Wild Sky 2 (29 page)

“Maybe it’s not your imagination. Maybe that’s the D working,” I said.

“Or that.”

We were silent then, just walking in the darkness.

But then Cal sighed and said, “My vision’s crazy good right now. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to see so well, even in the dark. I keep thinking, this must be what it’s like to be you. Or Dana. And that thing with the numbers? That would be insane if I could just burp out winning lottery numbers.”

“If you’re prescient,” I reminded him, “you don’t get to pick which numbers you
burp out.
Five five four three could be the combination on Hobo Joe’s bus station locker. Congratulations, you just won a pair of socks that haven’t been washed in twenty-eight years.”

Cal laughed but then quickly sobered. “There’s a pretty intense Would You Rather question happening here.”

“Hobo socks or the lottery?” I quipped. “That’s not a hard one for me.”

“No,” he said, “I meant,
Would you rather get injected with Destiny, walk again but die young, or live in a chair and still die young?
”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Not without bursting into tears.

“Man, would it be bad if I said that I wish I could stay like this?” he asked me.

I cleared my throat because crying wasn’t going to help. “I’d think there was something wrong with you if you
didn’t
want to stay like this,” I told him. “But you can’t. Not exactly like this. Not without turning into something…bad.” When I looked at Cal again, I knew he was thinking about Rochelle, too. Or maybe more precisely, about the awful lack of humanity in the D-addict’s eyes.

“But maybe,” I continued, “if you do the thing that Morgan wants to try, the detox procedure, you get to keep some of it. Not the numbers-burping prescience. And maybe not even the sharp night vision. But maybe the Destiny has healed your back. Maybe, after detox, you’ll still be able to walk. Maybe you’ll get to keep that.”

Cal was already shaking his head. “I don’t know why, but I don’t think so,” he told me. “Or maybe I just don’t believe I’ll survive. I won’t walk after detox because there’s no
after detox
. At least not for me.”

I didn’t want to question him, certainly not about any prescient signals he might be receiving. I knew firsthand what it was like to have people not believe me when I said I knew something was true, with nothing more than a gut feeling to back me up. Instead I asked, “But what if that’s just—how did Morgan put it—
the monster
talking?”

Cal was silent at that, looking over at the single wan porch light on what had once been the Rodriguez house, where little Sasha had lived with her parents.

All of her father’s awesomely artistic and brightly colored sculptures had been removed, and the house had been repainted a far more staid beige. A “For Sale” sign lurched crookedly on a bent wire frame jammed into the shells of the newly xeriscaped front yard, and I noticed with a pang that someone had recently added a bright-red “SOLD” banner to the bottom.

It was the death knell for my hope, and tears filled my eyes.

Cal put what I was thinking into words. “You knew they weren’t ever coming back,” he said quietly.

I nodded because he was right. I had known that, deep down inside.

“You’ll get to see Sasha tomorrow,” he reminded me. “Say
hi
for me.”

He’d been planning to go, too, but I realized now that he couldn’t. Sasha would know from just one look that Cal was now a D-addict, and that would terrify her.

Shoot, it terrified the crap out of
me
, and I wasn’t nine and on the autism spectrum.

“You really think…” he started to say, but then stopped.

“Just say it.”

“You think I’m a monster?” His voice was so low I could barely hear him.

“No,” I said, stopping and turning to face him. “Lord, Cal! No! But I think—no, I
know
that Destiny will turn you into one. That’s just how it works.” I kept going because I knew he was really listening. “And I also know your only chance is to at least find out more about this detox thing. I trust Morgan—I don’t know why, but I really do. I trust him more than any doctors up in Boston. I trust Dana, too.”

When I said Dana’s name, Cal’s face erupted into a megawatt smile.

“Promise me you’ll leave the option open,” I pushed.

He nodded. “Okay.”

And then, as we started walking again, I changed the subject because even with all this crap happening, Cal was still my best friend. “So. You. And Dana.”

I didn’t think it was even humanly possible. But Cal’s smile actually grew wider.

It was contagious, and I actually grinned, too.

“Me,” he said as he nodded his head. “And Dana.”

“I
knew
she had a thing for you,” I confided.

“And you only share this with me now…?” Cal’s voice went up an octave.

“I’m pretty sure I told you,” I countered.

“I thought you were kidding! I mean, you never said,
Calvin, I am not kidding!
”

“Well, it
was
more of a
guess
than a hundred percent
know
,” I admitted. “I mean, she’s
Dana
.”

“Yes, she is,” Cal said. “And I sure as hell didn’t think I stood a chance with her—especially since, up until recently, I couldn’t stand at
all
—literally.”

“Are you kidding?” It was my turn to do the higher-voice thing. “Dana never saw the wheelchair when she looked at you. All she saw—all she sees—is you. And you’re awesome.”

I could tell he didn’t believe me. “Well, now she doesn’t have to pretend not to see the wheelchair.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, stopping again, this time in front of my next-door neighbor’s house. “
When
was it that you and Dana shared your first very,
very
special pizza? I do believe that was
before
you started walking around. Let’s check the video, John. Why yes, yes it
was
. Check out the way neither Dana nor Calvin can quite look me in the eye as they come back into the playroom after enjoying said
special pizza
.”

Cal was laughing again. “That pizza was private,” he protested. “I can neither confirm nor deny—”

“You fooled exactly no one,” I told him. “Okay? And it’s very gallant that you won’t share details, but as your best friend, I just have to make sure that in addition to, ahem, pizza, ahem, consumption, you and Dana actually had a conversation. I mean, beyond discussion of personal preferences for things like, oh, extra cheese?”

Calvin was cracking up. “This is getting way too creepy, but yes, we’ve talked. A lot.”

“And you’re both on the same page?” I asked.

“Thank God we’ve moved from pizza to books. And yes, same page. Same paragraph, in fact. But no, I’m not telling you anything else about anything, other than the fact that the
page
we are both on, together, completely, is wonderful and great—and that I might be a tiny bit in love with absolutely everything about her.”

I smiled. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“Wait.” Cal narrowed his eyes. “If you try to steal my woman, I will unleash the full fury on you, with superfast lightning speed!”

I laughed. “What I
meant
was that I know how you feel because that’s how I feel about Milo.”

Cal nodded, his eyes still narrowed, as he played out the joke with a little
I’m watching you
hand gesture.

“Bottom line?” he continued, his tone still light. “If this Destiny crap ends up killing me, it’s not like I haven’t done pretty much everything I’ve ever wanted to do.”

My heart lodged in my throat. “Except live happily ever after with the girl of your dreams, who really doesn’t care whether you walk or roll, as long as you’re alive,” I pointed out.

“So why is it then,” Cal said, suddenly quiet and intense, “that you’re trying to kill me?”

I didn’t know what to say to that—in fact, the expression on his face took me aback. But then it was gone or maybe I’d imagined it, because he smiled with his regular warm Calvin smile as he added, “That’s what detox is all about, right? Stopping my heart? You guys kill me and then bring me back, allegedly Destiny free?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“Although my chances of surviving are zero point zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero one,” he said.

“That’s way too many zeros,” I said.

“Any zero is way too many,” Cal pointed out. “These odds are not good, but I know you, and you’ve got to cling to hope, so go big and cling with your clingingest clingosity. But you also need to know that whatever happens, I love you, and I don’t blame you for this. It wasn’t your fault that I got injected. It wasn’t Dana’s fault; it wasn’t even Jilly’s—if it’s anyone’s, it’s Rochelle’s for cooking Destiny in her closet.”

I nodded, trying hard not to cry.

“But I meant what I said before,” Cal continued. “I love feeling like this. I feel healthy, I feel good, nothing hurts, and God, I
really love
walking. I’m in control; I’m still me; I’m still okay, so promise me you won’t let Morgan kill me too soon, a’ight? Because I think that’s really what his
procedure
is. It’s a kind of…what’s it called? Assisted suicide. I agree to do it, knowing that I’mma die, but that at least I won’t die ugly, all jokering and nasty-ass sociopathic—killing you guys, too.”

I shook my head. “You’re wrong. It’s your only chance to live!”

Cal chuckled quietly. “You still have hope that the detox will work. That’s kind of adorable, and whoa, that came out a little asshole-ish, but I didn’t mean it that way. I really do appreciate it. I just don’t think it’s very realistic and… Look, I better get back.” He bounced on his toes, once, twice, three times, and said, “I’ll wait here while you go inside. Don’t want to freak your moms out by walking you to the door.”

“Yeah, we definitely don’t want that,” I agreed, and as I walked up my driveway and then up the stairs to my front stoop, I glanced back to see Calvin doing a little dance on the sidewalk.

“It
will
work,” I called to him as I unlocked my front door. “I know it.”

He shrugged expansively. “And I know it won’t. You’re not the only one who
knows
things like that. Not anymore.” He sent me a salute before turning and running back to his house.

“Sky? Is that you?” Mom called as I locked the door behind me.

I resisted the urge to call back,
No, it’s a serial killer
. “Yup,” I said instead as I wiped my eyes and braced myself for an hour or so of pretending that my life was normal.

Chapter
Seventeen

“I’m assuming you have the money you owe me in cash, in small bills,” Morgan said quietly to me the next morning as I sat between him and Garrett in the waiting room of an obstetrician’s office, on the eastern edge of Coconut Key, out past the interstate.

The fact that we were meeting Sasha in the medical office of a doctor who specialized in delivering babies had created some confusion when we’d first walked in—not just for us, but for the receptionist, too.

“Are you here for your first prenatal appointment?” she’d chirped as we’d approached the front desk, looking expectantly from Morgan to Garrett and adding, “With the baby’s father…?”

Garrett and I had responded with loudly exclaimed horror. I’d shouted
Omigod no!
He’d shouted
I’m not the father! I swear I’m not!
Morgan stayed calm and leaned in to say quietly that we were here to see Sasha. He then led us over to a line of chairs where we all sat down to wait.

I realized then that we were here because Sasha’s parents weren’t comfortable giving out the address where they were staying, not even to me. With the enormous media coverage of Sasha’s disappearance and the false murder accusations hurled at her father, they were all still in hiding from the press.

And then, of course, there was the need to keep Sasha safe from future abductions. We didn’t talk openly about that or the fact that the little girl was a Greater-Than, but I’d stressed to Sasha’s mom—over and over again on that day Cal and I had brought Sasha home—that it was vital the Rodriguezes kept Sasha hidden.

It was actually kind of nice to know that I’d been taken very seriously. Because no one would expect to find Sasha here.

I swore under my breath at Morgan’s mention of payment. “I knew I forgot something. Dana has the money. I’m sure. It’s just that, in the chaos, with everything happening with Calvin—”

“The deal that Calvin and I agreed to, via email,” Morgan said coolly, “was cash in my hand, half in advance”—he held out his right hand—“and half”—he held out his left hand—“at the meeting with Sasha.”

Both hands were noticeably empty.

“Plus there’s the matter of the money you owe me for last night,” Morgan added. “I didn’t push it because of the ‘chaos.’” He made air quotes around the word.

I glanced over at Garrett, who was staring in horrified fascination at the posters on the wall depicting the female reproductive system, as well as the cutaways that showed a baby in various stages of development in an ever-expanding womb. Sex ed had been banned for years in most schools. And although the Academy still covered the very basics of human reproduction in honors biology, I was pretty sure Garrett wasn’t in that class. It was possible he was getting his very first look at a uterus.

I nudged him. “Dana has the money, right?”

“What? I don’t know,” he said.

“The money from the other day,” I reminded him, “when you pawned all that stuff from your attic…?”

“I’m pretty sure we used the last of the cash,” Garrett said very unhelpfully, “to buy that GPS tracking device that Milo wanted.”

“What GPS tracking device?” I frowned. Nobody had told me anything about any GPS tracking device.

Garrett shrugged. “Do I look like I know? All I know is Milo asked and Dana handed it over, saying something about how that was it, that our stash of cash was gone.”