Convergence Point

by Liana Brooks

“What do you think is going to happen if we erase tragedy from life?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll create Utopia. Maybe it’ll just lower the number ­people using antidepressants. It’s a sea star thing; you can’t save them all maybe, but you can save the one you throw back in the water. You know?”

  “Do you think everyone is going to have a fabulous life because you stop every death, every car accident, every suicide? Are you going to stop death? We can’t even keep ­people from being unemployed when the world population is so low that no single country could scrape together a halfway-­decent army, and you think you can create Utopia by stopping car accidents? Life without tragedy isn’t life, Petrilli. If we didn’t ever experience a loss, we’d never understand how good it feels to have someone survive. You can’t appreciate sunshine if you’ve never seen night.”

  “That is a very pessimistic view, Rose. If ­people need tragedy in life, they can read Shakespeare. Pull out some old Russian literature, maybe. No one needs real heartbreak in their life.”

  “Who would we be without tragedy? I wouldn’t be me. Are you going to erase all the moments that defined my life?”

  “Maybe this will mean your life won’t need to be defined by horrible things!” Petrilli threw his arms up in exasperation. “You know? How much happier would you be if your life was influenced by a series of happy memories instead of whatever trauma you’re hauling around. Drop your baggage, Rose.”

  She lifted her chin. “There is no such thing as a perfect life. Even if to everyone else your life was flawless, you would hate the days that weren’t euphorically beautiful. You’d be an addict always looking for the next bit of happiness. You’d destroy yourself in a quest for something that doesn’t exist.”

  “I give up,” Petrilli said. He turned away, then turned back, ready to jump into the fray once more. “We saved a baby.” Petrilli raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you think that means something? Can’t you see the value of a single life?”

  “I can. I’m glad the baby is alive, but I want to make sure the baby grows up in a world where its choices determine its future. No one sitting in a lab with a tinkertoy time machine has the right to decide how history is shaped. That’s not our job. We aren’t God.”

  “I was always taught God helps those who help themselves. We were given a wonderful new way to help ­people. I think God would want us to use it.”

  “That’s probably what ­people said about the atom bomb.”

  “And the bomb brought an end to the world wars. It isn’t a black-­and-­white thing.”

  “Exactly! Don’t you see: You can’t just decide this machine will only do good because you want it to. There are ­people who will use it for their own ends. Nothing ever exists in a vacuum. And maybe it won’t be immediate, but given enough time—­and we are talking about a time machine here—­someone is going to turn that machine on and hurt others.” Sam pushed past him and walked furiously down the hall.

  “Where are you going, Rose?” Petrilli asked as he chased after her.

  “Home.” No. There wasn’t an apartment left to go home to. “Never mind, I’m going to the office.”

  “Are you upset with me?” He honestly sounded wounded.

  Sam came to a screeching halt in the hospital hallway. “Petrilli, I know this might be hard for you to wrap your mind around, but my life doesn’t actually revolve around you. In the past seventy-­two hours, I’ve lost my residence, my dog, and my best friend has been hospitalized. I have paperwork piling up in my office and a junior agent who needs to be debriefed and given some leave time before he breaks from the stress.”

  “I’m just checking. You’re were a hot second away from trashing your career this morning, arguing with Loren. I don’t want our friendship caught in the cross fire.”

  “We’re fine,” she lied.

  “Good.” He fell into step with her. “Wanna do lunch next week? I found this awesome Mexican grill near the border of our districts. Hole-­in-­the-­wall, but the queso deserves a letter of commendation.”

  Sam glanced sideways at him. “Really?” He couldn’t be serious.

  “Oh, yeah. If you like spicy food, you will love this place!”

  He was incredible. Nothing bruised Feo Petrilli’s ego. Something would have to get through to his little pin-­sized brain for that to happen.

  “You game?”

  “Sure. Let me check my calendar, and I’ll let you know when I’m free.” She’d probably be free second Thursday after never, but she’d say just about anything to get him to shut up at this point.

  “It’s a date then.” If he’d had a hat on, he would have tipped it. She almost laughed at the image.

  Almost.

  Sam stabbed the elevator CALL button and realized that was a tactical error. Being trapped with Petrilli even a minute more might result in a homicide, and she didn’t want more paperwork. The elevator dinged as the doors opened. She waited for Petrilli to step in, and said, “You know what, I think I’ll take the stairs.” She waved good-­bye, then leaned back, looking up at the ceiling, trying to picture heaven beyond the faded white tiles dimpled with black paint.

  Director Loren wasn’t going to listen to her. Petrilli had already dismissed every warning. The chances for divine intervention were low . . . Maybe this was what Julius Cesar had felt like before he crossed the Rubicon, like he was the only one in the world who could do things right.

  Noah before the flood might have been a better analogy, she admitted as she walked back to Mac’s room. She hesitated in the doorway, watching him sleep for a moment. He hadn’t looked this peaceful since after he’d rescued her from Marrins and Emir the previous summer, and even then, things hadn’t been good.

  Mac would never admit it, but being with her would kill him. She closed the distance between them and pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead, leaving a faint trace of her lipstick. “Good-­bye.”

  “Do you want a drink of water?” Agent Edwin asked. He was sitting at his desk, fiddling nervously with a pen.

  Ivy looked at him. “Hmm?”

  “Water, there’s, um, a watercooler in the county records office downstairs. I can got get you a drink if you want.”

  “Sure.” She smiled and tried to not fidget. Agent Rose hadn’t given her any clue as to why she wanted to meet. All the paperwork had been turned in. Senior Agent Petrilli had met with her last night, debriefed her, and sworn her to secrecy. The department had given her the third degree this morning, then—­after a phone call the chief wouldn’t talk about—­she’d been told to take the rest of the day off. She’d been on her way to home—­and her bed—­when Agent Rose called.

  The door opened, and Ivy jumped to her feet.

  Agent Rose walked in, looking thinner and harder than Ivy could have ever imagined. She’d heard of women described as whiplike and always imagined them as leanly muscled ­people with sharp tongues and killer looks. Now she knew that whiplike meant ready to crack. “Good afternoon, Agent Rose. I was surprised you called.”

  “Thank you for coming. I’m glad you were able to come here today.” There was no emotion on Rose’s face or in her voice.

  “Busy schedule?” Ivy asked, trying to hide her worry.

  “Something like that.”

  “I hear Boca’s great this time of year. You could make a weekend of it. Catch up on your sleep.” She smiled nervously.

  Agent Rose’s answering smile was brittle. “I’ll take that under advisement for a later date. My weekend is already booked.”

  “Right. I bet you and Agent MacKenzie have things to do.” Probably naked things. If she had a man like MacKenzie looking at her the way Agent MacKenzie looked at Rose, she’d be spending her weekends indulging every erotic fantasy she’d ever had.

  Rose’s face was statuesque in its emptiness. “Yes, but not together. He’s
headed home to Chicago tomorrow.”

  Ivy looked at the floor and wondered if it could swallow her whole. “Oh.” What a waste of a weekend.

  “Let me grab something,” Agent Rose said. She unlocked her office, cautiously opened the door, then stepped in, returning a moment later with a small folder of dead-­wood papers. “This is for you, Officer Clemens, with the thanks and gratitude of a grateful nation.”

  Ivy took the proffered paper and read it. “A commendation?”

  “For exemplary ser­vice and quick thinking under pressure.” Agent Rose held out the rest of the folder. “This is a recommendation to the bureau training program with testimonies from myself, Agent Edwin, Agent MacKenzie, and District Supervisor Loren. We all feel your ser­vice went above and beyond the call of duty and that your talent is being wasted in the police department here. It’s your choice, of course, but I think you’d be an amazing bureau agent.”

  Ivy’s vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. “Agent Rose, I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say! You think I could be like you? I’m not . . . I’m nothing as good as you.”

  “You said you admired me for being the only clone in the bureau? But then you learned I wasn’t. I was a fraud. The clone movement wanted to make me a figurehead because they needed a champion. But I’m not and never could be. You, though—­you could be that champion. Should be that champion. A clone police officer graduating from the academy? You’d be everything you wanted me to be. I don’t want to pressure you, or tell you that ­people need you to do this, but they need someone. They need a hero.”

  Ivy wiped the tears away with the cuff of her uniform. “Agent Rose, you have no idea what this means to me.”

  “I have an idea.” She opened her arms. “Are you a hugger?”

  Rose had just spoken of heroes, and Ivy wrapped her arms around hers. “Thank you!” She squeezed Agent Rose tight. “Oh, gosh, I will not let you down. You’ll see. I’m going to make you proud. You won’t regret this. I promise.”

  “I know I won’t.” Rose squeezed her back and let go. “There’s one more thing.” She reached up and unclasped a chain from around her neck. “This is my Saint Samantha medallion, my namesake and the patron saint of spirituality. You may never need a god in your life, but you’ll need faith. The days ahead are going to be dark. Everything you do will be scrutinized. Everything you say will be questioned. On the days you can’t believe in yourself, know that I believe in you. No matter what happens. No matter what the future holds, I believe in you.”

  There was a rush of air from the hall as Agent Edwin came back in. “Oh! Did you tell her, ma’am?”

  Agent Rose smiled, and this time she looked less defeated. “I did. Officer Clemens hasn’t made a decision yet, but I did present her with her award and the letters of recommendation.”

  Edwin held out a cup of water to her. “I wrote one, too. Said I’d be honored to have you in my district if I was ever a senior agent.”

  “By the time she graduates the academy, you will be a senior agent,” Rose said. “You could request her for your district. That is if you’re going, Officer Clemens.”

  Ivy took the water and lifted it in a toast as she beamed with joy. “To the academy!”

  Mac shook his arm, trying to regain some feeling now that the IV needle was gone. The phone rang and went to voice mail. He dialed again.

  “This is Agent Rose.”

  “Sam! It’s me,” he said as if she didn’t make a habit of checking her caller ID when the phone rang. Or that she wouldn’t guess that from his voice. “The nurse said you came to see me but left with some man.”

  “Agent Petrilli hunted me down.” There was a small sneer to her tone that suggested she hadn’t welcomed the other agent’s intrusion.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was distant, closed off. “How are you doing?”

  “I have a clean bill of health, and I’m starving. Want to meet somewhere for dinner?”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry. The paperwork is Sisyphean.” The words were all in the right order, but the tone was wrong. Dismissive. Cold. Distant.

  He was losing her again. “Sam?” He tried to stay calm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” There was a moment of silence and a little defeated sigh. “It’s not you. I’m tired. I have bureau paperwork and stuff for the apartment complex, and I’m so tired.”

  He relaxed a little. “Why not go find a hotel for the night and tackle it in the morning. It’s already past six.”

  “I just want to get it out of the way. Get it done and cut my losses, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know, I just want to make sure you’ll take care of yourself.”

  “I’ll be fine. Agent Edwin has manfully volunteered to stay here and fill out everything he knows the details for. We’ll be done in an hour or two.”

  He thought he heard a smile in there. “Okay, well, maybe we could get together tomorrow?”

  “You aren’t at the hotel yet?” Sam asked.

  He hadn’t left the hospital yet. Checking on Sam had seemed more important. “No, why?”

  “The bureau bought you a return ticket to Chicago for tomorrow. Your flight leaves at eight in the morning.”

  “Oh.” So this is what heartbreak felt like. “I thought . . . never mind. I thought wrong.”

  Sam sighed. “Don’t be like that. I’m going to take some leave soon. I can come visit. We can call each other.”

  He heard the words, and in them, he heard the lie.

  “Sam . . . I love you.” He sat down in the hospital hallway, leaned against the wall. “I love you.”

  “I know . . . but I can’t love you. You’re wonderful.” He heard her move things on her desk and settle in to her chair. “The bureau approved use of Emir’s machine. They’ve already started testing it. I’m living with a death sentence. No matter what I do in the next year or two, I’m going to die sooner rather than later. I can’t do that to you.”

  “We could be happy while it lasted.” A day, a year or two—­he could accept there might be a time limit on their being together, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of never having time with her again.

  “No.” Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Mac, we couldn’t. You’d always be trying to figure out a way to stop it. I’d always be trying to find a way to protect you. I don’t want to see you broken again. I can’t die knowing how much it would hurt you if you loved me.”

  He closed his eyes. “If you were trying to make this easier, this isn’t the right speech. Tell me you love someone else. Tell me you’re moving to Aruba with Agent Edwin.”

  She laughed, a bitter, heartbroken sound of a woman who had lost too much laughing at the world asking her for another drop of blood. “You’d know I was lying. You always know when I’m lying.”

  “Sam . . . please. Don’t do this to us. We’re so happy together.”

  “Good-­bye, Mac. Have a safe flight.” She turned off her phone.

  He dialed again, but it went straight to voice mail. Two more tries, two more messages asking her to call back.

  “Sir?” A nurse stopped in front of him. “Are you all right?”

  He held up the phone. “My girlfriend just broke up with me.”

  “Is she in the hospital?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then sitting here isn’t going to do you any good,” the nurse said.

  He looked up at a middle-­aged woman whose no-­nonsense face was filled with empathy.

  “If you want her back, you have to go get her. That’s how these things work. Always have. If you want something, you have to go out and get it.” The nurse held up a hand to help him up.

  He took it and stood up. “You’re right, thanks. She’ll probably be at work for a little while longer.”

  “Take
some flowers,” the nurse suggested. “Makes you look like less of a stalker.”

  “Ah . . . right.”

  Sam signed the last piece of paper and shut down her computer. She picked up her purse, then her phone. After a moment’s consideration, she tossed the phone in her trash bin. She walked out of her office and closed the door behind her.

  “Ready to go home, ma’am?” Edwin asked. He turned beet red with embarrassment. “I mean, to the hotel.”

  “Yes. Are Agent MacKenzie’s travel arrangements all set?”

  “I was just finalizing them now, ma’am.”

  “Good. I already told him he’s leaving in the morning.”

  Edwin grimaced. “Are you sure he wants to take off tomorrow, ma’am? Traveling right after getting out of the hospital is a bad, um, not advised,” he said, hastily editing his vocabulary.

  “He said he was eager to get home. There are cases piling up in Chicago that need his attention.” Mac might be able to catch her lying, but Edwin didn’t know her well enough.

  “Are you sure?”

  “You can call him,” Sam said.

  “I tried. The number you gave me for his private cell phone seems to be turned off.”

  “Really?” Sam frowned with genuine concern. “How strange. I’m sure it’s the right number.” And the sun was covered in ice, and cats were vegetarians. “He must want some privacy.” She laid her papers on his stack. “Can you sign and file these for me when you get a chance?”

  “Sure, ma’am. Anything urgent in there.”

  “No,” Sam said. “It’s just my final paperwork for the Troom case. No rush. The bureau already is fully aware of my thoughts on the matter.”

  “I’ll get it done when I’m finished with everything else then,” he said.

  “Great. Don’t work too late. This has been a hard week for all of us.”

  Edwin blushed. “I’ll be fine, ma’am. One of the girls from the WIC office brought me up some of their fish fry. She said we’re reinvited to the building Christmas party! I think she likes me.”

  “Well, that’s good news!” Sam said with forced enthusiasm. “I’ll start planning my ugly sweater!”