by Nancy Madore
Unlike Lilith, Nadia would never get a second chance. This was it.
Nadia sat up and looked around her, and it was almost as if she were seeing the world for the very first time. It seemed brighter and more magnificent than she remembered it. A poignant mixture of sadness and joy overwhelmed her, and she dropped her head in her hands and wept.
There was so much pain!
And yet—there was so much beauty too!
The thought of working with Clive and Gordon was not entirely unpleasant. It was what they might discover that she couldn’t bear. And, of course, there was Will.
No, cried Nadia inwardly. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. She began repeating the phrase over and over again in her head, like a mantra. She found it strangely comforting to do so. It soothed her to resettle her mind on this matter that Clive had tried to stir up. She’d made the right decision in her office that day with Lilith. Sometimes the first impulse was the most reliable. Nadia had wanted nothing more than to get away from Lilith and the intrigue that she represented. She had wanted out of it. And every sensation she’d had ever since seemed to re-affirm that very first impulse—the anxiety, the bad dreams, the panic attack—clearly every molecule in her body wanted her to stay out of it.
Nadia wiped away her tears, too exhausted to cry anymore. Clive was right about one thing: she had to get back to BEACON. Bad things happened. They always had, and they always would. Clive was right about that too. When they did, she would be there to make it better. In fact, the thought of providing relief to others filled her with hope—and even a bit of excitement.
She’d had the perfect life until the Raphaelians opened her eyes to the strange underworld that existed just beyond their reach. How she longed to have that old life back! How she yearned to be that woman she was.
But still, the question persisted: Who was she?
Chapter 2
Nadia was feeling drowsy from the pill she’d taken just before getting on the plane. It was as irritating as it was disturbing to have these little phobias popping up all the time now. Flying had never bothered her before, but all of a sudden it seemed like being trapped in midair in a giant coffin.
She stole a glance at Clive, who was pretending to read the newspaper. She knew he was pretending because he’d been staring at the same line for twenty minutes. Though he was being very polite—too polite, in fact—Nadia could tell that he was still upset with her for refusing to help him and Gordon. There were awkward silences between them now that had never been there before.
“I’ve been rolling an idea around in my head,” she began tentatively, more from a desire to break the ice than to actually share what she’d been thinking. She wasn’t even all that sure that she was ready to talk about it yet.
“Do tell,” said Clive, flipping to the next page of the newspaper.
“I don’t know,” she faltered, suddenly uncertain. “Maybe it’s not that good.”
Clive gave her a look that said, ‘don’t make me have to go there with you again’ and she relented. “Well…I would like to organize a fund raiser for the survivors of California,” she told him, surprised by how good it felt to actually say the words out loud. “Not just any fund raiser,” she was quick to add. “This would be unlike any fund raiser the world has ever seen.” She decided to go for it. Who better to run the idea by than Clive? He was shrewd and sensible, and Nadia trusted his judgment. In fact, she was rather excited to hear his opinion. “I want to do something big,” she said. “I mean really big. Over the top. Something that will capture the essence of California.
“My mind keeps going back to Hollywood,” she continued after a pause. “Because it’s such an integral part of what California was…you know? I mean, Hollywood has affected us all. It’s shaped who we are—as a nation—and maybe even as a world! Think of how it’s influenced us over the years. In many ways, the film industry has contributed to peace, equality…and even science. I want to focus on that. I want to celebrate all the beauty and culture that California has brought to this world, instead of dwelling on what’s been lost.”
At some point in this outpouring of Nadia’s innermost reflections, Clive had lowered his newspaper and given her his full attention. He was still watching her expectantly when she stopped talking.
“I love it,” he said, and Nadia could tell that he really meant it.
“You don’t think it would be inappropriate?”
“Hell no,” said Clive. “If you don’t do it someone else will—only they won’t do it half as well.”
Nadia gazed out her window. “It would have to be a prestigious affair,” she continued thoughtfully, and then whirled around when the idea hit her—“A red carpet event! I could fashion it after the Academy Awards! Everyone who’s anyone would want to be there!” Each new idea added to her enthusiasm. “I could charge a fortune for the tickets!”
Now that she’d gotten it out in the open, her event seemed to be developing a life of its own. The ideas were coming too fast to articulate now. She reached for a pen and began scribbling them down on a napkin. Every now and then she would speak out loud.
“The theme could be a ‘Farewell to Hollywood,’” she said. Yes—that pleased her. The event could commemorate the most significant moments in cinema history—from the first silent movies to the extraordinary action films that had been made possible by recent technology. She turned to Clive excitedly.
“I can have it televised, so the entire world can watch!” she exclaimed. “In fact, if I made it a telethon the entire world could contribute as well!”
“A telethon?” echoed Clive. “Is anybody doing those anymore?”
“The last one I remember was the ‘Hope for Haiti Now’ telethon,” she said. “They got over fifty-million dollars in pledges in a single day!”
“I don’t know,” said Clive doubtfully. “Telethons always seem kind of hokey to me.”
“This one wouldn’t be,” insisted Nadia. “We’ll keep the commercials short and to the point. The main focus will be the event itself. I bet the ratings would beat anything we’ve seen to date! People from all over the world will want to tune in just to see whose attending and what they’re wearing.”
“You know, you may be right,” said Clive, coming around to the idea. “I know I’d watch it.”
“This could be really huge,” said Nadia, growing more and more excited by the minute. “Televising it will add prestige to the event that will make each seat all the more valuable.
“Any idea where you’re going to hold this extravaganza?” asked Clive.
“My first choice would be the Plaza,” she said. In fact, she didn’t even bother to come up with a second choice. There was no other venue more suited for the event that she had in mind.
“It sounds expensive,” said Clive.
“It will have to be, in order to attract the kind of attention I want,” she said. “Everything has to be top of the line.”
“Won’t that cut into the money that goes to the victims?” asked Clive.
“Not if I do it right,” said Nadia. “The key is to get the merchants—and the performers—to donate the biggest portion of their resources and time.”
She would need lots of big name performers. Her heart sank when she thought of all the talented actors and musicians who had lost their lives in the disaster, but she refused to let herself dwell on that. Clive was right. No good could come from bemoaning the past. Action had to be taken to help the survivors. There were still many talented people to be found—and none of them would refuse to be a part of this final tribute to the movie capital of the world.
There was so much to do! The flight back to New York was only a few hours, but it seemed to be taking forever. She had to start work on her masquerade ball immediately—today! She suddenly regretted the time she had wasted moping on the beach—and then she laughed at herself. Yesterday she had been willing to spend the rest of her life on that beach and today she was bemoaning having spent any time
there at all! What a difference a day made!
She was feeling more like her old self again, and she had BEACON to thank for it. BEACON was her life. And it was her creation. No matter where her inspiration had come from, she knew now that this was what she was destined to do.
She turned to Clive and smiled, grateful for his harsh words the day before.
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not interested?” he asked. He handed her the newspaper. “Here’s something that’ll take that goofy smile off your face.”
Nadia accepted the paper reluctantly. One of the headlines immediately caught her eye. She scanned the entire article before she spoke.
“Well!” she observed bitterly when she was finished. “Looks like T.D.M.R. came out ahead on this one!”
“Yep, they’re real heroes now,” said Clive.
“I actually thought someone might be held accountable for once,” she said, shaking her head. “Especially when those leaks got out about how they knew about the disturbance beforehand.”
“Clever how they turned it around to look like they were investigating a disruption in the atmosphere, wasn’t it?” remarked Clive.
“Listen to this,” she demanded, reading from the article. “‘We’ve been noticing for some time that there are subtle disruptions in the ionosphere just before an earthquake,’ said a spokesman for the Department of Defense. ‘If we can just detect these disruptions earlier, while they’re still forming, there’s a good chance we can provide warnings hours in advance. The biggest thing holding us back is funding.’” Nadia slammed the newspaper down on her lap. “I can’t believe they have the nerve to ask for more funding!”
“I know, pretty ballsy, eh?” agreed Clive.
Nadia closed her eyes. How did the world get so corrupt?
She decided not to think about it.
“Are you excited to get back to work?” she asked Clive in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
“Sure,” said Clive agreeably. “Although this week’s gonna be a bitch.”
Nadia gave him a questioning look.
“There’s a big meeting at our headquarters,” he explained. “I have to testify against Gordon. That was one of the stipulations if I came back.”
“What’s going to happen to Gordon?” she asked.
“He’s lucky,” said Clive. “He could’ve been charged with a number of things, including treason. But frankly, our division wanted to keep what happened quiet as much as we did, so in exchange for a signed waiver and his resignation, Gordon’s gonna walk.”
“Will you feel bad, testifying against him?” she asked.
“Nah,” he said. “Gordon’s the one who wrote out what I’m gonna say.”
Nadia couldn’t help but laugh. It was just one cover up after another. And yet, she was rather glad for this one. She didn’t think she could bear it if Gordon had ended up in prison.
“And then what?” she asked.
Clive looked at her. “Then I swipe your fathers’ ring and come home,” he said.
The anxiety medication Nadia had taken was no match for the surge of adrenaline this statement triggered.
“You don’t think they might notice the ring missing after the whole Ornias thing?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said. “Not when I replace it with another ring that looks just like it. There’s no way for them to prove it isn’t Asmodeous’ because neither ring works.”
“Sounds like you have it all worked out,” replied Nadia. “But it still seems like you’re taking an awful risk.”
Clive’s eyes suddenly felt like they were boring into her face. “Unlike some people, I have a conscience,” he said. “It’s compelling me to find out what T.D.M.R. is up to. And the only way to do that is to talk to Poseidon. So even though it’s an inconvenience to my happy little life—made all the harder by your refusal to help—I’ve got no choice in the matter. I’ve witnessed something that I can’t ignore.” Nadia turned toward the window to escape his accusatory stare.
“You know, Will was a witness to it too,” she said defensively. “And he isn’t doing anything about it.”
“Will’s doing what he thinks is right,” said Clive. “His values are different from ours. He’s the type of guy who’s gonna side with his own kind no matter what.”
“You really think the people over at T.D.M.R. are his kind?” asked Nadia.
“They are in the sense that they represent the American way of life,” said Clive. “Will can’t contemplate going up against them because, in his mind, flawed though they may be, they’re all we have. The alternative is worse.”
Nadia considered this. “He may be right,” she said.
“Those are Will’s values Nadia, not yours,” said Clive. When she didn’t reply, he asked—“Are you at least going to see Gordon again?”
“Of course!” she said.
Clive nodded and then turned away from her dismissively. He reached for a magazine in the pocket of the seat in front of him and started flipping through it.
A little while later, Nadia felt the airplane beginning to descend.
“Supposing you and Gordon discover that T.D.M.R. is using this technology for environmental warfare,” she said. “What then?”
Clive didn’t bother to look up from his magazine.
“I don’t know,” he replied stolidly. The only indication that the question had gotten to him was a slight twitching of his jaw.
“I really just don’t know.”
Chapter 3
Delta Junction, Alaska
Beth couldn’t get through the door fast enough. She used to enjoy her job as a nurse, but now the days just seemed to be getting longer. She spent them waiting for this moment when she could come home and have that first, glorious drink. She had considered bringing a nip or two into work with her—to help her get through the day—but so far, she’d managed to keep herself from actually doing it.
She should just quit. She could afford to now—thanks to Wayne. She blinked back the tears that kept threatening to appear at every thought of him as she pulled her key from the lock. She’d had no idea that he had taken out a life insurance policy listing her as the sole beneficiary. Any day now, she would receive a check for two-hundred thousand dollars. Though she couldn’t live off that for the rest of her life, she could at least afford to take some time off.
But what would she do with that time? Drink?
She opened the door and paused. Something was wrong.
Beth looked around the silent, gloomy kitchen. Though there were no obvious signs of an intruder, she sensed that someone had been there. Perhaps they still were! And she could guess who it was too. It had to be the same men who’d come for Wayne’s computer. Hadn’t she known they’d be back? She set down her keys, pulled out her phone and typed in the numbers ‘9-1-1.’ Then she set her thumb very gingerly on the green ‘call’ button and kept it poised there, just in case.
It was not quite evening yet, but it was the first week of October in Alaska, so the inside of her house was almost completely dark. Bits of dim light from the outside seeped in through the few windows left uncovered, but this only made the house seem creepier somehow. Beth resisted the urge to call out, a little surprised by the impulse. She hated when people did that in scary movies.
Alert and cautious, she slowly made her way through the house, stopping every few steps to listen. It was deathly quiet. She walked through every room, checking every closet. When she was finally convinced that no one else was there, she opened the cellar door and slowly descended the stairs. At the bottom, her eyes immediately went to Wayne’s ‘workshop’ area and the makeshift ‘wall’ that had been covered with tools. She sighed in relief. The door hadn’t been tampered with. She examined it again, more closely, until she was certain that whoever might’ve been there earlier had not found Wayne’s secret room.
Beth went back up the stairs, flicking on lights as she went. She checked all the doors to make sure that they wer
e locked. Then she set down her phone and got herself a glass, dropping in a few cubes of ice as she considered the situation.
They must be looking for Wayne’s laptop, she thought, pouring herself a hefty shot of vodka. She was momentarily distracted by the acrid taste as she took her first swallow—and then again by the soothing warmth as it went down. When her thoughts came back around to the intruders again, she found herself staring at the cellar door.
They killed him. You know that they killed him.
Beth twirled her drink absently, finding a strange comfort in the sound of the tinkling ice.
What does it matter? Nothing can bring him back.
She lifted the glass to her lips and held it there, still staring at the cellar door.
They wouldn’t be looking for his laptop if there wasn’t something important on it.
She took another mouthful of the vodka. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the cellar door.
What would it hurt to look?
Beth sucked down the entire contents of her glass.
One look. You’d be doing it for Wayne.
Snatching up the bottle of vodka, Beth walked over to the cellar door and opened it. Then she closed it. Then she opened it again. She descended the stairs in the same indecisive manner and then slowly made her way across the cellar floor, dithering every step of the way. When she reached Wayne’s secret door, she stopped.
To even the most experienced eye, it appeared to be nothing more than the foundation wall. Whether you were outside or in, this was where the house ended. There was no reason to suspect that anything but dirt and earthworms lay beyond it.
But this house wasn’t like other houses. Much like Wayne, it had secrets that were completely out of character, and therefore unexpected. Secrets that extended beyond the here and now, into different circumstances and other lives. Who would guess, for example, that the previous owners had planned to build an addition, or that they had only gotten as far as pouring the footings before the reason for that addition died? Very few people knew this, because Wayne had put an offer on the house a few days after the grieving parents abandoned their project and put it up for sale.