by Taylor Kole
Alex’s mouth turned into a cement mixer, churning the gritty blueberry muffin into clay. He tried to swallow, to ask what Charles meant, but the substances met with the forming lump, and clogged his gullet.
“According to the research I did last night,” Charles added as he exhaled, “my heart stopped beating about twenty minutes ago. I am truly sorry, Alex. I really am.”
“We both are,” Roy jumped in. “You have to see it from our perspective. You don’t yet know the fear of closing your eyes each night and praying with all you have that they will open the following morning. Of being weighted with the memories of all the great people you’ve outlived. There’s no horror like it.”
“And then this comes along,” Charles added. “Roy and I built so much together, yet the one sentiment we always shared was that it wasn’t enough. We needed more time. Can you see that? Can you understand our position?”
Alex pictured havoc at Legion. Despite Charles’s advice, Glen would have checked on them. When Glen found a fresh corpse, he’d call 911 and the ensuing chaos would shake the world, and remove Alex’s ability to deny his violation.
“This is the greatest thing that could have ever happened,” Roy said.
Alex was too stunned to disagree, too shocked to reach over the table and strangle the inconsiderate men across from him.
“We wish you all the luck in the world in keeping a lid on this,” Roy said. “We truly do, and meant everything we discussed. Follow the plan. It will work.”
“And I apologize for complicating matters,” Charles added, “but…” he looked down and toyed with his coffee cup.
Alex realized he’d been shaking his head ever so slightly, and couldn’t stop. This wasn’t an inconvenience. It was blowing the lid off their plans.
Alex wouldn’t survive. A hundred Taras couldn’t contain this. Rosa probably swayed around in the access room at that very moment, going to town with a sledgehammer.
“We know this puts you in a bind,” Roy said, “but can you at least say something? Say that you understand?”
“Understand?” Alex heard himself say as if from a distance. “I understand I’m about to wake to the worst day of my life. That you two put the Lobby’s existence—and perhaps my freedom—in jeopardy, for your own pleasure.”
Both men frowned, and their shoulders sagged.
“If they shut down every backup macroserver, you’ll probably blink out of existence,” Alex said.
“I’m on borrowed time,” Roy whispered.
“If this gets out,” Charles said, “turn it into a humanitarian thing, to keep the power on, like they’re killing us—”
“Stop,” Alex said. He swooned from the implications. A tiny part of him wished he could stay in here forever, but the selfishness of that thought disgusted him.
All three men faced the clock. Alex would be logging out at any moment.
Probably heading to jail shortly after.
He wondered if someone out there sold lobotomies.
“Alex.” Roy placed a hand on his friend’s arm. “Think about what this means for the world. Contain it if you can, but I say let it free. Tell everyone. Join us.”
Join them? Crush Rosa? Abandon his responsibilities? The notion startled him. Turned his stomach. He could never be that selfish.
Leaning back, Roy said, “Either way, it’s no longer my concern. I’m out of that bullshit rat race, and I can’t stress to you how good that feels. All I want to say is, I love you as a person, and I hope very much to see you again.”
Charles uttered something Alex didn’t catch. A tingling coursed through his body. A familiar lightness swept over him as he looked from young face to young face and saw concern. He heard himself say he understood or maybe he cursed them; he couldn’t be sure. His world went cloudy as his consciousness transported him from this nightmare to a probable living hell.
SEVENTH PLANE
OF EXISTENCE
Chapter Twenty-Five
Before entering the closed-door hearing, Peter had shared his legal counsel with Alex: “When dealing with the United States judicial system, say nothing. The courts are not after justice or the truth. It’s about winning, supporting a narrative, and finality. We are the nation of metaphorical black bags over heads, convictions without evidence. Don’t let propaganda convince you otherwise.”
Alex had obeyed and sat mute for the past hour, waiting for mention of his infraction for accessing the Lobby. The topic had yet to come up, despite the lawyers’ nonstop bickering.
“You can’t keep the Lobby offline without a reason,” Peter said, for what seemed the dozenth time.
“Your client is killing people,” Agent Andrews said. “You’ might be fine with that, but most of us are not.”
Killing people was a new line.
“Are you suggesting my client murdered Charles Arnold? That he murdered Roy Guillen?”
Agent Andrews puffed out his chest, as if he believed the answer to be yes.
“Elderly men die,” Peter said. “Some naturally, some overmedicate—”
“Commit suicide,” Agent Andrews barked.
“That’s not unheard of, Agent. Moreover, there is no law against providing a conducive environment to die. That could be labeled big-hearted, philanthropic even.”
“Big-hearted? Oh, you make me sick.” Agent Andrews appeared about to spit. “Suicide is the most selfish act possible. It offends every person of faith, and most others.”
“We didn’t cover God’s law at Harvard.” Peter leaned over the table and closed his leather binder. “I think we’re done here.”
The half-dozen other lawyers—essentially spectators, like Alex—seemed relieved by the statement.
“We are nowhere near done,” Agent Andrews said. “We have other motions aimed at keeping that dangerous machine offline until we have proof of its appetite for life.”
“And we’ll fight you long enough for the angry mob to climb over your gates, carry you out of power, and demand their favorite pastime reinstated,” Peter said.
“That’s a threat,” Agent Andrews said to the mediatore, a woman who seemed the most relieved for this session to be ending.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “let’s take a day to cool ourselves. I’ll expect clear and precise points of contention to when we next meet.”
“Mr. Cutler,” Peter said. “It’s time to make our exit.” He stood, his briefcase by his side.
“We will continue this tomorrow morning, nine a.m.,” Agent Andrews said.
With no objections from Andrews, and as everyone in the room gathered their belongings in a show of support, Alex stood.
The previously quiet hall—for it had to be past eight in the evening—echoed with the approaching footsteps of Alex’s head of security. Luke stepped in front of Alex, stopping him and Peter. “I need to prep you before our departure. There’s a swarm of reporters out front, some camped out back. We’ll need to hussle you out. No stops. Just stay on my tail.”
“I need a few more minutes of Mr. Cutler’s time,” Peter said.
Luke checked with Alex, who nodded, and then followed Peter into the same meeting room they’d been in before the hearing.
With the door shut, Peter loosened his tie and stared at the wall.
Alex wanted to get home, update Rosa, and find some peace, so he interrupted his lawyer’s rumination.“Peter, let’s make this quick.”
The younger man inspected Alex with a slight frown, raised eyebrows, and one hand tucked under the opposite armpit. Peter motioned toward the chairs.“Let’s sit.”
Alex sat. Peter remained standing, inspecting Alex long enough to raise Alex’s temperature. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s happening.”
What’s happening… Alex thought as a montage played in his head: the nurses wheeling out Roy’s body; the young, confused, and then giddy Roy they had found in Nebraska, 1871; Charles glowing face as Alex logged out, leaving them to immortality.
&n
bsp; “I was tiptoeing through a minefield in there,” Peter said. “If I step wrong, that psycho will get his wish. The Lobby will be gone forever, so...”
Alex was still thinking about the last time he was in Starbucks. At what point did the old part of the young Charles die? Did he feel a tingling throughout his body as Alex prattled on, and know his gamble had succeeded?
“Let me be clear: if you want me to protect you, which I will do until the end of time, then you need to tell me what’s going on. The truth. Understand, I don’t care if you are murdering your friends—although I will advise against it in the future and suggest you seek help from a specific doctor I know—but out of everyone on this planet, I must know the truth.”
Alex and Rosa were the only living people who knew the truth. Staring at Peter, he recalled a saying, “It takes two to keep a secret, three to make it common knowledge.”
“I’m bound by oath, and honor, to never divulge what you tell me. I am your most trusted advisor.”
“Okay,” Ales said. He needed help, and Peter might be the only he could trust that he also had access to. Alex told him everything. About Roy’s death and finding him in Nebraska, about Charles. Alex ended by saying that since the Lobby offered so many destinations, he’d probably never see his two friends again.
Given a do-over, he should have scheduled another meeting with the men, at least for a better salutation.
Peter had eased into the chair across from Alex halfway through his tale. He’d scooted closer on two occasions, putting the man directly across from him, and their knees almost touched. When Alex finished, he read nothing in the attorney’s blank stare.
Peter placed both hands over his face, and hung his head.
Alex almost placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. Alex had made a mistake confiding in Peter. Peter could easily go retell this story. By his body language, Alex expected him to get up, apologize, and go right down to the mediator.
Peter dropped his hands and looked up.
The lawyer’s enormous smile shocked Alex. “And what?” Peter slapped Alex’s thigh, and squeezed the knee hard enough to make Alex flinch.“You think they’re going to be there forever?”
“What?”
“Like, just what, forever?” Peter stood. “But what if the power goes out?”
“I’m not sure it can.”
“Okay. Well, you know those guys. What do you think they’re doing right now? Just driving down some boulevard in a limo, hanging out of the moonroof with a bottle of champagne in each hand, two gorgeous hotties blowing them from underneath?”
“What?”
“Two old geezers squeezing titties and making it rain.” Peter giggled.
“Peter,” Alex snapped his fingers. “Are you with me right now?”
Peter faced him, but his eyes were wide, looking off in the distance.
“Listen to me: I’m worried about going to jail. Do you think Agent Andrews can ruin my life?”
Peter twisted his wedding band, and stepped away. “They were both single, right?” He furrowed his brow. “I’d love to leave Wanda some type of note, make sure she was taken care of, but I could have a virtual wife.” He scrutinized Alex. “Did I ever tell you that’s how I spend most of my vacations—with Lydia, my virtual girlfriend? She gets me, Alex. I mean, I know she’s a program, but… I don’t know. She remembers things, and cares about me like no American woman can.”
Alex rapped his knuckles on the table, “Hey. Are you here, man?”
“Here? Of course, but what the fuck, ya know? Fuck. I never wondered if Lydia could leave her world. Can she do that? Can she visit other worlds with me?”
“I need you to calm down.”
“I am calm, you asshole. Just asking a question. I mean, it’s not an unreasonable question.”
“Am I going to go to jail? That’s a reasonable question. Can we save the Lobby from annihilation?”
“Save the Lobby? Of. Course.That’s done, Alex.” Peter pulled his chair back, sat, and leaned in. “I will do anything to keep it safe. I’d break the law.” Peter’s grin widened. “I would. It’s the one thing I’ve spent my life saying I’d never do. But I’d break the damn law to help the Lobby. It’s too valuable now. Us lawyers know what a wicked machine the courts are. It’s why we’re scared to death of it. But,” he licked his lips, “what you’ve just told me, growing old in society or retiring in paradise.” He snorted. “I’ll break that law.”
“You’re not giving me much confidence you’ll keep this secret.”
Peter jerked his head like a bird, and straightened his tie.“I’m an excellent attorney. Attorney-client privilege is a sacred pact, as far as I’m concerned.”
“After the shock wears off, I need you to consider the implications. If you want to save the Lobby, we must work to keep the anomalous fact, of life carrying on in the Lobby, a secret.”
Peter took Alex’s hand in both of his. “You have my solemn loyalty, Mr. Cutler. You can trust me. I’ll never repeat what you’ve said. I’ll beat back this hiccup. Things will return to normal. I only ask one thing: when the time comes—years, a decade from now, after it’s all died down and a thing of the past—you’ll permit me to transfer in. Permanently.”
Alex tried to pull back his hand, but Peter held tight.
“No one will know. I’m talking years from now. I’ll plan it out for us; you’ll do a little clean up. I’ll never tell a soul. No one should know the Lobby’s secret. I’m just thinking about myself here. Give me your word, and you have mine. I’ll wipe the floor with this agent, have everything smooth, the Health and Wellness plan will prevent future incidents, the world ticks on happily. I only need your word.”
Alex itched behind his ear with his free hand. Seeing no alternative, feeling he’d benefit from the alliance, “You have my word.”
“Great,” Peter released his hand and stood. “You trusted the right person, Mr. Cutler. Consider this done. I’ll still have to bill you, but this inquiry will blow over in a matter of months.” He grinned.“If you can keep your friends from dying on your private access points, that is.”
“That won’t be a problem.” Alex had no friends left. As he stood, he felt comforted. Peter’sonviction emitted a perceptible energy. and Alex lathered in it.
Luke waited in the hall and peppered Alex with exit instructions as Peter moved on, with a little skip to his step.
The security team ushered Alex out the back rugby style, defenders all around, moving in centipedal fashion.
The cries of reporters and gathered onlookers hardly registered. Alex had shared his secret with one person. He had to hear Peter’s plan to keep things bottled up, but he now felt confident he could keep Tara and Adisah out of it, netting him two fewer conspirators.
The return commute passed without commotion. Arriving home stirred the reporters posted outside his gate, but only long enough for them to film the passing vehicles. Inside, Alex called Rosa’s name. He wanted to tell her about him avoiding jail. He’d leave out all mention of the Lobby unless she asked. Maybe they’d have dinner on the second-level patio, under the stars.
Feeling good, well… decent, for the first time in days, Alex decided to shortcut the search. “Victor, where’s Rosa?”
“Mrs. Cutler left the premises at precisely five thirteen.”
Left the premises? Four hours ago. Six additional steps solved the mystery. A digital note flashed on a section of Legion’s wall, which they used as a community board. Alex pressed the icon to open it.
“I’ve packed a bag and gone to the beach house. I have calmed down. I do feel better, but I stand by my request. You must remove that thing from our house. We will talk in a few days. I love you with all my heart, Alex. I am positive this crisis will bring us closer. I simply need a few days to myself. With love, Rosa.”
Alex first admired his wife’s commitment to their marriage, and them living happy, forever. Next, he worried who would be with her at the Malibu house. They could
n’t afford for her to share this, not with anyone.
Deleting the message, he accepted that he trusted her to keep it quiet. Privacy mattered to Rosa. Standing in an empty house, knowing he wouldn’t be holding her tonight, made him feel as if someone tossed a bucket of swamp water over him, leaving him feeling weighted, dirty, and totally out of sorts.
Moving to the library, he grabbed a thin blanket, lay on the nearest couch, and courtesy of resurging depression, fell asleep within seconds.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The second mediation meeting was as miserable as the first, but now Alex sat at home, and though potential still existed for him to be criminally, or financially, culpable for Charles’s death, the odds had dropped precipitously in the last twenty-four hours. Peter, true to his word, was rapid and precise in his defense of Alex, and the Lobby
Alex had showered and eaten in preparation to watch Rebecca Trevino’s show, Inside Today. Recently, he’d been tuning in every weekday at eight. Hers seemed to be the only news program that argued multiple sides. She often inserted hard facts, and showcased data that proved the Lobby’s wasn’t, and never had been, a danger. That didn’t mean she avoided speculation or debating ideas. However, she was the only reporter withholding rants about Lobby horrors.
Melted into a leather couch in the main floor library, Alex wore a pair of Broumgard sweatpants and a stretched-out T-shirt. He devoured Oreos two at a time. A square foot inset on the bottom right of his television, swiped through photos of Rosa. She could smile in a hundred different ways, all of them gorgeous. He longed for the approaching day when things cooled between them, and he could be the man she deserved.
Today’s episode brought the potential of Charles’s autopsy report. He wondered if its revelations of death from an overdose of medication. He wondered if that would sway Rebecca Trevino’s current faith in everything Lobby.
While channel surfing, he found a replay of Peter’s earlier news conference. Even though Alex had listened to it a dozen times that day, he increased the volume.
“Allow me to dispel a series of rumors.” Peter squared his shoulders to the podium, his skin looked youthful, his voice boomed. “Charles Arnold was not a depressed man. He, like thousands of others, was an overmedicated patient—a victim of big pharma’s exploitation of our elderly citizens. “The baseless smear against my client, Alex Cutler, is the media scourge at its best: sensationalizing fiction to gather ratings. Since media is about profits, my hat’s off to them. But I’ll address the sensible people of this world: Alex Cutler is as kind a man as you will ever find. The Lobby, as it has been for seven public years and many private years prior to that, is conclusively safe.”