The Final Hour h-4

by Andrew Klavan

  “When it’s over,” Rose added bitterly, “there’ll be hearings and finger-pointing and political maneuvering and blame. And none of it will make a bit of difference to the dead.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” I said. “But what do you want me to do?”

  “If,” said Mike, holding the word, emphasizing the word. “If you think there’s something left in your brain, something we haven’t gotten to, something that could help… we could give you another dose of the stuff they gave you before.”

  “It’s insane,” the crow-faced woman blurted out angrily. “A second dose of this stuff could kill him. It could destroy his brain, put him in a vegetative state for the rest of his life. And it might not even work. We’ve never tried it or tested it on anyone a second time. We haven’t dared. It’s insane.”

  She stopped. She turned away.

  Mike said, “She’s right, Charlie. It’s powerful stuff. You already know that. I wouldn’t want you to do it for no reason. But if you think there might be something you missed, something worth remembering

  …”

  His voice trailed off. I stared at him. I stared at Rose. Then, after a second, I lifted my hand to my face. Pinched the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut. I was thinking about that moment-that moment in the Jeep with Mike when something-some memory-had teased at the corner of my mind. It had happened in the plane too. There was something-something I knew but didn’t know I knew. Something I’d seen but couldn’t quite remember…

  I felt everyone’s eyes on me as I walked across the colorful rug, past the gilded chairs, to the high window. I looked out beyond the thick draperies. Saw my own bruised and exhausted expression reflected in the dark pane of glass. I looked out through the image of my own hollow eyes into the night beyond.

  It might kill him. It might destroy his brain. Put him into a vegetative state for the rest of his life.

  I drew a deep breath. A million people, I thought. More than twice the population of my hometown.

  And there was something. Something. What was it? What had I seen or overheard in the compound, in the barracks?

  I remembered Prince’s voice:

  When we hit them again, so hard, right there, right where we hit them so hard before…

  I remembered crouching beneath the barracks window with the unconscious guard slowly coming around.

  The point is this. You can see here. The route is set. We have agents at the entrances and exits to ensure everything goes smoothly. This is the great and final mission of the Homelanders…

  I felt my body go taut. “Wait,” I said.

  I turned around. They were all looking at me. Rose and Mike. Milton One and Dodger Jim-and the crow-faced woman, she was looking at me too now.

  “There is something,” I told them. “Only…”

  “Only?” said Rose.

  I looked at him helplessly. “I’m not sure what it is. When I was eavesdropping on the barracks, listening to Prince make his plans, he said to the others-to Waylon and Mr. Sherman-he said, ‘You can see here. The route is set.’”

  Rose never showed much emotion, but he showed some now. At least, he licked his lips and took a half step toward me. For him, that was a sign of wild excitement.

  “What did he mean, ‘See here’? See where?”

  “That’s just it,” I said. “That’s why I got caught. I realized he must have been showing them something. A map or something. So I grabbed hold of the windowsill and chinned my way up so I could peek in.”

  “And?” said Rose. “What did you see?”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. There was nothing to say. I shook my head.

  “Come on, chucklehead,” said Mike. “There had to be something.”

  I stared down at the floor. I thought back to the room inside the barracks. “I only saw it for a single second before the guard started to scream for help,” I murmured.

  “Think, Charlie,” said Rose. “What did you see?”

  “The room. Prince. Waylon. Sherman. The desk.” My head came up, fast. “The laptop! The laptop turned around to face the others. That must’ve been what he was showing them.”

  “Did you see it? Did you see the screen?” said Rose.

  I tried to think back, but in the end I could only spread my hands. “I saw it, but… it was so fast…”

  There was another awful silence. Everyone looking at me. But I felt one stare more than the others.

  I turned to her-to the crow-faced woman-the woman who had injected the drug that had sent me into paroxysms of agonizing pain-and into the past so that I could begin to recover my lost memories.

  “I never knew your name,” I said. “Nobody ever told me.”

  “Farber,” she said quietly. “Dr. Judith Farber.” She averted her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to look at me.

  “Do you think it might work?” I asked her. “Do you think I could go back? To that specific moment. That specific memory.”

  She couldn’t meet my eyes. “Early on, when we were first developing the drug,” she said, “there was some evidence that, with experience, you might be able to control it to some degree. Just like thinking back to a specific time, only…”

  “Only more powerful,” I said, “because of the drug.”

  She looked at me-forced herself to look at me, I think. She said, “I don’t know. I don’t know what would happen.” She looked around at the others as if she were appealing to them. “Nobody knows.”

  No one answered her. No one said a word.

  “If I could go back,” I told her. “If I could look into that room again… I might see the laptop again; I might see what I saw but can’t remember. It’s possible, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, it’s possible,” said Dr. Farber. Her tone was almost desperate. She stared an appeal at Milton One and Dodger Jim. Then at Mike and Rose. Finally at me. “It’s possible, but…”

  “But it might kill me. Or worse.”

  She nodded. “Or worse. Yes.”

  After that, nothing but silence all around. I turned back to the window. I stared into my own face again and through my reflection again into the darkness. I could say that I wasn’t afraid. I could say I trusted in God. And I did trust in God. But I was afraid too.

  A million people, I thought.

  I faced the others. Mike looked at me and I looked at Mike and I’m pretty sure I knew exactly what he was thinking: You do what you gotta do, chucklehead. You never surrender and you do what you have to do.

  “I want to call Beth first,” I told them. “Just in case, you know. I want a chance to say good-bye.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  To Say Good-bye

  Mike and Milton One took me into a bedroom-another one of these elaborate bedrooms in this crazy house: with a four-poster bed all draped with heavy curtains and heavy curtains on the windows and tables everywhere cluttered with shiny knickknacks and chiming clocks.

  Mike grabbed up one tableful of knickknacks in a single big armload. He carried them to the bed and dumped them with a ringing clatter on the lacy bedspread. Milton One set a laptop on the cleared table.

  “I’ve got the signal scrambled through about three different servers,” he told me, “but I wouldn’t stay on with her more than ten minutes if I were you. The cops are looking for you and may be monitoring her line. And Prince will know you escaped. You’re the one person who might know enough to catch up to him, so even though he hasn’t got a lot of manpower left, he’s sure to be looking out for you, waiting for a chance to send someone after you. Like I said, I’ve got it fixed to confuse a trace, but if you stay on too long… Well, ten minutes tops.”

  I nodded. Milton One walked out of the room. Mike hesitated.

  “What?” I said.

  My old sensei didn’t say anything. He just lifted his right fist-the karate sign of power. Then he covered it with his left hand-the karate sign of restraint. Then- holding his hands like that-he gave a short sharp bow in my direction: the karate
token of respect.

  Then he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  I waited a few minutes. Just a few. I wanted to be sure my emotions were under control. There are people, I know, who say guys shouldn’t control their emotions, that they should just express them anytime they want. I don’t agree. There’s a time to be emotional, sure, but there’s also plenty of times when it’s good to keep your emotions in check. I wanted Beth to know I loved her, but I didn’t want her to see I was afraid because I didn’t want her to be afraid.

  When I could, I pulled up some fancy French-looking chair and sat down in front of the laptop. I remembered the system my pal Josh had set up for communications. I used it now.

  A long tone came out of the laptop’s speakers. Then there was Beth’s voice:

  “Charlie?”

  It was another second or two before the video came on. Then there she was, looking into the screen; her hair falling in curls around her cheeks made her look like one of those cameos my mother sometimes wears. Her blue eyes were gazing right at me, an expectant smile on her lips. Then I guess she saw me at about the same time I saw her, because she kind of gave a little gasp and put her hands over her mouth.

  I know I should have been glad to see her. All this time, every day, every minute, I’d missed her more than I could even bear to think about. So I should’ve been glad. But I wasn’t. Or, that is, I felt a weird mix of soaring gladness and plunging sorrow all at the same time. The sight of her made my heart clench inside me because I had a very strong feeling that I was never going to see her again.

  I didn’t show any of that, though. I just smiled at her. A big bright smile. “Hey, Beth,” I said.

  “Look at your face,” Beth said. “Your poor face.”

  Without thinking, I reached up to touch it and flinched at the pain. “Tough place, Abingdon,” I told her.

  She nodded. “We heard the news here about how you escaped again,” she answered softly. “The lawyers say you’ve ruined your chances for an appeal. The police say you’re going to get hurt if you don’t turn yourself in. I don’t care what anyone says: I’m glad you’re out of there.”

  “I’m glad, too, Beth.”

  She peered into the screen. She looked… I’m not sure what the word is to describe her. She looked like she trusted me. That’s it.

  She said: “What’s going to happen now, Charlie?”

  What could I tell her? “I don’t know-not exactly anyway. But one way or another, Beth, this is almost over. There’s just one more bad guy out there…”

  “And you have to fight him, because you’re the good guy. I know.”

  “That’s the way it works, yeah.”

  “Is it dangerous?” she asked. Then right away, she said, “I guess that’s a stupid question. It must be really dangerous or you wouldn’t have risked calling me.”

  I managed a laugh. “You’re too smart for me.”

  “And don’t you forget it, Charlie.”

  I looked into her soft eyes. That sweet face. It was amazing, I thought, how well I remembered the smell of her hair. It was amazing how often the scent of it had reached me in my prison cell as if she had been sitting on my cot, watching over me while I slept, and had only left a moment before I woke up.

  “After this,” she said, “they’ll see the truth. I know they will. They won’t send you back to prison this time.”

  I didn’t argue with her. “I hope not,” was all I said.

  “I couldn’t stand thinking about you in there,” she told me. “I tried not to show it.”

  “You did a good job,” I lied.

  “But I couldn’t stand it. It was killing me.”

  Yeah, me, too, I thought. But what I said was: “I’m sorry, Beth. I’m really sorry for putting you through all this.”

  She gave a quick shake of her head. “No. Don’t say that. You’re not sorry. I’m not sorry either. If I had known at the start this was what you were doing, I would have told you to do it. I love you because you’re the person who will do it.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m glad. Tell you the truth, I don’t really care why you love me, as long as you find a reason. Although I was kind of hoping it was ’cause I’m just so incredibly hot.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

  She smiled, but a tear dropped over the edge of her eye and rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly. “I know what you’re doing, Charlie. Don’t think you’re fooling me, okay? I know exactly what you’re doing.”

  “Oh yeah? What am I doing?”

  “You’re calling to say good-bye. You’re thinking you’re going to get killed out there so you’re calling so we can talk to each other one last time.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. Only you’re wrong. You’re not going to get killed.”

  “No?” I said.

  “No. You’re not. You’re going to find whoever you have to find and do whatever you have to do and then…” Her voice broke. She put her hand over her eyes for a moment-only for a moment. Then she looked at me again, tears streaming down her cheeks. “And then you’re coming back. You hear me? When you’re done, when it’s all done, you’re coming back to me and to your mom and dad and to Josh and Rick and Miler and everybody. And that’s how it’s going to be. Okay?”

  “Yeah.” My voice was hoarse. I could hardly get the words out. “Sure, Beth. That’s how it’s going to be.”

  “Good,” she said, using her palm to swipe the tears off her cheeks. “As long as we understand each other.”

  “I understand,” I said. “You’re with me every second, Beth.”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I am.”

  I lifted my hand. I put it to the computer screen. She lifted her hand and put it to the screen on her side.

  We sat like that-in silence. Time seemed to stand still. Seemed to-but it didn’t. When I came back to myself, I realized we’d been on the line too long.

  “Listen…,” I said finally.

  “I know,” Beth said, her voice almost a whisper. “You have to go.”

  “I wish…”

  “Me too,” she said.

  My hand was still half lifted to the screen. But now I lowered it. My fingers curled into a fist and I pressed the fist against my heart. My way of telling her again, one last time, that she was with me still, with me always.

  She did the same with her hand.

  “See you,” I said.

  “See you,” she said.

  Then I shut down the connection.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  One Last Memory

  They wanted to strap me down, but I wouldn’t let them. I was tired of feeling trapped and helpless. Tired of being pushed around and told what to do. This was my choice, my decision. I didn’t need any straps.

  I rolled up my sleeve and held it out to Dr. Farber. “Just do it,” I told her.

  I was sitting in the big chair behind the desk. Milton One and Dodger Jim were standing near me. Mike was leaning against the desk, his arms crossed on his chest, watching me. Rose was standing at the window, staring out at the night.

  Dr. Farber lifted the hypodermic. She took a breath.

  “Isn’t this where you’re supposed to say it won’t hurt a bit?” I asked her.

  She tried to smile but didn’t do a very good job. She leaned forward and pressed the hypodermic needle against my arm.

  I didn’t want to watch. I looked at Mike. He winked at me. I winked back.

  The needle went into me.

  I thought I was ready for the pain. I wasn’t. With all the memory attacks I’d experienced, I thought I’d been through it before and could take it. But this was worse-much worse-than it had ever been. For what must have been a minute but seemed like days, I lay in thrashing contortions on the floor. I heard myself screaming in mindless agony.

  Then-thank God-I felt as if I were plunging out of my own agonized body, plunging into a d
arkening whirlpool of time, and my own screams slowly faded away into ever-receding echoes.

  Now, at last, the echoes faded too. I fell from the whirlpool into empty space. That’s what it seemed like, anyway. It seemed like I was dropping down and down and down through a vast empty space whose only limit was the past spread out beneath me. Moments of the past played themselves out far below as I tumbled toward them, watching. I caught glimpses of my whole life as it seemed to replay itself all in a single moment. There was me and Alex Hauser as little kids on a baseball field… Me as a miniature yellow belt in Sensei Mike’s karate class for children… Me at the dinner table with my mom and dad and my sister, Amy, rolling her eyes at some new horror-of-horrors that she’d experienced that day in school… Me and my friends clowning around at our lunch table in the cafeteria… Me with Beth

  … Me slipping into the car next to Waterman to hear what he wanted me to do… Me with Alex again, teenagers now, arguing in my mom’s car before he stormed off into the park where Mr. Sherman stabbed him to death… My trial for his murder… The Homelander compound. ..

  There was so much time flashing before my eyes as I spun and tumbled down. At first, I couldn’t think. My mind was clouded with confusion. Where was I? Where was I going? What was happening to my body? Was that me I could still hear screaming in the far distance? Was I dying? Was this what the end looked like?

  But then, I remembered… not the past… the present… the Great Death… New Year’s Eve… no time for fear and confusion. No time. No time.

  I fought down my rising panic. I forced myself to focus. I had done this a million times before. In sparring matches. In belt tests. In fights with killers. I knew how to focus when I had to, and I had to now.

  One memory. That’s what I needed. I needed to find one memory and fall into it. I focused my mind with all the energy I had…

  There it was. I saw it below me. The compound. The barracks. The unconscious guard on the ground…

  I guided my fall toward it.