken the Sunday morning shift to earn some extra Fed Coins. Babies were expensive. She’d come a little early to complete that secret mission for Mark. She walked down the hall toward the stairs. Robotic orderlies and nurses moved past, some on wheels, some on titanium legs, never tiring, never faltering in their missions.
Their human counterparts moved with more grace but less energy, often stopping to look at their phones or to shoot the breeze with coworkers. Summer took the stairs to the basement. The hospital was mostly covered by cameras, but nonessential areas weren’t monitored. She walked to the end of the hall and entered a room marked Storage.
Inside, old computers and office furniture were piled in rows, like cemetery plots. A thick layer of dust covered everything. She looked around, thinking about where to hide Mark’s flash drive. A million places were there to hide it, but what if the hospital cleaned out the office furniture or the computers?
She looked up at the dropped ceiling. She moved a chair to the back corner of the room. Standing on the chair, she removed a square from the suspended ceiling. The ceiling tiles covered ductwork and wiring. She fished a plastic floss container and a roll of heavy-duty tape from her pocket.
Connor had taken the floss roll from the plastic container and had placed the flash drive inside the empty container. Summer taped the plastic container to the top of the ceiling tile, then reinstalled the square. Unless someone took down the ceiling tile, nobody would find the flash drive.
24
Naomi and the Next President
“Good morning, Naomi,” Doris said. “What would you like for breakfast?”
Naomi sat in the breakfast nook of her Georgetown home, still in her pajamas. “Just coffee and cream.”
“Coming right up.” Doris, the robot domestic, turned on her three-wheel base and rolled to the coffeemaker.
Naomi tapped on her tablet, scanning the headlines for November 24, 2050.
Cat 2 Hurricane Landing in the Gulf
Antigovernment Demonstrations in Panama
Elite Still Hiding Ill-Gotten Gains in Panamanian Banks
Pollinator Decline Affects Orange Harvest
Our Next President
Naomi tapped the link to Our Next President. She scanned the New York Times article, scowling at the Corrinne Powers puff piece. Doris placed a steaming mug of coffee on the coaster within Naomi’s grasp, then drove back to the corner of the kitchen to await further instruction.
Alan bounded down the wooden steps, wearing faded sweats advertising his alma mater, MIT. He approached the breakfast nook, which was a wooden booth, similar to a restaurant.
“Good morning,” Alan said.
Naomi looked up from her tablet. “Is he still sleeping?”
Alan wedged his lanky frame into the bench seat opposite Naomi. “I think so.”
“Did you tell him that he can’t stay here?”
Doris approached the table. The bot was stark white, with two arms, a large round head, and dark sensors for eyes.
“I think you’re being too hard on him,” Alan said.
“Good morning, Alan,” Doris said. “Would you like some breakfast?”
Alan ordered his breakfast by tapping on the tablet attached to the robot’s chest.
“The reason his life is a disaster is because we haven’t been hard enough on him,” Naomi said.
“Coming right up,” Doris said, rolling away from the breakfast nook.
Alan returned his attention to Naomi. “Blake’s life isn’t a disaster. He’ll graduate in the spring with his classmates, and he’ll have his whole life ahead of him.”
Naomi frowned. “His classmates graduated last spring.”
“So, he’s a year behind. It’s not a big deal.”
“I don’t want him here during the campaign.”
Alan looked to the stairs, then back to Naomi with his finger to his lips. “Not so loud. He’ll hear you. He’s leaving this afternoon. No need to have a confrontation. I’ll have the car take him to the house upstate.”
“He needs rules too,” Naomi replied. “I don’t want him trashing our house. No parties. No drugs. Period. If he can’t handle that, he can live off UBI for all I care.”
“I’ll talk to him about taking care of the house. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.” Alan glanced at Naomi’s tablet, eager to change the subject. “What are you reading?”
She sighed. “The New York Times thinks Corrinne will be the next president.”
“That’s not surprising.”
“They think we need a moderate Democrat to bring the American people together.”
“What do you think?”
“I think that’s the last thing we need.”
25
Derek and from Bad to Worse
His eyes fluttered. The LED lights were low, but sunlight filtered into the room from the windows. Derek glanced to his left. A temporary wall that looked like a shower curtain. In front of him, his right leg was elevated and in a cast. An IV was attached to his arm. To his right, Rebecca and Jacob sat in chairs, dozing.
“Becca,” Derek said, his voice raspy. “Becca.”
She opened her eyes, blinking a few times. Rebecca stood from her chair and approached the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore and thirsty.”
Rebecca rolled the overbed table closer, a cup of water with a straw now within Derek’s grasp. “I don’t know how cold it is.”
Derek took a few sips. “Thank you.” He glanced at Jacob, still dozing, his glasses askew. “Why is he here?”
Rebecca frowned. “I didn’t want to come out here in the middle of the night by myself. You could show a little appreciation.”
“I appreciate that you’re here, but … why are you here?”
“You have me listed as your emergency contact.”
Derek winced. “Shit. I’m sorry. I never changed it.”
“You can do it online. I use my doctor’s portal all the time, especially with the kids.”
“I canceled my policy years ago. It was too expensive. I never go to the doctor anyway.”
She cocked her head. “Until now.”
“Right. Until now.” Derek took another sip of water. “Do you know if they recovered my phone from the truck?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Can I borrow your phone?”
Rebecca went back to her chair, opened her purse, and returned with her phone.
“Thanks,” Derek said, taking her phone. “You guys prob’ly have a lot better things to do. I’ll call April to pick me up.”
“You can’t go home yet. Your ankle is broken, and you could have internal injuries.”
“Well, you two should go home. Let me just call April and my mother to let them know where I am.” Derek dialed April’s cell phone number by memory. Straight to voice mail. After the tone, Derek said, “I’ve been in accident. I’m at the hospital. Don’t worry. I’m okay.” He removed the phone from his ear and said to Rebecca, “What hospital is this?”
“Warren Memorial in Front Royal.”
Derek nodded to Rebecca and went back to his message. “I’m at Warre
n Memorial in Front Royal. I might need a ride home at some point. I’m callin’ from Rebecca’s phone, so don’t call this number. Just call the hospital. I love you.” Derek disconnected the call and tapped on the phone, looking for the number to Page General Hospital in Luray, Virginia. He called the main number.
“Page General Hospital. How may I direct your call?” asked the robot receptionist.
“The hospital room for Hannah Reeves.”
“One moment please.” The bot transferred the call.
“This is Nurse Wilkes, Oncology. How may I help you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you. My name’s Derek Reeves. I was supposed to be transferred to my mother’s hospital room. Hannah Reeves.”
The nurse hesitated for a beat. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Reeves. Your mother passed away early this morning. She took a turn for the worse last night. We left you several voice mails.”
Derek’s heart pounded. He felt sick to his stomach. “What happened? She was gettin’ better.”
“Epigenetic treatments have a low success rate for late-stage cancer patients. When they first undergo the treatments, patients often feel an initial burst of good health, but that’s often not sustainable. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“What happens now? Can I come get her?”
“We can’t release the body directly to you. We can release the body to a funeral home, or, in the case of indigent families, the state offers cremation.”
“I don’t know what I can afford. Can I call you back?”
“Of course. We’ll store her body for four days. Please let us know what you plan to do before then. Otherwise, she’ll be scheduled for cremation.”
“I will.” Derek disconnected the call and handed the phone to Rebecca.
Rebecca wiped her eyes with the side of her index finger. Derek’s side of the conversation was enough for her to understand that Hannah had died. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
Derek shook his head, a lump forming in his throat. Tears slipped down his cheeks. Derek grabbed two tissues from the overbed table and wiped his face. He sat upright, grimacing, his battered body barking in pain.
“What are you doing?” Rebecca asked.
“I need to find April. I called her three times last night, and she’s still not returnin’ my messages.”
“Lay back,” Rebecca said, her hand on his chest. “You need to rest.”
Jacob stirred from his slumber. He rubbed his eyes and focused on Rebecca with her hand on Derek. “What’s going on?”
Rebecca removed her hand from Derek and turned to her husband. “Derek needs to find his girlfriend. We can help him with that, can’t we?”
A frown flashed over Jacob’s face for a microsecond. “Whatever we can do to help.”
Rebecca returned her attention to Derek. “We’ll go find her. Now lay back down.”
Derek did as he was told.
“Maybe April left you a message on your phone? Can you call your voice mail?” Rebecca held out her phone.
Derek called his voice mail and listened to the messages from Page General Hospital urging Derek to come see his mother, letting him know that her time was short. He heard a robomessage from SCS Enforcement letting him know that he’d been penalized ten points for reckless driving, and he should consider an autonomous vehicle.
And another from Nationwide Insurance, representing Alexandria BMW, the woman saying that her client would prefer to do this without going to court, but is ready and willing if necessary. Camera evidence is irrefutable. Derek’s at fault. The price for the totaled BMW: 77,800 Fed Coins.
Unfortunately, Derek did not have insurance, as nonautonomous vehicles were very expensive to insure. Human-driven vehicles caused 99 percent of the accidents. With the accident and his mother’s medical bills, Derek knew he’d eventually lose the farm. It was just a matter of time. Derek rubbed his throbbing temples.
“You okay?” Rebecca asked.
Derek nodded and handed the phone back to Rebecca. “Nothin’ from April.”
“What’s her address? We’ll go to her house.”
Jacob stood from his chair and approached the bed.
Derek gave them the name of her apartment building. He couldn’t remember the number. He knew she was on the fourth floor, but he’d only been there twice.
“I have work to do,” Jacob said.
“I can go if you don’t have time.” Derek struggled to sit up again, groaning against the pain.
“You’re in no condition to go anywhere. It’s on our way home anyway,” Rebecca said, scowling at Jacob. She turned back to Derek. “We’ll stop by her place, and I’ll call you here at the hospital.”
Jacob mumbled under his breath, “It’s not on the way.”
“Thank you,” Derek said, his gaze fixed on Rebecca.
“Do you need help with Hannah’s funeral arrangements?”
“No. You’ve done enough.”
“If you need help with the cost—”
“No, … but thank you.”
26
Jacob and No Good Deed
The beige brick building was gothic and castle-like, the corners jutting out and curved, resembling guard towers. Burglar bars hung from the street-level windows, relics of a bygone era of DC crime.
Jacob tugged on the door to the apartment building. “Locked.”
Rebecca looked over the numbered buzzers next to the door. “Eight apartments are on the fourth floor. Should we just ring them all?”
“No. Someone might call the police.”
A teen boy exited the building, oblivious, his hoodie up and earbuds in his ears. Jacob caught the door before it shut and locked again. They entered the building, walking down a narrow hallway, with apartment doors on both sides. The linoleum floors were scuffed by a thousand shoe prints. An elevator and a stairwell were at the end of the hall. They took the elevator to the fourth floor.
“We still don’t know which apartment is hers,” Jacob said.
“I have an idea,” Rebecca replied.
The elevator doors opened to the fourth floor. Rebecca stepped to the nearest apartment and knocked.
“What are doing?” Jacob asked.
“Asking April’s neighbor where she lives.”
The door opened, and an elderly woman appeared. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and looked them over. “What do you want?”
“My name’s Rebecca, and this is my husband, Jacob.”
“So?”
“I’m looking for my friend April. She lives in this apartment building.”
“Nope.” The old woman started to shut her door.
“Wait.” Rebecca put her hand on the door to stop it from closing in their faces.
The old woman opened the door again.
“I probably mixed up the apartment number. I’m such a scatterbrain. I know she’s on this floor. Do you know which apartment is April Murphy’s?”
“Don’t know any April Murphy. What does she look like?”
They’d never met April either, but Rebecca repeated Lindsey’s description. “She’s pretty. Red hair. Looks young. About the same height as me.”
“Two young ladies live at the end of the hall. Last apartment on your right.” The old woman’s tone changed to a whisper. “I think they’re ladies of the night, if you know what I mean.”
Jacob and Rebecca gave each other a look of consternation.
“Thank you,” Rebecca said.
“Uh-huh.” The old woman closed the door.
They walked to the end of the hallway, and Rebecca knocked on the door. A television murmured inside.
A feminine voice spoke through the door. “Who are you?”
“I’m Rebecca. This is my husband, Jacob.” She gestured to Jacob, probably thinking the woman was watching them through the peephole. “I used to be married to April’s boyfriend, Derek. He was in an accident, and April hasn’t been returning his messages. He asked us to stop by and check
on her.”
The door opened, and an early-thirties blonde stood, looking washed out, wearing sweats and no makeup.
Rebecca smiled and held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Rebecca.”
The blonde shook her hand weakly. “Krystal. April’s not here.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Not since last night,” Krystal replied.
“What time?” Rebecca asked.
Krystal shrugged. “Around six.”
“You don’t seem worried. Is it normal for April not to come home?”
Krystal broke eye contact for a moment, then said, “I think she was workin’ late. Sometimes she sleeps on the couch in her office.”
Jacob thought, She’s lying.
“Is it normal for her not to answer her phone?” Rebecca asked.
“I don’t know. Prob’ly. Maybe she’s answerin’ now,” Krystal said.
“I could try her again.” Rebecca grabbed her phone from her purse and tapped the DC number that Derek had called. She disconnected the call. “Straight to voice mail.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Derek was worried, so it must not be like her to not return his phone calls.”
“I wish I could be more helpful.”
“What does she do for a living?” Jacob asked Krystal. He was helping only with the intention of ending the search as quickly as possible so he could go home and take a nap.
“Lindsey said she was a lawyer,” Rebecca said.
Krystal blushed, her skin color acting like a built-in lie detector. “That’s right. She’s a lawyer.”
“What firm?” Jacob asked. “If she’s still at work, maybe we could find her there.”
“I, uh, don’t know where she works.”
Jacob tilted his head. “She never talked about where she works?”
“Maybe she has something in her room that lists her firm?” Rebecca asked.
2050: Psycho Island Page 11