After the Dark (7 page)

“It wasn't that at all.”

“What the hell was it then?”

“Max . . . you know what it was.”

“Do I?”

“. . . I fell in love with you.”

Now she felt as though he had punched her; but she lashed back, “And you figured that telling me you got my brother killed might put a damper on my feelings?”

“Max, I—”

“Don't ‘Max' me—I'm maxed out. I've heard enough.”

She crossed the room, snatching her jacket off the back of a dining room chair as she went.

Going the opposite way around the couch, he headed her off at the door and put a hand on her arm.

“Want that broken?” she asked, glancing down at the offending hand.

He didn't move.

“Fair warning.” She grabbed his hand in hers, removed it from her arm and was about to crush it.

Logan made no effort to stop her—he just stood there staring into her eyes, the pain in his having nothing to do with the pressure she was applying.

Applying more, she saw the first flash of physical pain in his face and released her grip.

“Hell with it,” she snarled. “I'm outta here.”

She threw the door open and strode out into a night almost as angry as she was, leaving Logan behind with his lies and his guilt, standing in the doorway, the wind chastising him.

He called her name once, but she ignored him and stalked off into the darkness. Tonight, she wouldn't go back to Terminal City, wouldn't worry about the inhabitants. She couldn't be near any of them tonight, not even Joshua and Original Cindy. The only place to be tonight was where she had last seen her brother—where Seth had died.

The Space Needle was pretty much as she remembered it, even though she hadn't been there since the Terminal City siege began. There were a few new graffiti tags, but other than that, the Needle was same-o same-o. Turning on the power, which few but Max knew still allowed the elevators to run, she rode up to the observation deck, then climbed some more until she got out to her usual perch at the very top.

The wind whipped even worse this high, but she was careful, and her jacket was warm, and besides, from up here she could feel close to Seth and maybe gain some perspective.

Over five hundred feet below her the city went about its usual nighttime activities, signaled by fireplay flickerings across the landscape, seeming very small. Up here, so far removed from everything, she felt small, too, and tonight, somewhat insignificant.

So many years, so many failures.

And not just her failures—sometimes, like this time, the failure lay with someone else. Logan could have told me, she thought, should have told me. Hell, he'd had over two years to find a way to break this to her, and yet he had never brought it up until tonight.

The tears were streaming again. You're not so tough, she told herself. That flame of hope she'd kept within herself, that she had never allowed to flicker out—sometimes it seemed those rays of hope were all she really had that belonged to her.

Now, just as he'd gotten Seth killed, Logan had doused that tiny flame. Only despair remained, and an icy, enveloping cold.

Chapter Four

VANISHED

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
DECEMBER 21, 2021

By the next morning the wind had subsided some, but the thirty degree temperature lingered, a guest overstaying its welcome. Come dawn, Max had finally abandoned her perch atop the Needle. As morning bled into the sky, she felt an urge to climb on her Ninja and just keep riding; she might have given in to that impulse if the bike hadn't been sitting back in Terminal City.

And right now she just didn't have the heart to go back there and face her friends, and their questions . . .

Wandering into the city as it woke, Max purchased two cups of coffee at a bakery, balancing them atop a box of bagels, and found herself walking on a kind of autopilot up to the entrance of her former place of employment—Jam Pony Express. Except where pockmarks remained from bullets fired at the building during the hostage crisis six months ago, the place hadn't really changed since the night when Max left that life behind.

The usual morning hubbub buzzed around the place, that peculiar combination of weariness and energy, of chaos and organization, found at the top of the day in most any workplace. The little ramp that led down to the concrete floor was swept neatly, as usual, and the wire grating that separated Normal—the messenger service's manager—from his peons still looked like this was visiting day at county lockup . . . though whether it was the messengers who were the prisoners, or Normal, remained unclear.

Several of Normal's seemingly endless supply of disheveled young riders milled about, sipping coffee or chatting each other up, some getting ready to take off on their first runs of the day. A few recognized Jam Pony's most famous graduate and stared openly at Max.

The peaceful settlement of the Terminal City siege had actually made her a local celebrity of sorts. Not reacting to those watching her, Max wondered if this was how Jenny Brooks, the Channel 7 weather girl, felt when she walked the streets.

This fifteen minutes of fame—which seemed to keep renewing itself—was surprisingly hard on Max, who as a loner felt uncomfortable wearing the eyes of others, and who as a longtime fugitive—she had spent most of her life on the run from Manticore, after all—felt uneasy when she could not fade into the landscape.

Doing her best to ignore the stares, she picked up on Normal, active behind his wire window. He had not changed an iota—his blondish hair was cut in its usual flat top, his black glasses continued to try to flee down his nose, and his ever-present earpiece made him look like the world's least sophisticated cyborg. He landed behind the window and looked up—sensing someone just standing there motionless, which meant a messenger needed a reprimand, of course—and then his mouth creased into something that might have been a smile.

“Well, well, little missy,” he said. He always seemed to savor his words, as if each one was his favorite flavor Lifesaver. “Have you finally come crawling back looking for your job?”

She gave him a good-natured smirk. “That's right, Normal—the money we're making hand-over-fist at the Terminal City Mall just can't compare to the nickels and dimes you used to toss me.”

He pretended to frown. “Well, that's a good thing—because I don't have an opening right now.”

“Oh, damn. I'm crushed.” She set the box of bagels on the counter and removed the two cups of coffee from their perch. She turned to find half a dozen messengers standing around her, watching their exchange. Max stopped, feeling awkward.

“Yes, slackers, it's Max—as seen on TV,” Normal said pleasantly. Then he scowled and yelled: “Get moving! This is not a youth hostel, but I
am
hostile to youth—packages to be delivered, people—bip bip bip!”

Slowly, grumbling, the group broke up.

Turning back to Normal, she laughed. “That's a new one—hostel, hostile? Nice.”

Around them, kids were still watching as they threaded off, and Normal's response was only to shoot Max a cross look; then when all of the messengers had moved along, none of them wanting to be next in line to feel Normal's wrath, the crew-cut petty dictator flashed her an affectionate smile.

“Truth is, missy,” he said, “you always got a home here, if you want it.”

She tilted her head. “You're getting soft, Normal.”

“Hey, I said there was a place for you, when this celebrity stuff wears off and you need to make a living again . . . but you'll have to carry your weight.”

“Actually, you didn't say there was a ‘place' for me, Normal. You said ‘home' . . . and Normal . . . that was nice to hear. You haven't chased off your ‘Nubian princess,' have ya?”

He pointed with his chin toward the cluster of lockers at the back. “She's here all right—the granddam of Jam Pony . . .”

“That's Original Cindy, all right.”

“Oh yeah—only this morning she seems sorta out of sorts . . . Maybe it's female trouble.”

“Why don't you go over to her, Normal, and suggest she take somethin' for that? Then you'll find out what female trouble is all about.”

Normal almost blushed. “I just mean . . . she's down. Blue. Cranky I'm used to—her in the dumps, that's somethin' else . . . Go say hello to her.”

“Well, jeez, Normal . . . are you concerned for one of your people?”

“If she has a bad day, I have a bad day . . . by which I mean, my packages don't get delivered on time.”

“Right.”

And she grinned at him.

It was infectious, and he turned away, getting back to work, hiding his humanity.

As she strolled toward the back, Max shook her head, surprised at how nice it was to see Normal. Who'da thunk she'd have missed that stick-up-the-butt goofus? The truth was, despite a longstanding prejudice against the transgenics, when she and her fellows had really needed him, Normal came through in a big way.

A stand-up guy, with a good heart . . . amazing.

It felt surprisingly good to be here, back on her old stomping grounds, with people she could depend on, unlike a certain cyberjournalist. After moving to the back of the huge, rank room—funny, she hadn't ever noticed the sweat-drenched scent of the place before—she found her best friend sitting on a bench facing her locker, head bowed as if in prayer.

Original Cindy's Afro was flying at half mast today, brushed down and pulled back into a puff at the back of her skull. She was in jeans and a gray vin-tage
GRRRRL POWER
! sweatshirt that looked rumpled, almost slept-in—a rarity for a woman whose wardrobe was always as sharp as she was.

“Anyone for coffee?” Max asked, holding out the cardboard cup.

Original Cindy's eyes shot up to her—eyes that were red-rimmed either from crying or lack of sleep or both. Then the shapely woman was on her feet and taking her friend in her arms, damn near causing Max to dump the two cups of coffee all over everything.

“Hey hey hey,” Max said, doing a balance act as Cindy hugged her. “Careful, girl—you'll spill the joe!”

“Where you been keepin' yourself, Boo?” Original Cindy demanded, backing away but not letting go of Max, her expression alternating between relief and indignation. “Damn, girl! We spent all night looking for your ass.”

Shrugging, Max said, “I had some thinking to do.”

“So you had some thinkin' to do—thass cool. Only you know what is
not
cool? Leavin' your brothers and sisters hangin', all crazyass-worried and shit.”

“I'm sorry,” Max said, and this had not occurred to her at all. “It's just . . . things went kinda sideways . . . with Logan.”

“Yeah, I know, details at eleven . . . What, you think he wasn't the most worried outta all of us? 'Cept for maybe Joshua, who thinks you some kinda saint . . . and clearly does
not
know you like I do.”

“Logan came around?”

Original Cindy nodded. “He came and yanked me outta my crib, and we haul butt to Terminal City, to see was you there, and guess what, you wasn't.”

“What did he . . . ?”

“What'd he tell me? He tell me everything. You don't tell Original Cindy half a story, Boo—I'm like a priest, except for the religion part. Anyway, Logan come and found me and played me every track, includin' the bonus cuts—then he and me go out searchin' for your thoughtless self.”

Max sat on the bench, embarrassed. “Jeez . . . I am sorry. Really. I . . . when bad stuff happens, I kinda revert to, you know, a . . .”

“Selfish bitch?”

Max laughed. “Yeah. That's it exactly.”

The lovely lesbian smiled and sat next to her. Taking one of the coffees, O.C. said, “Thanks, girlfriend—Original Cindy's gonna need the caffeine to get through this mother. You and me, we need to talk.”

“I don't think I can take—”

“You gonna hide from this? Sooner or later you're gonna have to deal—better do it now, be done with it.”

“I know,” Max admitted. “Sorry about last night . . . just had to get away.” She let out a long, tired breath. “Logan told you . . . everything?”

“You mean, do I know about Seth? Yeah. And I'm sorry for your loss, honey . . . which was two years ago, by the way.”

“I know it's an old wound, but Logan ripped it wide open.” Shaking her head, Max said, “I can't believe he
lied
to me.”

Original Cindy snorted. “He can't help bein' a dick—you
got
a dick, sometimes you gon'
be
a dick.”

“You got that right,” Max said, laughing again, holding out her fist so O.C. could bump it, but the woman made no move to complete the ritual. “You gonna leave a sistah hangin'?”

Original Cindy's eyes went to the floor, then back to Max. “Only Logan, he ain't no all-the-time-a-dick, Max. He's human—made a mistake. But he's a good man . . . you know, for a man.”

Max dropped her hand. “You're sticking up for him?”

“How many times you been in love, Boo?”

Max said nothing.

“Logan—he's the first, ain't he?”

Defensive, Max blurted, “I been around.”

“I ain't talkin' about sex, sugah—we talkin' love. You
love
that four-eyed crip, don't ya?”

Max shrugged.

“And he loves your sorry mean ass.”

Another shrug.

“Listen to Original Cindy. I been in love more times than . . . more times than I shoulda been. You think just 'cause somebody loves you that means they perfect? You think I ain't been lied to by somebody who loved me?”

“This isn't some . . . little white lie, Cindy.”

“Don't play the race card, girl. Quit poutin' and get back in the game.”

“What are you talking about?”

Original Cindy sighed. “Is Logan or is Logan not the single best dealio you ever run into in this whole sorry, solitary world? Present company excluded, of course.”

That made Max smile. “Except for meeting you, Boo . . . yeah. I suppose. Logan's the best thing. Or anyway . . . he was.”

“So. You gonna let one little slip ruin your whole life?”

“It was not a little slip,” Max said, an edge in her voice. “Logan caused the death of my brother—and then he lied to me about it.”

Normal appeared at the end of the aisle and said, “I hate to interrupt this touching reunion, but I have a pressing delivery that—”

“Go away,” Max snapped, and—simultaneously—Original Cindy shouted, “Not now, flat top! Can't you see we busy?”

Normal's eyes opened very wide. Then, instead of frowning or lashing back at them, Normal beamed. “Just like the good old days.”

And Normal turned and walked away.

“You know,” Original Cindy said with a smirk, digging a hole in one cheek, “I think I liked him better when he was a whole bastard. This halfa bastard, halfa nice guy shit . . . it's confusing.”

That made Max smile . . .

. . . but only for a moment.

“Cindy, some things in a . . . relationship, you can't undo them. Some things just . . . cross the line.”

“He didn't cheat on your ass or anything.”

“Worse. Much worse.”

“Excuse me? Is this Max who used to steal shit from people and peddle the goods to a fence? You remember her, right? . . . Perfect, faultless Max?”

“Cindy, he lied to me. If there's no trust—”

“He did not lie.”

“He sure as hell did!”

“This is one of them, sins of
oh
-mission, as 'posed to sin of
co
-mission.”

“I don't see the difference.”

“The man did not lie. He just . . . kinda held back the truth.”

“There's a word for that, Cindy.”

“. . . Bullshit?”

“No . . . sophistry.” Her mentor Moody had taught her that.

“Sof' his'try, hard his'try . . . it should
be
history, you dig?”

“Some things can't be forgiven.”

Original Cindy backed away and lifted her head and gazed down at Max, as if she were trying to see her better. “You look like Max and you sound like Max . . . but you can't be Max.”

Not at all in the mood for being kidded, Max turned away from her friend.

“'Cause if you was the real Max? You wouldn't be such a damn fool.”

“Thank you very much.”

“How long you known Logan?”

“. . . Goin' on two years.”

“And how much you been through together?”

“. . . A lot.”

“And who was always there for you no matter how bad things got?”

“You.”

O.C. grinned. “Goes without sayin', but who else?”

“Joshua.”

Original Cindy punched her lightly in the shoulder. “Thank you for makin' my point about you bein' a damn fool.”

Max managed a tiny grin. “Logan has always been there. For me.”

“Yeah. And that's somethin', ain't it, in this post-Pulse piece-of-shit world? . . . Who I got?”

“Well—you got me.”

“Yeah, and hey, Boo, thass a lot, don't get me wrong, but that ain't everything, you dig? Friendship is cool, way cool—but we got needs, you and me, that you and me don't do for each other.”

Chuckling, Max admitted, “Yeah, I suppose.”

Original Cindy was not chuckling. “Me, I had Diamond . . . only, she's gone.”

Diamond Latrell had been Original Cindy's one true love, or so it seemed to Max; Latrell had been injected with a biotech experiment while in prison. Max helped Logan bring down Synthedyne, the corporation responsible for the experiments, and Diamond managed to pass the bioagent on to Synthedyne's CEO Sidney Croal before she, too, died.