“Joe,” I manage to mutter before everything goes black.
I wake up in the back of a high-end van. It looks like the interior of Air Force One. Leather captain’s chairs, a desk, a sophisticated AV system.
Bell’s special assistant, Joe, sits across from me. Behind him sits another man with a terrifying, blank stare. I instinctively glance at my wrist in a haze of yellow. My watch is gone.
“Sorry for the drama,” Joe says plainly. “Can I offer you anything? Peanuts, pretzels, a beverage?”
“My head hurts,” I reply, realizing I’ve been drugged.
“That’s normal,” he says. He opens a bottle and offers me two red pills. I stare down at them. He spins the bottle around and shows me the label. “Ibuprofen,” he says.
“No thanks.”
Joe shrugs.
I look out the heavily tinted windows as we move from one six-lane highway to another. Lights, buildings, the occasional car or emergency vehicle. The road is open; the sky, cloudless. There is nothing to tell me where we are, where we are going, or what’s going to happen when we get there.
Then I spot it. There on a wall as we fly past, brightly lit under the acidic streetlamps. A massive spray-painted drawing of a wolf, midstride.
I glimpse it like a camera’s open shutter—for an instant. But the image freezes in my mind. My prayer for a sign, answered. That certain spark of something inside me reignited.
Joe’s phone buzzes.
He puts in his earpiece and answers. “Got her. Yes sir.” He clicks off and turns toward me with his J.Crew smile. “We’ll be there soon.”
I look at the door. I squirm in my seat. There is no way out except through.
CHAPTER 17
We arrive at the entrance to a deserted marina. The van stops and Joe leads me out. The air is still. The boats clang eerily against their moorings.
We go through the gate at the top of the dock. Rows of fishing trawlers, sailboats, and skiffs stretch out against the black water. And at the end, one massive yacht floats, lit up and glowing like a box of gold.
We arrive at the ship. Its name, Isis, is written across the stern in beautiful jet black. We climb aboard. I scan the rosewood surfaces polished to a shine. Five levels of crisp white decks are capped by a helipad and its shiny black chopper. A pair of small lifeboats hang over the sides, defying gravity.
I follow Joe into the main cabin. Bell is waiting. On one side of the room hangs a large cage. In it, a collection of striking blue birds flutter and chirp.
He stands up. “Luisa. It is so, so nice to see you again.” He smiles like I just dropped by for Sunday brunch.
Joe takes a seat behind a desk in the corner and begins typing on a laptop.
Bell motions to the cage. “I can see you’re admiring the birds.” I wasn’t. “They are quite interesting. Come, sit down. You must be hungry.” He picks up a large touch-screen device and keys something in. Blue and yellow swirl around me as my heart pumps furiously. I picture my feet digging into sand. “A snack is on its way. Now, come. Sit.” He beckons to the couch.
“No thanks,” I say. A sudden vibration leaves me unsteady. It’s the engine kicking on. The boat is pulling away from the dock. I bolt for the door. Bell watches me calmly as I try the knob. It’s locked.
“Lu, may I call you Lu?” Bell asks. I turn back toward him. “Lu. You act like you’re in danger. We’re just going for a little spin.”
A second door opens and a butler comes in pushing a cart laden with food.
We pick up speed and the birds dance around their cage. They want to get out too.
“They’re lovely to look at, aren’t they?” Bell gazes at them with pride. “Western Jays. They are one of a small handful of animals, aside from humans, of course, that display visible signs of grief. They actually hold what seem like funerals when another bird dies. They stop eating for days. So emotional. I keep them as a reminder of what an un-evolved species looks like, of what humanity would succumb to without my work.”
“I guess it’s easier to have your enemies caged,” I snap. “But if death isn’t worth mourning, then how can life be so precious that you’re doing all of this to make people live forever? You’re too rich to be doing it for money.”
He grins. “Have something to eat,” he says. I don’t move. He shrugs and grabs a gleaming green apple from the cart. He takes a bite. “Life is precious because of its potential. You study physics. You know the value of latent energy. But when potential is constrained, it is worth nothing.” The boat rocks as we pick up speed. I grab the edge of a chair. “When people’s lives exist in a finite plane, their potential is deadened, innovation stagnates, progress and radical evolution grind to a halt. ‘He had so much promise,’ they say when someone dies. ‘There was so much more she planned to do.’ What if ‘he’ fulfilled that promise? What if ‘she’ got to see those plans through?”
I dig my nails into the chair.
“You agree with that, don’t you?” Bell says.
I do actually.
“But what about the potential and promise of all the people killed by ARNS?” I demand.
“There is not a single significant leap humanity has taken that didn’t bring with it loss of life on a mass scale. From the fall of the Roman Empire to the industrial revolution, the civil rights movement—this is no different. Our species is ready to leap into a phase of unprecedented expansiveness, of freedom to reach the full extent of our capability.”
“And for all you know you just killed the next Einstein.”
He smiles. “Unlikely. Look, freedom comes from the removal of absolutes. I’m a problem solver. I’m going to free the world from the greatest, most absolute problem of them all, from the only true fear that exists.”
“By preying on it,” I interrupt. I glance at Joe who’s nearly invisible behind his laptop. “You’re just amplifying a fear in order to assuage it. There’s nothing noble in that.”
“No?” he looks at me. I can almost see the gears turn behind his crystalline eyes. His voice turns gentle. “How’s your father doing?”
I inhale slowly. Colors again. The smell of roses. My feet in the sand. “He died earlier today,” I tell him evenly.
“Oh, Lu. I’m so sorry. It’s horrible when children are left to make sense of life without their parents. I know what that’s like. Wouldn’t you like to take that pain away? Or, better, wouldn’t you prefer that you had never felt it in the first place?”
I would, but I say nothing.
“We’ll put that aside for now,” he says. “I’d like you to watch the screen.” My gaze follows his to a large television on the wall. He motions to Joe and the screen comes to life with LightYears’s feed.
“What the fuck?” I mumble. “You hacked me?”
Over 900,000 people’s feelings have been captured so far. The tag cloud swells with words. Cure still dominates. Love still holds as Pervasive Sentiment. Then, from the corner of my eye I see Bell nod at Joe. With one keystroke, the number of comments freezes. A long minute passes without any change.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Why has it stopped?”
“Just watch,” Bell says.
The number begins to drop rapidly. Words in the cloud disappear.
“What the fuck?” I exclaim. The analysis is vanishing before my eyes. “You’re scrubbing it?”
They’ve erased the video from the Internet, along with all traces of the response to it. A small wave of hope that had the power to carry the world to salvation has been swallowed into nothing. I sit down without meaning to. A hiss blocks out the sound of the engine. I struggle to breathe.
I press my feet into the floor, imagine the sand. I look out at the dark ocean spreading beyond the window. The sky above it is just beginning to brighten with the dawn.
Choose the light, I think.
The hiss fades, replaced by the birds chirping.
“Freedom does come from the removal of absolutes,” I say after a long pau
se. “But death isn’t an absolute, neither is pain. You can’t see that because you’re too afraid. People who are afraid or hurting only see one answer to a question. They only want one thing: relief. That’s what you’re offering, but it’s small. It’s limited. It’s the same song on an endless loop or a 2D rendering.”
I’m standing up again.
“Your power relies on the weakness of others. That’s not real power. Real power comes from being vulnerable, from feeling. If you can’t feel, you might as well be dead.”
Bell looks at me with a mix of horror and awe.
“You can make my video disappear. You can become president and live forever. You can even kill me. But you will never be free and neither will anyone who follows your path.”
“Kill you?” He laughs. “You disappoint me, Luisa.”
I stare at him. “You disappoint me too.”
“I thought we were going to do great things together.” His words spark blue.
“Why?” I ask.
“Why?”
“Yeah. Why did you think that? Why did you choose me?”
“I told you, I’m not going to—”
“I know. You’re not going to validate my existence. I know. That’s not why I’m asking. I’m asking because it doesn’t make sense. You didn’t even like LightYears. So why would you choose me and send me those poems and lead me right into the center of what you’re doing? I don’t get it.”
I catch him glance down at my knee. It’s so quick I almost miss it. But I don’t.
“You have no idea,” he says quietly, “what you’re capable of.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. I notice the engine has stopped. I look out the window. We are anchored at least a mile offshore. More light bleeding up from the horizon.
“I’m powerful,” he continues, “because I know how to exert power in the right place at the right time. I always find a way to get what I want.”
He stares through me. Another flash of blue.
Then he drops his apple core onto the cart and stands up. “You must be tired,” he mumbles. Without another word, he walks out.
“Let’s go,” Joe says, rising to stand.
“Go where?” I ask nervously. Moments later we’re walking down the boat’s narrow corridor. We arrive at the door to a bedroom and he leads me inside.
“Breakfast is served at eight. I’ll be back to get you,” he says.
“And then?” I ask.
He pulls the door closed and locks it from the outside.
I sit on the bed and gaze out the window. He always gets what he wants. But what does he want from me?
My hands move to my bare legs, my knees. My finger absentmindedly traces my scar. One thing is clear: I have to get off this boat.
I leap to my feet. I open the closet, the drawers, not even sure what I’m looking for. Extra blankets and pillows, an ironing board, an old toothbrush.
I go back to the window. I press down on the handle. Locked.
I look closer at the casing. The glass is held in place by six wide-faced screws. I dig the edge of my fingernail into the groove of one. I try to twist it. Not happening.
I sit back on the bed. I catch my reflection in a mirror on the opposite wall. The edge of the chain around my neck shining silver against my skin: My necklace, the smooth flattened coin I made with my dad on the train tracks as a kid. I pull it off and go to work on the screws. One by one, they come tumbling out of the frame. I heave the heavy sheet of glass aside and climb out.
The sun is visible now, but still low. I brace against the morning chill and tiptoe along the deck. I duck past a couple of darkened windows, then stop. Footsteps on the walkway above. They recede and leave behind the sound of the sea sloshing against the boat’s belly. A gust of cold wind. Pink and yellow flash before my eyes.
I reach the stern deck. The current is calm, the air still. I stretch my arms overhead. I think back to that first day in the car as the four of us left the city. I remember how my eyes found Kamal’s in the mirror, how I silently asked him to hold me and keep me safe. I glance down at the waves. I ask the same thing of them now.
I take in a massive breath and I step off the edge. My body arcs through the air—a momentary challenge to gravity before it breaks the surface of the sea.
The freezing-cold water sucks all the oxygen from my lungs. I come up gasping and let myself bob with the chop.
And then I start to swim. I pull and breathe, kick and glide across the waves in a perfect rhythm. My arms and legs work to propel me. The natural power of the ocean helps me float. The sunlight beams across the water, warming my face with every turn of my head toward the sky. The glorious morning air fills each cell and atom of my body, guiding me forward. I am alive.
I picture Janine diving into the darkened pool at night, how our weightless moments underwater made all our cares fade away. I see my father standing on the edge of the pool, drilling me on my strokes.
There is no separation between me, the water, the air, the sky, the sun, the mountains, the dead, the living. No separation between pain and the beauty pain illuminates.
I swim forward, stroke after stroke. I can see the shore getting closer, but the current is suddenly stronger. The swell is picking up. Soon the land disappears, then reappears with the rise and fall of bigger and bigger waves. Hold me. Keep me safe.
My legs start to feel heavy. Yellow bursts pop across my view as I wonder, Can I make it? The rest of ever. Kamal. Is he still lying there on that couch? I swim a little harder. The ocean pushes back a little more.
I’m close now. The waves are starting to break. They’re easily eight feet high, maybe higher. My chest burns with the effort of just keeping my head above the surface.
I scan the empty beach. There’s no one. I paddle into a cresting wave and let it carry me toward the shore. If I time it right, I can get in without getting crushed.
But I don’t. I ease back when I should go for it and I am pummeled. I tumble like a rag doll in the dryer, losing all sense of up. I need air and there is none. There’s only water, holding me down.
Finally, the wave releases its grip and I manage to surface and inhale half a breath. My heart is pounding to the rhythm of yellow flashing light. I look up. Another wall of water bearing down. I shut my eyes as it crashes and slams me to the ocean floor.
Total darkness.
CHAPTER 18
I wake up in my own bed in Brooklyn. There’s a foot of snow on the ground and more falling. I sit up, confused. How did I get here? How is it winter?
I throw on black sweatpants and a Harvard sweatshirt. It smells like Kamal.
I move toward the door and realize: I’m woozy. My head is aching. I stumble to the bathroom for some water. Better.
I come back to my room. There’s something strange about it. It’s familiar, but not quite the same. Was that puffy chair always there? I don’t remember that purple candle on my desk.
I pause to look at the wall of photos. Dozens from before I dyed my hair. Only one after, from the morning I left—two hemispheres of time. I barely recognize that old version of myself.
The wind rattles against the windows, shaking me with it. I go downstairs. A Christmas tree stands in the living room, presents arranged underneath. My mom is reading on the couch. It surprises me to see her there.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” she says warmly.
I go into the kitchen.
Ben is making Dad’s banana bread. “ ’Sup, dude?”
“Hey,” I say. “What day is it?”
“Uh?” He pours me a cup of coffee. “It’s Christmas Eve?”
I grab the coffee and sit down. “I must’ve been dreaming something,” I say. I go back into the living room. “I’m going to the pool,” I tell my mom.
She looks up. “Cariño, the snow. The storm is getting worse.”
“It’s just snow, Mom.” She goes to the window and looks out at the yard. Loose flakes gust from the trees’
heavy branches. “I’ll be careful,” I assure her.
She smiles. “I know you will.” She comes over and gives me a hug. I let her hold me. I don’t want to let go.
She pulls back and looks at my face. “Have a good swim. And don’t be gone too long,” she says.
I walk past my father’s music room, then turn and go back. All the sheet music has been put away. The piano lid is closed.
I go upstairs and get my swim gear. I pause on the landing and go up to my dad’s room. I open the closet. My mother’s clothes fill it. Nothing of my father’s remains.
I tumble down the stairs and head for the door. The photo of the four of us from Ben’s graduation hangs framed in the hall. I stop and look at my dad’s smile, my own.
I miss him, like a thud behind my ribs.
I walk to the subway under a darkening sky, snow steadily falling. I descend the stairs. The roar of a train pulling away fades into the distance. I stand and wait on the empty platform, staring out into the tunnel’s blackness.
A rush of warm air blows toward me like the bellow of an angry beast. I step back, frightened.
A moment later, I hear a voice. That same voice that told me to go to California, so quiet it’s barely there: “The time is now.”
What?
Another blast of warm air and another train comes swiftly into the station. The doors open right where I stand. I get on, sit down, and ride alone in the car seven stops.
I come up from belowground and walk the eight long blocks to St. Francis College, where my father always took us to swim in winter. The snow is coming down in thick sheets. The grinding rumble of a passing plow is the only sound.
I change into my suit and step under the shower on the deck. My body is so cold, the icy water feels warm.
I have the pool to myself and I take my first lap slowly. My limbs are stiff, but I find my rhythm like always.
My breath fills the space where my father’s instruction would’ve been. The shadow underneath me is like the ghostly imprint of Janine’s body swimming alongside mine.
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