“I just thought it was strange, is all,” Devin said. “Don’t dump any math on me.”
“I seem different,” Anya repeated, going back to a point that Devin didn’t want to revisit.
“Look, I’m no good at this, so let’s just say I’m an idiot, and I’ll get you something else.”
“What is this?”
“I don’t know,” Devin said. “You tell me. You brought me here.” His chest hurt with anticipation. What was this strange, pretty girl doing here? What did she want from him? He’d do almost anything.
The girl tried to pick up one of the rolls with the chopsticks. Then just decided to skewer it, after a few failed attempts. She brought it up to her mouth and took a big bite.
Devin watched. Way too brave.
Then she spit it out and made a face.
“No good?”
She spit again, and Devin figured that was answer enough.
“I’m sorry,” she said after wiping her mouth, “I’ll try again.”
“Try again?”
“Miss Ena says that one should not waste food.”
“Miss Ena? Who the hell is that?”
“The one who sent me here. For you.” The girl stabbed another shrimp roll.
Devin reached out and grabbed her chopstick and tossed it on to the floor. The girl shot him a startled look, but didn’t say anything.
“Don’t freak out,” he said. “Like at the house.”
“I didn’t freak out. It’s not safe there.”
“I’ve lived there for a while, and I’m pretty sure it is.” Devin shoved his food into the center of the table. The lo mein was awful, and he wasn’t hungry anyway. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“You’re Devin Travis,” she said.
“That’s helpful, since I have amnesia.”
“You do?” The girl looked at him, trying to read him. Devin raised an eyebrow.
“No,” he said. “That was a joke.”
“Oh.”
“You can’t tell?”
She blushed, but didn’t drop her gaze. “Not all the time.”
Devin leaned forward, elbows on the table. Now he was getting somewhere. “Okay, then tell me something else.”
“It isn’t safe,” the girl said.
“Something besides that,” Devin said. “We’ll get to that in a minute.”
“Then what,” she said, like there wasn’t anything else that was important for her to tell.
“Like your name.”
“My name?”
“Yeah. Like, hi, I’m Devin.” He extended his hand, but she didn’t make any move. “And you shake my hand and say, hi, I’m…”
He waited.
For a minute.
His arm began to get tired.
Then she brought her hand up, shook the tips of his fingers like he had some sort of awful disease, and said, “Anya Sylvi.”
Devin did his best to flash what he hoped was a casual smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Anya Sylvi.”
Her hand shot back underneath the table. His smile faded. Be cool, be cool.
He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and the silence was becoming awkward, so he said, “Your backpack is pretty cool,” like this was the first day of second grade, and everyone still cared.
“It’s not safe,” Anya said, as if she hadn’t heard him.
“This again? Look—”
“The tall man on the wall,” Anya said.
“The photograph on the mantel? That’s what has you all freaked out?”
“He tried to kidnap me,” she said.
“That’s my brother Tommy,” Devin said. “He didn’t try to do anything.”
“He did,” she said.
“I bet he did.” Whatever interest he’d had before, the mystery of this strange girl, it’d dissipated into the ether. Devin swept the cartons onto the tray and got up.
“Where are you going,” she said. “It’s dangerous.”
“Okay,” Devin said, and tossed everything in the trash, including the tray, and ran over to the door. “Whatever you say. Bye.” This girl was crazy. Insane. And so was he, hanging out with her after she wandered into his house from whatever asylum she’d been locked up in.
Anya followed him outside, the doors to Texas China jingling as they swung through the dry air. All the way down the street, like a lost puppy that just wouldn’t go away.
“Look, the whole crazy thing was endearing before, and the weird I don’t get it stuff was kind of cute, but I think it’s best if you leave me alone.”
“I can’t. Not until you come with me,” Anya said.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” Devin cut across the street, dodging a car. He glanced over his shoulder, saw her step off and on the curb like a skipping record, just waiting for the light. She rushed across the street once it changed and soon caught up to Devin, walking side-by-side with him.
Devin broke into a jog and she still kept stride.
“I’ll call them,” he said.
“Call who?”
“Whatever psych ward you escaped from. Send you back, if you don’t leave me alone.”
“I’m not crazy.” She shoved him, and he almost fell into the street, which didn’t help her case.
Devin sped up into a flat run, and she kept pace behind him.
Without a better place to go—or a plan for ditching her—he headed home.
12 | Miss Ena
Dr. Mark Stanton waited, sitting on the thin floor cushion as Catalina Ena poured him a cup of tea. The Head of Research at Chimera MedCorp watched the green liquid fill the chipped porcelain without moving.
“And the girl,” Stanton said, “how is her progress coming along?” He reached out to grab the cup from her hand, bowing his head in a silent show of thanks.
She smiled, smoothed her skirt beneath her legs, then sat down to join him.
“She has found the boy,” Catalina said.
The man took a sip of tea and set the cup on the bare floor. “We have been patient, Catalina. Heeded your requests.”
“The boy had to make contact himself,” she said, and topped off his tea. “It was too risky otherwise.”
“So you’ve claimed,” Stanton said.
“You remember the other Dreamer,” she said. “Anya’s mother?” Catalina winced as she brought the cup from her lips, although it was difficult for the man to tell whether it was from the heat or the memory.
“I do remember,” he said. “It was unfortunate.”
“The woman killed herself days from delivery. You call that unfortunate?”
“People die every day.”
Catalina blinked and steadied her thoughts, kept herself from saying something foolish. “Yes, bad things happen every day. But that doesn’t mean we should encourage more of them.”
“I agree. That is why the boy is so important. And why we have been so patient.”
“You have been patient because he must be eased into it the truth of who he is. He must, if you are to get what you want.”
“May I tell you a story?”
“Depends if it’s any good.”
Stanton raised the tea to his lips, drained the cup, then began. “I understand that it is difficult to see what interests us so much about this boy. The Dreamer.”
“I can see better than you think.”
Stanton smiled. “Of course. But you cannot see why. Why we have searched for him, and others like him, for so long. Or do you remember?”
“It was a long time ago,” Catalina said.
“Yes, it was.”
“You were going to tell me a story.”
“There is a small dog in a room. The lights go on and off, on and off. Light, dark, light dark.”
“I don’t think that’s winning the Pulitzer.”
“This dog, he has just seen magic. The magic of electricity. But does he panic? No, he just accepts the things he cannot understand, those events beyond his control and vision. Allows
them to make his life better. He does not fight against it.”
“I’m not seeing the point,” Catalina said. “Although it’s a cute story.”
“Put a Medieval man in that same room,” the man said. “And he will proclaim that the Devil is at work. Go insane.”
“If he’s an idiot.”
“He cannot accept change. Claims it is magic, the work of spirts. He frets about it, worries that it will bring him ruin. Whereas the dog, the simpler creature, allows himself to reap the benefits of this new technology and enjoy a happier life.”
“I’m not a Luddite,” Catalina said. “Perhaps the boy can change the world. Perhaps he cannot. You mistake my concern, however, for the world and the fate of mankind, when it is only for him. And our arrangement.”
She shifted, flattening a crease in her long skirt with an elegant finger tanned a rich shade of gold by the hot Arizona sun. Project Dreamer could have ramifications for everyone in the world. But this arrangement would keep her and Anya safe.
That was what remained important.
Catalina peered at the doctor. There had been many years of these weekly meetings. Still, underneath it all, Mark Stanton was somewhat there. But something had fundamental about him had changed.
“I am only saying, Catalina, to keep your reservations in check. Change and progress are good. No one dislikes electricity.” He stood up, donned his hat, brushing graying temples underneath the rim. “All we wish is to illuminate the world. Bring it light. Technology—and abilities—should never be hidden away, locked in a shed.”
“I didn’t forget why.”
She gave him a grim smile, and he returned a warmer one. “Yes, of course. Forgive my assumptions.” He bowed, deep and genuine. “You cannot stop change,” Stanton said. “It is inevitable, omnipresent, eternal. And there are always costs.”
“I understand,” Catalina said, with a wave of her hand, “I’ve lived with them for twenty years.”
“Until next week.” And he kissed her on the cheek.
A familiar feeling leapt in Catalina’s chest, just for a moment, when she smelled his cologne, the starch in his pressed suit. The years had dampened it, but she could never excise it from her being.
Not for a lack of trying. Or meditation.
He waved over his shoulder, not looking back, and disappeared down the hot alley, towards the thin stream light that opened up onto Main Street, and the world.
Catalina closed the door and her eyes.
The child needed to convince the Dreamer to come with her soon.
Otherwise, things would get difficult for them all.
Because patience only lasted so long.
13 | Back Home
Devin tried to shut the door to the house before his annoying shadow could get inside, but Anya raced past before he could even get in himself. He went over to the phone, which hadn’t been hooked up in years. She sat down on the couch.
“I’ll call them,” he said, and started pressing the buttons.
“Not crazy.”
“It’s ringing.”
“No it isn’t.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Account number 6746324, name Tommy Travis, billed by Lone Star Communications until August 16, when service was cut off due to delinquent payments. Four payments still outstanding for over a year, with interest due.”
Devin dropped the cordless phone, and it bounced behind the worn recliner.
“What’d you say?” Devin said. Anya began to repeat the details and he waved her off. “How?”
“I read them.”
“Where?”
“Online.”
Devin, without thinking, ran over and clamped both of his hands down on her legs, shaking the girl, as if answers would fall from her mouth like oranges or berries from a tree. She kicked him, and he landed on the floor with a thud, just missing the coffee table.
“The hell was that for?”
“Miss Ena says if—”
“Oh, I bet she does,” Devin said. He planted a palm into the ground and hoisted himself up. Rubbed his tailbone as he limped back to the phone, put it back on the dock.
“Why’d you lie about the phone?”
“You’re big on lying,” Devin said. She didn’t seem to understand why he’d tried to scare her off. This whole situation was confusing. “When you’ve got so many secrets yourself.”
“No secrets.”
“Then tell me how you figured all that stuff out.”
“I told—”
“Are you literal on purpose, just to piss me off?”
“No,” Anya said.
“Then show me how you found out everything was disconnected.”
She looked at him, as if wondering if she could trust him. Devin wanted to snort. Here she’d almost broken in his house—twice—and called his brother dangerous, but now was reticent to discuss how she’d been stalking him.
But he was still curious.
More about the mystery, since he was pretty convinced this chick wasn’t interested in him. Or boys. Or anything of this planet, from the way she was acting.
Just his luck. The crazy girl he happened to meet wasn’t even crazy in the good ways.
Devin sat down on the couch next to her, and Anya scooted over, like she didn’t want to touch him.
“I’m not gonna do anything,” Devin said, not adding I wouldn’t even know how, “just show me.”
Anya popped open her laptop’s lid and started typing. She paused to slide her notebook out and check one of the pages. Then she refocused her attention on the screen, streams of numbers and letters running across the glass like a fast moving digital current.
After a half minute, she hit the enter key, not with a flourish, but with the workmanlike demeanor of someone who had done this sort of thing before.
A series of windows popped up.
Every record from Tommy, Devin and their parents’ lives: receipts, bills, work orders, payment stubs. They all whirled and rushed onto the screen, supplanting each other until the Lone Star Communications bill popped up on the screen.
“You committed identity theft,” Devin said. “Beautiful.”
She stuck out her tongue and then closed the windows. Crossed her arms and moved further down the couch.
“I wasn’t calling you beautiful,” Devin said. And stopped. Now he was in a sticky situation. “Look, I wasn’t going to do something, it’s just an expression.”
“I know that it’s an expression.”
“You do?”
“I’m not a moron.”
“Okay,” Devin said. “Then why are you so pissed?”
“I’m not a criminal. Our work is important.”
“You had my parents’ death certificates up there. That’s kind of private.”
“I didn’t look at them.”
“But you had them,” Devin said. “Who gave them to you?”
“No one. I did.”
“Right.”
Anya glared at him, opened the laptop once again, and began typing. The Offspring sticker on the back glowed from being placed over the manufacturer’s logo. This chick was a walking contradiction. Punk rock band decal on the computer’s chassis, but wore a pair of plain jeans—a couple shades too light to be fashionable—and gray T-shirt. No jewelry and no makeup, far as Devin could tell.
Maybe that was punk these days.
She hummed while she worked.
Then she stopped, and flipped the computer his way.
“Look,” she said, and the way she did, Devin knew it wasn’t a request. He was following Anya’s lead a lot, and he didn’t know why. This was the reason someone like Sarah Parsons wouldn’t even talk to him. He was way too much of a pushover.
A series of receipts and records for Texas China were on the screen.
Devin scrolled through them, his eyes flitting over the lid to check her reaction. She didn’t seem excited about letting someone else use the computer.
He doubl
e-clicked on a financial statement. Then another.
“Holy shit, they’re committing fraud.”
“Money laundering,” Anya said. “I think that’s most probable.”
“How do you know that?”
Anya yanked the laptop back and tilted the screen a bit.
“See these columns and these charges?” Devin nodded, and Anya scrolled through the document. “They match another file here.” Anya whizzed through the rest of the records and brought up another one, an unrelated matching amount paid to a JMS Enterprises.
“Okay, but that could be a coincidence.”
“No, that’s a shell company,” Anya said.
Devin shrugged. This was beyond what he’d read in the couple investing books he’d skimmed after his shot at a college education had gone up in smoke, when he thought that maybe he’d strike it rich being a day trader. Instead, he’d just worked at Parsons Shipping & Processing, stacking boxes on trucks.
“So, you’re good with numbers,” Devin said.
“Yes.” It wasn’t immodest, just a fact.
“And computers.”
“Yes.”
“And you just did that all now? Figured that out?”
“It wasn’t hard,” Anya said, like it was obvious that Texas China was a front. And maybe it should’ve been to Devin, too, since their food was awful, their service worse. “But it’s not important.”
This wasn’t what she’d came about—to blow the whistle on some small-time hustle in Rever’s Point. This wasn’t why she needed him.
“I guess you proved your point.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, you did. You got skills.”
Devin thought he saw the girl look almost embarrassed, but that could have been his imagination. He just stared into the distance. Put the pieces together. He closed his eyes, and the images pounded over him, like he was trapped beneath a series of rapids.
Anya was the person who’d sent him the message. That diamond sharp, emerald green stare from his dream. The girl. This girl. And the strange older woman, telling Devin that she’d been waiting a long time.
Devin could feel his heart racing, his breath seizing within his chest. This was it; he’d finally done it.
He’d gone crazy. Balancing on the razor’s edge of sanity, he’d sliced himself open.
Devin rushed over to the sink, thought he was going to be sick. Thrust his mop of hair underneath the water, felt the cool rush over him.
The Last Dreamer Page 4