by Greg Cox
THE VIEW WAS impressive, Shawn Farrell admitted.
Like most native Seattleites, he hadn’t visited the Space Needle in years. It was a place for tourists and for entertaining relatives from out of town. Over six hundred feet tall, the famous spire was left over from the 1962 World’s Fair and had been hovering like a flying saucer over Seattle Center since before he was born. On a clear day like today, you could see all the way to Mount Rainier to the south, the Cascade Mountains to the east, Elliott Bay and the Olympic Peninsula to the west, and Puget Sound to the north. Closer to home, the Needle’s circular observation deck looked out over downtown and the waterfront. If he squinted, Shawn could spot the roof of The 4400 Center several blocks away. Directly below him were the myriad attractions of the Seattle Center, the old fairgrounds, which now hosted a variety of museums, concert halls, stadiums, and exhibitions. Carnival rides filled the Fun Forest across from the Needle. From atop the towering spire, even the giant Ferris wheel and roller coaster looked like kiddie rides. The psychedelic exterior of the Experience Music Project, its painted steel contours undulating across the street, glinted in the sunlight.
Yep, the view was nothing to sneeze at, Shawn conceded.
Too bad he was too tense to enjoy it.
The source of his discomfort clung to his arm as they strolled around the deck. “Thank you so much for the lunch,” Isabelle Tyler chirped. The lovely young woman wore a light green sundress that showed off her supple figure. A mane of curly brown hair tumbled past her shoulders. Silver earrings matched the glittering chain necklace around her neck. “It was just as romantic as I imagined!”
“Well, I knew you wanted to check out the restaurant here,” Shawn said with a shrug. Only nineteen years old, the neatly groomed young man had already become the head of The 4400 Center and the unofficial spokesman for the returnees. His short brown hair contrasted with Isabelle’s billowing tresses. They were an attractive couple. Heads turned as they walked past the other sightseers upon the deck; Shawn suspected that most of the men were envying his drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend. But they don’t know her like I do, he thought ruefully. They don’t know what she’s capable of.
Did anyone?
Technically, Isabelle was not one of the 4400. She was the child of two returnees, conceived in the future under mysterious circumstances. Only a few months ago, she had been a little baby who couldn’t even walk or talk yet, but then she literally grew up overnight, going from gurgling infant to full-grown woman in the blink of an eye. No one, not even Isabelle, really knew why, or what her full potential was. Shawn only knew that her abilities were off the charts.
And that she had the emotional maturity of a two-year-old.
“You’re so thoughtful to have remembered that!” She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “No wonder I love you so much.”
Shawn winced. Not for the first time, he regretted getting involved with Isabelle. He had tried to resist her seductive advances, but she hadn’t taken no for an answer. When Isabelle wanted something, she went for it, full speed ahead. In the beginning, her impetuous, uninhibited nature had been exciting, but that was before he realized just how dangerous she was.
Only a week ago, Daniel Armand, the ruthless leader of Nova Group, had launched a psychic attack on Shawn, driving him out of his mind. Isabelle had personally tracked Armand down and forced him to restore Shawn’s sanity, but she had left a trail of dead Nova Group members in her wake. Jane Nance had been fed to her own cats and dogs. Jorge Molina had been burned alive in his garage. There was no proof that Isabelle had actually killed anyone, but Shawn knew she was responsible. She had practically admitted as much to him, claiming that she would gladly kill a hundred people for his sake. He also had his suspicions regarding the recent death of Matthew Ross, a lobbyist for The 4400 Center, who had dropped dead of a stroke the very same day. Had Isabelle killed him, too? The one time Shawn had worked up the nerve to ask her, she had evaded the issue, but he wouldn’t put it past her.
He felt a twinge of guilt as he recalled that Isabelle had saved his sanity after all; if not for her, he’d be gibbering in a padded cell somewhere, tormented by hallucinatory voices inside his head. If she did kill those people, she did it for his sake. How can I turn on her because of that? Isabelle was still learning how to be an adult; she didn’t know any better. Perhaps he owed it to her to try to make this relationship work?
Today’s lunch date atop the Space Needle had been an attempt to recapture the spark between them, but it wasn’t working, at least as far as he was concerned. His skin crawled as she pressed herself against his side. He felt trapped. He wasn’t sure he could get out of this relationship even if he wanted to. Breaking up with Isabelle could be hazardous to his health.
“You’re awful quiet,” she commented, a tad suspiciously. As far as Shawn knew, she couldn’t actually read his mind, but she seemed to sense that he wasn’t enjoying himself. She peered at his face. “Something wrong?”
“No,” he lied. “Just enjoying the view.” Avoiding her eyes, he paused and leaned against a guardrail. Float planes landed on Lake Union several miles away. Ferries, cruise lines, and cargo ships crossed Elliott Bay. People strolling the grounds below looked like tiny toy soldiers. A cool breeze rustled his hair.
“Okay,” Isabelle replied, sounding not entirely convinced. He could feel her probing gaze upon his face. “You’re not still upset about what happened last week, are you? I told you before, you should forget all about that. You’re well again, and we’re together.” She tossed her hair. “What else matters?”
Aside from the fact that you killed two, maybe three, people without a hint of remorse? The chill running down his spine had nothing to do with the wind blowing off the bay. He pictured Jane Nance’s partially devoured body, imagined Jorge Molina trapped inside his burning garage, remembered Daniel Armand babbling like a lunatic. Matthew Ross’s funeral had taken place only days ago. What happens the next time someone crosses you? Isabelle was growing more confident and comfortable with her abilities every day. Not even her father could control her anymore. Shawn wasn’t sure anyone could.
“Shawn Farrell! Isabelle Tyler!”
A harsh voice assailed them. Shawn spun around to spot a young Native American man standing in the doorway to the observation deck. A fringed buckskin jacket and blue jeans clothed his lanky body. Glossy black hair was tied back in a ponytail. A bear-tooth necklace dangled around his neck. He looked only a few years younger than Shawn and Isabelle. Hate-filled eyes glared from his acne-scarred face.
It took Shawn a moment to place the newcomer: Jamie Skysinger, a 4400 who used to hang out at the Center. Shawn hadn’t seen him around for a while; rumor had it he had joined the Nova Group.
Uh-oh, Shawn thought. Nova Group had never forgiven him for cooperating with NTAC against the terrorists. And Isabelle had single-handedly wreaked havoc among their ranks.
“Traitors! Backstabbers!” Jamie snarled, shaking his fist. “You don’t deserve your abilities!”
“Oh, really?” Her expression darkening, Isabelle stepped toward their accuser. Her own fists clenched at her sides. Shawn laid a restraining hand upon her shoulder. Maybe there was still a way to avoid further bloodshed?
“Wait!” he pleaded, as much to Isabelle as Jamie. “Let’s talk about this.” He raised his open palms in a nonthreatening manner. “Too many people have been hurt already. If you’re in trouble, maybe I can help.”
Jamie snorted in contempt. “Are you serious? We trusted you once and you sold us out to NTAC, even after they tried to exterminate our kind! That makes you an accomplice to genocide.” Alarmed by the confrontation, the other sightseers fled the scene, leaving Shawn and Isabelle alone with Jamie. “Hope you know how to fly!”
He took a deep breath and exhaled. A cyclonic wind suddenly buffeted Shawn and Isabelle, hurling them backward. Shawn frantically grabbed on to the guardrail, but the wind was too strong. His feet left the ground as he and Isabelle were flung from the obs
ervation deck out into the empty air above the Seattle Center. Within a heartbeat, they were carried past the safety grid installed to foil would-be jumpers. Some five hundred feet below, the fairgrounds spread out beneath him like a kid’s diorama. Gravity seized Shawn and he realized he was about to die. Even if his healing powers worked on himself, which they didn’t, there was no way anyone could survive a plunge like that. He spotted Isabelle tumbling through the air several yards away. Their eyes made contact. She reached out for him, but the unnatural gale had already blown them too far apart. Only their common peril united them, perhaps for the very last time. They seemed destined to die together.
Or maybe not.
To his surprise, an invisible force took hold of Shawn, halting his fall. Isabelle, he realized. It had to be her doing. The telekinetic surge propelled him back toward the observation deck, even as Isabelle herself plummeted from sight. “Shaaaawnnnn!” she called out as she fell, her voice trailing off before disappearing entirely.
She had saved him—again.
Shawn crashed back onto the deck, colliding with Jamie. The two men collapsed onto the narrow skyway circling the saucer. The startled assassin had the wind knocked out of him, but quickly recovered. Thrashing beneath Shawn’s weight, flailing at him with his fists, Jamie sucked at the air, trying to take another deep breath.
No way, Shawn thought. Not again.
As a healer, he usually employed his ability to help people, to erase whatever injuries or diseases might be afflicting them, but he had discovered early on that he could also reverse the process. It wasn’t something he liked to demonstrate, but Jamie had pushed him too far. A complicated mixture of rage and guilt churned inside Shawn at the thought of Isabelle’s death. In the split second before they fell, she had chosen to save him instead of herself. Uncertain how he was going to live with that knowledge, he took out his anguish on Jamie.
“You killed her!” He grabbed hold of Jamie’s wrists with both hands. Shawn’s brow furrowed in concentration, and the strength instantly fled from the killer’s arms. Unable to free themselves, the limbs drooped lifelessly in Shawn’s grasp. Jamie stopped grappling with him, and started gasping for breath instead. Shawn shouted angrily at him. “She didn’t deserve that. No matter what she did!”
“S-stop,” Jamie croaked hoarsely, barely able to speak. His face acquired a bluish, cyanotic tint as Shawn mercilessly drained the life force from his body. Ugly purple shadows formed beneath sunken eyes. Waxy skin stretched tight over his skull. His jaw fell open, exposing a gaping black cavity. Failing lungs wheezed and whistled. His body twitched spasmodically. Brown eyes rolled up until only the whites could be seen. He looked more dead than alive. “P-please . . . stop . . .”
Shawn had never come so close to killing someone before. In the past, bystanders had always intervened before he went too far. He was tempted to go all the way this time, to repay his debt to Isabelle by turning her killer into a corpse. But then he heard a horrified gasp coming from a nearby doorway. He looked up to see a uniformed security guard staring at him in horror. Sheer shock froze the guard in place. “Holy crap,” the man whispered, visibly afraid to come any closer. “What in heaven’s name are you doing to that guy?”
The guard wasn’t the only spectator. Frightened faces gazed at the nightmarish tableau from behind the tinted windows of the saucer. All at once, Shawn realized that he was in danger of confirming the world’s worst fears about the 4400. Tomorrow’s headline flashed before his mind’s eye:
4400 LEADER KILLS WITH TOUCH!
Coming to his senses, he let go of Jamie’s wrists as though they were scalding him. The terrorist’s arms dropped limply onto the floor. Jamie moaned, his chest heaving, as the color slowly began to return to his features. He sat up slowly.
“I . . . I didn’t mean . . .” Shawn stood up and backed away from the fallen assassin. “He’s part of the Nova Group,” he stammered by way of explanation. His heart was still pounding a mile a minute. Perspiration glued his shirt to his back. “He tried to kill us . . . I thought we were going to die . . . both of us . . .”
Isabelle.
He staggered to the guardrail and looked over the edge. At first he couldn’t find her, then his eyes zeroed in on a still, small form lying on the pavement at the base of the Needle. He couldn’t believe how tiny she looked from this height. Blood pooled beneath her head like a halo.
She’s gone, he realized. She’s really gone.
An unexpected rush of relief caught him by surprise. As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, part of him was glad she was dead.
It’s finally over. I’m free.
He wondered how he was ever going to break the news to her father . . .
Then the earthquake hit.
A sudden tremor caused the Needle to sway like a willow in the wind. The lurch threw Shawn off balance and he slammed into the guardrail, bruising his shoulder. Inside the saucer, sightseers screamed and swore as they stumbled and fell. Cameras, binoculars, and other personal items crashed onto the deck.
“Hey!” the guard shouted behind him. “Don’t make a move!”
For a second, Shawn thought the man was yelling at him, then he realized that Jamie had scrambled to his feet. Apparently the terrorist still had enough juice in him to make a break for it. Taking advantage of the confusion engendered by the quake, Jamie lunged for the nearest exit. The overwhelmed guard made a halfhearted attempt to detain Jamie, but an unnatural gust of wind knocked him aside, even as the momentary tremors subsided. The crowd inside the saucer scattered in fear as the killer bolted for the elevator, vaulting over the bodies of fallen tourists. Shawn let him go. Overcome with shock and emotion, he didn’t have the strength to chase after Jamie. His legs felt like rubber as he sagged against the guardrail, letting the unyielding metal support his weight. The quake was over, but he was still shaking like a leaf. I’ll notify Uncle Tommy, he promised himself. Jamie Skysinger was NTAC’s problem now. They know how to deal with terrorists.
The Needle stopped swaying, and Shawn gazed mournfully at the lifeless figure five hundred feet below. Not even a freak earthquake could drive Isabelle’s death from his thoughts. Now that she was gone, his memory perversely summoned up all the happy times they had shared together, before her more lethal tendencies asserted themselves. The whole world had been new to her, and she had sought out fresh experiences with boundless enthusiasm. Her restless curiosity had devoured entire encyclopedias. The ultimate prodigy, she had instantly mastered every skill she set out to learn. He remembered teaching her how to swim, how to drive, how to make love . . .
His throat tightened. I’m so sorry, Isabelle. He wished that he could truly regret her passing, but perhaps it was all for the best. That much power had never belonged in the hands of someone who grew up incredibly too fast. Maybe the future made a mistake creating you . . .
For a few moments, everything went black. The world, with all its puzzling contradictions and conflicting demands, went away. Isabelle savored the blissful oblivion.
Then her eyes snapped open.
She found herself lying on her back upon the pavement, staring up at the underside of the saucer hundreds of feet above. Capsule-shaped elevators carried passengers up and down the length of the tower. Startled gasps erupted from the awestruck bystanders surrounding her. Many of them seemed to be getting up off the ground, after apparently falling for some reason. They backed away nervously, unsure what to make of her apparent resurrection. “It’s impossible!” someone blurted. “Nobody could survive a fall like that!”
Except me, she thought. Or so it seems.
She sat up, somewhat surprised to be alive. Granted, her survival was not totally without precedent. She had once jumped from the roof of The 4400 Center and walked away unharmed, but that had been a mere two or three stories, nothing compared to the dizzying plunge she had just taken. Isabelle had read that three people had jumped from Space Needle over the years. None had survived. Apparently,
she was even more resilient than she’d imagined.
Good to know.
Her head was ringing, and an annoying pain throbbed at the back of her skull. Groaning, she probed the injury with her fingers. They came away bloody, but the wound already felt as if it was healing over. The throbbing gradually faded away. Isabelle wiped her fingers on the hem of her dress. The designer frock was torn, frayed, and barely hanging on. One of her high-heel shoes was lying a few yards away.
“Are you all right, miss?”
An older black man leaned over her. He reminded Isabelle of her father, but was a bit more heavyset. He appeared to work at the Seattle Center. A plastic name badge identified him as MAURICE. She appreciated his concern.
“I think so.” She started to stand up, but Maurice placed his hand against her shoulder. “Don’t move,” he urged her. “You should wait until the paramedics get here.”
“But I’m fine,” she protested.
“What happened?” another bystander asked. She was a skinny white woman wearing the typical tourist attire: shorts, sneakers, souvenir T-shirt, and baseball cap. Her fingers nervously toyed with a copper bracelet. “Did you . . . jump?”
No, I was pushed. Anger flared inside her as she recalled being ambushed atop the Needle. A horrible thought struck her, momentarily shoving her outrage aside. Shawn! She had grabbed on to him with her mind as they were falling, but had that been enough to save him? She glanced around desperately, afraid of spotting another body upon the pavement. The intrusive crowd blocked her view, and she shoved them aside just by thinking about it. Alarmed men and women yelped as an invisible force drove them from her line of vision. She didn’t see Shawn lying anywhere nearby, but maybe he had landed somewhere out of sight?
The freaked-out rubberneckers were making tracks away from her. She grabbed Maurice before he could run away, too. He regarded her with obvious apprehension. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” He swallowed hard. “The 4400?”
Sort of.
She didn’t have time to explain. “There was a man with me,” she said urgently. “My boyfriend. Did he fall, too?”