“Gordy,” Scott said. “Your father mentioned that I’ve been...”
“This is clearly not the time, Scott,” Gordy snapped. “I have never been a fan of your waffling and your weak temperament. Your work is celebrated, but I’m not losing sleep over considering our partnership over. It’s not even that you cared about the boy. It’s that you lied. And continued to lie. And your lies cost us time, men, and energy.”
“I didn’t lie—”
Gordy gave a knowing stare and shook his head. “Don’t you think you’ve earned enough from us? Leave your credentials with the secretary on your way out. You won’t be called for any more late night emergencies.”
“I was promised a leadership role for my...”
“You have received everything you were promised,” Huck yelled. “And you’ve done nothing but work behind our backs.”
“That’s not true...”
“I’ve spared the child,” Gordy said wearily and he pointed to Grant. “But I will not go to bat for you. You are finished with the Elektos and your security clearance is revoked. Go enjoy some time as a civilian, Scott—your services with our government are no longer needed.”
Scott hesitated. He looked at Grant and then to Gordy, and he looked confused. Without another word, he grabbed his kit, but Gordy cleared his throat.
“Leave the virus, Scott,” he said.
Setting it back down, Scott looked at Grant and then to Gordy and Huck, and without another word, he made a swift exit, leaving Grant alone and exposed, the storm clouds gathering energy, rain spitting against the glass.
“You’re not dead because my sister somehow wants to tout you as some war hero...so, you’re safe today,” Gordy said. “Safe for now. But let’s understand something…we are watching you. You will champion Kymberlin and the Truman regime as long as you have breath. Your life depends on it.”
Both of them turned to the sound of shattering glass. Grant saw that Huck had ripped down the framed piece of creased, stained paper and tossed it to the ground. The glass in the frame broke into dozens of tiny shards, and Huck stared at the mess, pointing a long finger at the paper inside.
“It will crumble,” Huck said. He had gone trancelike, taciturn, vaguely inhuman. “And it will be your fault.” He turned to Gordy, his lips trembling.
“I’ll get someone to pick that up for you, Dad,” Gordy said smoothly. “You want me just to kill everyone? Just you and me living in your tower made of glass. We have fail-safes imbedded into each building, so you just say the word and I’ll knock us all down. Done. No more humans. Don’t forget that was Kymberlin’s plan. Not your muddled version...your perverted, warped sense of how this was supposed to work.”
“He’s a variable—” Huck hissed.
“So am I, Dad,” Gordy said in a near whisper. “I’m just not the type you prepared for. Give it up, Father. Just give it up.” He turned to Grant, sighed, and rubbed his eyes.
“Grant,” he continued, “I think it’s time to go home. Not a word. Am I clear?”
“Oh,” was all Grant could say. He looked at the broken glass and Huck’s twisted grimace. “Go home?”
“Yes.” Gordy pointed to the door. “Leave before I let him murder you. That usually involves hurrying.”
Nodding, Grant walked to the door, casting a long look at the grand piano for the last time, and then slipped out into the hall. He stood with his hand still on the knob long after he had heard the thick click, Gordy and Huck’s voices still carried on through the wood.
“Can I help you?” Huck’s secretary said. She was still chipper, but wary.
“I was told...to go home,” Grant told her with a frown.
“Housing questions can be directed to the concierge on the top floor of Kymberlin’s sky bridges. Two floors up. Can’t miss it.” She stared at him and he started to walk toward the elevator. With his back to her, she added, “Have a fantastic evening.”
Grant approached the sky bridge level concierge just like the woman had told him, but he could tell that something was wrong. As he walked toward her table, the woman froze, her face scrunched, and she seemed to undergo a moment of panic. It was very fleeting, almost imperceptible, and yet Grant could see it on her face as he got closer: she was surprised to see him. When he reached the table, she stammered out a kind hello and took a noticeable glance at the security camera above her head.
“Good evening,” the concierge said in a singsong voice. “I’m so terribly sorry...but I don’t know you. And I’m afraid that means there’s been a horrific oversight.”
“I’m Grant Trotter,” Grant said, helpfully. He pointed to himself and smiled brightly, flashing his single dimple and raising his eyebrows in hopes that she would help him. “You don’t have to know me—”
“Oh no.” She flapped her hands, wildly gesticulating, her face frozen somewhere between saccharine friendliness and total panic. “I do have to know you. That’s my job. I know all the Kymberlin residents. By name and by sight. Along with two or three interests, who their relatives are…”
“That’s...” Grant paused and tilted his head, “crazy.”
“No,” she smiled right back, “what’s crazy is that I don’t know you.” She laughed a high-pitched, obnoxious, embarrassed laugh and then seemed self-aware that it had sounded incongruous with the situation and she let it slowly die. “I’m sorry. Grant Trotter you said? What a horrible misunderstanding. And you’re sure you’re on the right Island.” A statement, not a question.
“I was originally a resident of Copia.” He refrained from telling the woman that Copia didn’t exist.
“Oh dear. Well, then to Copia you must go. No, no, no. There is a Copia concierge. She trained with me and her name is Susan...she would know you. That’s her job. She’s on Copia, of course. So, that doesn’t help us now. But, goodness, how did you end up here? I’m so confused. Was it an accident? That’s so strange...”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Grant said. He was tiring of the conversation, and he could feel a headache brewing behind his left eye. Still, he smiled. “Blair brought me here. I just came from a meeting with Gordy and Huck...they told me to go home.”
“But your home is Copia.”
“Copia—” Grant stopped. “I need a place to stay here. On Kymberlin. I can stay with the Kings if you tell me where they are living—”
“That’s private information. For Kymberlin residents only. I’m afraid I’ll need to call someone about this.”
“But I am a Kymberlin resident now.”
“Just a second, please,” she said as she held up a finger and hit a button on a small headset in her ear. “Yes, thank you. I have a young man here who says he’s from Copia.” A pause, a nervous laugh. “Well, I thought so, too. But thank you, I’ll wait for confirmation.” She hit the button again. “It will be just a second.”
Soft orchestral music played in the background. The woman swayed gently to the sound.
Grant tried to smile as he waited. He could smell a thick stink of sweat and adrenaline pouring off of his own body and he knew he needed a shower. Was it only this morning he had woken up in the System? Only this morning that Dylan had invited him to breakfast? The hours seemed longer, and the events seemed a world away. When the concierge answered a phone call, Grant didn’t even budge or look. He was lost in thought, watching the elevators ascend and descend.
“Grant?”
He didn’t hear her.
“Mr. Trotter? Excuse me, Grant Trotter?”
He turned.
“I apologize for both the delay and the complications. So, we don’t have a room for you...a horrific oversight. But I’m assured you are a Kymberlin resident now. Such a relief. There is an interior room on floor 10. Room 105. Follow Sky Bridge C to reach your stairs. It won’t have any of your luggage—”
He thought of his lost Romero poster. “I don’t have any luggage.”
She raised her eyebrows for ju
st a second and then flashed a bright grin. “Then I can make it up to you for being so callous earlier and not knowing who you were—”
“But I wasn’t supposed to be here,” he offered in a gentle voice. “It’s okay. No need to make up anything.”
“Fresh toiletries and some pajamas.”
“I don’t need pajamas, ma’am,” Grant said and he took a step away from her and turned toward Sky Bridge C. He turned back, “Can you tell me what room Lucy King is in?”
“Oh, no. It’s so late. I’m so sorry. I’d have to call and confirm and I prefer not to call so late,” she said and she frowned and grimaced. “I’ll pass along a note to the family to let them know where you are staying. I’m assuming you would like me to tell them if they ask?”
He nodded. He nodded and nodded, and turned away.
She called after him about sending down a toothbrush, some floss, but he ignored her and kept walking. Lucy was somewhere in this ocean city; the last image she had of him was of him being taken away by Huck’s guards. She would already have killed him in her cute paranoid brain. It wasn’t fair to let her spend the night worried, but unless he knocked on every door, he wouldn’t see her tonight.
He felt like he might, maybe, almost, cry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Blair entered her apartment on Kymberlin and took in a deep breath. She had never stepped foot into this place, only seen the pictures and helped her father craft it to her own specifications. It smelled like new carpet and oranges. Allison the nanny popped up from the couch and stretched. She lifted her hands and stifled a growing yawn; then she tucked a knitting project into her bag and walked toward Blair slowly. When Allison stopped and her mouth dropped a bit, Blair looked down and realized that she was still in her damaged clothes from earlier. She crossed her arms over her body and tried to smile, to prevent questions.
“Good evening, Ms. Truman. Teddy will be so excited that you are home,” Allison said.
“Is he asleep?” Blair asked. She didn’t try to hide her disappointment that Allison hadn’t kept him awake to see her. All day she had been thinking of the reunion. It was strange how much she could miss him. Especially now. Especially after looking at Darla and seeing her longing and her pain. A real mother’s pain. She was filled with a temporary self-loathing at the very thought of even caring for him at all, and she felt herself growing agitated at Allison’s clear eagerness to leave.
She wouldn’t have minded the company for a little bit. She could make them tea.
“Oh, yes. He’s been going to bed at eight every night. With the time zone change, we had to adjust. Will you need me tomorrow?” Allison said. She shifted her bag up higher on her shoulder.
“Is there anything else I should know? About him? Has he been okay...without me?” Blair pushed.
Allison nodded her head. “He’s been great, Ms. Truman.” She waited, and then added, “He missed you.”
“Did he say that?” Blair asked a little too eagerly.
“Oh, yes,” Allison said. She hesitated. “I wasn’t entirely certain if my job as your nanny was—”
“I won’t be needing you anymore,” Blair said and she offered Allison a tight-lipped smile. “My father will notify you about payment for your time…extra luxuries for several months, I believe.”
Allison smiled. “He’s already credited my account, Ms. Truman, but thank you.”
Clearing her throat, Blair nodded and mumbled something about it being late. She opened the door and Allison didn’t hesitate to leave, and Blair shut the door a bit too hard. The sound shook through her small apartment. The lights were dim, per the evening ordinances, but still Blair could see the small touches put into her living quarters. Built-in bookshelves flanked an entire wall, filled with knick-knacks and treasures from Blair’s previous homes. She walked up and examined the framed pictures. There was one of her and Gordy when she was a kid. They were on a beach. Gordy was clasping her hand and she was smiling widely. She could remember that picture as always having existed in her life—moving with her from place to place. But the circumstances of that moment in time were gone forever. She no longer knew that little girl or that teenage boy or what they were doing on that beach or whatever had happened to that puffy pink jacket.
Blair turned from the bookshelves and looked around the room.
Somehow it looked just like every other place her father had built for her. Her father must have a file on her: she likes built-ins and decorative pillows. Paint an accent wall some shade of purple, even though purple hadn’t been her favorite color in thirty years.
Upstairs she could hear Teddy shifting in his bed. Slipping out of her heels, she walked toward the stairs and her feet slid along the soft white carpet. At the top landing, she paused and looked at the railing. Silver. Sometimes he remembered that she hated gold.
“NO! NO! NO!” came a sudden scream from Teddy’s room and instantly Blair was there, throwing the door open and stumbling toward his bed, walking over a collection of small blocks that cut into her feet. She scooped up the crying child in one big hug, tucked him up on to her lap, and ran her hand over his brow. She sat there rocking him back and forth. His body was warm, and his hair was matted with sweat.
“Shhhh,” Blair said. “Shhhh, shhhh. It’s okay, sweet boy. It’s okay.”
“Allison?” Teddy said through tears. His small hands clung to Blair’s neck and she could feel wetness spread across her lap. She closed her eyes tight and clutched the boy—absorbing the feel of him, the smell of his hair.
“It’s Blair, Teddy. I’m home. You’re home with me.”
Teddy moaned. “I don’t like this place. I want to go back to Uncle Ethan’s house. I want my mom.”
They had been through this before. Each time she had made empty promises and lulled him back to a place of comfort with lies. She hoped that eventually these memories would fade and his tragic life would seem dreamlike, possibly even like a lie he had told himself once upon a time. But now his dead mother had a face. And a name. Now his dead mother pined for him across the waters and waited for Blair’s promised return. Her lies had become truths against her will.
“I know, dear Teddy.”
She couldn’t remember her own mother. Not real memories, not anything that she could grasp with any sort of confidence. Snapshots fluttered across her periphery every once in a while, and she tried to convince herself that she could feel all those stories people told her, but the truth was that she never felt anything at all.
Teddy began to wail louder, and his mouth twisted into a wrecked circle. Snot dripped out of his nose and the boy wiped it away where it stayed as a thick line against his hand.
“I’m here,” Blair comforted. “I’m here, Teddy.”
Downstairs she heard a knock on her door. Not the quiet and subtle knock of a tentative nighttime visitor, but a deliberate and determined knock of someone expecting entrance. Grabbing Teddy, still wet, Blair carried him down the stairs on her hip and walked to the door, opening it with her free hand. Her father stood on the other side.
“Good,” he said. “You found your apartment. May I?” he motioned toward the living room and Blair stood back. Teddy’s whimpers had subsided, and now the boy just watched as the older man came into the house, looking around the open space and assessing each nook and cranny.
“It’s late, Dad,” Blair said. She nodded toward the child. “Teddy just had a nightmare...I need to get him to sleep.”
“I’m imposing,” Huck said. His face was flush and he had unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.
“It’s not the best time,” Blair answered. “But you can stay and I’ll be back?”
“I don’t want to go to sleep,” Teddy said into Blair’s shoulder.
Huck nodded. And he sat down on the couch, clearly settling in to wait to talk to her. Annoyed, Blair trudged back upstairs and took her time. She ran a warm washcloth over Teddy and changed him into new pajamas. S
he picked up the blocks and put them away and stripped the sheets and laid down new blankets from her own bed, unsure if there were extra linens in one of the many closets. After singing a song while rubbing his back, Teddy drifted to sleep, still letting out intermittent cries.
Blair went back to see her father.
“So, this is not some social call?” Blair asked, sitting down across from him.
“The System plan was a failure.”
“I’ve already talked to you about this, Dad. Do we need to do it again? It’s over. Done. And I’m tired.”
“I lost men. First in Saudi Arabia and now in Nebraska. Good men.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Even if it’s not me who should be sorry. You know that, right? That it wasn’t my fault?”
“But I feel like I’m missing something...”
Blair didn’t answer. Then she saw his narrowed eyes, his stern face. She wondered, for a second, if her father knew the truth. Maybe he was baiting her into telling him more lies and then he would tell her that he knew. Hank had told. Grant had caved. Cameras caught the survivors on the plane. Her father’s attempts at control knew no bounds, and she should have guessed that he would out her as a traitor.
Unless she gave them up. Unless she spun the truth, the real truth, to her advantage.
Beat him at his own game and tell the truth, which he wasn’t expecting.
“I talked to Grant tonight,” Huck continued. “He challenged your version of the events...said that he didn’t save you. He wasn’t a hero.”
Blair paused. She took a deep breath. “Take a look at the cameras if you don’t believe me,” she said and waited.
He winked and put a hand out toward her, and she hesitated before grabbing it. When he wrapped his fingers around hers, he squeezed, too hard. She tried to pull her hand back, but he kept a tight grip, staring at her with a conniving grin. “Grant the hero,” he said.
The Variables (Virulent Book 3) Page 36