Heyer smiled patiently and nodded. “The beacon, Mr. Clean? Is it ready?”
“Yes,” Mr. Clean said. “You realize that if Malkier’s vessel scans you, they will detect that you have cloaked the device’s presence. Though they will not be able to tell what you’ve brought in, they will know you’re hiding something. They may make assumptions.”
“If my brother has Cede take the precaution of scanning me, then they have already made their assumptions,” Heyer said.
“But if he is merely suspicious, you will be sealing his certainty.”
Heyer nodded. “I can’t risk the alternative. This is the safest of two gambles.”
A small stone manifested on the table top, no larger than a chicken’s egg. It was smooth and gray, appearing the same as any rock one might find in a river bed on Earth, but unlike any that might be found on the Ferox world. Heyer picked it up and placed it into his pant’s pocket. The stone absorbed into the lining, becoming a part of his clothing.
“It will bring you to Jonathan, if steps to mobilize our forces must be initiated immediately,” Mr. Clean said. “I have to recommend you utilize the beacon only if no other option is available. Once it has been used within Cede, she will develop a defense against the security breach—we may not be able to exploit it again. In the event you must use it, be prepared. It will draw on your device for power, so you will be weakened by the trip.”
Heyer nodded. “There is something to be said for the scenic route when it comes to travel accommodations.” He waited, watching Mr. Clean on the monitor. When he found he had not yet departed, he spoke. “I’ll be off, then?”
Mr. Clean’s expression changed, taking on the appearance of someone hesitant to ask a question—odd for a machine.
“My friend, is there something more?”
The computer smiled, an iconic look for the character he was modeled after. “Your strategy,” the A.I. said. “We were always working with a small range of possibilities and had to concentrate our efforts toward the best outcomes for Mankind. Events seem to be forcing our hand toward contingencies that are hardly ideal. Yet, there is one that seems somehow balancing—symmetrical. I fail to find the word. I am trying to capture it with reason, but there is no reason in such things.”
Heyer looked at Mr. Clean thoughtfully. “Poetic justice, perhaps,” Heyer said. “Sometimes, the natural order of things can seem to move toward a more fitting end despite the number of alternate outcomes.”
The computer nodded. “I find myself curious, foreseeing some of the possible outcomes. I don’t quite understand why, given there are numerous end results that you and I might have declared a victory, one is somehow more satisfactory than the others. Though, I see no particular benefit or advantage to Mankind’s outcome. Do you, as a biological entity, understand?”
Heyer smiled. “I believe the short answer is that you are attached to one outcome … you wish to see him given his chance.”
“Yes.” Mr. Clean nodded. “It is as though what Mankind is owed, is not satisfied by achieving their safety. Is it justice or revenge I seem enamored with?”
Heyer sighed. “What will be, will be, Mr. Clean,” he said. “Justice is not something I feel qualified to comment on, as I have not seen a just face in the mirror for quite some time. We must stay focused on all of Mankind. Justice—no matter how tempting it is to pursue—must remain an afterthought.”
They exchanged a final glance with one another.
“Be safe,” Mr. Clean said, and Heyer was gone.
The lights were off in Jonathan’s house, and he laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Hours had passed this way, the house growing quiet as everyone else fell asleep.
He hadn’t been able to find a moment alone yet to speak to Rylee. When Leah went home, and Collin and Hayden had gone to sleep, he had wanted to—but Paige had stayed awake until Rylee turned in. He’d felt out of line asking her to leave so he could speak privately with Rylee. If anything, he knew it would be casting doubt on his intentions. Doubts he knew Paige would never keep from Leah. When Paige had stepped out of earshot for a moment he’d quickly asked Rylee to come speak with him once everyone was asleep.
Jonathan probably should have been irritated with Paige for playing chaperone—but he wasn’t. If anything, he knew he still owed her an apology, or at least a thank-you. She hadn’t caved under his mother’s pressure. Paige, he knew, had kept his secrets, even though she felt he was wrong to ask it of her. She always protected her friends, and despite its appearance, the childish act of chaperoning two adults was her way of doing the same for Leah. That fact that Paige couldn’t care less if she was being transparent about it only endeared her to him more.
He heard the faint sound of his bedroom door and Rylee’s soft footsteps as she came down the stairs. He knew that waiting must have been difficult, after seeing him nearly fall apart in front of her in the garage. Rylee had played along all night, knowing there was bad news—she’d helped Jonathan pretend they weren’t hiding anything.
He thumbed the button on his father’s pocket watch as Mr. Clean had told him. Nothing happened that he could detect, but he figured that would be the case. He heard Rylee cross slowly through the room, felt her sit on the couch near his feet. He could only see the outline of her in the dark, faint touches of light on her skin from the windows. She made a move to touch him, but stopped, as though, if he was asleep, she wasn’t sure she should rouse him.
“I’m up,” he whispered.
“I thought you might have fallen asleep, wasn’t sure if I should let you rest,” Rylee whispered. “Thought you might need it.”
“Less and less use for sleep these days,” he said.
She nodded, waiting a moment before speaking again. “The alien told you something. You were upset. I hope I can help.”
“I’m sorry you saw that. I know it’s not what you needed to see.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she replied. “I’m not fragile.”
“I know you aren’t.”
Rylee drew in a breath, and let it out with the annoyance of a child who felt placated. “Look, what you saw in that hotel room,” she said. “That was my lowest moment. I had been out of sorts for a while—it just got so much worse after I came here. I got paranoid, thought that Heyer had made you forget me. That he was punishing me. But, I had already changed my mind before you showed up. I’m not some weakling you have to tip toe around.” She shook her head. “To be honest, I have trouble even remembering how I got that upset in the first place.”
Jonathan listened, but he was glad that she couldn’t see him in the dark. Every word she said that was meant to reassure him was having the opposite effect. It was possible, he supposed, that Rylee had turned the corner on her own. That she had gotten through whatever drove her to consider suicide—that it had nothing to do with him.
He wished he could believe that, but Jonathan didn’t think Rylee should have ever been driven to feel what she had in the first place. This bond between them had brought her to a state of grief and loneliness that had pushed her over the edge while she’d had no idea what was truly causing it. He feared that Rylee had spent a day and a half suffering withdrawals from a drug she didn’t even know she had become addicted to—that once he’d completed his half of the link, she had finally gotten a dose that grew stronger as he had drawn closer.
He worried what it meant for her—but had no illusions. Her emotional state was not the only one that could no longer be trusted.
“Point is,” Rylee said, “I’m good, nothing to worry about. So, what is going on?”
He didn’t speak right away, didn’t realize how long his silence had gone on until Rylee felt he needed a prod.
“Stop thinking so much … or are you stalling?”
“Both, I guess,” Jonathan said. “I need to ask you some things, but I have to know the answers are the… truth.”
He knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment he finished. An uncomfortable qu
iet followed, and Rylee sounded hurt when she replied. “You felt you had to say that?” she asked. “Heyer—he told you not to trust me?”
“Heyer knows you don’t exactly like him. So, in turn, he doesn’t know if he can trust you.” Jonathan said. “I was….” He trailed off, searching for the best words. “I was given some compelling reasons not to put much faith in my instincts. Things I cannot ignore. If you want to help, then please don’t hide anything.”
She stared at him in silence, and this time it was her delay that felt too long. Finally, she sighed. “Jonathan, ask me whatever you want. I can’t make you believe the answers.”
It didn’t take him long before feeling foolish. “You’re right.” He felt the soft nudge of her elbow against his knee.
“Yeah, well,” she said, “I’ll forgive you since you admitted it.”
He couldn’t make out her face in the dark, but thought she’d smiled. It made him wait a bit longer, wanting to let her smile before asking her questions he wasn’t sure she’d want to answer.
“Rylee, why are you here?” Jonathan asked.
Her face lingered on him a moment before turning away, and he could tell she was hesitating. “I’m not sure how to answer,” she said. “It is not a simple story.”
“That’s fair enough. Maybe ‘why’ is the wrong question, but how did you end up here?”
Rylee chuckled. “How and why are….” She paused. “Difficult to separate.” She paused again to think for a moment. “I suppose it goes back to Heyer and I having trust issues. Perhaps he doesn’t keep you in the dark, but it might surprise you to know that, before I bumped into you, I hadn’t known there were others.”
“No,” Jonathan said. “He kept that from me for a long time. It came as a shock when I found out.”
“That was the problem. Every time Heyer refused to tell me the truth, I trusted him less. Started the night I met him…”
She trailed off, and Jonathan saw her head come down to hang against her chest for a moment before she took in a long breath and continued.
“I’d felt someone watching me that night, knew that I wasn’t alone in my apartment. Before he stepped out of the shadows and spoke, he’d put himself between me and the door. I wanted to run, but I saw his eyes—that cold, blue light. It frightened me. I knew he wasn’t human. I had trouble moving at all by the time he spoke.”
Jonathan watched her as he listened—clearly this was a memory she avoided. Rylee seemed to go distant, as though even when telling the story, she had to pretend it had happened to someone else.
“He told me about monsters coming to Earth. Merciless things that would kill the weak until someone stepped forward and brought them a fight. That he had a device that would make me strong enough to be the one who stepped forward.
“He said…” Rylee paused. “That there were others. Women who he could give the implant to, but that I was the best fit. That those other women’s chances of surviving the implantation were too low. That I was the safest choice.”
“You didn’t believe him?”
His question was met with a long pause as she considered. “No, that part I did,” she said. “I didn’t believe the way he tried to sell it. As though I should want nothing more than to be some damn hero—the defender of the weak. You see, he wasn’t explaining any of it: the hows and whys—the fine print. I was terrified of him, but still knew there was a lie hidden in the details he wasn’t giving.”
Jonathan nodded slowly.
“Heyer kept trying to make it sound as though it was my decision, like he was waiting for me to tell him, ‘Yes, I want this.’ He wanted my permission even though he knew he didn’t need it. He was too much of a coward, didn’t want to have to admit that he would force me.”
Jonathan listened, thinking about how his own implantation had gone. He had already been activated before the alien presented any illusion of choice. Once he knew what had been done to him, it was already too late—he’d seen too much to turn away.
“I was happy, Jonathan,” Rylee said. “Before, I mean. I didn’t question who I was. I remember I used to go to bed with my window open because I liked feeling the sun on my skin in the morning. I had friends and family. I…” Rylee paused. “I didn’t want to miss anything.”
Rylee moved in the dark, pulling her legs against her chest as she sat beside him.
“Afterwards, I just started shrinking. I kept being forced to change. I started to feel cold all the time. I’d wake up and wish I didn’t have to, that the world would stop making me be a part of it. It took me so long to figure out exactly what he had taken from me.”
The tone of her voice had changed, starting to tremble. He sat up slowly on the couch, wrapping his arms around his knees, too—all he felt he could do to show her he was there to listen, that he understood what she had been through.
“Do you like your name, Jonathan?” Rylee asked.
“I never really thought about it.”
“I heard a name once, and I always wished it was mine,” Rylee said. “So, I thought when I had a daughter, I could give her that name. But I’m never going to have a daughter.”
“You wanted to be a mother?” Jonathan asked.
Rylee sighed. “I wanted to be a lot of things. But yes… a mother was one of them.”
Jonathan swallowed. He hurt for her. Then he hated what he felt, because he no longer knew if his sympathy was true or artificial. He wanted to hurt for her—but he didn’t want to wonder if it was real.
“You see, I can’t be anything, because the thing he took was….” Rylee paused. “Time.”
Jonathan nodded slowly as the meaning of the word took shape. He could understand, but the reason he felt her loss so profoundly was because he didn’t feel it at all. Jonathan had no equivalent. She’d said it more than once, in a different way each time. Rylee had known who she was and where she was going and what she wanted when she got there. Heyer had taken all that away and now Rylee didn’t know anything.
As he’d listened, he found himself wondering when the last time had been that he’d felt something close to it. Certainly, if he was being honest, it was long before the alien had arrived, when his bed was a warm place where he was waking to a world full of possibilities. Rylee now shared a grief he’d tried not to ponder. It was an ugly thing that Jonathan had wished wasn’t a part of him long before the alien showed up; a jealousy he’d had for others and wished he didn’t own.
There was a distinction, Jonathan had found, in the people he had grown close to. When he saw it, it was so simple, and yet seemingly so unfair. Some people knew what they wanted like they knew they needed to breathe—as though they had been born with goals written into the very fiber of their beings. They were a gifted minority of humanity in possession of a valuable thing. Those without purpose could not imagine what it was to have one—because to be able to imagine a true purpose was to have one.
People like himself searched and searched within, only to find a void where there was supposed to be a mission. They had an absence—a space inside where nothing seemed more important than anything else, and the search for what mattered became the closest they could get. He’d envied those who had no need to search.
Rylee, it seemed, had had such a gift. Jonathan could hear her grief for it. As he listened, he did not envy her. Heyer, knowing or not, had destroyed that gift.
What came to him was something the alien had said to him that evening: Every strength had its intrinsic weaknesses. In all the time he’d coveted what those people had, he hadn’t considered what they had to lose.
A daughter, he thought.
He tried to picture Rylee holding an infant. It didn’t seem so impossible a fantasy at first—until it crumbled under the weight of their shared reality. Finding a lover, despite a truth she could never tell, a secret permanently held between them? Trudging out to fight a Ferox while caring a child? Surviving nine months of pregnancy and a delivery? Even if Rylee managed all that, giving birt
h was not the end goal. She couldn’t expect to live through a never-ending onslaught of monsters. She could never be what she really wanted—a mother to a child.
Rylee was right; if she boiled it down to its simplest component, the alien had taken time from her.
“Suffice to say, I didn’t adjust well,” she said. She shrugged as though by making light of everything she told him, she could keep it from hurting her. “I spiraled down the drain, saw things I couldn’t forget. In the back of my head, I wanted to find the way out. So, I knew I had to stay alive—which was somewhat infuriating, as Heyer wanted the same. He would show up and want to talk to me from time to time. I hardly spoke. Figured that if he didn’t want to tell me anything, he deserved to get the same in return.”
She turned to look at Jonathan then and gazed into his eyes in the dark.
“But, eventually, I decided I wanted my time back. And I didn’t give a damn what the alien had to say about it.”
Jonathan studied her. “I don’t follow.”
Rylee chuckled a bit before she went on. “One evening, I killed a Ferox before it had the chance to hurt anyone. When I pulled the stone free, I knew I was supposed to close the gates, but I….” Rylee paused. “Well, I just didn’t.”
Rylee paused and turned to him, and he realized that she had expected to see him judging her for what she had confessed. When she looked, Jonathan wasn’t considering if her actions were ethical—he was too curious to hear what had come of it.
“Heyer always made it sound so important, but he never explained why. So, I decided to find out for myself,” she said.
“So what did you do?” Jonathan asked.
“I climbed to the top of the Manhattan Bridge and watched the sunset,” Rylee said. “I wanted to call his bluff more than anything. I figured, best case scenario, I’ll live in some other version of Manhattan where a monster had attacked one day. People would get over it. I could wait and see. If something went wrong, I had the stone—could crush it at any time.” She groaned then. “It didn’t take long, a few more hours, before Heyer found me. He was … not pleased.”
The Never Paradox (Chronicles Of Jonathan Tibbs Book 2) Page 34