Alone (16 page)

IT WAS FUNNY HOW FURY LIT A FIRE
under Tatiana's ass—and under Gaia's as well. As soon as she'd heard George admit he was a lying sack of garbage, Gaia had tried to leap forward, lunging out of the shadows to attack George and his shadowy associate. It was only Tatiana's urgent hand on her arm that had stopped her: Duh. If she did anything now,
both their parents were dog meat.

Getting down was a lot easier than climbing up. Gaia and Tatiana both swung out and down through the tree by the fire escape, acutely aware that if Loki caught them, they might as well climb into their coffins themselves. Down on the sidewalk they took off, running down the zigzagging West Village streets till they were well away from the brownstone. They finally stopped to catch their breath near Washington Square Park, Gaia's old stomping ground.

“I apologize,” Gaia blurted. “I was totally and completely wrong to trust George. I can't believe I fell for his crap—again.”

Danger that they hadn't seen, Gaia thought, because she'd been too trusting of George to look for it. Goddamn him. She wanted to scream with embarrassment, frustration, and anger. They'd all
been duped—
worse than duped.
George had taken them for a bunch of suckers.

LOKI RETURNED DOWNSTAIRS,
TAKING
each step with slow, considered deliberation. Surely it was his precious Gaia who had leapt from the window. He felt his mighty knot of a plan begin to fray at the edges and unravel. Gaia had been in the palm of his hand, and now she was running away from him again. The sloppiness of this situation filled him with a cold fury. A fury he could taste. He had Tom in his clutches and his troublesome cohort as well, but they were mere consolation prizes. Gaia was still out of his reach—and he had been so close.

At the bottom landing
he could see George, still standing in the foyer, gazing into his drink as if the ice cubes were crystal balls.
This useless man,
Loki thought bitterly.
He is more trouble than he's worth
.

“She got away,” George said, his voice no longer wavering from the alcohol. “It was Gaia. She heard every word and got away.” Slowly he looked up, his eyes meeting Loki's.

“She was too clever for me after all,” he said, some vestige of his old self glinting through the fog of his consciousness. “Too clever for you, too. You've involved me in your sick conspiracy—but you will never be able to twist her mind and involve her in your demented—”

But Loki wouldn't let George finish. He took three steps toward him and felt nothing as he emptied the barrel of his gun into the old man's forehead.

He stepped backward so that the body could fall, unhindered, to the ground, where it landed with an inhuman thump. Then he stepped over it and let himself out the front door.

Behind him
the last oozing drops of George Niven's life
seeped silently into the richly patterned Oriental rug.

There's
this
Star Trek
movie that came out when I was a kid where they talk about the Kobayashi Maru. Don't get me wrong—I wasn't a complete and total unrepentant nerd; I did not see
Star Trek
of my own free will. I went to keep my mother company. That was her only weakness, I guess: cheesy sci-fi movies. Anyway, the Kobiyashi Maru was a no-win situation. It was a test they gave all the cadets at Starfleet Academy: Pose a completely impossible situation, one where the outcome is cataclysmic no matter what orders they give, and judge them on their poise and reactions.

I feel like I just took the stupid Kobayashi Maru. And I don't think I did too well. Anyway, I'm not happy about it.

Was there a happy ending here? Was there a resolution to the who's-telling-the-truth situation that would have made anyone happy? At first I wanted to prove
that George was telling the truth so that I could hurt Tatiana and rid my life of her and her mother. Then as Tatiana grew on me, I just wanted to cure her of her hopeful, positive view of the world.

But is that what I was
really
trying to do? Maybe what I truly wanted was for George to be telling the truth so that I could prove that unpleasant as his information might be, at least I had one trustworthy soul in my corner.

But of course, I didn't. I haven't since my mother died. Except for Ed. But whether or not he's still in my corner remains to be seen.

I should be happy, right? I don't have to worry about Natasha anymore, and it turns out Tatiana's kind of cool in the bargain. Maybe. Possibly acceptable. And this fantasy I have, the dream my dad painted in his letters to Natasha, has a shot at coming true.

But I can't even enjoy that. Because you know what? George was supposed to be a sure thing. Much as I bucked his authority, much as I hated being dumped in his house and resented his attention, at least he always seemed to have my best interests at heart.
Seemed,
of course, being the operative word.

I wish I knew what snapped in the old guy. I'd like to say it was his own stupid weakness that brought him here, but there's a part of me that wonders if it wasn't my fault. I was such an unmitigated bitch. When he asked me to live with him that last time, was it so he could sell me out to Loki?

Or was it just the final plea of a lonely old guy who was tired of being alone?

And when I refused him, did it drive him over the edge?

No. That's so stupid. It couldn't have been that simple.

Then again, maybe it could. Maybe I broke this old man and
put my own father in the hands of Loki.

Whoever's fault it is, I could wring George's neck with my bare hands.

Nobody's ever going to get me to trust them like that again.

It's
always a guy. A boy, really. Bubble boy.

You see them on TV sometimes, or read about them in books, or maybe you've just listened to the millions of lame jokes, but you get the basic idea. Boy. In bubble.

They have to stay in the bubble because they were born with this genetic problem. One of their genes got dinged in a certain way that keeps them from having an immune system. It's kind of like being born with AIDS, but even worse. These guys can die from anything. Bad cold? Dead. Flu? Dead. Mumps? Dead. Dead. Dead. All kinds of germs that don't even make a normal person sick at all can kill them before anyone even figures out what's wrong.

The only way these guys can stay alive is to keep a wall between them and the rest of the world. They can't ever touch another person without wearing some kind of big plastic gloves.
No hugs from mom. No kisses on the cheek. No way can they go to school. School is the Hot Zone for germs.

People can be right next to them, all around them, but they can never touch. There's always that wall, the wall between the bubble boys and the rest of the world. Keeping them isolated. Keeping them alive.

Here's a scientific fact for the day: The reason it's almost always a bubble boy is because that busted gene is on the X chromosome. Guys only have one of those. Screw it up and they're screwed for good. Girls come equipped with two. Break one, and there's a backup. Not too many bubble girls. Not too many bubble men either—they usually don't live that long.

So, whatever is wrong with me, it's probably not a bad X chromosome. Maybe it
is
genetic. Maybe not. I've been led down the wrong road so many different times. Daddy gave you bad drugs, Gaia.
Daddy went all Jurassic Park on your genes, Gaia. Daddy built little Franken-Gaia with a blowtorch and some spare parts. Who knows what to believe? Who cares?

Whatever caused me to be the way I am, I've ended up as the opposite of a bubble boy. I don't mean I can't get sick. Show me a cold virus and I can produce more snot than a rhino. The only thing I'm completely immune to is fear. Never felt it, probably never will. I still need that bubble, though. A nice, safe barrier between me and the rest of the world. Not to protect me. To protect the world.

See, it's not me who dies when I get touched, it's everyone else. My mom? Dead. Sam, the first guy I ever really loved. Dead. Mary, my best friend. Dead. Dead. Dead.

It could be that they all died of the same disease. A disease that walks on two legs and goes by the name of Loki. A disease that's also my uncle.

But if Loki is the disease, I'm the carrier. I take the infection out to the rest of the world.

Even with the population of Gaia's personal graveyard always on the rise, there are still a few people in the world that I care about.

There's my father. My always missing father. He knows more about what's going on than he will tell me, which is a good reason to hate him. And I do. Sometimes. But even when I'm busy hating him, I still love him. I think. Anyway, at the moment he's off in God knows where doing God knows what and probably in danger.

There's Tatiana. She's not part of my family or anything—at least, not yet. It's not like she's my best friend, either. But lately she's been helping me figure out whatever's going on with her mom and my dad. The two of them might be missing together, which could be good for them because I know my dad is in love with Tatiana's mother. That is,
if both of them are still alive. So I care about Tatiana, at least a little.

But the biggest reason I have to stay in the Gaia bubble is Ed. Ed, the first guy I ever had sex with. Ed, the guy I still love. Ed, the guy I've managed to piss off for weeks now. Ed, the guy that poured out his heart to me and left convinced that I didn't care. That Ed.

By now, Ed has probably written me off as a lost cause. Tatiana has a black belt in flirting and she's been using all her best moves on Ed. The two of them have been spending a lot of time together. I know Ed's gone completely MIA on her for the last couple of days, but wherever he's been hiding, I'll bet that the next time I see him, he'll be in Tatiana's arms. And that's good. That's what I want, the way it has to be. That's the plastic bubble that protects Ed from the disease I'm carrying.

But why does it have to feel
so miserable? So I can work up a good, self-righteous “I'm doing this to protect him” kind of feeling? That feeling, as they say, will not keep me warm on a cold night.

Doesn't matter. Until this is all over, I've got to stay inside my chilly little bubble. Look, but don't touch. See, but don't feel.

The Amazing Bubble Girl, keeping the world safe from myself.

THE PHONE RANG A FOURTH TIME.
Fifth. Gaia thumped her hand against the metal pay phone and listened as a sixth ring came from the other end. She could picture the old wall phone ringing in the kitchen of the brownstone, the sound echoing off all the expensive—and unused cookware. She could see the curving staircase. Was the house completely empty, or was old George Niven stumbling down those stairs toward the phone? George had been there only hours before. Gaia and Tatiana had seen him. Maybe he was just about to answer. Gaia let the phone ring one more time.

Come on, Georgie. Pick up.

The phone rang two more times. Gaia sighed and was about to hang up, when the receiver made a sudden click.

“Hello there,” said a woman's voice. The tone was cool, self-possessed. “I'm afraid that we can't take your call at the moment. Please leave. . .”

Gaia hung up the pay phone before the message could end. It was Ella.
The voice on the answering machine was George's wife Ella. Only Ella Niven had been dead for months.
A little tingly feeling went up the back of Gaia's neck, once again demonstrating that just because you didn't feel fear, that didn't mean you couldn't be solidly creeped
out. Wasn't George ever going to get around to changing the message? It was kind of sweet that he had left his wife's voice on the phone. It was also pretty sick.

For a few seconds, Gaia stood and looked at the pay phone. She thought about calling again, but she didn't want to take the chance of hearing Ella's voice a second time. Hearing Ella had never been a blast when she was alive. Hearing her dead. . . That was a thrill Gaia would just as soon skip, thank you.

She flipped the hood up on her sweatshirt, hunched her shoulders, and walked away from the phone booth. A businesswoman went past on her left, followed by a college-age guy in some ridiculous parka thing that looked like something you would wear on top of the Matterhorn instead of in lower Manhattan. Gaia gave them both a quick once-over as they passed. Were they part of Loki's organization? Was one of them following Gaia, making notes about her, reporting on her ever move? Somebody was. Gaia knew that much.

Loki's agents were out there. Tracking where she went. Who she saw. When she came in, when she went out. Probably
taking notes on what kind of Jell-O she had for lunch
at the stupid school cafeteria.

Of course, the first one to tell Gaia that she was being followed had been George Niven. So maybe she really wasn't being followed. After all, everything else George had told her had been a big, fat, slimy sack of lies.

Gaia had bought into all of it at first. That was the worst part, how quickly she had swallowed the whole story. But why shouldn't she? Good old George was her father's best and oldest friend. He was going to help Gaia. He was going to help her catch the bad guys. Good old trustworthy George.

Only George was one of the bad guys. George had told her that Tatiana's mother, Natasha, had been the enemy. That Natasha had been spying on Gaia's father. And Gaia had believed it. Even after she'd found a stack of love letters between her father and Natasha, Gaia had still been ready to believe George. She had been willing to do anything, even hurt Natasha or Tatiana, to protect her father. She had been
stupid on a galactic scale.

If it hadn't been for Tatiana, Gaia would have still been convinced that George was trying to help. Gaia had never doubted which side George was on. Come on, George Niven? Best friend and mentor to her father? The same George Niven whose brownstone Gaia had lived in for months? Paunchy, gray-haired, harmless, old George? George could be clueless, sure, but no way could he be on the Dark Side. That wasn't possible.

Okay, so maybe buying into the lies wasn't the worst part. Having Tatiana prove her wrong; that was the worst part.

Tatiana had not been fooled by good old George. No matter what Gaia said, she hadn't trusted the ex-agent.
Tatiana had badgered and pleaded and whined until she finally got Gaia to agree to make a trip to George's brownstone. The only reason Gaia had gone there was to prove once and for all that she was right, that Tatiana was wrong, and that Tatiana should just shut up. Only that wasn't how it had worked out.

When they'd snuck through the window of the room that used to be Gaia's bedroom, they had gotten a glimpse of a meeting between good old George and the seriously un-good Loki. Maybe George had been a friend to Gaia's father once. Maybe he had even been a friend to Gaia. That wasn't true anymore. George was working for Loki and lying to Gaia.

So maybe there wasn't anybody following Gaia. Maybe that was all part of the big pile of steaming hot crap that George had put in Gaia's eager hands. Maybe Loki was laughing somewhere about making Gaia look over her shoulder. After all, it was perfectly obvious that George had been lying to her from the start.

But Gaia didn't think so. Not this time. The part about being followed every moment of her life. That part Gaia still believed.

It had rained that morning, and the sidewalks were still splotched with puddles. Gaia hopped over a wide, muddy spot and managed to keep from getting her sneakers soaked. Then a car went past on the street and sent a wave of oily water washing across her feet. Gaia gave the driver a glance. The guy behind the
wheel looked weird, but half the people in the city were weird. This guy in a Buick probably wasn't keeping a Gaia notebook, and he probably hadn't gotten her shoes wet on Loki's orders. Probably. But
even paranoids had enemies
. Gaia tromped on down the damp sidewalk toward the park.

This whole phone call thing had probably been a bad idea. The latest in a long series of Gaia's Really Bad Ideas. She knew that, really. If Gaia had actually believed calling George was a good idea, she would have done it from the apartment. She would have had Tatiana on the other line so they could talk about it. She wouldn't have left Tatiana snoozing and snuck out to make the call from some pay phone.

After all, how smart was it to call the guy you just found out was setting you up? But Gaia was hoping that, if she could convince George that she was still in the dark, she could turn this thing around. If he didn't know that he had been caught with Loki, Gaia might be able to feed him bad information, get him to make mistakes, maybe even get him to spill something about what had really happened to her father and Natasha.

Gaia squeezed her eyes shut and stood still for a moment. Just trying to think it through was enough to make her head hurt. Anyway, it was hard to pass bad information to someone if they wouldn't even answer the phone.

She walked across the street and slipped into
Washington Square Park. She fought the temptation to look over her shoulder as she passed through the gates. If people were following her, they were probably pretty good at it. After all, they had been following her for months and she hadn't seen them yet. It wasn't like they were suddenly going to start waving or carrying signs that said, “I'm following Stupid.” Gaia kept her face forward and kept walking.

The chess players were mostly gone from their place near the center of the park, and the few who were still at their tables seemed deep in the endgames of long matches. Gaia skirted around the area anyway. She didn't want to play at the moment and didn't want to deal with Zolov, or Mr. Pak, or anyone else who might be looking for a late game. She had to think. She had to figure out the next step.

She thought about going back to the East Side apartment and meeting Tatiana. Together, they might have a better shot at coming up with a plan. After all, it was Tatiana who had figured out the truth about George. Maybe she would have some good ideas.
Something better than playing phone tag with the enemy.

But Gaia didn't go home. She just kept marching.

Part of it was that she wasn't ready to meet with Tatiana. Part of it was that she liked walking — it was what she did when the she needed to think. Most of it was that she had been doing things on her own for so long that it was hard to change. The last person she had
trusted had been George, and that had been a big mistake. Once you convinced yourself that you couldn't trust anyone, how did you ever start trusting again?

Without planning to, Gaia found herself coming out the north side of the park and turning toward George's brownstone. She wasn't sure she really wanted to confront the old agent face-to-face. She definitely wanted to try her plan of passing along misinformation, but there was one big problem with that plan —
she wasn't sure she could look at George without trying to remove his head from his shoulders
. He had lied to her. He had betrayed her father. He was helping Loki. For all Gaia knew, George might even have been involved in the deaths of Sam and Mary.

Convincing George that they were still pals was going to mean swallowing a lot of anger and not letting it show. It was going to take some serious acting. Gaia wasn't sure she was up to it. Hiding her feelings and playing happy was not exactly a Gaia Moore specialty.
Turning every hurt into anger and making a solid fist
-
to
-
face connection, that was more her style.

Gaia was still over a block from George's place when she spotted something wrong. There was something in front of the house, something yellow. From that distance, Gaia couldn't tell quite what it was she was looking at, but as she walked slowly up the block, it became
clear. Yellow tape. Police tape. The front of the brownstone was blocked off with a double line of police tape.

Gaia stood across the street with her hands shoved down into the pocket of her sweatshirt and watched as the tape fluttered in the chill, damp breeze.

If the brownstone was marked off with police tape, then it had to be a crime scene. Gaia supposed there could have been a burglary or a robbery. Ella had stocked the brownstone with several ugly but expensive bits of art. Some thief with equally bad taste might have broken in for that. But Gaia didn't think so. She didn't think the police would have taped off the entrance if it had been a robbery. This had to be... something worse.

Gaia stayed on the sidewalk and watched the house for a few minutes as the sun slipped behind the taller buildings on the far side of the park and the cars rolling slowly down the street turned on their lights. She turned around to leave, took a couple of steps, then turned again and marched through the traffic to the front steps of the brownstone.

Close up, it was easier to read the words on the yellow banner.

NYPD CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATIONS

DO NOT CROSS

Gaia took the plastic tape in her hands and snapped it. The two ends fluttered away as she stepped to the
door and took the knob in her hand. It was locked, of course. The NYPD wouldn't want thieves breaking in and messing up their nice clean crime scene.

It wasn't a problem for Gaia. She fished in her pocket and came out with a single key. She slotted it into the door and turned the knob again. This time, it opened with a soft click. It figured that if George wasn't even going to change his answering machine message after his wife's death, he wasn't going to change the lock on the front door just because Gaia had moved out.

It was weird stepping inside. It was always strange to go back to some place where you used to live.
Gaia almost expected to see herself coming down the stairs, like the brownstone was some kind of three
-
story time machine.
But she didn't see her past self, or the ghost of Ella, or George. The front hallway was dark and quiet.

Gaia closed the front door and walked on into the living room. There was a light on beside the couch, but the room still seemed to swarm with shadows. Could a house get haunted overnight? Gaia could hear the soft hum of the refrigerator purring in the kitchen. It was a comforting sound. The brownstone was still, in some way, alive. But the fridge seemed to be the only living thing in the house.