“I couldn’t let you in her room. That wouldn’t be right,” Krystal replied.
“But maybe you could go in and look. It really is important. Derek’s been badly injured, and he’s really worried about her.”
Krystal sighed. “I guess I could do that.”
A large man with sleeve tattoos walked in their direction carrying a grocery bag. Despite the lack of crime in DC, Rebecca clutched her purse. “Could we wait inside?”
Krystal frowned. “I guess so.” She moved aside.
They stepped inside, Jacob shutting the door behind them.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” Krystal said.
Jacob surveyed the cramped apartment. They stood by the door, the living room and the open plan kitchen in front of them. Krystal padded past the kitchen and down a short hallway, presumably to April’s bedroom. Rebecca walked into the living room, snooping. Jacob followed out of morbid curiosity.
Despite the cramped space, the apartment was tastefully furnished. Jacob recognized the elegant furniture. A top-of-the-line OLED television was nearly invisible against an original impressionist painting. Rebecca picked up a framed photo from the end table.
“Is that her?” Jacob asked.
Rebecca nodded. “I rarely see framed photos anymore. It’s nice.” She handed the frame to Jacob.
He looked at the image of Derek and April smiling, their arms around each other. They stood in Derek’s orchard, blossoms in the background as far as the eye could see. Jacob’s stomach clenched, and his heart leaped from his chest. He recognized April. She was the same redhead he’d met the night before.
Krystal appeared from the back bedrooms. “What are you doin’?”
Jacob set the picture back on the end table, his heart pounding like a drum. “Sorry. We were just looking at this picture of April and Derek.”
Krystal narrowed her eyes at Jacob and Rebecca. “Well, I couldn’t find nothin’. But I’ll have April call Derek as soon as she gets home.”
“Derek’s phone got lost or broken in the accident,” Rebecca said. “Tell April to call Warren Memorial Hospital in Front Royal. They’ll transfer her to Derek’s room.”
Krystal walked them out, shutting and latching the dead bolt behind them.
As they walked back to the elevator, Rebecca said, “I don’t think she’s a lawyer.”
“That’s none of our business,” Jacob replied, not making eye contact.
27
Summer and Two Heartbeats
Summer wondered why they called it morning sickness. She felt nauseous all day long. She rinsed her mouth out in the sink and popped a handful of mints for the second time that day. It had been nearly three weeks since the pregnancy test, but she still hadn’t mustered the courage to tell Connor. How could she? He was dead set against a natural baby.
She feared he might suggest an abortion. Then what? How could she raise a child with the man who wanted to kill it? Summer estimated that she was only seven weeks pregnant, so she still had time to break the news to Connor before she started to show.
Summer went back to the nurses’ station. Two of her coworkers were laughing at the computer screen.
“What’s so funny?” Summer asked.
The older nurse pointed to the screen. “The guy with the tumor has an SCS of eighteen.”
The younger nurse said, “I’ve never seen anyone that low. I don’t know how he’s not in prison.”
“With a score under twenty, you lose all benefits. No UBI or Social Security or Medicare. I’m not sure he can even stay here.”
“They wouldn’t check him in if he couldn’t be here,” Summer said.
“That’s what we’re laughing at. He had a twenty-one when he came in here, so he still had access to Medicare. I assigned a bot to take care of him, and it reported him for abusive behavior.”
“What did he do?”
“He spat in the bot’s face and called it an f-ing N-word.”
“They just updated his SCS to eighteen because of the complaint,” the younger nurse said.
28
Naomi’s Secret Weapon
“I told you my guy was the best,” Vernon said, beaming.
“Is it authentic?” Naomi asked, a twinkle in her dark eyes.
“Oh, it’s authentic.”
Naomi sat in the sitting area of her congressional office with her chief of staff, Vernon Hayes and her campaign manager, Katherine Lively.
“This could ruin her,” Naomi said.
“It depends,” Vernon replied. “It’s all about timing and framing. We have to figure out a way to make Corrinne overconfident, maybe even to shame you for something comparatively insignificant, then, when we need a critical push, we release the video.”
“I agree,” Katherine said.
“How old is the video?” Naomi asked.
“I think it’s about twenty-seven years old,” Vernon said. “Corrinne was twenty-eight when it happened.”
“Definitely old enough to know better. What does the nanny want in return?”
“150,000 Fed Coins.”
Naomi winced. “Can we afford that?”
“It’s over half of our marketing budget, but I expect more campaign donations after we announce,” Katherine said.
“Still worth every Fed Coin,” Vernon said, leaning back on the couch.
“I agree.”
“Then do it,” Naomi said. “You’ll have to work with Diane to revamp the marketing budget.”
“I don’t think we should tell anyone else about this, including Diane,” Vernon said. “Corrinne has this town wired. If it gets leaked to Corrinne that we have this video, she’ll find a way to diminish its effect and to paint us as mudslingers in the process.”
“Absolutely,” Katherine agreed.
“And we’re still a go for my announcement next week?” Naomi asked.
“Yes, we’re set for the Monday after Thanksgiving,” Vernon said. “Just as we planned.”
Naomi raised her eyebrows at Vernon. “Are you aware that I haven’t seen a finished draft for my speech yet? I’d like some time to prepare.”
“I’ll make sure the speech writers finish it today,” Katherine said.
29
Derek and the Oldest Profession
On Sunday, Rebecca had called Derek’s hospital room to say that April wasn’t at home, and her roommate hadn’t seen her since early Saturday night. The roommate had also said that she thought April was at work but didn’t know where she worked. Derek didn’t know where she worked either, only that it was a small downtown law firm that specialized in environmental law. Derek had searched the internet, trying to find April’s law firm. He had found many April Murphys, but not one that was a DC lawyer. April wasn’t on any social platforms either. They’d met the old-fashioned way, in person, at the farmers’ market. She was always vague about her work, much preferring to talk about literally anything else. That fact now felt suspicious.
The pain meds and his lack of sleep had eventually overcome his worry. After a fitful night’s sleep, Derek had wanted to check out of the hospital to find April. The nurse and the doctor had tried to talk him out of his early checkout, but they couldn’t hold him against his will. He had signed some documents absolving the hospital of liability, then ordered a car service over the hospital room phone.
The car service had been pricey, so he’d had the driver drop him off at the nearest Verizon Wireless store. He’d replaced his missing phone, his contacts intact, given that his old phone was backed up to the cloud. Thankfully, he hadn’t lost his wallet or the all-encompassing chip card.
With a new phone, he’d ordered a much cheaper ride with AutoLyft, the autonomous car ride service. Now he sat on a bench outside the Verizon store, his toes a little cold where they protruded from his ankle cast, and his crutches resting next to him.
Someone had spray-painted a message on the concrete sidewalk in front of him. It read Where’s Roger?
His phon
e buzzed with a text. Derek grabbed his phone from his pocket and checked the message.
SCS Enforcement: In accordance with SCS Code 11345-98 you have been penalized 2 points for disobeying the advice of medical professionals.
Your current SCS is 78.
If you believe this penalty to be in error, you may file an appeal at https://www.SCS.gov/appeal/
SCS penalty got you down? Find out how you can boost your SCS at https://www.SCS.gov/boostyourSCS/
His phone chimed. It was from SCS Enforcement, no doubt the robocall that accompanied penalties and contained the same information as the text. Derek dismissed the call.
A driverless Honda sedan parked at the curb. Derek stood on one leg, grabbed his crutches, and made his way to the vehicle. He waved his chip card over the sensor on the passenger door, and it opened. Derek sat one-legged and pulled himself inside, his crutches clanging against the car. He tried to relax, but his body was still in pain, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible had happened to April.
* * *
Derek couldn’t remember April’s apartment number, but, once he’d put his crutches on the fourth floor, he’d remembered which one it was. After four bursts of knocks, the roommate, Krystal, finally answered, bleary-eyed, her blond hair disheveled. She looked young and small without makeup and heels.
“Derek,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“Where’s April?” Derek asked.
“You still haven’t heard from her?”
“No. May I come in?”
She nodded and stepped aside.
Derek followed Krystal inside. “We need to talk.”
They sat at opposite ends of the couch.
“I know you know somethin’,” Derek said.
Krystal showed her palms. “I don’t. Honest.”
“I know she’s not a lawyer. I’m not mad, but I need to know the truth.” Derek didn’t know this for certain, but he thought certainty on his part would be more likely to elicit the truth.
Krystal looked down at her tiny hands. Her fingernails were bitten to the quick. “She is a lawyer. She passed the bar and everything. That’s true.”
“But?”
“She couldn’t find work. You know what it’s like. Robots keep doin’ more and more, and nobody ever retires.”
Derek stared at Krystal, searching for the truth in her facial expressions. “What does she do?”
“She goes out on dates.”
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Like an escort?”
“But she doesn’t sleep with anyone. Honest. She literally just escorts them.”
“Who? Who does she escort?”
“Mostly rich guys. Politicians and bankers.” Krystal put her index finger to her mouth, chewing on what was left of her fingernail.
“Was she escortin’ someone on Saturday?”
“I think so.”
Derek clenched his jaw. “You think so?”
She dropped her hand from her mouth. “She was supposed to go to some party. She was just supposed to flirt and entertain the men at the bar.”
“Where was the party?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think!”
Krystal started to cry. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
“Do you know who hired her?”
Krystal shook her hanging head. She wiped her eyes and looked at Derek. “Do you think somethin’ happened to her?”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“It wasn’t abnormal for her to sleep somewhere else.”
Derek winced at that comment.
“Sorry.”
“Is there any way to find out who hired her? Does April book her own jobs or does she have a …”
“She books her own jobs.”
“Okay. Where does she do that? On her phone? Her tablet? What?”
“I think her phone, but it’s gone. So is her tablet.”
Derek removed his phone from his pocket.
“What are you doin’?”
“Callin’ the police.”
* * *
The DC Metropolitan Police wouldn’t take a missing person’s report online and wouldn’t send a detective to Krystal’s apartment, so Derek took another AutoLyft to the nearest police station. Inside, he scanned his chip card, told the desk officer why he was here, and waited in the lobby. He’d wanted Krystal to accompany him, but she was afraid she might be arrested for solicitation.
A moderately tall man in a dark suit approached from the elevator. Derek struggled to his feet, grabbing his crutches from the seat next to him.
“Mr. Reeves?” the suit asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Barrett.” They shook hands.
Barrett was probably in his fifties with gray hair, feathered and parted down the middle, the shape resembling a butt. He had deep crow’s feet, a large nose, and a first-world gut.
The detective led Derek upstairs via the elevator and into his cramped office. Derek sat across from Barrett at his desk.
Barrett tapped on his laptop screen. “You wanted to file a missing person’s report?”
“Yes. My girlfriend, April Murphy’s, missin’.”
“Do you have her address or phone number?”
Derek provided both.
“Okay, I got her.” Detective Barrett turned his screen to Derek. “Is this her?”
Derek examined the mugshot. “That’s her. Was she arrested?”
“Once. For solicitation. Although the charges were dropped.”
“She’s not a prostitute.”
Barrett raised his eyebrows. “What does she do then?”
Derek swallowed. “She’s an escort, but it’s not sexual. She’s just a date for politicians and businessmen.”
Barrett nodded his head slowly. “You might be right, Mr. Reeves, but escorts in DC are typically high-end pros. It is possible that we busted a party, and she was at the wrong place at the wrong time, but it’s also possible that she’s a pro. When was the last time you or anyone heard from her?”
“As far as I know, the last person to talk to her was Krystal, her roommate. Sorry, I don’t know her last name. Krystal said she talked to April before she went out on Saturday around six.”
“Did she know where April went?”
“Only that she was workin’ a party, but she didn’t know where.”
“When was the last time you saw April?”
“Friday mornin’. She stayed at my house Thursday. My family has an orchard in Luray. She came to help me with the harvest.”
“Did you talk to her or text with her after that?”
“I spoke with her Friday afternoon, and we texted Saturday around lunchtime, but that was it. I have the texts on my phone if you want ’em.”
“I’ll take a look.”
Derek removed his phone from his pocket, tapped to the text string in question, and handed it to the detective. Barrett scrolled with his thumb, reading the texts. He returned Derek’s phone.
“What happens next?” Derek asked.
“It isn’t illegal for an adult to go missing. Without any signs of foul play, I have to wait forty-eight hours before filing this report. If I presume she went missing at 6:01 p.m., immediately after she was seen by the roommate, that would mean that I can file this at six this evening.”
“What happens after you file the report?”
“I’ll add her face to the facial recognition database, and we’ll start looking for her.”
“By we, you mean the cameras, right?”
Detective Barrett nodded. “If she’s out there, the cameras will find her.”
30
Jacob and Thankful
Smells of the baking turkey with rosemary seasoning emanated from the kitchen. Jacob left his home office for the succulent smell. Rebecca and Lindsey sat at the kitchen island, sipping tea, overlooking the living room from the open kitchen. Jeeves prepared Thanksgiving dinner behind them. Spike the dog
lay in the living room, in energy-conservation mode.
As Jacob approached them, Lindsey pointed at her stepfather, smiled, and said, “Spike, attack.”
Their little robotic dog stood on all fours and raced toward Jacob, who froze like a deer in headlights. The aluminum and titanium dog stood on its hind legs, hugged Jacob’s thigh, and mimicked sex. Rebecca had her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. Lindsey nearly fell from her chair cackling. Jacob shook his head, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“All right. That’s enough. Get him off me,” Jacob said.
“Spike, heel,” Lindsey said.
The dog released its hold on Jacob and returned to its spot in the living room.
Jacob play-frowned at Rebecca and Lindsey. “Both of you are immature.” He then addressed Lindsey. “Is this what you’re learning in robotics?”
“No, but if you can program a robodog to hump a leg, you can program anything.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Jacob walked around the bar, put his hand on Rebecca’s shoulder, and kissed her on the cheek. “When’s dinner?”
“At two,” Rebecca replied.
“Smells great.” Jacob checked the time on the stove. It was almost two. “Where are the boys?”
“Where do you think?” Lindsey asked, as if it were obvious.
“I’ll go get them,” Rebecca said, sliding off her barstool.
“I’ll go,” Jacob said. “Enjoy your tea.”
Rebecca kissed him on the lips and said, “Thank you, honey.”
“Get a room,” Lindsey said with a smirk.
Jacob took the stairs to the walkout basement. The finished basement was nearly three thousand square feet and housed an extra bedroom, kitchen, living room, workout room, theater, and two VR rooms. Jacob opened a VR room. The boys were in the padded room, headsets over their eyes. Ethan lay on the rubber sensory floor, his hands held out in front of him, as if blocking an attack. David stood over his little brother, making a chopping motion with his hand, and yelling, “Die. Die. Die, stupid fucker!”
2050: Psycho Island Page 12