Going Grey (12 page)

Kinnery still hadn't called back the next day, or the day after. Ian had expected to hold out a few more weeks before he started to panic, but now he was in free-fall.

Nobody except Kinnery knows what I am.

Isn't that what I want, the safest option? No. I can't live with a secret that big. It's beyond being alone. It's like being buried alive. I need to talk to someone.

He could have waited, but he had no idea how long was long enough. He could huddle here for months, dreading a knock on the door. He had enough supplies to sit out a siege, but if he didn't take hold of his own life right now, if he didn't force something to happen, he'd be a prisoner here indefinitely. He didn't want to call Zoe on the cell in case she could trace him. If she was in Seattle, he'd get the bus and call her from a public phone there, well away from Athel Ridge.

Sorry, Gran. I'm even more suspicious of the world than you were. Imagine that.

There was a lot that you could learn from movies, whatever people said. He'd made his first smart decision without Gran's folder to guide him.

Now he needed a bus timetable. He'd call the ticket office. While he was searching for a directory, he glanced at the photo of David Dunlop and his helicopter, the essence and personification of the kind of man he wanted to be.

Suddenly that hurt more than anything. Ian wasn't related to him at all. Ian was just a device for courageous men to use, not destined to be one of them. There was no blood of heroes flowing in his veins.

He didn't know whose blood was in them at all. But he needed to.

ATHEL RIDGE
TWO DAYS LATER.

Ian kept thinking of Captain Scott as Joe dropped him at the bus station in Athel Ridge.

"You sure you don't want me to drive you all the way?" Joe asked.

"Thanks, but I need to learn to do this on my own." Ian hid behind his sunglasses and cap, distracted by his teeth for a moment. Did they morph too? He'd never considered it. He tested them with his tongue, but nothing had changed. "And it gives me time to read."

"Well, whatever it is, call me if you decide you need picking up."

Seattle wasn't a war zone. It was just a city. All Ian had to do was to stay calm, get on the right bus, and not draw attention to himself. But it was the first time he'd ever been out among strangers on his own. It was a step beyond picking up the phone and calling Kinnery. He tried to think himself into a role and imagine the lines he'd use, but outside the safety of his own four walls it didn't seem so easy.

Okay, visualize something else. Imagine I'm the way I was – when I thought I was just crazy, not a monster. Imagine I look normal to everyone else.

He thought that he'd be conspicuous, but there were a couple of other guys his age waiting for buses at other stops, dressed pretty much the same. Nobody was going to even notice him if he just stayed calm. When he caught his reflection in the glass window of the ticket booth he felt that pang again, the need both to look away from it and stare to see what had changed. He boarded the bus and slid down in a seat at the back to read a book.

The vehicle smelled of sweat, perfume, and cleaning fluid. It was the first time he'd travelled on a bus, and the first time he'd ventured off the ranch with the phone switched on. Gran said a cell could give away your location even with the GPS turned off, so she usually took out the battery. If Kinnery rang back, though, Ian couldn't afford to miss the call.

Along the route, a man sat down next to him but didn't make eye contact. It was like Ian wasn't even there. Ian began to learn how people managed to pretend they were alone in a crowd. He could act as if was engrossed in his book, rummage in his backpack — one of the folding ones that he could empty and shove in his pocket — or keep checking his phone, and nobody expected him to look at them or talk to them. People were the most striking new thing in his world now. Ignoring them seemed impossible, but that was exactly what he had to do.

The everyday world was actually a lot more like TV than Gran had admitted, except there weren't as many good-looking people. Ian noted the bits of reality that matched what he saw on screen and those that didn't fit at all.

And Gran's still Gran. I mustn't think about what she wasn't. Not yet, anyway.

Kinnery still hadn't called by the time Ian arrived at the Stewart Street bus station. Maybe the guy had died and nobody knew Gran was out there waiting to hear from him. Well, Ian was here now, and he had a choice; to go ahead with the plan and call Zoe, or just kill some time getting used to walking around a city, hope that he didn't morph in front of anybody, and take the long ride home.

He picked up a street map from a kiosk. It took him a few minutes to pluck up the courage to walk into the men's room at the bus station, but he was bursting, and all he had to do was find a cubicle the way he'd done a couple of times in Athel Ridge. He shut the door, had a pee, and then sat down on the closed toilet lid to study the map and locate a public phone.

Well, that was simple enough. He managed to get out of the rest room without making eye contact with anybody and found the phone booth. If Zoe wasn't in, he couldn't leave a message asking her to call back, so he might still go home empty-handed today. He set himself a deadline to give up and catch the bus back to Athel Ridge. A plan and a timetable were a good substitute for courage.

But I'm doing fine. Look. I'm in Seattle, tracking down a reporter. On my own. It's just a script, just acting. I can handle this.

As the number rang, he glanced around. Absolutely nobody was looking at him. Then a woman's voice answered and startled him. He didn't catch a name. But he was sure she said
The
Slide
.

Deep breath. Don't screw this up.

It came out in a rush, not quite the casual tone he was aiming for. "Are you Zoe Murray?"

"That's me. Who's calling?"

It was a good question. Ian would have given a lot to know the answer. Suddenly it felt too dangerous. No, he wasn't going to say who he was or even mention Gran, not yet.

His tried to slow his breathing. They said it helped calm you down. "I've got some information for you."

There was a few seconds' silence while he fidgeted with the plastic-wrapped envelope in his pocket, rehearsing how he'd hand it over without contaminating it.

"What kind of information?" Zoe asked at last. "Can you e-mail it?"

"No, it's hard copy in a sealed envelope. About a medical research project." Wow, this was harder than he'd thought. Perhaps he should have asked for her address and mailed the package. But this had to be done in person. Gran always said letters could go astray or get intercepted. "Can we meet up?"

"Sure." Zoe didn't ask any questions about the contents, probably because she was worried about being tapped, given her line of work. "You obviously know where I am. Where are you?"

"Seattle."

"Okay, that's easy enough. Meet me outside the conference centre, corner of Eighth and Pike. Half an hour?"

Ian studied his map. "Okay."

"How will I
recognise you?"

She couldn't have known how impossible that question was, either. "Navy blue hoodie, jeans, blue cap."

"Okay, look for a woman with short grey hair and a red satchel. I'm easy to spot. See you later."

Ian hadn't even mentioned Gran's name, but Zoe had agreed to meet him for no better reason than the offer of unspecified information. People were too trusting. He put the phone back on the cradle and headed for Pike Street.

Seattle looked like every other city that he'd seen on TV, canyons of glass storefronts and streaming traffic. It could have been anywhere in the country. He merged into the sea of pedestrians, getting more confident as he realised it wasn't hard to adopt the shared pretence of being alone. He slowed to look in a store window.

As he passed the automatic doors, a group of girls in bright T
-shirts and jeans ambled out, chattering like parrots and leaving a perfumed wake. He froze. He'd never smelled anything like it in his life. His fragile confidence vanished instantly, and all he could see was the vast gulf between what he was and what he could never have, and a few hypnotic details – a silver necklace, lip gloss, and tanned skin. He wasn't prepared for the impact and what it would do to him.

Not now. Please, not now.

It was just as well he'd worn the hoodie. It was already long, but he thrust his hands deeper into his pockets to make sure it reached almost mid-thigh. He was certain that the entire city would spot his erection. Embarrassment and guilt almost blinded him for a second. Then the girls were gone, lost in the endless stream of shoppers. Ian suddenly couldn't understand why he'd ever thought it was a good idea to come here. Gran was dead, his life had plunged into chaotic shit, he didn't even fully understand what or who he was, and now all he could think about was sex. It overwhelmed him. He had no control over his own body, not even how he looked.

Christ, guys my age are fighting wars, and I can't even handle walking past a few girls on the goddamn street.

The shame of not being heroic focused him instantly. He reached the conference centre and wandered up and down on the opposite side of the road to the main entrance before finding a doorway to stand out of the way. He caught a glimpse of himself in a window, temporarily superimposed on the stream of passers-by. He looked completely average. He wasn't a monster, and he wasn't crazy, and it was obvious that nothing about him seemed odd to anyone else, because nobody even glanced at him.

I don't exist. I can hide in a crowd. That's quite something.

Where would he go once he'd made contact with Zoe? He'd have to talk to her to work out whether Gran was right to trust her. He'd practiced sliding the envelope out of the plastic wrapper by letting it fall under its own weight. Now he wouldn't need to wear gloves when he met Zoe. He could just drop the envelope.

On what? A table. On a table in front of her.

Okay, so they'd have to go to a coffee shop or something. There were plenty of restaurants around. He just had to remember not to use a cup, because it was a great way to harvest someone's DNA. He'd seen that on too many cop shows. He tucked the plastic-wrapped envelope into the outer pocket of his rucksack and carried on watching the conference centre doors. He wasn't the only person apparently waiting for someone. He was just doing the same as everybody else.

His stomach growled and he regretted not buying a sandwich earlier. Maybe he'd missed Zoe. Then he saw a splash of red out of the corner of his eye.

That's her. Got to be.

Zoe was one of those older women who still dressed like a student. He saw the red satchel even before he saw her grey hair, but he waited for her to stop at the entrance and look around first before he was certain enough to cross the road and approach her.

"Zoe?"

She looked him up and down. "You're the guy who phoned, yes? Do I get a name?"

Ian was suddenly so far out of his depth that he gave up trying to swim. It really was like a movie. He had nothing else to guide him.

"Not yet," he said.
Oh God. I'm miles from home and about to tell a total stranger what I am.
"I don't even know how to explain this. Someone said I could trust you."

Zoe was still looking him over. "Okay, you want to go for a coffee and tell me what you can?" She pointed up the road to a restaurant. "If you're trying to avoid being seen, you've been picked up on CCTV cameras already. But at least the place up there bans glassholes."

Ian didn't know what a
glasshole
was, but he got the general idea. He followed her. The cafe had a notice on the door: FOR THE COMFORT AND PRIVACY OF OUR CUSTOMERS — NO LIFEBLOGGING, GLASS, OR OTHER RECORDING ALLOWED ON THE PREMISES.

He hadn't even thought about things like that. He hadn't needed to. As soon as he stepped through the door, a wall of noise hit him – hissing coffee machines, clattering plates, and loud conversations. Zoe pointed to a table.

"Take a seat," she said. "I'll get the drinks."

At least Ian was ready for that. "Nothing for me, thanks."

While he waited, he checked around him. It was as much out of disorientation as caution, because there were a lot of mirrors on the walls and the place was busier than he'd expected, much more daunting than being in the street. He was worried that he'd reach a point where he'd have to turn and run. But he sat down, took out the envelope, and slid it from its wrapper onto the table.

There: he'd done it. It was an irrevocable step into a situation that he wasn't sure he could handle.

Zoe came back with a frothing cup in one hand. "Is that it?" she asked, moving the envelope to put down her coffee. "Can I take a look now?"

It was his last chance to change his mind. He didn't. He couldn't stay in this limbo forever.

"Yes," he said.

Zoe opened the envelope. Ian watched the expression on her face while she read the two typed pages for an agonizingly long couple of minutes. Her frown grew and deepened. Judging by her eye movement, she was re-reading everything. Eventually she stopped and looked at him over the top of the sheet.