She huffed in frustration. “‘In there?’” She tried to brazen it out. “Ultimately, however weird it is, it’s just math. It can’t hurt me.”
“It’s not just math and you know it!” I was getting angry, now.
She crossed her arms. “You said you didn’t believe in magic.”
“I don’t. But thinking like the killer thinks, going to that place in your head...I think it’s dangerous.” I sighed. I took hold of her shoulders and when I felt that gorgeous, smooth skin against my fingers, all the anger went out of me. My voice softened but my grip on her shoulders tightened protectively. “And I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
We looked into each other’s eyes and both of us relaxed a little, climbing down. She leaned forward and touched her forehead to mine. God...this was still our first day together. It seemed like weeks ago that we’d finally kissed, finally had sex, but that was only last night. Today should have been all about getting to know her better, spending time together. Instead, we’d been through hell.
I gently pushed back and laid a soft kiss on her lips. She gave a little groan of need and slipped her arms around my neck. I teased her lips with my tongue, exploring her, and she relaxed into it, her body molding to mine. It wasn’t urgent and primal, like the night before. It was tender and caring. This is what we’d both been needing all day: each other.
A voice in my head screamed that I didn’t deserve this, that she’d hate me if she knew the truth.
I wrestled it down and managed to silence it. For now.
When she broke the kiss, her anger was gone but her eyes were big with worry. “Sam, we don’t have a choice. Harry’s going to die tomorrow morning.” Her eyes went to the sea of paper on the floor. “Even if it isn’t good for me, I have to do this.”
I sighed and rubbed at my stubble. But however hard I thought, I couldn’t come up with another plan. She was the only chance we had. And even though every cell in my body was screaming at me to protect her, I knew she’d never forgive herself if Harry died. “Okay,” I said at last. “But I’ll stay here with you. I’ll make sure you take breaks. Water. Food. Coffee. Make sure you don’t go too deep.”
She nodded, relieved, and held out her hand. “Deal.” We shook on it. And then kissed again.
I gave her her pen back. She found a fresh pad of paper. And my phone rang.
It was the hospital. I’d asked them to call me if there was any change in Clara’s condition. She’d just woken up.
“Go,” said Yolanda as soon as I told her.
I hesitated, uncertain. I really didn’t want to leave her alone again. But if Clara could give us a lead on the killer, we might not even need the math anymore. We might be able to pick up the killer right now, save Harry, and end this whole thing.
“Go,” she said again. Was it me or...was there a part of her that seemed almost eager? As if she was desperate to submerge herself in the equations again...and not because of Harry?
“You promise you’ll take breaks?” I said. “And not go as deep as you did before?”
She nodded.
I debated for another few seconds...then I kissed her one last time and ran.
46
Yolanda
WHEN HE’D GONE, I just sat there staring at the door for a moment. I could still feel the touch of his lips on mine, the rasp of his stubble on my cheek. I thought about what he’d done, how he’d come to check on me, got me out of whatever weird, super-deep state I’d slipped into, cooked for me. He’d ignored my anger and rudeness, even put my safety ahead of the case. All while he was dealing with his own problems, like the FBI investigation into his conduct. If he was found at fault, it could be the end of his career and the FBI was Calahan’s whole life. But he’d put all that aside to look after me. And that made me examine my own feelings.
I’d felt things for him since we first met. But I hadn’t fully acknowledged how much things had changed...deepened. It wasn’t just lust, anymore. It went beyond friends, beyond partners. When he wasn’t around, it was like an ache, a need. When he smiled, it was like fireworks going off in my chest. When something was bothering him, I’d move mountains to fix it.
I was in—
My heart gave a big, bass-drum boom.
I swallowed. That.
And what troubled me was, despite that, there was part of me that was relieved he was gone because it meant I could get back to the equations.
That scared me. Really scared me. The killer’s math was wrong, on a soul-deep level, but it called to me even more strongly now than when I’d first seen it. It was addictive.
I didn’t want to go back in there. I was shaken by what it had already done to me. Calahan had been right, the only way to do this safely was with regular breaks. But he was gone. There’d be nobody to pull me out.
I debated. But really there was no argument at all. Harry was out there, somewhere.
I put my head down and started work. But less than an hour later, I surfaced with a yell of frustration. It was just like before: I could recreate the killer’s strings of equations but I didn’t understand what I was trying to do. It was like being fluent in a language but not knowing what to write.
I checked the time. It was almost one in the morning. In less than ten hours, Harry would be killed. I closed my eyes and I could see him wriggling in the killer’s arms, screaming over his shoulder for me to help him.
I couldn’t let him die. But I’d run out of ideas. How could I take the final step? How could I think more like the killer? How could I open my mind enough to see the big picture?
And then it hit me. There was one more thing I could try.
As soon as I thought of it, a chill crept up my arms and down my spine. I was already risking my mind, doing what I was doing now. If I did this, I’d stand a real chance of losing my sanity.
Harry’s terrified wail echoed in my ears.
I called a cab.
47
Yolanda
LESS THAN fifteen minutes later, I was wheeling myself through the doors of the FBI building. By now, people knew who I was and they knew how urgent the investigation was. It wasn’t hard to convince them that I needed to check a piece of evidence that had been booked in earlier that day. Or, once I was down in the evidence lock-up with the box from the crime scene, to slip what I needed into my pocket.
As I thanked them and wheeled myself out of the room, my shoulders tensed, waiting for someone to yell, to grab me, to throw me in jail. But nothing happened. One thing about being in a wheelchair: no one ever suspects you.
I was heading for the elevator when a voice behind me called, “Yolanda?”
I spun around. Alison. The thing I’d slipped into my pocket felt like it was red hot and glowing through my clothes. She’s going to know…. “Hey,” I said weakly.
She looked exhausted but determined. “We’ve been chasing up leads all day. No sign of Harry or the killer. Have you and Calahan got anything?”
Me and Calahan. If Calahan knew what I was about to do, he’d go ballistic. “Working on it,” I muttered. She still intimidated the hell out of me. “I better get back to it.”
I hurried on and was almost at the elevator when she called out to me again. “Yolanda!”
I stopped and turned around again. Alison caught up to me, opened her mouth...and then stopped, as if she didn’t know what to say. I frowned. This wasn’t like her at all.
“I’m sorry,” said Alison, looking at the floor. “I know I screwed up.”
She lifted her eyes to me and suddenly, I wasn’t seeing the perfect, intimidating super-agent. I was seeing her, the woman behind the mask. And she was terrified. “If Harry dies...” she whispered.
I nodded quickly. I had no idea how to handle this. I’m not good with people: it had taken this long just for me to be halfway normal with Calahan. “It was an accident,” I told her. “It could have happened to anyone.” I reached out and hesitantly squeezed her arm.
She gav
e me a weak smile. God, this whole thing had really shaken her. I understood that she wasn’t used to failing, but it was more than that….
For the first time, I wondered what it must be like to be a female agent. There were vastly more men than women, from what I’d seen. Maybe it meant working harder, being better. Never screwing up. And never showing weakness.
I stopped being intimidated and started feeling sorry for her.
“It’s going to be okay,” I heard myself say. “What I’m—What Calahan and I are doing, it’ll work. We’ll find Harry.”
She nodded gratefully. Then, just as I was about to go, she grabbed my hand. “Calahan,” she blurted.
I frowned and waited for more. But her lips had pressed together into a tight line: she couldn’t find the words. Then I looked into her eyes and saw it: a deep, protective love.
Oh. Oh!
I flushed. I’d thought the suspicion I’d seen in her was from jealousy. I’d thought she held a candle for him. But no.
“He’s like a big brother to me,” managed Alison. “He believed in me, when I was coming up. One of the only people who did.”
I nodded quickly, ashamed I’d got it so wrong.
“A lot of women have tried to get to know him, since Becky,” said Alison. “But he hasn’t gotten close to any of them. Not like he has with you. So I hope it works.”
I swallowed and nodded, my cheeks going scarlet.
“But break his heart and I’ll break your face, wheelchair or not. Okay?”
I nodded hard and we went our separate ways.
A cab ride later, I was back in my apartment. Only then did I finally dig in my pocket and bring out the little evidence bag. I held it up to the light, staring at the little LSD-soaked squares of blotting paper.
They scared the hell out of me. I knew how fragile my mind was. And mixing hallucinogens with the killer’s disturbing blend of magic and math, plus very little sleep...it seemed like the perfect recipe to break me. But it was the only way I could think of to get in his head, to see things like he did. If I didn’t do this, Harry was dead. Calahan and Alison would blame themselves and I knew I’d never forgive myself for not trying.
I stared at the blotting paper for three more breaths. And then, before I could change my mind, I grabbed one, put it on my tongue and swallowed it.
48
Calahan
THE HOSPITAL was a washout. It was a relief to see Clara awake and talking and the doctors said she was expected to make a full recovery. And Clara was eager to help, even though she was still weak. I questioned her for hours and it helped confirm a lot of things we’d only been able to guess at. Yes, the killer had jabbed a needle into her neck to dose her with something when he kidnapped her. Yes, she’d been kept semi-conscious while he drained her blood and yes, it had been almost painless, though terrifying. But she couldn’t tell us anything useful about where she’d been kept and her description of his face was frustratingly vague. Blue or maybe green eyes, long dark hair, good looking. I thanked her and headed for the exit.
Alison called as I was stalking angrily down the hallway. She didn’t have good news either, and was hoping I did. “Yolanda’s working on the math,” I told her. “That’s our best lead.” Our only lead, I added silently. Alison went quiet, which wasn’t like her. “What?” I asked at last.
“She’s nice,” said Alison.
“Didn’t think the two of you got on.”
“Well, she’s a freakin’ genius. That’s pretty intimidating. But I’ve got to know her a little, now.” She hesitated. “She’d be good for you, Sam.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Uh-huh.”
“I don’t mean just sex, or short term. I mean she’d make you happy.”
“Mmph.”
“If you let her.”
“Mm,” I muttered.
“Sam,” said Alison quietly. “You deserve to be happy.”
I stopped, at that. I felt my arm tense up, ready to throw the phone. No. No I don’t. That was what made it so hard. I’d never been drawn to anyone in the same way I was to Yolanda. But I couldn’t be with her, not really be with her, as long as I kept my secret from her. And if I told her, I had no idea how she’d react. I imagined her face crumpling in disgust, in disappointment that I wasn’t the hero she thought I was, and my chest closed up tight. I couldn’t take that. Not from the woman I was falling—
I screwed my eyes shut. Don’t think that way. I tried to change the subject. ““When did you suddenly become best friends, anyway?” I asked Alison.
“We had a talk, tonight.”
I frowned. “Tonight?”
“She was here, at the office...maybe an hour ago?”
I froze. When I’d left Yolanda in her apartment, nothing had been more important to her than getting back to the equations. “What was she doing there?”
“Taking a look at some evidence, I think. She was coming out of the evidence lock-up when I saw her. Wait, you didn’t send her?”
I didn’t answer. My mind was racing. What the hell could she want in the evidence lock-up?
Then I got it. Oh God. Oh no.
I ended the call and ran for my car. Slapped the red light on the dashboard and roared off, siren wailing. And prayed I got there in time.
49
Yolanda
AT FIRST, there was nothing. Maybe it’s defective. Maybe I’m immune.
I closed my eyes, sat back in the chair and tried to go deep. It felt just how it always feels, like sinking into sun-warmed, glutinous mud, a comforting heaviness around my mind that blocks out the outside world. I sank down and down....
I waited impatiently for something to happen, for my mind to open and have some mystical revelation. What if it doesn’t work? Harry would die. None of us would ever forgive ourselves. Come on!
And then I felt something. A coldness, spreading along the base of my spine, as if I was lying in bed and had knocked over a glass. I’d sunk all the way through the warm, comforting mud. And below me was a layer of icy water.
I let out a shuddering cry as I fell clear of the mud and the water closed around me. It was much thinner than the mud and I could feel myself falling faster and faster. The water didn’t hug me the way the mud had: it felt distant and uncaring: I tried to grab onto it but it slipped between my fingers. And there was too much of it, I was at the center of a huge ocean with nothing for thousands of miles in any direction.
I plunged, the surface suddenly miles away.
Down and down, picking up speed. And then I burst through the bottom of the water and I was in a void. Not air, just nothing, a blackness, chillingly cold. It felt as if I was outside the world, outside time. I was behind the scenes of the universe, away from all the people and sunlight and laughter and children, all those distractions that stop people like me thinking. I could focus and when I did—
I could see. I could see how it all worked. I drew in a slow breath, exhilarated. Planets sweeping round in their orbits, quantum physics, exotic matter. Language, belief, religion, magic, all so simple. It was as if the cogs of my mind had been clogged with sand, all these years, and the perfect blackness had blown it all free. I could see the killer’s plan, now, the spell I needed to reconstruct. I didn’t know what it did, but I understood the mechanics and I started writing it down, my pen flying. Why didn’t I try this sooner? It felt amazing, as if my IQ had just doubled. I loved it. I didn’t want to stop.
And then the blackness moved.
It was so quick, it was gone before I fully saw it. Just a hint of something like a bat’s wing. There was nothing for long moments. Then the floor shifted, becoming alive. It wasn’t a floor, it was a million scurrying somethings with too many legs.
I wasn’t surrounded by blackness. I was surrounded by things made of blackness. And they wanted me, wanted to touch me and own me, and crawl inside my brain. They told me how what happened in the world up there didn’t matter. Only they mattered.
Oh God...my
stomach knotted as I realized. This place allowed me to think because it removed me from the distractions. But the distractions were things I wanted, things I needed. Calahan, my friends, sunlight….
Children.
Down here, it was just me and the...things.
They were black against black so I could only glimpse them when they moved. A river of spiders scurrying up my ankles, up my legs, under my jeans. I opened my mouth to scream but my voice was choked off, twisting black tentacles cutting off my air, covering my eyes and ears, dragging me deeper into the black. No! I want out! I want to go back!
My mind strained for the surface, a part of it lunging upward while the rest was carried down, down, down. My mind stretched out thinner than a pencil line, thinner than a hair, thinner than an atom. It went tight.
No! I screamed against the darkness.
My mind snapped.
50
Calahan
I HAMMERED on the door of her apartment. “Yolanda? Yolanda!”
No answer. I put my ear to the door and listened, holding my breath.
A cry. A sob that got inside me and tightened like a fist around my heart. Back when I was starting out in the NYPD, we were called to a domestic dispute. We got there to find a drunk husband beating the hell out of his wife: there were literally dents in the drywall where he’d been slamming her against it. On the floor in the corner, their six year-old had been watching, hands clamped over her ears, unable to process the horror of watching daddy beat mummy. She’d made that exact same keening, let me out of here cry.
I cursed, took one pace back, and kicked the door down.
The apartment was in a mess, half of the lights off and even more paper strewn on the floor than before. Where is she? “Yolanda! Yolanda!” She’d gone quiet, as if she was hiding. Hiding from me? “Yolanda!”
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