But New York?
Allison looked at all the destinations, and only one had any special resonance for her.
Dallas?
“A great man died here. A long time ago.” Allison recognized that place from her memory now, and felt foolish for not recognizing it sooner. She knew where she had been born, where she lived the first four years of her life. It had just been buried under other parts of her life. Her memory hadn’t been lost, just misplaced.
Yeah, but if they know anything about me, wouldn’t my home town be a stupid place to meet?
Allison nodded to herself. Dallas was probably there just for that reason, to draw attention away from other destinations. All the tickets were from different airlines, and each had its own boarding pass, a few were even two-way. Allison would just bet that every one was bought at a separate travel agent.
I can figure this out.
Logically, New York was out as a destination. It was the last ticket so it had to be smoke screen. Dad lived in Los Angeles, so that’s obviously a draw for the baddies.
For a long moment, Allison wondered if they had to be meeting in St. Louis. Otherwise, to go anywhere else they would have to take lengthy layovers in two cities that were obvious destinations. She wondered about that just long enough to feel foolish when she realized that there were two stops in St. Louis. She and Mom weren’t supposed to go any further west of the Mississippi. Dallas, LA and— by extension— Phoenix were all there just to confuse the issue. They would just layover a day in St. Louis.
That left Atlanta and Washington DC.
She felt that she should know which— but at the moment it escaped her. She smiled to herself and slid the tickets back. Maybe, when Mom showed up, she could dazzle her with her deductions. Narrowing seven destinations to a possible two, that wasn’t bad.
The smile lasted up until she thought that they, if they had access to John Charvat’s itinerary, could make the same deductions she had.
Allison stood there holding the envelope. After a moment she threw it on the table, “I don’t even know who they are. I don’t even know what I’m being paranoid about!”
She looked to the ceiling and shouted, “Whoever you are! I refuse to do this, hear me? My name is Allison Boyle. I’m sixteen years old. I was nearly raped yesterday. I’ve been suspended. I have awful headaches. I have other problems!”
No one answered her. You’ve lost it, she thought. Feeling silly, she went off in search of her missing stuffed rabbit.
10:00 AM
The van was parked down the block from the Boyle house. In the back sat Fred Jackson. Behind him stood George and Barney. Jane, Elroy and the rest of Jackson’s field team were keeping watch on the house.
All three of them in the van watched the bank of consoles, even though the transmission was audio-only and there wasn’t much to see. The voice through the speakers came through a scrambler and a satellite link. It sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well.
“I apologize for the delay in your orders, Fred. I’ve been talking with Mr. Stone all night.”
Fred nodded. He was the only one in the van who seemed unmoved by the mention of Stone’s name. He asked, “What do you have for me, Scoob?”
“On the girl, nothing. That’s why you weren’t briefed on any other potential subjects in the target area. There weren’t supposed to be any.”
Fred straightened in his chair. “Your database is supposed to have all the project’s kids. Even the illegitimate ones.”
“That’s why security and science are tied in a knot up here. Science thinks we might have a natural— and according to your spotter, a powerful one.” The voice paused.
“And security thinks?” Fred asked.
“Who’s there with you?”
Fred arched an eyebrow. Barney and George looked at each other. “The two ranking members of my team, Scoob. You know the drill.”
“Dismiss them.”
“What?”
“This is just for your ears, Fred.”
Fred turned in his seat and looked at George and Barney. Without saying a word, Barney slid the door aside and waved George ahead. George looked at Barney, glared at Fred, and stepped outside. Barney followed, sliding the door shut behind him.
When the door shut, Fred said, “Just me now, Scoob.” He didn’t turn around.
“Fred, what we have here is a massive security breach. Science thinks we have a natural only because they haven’t been told about the mother.”
“What about the mother?”
“Carolyn Ann Boyle, Doctor Boyle, used to be staff here.”
Fred spun around on the seat. “What?”
“She was one of our junior scientists, and she quit without notice over a decade ago. Security did a standard follow-up, shows her settling up there. We even have a record of her change in profession before the surveillance was dropped.”
“Ok, I follow you so far. What’s tying security in a knot?”
“She quit eleven years ago. Get it? Do the math. We have no record of the kid. None, Fred. The kid had to be at least four years old when she was working here.”
Fred put his palms to his temples and pushed his hair back. “Adopted?” He said without much hope in his voice.
“Possible, but we have records of a six-month leave she took, without pay, at about the right time. We doubt that’s a coincidence. We’ve also tried to contact the man who oversaw Institute security when she left, the man who oversaw the follow-up investigation on Boyle. Up until yesterday he was resident in Los Angeles.”
“Up until yesterday?”
“Left his apartment around two in the afternoon, LA time, and has yet to turn up.”
“Opportune timing.”
“Good chance he was on a plane to anywhere an hour before our people arrived at the apartment.”
Fred shook his head. “Ok, other than keeping the security snafu quiet, what do I do?”
“First off, the kid is still a priority. She still might be a natural, Elroy says she’s hot, and Stone wants to make up for losing Wilson. In fact, the Institute will be willing to absorb some heat to get her.”
Fred nodded, “Considering the police involvement, we have to.”
“As long as the heat doesn’t reach Dallas, understand?”
“Of course.”
“Second, we want the mother.”
Fred was quiet for a moment before he said, “Getting parental consent? I know it’s better when we do, but with her history—”
“No, Fred. We want the mother. Security needs to talk to her. We need to know how she slipped through the cracks. We need to know who the father is. The daughter might not be able to tell us. And, most important, we don’t want to leave someone out loose who could point anyone toward us after her daughter disappears.”
“Better if both mother and daughter vanish.”
“Exactly.”
“Consider it done.”
NINE
EUCLID HEIGHTS, OH: Tuesday October 26, 1999
10:05 AM
Allison’s quest for her stuffed rabbit took her through the entire house. She’d covered almost every inch— including the most improbable areas of the kitchen and attic— and began to worry a little about the obsessive nature of her search, when she caught sight of a flash of pink fuzz through her mother’s partially open door.
Mom? What are you doing with Babs?
She pushed her mother’s door all the way open.
Mom’s room was neat, almost astringent. The bed was neatly made with a white comforter—
She looked at the bed and wondered if her mother had any relationships since she’d left Dad. It had been over ten years.
Babs Bunny sat there, on the bed, on top of a pile of folded laundry. Allison picked up her rabbit and came to the realization that Babs wasn’t the only thing Mom had taken. The folded clothes on the bed were all Allison’s. She hadn’t recognized them at first because she usually did her own laundry, so she rarel
y saw any of her casual clothes folded. But here was most of the stuff that had been waiting on a wash. There was her Garfield nightshirt. The jeans she’d slept in. Nearly half of her T-shirts. The red Marines sweater that Macy’s brother had given her.
Even as she started to ask herself what Mom was doing with her clothes, she saw, on the other side of mom’s bed, her old girl-scout duffel bag. She’d never been a girl scout, but she had been to a number of summer camps and that bag had seen a lot of use. It was zipped open next to the bed, and half-filled with Allison’s underwear. Next to the duffel sat a single suitcase and an old cardboard box.
They were going to see Dad, but Allison began to wonder if Mom intended for them to come back. It dawned on Allison, the fact that all those separate tickets, some with such a short layover between flights, meant that there might only be a chance to take carry-on baggage.
Mom had been doing this all night. No wonder she looked as if she hadn’t gotten any sleep.
Mom couldn’t be planning just to up and leave. That couldn’t be right. There was Scarlet, Rhett, and Meowrie. Not to mention the fact that maybe detective Teidleman might object to Allison leaving the area. She stared at the bags, and at Babs, and felt frightened.
Mom planned to leave town, right in the middle of a police investigation. Her uptight, straight-laced mom was acting like a fugitive.
It brought an eerie sense of deja vú. Allison remembered the hodgepodge of packages that filled the taxi when Mom had left Dad, dragging them both out of Dallas. Hastily packed cardboard boxes, mostly clothes.
Back then, Mom had remembered to bring her favorite stuffed toy, a raggedy blue Cat in the Hat. Allison looked at Babs, and imagined Mom remembering the same day last night, as she was packing. Mom was scared of something, and it wasn’t Dad.
Allison didn’t know why this was happening. But she trusted Mom. So she finished packing the duffel bag, up to and including Babs.
As she zipped the bag shut, she tripped, knocking over the suitcase and the cardboard box. She steadied herself on the bed as she saw a flat, metal canister roll out of the upturned box. The box itself dumped a chaotic pile of books and papers.
Allison sighed and walked out into the hall to catch the wayward object.
It was a flat film canister, the sort of thing that people used to keep home movies in. When she picked it up, the weight told her that there was a reel of film inside it. It wasn’t large, less than five inches in diameter and less than an inch thick— just short of too big to fit in somebody’s pocket.
Before she looked closely, she thought it might have been some old home movies of Mom. But the peeling labels appeared institutional. Who’d label a home movie “Case #867?” There was also a sticker that said “ASI File #” followed by an obscenely long typed sequence of numbers and letters.
Before Allison could give in to the urge to pry open the can, the doorbell rang downstairs. On the way down she tried to wedge the can into the rear pocket of her jeans.
◆◆◆
She was cautious with the door again, looking through the peephole.
This time it was the police. Detective Teidleman in fact, accompanied by a statuesque black woman.
Allison opened the door with the chain on, and he looked so shuffling and nervous that she felt some sympathy for the man. “Ah, Miss Boyle? Is your mother here?”
“No.” Allison shook her head. “Can I do something for you?”
Teidleman appeared surprised. “Damn she was supposed—” he muttered. Then he caught himself. “Well that isn’t your fault.” Teidleman looked up at the black woman and sighed. He fished in a pocket and pulled out a card. “You see, we need to talk to you, but we need your mother’s—” He looked at the black woman again. “And your— permission, etc. etc.”
He handed her the card. “We’d really like to talk to you. If you could impress that on your mother.”
“Sure,” Allison nodded. “So you aren’t here to arrest me or anything?”
“No, no, no—” Teidleman shook his head repeatedly. “It’s just investigation. And we can’t talk to Mister Wilson.”
Allison was beginning to wonder who was making Teidleman nervous, her or the black lady. She glanced at the card and said, “I’ll tell Mom.”
“Thank you.”
Before she closed the door, Allison swallowed hard and asked, “How is he?”
Teidleman looked pained and glanced at the black woman, who shrugged.
“Bad,” Teidleman said.
“How— uh— bad?”
Teidleman looked at her appraisingly. “He’s still critical. As far as I know, he’s still in surgery, undergoing reconstruction. At best he’ll be permanently crippled.
Allison put her face in her hands. “At worst?”
The silence she heard was worse than an answer. God, did Chuck deserve being put into surgery for eighteen hours?
“I should go,” Teidleman said.
Allison nodded and closed the door. She felt sick.
10:15 AM
Elroy sat on a rock, just in sight of the ugly blue-gray duplex that Allison Boyle lived in. The Institute’s van was up the street, not in direct view of the house. The Oldsmobile was parked on the opposite side of the house, and the blue Dodge was parked on the other side of the block.
Elroy sat on his white-painted rock, idly digging in the grass at his feet. The rock was part of the property of the house behind him, part of a sculpted garden, but Elroy knew that there wasn’t anyone in the house to chase him away. He could see things like that. People’s minds were a constant fuzzy smear across his vision. Rainbow wakes trailing everybody.
The colors always fascinated Elroy. Every time a new image crossed his path, he stared at it, as if his eyes were hungry. Fortunately, the sights were as varied as the people he saw. Even now, on Allison Boyle’s side of the street, a stocky blond woman jogged. To Elroy, it seemed that she caused a ripple in the air that radiated from a teardrop-shaped area just behind the woman’s forehead.
The ripples followed her, waving in a complex pattern that almost made sense to Elroy. Watching it was like trying to remember a word frozen just behind his tongue. Elroy watched the woman jog by him, studying the colors. There were translucent shimmers of every color Elroy could name, and a few he couldn’t. As usual, there were parts of it that were unique to this woman. One small part of the pattern was frozen, unmoving– a blazing red ember that the remaining pattern flowed around and tried to avoid.
What’s that? Elroy thought to himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen such a thing. Barney was followed by a swarm of such things, a few not nearly as nice-looking as this woman’s defect.
The jogging woman glanced over at Elroy and met his eyes. Like most people, she lowered her gaze and turned away. Do they know what I see? Is she ashamed of that little red spot? Does she know it’s there?
Elroy sighed. He was bored, waiting for something to happen. He looked up at the Boyle house, and he still sensed her in there. The patterns around Allison Boyle were the most intricate and mesmerizing that Elroy had seen outside the Institute. Since yesterday, they had grown in complexity, almost as if he was seeing two patterns, one embedded and almost overwhelmed by the other.
The main pattern itself almost hurt to look at, it was so intense. The colors burned. Elroy saw an increasing potential there, straining, like an angry dog chained to a wall.
Elroy thought he’d seen that leash snap once, but there had been too many people around the high school, too many overlapping ripples. All he knew was that when the medics wheeled Charlie Wilson away, Elroy hadn’t seen Charlie’s beer-shot pattern. There had been nothing. No pattern. As far as Elroy was concerned, that meant you were dead.
His Walkman headphones spoke to him.
“Elroy—” Mr. Jackson’s scrambled Darth Vader voice, “—what’s the status on the girl?”
“Still in the house, Mr. Jackson.” Elroy spoke without moving his lips. “Nothing’s ha
ppening.” Nothing. Nothing, but. Elroy could sense the buildup, the dog straining on its leash. He felt the strain too, because he willed the leash to break. Elroy had the sense that he would see something amazing when that happened.
“Good,” said Mr. Jackson. “I’m taking the field team downtown to pick up her mother.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m leaving you, Jane, and George here, only to keep tabs on the girl. We’re not to touch her until we’ve taken care of her mother.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good, if you see anything happening, especially something you can’t explain, radio George and Jane here in the van.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Walkman blared static a moment, and then faded into silence.
Elroy returned to digging around with his stick. In a few moments, he found what he’d been looking for. Hidden under an overgrown tuft of grass between the garden and the driveway, he found a small bird. Its feathers were gray, and its beak was open, panting. One wing was splayed behind it, like a casually tossed blanket.
Unlike people, the ripple surrounding the bird was a simple blue sphere barely larger than its head. Every few moments the body would jerk, and a ripple would cross the sphere, leeching a little more color, a little more brightness.
The bird’s small black eye met Elroy’s, and the animal began a manic chirping that shook its tiny body. Elroy watched, motionless and fascinated, as the bird died next to him.
10:25 AM
Allison returned to Mom’s room to clean the mess she made. She uprighted the cardboard box and began replacing the contents when she placed her hands on the album she had seen on her mother’s lap—
Was that only two days ago?
It was the same album her mother had drunk herself asleep looking through. Allison picked it up and slowly sat on the recliner her mom had been sitting in that night. Allison had never seen this scrapbook before then.
The first page in that beat-up black scrapbook was a yellowed birth certificate, dated 1952. Carolyn Ann Boyle, born to Franklin James and Francine June Boyle. The first few pages were typical family portraits. Carol as a baby. Franklin— Allison’s grandfather— holding Carol in front of the monkey cage at some zoo. The pictures accumulated until 1956, and then they stopped.
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