Black (25 page)

“I don't know how I can be clearer. Either you believe me, or you don't . You don't .So we have a problem.” He held up his hand. “Don't get me wrong, I would love to sit and chat about how our fathers abandoned us. But not now, please. We have more pressing matters on our hands.”

“Your father left you?”

He lowered his hand. “Yes.”

“How sad.” She was making progress. Not a lot, but some. “How old were you?”

“Sixteen. We lived in the Philippines. I grew up there. He was a chaplain.”

The revelation cast Thomas in a completely new light. An army brat. Son of a chaplain, no less. Based in the Philippines. She spoke some Tagalog herself.

“Saan ka nakatira?”
Where did you live?

“Nakatira ako sa Maynila.”
I lived in Manila.

They stared at each other for a long second. His face softened.

“This isn't going to work,” he said.

She sat up. He was folding so quickly? “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean this psychobabble approach of yours. It isn't going to work.”

“This . . .” He was forcing
her
to fold? “How dare you reduce my childhood to psychobabble! You want to talk to me? Then talk to me like a human, not some bargaining chip!”

“Of course. You're a frightened woman, trembling under the hand of her fearsome captor, right? You're the poor abandoned child in desperate need of a hero. If anything,
I'm
the poor abandoned loser who's worked his way into a pretty hopeless predicament. Look at me!” He shoved both arms out. “I'm a basket case. I have the gun, but it might as well be you. You know I wouldn't touch you, so what threat am I? None. This is crazy!”

“Well, you said it, not me. You talk about black bats and colored forests and ancient histories like you actually believe all that nonsense. I have a PhD in chemistry. You really think some crazy dream would have me trembling on my knees?”

“Yes!” he shouted. “That's exactly what I expect! Those black bats know your name!”

Hearing him say it like that sent a chill through her gut. He glared at her, slapped the gun on the dresser, and yanked his shirt off over his head.

“It's hot in here!” He threw the shirt on the floor, snatched up the gun, and marched for the window.

His back was strong. Stronger than she would have guessed. It glistened with sweat. A long scar ran over his left shoulder blade. He wore plaid blue boxer shorts under his jeans—the tag on the elastic waistband read Old Navy.

Monique had considered rushing him before he'd told her that he was the blurred image in the security footage at the front gates yesterday. Looking at him now, even with his back turned, she was glad she'd rejected the idea.

Tom suddenly dropped the curtain and turned. “Tell me about the vaccine.”

“I have.”

He was suddenly very excited. “No, more. Tell me more.”

“It wouldn't make any sense to you, unless you understand vaccines.”

“Humor me.”

She sighed. “Okay. We call it a DNA vaccine, but in reality it's actually an engineered virus. That's why—”

“Your vaccine is a virus?” he demanded.

“Technically, yes. A virus that immunizes the host by altering its DNA against certain other viruses. Think of a virus like a tiny robot that hijacks its host cell and modifies its DNA, usually in a way that ends with the rupturing of that cell. We've learned how to turn these germs into agents that work for us instead of against us. They are very small, very hardy, and can spread very quickly—in this case, through the air.”

“But it's an actual virus.”

He was reacting as so many reacted to this simple revelation. The idea that a virus could be used to humanity's benefit was a strange concept to most.

“Yes. But also a vaccine, though unlike traditional vaccines, which are usually based on weaker strains of an actual disease organism. At any rate, they are hardy enough, but they do die under adverse conditions. Like heat.”

“But they can mutate.”

“Any virus can mutate. But none of the mutations in our tests have survived beyond a generation or two. They immediately die. And that's in favorable conditions. Under intense heat—”

“Forget about the heat. Tell me something that no one could possibly know about—” He lifted his hand. “No, wait. Don't tell me.” He paced to the bed
and back. Faced her. The gun had become an extension of his arm; he waved it around like a conductor's baton.

“Would you mind watching where you point that thing?” she said.

He looked at the gun then tossed it on the bed. Lifted his hands.

“New strategy,” he said. “If I can prove to you that everything I've told you is true, that your vaccine really will mutate into something fatal, will you call it off?”

“How would you—”

“Just go with me. Would you call it off and destroy the vaccine?”

“Of course.”

“You swear it?”

“There's no way to prove it.”

“But
if ? If,
Monique.”

“Yes!” He was unnerving her. “I said I would. Unlike some people, I don't lie out of habit.”

He ignored the jab, and she regretted her insinuation.

A smile twisted his mouth. “Okay. here's what we're going to do. I'm going to go to sleep and get some information that I couldn't possibly know, and then I'm going to wake up and give it to you.”

His eyes were bright, but the brilliance of his plan escaped her. “That's absurd.”

“That's the point. You think it's absurd because you don't believe me. Which is why when I wake up and tell you something I can't know, you'll believe me! I can't believe I didn't think of this before.”

He really believed that he could enter this dream world of his, discover real information from the histories, and return to tell her about it. He really was mad.

On the other hand, if he was sleeping, she could . . .

“Okay. Fair enough. Go to sleep then.”

“See? It makes sense, doesn't it? What kind of information should I look for?”

“What?”

“What could I bring back that would persuade you?”

She thought about it. Preposterous. “The number of nucleotide base pairs that deal specifically with HIV in my vaccine,” she said.

“The number of nucleotide base pairs. Okay. Give me something else, in case I can't get that. The histories may not have recorded something that specific.”

She couldn't hold back some amusement at his enthusiasm. It was like negotiating with one of the children right out of Narnia. “My father's birth date. They would have the year of his birth, right? Do you know what it is?”

“No, I don't .And I can come back with more than just his birth date if you want.” He picked up the gun and walked to the window yet again.

“What do you keep looking at?”

“There's a white car that's been parked down the street for the last few hours. Just checking. It's getting dark.”

He spun back. “Okay. How do we do this? I'll sleep on the bed.”

“How long will this take?”

“Half an hour. You wake me up half an hour after I fall asleep. That's all I need. There's no correlation between time here and time there.”

He walked to the bed and sat down, pulled off the cover, and ripped the sheet off.

“What are you doing?”

He tore the sheet in two. “I can't just let you wander around while I'm sleeping. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to tie you up.”

She stood up. “Don't you dare!”

“What do you mean, don't you dare? I'm the one with the gun here, and you're my prisoner, in case you forgot. I tie you up, and if you yell for help, I wake up and shoot off your pinkie toes.”

He was impossible. “You're going to leave me sitting here while you fall asleep? How do I wake you up if I'm tied up?”

He grabbed one of the pillows and tossed it over by the air conditioner. “You throw this pillow at me. Move over to the air conditioner.”

“You're going to tie me to the air conditioner?”

“Looks pretty solid to me. The anchor rod will hold you. You have a better idea?”

“And how will I throw the pillow if my hands are tied?”

He thought about that. “Good point. Okay, I'll tie you so that you can reach the bed with your foot. You kick the bed until I wake up. You don't yell.”

She stared at him. Then the air conditioner.

“Didn't think so. Hurry up. The sooner I fall asleep, the sooner we can get this over with.” He waved the gun. “Move.”

It took him five minutes to rip up the sheet halves and form a short tether. He made her lie down on her back to measure the distance to the bed. Satisfied that she could reach it, he bound her hands behind her back. Not just her hands, but her fingers, so that she couldn't move them to untie anything. And her feet, so she couldn't stand.

He worked over her quickly, unconcerned that his sweaty torso was smudging her silk blouse. The whole thing was desperately absurd. But he clearly didn't think so. He was scurrying around like a rat on a mission.

When he'd finished, he stood back, admired his handiwork, carried the gun to the bed, and plopped down on his back, spread-eagle.

He closed his eyes.

“I can't believe this stupidity,” she mumbled.

“Quiet. I'm trying to sleep here. Do I need to gag you?” He sat up, pulled off his boots.

Her teeth! She might be able to tear the cloth cords with her teeth.

“Do you really think you'll be able to fall asleep like this? I mean, I will be quiet, I promise, but isn't this just a bit ridiculous?”

“I think You've made yourself clear on that point. And actually I don't know if I can fall asleep or not. But I'm about ready to drop from exhaustion as it is, so I think there's a pretty good chance.”

He plopped back down and closed his eyes.

“Maybe I could sing you a lullaby,” Monique heard herself say. It was a surprising thing to say at a moment like this.

He turned his head and looked at her, sitting against the wall under the air conditioner. “Do you sing?”

She turned away and stared at the wall.

Five minutes passed before she braved a glance his way. He lay exactly as she'd last seen, bare chest rising and falling steadily, arms to either side. Very well built. Dark hair. A beautiful creature.

Totally mad.

Was he asleep? “Thomas?” she whispered.

He sat up, rolled out of bed, and picked up a fragment of sheet.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I'm sorry, but I have to gag you.”

“I wasn't talking!”

“No, but you might try to bite your way out. I'm sorry, I really am. I can't sleep unless I'm totally at ease, you understand, and I think a strong jaw might be able to tear this stuff.” He wrapped the strip around her mouth and tied it behind her head. She didn't bother protesting.

“Not that I think you have a strong jaw. I didn't mean it like that. I actually like
the sound of your voice.”

He stood, crossed to the bed, and dropped onto his back once again.

19

T
om awoke with a start and jumped to his feet on the hill overlooking the village. He scrambled to the lip of the valley. Dusk. The people were already heading up the valley to the lake. The Gathering.

Two thoughts. One, he should join them. If he ran, he could catch them. Two, he had to get to the black forest. Now.

He'd dreamed how many times since waking in the black forest? Yet something had changed. For the first time, he'd awakened with a compulsion to treat this dream of Bangkok, this lucid fabrication in his mind, as real. It was no longer only a conscious choice that he was making, it was something in his heart. He really
did
have to treat the dreams as real. Both of them, in the event either or both
were
real.

If Bangkok was real, then he needed Monique's cooperation. The only way to get Monique's cooperation was to prove himself by retrieving information. Information he hoped he could find in the black forest.

Tom spun around and sprinted down the path that led to the Shataiki.

He had to learn the truth. The Great Deception, the Raison Strain, Monique de Raison—he had to know why he was having these dreams. He'd survived the black forest once; he would survive it again.

His feet slapped the earth as he jogged. The path soon faded, but he knew the direction. The river. It lay directly ahead. The slight glow from the trees lit the forest—even in the dead of night he would be able to find his way back.

He slowed to a walk and caught his breath. Then he fell back into a jog. This time he wouldn't actually enter the forest. He would call out. And if the black bats didn't respond? Then he would see. Either way, he couldn't return without some answers.

What had Monique suggested he learn? The number of nucleotide base pairs in the HIV vaccine.

The journey must have lasted an hour, but there was no way for Tom to know. When he finally broke into the clearing he recognized as the place he'd first been healed, he pulled up, panting hard. Just past the meadow lay a short stretch of forest, which ended at the river's edge. He stepped out into the meadow and jogged forward. A snapshot of the hotel room in Bangkok flashed through his mind and he plodded on, across the meadow and through the forest toward the rushing river.

The trees gave way to riverbank without warning. One second forest, the next only grass. And the river.

The scene took his breath away. He leaped back into the safety of the trees and flattened himself against a massive red tree. He waited for a moment and then carefully peered out onto the bank of the green river. The bridge the Roush had called the Crossing glimmered fifty yards upriver, white in the rising moonlight. The river glowed, translucent and sparkling with the colored light cast by the trees. Beyond the river lay the outline of ragged black trees in the darkness.