All the Whys of Delilah's Demise

by Neve Maslakovic

  She takes her time answering. “Not if this is what he feels he has to do.”

  I glance over. “But you and Wayne… It’s for real, isn’t it?”

  “You know what they say about romantic partners: they come and go.”

  Her tone doesn’t match the sentiment.

  The way home takes us past the building inside whose walls everyone’s genetic key sits in its own lockbox. “If it’s me next Monday, I figure I can break into the Birth Lab,” I say, meaning it, “and rifle through their records. I’ll already be at the bottom of the List—what more can they do to me?”

  Lu responds with an optimistic, “I’ve heard that Rick’s doing a bit better. Now that it’s crystal clear that the curse is behind what’s been happening, he can null your onyx when he wakes up.”

  “Let’s hope that’s the end of it.”

  Lu takes my words at face value. “Curses tend to keep going until broken, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Once back in my room, I reflect. Cece, let’s see where we stand.

  You are standing on the linoleum floor of your room, Scott, and I am nowhere.

  Thank you for that brilliant observation, Watson. What I meant was, where we stand in our Sherlocking. I’m in the bog and further than ever from proving Delilah was murdered…and now Rick’s been hurt. We can rule him out—and Vicky, given that the chandelier ruined her big night. Wipe the WHO KILLED DELILAH board clean. We’re back to the people who were in Delilah’s suite the night she died, Rick aside. Let’s see: Bonnie, Chase, Samm and Sue, Jada, Poulsbo, McKinsey, Franz… Oh, and Ben. That’s a lot of names, isn’t it?

  Cece gives me the count. Nine.

  Grabbing my toiletries bag, I head to the end of the hall. As I wait in the short line for the bathroom, I’m stricken with a sudden worry. Lu said curses keep going until broken, which gives the killer cover to do it again. What a terrible thought.

  Because murder is terrible, Scott?

  It is, yes. Moving up a spot in the bathroom line—none of my neighbors seem inclined to pass time chatting with the bog person—I ponder what to do. We need to forestall any more accidents, Cece, but how? What does the Knowledge Repository say—how did people stop mummy curses in the old days? I mean, I know curses aren’t real, but there must have been SOME method or other.

  The desired approach seems to have been to return the mummy to its tomb.

  Unfortunately we can’t undo eighty-five years of cushy living under a dome while others suffered out in the cold. How about Gemma Bligh—what does the Repository say about her?

  As I take my spot at the sink, Cece comes back with snippets from the historical record. Elderly resident of Seattle Gemma Bligh railed against the plan to build the Dome … Even though there was concern the outside temperatures might hit degrees so low as to yield life unsustainable … She and a hired snowmobile driver made the perilous journey to the new Dome but the doors stayed closed to them … She fell ill on the return journey … Her final words were that the Founders were turning their backs on those left Outside … That they were leaving behind not only their families but their humanity, compassion, and kindness … She was buried in an unmarked location …

  How sad, all of it. There’s nothing about the curse?

  Not in the historical record, Scott.

  My hand pauses with the toothbrush midway to my mouth as I consider this. Kindness… The word makes me think of Oliver—of how I failed him. He had pulled so far away that it never occurred to me to give him a gem once we both graduated onto the List, he a week ahead of me. I’ve come to understand why he did it—as Dax said, Oliver was a loner at heart. He craved space—a sort of peacefulness. I tried to reach him—pushed too hard, according to Dax—and when that didn’t work I turned my back on him for good. I should have been more understanding, more kind. I was too focused on my own rank and my own problems to worry about him. And now it’s too late to fix it.

  With a sigh, I go back to brushing. My epiphany on the matter can at least be put to some good use—and I’m desperate enough to try anything. Hoping Blank Jack won’t mind what I’m about to do and nervous about the prospect of sharing a thought on the Commons—a new experience for me—I take some time perfecting the wording.

  17

  Tenner Meeting Room

  Jada reflects on the difference a week makes. Not only was the meeting moved up from Friday to Tuesday, but Franz and his goatee are on time and Samm and Sue are at the table with everyone else. Worried expressions hang on faces, and culinary delicacies on trays hold little interest today.

  Bonnie, her usually neat and tidy bun slipping down her neck, opens the proceedings from the number one chair. Rick, when it was his turn in the chair, was full of himself and at ease. Bonnie’s demeanor is uncertain, as if the swiftness of events caught her off guard. “It’s my sad duty to lead us today. It goes without saying that I didn’t expect to be in this position—not this way… How about we all take a moment and send get-well wishes to Rick?”

  “He’s in a coma. What’s the point?” Chase counters with his usual tact.

  “They’ll be there when he wakes up. And perhaps his CC is still in communication with his mind.” Bonnie closes her eyes.

  Jada privately agrees with Chase’s take. Despite the rumor that’s been spreading—that Rick’s doing better—she’s been told the outlook is not optimistic. She’s risen to five and Rick has sunk to six. This week is likely to be his last in the Ten. They all witnessed his downfall in person. Jada sends a brief thought saying that they’re all pulling for him.

  After a minute, Bonnie opens her eyes. “Everyone done? The first item on the agenda is the failure of the town-wide safety check. The project was meant to prevent further accidents, and here we are again. To be fair, Maintenance hadn’t gotten to the theater yet as we had them working on balconies, but I’m not sure that explanation will satisfy—”

  “Gemma Bligh.”

  “Did you say something, Chase?”

  “Yes, Bonnie. What I want to know is Which one of us is next?”

  There are sharp intakes of breath around the table. Ben, to Jada’s left, shakes his head. “Really, Chase. That’s hardly helpful. The curse is a scary story told after lights-out in the youth center. Chills for children. Unknown terrors in the dark. But it’s taken hold and people are frightened. This isn’t a game.”

  “Of course it’s not a game. It’s all very serious. I could be next.”

  “Why would Gemma Bligh’s curse target you?” Bonnie scoffs. “It’s clearly going after those of us in the number one chair.”

  “I don’t think that’s clear at all. For all we know, the curse could be after Tenners of any kind and no one in this room is safe. What if it has a hankering for the number two just for variety?”

  “Stop it,” McKinsey cuts in and gives her usual level-headed take. “No one is next. The curse isn’t real.”

  Disagreement with this statement hangs as weightily in the room as the chandelier had before falling on Rick’s head. Jada catches sight of Bonnie’s hands under the table—she’s folding and unfolding them. Not uncertainty in the new role. Fear. It’s there in Bonnie’s voice as she says, “A curse this strong will keep striking until broken. I don’t mind admitting that I’ve been staying away from railings and steep staircases. If I didn’t have a tavern to run, I’d be holed up in my suite for the foreseeable future.”

  “It’s as if the curse struck them down in the place where they most belonged.” Sue, who had walked into the room with a subdued expression, delivers the words with a heavy sigh. “The Duchess, gazing down at the town from her balcony. Rick, on the stage he loved.”

  “Well, that’s a bit fanciful, Sue.” Samm gives a sniff of derision. “I think McKinsey’s right: the curse isn’t real.”

  Jada is asked her opinion. She takes a moment. So far things have worked out beyond her wildest dreams. With Rick out of the picture, she’ll have to find someone else to serve as her pawn
, but that can be left for another day. “I agree with Chase. I’m not sure anyone in this room is safe.” She says it with a tremor of apprehension to better sell it. A scared Bonnie will not last long as the number one.

  Ben runs a thumb across his upper lip as if disappointed not to find an ally. Chase manages to be triumphant. “There, you see? Jada gets it.”

  “I see we have some varying opinions,” Franz breaks in. “How about a vote? Who here believes the curse is real?” He raises a hand. “I vote yes.”

  The vote is six to three: Real—Bonnie, Chase, Franz, Sue, Poulsbo, Jada; Not real—McKinsey, Ben, Samm. Chase sums it up. “I’m going to guess that Rick, if he were here”—Chase nods toward the empty chair—“would agree there’s a curse, so it’s really seven to three.”

  Ben thumps the table in anger. “The vote was pointless. Besides, what are we supposed to do about it—this alleged curse?”

  Someone clears their throat. It’s Bonnie again. “I may have the answer. Gemma Bligh warned us not to forget about being kind, but we did. We lived our lives here and Outsiders lived out theirs in the cold. We haven’t been very good even to Blank Jack, who made his home with us. I gave him a job because the tavern needed a caretaker, not out of goodwill. Has anyone in this room exchanged a few words or a thought with him?”

  Poulsbo pipes up. “He’s been helping…with the bird huts. We’re building one…for the east gate…and one for the west.”

  “Bird huts. Anyone else?”

  A crack appears in Ben’s disbelief. “It’s true, I suppose, that we can be accused of being self-centered. We’ve made what was meant to be a casual ranking of a person’s social performance into a rigid one with perks and financial incentives, with the top spot a life extender, the bottom one a life shortener if you don’t make it to a greenhouse, and everyone frantic to move up. There’s little room for anyone outside the system.”

  This clear-eyed assessment makes Chase scoff. “Boo-hoo. Money and perks must be allocated somehow. Blank Jack has a job, a room, and cafeteria mix three times a day. Why should someone who just waltzed in hope for anything beyond that?”

  “We can break the curse.” Bonnie draws her palms together as if pleading. “Let’s do right by the Outsider in our midst. I gave Blank Jack an amber gem when I first hired him—I’m going to change that to a ruby. I’d consider it a personal favor if we all gave him rubies—and encourage the town to do the same.”

  Ben holds up a hand. “It’s against the Code to give gems as a favor.”

  This time the fear is unmistakable. “The Code? I’m worried about my life. Besides, the idea—goodwill toward Blank Jack—wasn’t mine. I caught the thought on the Commons last night. Someone from the bottom thousand floated it—Scott, the intern that used to work for you, McKinsey.”

  Bonnie must be desperate indeed if she’s scouring the Commons bin for scraps.

  “We can give her the credit,” Bonnie goes on. “She also brought up the new Outsider and I agree—let’s shower both Blank Jack and Renee with rubies.”

  “I suppose a goodwill campaign doesn’t hurt.” McKinsey sounds as if she, like Ben, might be wavering on the not real position. It strikes Jada, not for the first time, that people are prone to being followers, given any kind of lead. And also that the suggested solution—the shower of rubies, superficial and easy—hardly counts as a genuine gesture.

  Chase rubs his hands together. “I’m in. Kindness costs nothing and it’ll make us seem magnanimous…and who knows, it may even help, though I’m not holding my breath.”

  Two against, seven for—McKinsey having switched sides—yields a Goodwill Campaign and an amendment to section C, the everyday behavior part of the Code: Be kind to everyone. That includes Outsiders.

  Ben’s brow is still furrowed. “The campaign may have been someone else’s idea, but it still strikes me as self-serving for Bonnie.”

  “Can’t have it both ways, Ben,” McKinsey points out. “Either the curse isn’t real and none of this matters or it is and we’re helping to stop it for all our sakes.”

  Bonnie’s contribution is a grumpy, “Easy for you to put the Code first, Ben. You’re not the next likely target.”

  “Let’s not go back to this,” Franz tries to intervene.

  “Yes, Ben, eight is a long way down.” Chase seems to have forgotten his argument that no one in the room is safe. “If Gemma’s curse knocks out those of us above you like dominoes, you won’t mind at all, will you?

  Ben slides a thumb across his upper lip again. “Just what do you mean by that?”

  Chase drapes one arm over the leather of his armchair, a leisurely gesture. “That it’s no wonder you voted against the Goodwill Campaign.”

  “I thought you said you doubted it’d help.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. So, are you rooting for the curse?”

  Franz steeples his fingers. “Why don’t we move on and hear more from Poulsbo about how the bird huts are coming—”

  Not even his favorite subject can calm Ben down. He’s half out of his chair. “You better watch what you say, Chase, or you might regret it.”

  “What are you gonna do about it, you needle-threading narcissist? Here, my left sleeve has lost a stitch. How about you show us some of your skill?”

  Ben lunges and his fist connects across the table. “You shiny-headed buffoon…”

  Franz, with the help of Poulsbo, pulls the pair apart. “Tenners, please! Remember the Code, section C—Avoid public displays of anger.”

  Jada passes Chase a handkerchief for the blood seeping out of his nose and McKinsey leaves to fetch ice for Ben’s bruised knuckles. At the other end of the table, Samm clasps his hands behind his head. “Is this what Tenner meetings are like? ‘Cause…”

  “We’ve never paid real attention before,” Sue, who seems to have shaken her mood off, takes over. “We had no idea…”

  “That they were this entertaining.”

  18

  Armed with a stack of wicker baskets, Lu, Dax, and I are on our way to Wayne’s living space as the streetlamps turn on for the night. He can no longer afford his rent. We’re helping him pack and move into my building, where my own rent is as cheap as can be. If I continue in the bog for a while, I might find myself sleeping on a mat in hallways like Oliver did, though I’m not too proud to accept a spot on Lu’s couch.

  She contributed an onyx to Wayne’s halo to honor his wishes. As we near Housing Ten, she responds to our query if she’s all right. “Wayne has to follow where his soul leads—we all do, don’t we? And imagine what he’ll get to see—the mountains, moose and caribou, dinner cooked over a fire, natural childbirth…” At my reaction, she adds, “I know, that’s a weird one—and very brave… Look, Wayne has my heart and that’s all I can do.”

  Studying the determined angle of Lu’s chin as we climb the stairs, the elevator being permanently out of commission, it strikes me that maybe love means you put the other person first, whatever the cost… Or everyone’s right and romantic partners come and go and that’s all there is to it.

  Wayne greets us at the door of his fifth-floor suite and immediately insults my ill-fitting clothes. “Scottie, if those sleeves were any longer, they’d be the floor.”

  I make a face at him. “Nice try, but I’m not giving you an onyx.”

  “Even though it might be just what I need to vault over you to last place? Make an effort to change your mind, will you?” He adds a softer, “Hi, Lu.”

  “Hi, Wayne.”

  A smile passes between them.

  Dax sets down his basket. “You do have an impressively dim halo, Wayne.”

  “I’ve been trying my hardest but Scottie’s onyx from Rick is hard to beat. You could help, Daxton, and change that ruby you gave me to an onyx. I can insult you beforehand, if it helps. But first, congrats on making it into the Top Hundred.”

  A win in the semifinals has boosted the more athletic of my PALs to ninety-eight, which Dax handled by continu
ing his life exactly as it was before. Dax says obligingly, “Please go ahead with the insult.”

  “Dax, my friend, you reek worse than moldy cafeteria mix snubbed by waste bin sparrows.”

  “Sorry about that, I just got back from tennis practice. Didn’t get a chance to shower.” Dax pauses, then surprises the rest of us by saying, “I think I will give you that onyx.”

  Despite not wanting my former mentor to have to face the unknown of the Outside, I’m pleased that Dax found it in himself to help Wayne achieve his goal. As we set about gathering his possessions, Wayne tells us about his busy day, how the Tenner meeting was moved up and he had to quickly organize the catering. “It was a wasted effort,” he says, rolling up a towel and reaching for another. “In the end they left most of the food untouched, as if it’d gone bad or something. I suppose I can’t blame them. They must all feel as if they’re in the crosshairs of the curse—Bonnie most of all.”

  The topic has drawn Lu out of her thoughts. “Blank Jack came in to escape the memories and get a fresh start, and none of us cared, did we? I’m going to give him a ruby. And Renee too, though I don’t know much about her yet.” She smiles at me. “I saw that the Tenners gave you credit for the idea, Scottie. Hopefully it’ll garner you some goodwill.”

  “I figured Blank Jack and Renee could use a few friends,” I say. “And if it helps stop what’s been happening—the curse—all the better.”

  “I think it just might,” Lu says, “if we all try hard enough.”

  Dax slides an empty basket across the floor in Wayne’s direction. “Gemma Bligh took a stab as to when things would start going downhill, eighty-some years into the life of the Dome. Turns out, it wasn’t a bad guess! Sure, two number ones in a row is quite a coincidence, but between a long-ago curse striking the number ones or simple coincidence… Well, the simple answer is usually the right one.” He adds a practical argument. “Besides, if Gemma Bligh lost her voice by the time she got here from Seattle on the snowmobile, how did she manage to curse the town?”