Placebo (37 page)

52 hours later
Friday, October 30
3:04 p.m.

“That's really nice,” I tell Xavier. We're watching CNN. They're re-airing the footage that a woman at Independence Park took on her cell phone of the guy stepping off the Franklin Grand Hotel on Wednesday. “You can't even see the cables retract, not even on film.”

“And the explosion covers everything.”

“Misdirection.”

“Yup.” He dips a cracker into his cheese spread, swipes out a sizable dollop. “People see what they expect to see. Not what's really there.”

I shake my head. “And you just rode down the elevator afterward?”

He shrugs. “I had a couple minutes to myself before anyone got up there.” He glances at the bag in the corner. “I always wanted to do that stunt. Something I came up with for your next stage show.”

“I don't have a next stage show, Xavier.”

“Not yet, dude. But I know you, and you won't be able to stay away from it forever.”

“Well, you made that look better than I ever could.”

He looks pleased.

The women and kids should be here any minute. He goes for another cracker full of cheese spread.

“I gotta ask you, Xav. What's the deal with you and cheese anyway?”

“You want some?”

“No, actually, I have a policy: I never eat anything that smells like my feet.”

“I wouldn't eat anything that smells like your feet either.”

“What I'm saying is, why are you eating cheese all the time?”

“You've heard of quirks, of course.”

“Sure.”

“Well, I felt like I needed one to be a more well-rounded individual.”

“You needed a quirk? What, are you serious?”

“Sure. It took me awhile to come up with something a little different. Subtle, a little idiosyncratic, but understated. I like cheese; it was a good fit. I'm much more interesting now. Don't you think?”

“Um. Yeah.” The news program switches to early polling numbers for next year's election. I flick it off. “Are you still planning to go to that tectonic weapons conference this weekend? You never told me.”

“I fly out early tomorrow. Donnie's coming with me. He seems to have an interest in alternative news. Fionna gave him permission. She's really keen on field trips.”

“I've noticed.”

As if on cue, there's a knock at the door. “Are you guys ready?” It's Charlene.

We join the women and four kids in the hallway and head for the elevators.

We'd decided to stay in Philadelphia for a few more days.

Some of our time had been spent, of course, in interviews with the police, the Secret Service, and the media, but surprisingly, the law enforcement officers hadn't hassled us as much as I'd thought they would. Perhaps because of what we'd been through, or what we'd
stopped from happening—the events the government was denying ever occurred.

Which didn't surprise Xavier one bit.

We'd tried to find Dr. Colette to corroborate our story, but she hasn't been seen since the funeral home incident. At first I wondered if she had perhaps been planning on helping the twins after all, but then I remembered that she'd killed Darren and I decided that was unlikely. I figured she would show up soon enough.

And so.

The president was fine. Undersecretary of Defense Williamson was facing a congressional hearing, and Dr. Arlington was in the hospital with some sort of serious infection, although details concerning what'd happened to him hadn't been released to the public. Still no idea on who Akinsanya was.

Earlier today I'd tried calling my dad as I'd promised Charlene I would do, but as I suspected, he hadn't answered or returned my call. For now, the things we all put off saying would have to wait.

As a result of the news coverage, Michelle Boyd begged me to come back to Entertainment Film Network. In addition, I received offers from four other networks to launch a new series, but I declined all the invitations.

Freelancing seemed like a good idea for the time being.

Fionna has offered to act as our tour guide, and as we emerge from the elevator she announces that we're going to visit the Pennsylvania Hospital this afternoon. “It was cofounded by Benjamin Franklin in 1751 and was the first hospital in the western hemisphere. At first they had a difficult time paying for costs, so they charged spectators an admission fee to watch operations.”

Five-year-old Mandie wrinkles up her nose. “That's gross.”

“Cool.” Donnie smiles. “That'd be awesome.”

Maddie gives him a sigh and a head shake. “You are such a boy.”

“And you're such a girl.”

“Thank you.”

We leave the hotel. No limos or executive cars today. My side still aches, but walking doesn't hurt too badly. It feels good to get some fresh air, and the Pennsylvania autumn trees are stunning.

Fionna goes on with her explanation. “There was no anesthesia, of course, so people got to choose between opium, whiskey, or getting smacked on the head with a mallet wrapped in leather to be knocked unconscious for the operation.”

“What's opium, Mommy?” Mandie asks.

“Something that's very bad for you, dear.” Fionna pauses, looks reflectively at the horizon. “Here's one: when the man thought about getting smacked on the head with a mallet wrapped in leather to be knocked unconscious for his operation, he looked about as excited as the second-place kid in the Scripps National Spelling Bee after misspelling the word
idiot
.”

“Hmm,” Xavier acknowledges. “That one I actually like.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wray. I think I'm finally getting the hang of this.”

Yesterday Fionna took us to the Eastern State Penitentiary, which is now a tourist site. When I saw the thirty-foot-high walls that were also ten feet thick, I started thinking of ways I could walk through them.

Occupational hazard.

I'd come up with two ideas at the time. Now, on the way to the Pennsylvania Hospital, I think of one more, a good one that'll work even with live audiences watching from both sides of the wall. And the top of it.

Might be a good publicity stunt to launch a new live stage show.

Charlene is by my side and says quietly, “Penny for your thoughts.”

“I think I'm going to walk through a wall.”

“Sounds fun. Will you be needing a lovely assistant?”

“I could probably come up with a way to work someone in.”

“Glad to hear that.” She takes my arm in hers. “As long as it's me.”

“There's no one else even in the running, Petunia.”

“I'm glad to hear that, Wolverine.”

The man who had shot the vest of the suicide bomber, the man who went by the name Akinsanya, had, of course, lied to Darren and Daniel about Adrian Goss. Adrian was not their father; he had known their mother, yes, but he was just a person Akinsanya had come up with to serve as another test.

He boarded the plane for Dubai, a place to hide out until he could regroup. Figure out his next step.

In the last two days, RixoTray stock had plummeted and he'd lost over four million dollars. Yes, his investment portfolio had taken a major hit, but in Akinsanya's business, money was easy to make. More significantly, because of Arlington's reckless and illegal actions, the whole telomerase research project was being brought into question.

And that really was the problem.

He took his seat in the first-class cabin.

Yes, lay low until the dust settled, then pursue the second option—The Singularity. If he couldn't use the experimental telomerase drug to extend his life indefinitely, downloading his consciousness onto a computer would.

Akinsanya looked out the window.

He was going by an alias today, of course.

After all, he'd served in the US military for thirty years, had just recently left. He was the man who had first found Darren at Fort Bragg and Daniel at Fort Benning. Akinsanya was Colonel Derek Byrne. And he was not at all done with his mission.

Cyrus opened his eyes and saw Mambo Atabei sitting beside his hospital bed.

He would have cried out for help, but the damage to his throat from the wasps was too severe. It wasn't clear if he'd ever be able to
speak again. In fact, the doctors were saying it was a miracle that the swelling hadn't completely closed off his airway.

A miracle?

Well, Cyrus didn't exactly believe in miracles, or, conversely, in curses, or in any of the spiritual forces of good or evil that religious and superstitious people acknowledged.

But honestly, he didn't like considering the possibility that there was something to Atabei's practices—or the role they might've played in Tanbyrn's death. And right now, seeing her here, he realized he most certainly did not want to find out.

Atabei assessed him. “The kind officer at the door let me through when I told him I was your spiritual advisor. I wish I could apprise you that my Loa ordered me not to perform a ceremony regarding your well-being tonight, but that would be untrue. She informed me that you had intended to kill me.”

Cyrus's eyes grew large. He tried to speak, made only unintelligible sounds. His wrists were strapped to the sides of the bed, so he couldn't press the call button beside him for help.

How?

You never told anyone!

“I just came by to tell you that so you'd know what's coming. Expectation always helps in the equation, belief plays a very important role in shaping the future.” Atabei patted his arm and stood. “Well . . . I should probably be going. It looks like I need to be buying a goat on the way home.”

Two months later

My publicity guys are truly geniuses.

The timing of walking through the Eastern State Penitentiary wall in Philly had been really brilliant. We'd finished the documentary on the events in Oregon and Philadelphia, and it aired the same night as the penitentiary special, coinciding with the week my new stage show opened in Las Vegas. We sold out the first month of the run in the first twenty-two minutes after tickets went on sale online.

We dedicated the documentary to Dr. Tanbyrn and Abina, donated the proceeds from the television special and the run of the show to the Lawson Research Center. All Charlene's idea.

I hear a knock on the greenroom door three minutes before I need to be on stage.

“Yes?”

Xavier leans in. “Jev, there's someone here to see you.” I'm about to tell him that I don't have time to see anyone right now, that he should know that, but he goes on before I can say anything. “It's your dad.”

“What?”

“He's waiting just down the hall.”

My father and I still hadn't spoken. I could hardly believe he was here. Regardless, this was not the time to talk.

At least see him, at least make plans to meet up after the show.

“Okay, tell him I'll be there in a sec.”

Two minutes.

As I leave the dressing room, I can hear music pounding through the auditorium and my blood begins to rush. This is it. What I was made to do. What I truly enjoy. Joy as evidence of God, of victory over the pain of this broken world? A place so touched with despair? Charlene believes that. I'm not quite there yet, but maybe I—

I see my father waiting for me. Slim. Salt-and-pepper hair. My features. What I'll look like in twenty-five years.

“Dad.”

“Jevin.”

He clasps my hand. Our handshake is stiff and unfamiliar.

Charlene stands near the edge of the stage. She looks at me urgently, points to the lift that will take me to the platform hidden high above the audience. I hold up one finger:
I'll be right there.

“Dad, I'm glad to see you, but could we talk later? I need to go.” My eyes are on the lift.

“I'll ride with you.”

“Um . . . okay.”

We step onto the platform. Begin to ascend. Neither of us speaks. Smoke from the smoke machine hovers in the air and curls past us in ghostlike wisps as we ride through it. Finally I break the silence. “So you got the ticket.”

“Yes. Thank you.” We ride in silence again. “So you gonna do any escapes tonight?”

“Yeah. It's a good one. I call it ‘Fire and Ice.' I'll explode above the audience”—that idea came from Xavier, but I keep that to myself—“then appear in a block of ice onstage.”

“Kinda like Blaine, when he was sealed in the ice for sixty-three hours? Or Dayan for sixty-six?”

“Well, I figured instead of standing around in there for three days, I'd just escape from it.”

I check my watch.

One minute.

We reach the platform.

“No more claustrophobia, then?”

“You heard about that.”

“Charlene might've mentioned it.”

“Oh.” I didn't know they'd been talking. “Well, I'm not sure I'll ever be over it completely,” I tell him honestly. “But you find a way to—”

“Move on.”

“Yes. To move on. Listen, after the show we can—”

“Yeah.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, looks at me. “Hey, listen. I'm proud of you, okay? You know that, don't you?”

He'd never told me that before. Not once.

“Yeah, Dad,” I tell him, because it's what he needs to hear. “Of course I do.”

Things'll never always get worse.

He smiles. “So, go do your escape. I'll be watching.”

“Okay.”

My watch tells me thirty seconds.

My father takes the lift back down as I walk onto the girder. We don't wave to each other, but he offers me a small nod. I nod back.

So, Charlene's been talking with him.

And now it's going to be your turn.

A doorway between us was opening. One worth stepping through.

Below me, the spotlights cut through the vast auditorium, swishing above the crowd, bright sabers welcoming me back home.

I clip into the system Xavier designed. The wire is invisible, as are so many of the things that support us when we fall.

The lights change and the music rolls forward, deep and ominous.

My cue.

I take a breath.

And close my eyes.

And tip into the empty air.

To make an entrance these people will never forget.