Betrayed (12 page)

“DO YOU HAVE EVERYTHING PREPARED
for tomorrow morning?”

Loki was standing at the window of the shoddy Brooklyn apartment. He stared out at the street full of boarded-up brownstones, lit only by the one street-lamp that hadn't been shattered by some bored lowlife with a rock in his hand. He could barely remember why he'd ever cared for New York. Was it because he'd been born here? Probably. But that was in his prephobosan life, a life he hardly cared to remember.

He turned back to Dr. Glenn, who was staring at him from behind the cracked desk. “
Dr. Glenn?
Are you listening to me? I asked you if we were prepared for tomorrow!” Still no reply. Loki's frustration doubled. “Doctor! What is the matter with you? Have you gone
deaf?
”Loki smashed his hand next to the window, punching a gaping hole into the cheap drywall as bits and pieces crumbled to the floor. He quickly grabbed his shaking hand and soothed the cramp out of it until the extremely annoying tremors stopped.

“I am not deaf,” the doctor said, focusing his worried, analytical stare at Loki's hand. “But I am extremely concerned, and I need you to start listening to me. You have been ignoring my warnings for the past three hours, and I hope you have noticed that the symptoms have only gotten progressively worse in that time.”

“Nonsense,” Loki spat back. “You don't know what you're talking about. A few minor cramps in my hands. My body is just adjusting to the drug.”

“Do you want me to get a mirror?” the doctor asked. “Your face is crawling with facial tics. Can't you feel the right side of your mouth twitching?”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“Haven't you noticed your complete lack of emotional control?”

“I've freed myself of fear-induced repression.”

“They're all side effects,” the doctor insisted. “
Extremely severe
side effects.”

“Stop exaggerating, Doctor, you're frustrating me.”

“Why would I exaggerate? What reason would I have to lie to you?”

“
Jealousy,
for one,” Loki barked, pounding his hand against the wall again and then latching onto it with his other hand to smooth out the tremors. “It's a natural psychological phenomenon, Doctor. I see it all the time. We insult the things we envy. We nitpick and we criticize whatever it is we cannot be ourselves.”

The doctor stepped much closer and took Loki's wrist in his hand. “Your pulse is racing,” he said.

“I'm
excited.
”Loki chuckled dismissively. “We've run into snags tonight, but things are finally moving smoothly. This will all be done with by tomorrow.”

Loki pulled his wrist back, but the doctor wouldn't let go. “Doctor…let go of my wrist.”

“Not until you take a good look at it.”

“Let go of me, Doctor…”

“Look at your wrist.”

Loki's eyes darted down to his wrist, which was trembling in the doctor's hand like a rattlesnake's tail. “I said let
go.
”Loki shoved the doctor back two feet into the opposite wall.

The doctor regained his balance and took a few steps away from Loki. “Listen to me now,” he said gravely. “Phobosan II is not even close to being ready for trial usage. In fact, judging by the inordinate speed at which the side effects are progressing, it's clear to me that the second generation of the drug is far more dangerous than the first. I strongly recommend, in fact, I
insist
that you be administered the counteragent to the drug immediately.”

Loki stepped toward the doctor with an incredible degree of menace in his eyes. “
You
do not insist, Doctor, is that clear? The only person in this room permitted to insist upon anything is
me.
And I will tell you what this mild little symptom is. It is a slight muscle spasm, that's what it is. So you will provide me with a simple prescription for muscle relaxants, and we will be done with it. I
insist.
”

The doctor took another step back and reached into the pocket of his lab coat, producing a small vial in the palm of his hand. “Please,” he said calmly. “I won't insist, then. I will only plead with you, as a scientist and as the doctor who is responsible for the current state you're in and every state that will follow. I only ask that you listen to what I have to say.”

Loki sighed impatiently and thrust his troublesome hand into his pocket to keep it still. “You've got thirty seconds.”

“Sir, please listen,” Dr. Glenn said, trying to speak as quickly as possible to stay within his allotted time. “This one vial in my palm is the last remaining vial of the counteragent that we currently have, which is
extremely
odd considering the fact that I had
two
vials only hours ago. I may have misplaced one; I don't know. But this being the last vial of the antidote only makes the situation that much more urgent. You need to understand—it takes a considerable amount of time to produce this counteragent, and I have yet to teach the exact formula to the other doctors on the team. That means this one vial is extremely, extremely valuable, and sir, given that vials seem to be disappearing, I am telling you that you
want
to take this counteragent right now before there are any incidents or accidents and there is suddenly no counteragent to take. Muscle relaxants will do absolutely
nothing
for you. And I can already predict for you what the next stage after this one will be. These spasms and tics are going to continue to progress at a rapid speed until paralysis begins to set in and then quite possibly coma, if not death. And sir, while the worst symptoms
might
not kick in for as much as a month, judging from the current rate of mental and physical deterioration, I am honestly afraid that these symptoms could set in as soon as the next twelve hours, if not sooner.”

“Yes,” Loki said with a smile. “Well, that is just precisely the point, Doctor.
You
are afraid. And
I
am not.”

“No, I don't think you—”

“I heard every word!” Loki snapped. “And now
you
will listen to
me,
Doctor. Here is what you are going to do. First, you will put that pitiful little vial back in your pocket or you can destroy it, I don't care. Then you will answer my initial question. And once you have answered that question, you will run along to your lab and you will fetch me a bottle of muscle relaxants. Is that all clear enough for you?”

“Sir—”

“
First
…you will put that vial
back
in your pocket.”

Loki took a large step toward him, and Glenn finally dropped the vial back in his lab coat pocket.

“Good.
Now,
you will answer my initial question.
Is
everything ready for tomorrow morning?”

“Sir, I just think—”

Loki's hand shot out of his pocket and lunged forward, grasping the doctor firmly around the neck as he slammed him up against the wall.
“Enough!”
he growled, pulling tighter on his neck. “You don't speak out of turn anymore. You don't talk back again. You
shut
your sniveling cowardly mouth unless you are asked a question. And
when
you are asked a question, Doctor, you
answer
it, or else I will continue to squeeze your flimsy little windpipe harder…and harder….”

Loki watched as the doctor's head shook more and more violently in his grip. He couldn't even tell if it was the doctor's pathetic fear making him shake or his own wildly convulsive hand holding his neck. Probably both.

“All right,” the doctor choked out.

“All right?” Loki double-checked. “You're ready to answer my question now?”

“Ready,”he said, his face turning a bright shade of red.

“Good.” Loki let go of the doctor's neck and watched as he nearly collapsed to the floor. “So then…is everything ready for tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” the doctor answered simply, keeping ten full paces between them and massaging his neck. “Yes, we're ready to go.”

Finally, the simple answer Loki had been waiting for. “Well, I'm glad to hear it. Fine work, Doctor. Now, get along to your lab and get me some muscle relaxants. Something nice and strong.”

“Yes, sir,” the doctor muttered submissively as he backed his way toward the door.

“Perfect. And when you're done with that, you get yourself a good night's sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow.”

Loki opened the door for the doctor and then slammed it behind him. He put his right hand back into his pocket, but then the left hand began to shake slightly. Not a problem. He was quite sure the doctor would hurry with those pills.

WHAT AN IDEAL TIME FOR A PICNIC.
Heather was at death's door. Loki was enjoying a free-range reign of terror. Ed and Gaia had sworn to stay away from each other for the night. And nurses and security guards would most likely be storming the roof shortly to arrest the two of them for kidnapping an innocent blind girl from her hospital bed. So there was really only one legitimate way to cope with that much catastrophe and doom.

Rooftop snacking. Greasy after-hours East Village fare, Cokes from the hospital soda machine, a bizarrely cold night, and a bizarrely large moon.

Gaia had sat herself down on the ledge of the desolate, tarred-over roof and clutched her potato pancake in both hands, eating it like a bunless hamburger as she stared out at the lit-up cityscape and the damn near cartoon moon. Fried grease and salty potato fluff had never tasted so delicious. Most likely because it was a gift from Ed.

Yes, Ed had “provided” for her. And Gaia was too tired to pretend that didn't feel like a very small gift from God. She hadn't known until biting into the pancake just how starved she had been, not only for food, but for just a morsel of semitraditional human caretaking.
Not
that she
needed
anyone to take care of her. But how many times was she supposed to prove that fact before its rather obvious falsehood began to seep through the cracks of reality? Tonight she was in the mood to admit—to herself, that is—that ten minutes of being cared for could induce more absurd euphoria than ten
days
of self-sufficiency. No matter how much her life seemed to suggest the contrary, Gaia was in fact a human seventeen-year-old girl-person living on the planet Earth, who needed just exactly what the rest of the human girl-people needed. And that included the occasional thoroughly unexpected offering of greasy potato fluff by someone with eyes as kind and brown as Ed Fargo's.

Moonlight on a black-tarred hospital roof, Ed scrunched up next to her on the ledge with a can of Coke, and Heather quietly munching her own potato pancake as she sat in her wheelchair and ignored the rolling IV cart hanging over her head—assuming Loki's attempts at mass extermination were far from over, this might just be as romantic as Gaia's life was ever going to get. And that didn't bother her one bit.

She found about as much identification with the clichés from romantic movies as she did with the ones from the scary movies. She wasn't exactly planning to roll down any grassy hills with Ed anytime soon, or sit out on the porch swing, or tussle in the waves of some stretch of white beach, or go ice skating hand in hand at Rockefeller Center….

Actually…

She wouldn't really have minded doing any of those things. In fact, she had to admit—to herself, that is—that she would, quite secretly, die to do any of those things with Ed. But as long as she could feel his thick shoulder leaning up against hers on the ledge…well, then moonlit black tar and predeath grease was more than enough romance.

“Mmph,” Gaia grunted, speaking cavewomanese as she held up the pancake to indicate her enjoyment to Ed. Ed tilted his head slightly and took a bite.

“Mmph,” he agreed as the two of them focused intently on the moon as if its blurred gray face was in the middle of telling some immensely entertaining story. “Now you're glad I came, right?”

Gaia kept her eyes fixed on the moon.

“Okay, I know I wasn't supposed to come,” he admitted, “but…well, I mean, you were obviously hungry, or you wouldn't be eating that thing like some Parisian wolf-child….”

“Napkin,” Gaia said, holding out her hand. Ed leaned down, pulled a napkin out of the shopping bag, and handed it to her.

She swallowed down the last of her pancake and wiped her mouth thoroughly. And then she leaned forward and kissed Ed on the cheek, hoping that would explain her sentiments regarding the breaking of his promise.

Still no words, though. She was absolutely convinced that speaking any of the sentences in her head would produce enough cheese to make a large pizza.

Ed smiled with the satisfaction of having made the right choice with his late night visit. And then he kept his eyes fixed to hers. Gaia felt another twinge of guilt looking at the little purple knot that had formed over his eye.

“I can't believe I punched you in the face,” she said.

“I deserved it,” he said. “What kind of idiot sneaks up on Gaia Moore?”

Good point.

“I've still got a few things to learn in this relationship,” he added.

He thought
he
had a lot to learn? Gaia was about as ready for this relationship as she was for…

Nope. There was
nothing
she felt less confident about than being in this real, full-blown, actual relationship with Ed that had officially restarted three hours ago. It was par for the course in The Life of Gaia: the thing she was the least prepared for had to be the thing she wanted the most.

“I…,” she began.
Cheese. Anything you're going to say. Just melted, processed, Velveeta cheese.
Now wasn't even the time for words, she reminded herself with tremendous relief. Not with Heather sitting right there in her own foggy little pancake world. “Heather, are you doing all right?” she asked.

Heather finished chewing and then stretched out her hand. The tremors in her hand were a vivid reminder of all that was waiting for them back in the real world below this roof. Gaia blinked hard and tried to stave off reality for just a few more minutes.

“Napkin?” Heather asked.

Ed grabbed another napkin from the bag and quickly stepped to Heather, kneeling before her and wiping her hand.

“I'm not
four,
Ed,” Heather uttered with a weak half smile. “I'm just blind.” She took the napkin from Ed and wiped her own hand.

“Right,” Ed replied, shaking his head with complete embarrassment.

Gaia grinned. The truth was, for all the times she had seen Heather holding forth like a queen—followed by her bevy of doting attendants and drooling football monkeys, making royal pronouncements and spouting tidbits of wisdom from the tao of Gwyneth—Gaia had never been more impressed with Heather than she was at this moment. Hunched over in a wheelchair with a rolling IV drip, wiping potato grease from her trembling hand, and
still
dropping a little attitude bomb on Ed.

“I'm okay,” Heather said, answering Gaia's question. “I like the air. And I like the food. And I
love
the company, believe me. Although Gaia…if that study in the sounds of silence is the best you can do with Ed, then you and I are going to have to sit down when all this is over and have a nice long talk about relationships.”

Gaia nearly fell off the building. Partly from a degree of red-hot embarrassment she had never experienced in her entire life and partly from sheer amazement at Heather's nonvisual perception. Once again she had failed to give Heather Gannis enough credit. She hadn't just been sitting there in a blind and withering fog the entire time. Ever since Ed had walked into that room, some or all of her had been picking up everything Gaia and Ed were saying…and
weren't
saying.

But Heather deserved so much more credit than that. Gaia could honestly say that Heather was setting a stunning example.

When Gaia had watched Tatiana wallow in the darkest brand of self-pity earlier, she had assumed there was no other possible response to Loki's satanic maneuvers. It was certainly the best Gaia had been able to come up with time and again. But here was Heather, outdoing them both. Here she was, just marching through her blind fate with a half smile and resilience to spare. Loki was no longer even an issue for her. She had simply accepted her fate. Not cursed it or hidden from it or denied it. She had accepted that she couldn't see. So much so that she could joke about it to Ed. She'd accepted the end to their seemingly endless battles for Ed's affection, platonic or otherwise. So much so that she was giving
Gaia
relationship pointers. Remarkable. How could Gaia have possibly known that Heather Gannis was in fact remarkable?

All she knew now was that she would do everything in her power to protect her. And if there
was
a counteragent…if there was a cure out there for Heather…Gaia was going to find it.

“I'm really okay,” Heather said, turning her vacant eyes toward Gaia and then back to Ed. “It's a beautiful night, isn't it? I can tell it is. I bet you can see the whole Village. You can, right? The whole thing?”

Ed stood up and looked over the ledge. “The whole thing,” he said.

Gaia could hear him savoring the city almost as much as she did. She followed his eyes and looked out over Seventh Avenue, and Greenwich Avenue, and Twelfth Street, all of it looking like a strange, tasteful carnival bathed in amber streetlights.

“Tell me what you see,” Heather said quietly.

“Greenwich is
packed.
” Ed smiled, scanning his eyes down the street. “They really don't ever sleep, do they? You never think about it when you're down there. All the outdoor tables at Dew Drop Inn are full. Five homeys on the steps of the church. Gap, Starbucks, Starbucks, Gap. The clock on Jefferson Market Library…You can see the tops of the trees in Washington Square Park—”

“Okay, that's enough,” Heather interrupted. “That's enough.”

Gaia looked back at Heather and caught a glimpse of the pain she was working so hard to keep at bay. Hearing about the things she might never see again—the things they had all three taken for granted for so long—was too much for even the remarkable Heather. And it made Gaia's heart sink.

Gaia and Ed dropped their heads and stood still in silence. If Heather couldn't see it, they didn't want to, either. Gaia did her best to literally shake it off. Maybe it was time to go back downstairs and get a little more sleep.

Ed saw Gaia shake and took a step closer to her. “Are you cold?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I just—”

“Yes,”
Heather interrupted, replacing her sullen expression with one of frustration. “Yes, she is
a little
cold. Gaia, when the boy asks you if you're cold, you say
yes.
You say, ‘Yes. I'm
a little
cold.' This leads to either old-fashioned chivalrous handing over of the jacket, or an arm around the shoulders,
or
the placing of the jacket over the shoulders and
then
the arm around the shoulders. God, what am I going to
do
with you? What
planet
are you from?”

Gaia and Ed stood there awkwardly, floating somewhere between mortified and delighted. And finally, out of deference to Heather, Gaia changed her mind.

“Yes,” she said, “I am
a little
cold.”

Ed dropped his head with embarrassment and then raised it with a smile of resignation. He removed his jacket as deliberately as possible, placed it over Gaia's shoulders, and then put his arm around her shoulders.

Gaia could feel her face turn bright red. Not because they had enacted this stupid transaction for a girl who couldn't even see, but because despite how ludicrously mechanical it had been, some very sick and diseased part of her had actually enjoyed the entire exchange. All they needed now was a porch swing to sit on. And of course, a large bucket in which to puke.

“Is his arm around you yet, Ga—”

“Yes,”
Gaia interrupted through clenched teeth.

“Well, okay, then,” Heather announced. “Much better. Now I need to go downstairs. I'm really tired….”

Gaia knew it was time to go back down. As much as she was enjoying Ed's visit, she and Heather still hadn't gotten half the sleep they needed to recover from the world's most harrowing day. It was time to go to bed.

Ed took hold of Heather's chair and led them back downstairs.

Gaia and Ed got Heather back into bed and said their simple good nights—the night had been complicated enough as it was. Finally Gaia laid her head back on the Clorox-scented hospital pillow. And she found herself saying her first bedtime prayer in ten years. It was an atheistic prayer, directed toward whoever or whatever answered the prayers of nonbelievers. She prayed that the morning would be just like this night. Because she knew the patterns of her life all too well. And the mornings were always so much worse than the nights. Always.