Jonathan still hadn’t looked at her. If anything, he looked as though he had something to say, but didn’t feel the moment had come. “Go on,” he said.
“Afterward, he checked in on me from time to time. I didn’t want to see him, let alone talk to him, so I seldom spoke. There was one time I slipped, and said, ‘Why should I bother?’ under my breath. Didn’t really mean to say it out loud—didn’t expect an answer.” Rylee shook her head. “He was cryptic. Said everyday counted, because the hope we had depended on a variable he couldn’t schedule. That we needed time on our side, and it didn’t seem willing.”
She saw Jonathan’s face become troubled as she repeated the alien’s words.
“Don’t suppose he elaborated?” Jonathan asked.
“No. And you pretty much know the rest. I had no idea what I would find coming here. Luckily, it wasn’t long until we ran across each other. I don’t feel it now. That unraveling….” She trailed off, unsure, before she continued. “I couldn’t bear being trapped in this alone. But trapped with you….”
Jonathan closed his eyes and nodded, and she saw that he didn’t need her to explain. She wished he would say something, give her more than a nod, some indication that her presence helped him as much as his did her. Yet, his face became no less troubled. She wondered why it was that he had kept looking at the weapons cabinet while she told her story, then remembered how he had stopped short the night he had shown her the tally he kept behind the facade. His inside joke with the universe.
“You never told me what the ‘H’ stood for in your tally.”
Finally, he looked at her. “Hayden,” he whispered.
A moment passed and he grimaced before he spoke again.
“Sometimes, I think it would be better if I went away. A place where I don’t know anyone. I’m afraid of what will become of me if I isolate myself like that. But if I stay, it’s inevitable. Sooner or later, I will see a Ferox murder everyone I care about before I can stop it.”
Leah walked down the alley leading to the back entrance of The Cell’s facility. She was in agreement with Olivia that something should be done. Jonathan’s mother snooping about was not much of a threat itself, as Evelyn had already exhausted any means to probe the mystery she had uncovered. At least, until Paige had brought up Grant Morgan.
When Paige put forward the idea of contacting Grant, Leah had taken the stance that it was a bad idea to give him any excuse to be back in her life. Paige had nodded as though she agreed, but Leah could see the gears grinding away in her friend’s thoughts. Evelyn had been difficult to read, remaining stoically quiet. Leah would bet that the moment those two were alone together, they would be looking for Morgan.
This wasn’t much of a problem. Given The Cell had a heads up, they would err on the side of caution and make sure Grant wasn’t going to be anywhere that Paige could find him. However, relocating him was the hands-on side of the operation—Olivia’s providence.
The garage doors opened as she approached. The guard monitoring the security cameras nodded to her as she stepped inside. Upon entry, there was a semi-truck and trailer parked inside, taking up most of the space. The Cell usually kept a few different vehicles in the garage, each serving as tools in their investigation, but Leah had never seen them utilize anything so large. She’d never seen any vehicle quite like this the other times she’d walked past.
The semi itself was military in design, though the paint job was black instead of the usual camouflage or beige. However, it wasn’t the vehicle that stood out, but the strange cargo loaded onto the trailer. Its purpose was a complete mystery to Leah. Whatever it was, it didn’t appear to have been built with transport in mind. Taken as a whole, it was about the size of a wide load shipping container, but the walls were hardly rectangular. The front and back bowed inward, so that she could see there was a circular chamber inside of the smooth, black outer shielding. The shielding itself was peculiar, seeming to be made from a pattern of recessed half-spheres along the outer walls—as though Pac-Man had come along and taken bites out of the surface at evenly spaced intervals. Strangely, she could swear there was a faint hum coming off the trailer.
The Cell would not be able to keep this vehicle on the street long without attracting attention. Whatever its purpose, Leah knew then that the team was planning something, and she was out of the loop.
After exiting the garage, she handed off the memory card containing the photos she had taken of Rylee’s journal to one of the technicians. Olivia was thorough—she’d have someone on the staff capable of translating the Portuguese with the proper understanding of the language’s subtleties. A few hours and they would know Rylee’s private thoughts.
As she made her way to Olivia’s office, Leah found the woman on her way out.
“Ah, Leah” Olivia said. “Good, you couldn’t have better timing.”
“How so?” Leah asked.
“Command has arrived. I was on the way out to give an update report. I am sure he’d like to hear from you as well. We can discuss what to do about Evelyn Tibbs on the way.”
“This have anything to do with the vehicle in the garage?” Leah asked.
It was a peak hour at the gym and every piece of cardio equipment hummed, an orchestra of treadmills and stair climbers coming together to form a symphony that Rylee would later hear referred to as “sci-fi spaceship engine room in G minor.” One of the trainers waved when he saw her approaching with Jonathan. Rylee assumed this was the Lincoln that he had brought her there to meet. He gave Jonathan a sly look as he noticed her beside him.
“There he is. I was about to start leaving voice mails,” Lincoln said. “Where you been, slacker?”
“Hectic week,” Jonathan said.
Lincoln looked at her then, nodding his head over at Jonathan. “This might be the one client I believe when I hear that excuse.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Rylee said. “This guy’s been sitting on the couch eating Oreos all week.” She caught Jonathan giving her a sideways glare, although he was grinning.
“So, Tibbs, who is this lovely young lady with you?” Lincoln asked. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Rylee, meet Lincoln,” Jonathan said. “I pay him to torture me.”
“Good to meet you,” Rylee said, putting her hand out.
As was typical of every man she met, the trainer betrayed a small degree of swooning at the sound of her accent, but he hid it better than most. He also gave her a quick once over, seeming to take note of her build, but in a professional sort of manner.
“So am I meeting my replacement?” Lincoln asked, shaking her hand.
“Actually,” Rylee said. “Jonathan wanted me to take his session. See if you can find some room for improvement. I don’t really use… gyms.”
Rylee said the word gyms like a vegan talking about a steak.
Lincoln smiled as he shook her hand, looking to Jonathan with an ahhh shucks expression. “Are you bringing me new clients? You know how I love that.”
Jonathan shrugged. “More of an experiment,” he said. “Rylee is from out of town. Not sure if she’d be able to commit to anything long term.”
She flinched at Jonathan’s comment.
“Alright,” Lincoln said with a shrug, “but you’re a bit early. I’m finishing up with a client; she’s picking up her kid from the daycare. Let me wrap things up with her and we’ll see what there is to work on.” He turned to scan the gym. “Actually, here she comes now, give me a minute.”
Jonathan nodded as the trainer trudged off to his desk. When Lincoln was out of earshot, Rylee turned to him, wondering if Jonathan was telling his trainer that she was in town temporarily to give her a polite way out if Lincoln tried to sell her on buying a training package. “What was tha—”
Rylee broke off when she saw Jonathan’s expression had changed, looking as though he’d suddenly fallen under some spell. She followed his gaze to the woman approaching Lincoln’s desk. She seemed rather
ordinary, pretty for a woman of thirty with a young daughter. Not so attractive to explain Jonathan’s expression though. After a moment, Rylee realized he wasn’t looking at the mother but her daughter.
The child’s back was to them, but Rylee could tell the girl was six or seven years old. Like most kids her age, she seemed full of energy, as though she’d been given so much sugar she was having a hard time standing still. She wore a pink coat with the hood down, blond hair spilling out on her shoulders.
The mother and daughter took seats in front of Lincoln’s desk. Rylee watched as the trainer smiled at the little girl from time to time as he spoke with the mother about scheduling another appointment. The child’s feet couldn’t reach the floor—her legs dangled, and with all of her energy, she seemed unable to keep from swinging her legs as she waited.
Jonathan’s eyes finally pulled away. He looked at the floor, his face a mystery. She saw a familiar warmth in him, and it reminded Rylee of the way her father would look at her when they hadn’t seen one another for a long time. She realized she’d forgotten her question and reached out to touch his shoulder.
When her hand found him, he looked up at her, his eyes so peculiar. What was it? Relief, joy, a sudden calmness he hadn’t had up until now? It was getting stranger, and she thought that if he had let himself, he could have cried.
Instead, he gave Rylee a half smile, leaving her frowning back at him, tilting her head curiously.
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said. “What did you say?”
A moment passed and Rylee found she couldn’t quite remember.
“See you next week,” Lincoln said, standing up as the mother and daughter made their way out. The trainer smiled as he turned to the daughter. “Remember, Jess, eat the veggies,” he said to the little girl, pretending to be stern. “Don’t give your mom grief about the broccoli.”
The little girl pulled her hood up and gave the trainer a mischievous look. Jonathan pried his eyes away again as the mother and daughter left and looked back to Rylee. “Rylee?” he asked, wondering what she had meant to ask him.
“Oh, um…” Rylee noticed Lincoln was heading back their way. “Never mind, can’t remember.”
Jonathan shrugged.
“Okay then, Rylee,” Lincoln said. “The hour is yours—anything you want to work on?”
“I guess I’ll leave you to it,” Jonathan said, nodding to them as he left.
Rylee watched him for a moment as he walked off into the gym. So odd, as though he had been carrying something heavy around and had just put it down.
“Um, Rylee,” Lincoln prompted, trying to get her attention.
She flinched and gave her head a quick shake, realizing the trainer was still waiting for her to answer. “Balance and speed,” she said. “Anything that you might recommend a gymnast work on.”
“Alright,” Lincoln said. “Let’s take a look at your flexibility first, then.”
Rylee raised an eyebrow.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
DATE | TIME: UNKNOWN | FEROXIAN PLANE
AT FIRST, HEYER struggled to regain consciousness. The fog hanging over him finally thinned enough that he was able to open his eyes. A few moments later, he found he was able to move and lethargically propped himself up on his elbows to see that he was laid out in an unfamiliar room.
It was an amalgamation of environments, parts human, Ferox, and Borealis. He’d been placed on a rock table much like the altar he’d seen Dams the Gate’s corpse on a few days earlier. Most of the room was made up of the cave-like tunnels of the Feroxian world, but there was unnatural light on the opposite side of the room. Turning his attention to the light, he saw what appeared to be a modern human bathroom projecting out of the cave’s interior. The walls were white, hard lines made to look like dry wall and tile.
A man stood over a human sink in front of a mirror. His back was to Heyer but he could tell the man was shaving.
Between them was a box. It was unmistakably Borealis in design, the same dark gray, seamless metal found in the tunnels beneath the Foedrata Arena. Its presence was suspicious, and concerning. His brother had left this in the center of the room—clearly, he had wanted him to see it when he awoke.
With difficulty, Heyer moved his legs, swinging them over the side of the rock to sit. The effort required to keep himself upright was already becoming taxing—he swayed trying to find balance. His body and mind seemed to fight against him, whispering that he should go back to sleep. Heyer heard the rippling sound of water being displaced by the man’s razor as he rinsed it.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his back and shoulders were broad, built up with muscle. Heyer caught the man’s gaze in the mirror, saw his face, and understood.
Heyer closed his eyes, trying to bring his mind to bear on what this meant. The grogginess seemed to be lifting subtly, enough that he would be able to function—enough that his mind was present without allowing him to pose a physical threat. He saw that his shoes had been returned to him, laid near the edge of the table. His coat made into a pillow, supporting his head as he slept. He slipped his feet in the shoes, finding it difficult to tie the laces.
“You’re awake,” the man said.
Heyer was cold—colder than he had felt in years. He looked down at his chest and saw that the bright yellow blaze he was used to seeing beneath his shirt had changed. Instead, the three lines seemed to oscillate rhythmically, slowly dimming between a faint blue to a near complete absence. He reached for the bracer handcuffed to his bicep. Within a few seconds of touching the steel band, he knew what it was, and that it wouldn’t be coming off by any means he had at his disposal.
“Can you hear me?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Heyer said, pulling his coat on slowly.
The man grabbed a towel, wiping the remaining shaving cream from his face. He reached for a shirt that hung over a towel rod, turning to face Heyer before pulling it over his torso. The bright yellow glow of an implant emanated under the man’s chest. Heyer recognized it, knew it could be no other than the Alpha Slayer he and his brother had left behind on the Foedrata’s planet. Its design was almost identical to that of Jonathan’s, the only difference the addition of one short line running down the center of the man’s chest.
At the sight of it, Heyer found himself sighing in disgust.
When the man came forward, leaving the tiled edge of the floor and stepping onto the cave surface, the bathroom receded back into that of a cave interior.
“Your hair,” the man said. “It was darker in the pictures I saw. It’s almost white now.”
Not looking at the man, Heyer nodded, his eyes lingering on the box of Borealis steel.
“Often, upon taking a body, my implant causes the hair follicles to revert back to a childhood state,” Heyer said. “Jeremy Holloway was a towheaded child.”
“I…” the man began. “They told me you were dead, all these years. I never would have thought…” The man paused, looking down to the floor before he finished his thought. “I would have forgiven you.”
Heyer looked at the man sympathetically. “I am not Jeremy Holloway. I am not your father,” he said. “Just as I am not what I seem, you are not who you think.”
The man’s eyes drew down, a look of agitation. “I’ve seen pictures of you,” he said. “I am not stupid.”
Heyer shook his head gently. His arms shook from the effects of the bracer, but he lifted his hand to point back at his chest. “This body belonged to your father,” he said. “But I am not him.”
The man’s face showed his understanding, but Heyer could see that this was not the news he had hoped for.
“Is he trapped, then?” the man asked. “Inside of you?”
Heyer shook his head. “No. He gave me this body as he was dying. I was only able to repair the damage by putting myself into it. Holloway is gone.”
“How can I know that? You could have taken his body against his will,” the man said. “He could be inside you right now sc
reaming for my help.”
Heyer shook his head. “I cannot give you evidence, only my word that if I were removed, this body would perish shortly after. The only witness to Holloway’s death has passed on himself.”
The man studied him for a moment, searching him for signs of dishonesty.
“Douglas Tibbs,” the man finally said.
Heyer’s eyes locked with the man’s, a long silence drawn out between them before, finally, Heyer nodded.
“His memories,” the man said. “You have my father’s head—do you know what he knew?”
“It’s not so simple a thing,” Heyer said.
“What does that mean?”
Heyer grimaced as he attempted to stand, but a wave of dizziness took his balance. He had to lean back against the table to keep from falling over before he could answer. “The mind of a person is not a reference book. There is no table of contents. I cannot simply flip to the beginning and see his childhood or skip to the end and hear his dying thoughts. Jeremy Holloway associated one memory of his life to another in his own way, just as we all do. I have no map for his associations. I would have had to experience them in a linear order as he did,” he explained. “Most of what I know of Holloway comes to me in dreams.”
The man blinked at him, hope lingering in his eyes. “Do you know what he felt for me?” he asked. “For my mother?”
Heyer thought about how to answer for longer than may have been wise. “Would it surprise you to know,” he said, “that I never met my parents?”
The man flinched, his eyes narrowing in annoyance at what he seemed to think a feeble attempt to avoid the question. “Do you know what he felt?” the man repeated.
Heyer sighed. “You have tracked me down, recklessly traveled across time and space, had my own brother take me prisoner,” he said. “And this is the question that drove you?”
The man stared back at him, face growing angry as he was put on the defensive. “I didn’t know what I would find when I stepped inside that sphere, I…” The man trailed off. His eyes narrowed, his lips parting to show teeth. “I don’t care what you think. Right now, I’m the one asking questions. So stop stalling.”
The Never Paradox (Chronicles Of Jonathan Tibbs Book 2) Page 41