Etherworld (23 page)

As the ship's location chart disappears and my mom's face begins to materialize on the screen, he tucks in his shirt, making himself presentable. But when she comes into full view, I cover my mouth to hide the gasp that's building in my throat. Her reddened eyes, her runny nose—she looks exactly the way she did the day of my father's memorial service.

Then I hear her panicked voice.

“Patrick, thank God! I've been trying to reach you for hours!”

I bet she was trying to contact him at the office, at the apartment, and on his tab, but since he's been avoiding talking to anyone since the story about Anthony's death went live, maybe he hasn't been checking his call logs or texts that carefully.

“Sorry. I've shut down my tab. There's been some trouble at work.”

“I heard. Are you all right? That statement said something about you being sick,” my mom says, dabbing at her cheeks with a tissue.

“I'm fine. The whole thing is a big misunderstanding,” Patrick says, straightening his posture as if it might get him through his lie without detection.

“I'm worried about Regan?” she says. “Has she tried to contact you? She left the hospital this morning. No one has seen her since.”

“I know. I've been trying to track her down too, but I haven't had any luck,” Patrick replies.

Josh whispers in my ear, “Do you think she's going to believe him?”

I shrug, and try to shake off an immense wave of guilt.

“I'm so, so sorry. I wish I knew where she was.” Patrick lowers his eyes, like he can't bring himself to continue lying to her. My mom is visibly shaking as she crosses her arms over her chest. The signs of strength I have seen the past week are completely gone.

Because of me.

“We have to find her, Pat. We have to get Regan back to the hospital,” she pleads.

“Have the police come up with any leads?”

“No,” my mom says. “The police are stationed at our house and at school. They said security guards saw Regan get into a car with another girl. Do you know who she was with or where she might have gone?”

Shit. They're onto Zoe now. I wonder how long it will be before they identify her and drag her off to some precinct for questioning.

“I don't know, but we're going to get to the bottom of this. You should just wait at home; maybe she's on her way back there.”

“But I can't sit still anymore,” my mom says through a sob. “I feel so helpless.”

I cast my eyes to the floor for a moment, not wanting to look at the worry and pain that's eating her up inside.

“I promise you, she's going to be okay.”

“If you hear anything, please call me.”

“I will,” Patrick says.

The screen fades to black as I bury my face in Josh's chest. Even though I asked Patrick to do what he could to get my mom off our scent, I guess I didn't expect to feel this horrible.

“Are you okay?” Josh says, gently stroking my hair. “That must have been hard to watch.”

“I never thought I'd betray her like this,” I say.

He holds me tighter. “You haven't betrayed her. You're—”

“Please don't say I'm trying to protect her.”

“Actually, I was going to say you had to do it to protect
us
. And that you're really brave.”

I look up at him, and he gives me a small smile I just can't return. Not this time. “I don't feel brave, Josh. I feel . . . lost.”

Before Josh can answer me, the closet door slides open and we pull away from each other. Patrick is standing there, holding his tab, his face hard as stone.

“I just got a message from Bryce,” he says. “He wants to see us.”

TabTalk Message

From: Leavenworth, Avery

To: Heywood, Josh

1:52 p.m.

Stable for now. Drs monitoring closely. They brought in a bioengineering specialist.

TabTalk Message

From: Leavenworth, Avery

To: Heywood, Josh

1:56 p.m.

No press leaks. For now.

TabTalk Message

From: Heywood, Josh

To: Leavenworth, Avery

1:58 p.m.

OK. But this is the last favor until we talk about Maureen.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

“GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON WHY I shouldn't punch this asshole the minute we see him?” Josh says.

We're standing near Patrick's car, parked in the middle of a cul-de-sac in the Woods Sector, the most exclusive suburb of Detroit. Each one of the nearly fifty homes is encapsulated in its own individual protective Zeoform “bubble” that lets the owner regulate air quality and temperature. Even though we're directly in front of Bryce's driveway, we can't go any farther, blocked by the clear yet impenetrable wall of the bubble. Behind the three-story granite house, I can make out deck chairs and a glimmering infinity pool.

“He deserves worse than that.” Patrick pushes his hair out of his eyes, and then narrows them on Bryce's house.

“Do you think he has David hidden somewhere on the grounds?” Josh asks.

“Doubtful. If my mom really is involved in this, there's no way she'd keep David in close range,” Patrick says, “especially if she thought people were on to them.”

“Also doesn't Bryce have a wife and kids?” I ask. “I don't think he'd want to get his family involved.”

“He's going through a divorce, but still, you're right,” Patrick says. “What kind of person doesn't want to protect his own family?”

Patrick's tone is resigned, and I know he's thinking about his own mother when he says that. It can't be easy to accept the proof that's mounting against her.

“The gate's wireless biometric,” Josh says, pointing toward a thin line in the plastic. It forms a large half circle, big enough for a moving van to squeeze through. On the other side of the dome is a winding stone drive, surrounded by more leafy green trees.

“Is there a visitor access button anywhere?” I ask.

“No. He included an access code in his text.” Patrick says, pulling out his tab and typing something in.

The half circle becomes more obvious and the gate lifts, sliding into the plastic above. We enter the terrarium-like space, and as the gate shuts behind us, we take off our O2 shields, hook them onto our belt loops, and breathe in the purified air.

We head toward the front door fast and determined, with me in the lead, spurred on by a nervous energy that makes me feel more awake than I have in days. While I'd like nothing more than to level Bryce with all my outrage, another approach might work better.

“I know you guys want to kick Bryce's ass, and believe me, I do too.” I climb up the front steps and take a deep breath. “But the mission here is to find out everything we can about my dad and Elusion. Roughing him up isn't going to help. After all, he must have asked us here for a reason. So we have to try and be calm, okay?”

“Fine,” Patrick says through a frustrated sigh.

“Avery sent me the statements from those Swiss banks, so we have that in our back pocket if he doesn't come clean,” says Josh, placing a warm, comforting hand on my lower back.

Before we can request entry to the house or finalize any more interrogation tactics, the door slides open. Bryce is standing in front of us, holding a tulip-shaped glass in his left hand and reeking of alcohol. His dark brown eyes are puffy around the rims and his face is unshaven. He's wearing a faded sweatshirt that has the Orexis logo emblazoned near the left shoulder and a pair of beat-up moccasins—a far cry from the suits I've seen him in at the office.

“Come in, come in,” Bryce says, waving at us and slurring his words. “Please excuse the mess. I'm sorry, terribly sorry. I just didn't have time to clean up.”

When Bryce gives us a warm smile, I glance at Josh, who looks just as confused as I am. It's as if Bryce is acting like we're here for some kind of social call.

Bryce moves away from the door and Patrick lunges at him, but Josh holds him back. “Remember what Regan said,” Josh whispers.

We step inside a grand foyer with a crystal chandelier and follow Bryce down a hallway. A photo wall comes to life, unleashing a cascade of family pictures—his two sons playing basketball on an indoor court; his ex-wife dancing with him at a wedding; a professional portrait of everyone, taken behind the dining table at Thanksgiving.

It seems too hard to believe. How could such a family man hurt anyone, especially one of his coworkers and a bunch of innocent kids?

Bryce staggers into a room and points toward a sleek couch. “Go on, have a seat,” he says, kicking aside one of the many tall-neck bottles that are littering the carpet.

“We don't want to sit down,” Josh says, stalking across the room.

“Are you sure? You've come a long way and everything.” Bryce takes another sip of his drink. “Guests should be comfortable, right?”

“Where's my dad?” I ask.

Bryce bows his head, not wanting to hold my gaze. “Cathryn said you found out what we've done somehow, and I . . . I feel so, so horrible. About everything. It's . . . unforgivable. Completely unforgivable.” He swallows. “Your dad is at Orexis. Room fifty-twenty—”

“We checked this morning,” Patrick says. “He's not there.”

“It's just an empty lab,” I say.

“He was there last night,” Bryce says. “I was monitoring his vitals and I saw something . . .” His voice trails off. “I went to talk to Cathryn. She and I argued, and then she fired me.” He shakes his head, as if he still can't believe it. “Had security walk me out. I haven't been back in that room or seen your father since.”

“And you expect us to believe that?” Josh says. “You were in charge of this whole operation. You were in that lab every day. And suddenly you're just out of the picture?”

Bryce sets his glass down on the marble mantel of the fireplace, his fingers trembling a little. “I was never in charge,” Bryce says. “Just hired help, constantly overlooked and underappreciated.”

“We don't have time for this,” I say to Josh and Patrick. “I think we should search his house, just to be sure my dad's not here.”

“Look all you want,” Bryce says. “
Mi casa es su casa
.”

Patrick stands guard over Bryce, making sure he doesn't do anything to surprise us—though that would be a miracle, given the state he's in.

I take Josh's arm and lead him out into the foyer. Then we duck into the living room, where the entire back of the house is open to the pool—part of the lush, protected world within the dome. I scan the wide, empty spaces surrounding the modern furniture, as if my dad might suddenly materialize, but as we move out of the living room and on to the next room and the next, it's obvious that he isn't here. If Bryce is telling the truth, he may have vanished for real this time. Josh wraps an arm around me, but it doesn't help.

When we return, Bryce shoots us a smile that sends a chill through me. “How could you do this?” I say, my voice cracking. “My dad trusted you.”

“I used to deserve that trust,” Bryce says, wistfully. “I was a good person. And I would've stayed that way, if I'd never worked at Orexis.”

“What do you mean?” asks Josh.

“I was doing all this research on trypnosis. Groundbreaking research. Research that was changing science and technology. But Patrick and David were the ones getting all the credit,” Bryce explains, his words tumbling over each other. “They were the faces of the product. They were the ones calling all the shots. It was tearing me apart, watching everything I did go unnoticed. Tore my marriage apart, too.” Bryce sighs. “Cathryn was the only one who saw how unhappy I was, and Jesus, did she take advantage of that.”

Patrick gets right in his face. “How?”

“She promised to promote me,” he replies. “I'd be VP of the entire company if I got Elusion through CIT and helped her keep David under control. I just . . . I had no idea it was going to go this far. I was just supposed to lock him in Elusion until we found a way to stop the malware. Everything else that happened wasn't exactly planned.”

“That's no excuse for what you've done,” I say. “You've ruined so many lives. People have
died
. You never went to the police. You did nothing to help him.”

“I know. I wanted to put an end to all this, but I was in too deep. I had to think about my family, and what the truth might do to them,” he says. “And now we're too late.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“We might be able to defeat a person. But Elusion, well, that's something else. And make no mistake—Cathryn may be helping, but Elusion is calling the shots.”