Shock Page 3

  But he wanted to call her, anyway. He had to speak to her today. Not to get in her way or push his feelings on her. Just to make sure she was okay. The whole party-packing-fighting-leaving thing the night before had been a situation of such relentless awkwardness, he hadn’t been able to relax since.

  Forcing himself to take a deep breath and try to relax while he waited for the phone to become available, Sam flopped onto the floor and started doing stretching exercises. The wounds on his back were still raw and painful, but he knew his best chance of healing was to get strong and keep his skin from atrophying into more scar tissue. He could even manage a few push-ups if he really focused. And all through his long imprisonment, there was one image that had helped Sam truly focus: Gaia. He saw her sitting on the edge of his bed, her knees drawn up, the toes of her sneakers pointing toward each other. If he worked out harder, he could even hear her voice.

  Very impressive, Sam’s inner Gaia said in a flatly sarcastic, teasing voice. What was that, half a push-up?

  Sam stretched harder, feeling his muscles scream with the effort, but his inner Gaia was right: It wasn’t hard enough. This was what he had done the whole time he’d been in that prison. Pictured Gaia to get him through the days. Used the memory of her to force himself to survive. And now he was back in the world with her. Come to think of it, this was probably none too emotionally healthy for him. But he really didn’t give a damn: Healthy or not, he needed Gaia to be with him, really with him, his girlfriend. They’d had a brief moment of perfect bliss before he’d been captured, and he knew that she could bring him back to that earlier, more innocent, less troubled version of himself. The Sam Moon who was premed at NYU and played a little chess. Who didn’t suffer from prison-flashback nightmares. Who wasn’t reduced to living in a busted-up apartment in Chinatown where the air smelled like the “fresh” fish store downstairs and the paint on the walls flaked off in lead-filled hunks.

  “You picked up the phone again!” Dmitri growled from the next room.

  “I need to make some calls,” Sam said, stopping his workout and looking up. Sweat poured from his slick skin and his breathing was labored. He was glad to have an excuse to stop, inner Gaia or not. She vanished in a poof from her spot on his bed.

  “Use your cell phone,” the old man told him, not even turning around from his post at the monitor.

  “I told you, I can’t find it. I need the phone to at least check my cell’s voice mail.”

  “I am sorry. I must get some things in order.”

  Sam stood leaning against the doorway, and observed the gnarled fingers tapping away at the keyboard. “I thought you were in that prison for a long time,” he said.

  “I was, yes,” Dmitri said impatiently.

  “This iMac is a brand-new model. Did someone buy it for you while you were inside?”

  Dmitri turned to him, giving him a baffled, hurt stare. The old guy had taken a long shower, cut what was left of his thin gray hair, shaved, and served a freedom feast for the two of them the night before, bringing in food from an old-school Romanian restaurant a few blocks away. He was no longer the frail scarecrow that he and Gaia had freed from Loki’s prison. His blue eyes had taken on a sharpness, and his muscles seemed to have gained strength overnight. But he was still an old, old man, and one who had just survived a hell of an ordeal.

  “Sorry,” Sam rushed to say, but Dmitri put up a hand to stop him.

  “No, my boy,” he said. “I am sorry. I know what it is like to be brutalized the way that you were. I know what it does to you. And I know I am not an ordinary person. All I can tell you is, the years I spent in the Organization left me with many resources. I am not the only one who has used this apartment, though it is my home. Trust me when I say there are certain things you should not know.” He shrugged.

  Sam nodded and left the room. But the truth was, he really didn’t feel any better off here than he had in his cell at the prison. At least there he’d been able to see the bars that held him inside; here, in this apartment, he simply knew that there was danger lurking outside—people trying to recapture him, maybe, or just kill him—and that his life might never get back to normal. Then there was the Gaia question. Which wasn’t really a question. It was more a screaming need that wrenched his heart the way his scars wrenched his chest.

  He kicked over a milk crate full of his clothes and muttered a stream of curses. He wasn’t in school, he had no job (what was he going to put on his resume for his lost semester—“professional prisoner kidnapped by shadowy spylike organization”?), and he didn’t even know who he was anymore. And he still couldn’t find his stupid cell phone.

  Sam

  I used to think that there was good and evil and that good would always win out over evil. That’s what we’re taught to believe, right? That’s what always happens on the cop shows on TV. The bad guy might be clever, but clang clang! Law & Order will win in the end.

  I don’t know if I believe that anymore.

  I did everything the way I was supposed to. I mean, I wasn’t always perfect. I didn’t always drive the speed limit, and if the check was wrong, the waitress wasn’t going to hear about it from me. But on the whole, I think I tried to do the right thing.

  And for most of my life it worked out pretty well.

  I don’t know, maybe I should have gone to Tufts. Because it was in my second year of NYU that everything started spiraling out of control. I start dating Heather, then she dumped me. I got seduced by Ella, this older woman, and then she disappeared, too. Classes? With all that was going on, organic chemistry wasn’t exactly foremost in my mind. And then my roommate got killed.

  And before I could say, “Prozac, please,” my entire existence was basically wiped from the earth.

  I was shot, sewn together, and cooped up in a jail cell for no reason. I got no phone call, no due process, not even a hint of what I’d done wrong…or right. I tried to train myself not to stare up into the sky, looking for a helicopter full of good guys who’d rescue me. Not to look for Superman, or Spiderman, or even Charlie’s Angels.

  Sometimes I think about this guy who lived on my floor in the dorms. He claimed to be a nihilist: someone who believes in nothing. He said no good and evil, there was no justice or crime. I thought about him a lot when I was locked up. I thought, If I can be like that, if I can believe there’s no reason or pattern in the world, then I’ll stop believing there’s hope, I’ll stop hoping for release. Because it was the hope that was killing me.

  But I never managed to believe in nothing. And you know what? Neither did the guy on my floor. Because when he got a phone call telling him his father was dead, I saw him cross himself. Even the nihilist believed, just for a moment, when things got bad enough. And I did, too. I believed I’d get out of there.

  And then I did. Okay, so it wasn’t an action hero who rescued me, it was Gaia and Dmitri. But the thing I had hoped for? It came true. That should tell me that there is good in the world, right? And that good triumphs over evil, setting the innocent free and bringing justice in its wake?

  But the big day of my rescue was just like any other day. The sun set, and it rose the next day, and I still didn’t have any answers about why this had happened to me. And I’m not any more free than I was behind bars. And worst of all, the bad guys are still out there.

  So what does that mean, Bosley?

  All I know is, the last time I felt good, the last time the world made sense, I was with Gaia. Wrapped in my sheets and feeling her strong body next to mine, watching her let go of all that tough-bitch bullshit and just melt into my arms. I want to feel that way again.

  Can being with her bring me back to that place? I don’t know. But nothing else seems to be working. I guess I’d really like to find out. I guess I need to see for myself if Gaia can bring the world back into focus for me.

  Bigger Fish

  GAIA WHIPPED HER ARMS BEHIND her and grabbed whoever had their hands clamped over her eyes. With one brisk movement she had
her attacker slammed on a library table, faceup, with her forearm against their throat, ready to rip out their…

  It was Megan.

  Her hazel eyes were wide with surprise, and she was making a faint choking noise. Gaia let go of her throat and stood up, snapping off the monitor behind her with her other hand.

  “Huccch,” Megan said, rubbing her throat and giving Gaia a confused and angry stare. She sat up on the table. “You’re such a freak. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Why did you attack me?” Gaia asked flatly. The truth was, she felt like a total idiot—she should have been able to tell the difference between a masked operative and the president of the Shakira fan club, for chrissake. And that made her even more aggressively angry.

  “I was just trying to goof around with you,” Megan snapped, her hand still fluttering protectively around her throat. “Jesus. You were so wrapped up in the computer, I thought it was funny. I was just going to say ‘guess who.’”

  “You can’t sneak up on people like that,” Gaia told her.

  “Oh, please. Would you give it up already?” Megan seemed exasperated. “When are you going to learn that you’re not fooling anybody?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, nobody buys your ‘I’m so mysterious, try to figure me out’ act. Like you’re the tormented star of some movie of the week. Everybody just thinks you’re pathetic. Your psycho party-pooper routine last night went a long way toward convincing everyone you’ve got serious emotional issues. And when I tell them you attacked me just to increase the faux mystique, your stock’ll take even more of a nosedive.”

  “Well, thank you so much for the insight,” Gaia said. “It’s really comforting to know I’m being psychoanalyzed behind my back by someone who thinks swing dancing is a sport.”

  Gaia didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. Okay, she was both. Relieved that she was fooling everybody. And insulted that they thought she was a stereotypical tortured teen. Well, at least she had a plausible cover story.

  “Why don’t you do yourself a favor and take some advice,” Megan said. “Stop assuming I’m an idiot just because I’m popular. And join a team—any team—before you become one of those lonely old people with twenty cats whose only close personal relationship is with a phone psychic.”

  “Yes, I’m sure spending time with people who share my intense interest in bowling will really draw me out of my shell and provide me with the life skills I need,” Gaia snapped.

  “Suit yourself,” Megan told her. “You know, frankly, I don’t give a crap what you do. I just felt sorry for you. When you’re a lonely thirty-year-old writing memoirs about how miserable your younger days were, like Janeane Garofolo or Margaret Cho, don’t you dare say nobody ever tried to get through to you.” She stalked off.

  Gaia stared after her. Well, well, well, she thought. Little Megan was on a mission to do some good works. I hope she gets a gold star for trying.

  Whatever. Gaia had bigger fish to fry. She still had the information in her head, which was good, because when she turned the monitor back on, she could see that the message had already self-destructed. With a few flicks of the mouse she emptied the computer’s cache, just to be on the safe side. The fun was over. Now she had to get to Midtown—fast.

  Ready to Spring

  “I SWEAR, ONE OF THESE DAYS WE’RE going to see Gaia on the cover of the New York Post, being led into a squad car in handcuffs,” Megan complained to Tatiana five minutes later. “No offense, but I don’t know how you can be friends with her. Let alone Heather. She’s totally nutso.”

  “It is not easy,” Tatiana agreed, checking her lipstick in her locker mirror. Her lilting Russian accent was still apparent, but her English improved by the day, and as it did, her shyness seemed to melt away. So much so that her position as nouvelle Heather seemed completely natural. “She can be a most unusual roommate,” she added. “Sometimes I expect to see her sleeping upside down, like a bat. Has she done something to you today?”

  “Well, yeah. I just went up to her in the library and tried to be friendly—for your sake, I guess,” Megan answered. “But she was so wrapped up in her geekoid computer world that she flipped out the minute I touched her. I mean, it was so totally over the top, I could have had her arrested for assault. She must be involved in one of those on-line role-playing games. She probably forgot about reality for a second and thought she was really Astrella, Queen of the Dark Demons.” She gave an evil titter. “Do you think she dresses up like an elven waif on the weekend and meets up with Renaissance Faire weirdos for some naughty jousting?”

  Megan let out a loud guffaw at the thought of Gaia in a green doublet and hose, but Tatiana just turned to her with a blank expression on her face.

  “What was she doing on the computer? Did you see what was on the screen?”

  “No. It was probably naked pictures of the cast of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

  “Was it e-mails? Did you see what any of them said?” Tatiana asked in a curiously intense voice.

  “I don’t know, maybe. It did look like she was reading e-mails, and she was totally focused, like they were full of secrets or something.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t see what any of them said?”

  Megan looked at Tatiana. “Jeez, no, Tat. I mean, come on, who cares, right?” She gave a little laugh, then looked expectantly at Tatiana, who fixed her eyes on her new friend for a moment longer, then gave in and laughed, too.

  “I just thought it would be such good gossip if you saw something.” She shrugged. “I never can figure out what Gaia is up to. I thought you might have seen what the big secret was.”

  “The big secret is there is no big secret,” Megan said decisively. “Are you hung over? I’m hung over huge, and I think I’m going to run to Starbucks between classes. You want to come?”

  Tatiana turned away and seemed to be staring into the black recess of her locker. Megan didn’t notice that Tatiana’s spine was curiously tense, that she was wound as tight as a coil ready to spring.

  “No, thank you.” Tatiana’s voice drifted over her shoulder. “I just remembered, there is a phone call I must make.”

  Tatiana closed her locker and stepped toward one of the wide windows that would afford her cell phone the best reception. She flicked it open, murmuring into it in serious Russian tones that seemed out of place in the teeming high school hallway. If Megan had noticed, she might have found it odd. But she didn’t notice. No one did. And after a little while Tatiana snapped her phone closed. Then she pulled a second cell phone out of her bag, checking closely to see if any messages had popped up on its small screen. Then she put both phones away and strolled down the hall as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Antitruant Rules

  The jangling bells of the alarm exploded in her ears.

  Off-Limits

  ED STRODE PAST THE LIBRARY, AND for the second time that day he caught the familiar sight of Gaia’s long, straight blond hair. His reflex reaction was to rap on the window and say hi, but he stopped himself just in the nick of time.

  When was he going to get it through his thick head—or his thick heart? Gaia: off-limits. He knew it intellectually, but the rest of him—every bit of him from the neck down, including the heart and various other regions—hadn’t yet gotten the news.

  Without realizing it, Ed leaned his head against the window of the library and sighed.

  “Oh, my goodness, who is sad today? Perhaps you are hung over like Megan. Would you like to get some coffee?”

  The musical Russian accent, the friendly voice—he hated to admit how good it felt to see Tatiana coming up to him.

  “Hey!” he said. “How are you doing? You were pretty wrecked last night.”

  “Oof!” Tatiana waved a hand in the air. “I have almost no memory of the party. My apartment is such a mess, I have to have someone help me clean. I hope you had a fun time?”

  Ed shru
gged. Actually, the party had been a nightmare: obnoxious girls, too much Sam Adams, guys who thought “woo!” was a conversation aid, and of course his horrible confrontation with Gaia after he’d found her in a love knot with Sam. He hoped Tatiana really didn’t remember much. Jeez, she’d been so drunk, she’d come on to him, and he’d been so drunk, he’d almost let her. But as he studied her face, there didn’t seem to be any awkwardness in her gaze.

  “I had a fine time,” he said. “I don’t remember much, either.”

  There. They were both off the awkwardness hook, using the age-old beer-amnesia excuse. Gosh, it was handy. Now all the awkwardness he felt was the regular old I-don’t-know-you-well-enough kind. Which was kind of okay, actually. Interesting. Possibly even a little exciting.

  “Are you going to do an intramural?” Tatiana asked him.

  “Yeah, a skateboarding clinic,” he told her.

  “Oh, that is so perfect for you!” Tatiana cried, slapping him on the arm. “And after you couldn’t do it for so long, now you’ll be teaching it to the younger students—Ed, that is really cool.”

  Now, see? How hard is it to just be happy and supportive? Is Gaia just lacking this skill altogether? This is how friends are supposed to act together.

  “I’m actually pretty psyched,” Ed admitted. He shifted his feet, feeling self-conscious, not sure if he needed to explain. “I never thought I’d be teaching anything, but when they asked me, I was just like, what the hell. I’m sure they’ll regret ever considering such a thing, especially when I take a bunch of freshmen into the abandoned pool in Williamsburg and we all get arrested.”

  “Ed, don’t be silly. They wouldn’t have asked you if they didn’t think you could do it. You’ll be a great teacher.”

  The way that Tatiana looked at Ed with her big blue eyes made him feel ten feet tall. Never mind that the eyes he’d prefer to see gazing at him were ice blue and belonged to Gaia. Never mind that Tatiana didn’t hold quite the same fascination for him—that she was sweet and funny but didn’t have quite the same spark as Gaia. Gaia had taken herself out of Ed’s circle of friends. And Tatiana clearly wanted to be in that circle. Could you blame a guy for feeling good about that? It was just the antidote Ed needed.