Always Love a Villain on San Juan Island (35 page)

Rossini stepped to Karl's side, as if to give him support and rebuff his doubts. Toni walked over to stand beside Larry, watching intently.

Kyra studied the two together, wishing she understood them better.

On the screen a set of reddish-orange curved lines, sometimes connecting in spurts but not zagging, a bit like fast-floating amoebae under a microscope. Noel watched in fascination, thinking he could see shapes in motion as one sometimes believes the shifting clouds take on anthropomorphic forms, a face of a man here, a pussycat over there, puffs of flowers, the head of a monster. But on the screen, the shapes seemed more attuned to each other—no meaning that he could ascertain, but far less lack of meaning than in the previous video. Contours with intention? Or was he simply making it up?

Kyra watched the screen but also deBourg as she followed Karl's fingers giving the computer its instructions. The look on her face made Kyra think of intense lust. And did Noel know more about this nanotechnology than she, or was he just as lost? Rossini was following the screen. A shape floated by. Was this really what someone's dreaming looked like?

“Okay,” said Larry, and Karl closed down that set of files. “As you can see, a major step forward from the rats. There's actual rational movement here. Though what it is, well, we were getting somewhere, but we didn't know to what. Harriet, would you show Subject Number Two?”

Harriet turned with a start. “Me?”

Larry smiled. “Who better?”

“Well, sure, okay.” She shifted to a screen on the far side of Karl, sat, and began entering information. She muttered, “Damn,” pressed more keys, and the screen darkened. In a moment, back to life.

She must have made a mistake, thought Kyra. She glanced at Larry and Antoinette: having similar thoughts? Well, how to avoid mistakes—this was complicated stuff; who can remember it all, and the correct sequence?

Harriet restarted her entry. It took time to complete. At last the screen showed movement: a very small shape, bright red, that looked almost human, rolling about on the blue-green screen, rolling and rolling and rolling.

No clouds here, thought Noel. The shape increased in size, less of a roll, more as if it were swimming in a warm pond, alone and content.

This went on for minutes before Larry said, “Thanks, Harriet, that's as much as we need. Karl, would you give us a sample of Number Three.”

Again Karl sounded dubious. “Boss, you sure about this?”

“It's okay.”

Noel wondered at the reluctance. Unprofessional for Larry to be showing these? Because they were private to the subject? But surely Rossini understood the ethics of his enterprise?

Karl brought up Number Three.

A figure that seemed to Noel humanoid—like some misshapen alien from a fifties sci-fi film against now an olive background. The figure, reddish-yellow in color, seemed to be lying on its back, rising and falling slowly. Whatever else, it was certainly quasi-human. For a moment its outline melted into the dark green background, then re-formed. An appendage that might have been an arm dropped between appendages that could be legs. For several seconds the figure didn't move. Suddenly it rose with a jerk, only to settle back to its first position. It slowly melted into the background. But moments later it became two figures, equally misshapen but recognizably human, and they rolled into each other as if trying to become one but somehow passing through each other, two again and a roll in the other direction, this time one lying on top of the other, still. Then moving, up and down as if in muddy copulation. Quickly the dream image came to an end as the figures liquefied into droplets across the screen. Noel wondered: some adolescent having a wet dream?

“Okay,” said Larry, “we'll leave it there.”

“Are you going to test more people?” Kyra asked.

“Oh yes. We'll need three or four more subjects.” He smiled, then turned to the group. “Let's go to my office. Thanks, Karl, Harriet.”

He led them back the way they'd come, past Phoebe the receptionist, to the wall on the right. He touched a knot in the ornate wood and a door swung inward.

Surprise, thought Kyra. The high tech prof's office was a clutter of ancient technology—old tools and microscopes, even an antediluvian radio. However, the computers, five of them, did look state of the art.

“Grab a chair,” said Larry, going to his desk, “and pull up.”

Kyra and Antoinette sat in chairs in front of the desk; the men found folding chairs, brought them over and sat.

“What did you think of the show?”

They remained silent for seconds, Kyra thinking: who speaks first?

Noel. “There's development there.”

“I hope so,” said Larry. “Progression.”

Peter said, “Toward pornography.”

Nervous laughter.

“Or maybe it's the choice of subjects.”

“I think it's amazing,” said Toni. Rossini gave her a smile echoing her earlier lust.

“Yes, I have to admit it,” Noel said, “I'm impressed.”

“I guess I am too,” said Kyra. “But what's it got to do with finding Susanna?”

“Perhaps only to help you understand why I fear my Visualizer falling into the hands of the wrong people. It should be a tool for helping people understand themselves and others. Trouble is, like any breakthrough, it could also be used for the devil's ends. Once it's refined, no one's dream can remain sacrosanct. It could be used in connection with torture, even in place of torture, to induce any man or woman to allow every aspect of themselves to be made visible.”

“But,” said Antoinette, “you've given the logarithms to whoever kidnapped Susanna. Isn't it a bit late to worry about others having all that?”

Larry shrugged. “I'm the one who's done all the work here. I know the insides of these processes to the core. Others'll have a lot to learn. And there's much more to be done to improve the Visualizer and its progressions. The Visualizer is centrally important to me. But Susanna is more important. And I think I still have a couple more sleights of hand I can come up with.” He smiled. “At any rate, once the Visualizer is known, its inner workings must be kept a deeply guarded secret, licensed with absolute discretion. Otherwise it could be a hazard to humanity.”

Toni sighed. “Let's see what happens when Susanna is returned to us.”

“Yes,” said Larry, “perhaps Kyra Rachel and Noel Franklin will rescue her.” He spoke to the two of them. “I wanted you to know what the Visualizer can do. And its potential. To give you a better take on how to find Susanna. If you know how I think of its possibilities and its dangers, you might understand how someone who kidnaps thinks of its dangers and possibilities.” He headed to the door, opened it. “I'll walk you back to the house before I get to work.”

Kyra wondered what Noel was thinking. She said to Larry, “Thank you for this context.” She followed Noel and Antoinette to the door. She noted Peter lingering.

Half an hour of feeling stupid became an hour of feeling stupider. She wanted him, easy to see. And he wanted her, a great deal. To be with her, to speak with her, to hold her.

But right now, here, today, he must move in accordance with the strings Raoul pulled to move his limbs, his torso, his mind: Raoul's puppet may not think of desire and need, of affection. Because, he had to admit to himself, he did feel affection toward Susanna, with a strength he had never before felt, a fondness for—No, more than that, far more. He had known her for such a short time—how was such a thing possible?

Raoul's puppet. Raoul angry and irrational. Raoul shifting stances in ways Fredric hadn't seen before, the rage and the physical pain it brought on. As if he were no longer his own master. Could Raoul too be a puppet, his own strings manipulated, creating an otherly controlled Raoul? Fredric had from the start figured they'd not kidnapped Susanna because it was Raoul who wanted to collect some kind of ransom. So who was behind Raoul?

He needed to pick up her dishes. He could do that when he brought her lunch. He'd have to prepare it. He didn't know what to say to her. Okay, a problem for later, now just go down there and bring back the trolley and all the breakfast stuff.

Bring her an offering? What? Fruit? A chocolate bar, yes. He'd bought some rich dark chocolate at the market a couple of days ago. Just hand it to her. Or on a plate? Better. Mask on—Wait. The Arlechino mask. He pressed it against his face and looped the elastic over his head. Then he grabbed the ski mask and put it in his pocket. Safer. With plate and chocolate he headed downstairs.

He glanced through the peephole. Not there? Hiding beside the door? He checked the table. Eggs seemed to have been eaten. Hungrier than she'd said. Where was she? He knocked hard. She appeared from the bathroom, her body covered with a blanket. She walked to the door and spoke to the peephole. He couldn't hear her. The door must stay closed till she sat on the bed. As if understanding, she smiled, blew him a kiss, then walked away. Sat as instructed.

He unlocked, entered, relocked, walked toward her, plate in one hand, chocolate bar in the other. Three feet from her he set the bar on the plate, presented it to her with a little bow. She grinned. Her eyes looked red, as if she'd been crying. Her lips looked redder than this morning, as if she'd bitten them.

“Thank you.” She took the plate and set it on the bed.

“I apologize for the ski mask earlier. It was ridiculous.”

“Not if it did in some way make this—situation less dangerous. For both of us.”

“I don't know. I don't care.”

She let go of the blanket and it dropped to the floor. Bare shoulders and thin straps—the white dress she'd been wearing when they'd taken her. She again took both his hands in hers, he pulled her to standing. She dropped his hands, wrapped her arms around him and lay her cheek on his shoulder. He held her tight to him, both arms around her waist. He could feel a heart beating hard both inside and against him. He raised one hand to her shoulder and felt the warmness of her skin. She drew her head back and brought her mouth to his. They stroked each other's lips, then explored further.

Fredric pulled back. Ludicrous. With both hands he pulled the mask from his face and tossed it onto the bed. She saw his face and smiled. “Much better,” she whispered, and kissed him with unrestrained ardor. She pulled away again and lifted his T-shirt over his head. She undid his pants—no belt, easier—and they dropped to the floor. She reached into his jockey underpants and held tight to his solidity. He reached down for the hem of her dress, not far down, it was short enough, and lifted it from her shoulders. She released him, worked his shorts down his legs. He kicked off the flip-flops.

He stepped back, pointing at her. He stared at her. “You—are—beautiful.”

She reached for his cock. “So are you.” She pulled him to the bed, lifted the sheet and climbed in, still holding on.

Afterward they slept a little. He woke first, his arm draped around her. Then the fear of Raoul's return came over him like the invasion of disease. He looked at her sleeping face—peace and ease there, as if they were vacationing on an island far from their daily universes. Far indeed: The Kidnapper and The Kidnapped. Oh dear oh dear oh fuck . . . and she was staring at him, studying his face.

From the moment of waking, she'd known she felt whole. Yes, in the far distance gray clouds rumbled. But right now in this her prison, she sensed a fullness and recognized it as a good thing. She turned and studied his face. Close to the face she had imagined: lightly pointed nose, gentle brown eyes, small ears, full lips an uncaricatured version of those on the mask. And that wonderful curly brown hair across his clear brow.

She kissed him gently on the lips. “Wow.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Double wow.”

“Susanna, I—”

“Later.”

“I mean, I should go upstairs quickly, make sure everything's okay.”

“What could be wrong?” She smiled and kissed him harder. When he returned her kiss, she knew all would be well. At least till the middle distance arrived.

He pulled away, and dropped from the bed. “Back in a few minutes.”

As she'd imagined, he was exquisite. Fine arms and legs, elegant drooping tool and as she'd hoped, a small well-rounded bum. She watched with regret as he pulled his pants on, T-shirt too, and slipped into his flip-flops. He all but destroyed her image of him when he cleared the breakfast business onto the trolley tray: Frank a domestic? Hardly.

He wheeled the cart to the door. “Back soon.” He unlocked, out, relocked. He looked about for the Arlechino mask—He'd left it in her room! Go back? Soon. He pulled the ski mask from his pocket, slipped it on, carried the tray up the stairs. Dishes to the kitchen. “Hello?” but the house felt empty. What, Raoul dropping by every few hours to keep an eye on him? Raoul had better things to do with his time. He pulled off the ski mask and tossed it onto the table, scraped the residual egg into the sink and shoved the paper plate into the garbage. He washed the plastic cutlery.