I blinked. “I don’t,” I began, and then fell silent. I had just dismissed what had happened to me as no big deal, but if those things had happened to, say, Viv, I’d have been horrified and frightened for her. “I don’t know,” I finally said. “Does that mean something?”
Sydney shrugged. “Why don’t you tell me? From what you’ve said, it sounds like you think pain is only pain when it does actual physical harm. Have you ever been injured when you were in danger?”
“Yes. The magus serial killer—my husband shot me to stop him killing me. It made more sense if you were there.” I hadn’t thought of that night in years, and to my surprise, tears welled up in my eyes. Malcolm’s face, so hard and furious without a trace of love for me, the agony of my shoulder being torn open by his impromptu weapon, the terror of having a gun pressed to my head—I’d cried over it afterward and thought that made everything okay. Clearly, I was wrong.
Sydney took a box of tissues off the desk and handed it to me without a word. I took one and blotted my eyes. “Sorry. I thought I was over that.”
“Don’t apologize for having feelings,” Sydney said. “When things happen to us, we have emotional reactions—happiness, fear, loneliness, pleasure. Love and hate. That’s a normal part of being human. Why do you think you started to cry just now?”
“I guess because the memories are powerful. It felt almost as if it were happening again.”
“That’s not uncommon, particularly when you haven’t fully processed what you felt.” Sydney sat back in her chair and clasped her hands in her lap. “Why don’t you tell me about the attack yesterday? I know invaders tried to destroy the oracle, but not how.”
I clasped my hands, mimicking her, and realized they were trembling. “Do you know who Victor Crowson is? The genetic sport who can see the future? He’s a good friend of mine. He came to the store yesterday because he saw himself there—it’s something that happens to him—and while he was there, he had a vision that the store would be attacked. I called for some teams to defend the store, sent Judy away, and Victor and I waited. He can see about fifteen minutes into the future, so we knew exactly when the attack would happen, and we had to sit there and wait because we didn’t know if the attack was a feint to get me out of the store.”
I drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “The Wardens arrived just about a minute before the invaders came. They—the invaders—they were in human form, and they drove a Cadillac convertible into the front of the store, wrecking the door. And the car. Then the Wardens…they…they shot the invaders, killed them before they could enter Abernathy’s, and did a bunch of illusions to cover everything up.”
Sydney watched me closely, but said nothing. Her silence was the kind that made me want to fill it up with words, so I added, “It was awful. I couldn’t stop shaking. That’s what made me decide to see a therapist. It felt like the final straw.”
“That’s an interesting way to put it,” Sydney said. “You hadn’t thought you needed it before then?”
“No. I thought I was coping well with everything I’ve endured. I guess not.”
Sydney again looked at me, long and considering. Her eyes were dark blue with stubby blonde lashes; she wore no mascara, no makeup of any kind, but her skin was translucent the way some blondes’ are, and it gave her an almost luminous look. “Have you been sleeping well?” she asked.
“Mostly.”
“Only mostly?”
I looked down at my clenched hands. “Sometimes I have bad dreams. And sometimes I have trouble falling asleep, so even if I don’t dream, I don’t wake rested.”
“What kind of dreams?”
I really wished she hadn’t asked that question. “Dreams of my husband dying. He was almost killed during the attack on the Montana node, and in my dreams I see him battered the way he was when I found him, only I can’t reach him in time, and he…” I wiped my eyes again. “That’s probably normal, right?”
“I’ve found that ‘normal’ isn’t a good guideline. It generally just means ‘most common,’ and we don’t always aspire to be common.” Sydney’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not the only thing you dream about.”
She was too damned perceptive. This was something I really didn’t want to talk about. Which probably meant I should. I looked directly at her and said, “I shot a man. To death. I dream about it sometimes.”
Sydney didn’t look shocked, or concerned, or judgmental. She said, “What happened?”
I swallowed, seeing once more Santiago’s stunned, uncomprehending expression as the first bullet hit him. “I was in the Montana node with Malcolm. He couldn’t move—they’d paralyzed him. We were waiting for someone to pick us up. Mr. Santiago, the Mercy leader…I think he came to make sure all the captured Wardens were dead.” I closed my hands more tightly to still their shaking. “They were gassed. I couldn’t save them because the gas nearly killed me and Malcolm, too. I wanted to save them.” I heard the pleading note in my voice and shut my mouth.
Sydney just said, “And this Mr. Santiago—what did he do when he arrived?”
“We talked. Then he threw—threw Malcolm off the platform.” Tears choked me, and I took another tissue. “I attacked him, but it didn’t…he was so much stronger than me. He was going to kill me the way he’d killed Malcolm—I mean, I only thought Malcolm was dead—anyway. So I shot him.”
“And killed him.”
I nodded. “Seventeen times,” I added. My fingers felt numb. “I didn’t count. That’s just how many bullets my gun holds. Actually, it was sixteen times, because I shot at him once before that and only injured him. But that’s a lot, don’t you think? I didn’t need to shoot him so many times. Just once was enough.”
“Do you think you were wrong to shoot him that many times? Or wrong to shoot him at all?”
“It’s not wrong to fight for your life, is it? When the Mercy attacked the store, some of their people died, and I was indirectly responsible. But this—” My voice sounded ragged, and I cleared my throat. It didn’t help. “I killed him. I killed him. I never thought—”
A sob racked my body, and I cried as I hadn’t ever before, not in all the times I’d suffered terror and pain as a result of being Abernathy’s custodian. It hurt, a dull throbbing ache centered on my chest that spread throughout my body with every gasp and every tear. I covered my face and waited for Sydney to put her arms around me, and hoped she wouldn’t.
She didn’t. She sat quietly until I cried myself out into a shuddering mess. Then she said, “I think you never let yourself grieve that loss until now.”
I blew my nose. “What loss?”
“Loss of innocence. For all you’ve been at the center of a lot of turmoil as Abernathy’s custodian, you’ve probably never done anything to counter your image of yourself as a gentle person who would never hurt anyone. And now you’ve taken a life. It doesn’t matter whether you were justified or not, or even whether ‘justified’ is the right word. What matters is that you’re not the same person you used to be, and that other person was ripped away from you in the most horrific way possible. You have a right to grieve for her, just as you would any death.”
Her words struck me to the heart. I had never considered, in all the suppressing I’d done over shooting Santiago, that I’d hurt myself as well as him in pulling that trigger. I’d tried so hard to convince myself that I’d done the right thing, and that meant I wasn’t entitled to feel pain, that I’d hurt myself all over again. “I never thought of it like that.”
“I know.” Sydney shifted her position slightly, making the folds of her dress ripple. “It sounds to me like you’ve been telling yourself that because you survived the things that have happened to you, they haven’t affected you at all. But that’s not true. We’re all marked, every one of us, by our experiences good or bad. Imagine your wedding day. It was happy, wasn’t it?”
I remembered all the near-disasters that had threatened to ruin it, and how I’d sailed through them with
out a single worry. “It was.”
“You wouldn’t dream of telling yourself you shouldn’t hold that memory dear, or that you should forget about it now that it’s past, would you?”
“Of course not!”
“The same thing is true of our painful experiences. I’m not saying you should cling to your pain, because that’s harmful in a different way. But it’s important to accept that they happened and that they changed you. And to accept, also, that you’re not going to stay the same woman you were at twenty. Let yourself be changed.”
I nodded. “That makes sense. I…I didn’t want to remember killing Mr. Santiago, because I was angry and I thought Malcolm was dead and I wanted Mr. Santiago to suffer like I had. So I felt like…maybe like I’d shot him for revenge or out of anger instead of to save my own life. And that mattered, because I could still think of myself as a good person if I killed him out of desperation. But I killed him because I wanted him to die painfully, and I never knew I was the kind of person who could feel that way.”
“And now you have to learn who you are after that moment,” Sydney said. “It’s something we can work on in the weeks to come.”
“Weeks?” I flushed with embarrassment at how shocked I’d sounded, like the possibility of weeks of therapy was abhorrent. “I mean—I don’t know how long this is supposed to take.”
“It depends on how willing you are to work,” Sydney said. “I’d like to meet with you weekly, if you can manage it. We’ll talk, and I’ll teach you some techniques for managing your thoughts and behaviors that will, over time, help you to heal.” She stood, and I rose quickly after her. “For next time, though,” she added, “I’d like you to make a list of all the bad things that have happened to you since you became Abernathy’s custodian, and bring it with you. I think it will be revelatory.”
We agreed on a time for our next appointment, and Sydney walked with me back down the hall to Green 1. “Call if anything happens you feel can’t wait for next time,” she said.
I said goodbye and hurried past the circular desk, not wanting to be drawn into conversation, though the Wardens manning the desk (not the same Wardens as before) didn’t look inclined to start one. I felt emptied out, as if my crying had tapped some inner reservoir of pain and drained it. I hoped my face didn’t look too ruined. Good thing I hadn’t worn makeup.
I found a tech to return me to the node’s entrance and walked to my car, which the sun had warmed to a painful degree. I started the engine and rolled down the windows to let out the heated air. Unlike the stifling air, the seat, radiating warmth, actually felt good against my body, as if I’d been sitting in a refrigerator for an hour instead of the comfortable temperature-controlled Gunther Node. After a minute, I put the car in gear and backed down the low incline to the road. I had so much to talk to Malcolm about tonight.
I’d left the node just in time to hit rush hour traffic, which delayed me enough that Malcolm was home when I pulled into the garage. The smell of hot oil and crisp vegetables met my nose as I entered the house. I found Malcolm in the kitchen preparing sweet and sour pork stir fry. “Oh, delicious,” I said. Xerxes padded past me, twining around my legs, and I recognized the ploy of a cat who’d already tried to cadge meat from one Campbell and was trying his luck with another.
Malcolm put down his knife and hugged me tightly. “How did it go?”
“Well, I think. It was uncomfortable, but in a good way.” I popped a pea pod into my mouth and closed my eyes in pleasure at how the fresh, green flavor exploded on my tongue.
“I understand,” Malcolm said. “But you should probably sit down.”
He sounded so serious my peaceful mood evaporated. I drew up one of the kitchen stools and sat opposite him at the center island. “Is something wrong? More attacks?”
“No, not that.” He picked up the knife again, but didn’t resume chopping. “I’m afraid I have to leave in about two hours.”
I’d been reaching for another pea pod, but his too-casual tone of voice stopped me mid-motion. “You’re going on the hunt?” I felt irrationally abandoned, despite all my earlier talk about not being fragile. Surely there was no reason Malcolm had to hunt tonight, when I needed him?
Malcolm shook his head. “I’m ward-stepping to Australia,” he said. “Ms. Suzuhara released her report on Berryton earlier today. The Wardens have worked out where the invaders will strike next, and we’re going to stop them.”
7
I sucked in an astonished breath. “But—that’s good, isn’t it? You don’t sound like you think it’s good.”
“It is extremely dangerous,” Malcolm said. He went back to chopping vegetables in a slow, measured way like he was using them as a focus for his emotions. “We have no idea how they’re managing to drain entire towns, or even if they intend to do the same with their next target. Kalgoorlie is much larger than Berryton or that village near Barga. It seems impossible that the invaders have grown strong enough to destroy over thirty thousand people. So we have to expect the unexpected, which is virtually impossible.”
“How do they know this city—what’s it called?”
“Kalgoorlie. In Western Australia.”
“How do they know that’s where the invaders will attack?”
Malcolm turned away briefly to dump vegetables into the wok with a hiss and a puff of steam. “Do you remember the Pattern? At the Gunther Node?”
“I remember.” I’d seen it back when the Mercy was intent on conquering South America—a tunnel like a duct in a military base, with its walls covered with two-inch glass tiles in a mosaic of color that constantly shifted and changed as magi moved the tiles around. I’d been awestruck despite the fear that had consumed me at the time. “Shouldn’t that have predicted all the other attacks? I thought it was magic to analyze the invaders’ presence and identify where they are about to break through.”
“That’s true,” Malcolm said, “but these new attacks have been different enough that the Pattern didn’t identify them as part of the, well, pattern it identifies. Once Ms. Suzuhara’s investigation turned up enough information, it was clear the Pattern was needed. Magi around the world have worked ceaselessly since the Berryton disaster to alter the Pattern to take account of these new tactics. And about three hours ago, their work paid off.”
“And you’re going to Kalgoorlie.”
“I have to, love. They need the best fighters because they don’t know what to expect.”
“I’m sorry. That was whiny. I know you have to go. But I don’t have to like it, right?”
Malcolm cast a glance over his shoulder as he stirred vegetables briskly. “No. One of the things I love about you is your determination to do what’s right, even when it’s something you hate.”
“I wonder if that didn’t get me into trouble, though. Sydney—the therapist—she says it sounds like I’ve been telling myself that because I’ve gotten through all these bad things and done what’s right, I shouldn’t let them affect me. Like I’ve been suppressing my pain and fear all this time.” I laughed. “She wants me to write a list of everything awful that’s happened since I became Abernathy’s custodian. I was thinking about it on the drive home and it’s already stunning to realize how much I’ve gone through.”
“I remember telling you once you seem to attract trouble. Maybe it wasn’t as much a joke as I thought.” Malcolm added thin strips of marinated pork to the wok and continued to stir. The most heavenly aroma filled the air, and I breathed it in contentedly.
“Well, I only rarely go out of my way to encounter trouble. Mitch Hallstrom, for one, and I sort of walked into the Mercy’s trap in their second oracle.” I hopped down and opened cabinets to remove plates and glasses. “I assume you have time to eat, or you wouldn’t be cooking.”
“Believe it or not, Mother is coming here in a couple of hours to ward-step me directly to Kalgoorlie.”
I paused in the act of setting plates on the table. “She is not. Seriously?”
&nb
sp; “Lucia asked her to come out of retirement for this. I wasn’t kidding when I said we didn’t know what to expect. Mother’s a powerful telekinetic, and who knows if that won’t turn the tide in our favor?” Malcolm carried the wok to the table and set it down on the trivet with a flourish. “Let’s eat, and worry about the future later. I want to hear more about your session today.”
We ate, and talked, and I was almost able to push my fears for Malcolm to one side. But time passed far too quickly, and when the doorbell rang, it sent a shock of fear through me. Malcolm was upstairs getting changed, so I answered the door and got another shock: Madeleine was wearing white fatigues, and her normally elaborately styled black hair was braided and pinned tightly at the back of her head. “Come in,” I invited. “You look so different.”
“This is a time for being serious about the fight,” Madeleine said. She surveyed my small formal front room with a curious air, and I remembered this had been her house once. The thought made me uncomfortable, like I had some duty to live up to her memories. But she said nothing, not even a comment on the décor, and I realized further that she’d never been here since we moved in. I felt a pang of shame over having excluded Madeleine from our lives so thoroughly. Then I reminded myself of all the things she’d done to harass me, including offering me one and a half million dollars to break up with her son, and the shame disappeared.
“You’re early,” I said. “Malcolm’s still upstairs. Would you like to come into the living room?”
Madeleine nodded. If she took my words as criticism, she didn’t show it. We sat in the living room in silence. I stared at the fireplace, dark and cold in the middle of summer, and thought again how weird it must feel for Madeleine to be back here. It occurred to me that maybe her never coming over was partly her decision. Maybe it was painful, seeing this place and remembering that when she’d lived here, her husband had been alive.
The Book of Destiny Page 7