Ashes of Foreverland (15 page)

There were three large envelopes. Two more were under a pizza box, another one halfway beneath the couch. They were the same size, same thickness. The stiff outline of the disc was evident. All unopened.

He looked at her sleeping soundly.

She knew what was inside, knew that Foreverland was coming. And she wanted to forget.

But Foreverland came calling. He didn't know how or why, he was just glad he'd reached her in time.

Danny ripped the flap open.

The disc rolled out. The pattern of pinholes looked the same as the one he'd received. The only difference was the thick edge. His was blue, hers yellow.

A folded sheet of lined paper fell out.

Danny picked it up and held it to the light. There was nothing about building a bridge, just two lines written in green.

43.58039085560786

-107.24716186523438

He recognized the numbers. They were coordinates.

Raised letters had been pressed through the paper from the other side. He flipped it over to see the poem.

He put it in his back pocket.

Danny put her on the couch. He lay next to her, reciting the poem, dissecting and examining every word. He had to be sure.

Half an hour later, he backed the SUV into the driveway, loaded it with blankets and winter clothing and all the food and bottled water in the house. It was still very early when he carried her to the SUV and laid her in the passenger seat. No one saw them drive away.

Danny passed the hotel, but didn't stop. There was nothing he needed. He was thinking about the poem.

Where once there was light on a dusted rim,

When day followed day, now a night-filled sin,

Turn back your sight to where your steps begin,

And return to the root and fall again.

He programmed the coordinates into his GPS. That's why Reed sent him, to take her back to where her steps began.

To fall again.

New York City

T
he trees were turning.

It was still early September, but fall had begun showing its colors.

The waiting room was filled with children. Most were there for physicals, a little biomite boost to maximize their ability, to make them better athletes. Better students.

Just better.

A trail of taillights lit up the street, another day in traffic hell. The Institute was down the street on the corner of Forty-Sixth and Seventh. Tourists walked past without a glance into the prestigious research center, no clue that the world was being changed inside those doors. She considered making a surprise visit, tapping the intercom and asking for Dr. Baronov.

Today's not a day I want to be escorted away by security.

After her appointment, she'd call Kada. She used to be an editor for Penguin before becoming a freelancer. Kada took on a project here and there, even consulted with Alex, because she loved the business as much as she loved the city. And if she wasn't working, she was on Broadway.

And a show sounds good.

Someone yanked on her pant leg. “I think she wants you.”

A little girl pointed across the room. The receptionist stared at Alex, eyebrows pinched, waving her over. Alex took her time.

“Anything wrong?” the receptionist asked.

“Just a checkup.”

“I called your name five times.”

She'd been doing that more often, getting lost in thought, losing track of time. It was just a few minutes here and there, but when she'd blanked out for an hour, she decided to make an appointment.

The receptionist tapped her computer screen with a long fingernail. “The doctor is waiting.”

Alex went to the back room and stared at the inspirational poster of a grandmother watching children at play because biomites make life better.

She checked her phone, sat back and stared at the poster again, remembering a time when she was younger, when her parents would take her to the park and she'd play on the equipment for hours. Summer smelled like cut grass and tasted like sweet tea.

Ah, summer.

“
Hola
.” Dr. Johnstone opened the door.

Alex dropped her phone. She looked for her bag, but she'd left it in the waiting room. There were no new messages, but another time lapse occurred. Twenty minutes gone.

Damn it.

He washed his hands. Long curls of brown hair hung over his eyebrows. “How's the book going?”

“It's in a holding pattern.”

“A little delay?”

“Something like that.”

Her interview requests with Dr. Tyler Ballard had been rebuffed. Interviews with his doctors, lawyers, investigators and grocery store clerks had been denied, too. The Institute not only denied her access but filed a restraining order, citing her prying had damaged their research and if she was caught on or near the premises she would be arrested. Samuel wanted to restart the lawsuit, but Alex held out hope. If they sued, she'd never see the inside again.

“Well, you can't work all the time.” The doctor checked his wristwatch. “Got to save some time to smell the flowers.”

“I suppose.”

“Just another day in paradise. Why would you ever want to leave?”

“What?”

“Mmm?”

“What did you say?”

He looked up. “Pardon me?”

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound defensive. You said something that sounded familiar.”

“Another day in paradise?”

“The other one.”

“Why leave?”

She nodded. It was something like that.
When life is so perfect, why would you ever want to change it? Or leave it?
Everything was perfect—perfect house, perfect marriage, perfect job. Perfect life.

Why would she ever want to leave?

Has it always been this way?

She didn't think so. Didn't her marriage suffer? Didn't Samuel have an affair or something? Those things sounded familiar, but what did any of that matter?

And isn't there something missing?

She wondered that every day, like there was an enormous hole below her, covered by the thinnest of materials, a cap that creaked with each step. She didn't want to know what was down there. If she did, she'd fall.

And everything was perfect.

“You having any problems?”

“No.”

“No more episodes like last time?”

“No.”

“Any unusual events, such as phantom car accidents?”

“Nothing.”

“Anything suspicious?”

“Suspicious?”

“You know, out of the ordinary. Anything that might strike you as odd.”

He doodled with the image on the desktop, of her brain lit up. There was a lot more red than the last time, most of it still in the right hemisphere. In fact, the entire right hemisphere was enflamed.

“Alessandra?”

“What?”

“Are you all right?”

“What did you just call me?”

He frowned.

“You called me Alessandra.”

“I think I said Alex. Is there something else you prefer?”

Her knee was bouncing. She kept it hidden beneath the table. Maybe she should let him see it. If she was going to have an episode, this was a good time. She suddenly had her doubts about him, not sure she trusted him.

Then why am I here?

“So anything unusual?”

“I'm sleeping a lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“Twelve hours.”
With naps, it was more like fourteen.

“That's more than usual?”

“I think it's more than usual for anyone, don't you?”

“Not necessarily. Everyone's different. You said you weren't writing as much, you're working in the garden more often. Maybe your body is just catching up.”

She didn't remember telling him about the garden.

“Listen,” he said, “everything looks fine, Alex. In fact, your numbers are perfect. If I wasn't in the biomite technology field, I'm not sure I would even suspect you were seeded, that's just how perfect you are.”

Her phone vibrated. A text arrived.

“How happy are you?” he asked.

“What?”

“On a scale from one to ten, how happy are you?”

“Eight.”

She had no problems, no irritations. She had everything she could ask for. Isn't that what life was supposed to be? Shouldn't that be a ten?

Why did I say eight?

“There's a biomite update available, if you're interested.” The doctor began washing his hands. “Nothing invasive, just a sync treatment to prevent any potential mutations. Not saying you're susceptible to a malfunction, it's just good to stay on top of things, stay preventative. All the trials for this new strain have been excellent. I fully recommend it. It'll take five minutes and then you're out of here.”

She nodded. Her life was an eight. She wanted it to be a ten.
Doesn't everyone?

He squeezed her shoulder and left the room with an adios.

Alex checked her phone.
Geri?

For a moment, she couldn't recall the name. Then she remembered and it was clear. How could she forget her free-soul assistant? She hadn't heard from her all summer. Geri hadn't returned most of her messages, and when she did, she was too busy.

“Got something for you,” the text said.

Alex texted back, “What?”

A minute later. “You in the city?”

“Yes.” She stopped from texting back,
How did you know?

“Meet at Bella's Deli at 4.”

That was right down the street. She could walk there. In fact, Kada's apartment wasn't far from that. She could leave the car in long term.

A nurse arrived.

Alex leaned back and let her insert the seeder into her right nostril.

——————————————

“M
rs. Diosa!” The receptionist held up a handbag.

Alex stopped at the door. That was her bag, the one she left in the waiting room. She was careful to watch her step on the way back, still a bit woozy.

The receptionist smiled. “Thank you.”

Alex wasn't sure why she was being thanked. Everything had that double-vision feel, like the lenses were still being focused.

On the elevator, she checked her phone. It was past five. She'd been in the back room almost two hours. She thumbed her phone and Kada answered on the second ring.

“Come on over,” she said.

There was something else she was supposed to do, but there were no voicemails or texts. In fact, the only text she'd received that day was from Samuel. She decided to call him.

She really missed him.

——————————————

A
lex saw five Broadway shows that week.

She went by herself to see
Wicked
a second time. It was night when it ended. A drizzle wet the asphalt and beaded on the hoods of taxis. Despite the chill, she decided to walk back to Kada's, maybe catch a cab on Forty-Eighth.

She enjoyed the lights, especially the way they stretched over the wet pavement, the way they sparkled on the buildings. It was the sound of cars honking, people shouting, the smell of exhaust that tingled her bones. It was all around.

It was the city.

My city.

She felt like she owned it. There was a connection deep in her core, a feeling that everything tugged at her heart, emanated from her soul; a connection that was seamless and unbreakable.

Even when someone coughed from a doorway and began following her, she was unshaken. She felt the gap in his teeth, the wet hair beneath his hood, the withdrawal shaking his hand. He didn't harm her, didn't ask for change or a handout. He just stopped following her at some point.

She should've found that odd, but she was connected. Didn't everyone feel this?

This must be a ten.

——————————————

S
he left Friday morning.

The traffic wasn't bad and it wasn't long before she was cruising through the hills. The phone rang.

“Where are you?” Samuel asked.

“Not far.”

“I miss you.”

She smiled. It felt much longer than a week. She foraged in her handbag for chapstick while steering with her knee. A manila package slid out, spilling its contents on the seat and floorboard.

“I'll leave work early,” he said. “See you for lunch.”

Alex waited for the next stoplight, glancing every so often at the cache spread across the floor mat. There were folders and photos and paper-clipped reports. Mail, too. When she caught a red light, she unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed a handful.

The reports were from Geri.

There was a vague memory of wanting to meet her in the city.
Wasn't I supposed to be at a deli?

A quick skim revealed loads of inside information, photos of a young Tyler and Patricia Ballard, stuff Alex could only dream of finding.
How does she do it?

She'd have to give her a bonus when the book published.

The mail, though, wasn't addressed to Alex and it didn't belong to Geri. It wasn't a letter, it was a flier. One of those small glossy cards. It said,
Have you seen this boy?

There was a photo.

A car horn blared. The light was green.

The postcard slipped from her fingers and fell to the floorboard. She drove the rest of the way home, reading random sheets of paper pinned to the steering, whatever she could grab while driving through the countryside, occasionally driving off the road or crossing the center line.

Tyler Ballard was a young neuroscientist. Patricia was a psychologist. Both were tenured professors at an Ivy League university, career-minded people intent upon helping the world.

Then Patricia was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's. The story of the couple was well documented. The public empathized.

Until the holes appeared.

Tyler was researching his controversial technology that involved brains, computers and needles in the brains of rats and mice, but was not given permission for human trials. The couple attempted to cover the evidence, but was quietly placed on leave with pay.