“Done. I’ll see you there at six-fifteen,” he said.
She tapped the red circle on her screen and tried to regain her focus.
Chapter thirty-seven
At thirty-seven minutes past six o’clock, Varya pushed open the heavy door to El Nido. She knew immediately that it was a mistake. If she was trying to keep her distance from Sebastian, and her mouth shut, it was exactly the wrong place to be. A small, local eatery, popular with families who had young children who weren’t quite ready to be out without being loud and annoying, she and Sebastian had visited here almost weekly. As a baby, Kir would sit in one of the white moulded plastic highchairs and sort refried beans on his tray with immense concentration, popping one in his mouth from time to time. In the months before his diagnosis he had graduated to sitting on a proper chair at the table with them and scribbling over the paper tablecloth, using crayons the wait staff had given him.
The décor had barely changed. There was a new picture of cacti on the back wall and the specials on the chalkboard had rotated. But the polished concrete floor echoed just the same way as Varya made her way over to the small table where Sebastian sat, margarita already in hand. She slid sideways into a seat and picked up the identical drink he’d ordered for her. She took a large gulp, savouring the familiar mixture of cold ice and burning liquor.
Sebastian turned his glass around in his hands, watching her intently. He gave her a smile that wasn’t really a smile.
“This is harder than I thought it would be,” he said.
“Have you ordered?” she asked, after meeting his eyes briefly and then flicking her own eyes down to study the menu. “I’m starving.”
He leaned forward and held out a hand as though to touch her. She moved back and held the menu up higher.
Sebastian spoke quietly but urgently. “What were his last days like? Was he in pain?”
Tears of rage and pain burned at the backs of her eyes. She swallowed them down with another gulp of margarita.
“You wouldn’t need to ask me if you’d stayed.”
He opened his mouth to respond but she held out her hand to flag down a passing waitress. “Nachos, please, with beef. And a tequila, straight.” She handed over her menu and waited for Sebastian to order.
“Have you found Reg?” she asked when the waitress had left.
“No, we haven’t.” He paused and Varya stiffened, waiting to see if he would try to resume his previous line of questioning. Whether he noticed or not, he clearly thought the better of trying again today. He relaxed back in his chair and straightened his shoulders. Was it her imagination or did he also puff out his chest just a little? “We’re pursuing several lines of enquiry, though it seems he more or less went off the grid when he left Rest Time Corps. We’re running facial recognition software through the last few months of CCTV footage at the moment. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move to satellite images.”
Varya nodded her approval.
“There have been some other developments, though. Two more kids have disappeared.” He let the words slide from his mouth dispassionately, pushed out like a weather report.
“Are they related?” Varya asked, hopefully. She immediately felt guilty. The guilt at hoping these abductions weren’t related to the time thefts was overlaid by the guilt of not having recreated the time transfer device yet and the guilt of having assisted in its original invention.
Sebastian shook his head. “We don’t know yet. One of them, a girl aged six from across town, has been involved in a custody dispute so it’s possible that the non-custodial parent took her. The other one, a girl aged ten, routinely walked herself home from school and let herself into an empty house. So, there’s plenty of opportunity for abduction there, or she might have just run away. We have to hope that, if it is related to the other time thefts, we have the tools to treat them when they’re returned.”
“We’re working as fast as we can on the time transfer device.”
“I know. And we’re doing everything we can to find the perpetrators so the life span can be restored when we find the kids.”
“We’re making progress.”
“So are we.”
What if they both progressed more slowly than the time thieves? It was the unasked question that hung thickly between them.
Varya nodded her thanks to the waitress and sipped at her drink, this time burning liquid without the relief of cooling ice. It felt appropriate to the situation.
“It’s happening all over again, isn’t it?” she said dully.
“Yes, but at least we know the M.O. this time. We have a head start; we know how to prepare.”
A thought occurred to her. “Is there any chance this is simply a regular serial killer with a talent for hacking?”
Sebastian frowned. “What do you mean? How is that any better?”
“Have you considered that it might not be a repeat of the previous time thefts? Maybe this isn’t about the life span, maybe it has nothing to do with the time transfer device, after all. It could be just some psychopath getting their rocks off by killing kids.” She sipped again at her tequila. The official narrative seeded in the public consciousness was that the Chips couldn’t be tampered with. The truth was that with enough time, knowledge and talent, any machine could be hacked. Of course, another truth was that it didn’t change anything substantively, it just meant that it might not be Varya’s fault.
“I suppose that would change the motive, but not the result.”
“It would mean that finding Reg might not be your first priority.”
Sebastian shrugged. “It’s not our first priority now. First priority is finding the missing kids, second is making sure they’re safe and third is figuring out who killed Daniel and Ben. At the moment, finding Reg mainly fits in with the third. Though if the motive is life span transference, he shoots up the list a little.”
“But why would he want years anyway?”
“Maybe he wants to be immortal, who knows? Maybe he wants money and he’s found someone who wants to be immortal and has money.”
“Or maybe Reg was threatened and forced to help the perps. Or maybe he has nothing to do with it after all and the technology was simply stolen from the Rest Time Corps archive.” Varya knew she was clutching at straws now. She knew that Sebastian knew it too, as the tone and volume of her voice rose.
“Only you and Reg knew the technology still existed, and where it was located. That gives rise to a few possibilities. Either he took it, or he enabled someone else to, or you took it, or you enabled someone else to. Or you’re lying about its existence.” Sebastian spoke in a soft, steely voice that made the hairs on the back of Varya’s neck stand up.
“I’m not lying,” she said firmly. “And I didn’t take it.”
Sebastian worked his jaw forward and backward and took a slow breath in. “Well, then. I guess I’ll continue investigating the crimes that have been committed and you can continue trying to put together the technology that might stop more kids from dying.”
Varya had an overwhelming desire to stand up and leave the restaurant, even though she knew she’d lost the argument. She wasn’t quite sure how, and she wasn’t even quite sure what they were arguing about. It felt like all too familiar ground. What started as a civilised conversation quickly degenerated into hissing veiled threats and insults through clenched teeth.
“And here are your nachos with beef. And for you, sir, the burritos with chicken. Can I get you anything else? Another drink?” The peppy waitress cut the air with an oblivious shredder and placed their meals in front of them. Varya felt herself relax slightly.
“No, thank you,” Sebastian said. “We’re fine.”
“I guess we’d better eat and get back to it, then,” said Varya, who felt very far from fine indeed.
Chapter thirty-eight
Marisa
Marisa flicked through shows on the screen, the tiles whizzing past faster than she could reasonably focus on them. She pressed on
e at random and an over-the-top theme song started up, accompanying a middle-aged couple in matching cowboy hats sitting on matching mechanical bulls. She turned it off and tossed the remote to the other end of Varya’s sofa, sending a disgusted grunt with it.
Her shift was well and truly over, she mused. She could just go home, to her own apartment, and leave Varya to her angst. This was nothing to do with Marisa, not really. She was just an employee saving up for early retirement. She’d be out of here in a few years if all went to plan, sunning herself on a beach somewhere. Maybe up in Bali, somewhere the beers were cheap and the nasi goreng cheaper.
Marisa sighed and swung her feet up onto the couch, laying her head back on the cushioned arm rest.
“Get a grip, girl. This ain’t your problem.” She willed her legs to swing back to the floor. She eyed the door and imagined herself walking through it. But then she imagined Varya walking back in from dinner with her ex-husband, all tight-lipped on the outside and distraught on the inside. No, Varya would need someone to talk to or she’d end up pressing the self-destruct button. Marisa felt protective of her, like a mother hen. Except not, she chortled, because she’d never had the desire to peck her to death. Well, peck her a little, maybe, but not to death. She closed her eyes for a few minutes before she heard the click and soft whoosh of the heavy door opening. She opened one eye to watch Varya enter.
“Hey,” Marisa said softly.
“Hey,” said Varya, her eyes flitting over her once before she continued through to the kitchen. Marisa rolled off the sofa with a sigh, then got to her feet and followed.
Varya pulled a plain, squat glass out of a top cabinet, and a full bottle of amber liquid from another. She poured a glass for herself at the kitchen table and swilled it around, staring at it, bottle still firmly clutched in her other hand. After a moment she tipped her head back, swallowed the full glass and started pouring another. Marisa waited for her to finish, then confiscated the bottle.
“Hey, hey, you need to share that.” Eyeing her friend with a worried expression that didn’t match her tone, she lifted a matching glass from the top cabinet and sat opposite her. “So? How’d it go?”
“It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have gone,” she admitted bitterly.
“Well, yeah. True.” Marisa started, cautiously. She took a sip of the liquid. It was good, warming liquor. Quality stuff. “Where do you get this shit from? This is amazing, even better than my soirée stash.”
“Two more kids are missing,” Varya mumbled into her glass. “Two girls.”
“Okay.”
Varya looked up. “Six and ten years old. They don’t know if the abductions are related. The girls haven’t been returned yet.”
There was a pleading in her eyes that caught Marisa off guard. She took another careful sip before replying.
“So, you’ll be ready this time. If it’s the time thieves, you’ll pop them in the Time Lock with Kir and Daniel, where they can all play happily until you get this time transfer tech sorted and Sebastian and his pals find the thieves to transfer the time back again.” She threw back the remainder of her glass and reached for the bottle. “Easy peasy.”
Varya shook her head. “No. No, I can’t.”
Marisa slammed her glass down. “Yes, you can. And you will.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t just start letting anyone into that Time Lock. The Rest Time Authority will find out and shut it down.”
“Why would they shut it down when it would kill four kids?”
Varya tapped nervously at her glass, her breathing becoming ragged and uneven. “Maybe not now, maybe they would wait until this mess is sorted and the three other kids are safe.” She started turning her glass slowly. “But then what about Kir? They won’t just allow the Time Lock to stay open indefinitely.”
Marisa felt the full force of Varya’s maternal pleading as she looked at her in appeal. “Varya, how long are you going to keep that kid in there for?” It was a question she’d been wanting to ask for a very long time but hadn’t dared.
“As long as it takes,” Varya whispered, barely audible.
“And what if it takes another ten years? What if it takes your entire lifetime? Or you die, still not having fixed him? What then?”
Varya clenched her glass, the muscles on the backs of her hands popping out until Marisa feared the glass would shatter.
“What kind of a life is that for him?” Marisa ventured.
“I’ll find a cure. It has to be out there. I just need to keep trying.” It came out like a chant, like a mantra against the darkness that small children use against monsters under their bed.
“But what if you don’t?”
“I will!” Varya shouted.
Marisa let the air settle for a minute before she spoke again. “Just to recap, so I’ve got this straight in my mind. You’re willing to let two little girls die. You’re willing to sentence your own son to relive his fourth year for the next twenty years, and your mother to care for him, all because…” She looked at Varya, then looked away. “Because you can’t let go.” Her voice broke on the final two words.
“Get out,” said Varya, her voice dangerous and low.
“Varya, you need to think this through. There’s still time to change your mind.”
“I said, get out!”
Marisa nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, then. I’ll be back by five to get the dinners ready.” She paused, watching Varya, whose head was now in her hands, as though inhaling the whiskey vapours could cure her pain. “I’ll see myself out.”
Chapter thirty-nine
Elena
It all happened so quickly; you must understand. Not Kir’s illness, but what came after. The illness was slow. It had been with him for many months, creeping around his body and ingratiating itself like a greasy new banking executive. Once it took a hold on my grandson it grew cocky and decided to show itself. Of course, when we became aware of its presence, we took him to the doctors and they did everything they could to extract that nasty infestation. But every time we thought they’d driven it away completely, it would rise to the surface again. Until it grew so confident in its new fiefdom that it took a dramatic stand and made it known that it wouldn’t let go, that it was here to stay. Illnesses, they’re not too bright, you see. They don’t have a brain, just instinct. If illnesses had a brain, they’d know never to kill us. They’d learn to live in harmony with our bodies, sharing the fleshy resources and leaving us at least enough to continue our everyday functions. Letting us pump our illness-tainted blood around our veins and exhale our infected breath into the atmosphere. But letting us stay here nonetheless, on this earth. With our loved ones.
The infestation our Kir has is a Terminal Illness. They are the tyrant of the unwellness world and will stop at nothing. Kir’s Terminal Illness didn’t stop until it completely dominated his whole little body, no matter how hard the doctors fought against it.
The war was lost slowly—skirmish by skirmish—but the final battle still, somehow, caught everyone by surprise. Even though we knew it was coming.
I asked my Varya what she planned to do while myself and our Kir lived our suspended lives. Beat the illness, she said simply. Kill it once and for all so Kir could come out and grow into a bigger boy and then a man and an old man. Or as old as they’ll allow us to be these days. Not bent over and shuffling maybe, but at least creased and a little papery.
After a few months in our sunny pastures I asked my Varya, what will you do if you cannot cure the disease? I asked her gently, because my Varya, she is quick to anger, especially when her competency is questioned. She is like a child when that happens, stomping her foot as her face turns red. But when I asked her after those few months, she told me quietly and calmly that she would find a cure. All she needed was time. I nodded and told her that Kir and I would give her all the time she needed.
There was some hope at the two-year mark. We all got terribly excited. But then our hopes wer
e dashed again. Back to the beginning we went.
After three years I asked my Varya again, has there been any progress? How is the research going? She went a little pale and started to tell me about the new picture books she was going to bring to her little boy. I waited while she spoke of the one with the dinosaur on the cover, the one with the lists of music on the back pages and the CDs she would bring so we could play the music. Then I asked her again. I pretended I assumed she hadn’t heard me.
“There have been some… unexpected anomalies.” She spoke these words after a very long pause and a little preparatory handwringing. My Varya always uses long words she thinks I don’t understand to try to scare me away from topics she doesn’t wish to discuss.
I folded my hands neatly in my lap and I told her a story that my mother used to tell me.
Once upon a time there was a king. The king wished very much to live forever, for he was frightened of death. His advisers taught him that those who did good deeds and followed the rules of the kingdom could expect eternal comforts. Those who didn’t would roast in the flames of the underworld. The king knew to which eternity his bad deeds destined him. And, for that reason, he decided the solution to the problem was to live forever.
To protect his health, he built high walls all around the palace and forbade anyone from entering before they’d served a period of fourteen days in isolation, to prove they carried no illnesses. He employed royal tasters to test each morsel of food to check for poison. He ate only the best foods and exercised every day. The king surrounded himself with the best doctors he could find and did everything to placate his neighbours with diplomacy rather than swords.
The king lived a great many years this way, a great many more than the record-keepers could detect that any king had lived before him.
Stealing Time Page 16