I face Tilly—not Mrs. Knight anymore, as decorum dictates, hell, social etiquette just got tossed out the fourth-floor window. “What the fuck is going on?” She’s shaking, tears running down her smooth, alabaster cheeks. I grab her shoulders and ask again—louder, making each word count, “What the fuck is going on?”
“How did you find me?”
“Wrong answer.” I squeeze her shoulders harder.
“Careful, Brooks, we need her alive,” Samantha says.
I’m not going to kill her, but it’s okay if she thinks I might.
Tilly winces. “You’re hurting me.”
“You’re stating the obvious.” I squeeze even harder, knowing exactly how much agony I’m causing. Sensitive nerve endings in the shoulder, when compressed, lead to neuralgia, sending urgent pain signals to the brain. I know the feeling all too well, my captors took special care to make sure of that.
“Stop.” She gasps. “Please stop, Brooks.”
Even though she’s trembling under my touch, she relaxes when I loosen my grip. A fine mist of sweat covers her forehead. It’s time to ask her the same question in a different way, with a calm, reassuring tone. “What are you doing here, Tilly?”
“Sebastian asked me to meet him here at exactly noon.”
The answer slaps me across the face. I release her and stumble back, collapsing onto the bed like a mannequin. My face is blank to the world while my mind races double time. This is not a chance meeting, Tilly knows Sebastian. This is where my epiphany needs help.
I ask Sam, did you know about this?
“Of course not.” Samantha’s answer seems sincere. “Of course, it’s sincere. I wish you could read my thoughts. I know nothing about this deception.”
“It’s…it’s not a deception,” Sebastian’s voice is scratchy. His eyes are open, but he doesn’t move.
“You lied to us, you lied to me,” Sam calls out.
“Yes, I know, but I have a very good reason,” Sebastian says crawling to his knees. He places his gaze on me, like a dog that’s been kicked keeping tabs on its owner.
His hands cover his face. I stand up, lean in, and hit him on the jaw again. He goes down easier than the first time. That was for Gayle—it felt good.
“Stop,” Tilly screams. “Don’t hurt him. You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
“Brooks,” Sam says, “listen to her. We need to get to the bottom of this.”
I sit back down on the bed and stare at Tilly. Waving toward the recliner in the corner, I say, “Sit. Tell me exactly what’s at stake.”
She staggers to the chair. Running a hand across her brow, she tucks an unruly lock of black hair behind her ear. Finally, after a deep breath, “I need you to listen to me with an open mind. I met Sebastian when I died.”
“How did you die?”
“When we were in Rio, I felt ill and didn’t attend the speech so I stayed in the hotel. A group of men—horrible men—dressed in black, with guns, knives…they shot Gayle and broke into my room. They took me. Their plan was to exchange my life for Anwar’s. You…you did everything in your power to find me.” She wipes away a tear, and resumes the account. “You were so brave. But their deadline passed. I was shot and killed just before you found me. That’s when I transitioned to After World and met Sebastian.”
My blood chills. How is that possible, Sam?
“It did happen. In one of your attempts to change history.”
How does she remember?
“I don’t know—ask her.”
“Did Sebastian send you back to earth through The Portal?”
My question gets a reaction. In a hushed tone, she says, “Of course, it’s how they travel.”
“They?”
“Sebastian and my guide and—”
“Of course, you’ve got a guide, too. What does your guide say about all this?”
“Nothing. I mean, I can’t hear him anymore, not since leaving After World.”
“How do you remember Rio?”
“I have no idea. I thought it was a dream before today.”
“What happened today? How did you know about Sebastian’s visit?”
“I got a Soul Spark message.” She lowers her head and sniffles. “Julie…Julie told me.”
“I’m sorry.” I had met Julie several times—nice woman, quiet and totally dedicated, both professionally and per-sonally, to Tilly.
“The bomb,” she whispers, brushing away tears, “Sebastian says that’s the way the world always ends—with a bomb in Vegas.”
“Keep going.”
“After I was murdered in Rio, Sebastian told me everything. He said he had a plan to save the world.”
“What kind of a plan?”
“All I know is he wanted to give me this.” She produces a small brown vile.
I snatch it from her hand and read the label, “Cyanilide? What the hell—”
“It’s Sebastian’s own concoction,” Tilly speaks calmly, clinically as if she’s casually watching a murder mystery and catching me up. “He said it’s extremely fatal, works instantly—it’s even lethal in After World. Skin contact produces a fatal reaction as well. The poison creates a rapid degeneration of the respiratory system, leading to asphyxiation. Furthermore, the minute amount required to produce death is undetectable.”
I recoil. She’s not just viewing a murder mystery, she’s binge-watching the entire series. “Are you an expert in poisons?”
With a nod, she says, “I have a degree in clinical pathology from Johns Hopkins. That’s where Anwar and I met, you know. His passion was psychology, mine, pathology. Our friends swore it was a match made in clinical heaven.”
“You don’t sound too broken up about wanting to kill your husband.”
“Not after Sebastian explained the consequences of what happens tonight.”
“But, still…he’s your husband.”
She scoffs. “In name only.”
“So, it’s come to this? You’re going to murder him? There’s such a thing as divorce, you know. Have you ever considered it?”
She nods. “Of course, but then came Rio…and I died and met Sebastian.”
It’s too much for me to process. “But if you remember Rio, how is it possible that—”
“I have no idea how Sebastian manipulates time, or how he resurrects people, or sends them back to earth—do you?”
“I can explain”—Sebastian groans—“if you give me half a chance.” He sits up. I stand and take a step toward him. He raises both hands in defense. “I’m sorry about JoJo. I’m sorry about Gayle. Believe me, I understand your anger—”
“No, you don’t.”
“Those messages were important. The Soul Sparks were the only way I could communicate with you.”
I cock my head. “Well, that’s not true.” I lean in closer. “You’re doing a good job of that right now. We both are.” I form a fist. “In fact, I’ve got something else I want to say—”
“No, no, wait. I can explain. This is the one and only time I’ve ever set foot on earth. My technicians advised against the idea, they said it could be a fatal journey for one of my kind, but I had to chance it.”
“One of your kind? Well, so far, I’m betting on the advice of your technicians.”
“Listen.” His shoulders slump and he raises one hand in the air, a sign of surrender. He staggers to his feet and motions to a chair by the writing table. “May I?”
I nod, giving him permission to sit. The bottle of Cyanilide goes in my pocket.
He collapses onto the chair and pats at the blood trickling from the side of his mouth. “I know you have your reasons to distrust me—”
“Ya think?” I sit down on the edge of the bed. “You told me you were on my side. You said you were trying to save humanity.”
“Yes, that’s entirely true.”
“What about Gayle? What about JoJo and Julie? They’re part of humanity.”
“Perhaps we didn’t think through the So
ul Spark idea as much as we should have.”
“And what about Anwar? You’re conspiring to murder him with the help of little miss black widow here. Isn’t he a part of humanity? So far, you talk a good game, but all you seem to do is kill people.”
“Well, if you put it that way, I guess it sounds bad—”
“You were planning this murder for some time.” I said. I pop the ComLink back in my ear. What do you think, Sam? Do you think it sounds bad?
“Sebastian, how could you? You would actually murder Anwar Knight? And you, Tilly Knight—”
“She can’t hear you, Sam—”
“I can’t believe you would kill your husband.”
“She can’t hear you—”
“Of course, I always thought you were guilty, but…what? She can’t hear me?”
Sebastian chuckles, then winces. “Ouch.” He pats at the blood on his lip and examines his fingers. “You really pack quite a punch, Mr. Davis.” Another quiet laugh.
I glare at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Fate is such a fickle comrade in arms.”
“Not following.”
“The new communications package your team is using, that ComLink 6.0. That’s how you’re able to communicate with Samantha, on this, your very last attempt to change history. I must admit, quite providential, wouldn’t you say? One might even venture a guess and call it Divine intervention.”
“You’re bringing that up now? I wonder why—is it because you know I’m about to bust your skull wide open?”
“Brooks,” Tilly says, “you may not agree with Sebastian, but he might be right. He’s explained it all to me. This could be the only way to save the world.”
“By poisoning your husband? Do you know how wrong that sounds?”
“Just because it sounds wrong,” Sebastian says, interrupting when a smart man would keep his mouth shut, “doesn’t mean it isn’t right.”
I make another fist. “What’s wrong with you? My job is to protect Dr. Knight.”
“Sebastian,” Sam says, “what about your investigation? Who do you think is behind the bombing of the arena?”
He pulls out a handkerchief pressing it to the cut on his lip. “The Nefarists.”
“What makes you think that?” I ask.
“We got a confession from one of them just yesterday. But, we still don’t know when or where the bomb will be planted.”
I close my eyes, trying my best to connect all the dots. “You’re way behind on that one. I think the bomb’s already been planted.”
“What do you mean? By whom?”
“Sorry, pal. I don’t need you killing anyone else today.”
He stands up and glares. “Listen here, this is far too important for someone like you to muck it up. You’ve had your chances to change history and failed miserably each and every time. So, stop going on about JoJo and Gayle, and—”
His voice garbles when I grab him by the throat with both hands. “For all I know you wanted me to fail the past eight times.”
His eyebrows scrunch together.
“That’s right, Samantha told me. You sent me here eight times before with absolutely no help at all, as if you wanted failure. Well, not this time, brother.” I squeeze his windpipe, knowing I should stop, but wanting nothing more than to finish the job. Gayle Betters, JoJo Jackson, Julie Williams, and Anwar Knight fill my thoughts. I know how much strength and determination is needed to strangle someone—another sensation I’m familiar with. I take a deep breath and bear down.
“Stop, Brooks,” Samantha says.
A flicker of light, like a spark, shoots out of Sebastian’s right eye. Then his left. The sparks increase. His head glows, taking on the appearance of a snowy television signal. I try to take my hands off his throat but they’re stuck, almost like they’re glued to his neck. He’s holding an object in his hand, filling the room with a bright red glow.
“He’s going back to After World,” Sam yells. “He’s using a Portable. Let go of him or he’ll drag you along with him.”
I lean back, using the weight of my body falling to the ground to free my hands. Once they’re away from his neck, Sebastian’s entire body explodes into one giant electric charge, crackling and filling the room with the smell of a burned-out circuit.
Tilly stands up, her back against the wall. “You killed him.”
“You didn’t kill him,” Sam says, “he just returned to After World.”
“Sit down,” I say to Tilly, sounding as menacing as I can. I rise up and show her my hands—the hands of electric death. She sits down at once. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay there with your mouth shut. Do not leave this room. Stay here until I send someone for you, got it?” I thrust my hands at her again, threatening her with the power of my electric touch. She cowers back and nods.
“What are we going to do?” Sam asks.
We’re going to find that bomb and put an end to this nightmare once and for all.
“How do you suggest we pull off that little trick?”
You’re going to have to trust me on that one. Right now, we need to head back to the arena. I think someone’s holding out on us.
“Mr. Benny?”
You’re smarter than you look.
“Thank you…hey, watch it, mister.”
XXII
I’m fairly certain I have all the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle out of the box, right side up, and spread out across the table. Now it’s just a matter of fitting them all together to see the whole picture. Easy-peasy. Except, some of the pieces are missing, some of them are on fire, and I don’t know what the finished image looks like. Other than that, it’s easy-peasy.
I relax in the back of yet another taxi, travelling inch-by-inch down Las Vegas Boulevard. This traffic jam, however, differs from anywhere else in the world. Nobody leans on their horn or rolls down their window yelling, “Pendejo.” This gridlock allows drivers the luxury of taking in the sights, do a little people watching, or simply take a breather from the non-stop action.
Tourists infest The Strip like ants at a picnic. World famous fountains shoot water up to the heavens. The animated marquees promise the latest and greatest in entertainment, fine dining, and odds—2 times odds, ten times, thirty. Colorful LED lights visually shout at passing motorists. The relentless desert sun attacks the city, coating everything in a shimmer effect. The US Data Center Arena sneaks into view. I shut my eyes, trying to imagine my next move.
“You don’t know what your next move will be?” Samantha says.
Quiet, I’m thinking. The arena, a retractable domed affair, is massive, nestled between the Desert Breeze Resort, and the Grand Lux Hotel and Casino. Its giant marquee changes every eight seconds or so, shuffling between the current event and what will come.
Dr. Anwar Knight’s We Are One World Tour Tonight
- One Night Only.
Lil Bits on Ice Tomorrow Night.
Monster Trucks Next Saturday.
I rub at my eyes, wiping the sweat and grime from my eyelids. If I don’t come up with the right move, Lil Bits and Monster Trucks won’t stand a chance of ever playing this, or any other, arena.
Sebastian had the technology to bring me back to life and send me back in time to find a bomb hidden somewhere in this huge auditorium. The bomb is already in place, hidden somewhere in the enormous complex—I’m sure of it. It will obliterate twenty thousand people tonight, triggering a nuclear response and destroying the world. How do I know this? It’s already happened eight times before.
“But not this time,” Sam chimes in, “not on our watch.”
Her enthusiasm brings a smile to my face. Until now I had been fumbling around in the dark with only her otherworldly voice keeping me on track, but I don’t need Samantha anymore.
“Say what?” she says. “You can’t mean that.”
I don’t mean it in a bad way.
“How can you not need someone in a good way?”
Exactly what I wa
s thinking. You must be a mind reader.
“What are you going on about? Are you doing your multiplication tables? Just tell me what you mean before I—”
Before you what?
“Get…really upset? C’mon, Brooks, don’t make me guess.”
The Nefarists. They’re the ones behind planting the bomb in the arena, obviously.
“Obviously?”
That’s why the damn thing’s been so difficult to find. They’re masking its location. Sebastian told me how they’re supposed to be specialists at hiding, in fact, some people still call them The Hiders. I thought it meant they were masters at hiding themselves in The Abyss, in the shadows, which they might be, but I also think it means they’re good at concealing objects.
“Like a bomb.”
Richard swept the arena three times with dogs, experts at sniffing out the slightest hint of explosive material. The only way they could have come up empty is if they were up against—
“The Hiders,” Sam says. “But who physically planted the bomb? The Nefarists are not of this world, and so, like me, without a body.”
“Sebastian had a body.”
“True, but beings like him can get away with a lot of rule-breaking.”
“What do you mean, beings like him?”
“He has no soul.”
Her words stop me. Even though I was never a big proponent of an after life—not until I died and went there—I assumed my soul, that spark of life—my essence—would go somewhere after death. Do Nefarists have souls?
“Every creature has a soul, Sebastian and others of his kind being the exception. The Nefarists actually had souls at one time, but souls are not allowed in The Abyss, so, long answer short—no, Nefarists have no souls. Why do you ask?”
Just trying to get a handle on the rules of the game.
“Who’d they use to place the bomb? Go ahead, take a stab at it. You’re on a roll.”
The picture’s starting to come into focus. I think they used a dead man.
“What? That doesn’t make any sense—”
Gunther Burns. He’s been MIA for about a month now.
“Is that your sixth sense kicking in again?”
The Theory of Insanity Page 16