And if that’s the case, I may never find him in Base Life.
Maybe I shouldn’t even try.
How did they know?
How could Gesh’s Descenders know I’d be at the fountain? There were only four people who knew my plan to meet Blue.
Blue knew.
We made the plan together. Whether he remembered was still a mystery. I thought he was a traitor once before, but I proved myself wrong. I was the traitor. I told Gesh I was traveling again, that I was fighting against him. If Blue were working for Gesh, then his memory would have to be working. He’d have to remember our plan in order to tell Gesh about it. It was possible. But I didn’t want to believe it.
Levi knew.
He was standing there when I made the plan with Blue. He overheard us. It was only two months ago for me, but it’s been almost eighteen years for Levi. Who knows what he’s gone through in that time. Who knows who he’s become. Who he’s been working for. But if he were working with Gesh to capture me, then why would he be in the car, helping me escape, making sure I wasn’t hurt? It didn’t make sense, but then again, I barely knew him. He used to love Ivy, my past self, but he doesn’t love me, Alex.
Porter knew.
I told him because I needed his help getting here. His protection. Could he be betraying me? Lying to me this entire time? Leading me on some wild-goose chase? Training me so I’m of use to Gesh? Porter was the one who created me. He made me into what I am. He used to be partners with Gesh. He says all that changed, that Gesh is his enemy now. But is that true? My trust in Porter wavers from day to day, it seems. If only he’d been honest with me from the beginning, I wouldn’t have so much trouble trusting him now.
Micki knew.
Porter or Levi must have explained everything to her. They must trust her, but I don’t even know her. She said she works for me, but what does that mean? And if she’s lying, and she works for Gesh, then why would she murder his Descenders?
None of it makes sense. None of them seem like traitors, not after rescuing me. They all seem on my side. So how did Gesh know?
I pull myself from the incoherence of sleep and open my eyes to a small, shadowy bedroom. A large window across from me frames a barren, frosty field, tinted blue from moonlight, and a line of evergreens in the distance.
I have no idea where I am.
I shift under blankets that smell faintly of cologne or aftershave, some kind of earthy boy scent, which means I’m in a boy’s bed, tangled in a boy’s sheets, my head heavy on a boy’s pillow.
Sharp pain courses through my skull when I sit up. I pat my face with my fingertips, gingerly assessing the damage—two tender spots on my cheekbone, and my right ear feels like it had a run-in with a potato peeler. My nose is puffy, like it’s grown a size. I glance around for my fake glasses out of habit, even though they were broken during the fight, but they’re nowhere nearby. There is, however, a small chair in the corner with my parka and scarf draped across it. My luggage sits on the floor beside it, the bags I brought with me to Chicago.
Gently, I pull myself out of bed. Stand on weak legs. I’m still in the clothes I wore last night. My jeans and shirt smell, but they’re not horrible. It’s too dark to see how badly they’re bloodstained.
Murmuring voices tug me from the bedroom and into a dark hallway with a bright light at the end. Down the carpeted hall I move on socked feet, quietly, toward the voices and the light. At the end, I turn the corner into a living room turned medical examining room. A couch and end table are to my left. There are windows and a front door across from me, covered with blackout paper. Bright white surgical lights on portable stands pour over two exam tables with two bodies lying facedown. The Descender and Decoy Boy. I can tell by their clothes. The black hoodie with the red stripe.
Micki and Porter are bent over one of the bodies, tools in hand.
I see blood.
I smell blood.
I step closer.
The back of the Descender’s head is cut open, gaping wide, the white light spilling across the folds of his grayish-pink brain. Porter wiggles a shiny pair of pliers inside it.
I feel like I might puke from the sight of it, from the shock of it, but words tumble out instead. “What are you doing?”
Porter and Micki lift their heads, their faces obscured by medical masks.
“Alex,” Porter says, reaching for me with a gloved, bloody hand. “It’s OK.”
“They’re just Subs,” Micki says, seeing the disgust on my face. “They were Gesh’s drones. They no longer had a will of their own. Think of them as robots. Synths.”
“But they weren’t. They were human.” I look to Porter. “I thought you didn’t do this sort of thing anymore. I thought you were finished experimenting on people.”
“I am,” Porter says. “And Micki is right. They were only Subs. Gesh stripped them of their humanity long ago.”
I shake my head, not understanding. Maybe not wanting to understand.
Micki pulls her mask down. “These aren’t innocent people, Number Four. These are Gesh’s soldiers. Do you know how many people they’ve murdered? How many innocent people?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I’m shaking, fists at my sides, not only because of what they’re doing but because she insists on calling me Four, reminding me I’m a number, not a person.
“It does matter, actually,” Micki says, her voice flat, her dark eyes cold.
Porter steps toward me. “You have a concussion. You should be lying down, not dealing with something like this. It’s too much to process right now.”
I step away from him, but my heels hit the couch and I fall onto the cushions. Porter reaches out and grabs my arm to steady me, but I yank it away. They watch me for a moment while I stare at my feet. Socks on worn, stained carpet.
“You have to trust me, Alex.” It’s one of Porter’s favorite lines. It’s a damn catchphrase at this point.
“You know me well enough by now,” I say. “I’ll trust you when you explain. So start explaining. Where am I? Why are you dissecting brains in the living room?”
“We’ll tell you everything, I promise, but there has to be an order to the information. I don’t want to overwhelm you with a lifetime of knowledge crammed into a few hours.”
“I can handle it.”
He smiles sadly, like he knows I can. Maybe he’s always known. But he thinks keeping me in the dark keeps me safe. I wish he understood that it does the opposite. It leaves me vulnerable. Unprepared.
He sits beside me, knees turned toward mine, and pulls his mask down. “We’re a team, you and I.”
“I used to think so.”
“For the past seventeen years I’ve been watching you grow. But that’s not all I’ve been doing. And I’m not the only one who’s been protecting you. Levi and Micki have, too.”
I glance at Micki. She doesn’t look like the kindly chaperone I met a few days ago, urging me to make friends, buying me coffee. She looks fierce. A tiger ready to pounce.
“I don’t understand.”
“They’ve been working with me this whole time. Working against Gesh. Waiting for you to grow up and join the team.”
“Working against Gesh how?”
“Battling his soldiers.” Porter glances at the two bodies on the tables.
I glance at them, too. “You mean going around murdering his Descenders?”
Micki steps around the exam table. She’s still wearing heels, if you can believe it, even after all that’s happened. Even while digging in a dead guy’s brain. “If we don’t want Gesh to tamper with time, if we want to diminish his power in Base Life, then we have to take his Descenders out. Take out his Subs, too. This is reality, Number Four.”
“But you told me it was just us,” I say to Porter. “We were going to smoke Gesh out of his hole by screwing up his treasure hunts. We were going to steal all his funds so he couldn’t control the government anymore. You never told me he had soldiers, or that we’re killing them
.”
Porter’s red-rimmed eyes are solemn. He rubs circles around his pinky knuckle with his thumb. “Gesh’s funding is only one way he maintains power. Another is the use of his Subs. They’re everywhere. Ready and waiting to do his will, like sleeper agents. They’re in the White House, the Supreme Court, the CIA, the FBI. In our universities, our police forces, the army, navy, you name it. That’s why we take them out. If we can’t cut off his head, we cut off his feet.”
“You keep saying Subs. Isn’t Levi a Sub? That’s what he told me when we first met. He said he was a Sublunary, someone who couldn’t ascend to Limbo, someone who works for Gesh on earth, in Base Life.”
“He was a Sub,” Porter says. “He’s not anymore.”
“What do you mean? He’s a Descender now?”
Porter shakes his head and looks to Micki to answer the question.
“Ever heard of Nikola Tesla?” Micki asks, folding her arms.
Her change of topic knocks me off guard for a second. “Of course.” Tesla was the father of electricity. When most people think of electricity innovation, they think of Edison, but Tesla was an unsung hero. Most of what he developed was used by Edison, attributed to Edison, while Tesla was forgotten. But I know better. I admire Tesla, because I know electricity inside and out.
Micki taps her red fingernails against her arm. “Ever heard of his brain manipulation theory?”
I scrunch my nose. “He worked with wires. Connections. Electrical impulses. Not brains.”
“Brains run on electrical impulses. Our nervous system is a tangle of wires. Connections. Everything on the planet, in the solar system, runs on bioenergy, and that energy is composed of distinct frequencies. We all function in harmony, in balance, because of the way our frequencies interact. If you controlled those frequencies, though, if you altered them, as Tesla theorized, you could control the human race.”
Now that she mentions it, I remember reading about that theory. It was part of the reason Tesla fell into obscurity. A lot of his ideas, his limitless thinking, made him sound like a madman. “It was just a theory. He never tested it on humans.”
“He didn’t, but Gesh did. And he developed this.” Micki nods at the Descender’s brain, beckoning me to take a look. I stand and move toward the body, feeling sick.
I lean over the Descender, peering into his brain. Something small and shiny is lodged there, tucked between the fleshy pink wrinkles.
A microchip.
“Gesh surgically implants them in the brains of his Subs. It controls the resonance of the brain’s frequencies, which induces an altered brain state, sort of like the sleepwalking phenomenon. Enough for the person to function normally on the outside, but their impulses, their desires, their inherent free will are subdued. Their need to follow, to worship, to do what they’re told, is heightened. They no longer think for themselves. They’re glorified robots, slaves programmed to follow orders.”
“Gesh’s orders,” I say, peering closer at the chip. “So he turns them into the Illuminati? Russian spies? The Mafia?”
“Sort of, only Subs are much more lethal. They pull silent strings. Keep the flow of power aimed in Gesh’s direction. It’s all very subtle. Very sleight of hand. But effective. You never know it’s happening.”
“So this chip brainwashes them.”
“It’s more than brainwashing. It’s reprogramming to the point that they’re no longer human. Gesh wants soldiers who are deadly but submissive, soldiers who will walk into the face of death without question. Humans as good as machines, stuck on autopilot.”
I glance at the Descender’s hand, lying on the table, limp and cold. “But why kill them? Why not just remove the chip?”
Porter moves to my side. “Removing the chip kills them instantly. It’s far more humane to put them out of their misery.”
It makes me sick, hearing Porter talk like that. Like they’re rabid dogs that have to be put down. And it makes me sick to think I’m part of it, up to my neck in it.
He should’ve told me. I would’ve never agreed to this.
I want to say it out loud, shout it, but no sounds make their way to my lips. Just air, rushing past as my concussion sends a wave of nausea over me, and an asthma attack sets in. Gasps, again and again. Short, sharp breaths going in, but no breaths going out.
“Levi,” Porter calls out.
Spotty darkness closes in at the edge of my vision, and everything fades.
Chapter 4
A Choice
A door opens down the hall, closes, and then Levi is here, swooping in from my right, holding me under the arms, and ushering me into a kitchen. Small, windowless, with ugly yellowed linoleum and sagging oak cabinets. The faucet drips. The light overhead flickers. Tink, tink, tink.
He lifts me onto the counter by the sink and hands me an inhaler. I suck in deeply, letting it open my airways. Two puffs. The albuterol floods my body, and I start shaking. I’m not sure if it’s a reaction to the meds or if it’s just anger coursing through me.
I haven’t had an asthma attack in months. Not since I began descending into my past bodies. I drew strength from those bodies. They made my lungs stronger, my courage sharper. But now? The concussion makes me feel like a puddle of little-kid goo, too weak to stand on my own two feet.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I need to get a handle on my breathing. Calm down. Focus on something small, something that doesn’t make me so angry. So I open my eyes and zero in on the person standing in front of me, the one running cool water over a washcloth, then pressing it to the back of my neck.
Levi.
He looks just like I remember, only older. Eighteen years older. Dark blond hair. Round glasses, tortoiseshell this time instead of wire. Concerned crease between sad brown eyes.
“You changed your glasses.” Those are the first words my muddled brain strings together. Two months ago, Levi was my age.
Two months ago.
“Don’t talk,” he says in that same deep voice from the backseat of the car, gently, quietly. “Catch your breath.”
Rivulets of cool water run from the cloth down my back. It helps. The inhaler, the washcloth, the heaviness of Levi’s hand resting on the back of my neck. It’s comforting.
The grown man standing before me isn’t the same teenage boy I woke up snuggling with in his bed at AIDA Headquarters two months ago. Nor is he the same little blond boy with the wire-rimmed glasses I remember playing Polygon with from my days as Ivy. He’s still cute. Really cute. Tall now, taller than Porter. His features are sharper, his jaw squarer, his build no longer lanky but strong and muscular beneath a heather-gray sweater and black jeans. The tip of a tattoo peeks out of his collar on the side of his neck. I can’t tell what it is. His jaw is shadowed with a few days’ worth of stubble.
He runs a hand through his light hair. It’s short on the sides but long on top, and there’s product in it or something that makes it stand up tall in the front, then slope backwards like an ocean wave. With the round glasses, he looks like he belongs on a street corner busking in Portland, or as a frontman in a hipster folk band.
He looks cool the way Micki looks cool. I want to say something else, something more eloquent and mature than the glasses thing, but I’m too struck by how grown-up he looks. And the more I look at him, studying his style, his stance, his downturned mouth, the more I realize I was wrong. He’s not cute. He’s captivating. Handsome and timeless and a little bit wild. If Micki is a tiger, Levi is a lion.
“How old are you now?” I ask because I never knew how old he was when we worked at AIDA together. When he and Ivy were a couple.
When he and I were a couple.
So weird.
“Thirty-six.” His voice is still gentle. Steady.
God, that’s old. But he doesn’t look it. He looks only a few years older than me. Like a college guy. His youthful features are still there, he’s just filled out.
“Levi, I’m so sorry.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “A
bout my age?”
“No.” I let out a half laugh despite how I feel. “I’m sorry about Ivy.” The last time I saw him, he was so angry with me, angry that Ivy would be dying soon to make way for my reincarnation.
He runs the cloth under cool water again, wrings it out, and returns it to my neck. “We don’t have to talk about that now.”
“I barged in and took her from you. I am so, so sorry.”
“Alex, listen to me.” He places his hands on my knees. “You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all.”
I shake my head, but he continues.
“You saved me when you traveled back to AIDA. If you hadn’t come that night to see Tre, I’d still be one of Gesh’s brainwashed kids. I’d be the one lying on that table right now, a chip implanted in my brain. You didn’t just rescue Tre. You rescued me. Micki. Porter. You rescued Ivy. You released her from that worthless life as one of Gesh’s lab rats. You saved us. I need you to know that.”
I laugh again, one of those dry, bitter laughs. “Funny how you can save someone one minute, then be the cause of another’s death the next.”
Levi’s frown deepens, and his brow darkens.
Tears sting my eyes, the kind that show up when you’re trying to be brave but they betray you and make you feel like such a wuss. And there’s a lump in my throat, making it ache. “I didn’t sign up for this. I thought I was slashing tires. Making things difficult for Gesh by screwing up his missions. I didn’t sign up to kill people. I’m just a kid.”
“No one expects you to do what we do.” Levi looks me square in the eyes. “Micki and I, we weren’t going to reveal our true identities to you unless there was an ambush and it couldn’t be avoided. We were going to continue doing what we’ve been doing all this time. Taking out Gesh’s Subs. You were going to keep working with Porter, descending, funding our work. Doing what you do best.”
“Funding?” I sniff and wipe my nose with the washcloth.
The Untimely Deaths of Alex Wayfare Page 3