Etherworld (31 page)

“I should be there in five,” Zoe says, the AutoComm focused back on her. Through the window behind her I see glimpses of the towering condominiums that crowd the Oak Sector, where the Menlop Hills Mall is located. “Want me to call the police?”

“No,” I say. “I doubt they'd believe us, and worse, they'd probably want me to go back to the hospital.”

“And then they'd make sure we didn't break into the mall,” Josh says.

“Okay, okay,” Zoe says. “No police. So what should I do when I get there?”

“Wait for us,” Patrick says, grabbing his coat.

“Will do,” Zoe says, signing off.

Patrick is about to turn off the InstaComm when a news ticker flashes across the bottom of the screen:
Bryce Williams, VP Production Services of Orexis, found dead of apparent suicide at age 43. . . . Elusion is experiencing technical difficulties that may impact release.
A small image of Cathryn appears on the ribbon; she's dressed in a light blue suit and standing behind a podium in the Orexis auditorium. It's the same place where Patrick gave his presentation on Elusion, but unlike then, the reporters are standing up, crowding around the stage.

“Oh my God,” I breathe.

Bryce is dead.

“Turn it up,” Josh says quietly.

Patrick clicks on the ribbon and her image fills the screen.

“As I said, a complete shock. I knew about Bryce's impending divorce, of course, but none of us had any idea . . .”

“Do you think it had anything to do with us?” I ask. “With our visit?”

“No,” Josh says firmly, wrapping his arm more tightly around my shoulders. But I can see by his anguished face that he's every bit as upset as I am. And so is Patrick. He looks stunned.

“It seems like everyone who has anything to do with Elusion either ends up dead or close to it,” a reporter points out. “David Welch, Bryce Williams—even your own son, Patrick Simmons—”

“No,” Cathryn interjects, flustered. The crowd yells out so many questions at the same time that it's hard to tell who's saying what.

Finally, a reporter asks: “Is Bryce Williams's death connected to the problems Elusion is currently experiencing?”

“I don't see how. I told you already, our engineers are working on it as I speak. We hope to have it up and running in no time.”

Up and running again?

Elusion is gone. We destroyed it.

“What about reports of the CIT pulling approval of Elusion?” another reporter asks.

“Unfounded,” she says quickly. “Now, if you'll excuse me—I'm going to get back to the work of providing you with the very best Escape.” She spins away from the camera, heading back into Orexis. Patrick turns off the InstaComm.

No one speaks. I can't get Bryce's face out of my head, nor the images from the photos in his house—his sons playing basketball, him and his wife dancing and in love, a family Thanksgiving. Did our visit somehow push him over the edge?

“I told him I felt sorry for his sons,” I say. “That they were going to be ashamed.”

“Regan,” Josh says forcefully. “You had every right to speak out. Bryce Williams kidnapped your father.”

“No,” Patrick says, practically shaking as he takes the seat across from us. He's wringing his hands; his neck has turned bright red. “My mother kidnapped David. Bryce is just her most recent victim.”

“I don't know what happened with Bryce,” Avery says. “But I can tell you this for a fact: none of you are responsible. That man was seriously messed up. Kids are dead because of his actions. And he knew it.”

I think it's the first time I've heard Avery attempt to comfort anyone. And her timing couldn't be better.

“Thanks, Avery,” I say, picking my Equip up off the coffee table. “Why is Cathryn acting like there's just a problem with the signal or something?” I ask. “She's got to realize by now that her plan to vaccinate Elusion didn't work.”

“She's probably just trying to defuse the situation and calm down the nervous investors until she can cover her tracks,” Patrick says bitterly, as if the mere mention of his mother makes him sick.

My eyes drift toward the blank InstaComm screen as I visualize the look on Bryce's face as we left. The sadness. The shame. The fear. I wish I had known how desperate he was. I might've handled it differently.

One thing is certain. There has been enough death.

“We need to find my dad,” I say. “Now.”

“Don't worry,” Avery says, adjusting her glasses. “We will. And then we'll bring that bitch and her entire evil empire
down
.”

Avery, Patrick, Zoe, Josh, and I stand in the middle of the old Menlop Hills Mall, the only light coming from our tabs. Entering was easier than I had thought it would be. Giblin's passcard once again came in handy, allowing us to disable the security sensors and use the delivery entrance of an old department store.

“How are we going to find him?” I ask Patrick as I shine my tab toward a wall of shuttered stores. We're in the grand lobby of the old mall, surrounded by hundreds of dark, empty stores and former restaurants.

I turn back toward the oversize circular staircase and follow it up to the top floor, craning my neck backward to look at the soaring glass atrium ceiling. Thick Florapetro clouds are blocking the moon, but a few of the night stars are still visible, casting the inside of the mall in an eerie yellow glow.

This place is huge. And everything looks so pristine, as if the occupants just moved out yesterday. The giant artificial palm trees still look brand-new. The fountain isn't turned on, but the water is a crystal blue.

“I was hoping we might be able to find the moving boxes, but . . . ,” Patrick begins.

“But this place is ginormous,” Zoe concludes.

“So how are we going to find him?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“We could split up and go store to store,” Josh volunteers.

“Wherever he is, he's probably still attached to an Equip and tab. The news conference we saw was live, and Orexis is a good fifteen minutes away. I doubt my mom would have had time to get here yet.”

“You think it's still emitting a signal?” Avery asks.

“Maybe,” Patrick says. “We all need to turn off our tabs and I'll see if I can pick it up.”

We shut down our tabs, with the exception of Patrick, who is typing something on his screen. He finishes and we wait, all staring at him.

“I'm picking up four signals,” he says. “Two on the sixth floor, one in the northeast corner, and one opposite.”

Avery scoots behind him, looking over his shoulder. “One on the fifth floor—looks like it's directly north,” she says. She scours the tab with her eyes. “Oh,” she says, pointing toward the touch screen. “And one on the second floor, southwest.”

“Good catch,” Patrick says.

“Can we turn our tabs back on now?” Zoe asks. “If I'm going to decipher these directions, I'll need a compass. I'm completely turned around in here.”

“Yeah, turn them back on,” Patrick says. “I've sent you all the coordinates. Use your GPS—it'll get you to the general area. Beyond that, we'll just have to search the stores.”

Josh lets go of my hand as we reach for our tabs. “We'll split up in pairs,” Josh says. “And I'll go alone.”

“No,” Patrick says. “I'm going alone. My mom is the bad guy, remember? I'm probably the only one here who's safe.”

“Pat . . . ,” I begin, ready to protest his decision.

“Ree,” he interrupts, raising his hand to silence me. “Don't.”

“And when we find him?” Zoe whispers as we begin to move.

“The plan stays the same,” I say. “Get video evidence.”

“Too bad some asshole had my site disabled,” Avery says, referring to what Patrick did to her vlog earlier this week when she was talking about the rumors regarding the dangers of Elusion. I know he regrets it, especially since she turned out to be right.

“
AveryTruStory
may be disabled,” Patrick says. “But you have my permission to get this on any other site you wish. I have confidence in your ability to work around it.”

Avery gives him a snide grin. “Come on, Zoe,” she says. “We'll take the second floor and work our way up.”

“Josh and I will take the sixth floor,” I say. If Patrick's going to be alone, I'd rather not have him taking the floor with two possible leads.

“Got your OC spray?” Zoe asks, nudging me in the arm as we head toward the steps.

I open my hand, revealing the small canister. “Out and ready to use as needed,” I say.

Zoe winks, unfolding her fist and showing me hers as well.

“Patrick, you should take mine,” Avery offers. “Each team should have one.”

“No,” he says. “I told you, she's not going to hurt me—”

“Pat,” I say. “Please.”

“I'm good,” he insists, heading toward the steps and leading the charge.

Zoe's eyes catch mine, and for a minute I see the truth behind her eternal optimism. It's an act. She's just as worried about Patrick confronting his mom as I am.

Zoe and Avery step off on the second floor, Zoe staring at the compass on her tab as they veer off from the group. “Hey,” Patrick says, looking at Zoe. “Contact me the minute you see anything suspicious. Don't confront my mom yourself, okay?”

“Sure,” Zoe says, giving him a little smile before hurrying to catch up with Avery.

As Josh, Patrick, and I watch them leave, I know we're all worried about the same thing. None of us want to separate.

But we have little choice if we're to find my dad, and so we continue on, making our way up flight after flight. As we hit the fifth floor, Josh grabs Patrick's arm. “Be careful,” Josh warns. “Desperation can do strange things to people. Even those we love.”

Patrick hesitates before shrugging off Josh's hand. “You guys be careful too.”

I take Josh's hand and we climb the remaining flight, stopping at the top of the stairs to take a close listen. It's completely silent.

Glancing at the compass, I motion to my left. Josh turns his tab on the dimmest light possible as we begin to walk the rows of empty storefronts, most with their security grilles in place. As we get to the end, we spot a store with the grille half open. Josh raises his hand, signaling me to stop and wait. He slips under the partition.

But I'm not waiting.

I turn down the dimmer on my phone and follow him in. The long and narrow store is clogged with broken shelving and naked mannequins, some still draped in the odd piece of clothing. I look for Josh, but he's disappeared, so I tiptoe down an aisle, heading toward the back of the store. There's an InstaComm on the counter. It's still transmitting images, its volume muted.

Great. This must be the signal Patrick found coming from the sixth floor. I turn off the InstaComm and head back toward the front of the store. I meet Josh halfway and we shake our heads at each other. Both of us have come up empty.

We make our way back toward the front, but just as we're about to crawl under the partition, there's a glimmer of light.

Someone's here.

Even though I tell myself it's probably just one of the gang, I grab on to Josh's shirt and tug him back toward me. We lean up against the wall as the light grows brighter, followed by the click of heels.

We see a flash of white-blond hair, a bright red coat, and a black, rectangular bag.

Cathryn.

“Alert the others,” Josh whispers. And before I can protest, he's gone, slipping into the darkness under the door.

I send a quick group message, tucking my tab back in my pocket before following. When I get back into the hall, it takes my eyes a second to adjust to the dim yellow light.

Somewhere down the hall, a door creaks.

I take out my tab and shine the light toward the noise. An old-fashioned metal emergency exit door at the end of the hall is swinging shut.

I run and grab the old, steel handles before it locks. It squeaks as I yank it open.

I'm in the fire stairwell. To my right is a partially open door, a side entrance to a store.

I open the door and walk in, shining my tab around the room. I stop when I see the gurney in the corner. A pale, withered figure lies on top, his face barely visible, his eyes covered by a visor, his body under a blanket.

My dad.

As I hurry toward him, I forget all about Cathryn and the danger. But as I get closer, my stomach twists into a knot. My dad's completely still, his complexion pallid and waxy.

I get to his side and place my hand on his cold forehead. There's no sign of life. I yank off his visor. His eyes are open, and even though the natural brown color has returned, they're staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

“I've never watched anyone die before,” a voice says, breaking through the darkness. Cathryn. I twist around, shining my tab toward her voice. She's standing opposite me, in the far corner of the room. “It's not as easy as it may seem,” she says.

“Is he . . . ?” I ask. “Is he . . . ?”

Dead.

I can't even bring myself to say the word.

“Not yet,” she says.

I take off his wristband and feel for a pulse, my hands trembling with rage. He's still alive. Barely. “How could you do this?” I breathe.

“I don't expect you to understand,” she says. She yanks something out of the case on the floor, a tiny telescope-shaped tube attached to a black leather sling.

“You were like a second mother to me. You were part of our family.”

She continues setting up the machine, ignoring me.

“I cared about you,” I continue. “I even compared my own mother to you, wishing she could be more like you, more assertive and smart.” It makes me sick to remember, but it's true.

“You spoke at my dad's funeral,” I say, practically spitting the words. “You let us believe he was dead. And the whole time you were keeping him locked inside Elusion, destroying his life. Destroying my mother. How could you watch us suffer like that?”