Little Deadly Things (35 page)

It was time to let Cerberus off his leash. Time to cut off the leeches, starting with the soldier and the scientist and the tea man. Once she was certain of Cerberus, then all the thieves who’d stolen her time and her money would be on their own.

But first, she thought, it’s long past time to settle a personal account. It was a small matter, a point of personal pride.
No one insults me with impunity. We’ll see who’s the runt.

Time for a reckoning.

___________________________________________

A GENTLE TOUCH IS ALL

FROM THE MEMORIES
OF DANA ECCO

T
he next time I saw Eva Rozen was almost like old times. She was playful in her own way. If she’d just caused a disaster that killed scores of people, then she didn’t show it. True, her skin was flushed, her hands trembled, and her eyes had a nervous tic, like she was winking at me over and over, but Eva was always unpredictable. Besides, we’d always gotten along like peas and carrots—until my mother pulled us apart, that is.

I was trying to come to grips with the disaster I’d just seen. None of this had made any sense to me. I was mature for my age, but a fifteen-year-old can draw just so much from experience. Even a fifteen-year-old who’s closer to sixteen.

I was alone in the conference room. My parents went home. I told them that I would take a P-cab back to Brookline. I heard the door open behind me. Even with my back to the door, I knew that Eva stood there. Everyone has a unique sonic signature, although hers is more like an absence where there should be a presence, like a chalk outline where a body had been. I sensed a small hole in the air currents that blew into the boardroom when the door opened. She displaced so little air that she might as well not exist.

She stopped just inside the door. Neither of us moved nor spoke for at least a minute. I was looking out the window and reached my hand up over my shoulder to offer an upturned palm, like a back-facing beggar. I held my hand loose, no tension in the fingers, and kept my gaze forward. Eva walked forward and slipped her hand into mine. The skin felt leathery and hot. We held hands for several moments, me with my back to her and Eva erect, looking over my shoulder. She subvocalized and the windows became mirrors. I was suddenly staring into the eyes of—of what? A murderer? A misunderstood friend? All I saw was anguish.

“You scared of me, Little One?” Her voice was uneven but her grip on my hand was as steady as a sailor on a tiller. I squeezed her hand once to signal that I wanted my own hand back. She didn’t let go but leaned over me and placed her other hand on my forearm. Her strength seemed to have grown and I was pinned in place.

“You think I did it?” I was still thinking over her first question, whether I was frightened by my mentor and friend. I got the feeling that Eva wanted an answer now. I had no time to ponder the day’s events.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Either you did or you didn’t.” She made no move to release me. “If you didn’t, then there’s nothing to be afraid of, right?” She shook her head.

“Answer the question. Do you think I caused the Rockford blast?”

“Eva, I’ve known you my whole life and I’ve seen you when you’re mad at somebody. Maybe you’ve even been mad at someone to the point where it was fatal. I don’t know. But I’ve never seen you hurt somebody who didn’t make you mad.”

“I’m not going to ask you again,” she repeated. My hand was beginning to ache in her grip. It was cards-on-the-table time.

“If you did, then you’re not the same person I know. So, I would say, no, Eva Rozen didn’t cause the explosion.”

Not good enough. “So, I’m crazy like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? My evil twin did it?”

“Oh, crap, Eva, give me a break.” That was better. “I’m not even sixteen years old. What do you want from me? Word games? Then do a crossword puzzle. You want a diagnosis? See a doctor. Now it’s Jekyll and Hyde? What, you’re suddenly reading fiction?”

“Funny,” she snorted. We were heading towards rapprochement.

“Tell me, yes or no. Do you think I blew up the Rockford plant?” I tried to turn around to look at her but her hand remained on my forearm and I remained in place.

“Eva, I don’t believe you blew anything up. But—you have been acting weird lately, and other people are going to look at you for Rockford. I hope you’ve got a good alibi.”

There was a sudden rigidity in her bearing. She pressed down ever so slightly on my forearm, relented and pressed again. Just long enough to catch her balance—or download a file to my datasleeve. A gentle touch was Eva’s style. She didn’t need to touch someone’s sleeve to jack it; it was simply part of her own gestural vocabulary. It meant, “Tag—you’re it.”

“You aim to repossess my hand?” I asked and wiggled my fingers in her grip. I pitched my voice low and calm. I looked down, submissively. If this was an Eva I didn’t know, if this Eva triggered the blast, then I was holding hands with a mass murderer.

She made her decision, gave another snort, and let go. “What would I do with your ugly old hand? Besides, I’m not done with you.” She sat down at the table next to me.

“What does that mean?”

“We both know that your mom’s been keeping you away from me. But we still have work to do, lessons to learn.”

“Don’t be mad at my mom, okay? Everybody’s mad at everybody else now. She needs to cut you some slack, but you need to be a little more...normal.”

“You say so.”

I think she intended her voice to be flat, but there was strain in it, pain as well. My left hand moved of its own volition to cup her face. She stroked my hand for a moment. Touching her felt good, despite the odd texture to her skin. I leaned forward with my eyes closed. Our foreheads touched and we sat in silent communion for what could have been just seconds or maybe minutes.

“Little One,” she said quietly. “I still have two important lessons for you but we have to be careful. Your mother is—”

“She’s afraid of you, is what she is! She doesn’t trust her own son!” I nearly shouted. My own emotions were still quite volatile.

“She’s concerned, Dana. Concerned. She’s wrong. She hurt my feelings—a lot—but she cares about you. You think you’re being treated like a child but she’s doing better than any mother I’ve ever known. Even if she’s wrong about me.”

“You know a lot of mothers, Eva?” I regretted the remark as soon I uttered it. Too late to pull it back.

Eva just looked at me for a long minute. I saw an entire childhood pass across her eyes. I saw hope and longing, disappointment and dispossession. Then anger. “One was enough,” she said, “and I know that good mothers make mistakes, but they’re always looking after their children. You got one of the best.”

“Fat lot of good it’s doing us right now.”

“Yeah, well get off your high horse, sonny boy. I have a plan.”

At that, I grinned. “A certified, grade-A Rozen Plan?”

“Exactly.”

She smiled back. Not a grin, not a grimace, but something tender that reached up into her eyes. Suddenly I just wanted her to hold me and make everything all right—like a mother does. I was confused, but beyond caring. She could have kissed me then, not a chaste kiss from a treasured aunt, but full on the lips and I would have been her lover. She could have hobbled me, and I’d have been her pack animal and carried the lifelong burden of grief she’d collected.

“Listen, Dana, listen carefully. This is important. Shit is going to hit the fan. You’re going to need help. I could tell you what to do, but you’ll learn better by figuring it out. So, I have two more assignments for you and then your schooling with me will be complete. You ace this, and there’s no stopping you.”

I tried to keep my voice steady. “What assignments?” I asked.

“A puzzle and a treasure hunt.”

“I don’t get it,” I said, but my curiosity was piqued. We were Eva and Dana again, the co-conspirators. Mentor and pupil. Hero and sidekick. Friends.

“Follow me,” was all she said.

We walked out of the conference room and down six flights of stairs to NMech’s street-level atrium. The wide-open area featured trees growing inside, nourished by full-spectrum lighting that radiated from the brightwalls. The area was littered with sofas, comfortable chairs, and small tables that created sitting groups or spots where someone could rest quietly for a few minutes in some semblance of solitude. Sound strips were built into the floors and walls for private conversations, or so that a person could play music without disturbing others. It was a favorite place for scientists to think, and for workplace romances to flourish—an NMech hotspot for productivity, of one sort or another.

At the far side of the atrium, Eva paused in front of a blank wall and palmed a spot on the wall that was indistinguishable from any other spot. The wall opened inward and led to a set of stairs. When we entered, the brightwalls illuminated automatically and we walked down to a basement and then a sub-basement.

“Wow! This is like in the old, old movies.” I was swept up in the spirit of adventure. “We should program the room to look gothic.”

“Right.”

She touched the brightwall and it illuminated in a nondescript gray, casting a pallid blanket over the room we’d entered. Hardly gothic.

In the corner of the room was a smaller room, maybe six feet by eight feet. The door opened to reveal a small table which held several items: a rolled-up dataslate, a set of old-fashioned wrenches, a pencil, a large, circular magnet, some abrasive cloth, and a square box with a button on it.

“Go on in,” she said, gesturing for me to enter first. “Here’s your first test,” she said. “You have one hour to get out of this cell and not a second more. You get one try only. You can use any one of these items,” she said, gesturing to the table. “But here’s the catch. You may touch only one of these items. You must use whatever item you’ve touched in some way. And you get only one try to escape. Let’s see how much you’ve learned.”

She asked, “Any questions?” When I hesitated, she said, “Good, because I wouldn’t have answered anyway. You’re going solo. Give me your datasleeve. Come up to my office within the hour and you’ll get it back,” she said, and walked away without a backward glance.

After I had handed over my datasleeve, she slammed the door shut. I whirled around, confused. I felt a tiny vibration in my feet when the door slammed home and a thrill of fear. What if she
did
cause Rockford and I’d just placed myself in a cage?

My cell had carbon shielding around the perimeter, and a carbon floor and ceiling. It could be harder than diamonds or as brittle as graphite. Maybe I could kick the door open or just break down one of the walls. But Eva had said that there was one way out and that I was only permitted one try.

I started by inspecting the locking mechanism on the door. I couldn’t see anything besides an old-fashioned doorknob. No visible biometrics sensors, no old-fashioned combination keypad. I reached to check how sturdy it was, but pulled my hand back. One try.

I turned to the small table. The dataslate was rolled up. Could I use it to reprogram the door? If it worked, I could. Maybe. But I couldn’t tell if it was operational. Heck, I couldn’t even tell if it was real. If only I could lift it up and examine it.

The pencil was an ordinary #2, made from old-fashioned wood. I could use it to write the Great American Novel but I had maybe 55 minutes left. Not even enough time for a short story, let alone a novel. I doubted I could create a decent three-line haiku poem in that time. But I could use it to poke at the dataslate and see if that works. Would that be within the rules?

I looked at the doorknob again and ruled out the wrenches. The magnet might work if the doorknob were metal. No dice. The locking assembly appeared to be a non-magnetic material. I couldn’t think of any appropriate use for the abrasive cloth. I couldn’t file my way out in an hour.

That left the square box with the round button on it. I looked at the device. Nothing on the outside of the box gave me any kind of a clue as to what was inside of the box, nor could I intuit anything about the doorknob and doorjamb. Was this Eva’s sense of humor?

I wondered how much time I had. With my datasleeve gone, I was cut off from the rest of the world. My pockets were as empty as my inventory of solutions for escaping from this coop. I didn’t think a lot of time had elapsed, but in the isolation of a very small room, it was hard to estimate the passage of time.