Ultraviolet (18 page)

He nodded. “I was barely a teenager when I arrived here. I had no home, no friends, no money, and I didn’t know a word of English—or French, for that matter. I’d only planned to be here for a couple of days, not the rest of my life.”

“Here?” I said. “You mean Sudbury? But what kind of—”

“Let me finish,” said Faraday. “Please.” I fell silent and he went on, “For the first year or so, it took all my wits and determination just to survive. But once I’d discovered the library and taught myself to read English, I was able to start learning the things I needed to know.”

I could sense a hundred stories between every sentence: tales of homeless shelters and foster care, of frustrated police and bewildered teachers. But I swallowed my curiosity, and let him keep talking.

“It didn’t take me long to realize that computers were the key to everything I needed—or at least, they were fast becoming so. I read every book on the subject I could find and took every course I could afford, until I’d learned how to hack into just about anywhere. Once I’d created a legal identity for myself, life became easier. But I needed to do more than just live. I needed to find the machine that had brought me here and get it working properly again, so I could go home.”

He paused, waiting for my reaction. At last I said, “So where’s home? Not South Africa, I take it.”

A sad smile touched one corner of his mouth. “No.”

“Russia?” They were just the other side of the pole, after all.

“No.”

I made a frustrated noise. “Faraday, I don’t want to play guessing games with you. Just tell me.”

“I can’t. Not like that. I need you to figure it out for yourself.” He reached across and took my hand between his warm, calloused ones. “Think about it, Alison. I told you I was a real scientist, and I am. Yet I’ve spent nearly my whole time in this city investigating every bizarre newspaper story, urban legend, and coffee-shop rumor that crossed my path. Strange lights, odd noises, people disappearing without a trace—”

Shock jolted through me, and I snatched my hand away. “Tori,” I breathed. “That’s what all this is about. You chased me down, studied me like a lab animal, manipulated me into trusting you—just so you could find out what happened to
her
.”

“I already know what happened to her,” he said patiently. “She disintegrated. You told me that a long time ago. If that was all I cared about, I would have ended our sessions right then, and left you on your own.”

“Then what do you want from me?” My voice cracked with frustration. “I don’t see what I have to do with you being stuck here, or with this ‘machine’ you’ve been looking for, or—”

“You have everything to do with it,” said Faraday. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who could actually help me. Because you were there when Tori disintegrated, and you saw it all. I found that out from talking to one of your neighbors— she’d heard you shouting about it as the police took you away.”

Mel. He’d been talking to Mel. My head began to throb, and I pushed the heels of my hands against my eyes. Was that why she’d come to visit me, that one time? Because
he
needed more information?

“I had to find a way to talk to you,” Faraday went on. “So I hacked into your patient files at St. Luke’s. And when I read about some of the things you’d said and done after Tori died, it dawned on me that you might have synesthesia.”

“So that’s when you . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. It hurt too much. To think that all along Faraday had been using me, that all his seeming generosity and kindness had been tainted with self-interest, made me want to smash the window and cut my wrists with it. To think that I had trusted the wrong person yet
again
—

“I came up with the study as a way of getting close to you, yes,” he said. “And to see if I could persuade you to help me. But once I’d met you, and realized what you’d been going through, my priorities began to change.”

“You felt sorry for me.” My voice was flat.

“More than that. I felt a connection to you. A sense of . . . kinship.” He shifted closer, the musk-and-soap of his skin filling the space between us. “Yes, I was hoping you could help me find my way home. But I wanted you to be able to go home, too. And I believed—I still believe—that the solution to my problem and the solution to yours is the same.”

“Is that so,” I said. I was hardly even paying attention now. All I could think was that I wanted this conversation to be over, so I could go home.

“Let me put it this way. When you told me you’d disintegrated Tori, I told you there was no way you could have done such a thing. But didn’t you ever stop to wonder what could?”

Of course I had. But the only explanation I’d been able to think of was that I’d killed her some other way, and then deluded myself into thinking she’d disintegrated. How was that any better?

“The truth is,” said Faraday, “that if anyone’s to blame for Tori’s death, I am. Because the machine that brought me here, the one I’ve been looking for all these years . . . is the same one that tore her apart.”

“What?”

Faraday pushed a hand through his hair, making it more rumpled than ever. “Alison, before I tell you anything more, I need you to know that the last thing I want is to hurt you or frighten you or make your life any harder than it already is. What I’m about to say is going to sound bizarre, maybe even impossible—and yet, I swear to you, it is the truth. If you . . .” His beautiful voice roughened. “If you can’t trust me, can you at least trust your senses? Shouldn’t you be able to taste it, if I’m lying?”

I’d thought so when I came out here, but after hearing Faraday’s story, I wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe the sheer pleasure of listening to him talk had messed up my synesthesia. Maybe he’d been lying to me all along, and I’d missed the bitter aftertaste because his words had been so sweet in other ways, because I’d
wanted
to believe.

There was only one way I could think of to be sure.

“Lie to me, then,” I demanded. “Tell me something that you know isn’t true.”

Faraday reached out and cupped a hand under my chin, his fathomless violet eyes holding mine. “I don’t care about you,” he said quietly. “And I’m not from another world.”

My chest felt heavy, as though my lungs had turned to lead. A mosquito whined around my ear, a distant cousin of Tori’s Noise, as I fumbled off my seat belt and shoved the door open.

“Where are you going?” Faraday’s voice was a zigzag of alarm. “Alison—”

But by then I’d already stepped out onto the asphalt and was walking away as fast as my shaky legs would carry me. I understood now, with nauseating clarity, how cruelly I’d been deceived. What difference did it make that Faraday thought he was telling the truth when the truth was nothing more than a delusion? Why should it matter if Faraday believed in my sanity now that I knew Faraday himself was insane?

“Alison.” Faraday sprinted up to me and caught my arm. “Don’t. Let me explain.”

“I’ve heard enough,” I said. If I wanted stories about aliens spying on the people of Earth and using them for their secret experiments, I could get better ones from Sanjay. I wrenched free of his grasp and kept walking.

“You saw Tori disintegrate,” Faraday called after me. “You knew nothing on this world could do that to a person, and yet you convinced yourself you’d made it happen. If you could believe that, why not this?”

I stopped.

“Don’t think of me as an alien,” said Faraday. “Think of me as a long-lost relative, who just happens to live on the other side of the universe.” He caught up to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not asking you to believe in little green men, Alison. More like . . . accidental colonists.”

I shook him off. “I can’t do this. Don’t you understand? I
can’t
.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I shouted at him, “the whole idea is crazy!”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Faraday said, “Well. You’ve spent enough time doubting your own sanity. I suppose it was about time you started questioning mine.”

I looked away, unable to bear his level, faintly reproachful gaze. The worst of it was, Faraday didn’t
seem
crazy. There was nothing excitable about his manner, no hint of paranoia. He hadn’t assumed I’d buy his story, in fact just the opposite; he’d tried to ease me into it, because he knew it would be hard for me to believe. That was a lot more self-awareness than I’d ever seen from Sanjay—or any of the other patients at Pine Hills who suffered from delusions.

And yet if I accepted what Faraday was telling me, it would cast doubt on everything I’d believed was—and even more importantly,
wasn’t
—real.

“The phenomenon that my team was studying,” said Faraday, “is a dimensional rift, a spacial and temporal anomaly that links our part of the universe to yours. One of my colleagues measured the rate at which the rift was moving through space, and calculated that a few thousand years ago, it would have passed directly through our planet. So for a while, it might have been possible to step out of our world and end up in yours, or vice versa . . . and that means your people and mine might have come from the same ancestors.”

“Which explains why you look exactly like an ordinary human, except for the eyes,” I said dryly. “That’s convenient.”

“Not exactly.” He leaned forward and parted his hair with his fingers. “Look. Feel.”

Against my better judgment I reached up, sliding my fingers into the shaggy strands and lifting them away from his temples. Even in the dim light of the parking lot, the roots of his hair glittered—and it wasn’t just premature gray, no matter how much I tried to tell myself otherwise. It had a metallic sheen to it, like pewter.

“It doesn’t take dye very well,” he said. “That’s why I keep it a bit messy, so the gray parts aren’t as obvious.” He straightened up again. “What about my eyes?”

“They’re violet?”

“Really? I thought they were just sort of bluish.”

So even he couldn’t see it. Wonderful. I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhausted by my own uncertainty.

“Come back to the car,” said Faraday. “Let me tell you more about how I got here and what I think happened to Tori. If you’re willing to come back to the school with me, we might even be able to prove it. And then you can decide what you want to believe.”

He ran a hand gently down my arm as he spoke, and I struggled against the temptation to give in. Not because he’d convinced me, but because part of me wanted to pretend it didn’t matter. So what if Faraday thought he was an alien? There were worse ways to be crazy. Yes, he’d tricked me into believing he was a neuropsychologist, but only because he’d thought I wouldn’t listen to him otherwise. Apart from that he’d been nothing but kind and patient and charming, and when he’d told me he didn’t care for me, he’d been lying. . . .

“This proof of yours,” I said. “You mean the machine, don’t you? The one that killed Tori. You think it’s still at the school somewhere.”

He nodded.

“So what is this thing, then? A killer spaceship?”

Which sounded so incredibly dumb that as soon as I’d said it, I wanted to smack myself. Fortunately, Faraday was gracious enough not to call me on it. “No, just a relay,” he said. “A device that transmits and receives information. Roundish, about the size of my fist, with built-in camouflage and protective mechanisms. There’s a relay unit here and another back on the base, and they send signals to each other. Or at least they did, before the one on this end malfunctioned.”

If it was camouflaged, that would explain why he hadn’t been able to find it. Not that I was buying in to his story yet. “So what was this relay thing doing outside Champlain Secondary? And why did it kill Tori?”

“I don’t know,” said Faraday. “Until I’ve had a chance to inspect it, I won’t be able to tell what went wrong. That’s why I’m hoping you can help me find it, and get it working properly again.” He took my hand in both of his. “Just come with me, Alison. Just for a few minutes. That’s all I ask.”

I’d always known I’d have to go back to the school one day, but I hadn’t expected it to be tonight. I wasn’t sure it was even a good idea, when I was under so much stress already. And yet, if there was even a chance that this relay actually existed, and that finding it could explain what had happened to Tori . . .

“Please,” Faraday said, his voice so low I could feel it at the base of my spine.

I closed my eyes. “All right,” I said. “I’ll come.”

“There,” I said.

And that was all. No blazing epiphany or sea-green wave of sorrow. There was no trace of Tori here, only a patch of empty concrete, and the darkness made everything so remote it might have been a dream. The only thing I felt, standing there, was tired.

Faraday glanced back at the shadowy line of trees behind us. “I’ve been here before,” he said. “I went over this area even more carefully than the police did. But if the relay’s still here, it’s too well hidden for me to find it.” He turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the parking lot. “What I don’t understand is why it would have ended up here in the first place, or why it malfunctioned the way it did. Why disintegrate Tori, and not you as well? And why hasn’t it activated for anyone else, before or since?”

The disturbing thing about Faraday spouting technobabble was that he sounded so matter-of-fact about it. “I thought this thing was for transmitting information,” I said. “Why would it be capable of disintegrating a person in the first place?”

“Because,” Faraday replied, “matter is information, too. And when it’s working properly, the relay can record every detail of an object down to the subatomic level, and then transmit that information to the relay on the other side of the rift for reassembly.”

“You mean . . . the relay isn’t supposed to kill people? It’s supposed to
transport
them?”

“It does transport them,” said Faraday. “Mind you, anyone who’s tried it agrees that it’s an extremely painful experience, so it’s not often used for anything but moving cargo. But it works. That’s how I got here.”

Extremely painful
. . . I felt like the ground was sliding out from beneath me. “Why?” I asked in a strangled voice. “Why would it hurt, if it’s just . . .”

“No one knows,” he replied. “The process is virtually instantaneous, even if it doesn’t seem like it, and scientifically there’s no reason that anyone should be conscious of feeling anything after their brain and nerves have disintegrated. It’s almost enough to make one believe in the soul.”

I sat down hard on the curb, my eyes glazed with disbelief. In the back of my mind I could hear Tori screaming, fluorescent shrieks of agony that rang in my ears long after there was nothing left of her—

“I didn’t want to say it until I was certain,” said Faraday. “But I think you’ve already guessed. If the relay wasn’t seriously damaged . . . then Tori might still be alive.”

Alive
. All at once, I wanted to believe. If Tori wasn’t dead, she could be rescued. By bringing her home, I could clear my name and lift my burden of guilt all at once. But my heart felt too small to hold so much hope. I covered my face with my hands.

Faraday crouched beside me. I could hear the mosquitoes buzzing, but for once they didn’t bite. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Just . . . a little overwhelmed.”

“Do you want me to take you home?”

I lifted my head, disbelieving. How hard must it be for him to ask me that, after he’d worked so long and risked so much just to bring me here? “I thought you needed me to help you find the relay,” I said.

“I do. But I’ve waited years for this, Alison. I can wait a little longer.”

I wanted to kiss him so badly just then, it was all I could do to hold back. But even though I knew he cared, I wasn’t sure exactly what
kind
of caring he’d been talking about. And I didn’t want to do to him what Kirk had done to me. “No, it’s all right,” I said unevenly. “What do you need me to do?”

“The relay can’t be detected by ordinary vision or hearing,” said Faraday. “But you’re capable of sensing far more than the average person. If you felt anything when the relay activated, any unusual sound or taste that you’d recognize if you came across it again . . .”

So that was why he’d been so interested in my synesthesia. I was his human metal detector.

“I felt
everything
when it happened,” I said. “It was like all my senses got turned up to full blast at once. I can barely remember how I got back on my feet after that, let alone whether I noticed anything that could have been the relay.”

“I understand,” said Faraday. “But you’re the only hope I’ve got. If you could just walk around a little bit, and . . .” He made a vague gesture. “Look. Listen. See what you feel.”

I’d never really tried to
use
my synesthesia before. It had always just been there, as natural and inevitable as breathing. What would happen if I opened myself up to it, as Faraday was suggesting? Threw down all my defenses, and abandoned myself completely to sensation?

The idea was tempting—and terrifying. I’d spent so much of my life trying
not
to show my feelings, or let myself be ruled by them. If I dropped my shields of self-restraint, would I be the same Alison anymore?

I wasn’t ready to take that risk. But I didn’t want to say no to Faraday either, at least not yet. “I’ll try,” I said, and got up.

Faraday didn’t follow. He just sat back on his heels and watched me as I headed for the edge of the woodlot—my best guess for where the relay had to be—and stopped, listening with all my senses.

A feather-brush of maroon as the wind rustled the trees. A crow’s call plucked at my elbow like an impatient child. The sound of crickets tasted like Rice Krispies. Gasoline and exhaust fumes wafted from the parking lot behind me, while the wood smelled of mulch and discarded beer bottles. And loudest of all, the mosquitoes droned. . . .

But that was all.

When I looked back Faraday was on his feet, tensed like a sprinter waiting for the shot. He believed I could do this. He
needed
me to do it. If I gave up now, would he believe I’d done my best to help him?

I had to try again, and harder. I walked a little way into the trees and turned my senses loose for a second time. Then I backed out and tried a little further down the drive. Each time I dared myself to stretch my perceptions further, until panic scrabbled around the edges of my mind and I had to stop— but even then I sensed nothing. Or at least, nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m sorry,” I said, when I came back to Faraday. “If it’s here, I can’t find it.”

Faraday let out a long breath, and his shoulders bowed. “Well,” he said quietly. “That’s the end of it, then.”

“I promised to help you get out of Pine Hills and clear your name,” said Faraday distractedly, turning over the keys in his hand as though he’d forgotten what they were for. “I intend to keep that promise. Unless you don’t want me to.”

He’d performed one miracle for me already, by convincing my mother to let me come home. What other wonders did he have in mind? “I do,” I said, “but that wasn’t what I meant. You’re really giving up? After everything?”

Faraday lifted his head, gazing out across the parking lot to the softly lit neighborhood beyond. “You know,” he said, “it doesn’t feel like giving up, not as much as I’d thought it would. Coming here alone as I did, knowing nothing of your language or your culture, forced me to notice other people in a way I’d never done before. I learned to watch them with all my attention, and listen closely to whatever they had to say—because I never knew when I might learn something important. And after a while I came to see that not just as a necessity, but as a privilege.”