The Leap, page 27
“Do you?”
“There are students, and Dorian could pick up a lot of my work. But nothing’s as important as this. I’ve lost interest in everything else I was working on anyway. Not sure how I can go back to it after we solve the leap. Stop it. Find a cure. A prevention. When I think of all the infected computers I’ve destroyed . . .”
“We should be destroying all the computers at the Normandie, shouldn’t we? Have them destroyed, I mean. Convince the tenants it’s in their best interests. It’s not like anyone there wouldn’t be able to afford to buy a new one.” Sean shut down the part of her mental dialogue that was about to list all the things she couldn’t afford to buy right now.
“Yes, it’s something we were discussing—out at Beryl’s, I mean. That’s the consensus. Our best shot at shutting this down before it goes any further is to destroy the source. Although we have no idea how far the virus has spread now. It seems likely it’s on all the computers at Pierce Sangstrom—”
“Well, they can certainly afford to replace all of them.”
“But, Sean. They have offices in several cities. Who knows how far this has spread? And. Hell. Look at all these people. You think the river is out there somewhere? Past the seething masses?”
“Must be.”
Sean and Jonathan Lee tried to work their way through the crowd, but couldn’t do it. People were hundreds-deep on the lawn. Everyone, it seemed, was wearing a black ribbon tied around their arm, their wrist, or some of the women were wearing them around their necks, the ribbon ends trailing across their chests and shoulders and floating in the breeze.
Jonathan Lee leaned down and whispered to Sean. “Didn’t we rate one of these ribbons?”
“Maybe they ran out.”
“Mighty poor planning.”
“This is no time for sarcasm.”
The crowd’s murmurings came to an abrupt halt. The people near the front must’ve seen what was going on. Sean and Jonathan Lee could see only the hundreds or thousands of people in front of and around them.
“To all of Althea’s friends, colleagues, and—Althea, I will admit this, because you would appreciate it—lovers, thank you for coming today.” The voice seemed to be emanating from a distant galaxy. It must’ve been Charley Pierce speaking. Some whispers wound through the gathering. Althea’s lovers? Had there been that many? And if Morris Walls was here, it’d be a miracle if Sean would be able to spot him.
“Thank you for coming to see Althea off. We’d never discussed what either of us would want at such an occasion.”
Charley Pierce paused and coughed. The murmurs picked up again as he remained silent.
Sean wished she could see him, because every telltale gesture, movement, tic, every word he spoke, every pause—it would all add up to form a picture of who this person was, of what he might be capable of. To help her discern if he was the mastermind behind the leap.
After years on the joukko, Sean had come to the conclusion that anyone was capable of anything, with perhaps the exception of someone under the age of one. Even a two-year-old could be capable of atrocities, although they wouldn’t understand it, wouldn’t know what they were doing, what they’d caused, what it meant and would mean. How it would affect anyone else. Sean had worked on such a heartbreaking case.
She shook her head, listened as Charley Pierce started speaking again.
“What I’m trying to convey is . . .” He coughed and paused again.
Sean wondered if Charley Pierce were holding back tears. Well, just because he might be upset now didn’t mean he hadn’t killed Althea. He could be upset at the thought of being caught. Or have some remorse. Or feel threatened by someone in attendance. Or be a good actor.
“You see, Althea—I never thought she’d die. Today though. And. She’d be so angry she missed this.”
Small bursts of laughter pulsed through the gathering, and the murmurs started up again then stopped the moment Charley continued.
“She did love drama. You’d almost have to think she’d arranged to die this way, in such a dramatic fashion. I mean, if she had to die. Which . . . I can’t . . . I’m not . . .”
Sean heard Charley sob and turned to look at Jonathan Lee. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. Pierce sobbed again, followed by the distinctive sound of his mic turning off.
As Charley Pierce’s silence became more and more excruciating, the murmurs picked up volume, then became whispers. The whispers turned into speech, the words washing through the gathering in surging waves.
They were such a wonderful couple. Always so close. She had everything. Say, what did she die of anyway? I heard she was in Lukas Adler’s bed when she got sick. I had her once. She thought she was the world’s best lover, and maybe she was. Were you at the party in Osada? The one Althea had after she won the award? Her gown covered only a few, uh, select areas. Stunning. If Althea Pierce can die so young, and, say, was she sick a long time? Some kind of infection. I just came for the bonfire. Only worked with her once and vowed I’d never do it again. Hey, did you hear if they’ll be serving anything? I’m starving.
Charley didn’t speak again but the crowd was silenced by a powerful whoosh. Sean and Jonathan Lee couldn’t see anything but they could feel the heat from the fire that must’ve been lit. The crowd started moving, the heat in front driving them back.
The wind picked up then and the fire roared. Sean’s face burned with the rush of heat and she could finally see the flames arcing into the sky above the crowd. Someone pushed into her and she fought for balance as more people streamed past her, desperate to escape.
Jonathan Lee held tight to Sean’s hand, leaned down, and shouted into her ear, “Run.”
Chapter 39
Except for Jordan Fields, who’d had an unexpected reaction to the virus and hadn’t been able to report back to Juno, as she’d planned—although at least Fields wasn’t blabbing about Juno to the detective Juno thought she might’ve spotted at the back of the crowd—but, except for Jordan, everything, including some unintended developments, was proceeding well.
As difficult as it was for Charley Pierce, who’d broken down into tears over Althea’s death, it wasn’t any more difficult for him now than every day since Charley had walked out on her had been for Juno. Not days, years. And Juno had made it all worse for herself by staying with Pierce Sangstrom, by clinging on to Charley with their regular, dispassionate meetings, which were a sort of self-inflicted torture for Juno.
She was innocent. She congratulated herself. The deaths weren’t her responsibility. She’d created the virus—and she was concerned her authorship would soon be discovered, since who else was capable of such an extraordinary feat?—but she hadn’t created it to kill anyone. Not that she cared even somewhat about anyone who’d died or was ill, and as she watched the flames rise from Althea’s pyre, Juno had to suppress a smile. Althea was gone. Juno’s path was clear, free, open. Her only impediment had been eliminated.
Juno’d been absent from public life for so long that no one at the funeral recognized her or, if they did, they were too afraid to approach her. Either was fine with Juno. She had no desire to socialize with anyone other than Charley, and that was hardly socializing. That was living itself.
Charley was on his hands and knees, staring up into the pyre, his face lit red by the heat and flames. Juno, who’d been standing near the front and at the far side, away from Charley, was roasting in the heat. Someone pushed into her and she was turned around to see the massive crowd fleeing en masse from the riverfront.
She looked back at the pyre, only the pyre had disappeared. In its place was an indistinguishable stretch of the riverfront, engulfed in flames and billowing smoke. Where was Charley?
Juno inhaled a lungful of smoke and spat it out. She had to find Charley. She’d rescue him and he’d finally see she wasn’t just the genius behind Pierce Sangstrom’s success, she wasn’t just Charley’s business partner, she was Charley’s life partner.
As she walked toward the river, toward the towering mass of fire and smoke that Althea’s funeral pyre had become, Juno’s hopes rose.
Charley would come to her, embrace her. In his broken-down grief over Althea’s death, he’d reach for Juno. Yes. Charley would crawl to Juno as she stood strong against the increasing wind, against the building flames. Sparks and ashes flew into Juno’s face. Her hair was singed. Pieces of Althea’s corpus were scattered across her floral-patterned dress.
Charley, with his arms around Juno’s knees, would beg Juno to come back into his life. To live with him. To be the lover he needed and wanted more than anyone. He’d still be sobbing but his tears would be for the years he’d wasted, for the life he and Juno could have always had if only he hadn’t had the misfortune of meeting Althea Livesy.
But Juno couldn’t see him. The smoke was impeding her view of everything. The heat was intense. She felt something burning and looked down at the hem of her dress, which had caught fire. A spark, probably. She bashed her hands onto it, put it out. Ran to the river. Charley would be there at the safest place. She’d meet him there. She’d rescue him. No. He’d rescue her.
The river. Where was it? Juno couldn’t see.
“Get down.” Someone’s voice shot through the flames.
Juno got down. Yes, it was better here on the ground, underneath the chaos above.
Althea deserved to die. She was a murderer. Juno’d practiced the explanation: Althea’s additions to the program were the cause of all the deaths and illnesses. Althea was just the type of person who’d do something like this even if she didn’t really possess the knowledge or expertise. She might’ve been clever, but she’d merely stumbled onto something and it had turned lethal. How dare she interfere with Juno’s masterwork. Yes, it sounded right.
Juno crawled in what she thought was the direction of the river.
She’d glimpsed Hirata with Althea a few months earlier and knew they had a connection. Althea had probably had a so-called interlude with him.
Hirata had once asked Juno to have an interlude with him. As though she knew him. Just because they both lived at the Normandie. He’d come on to her but she didn’t want him. He had a regular something-or-other, something more than a mere interlude, with that despicable woman who lived down the hall, Ziva Walls. Juno had refused Hirata and he’d brushed it off, like a refusal from Juno Sangstrom was unnoticeable. Yet Juno had had to admit to herself that he was unbearably attractive, stirring a pulsing need inside her.
Juno decided that Charley’d left his computer on and Althea had seen the program, realized it was something important, hacked away at it, and killed herself in the process. This explanation had depth and an air of truth to it even though the actual truth was more interesting. But this would do.
Juno’s hands finally found something that wasn’t the broiling ground. But even the water was heated. Yet it was safer here. Juno pushed off into the river and started swimming for the other shore.
She turned to look behind her. From the river, the sight on the shore was extraordinary. The colossal funeral pyre was collapsing into smoky ruins while all around it the ground was in flames and the trees at the perimeter were now engulfed in the increasing inferno as well.
To escape the pervasive heat, Juno went under the water. When she emerged, she came face-to-face with Charley Pierce, whose cheeks and forehead were smeared with soot. His tears had been washed away. He was the Charley Pierce she’d met at Keff, his original self, untainted by his marriage to Althea. The Charley Pierce she’d lived with, purified by the rituals of fire and water.
Her fantasy was coming true. She was going to rescue him.
“Juno.” He said her name. He wasn’t pleading with her yet, but he would be. Juno watched the moment unfold as she lived it.
“Charley”—she was panting in the thick, fiery air—“we have to get to the other shore.”
“You think I’m going to let you get there? If I could’ve planned this, I would have.”
“Charley, you don’t know what you’re—”
He grabbed her shoulders and Juno closed her eyes, searing every sensation into her memory—the smoke, the raging fire, the heat in the water, the moment when Charley Pierce understood just how important Juno Sangstrom really was to him, to his life and his happiness.
“I’ve been trying to work this out,” Charley said.
He would declare his love for her, that he’d always loved her. She waited, his hands on her shoulders, the two of them treading water here in the river. Althea reduced to ashes. The crowd dispersed. Charley and Althea’s Tuigen about to be consumed by the conflagration. She tried to lift her arms to put her hands on his shoulders, but Charley was pressing into her arms and she couldn’t move them.
“How you can receive the punishment you deserve without Pierce Sangstrom being destroyed in the process.”
“Charley, I don’t know what—”
“Murderers deserve their punishments, Juno. It doesn’t matter who delivers them.”
“No, Charley.”
“When I realized what you’d done I couldn’t see my way around it. But you’re right here in front of me. I’ll explain it was an accident. I was trying to rescue you.”
“You don’t have to rescue me, Charley. I—”
“But I want a confession first.”
Charley had never been romantic with Juno, not even when they were younger and living together. But now he was asking Juno to bare her heart, her soul, her very reason.
“Charley, I love you. It’s so good you want to—”
The pressure on her shoulders increased and the water was over her head. She hadn’t taken a breath and now she was struggling, kicking out, trying to get to the surface. Charley didn’t realize what he was doing. She couldn’t breathe and felt the water seeping into her mouth, into her lungs.
Charley pulled her back to the surface and she gagged, spit up water, shook her head.
“Charley, I couldn’t breathe.”
“I want your confession,” he said again.
“How many times can I tell you? I love you, Charley Pierce. I always have. I confess. I loved you before you noticed me, before we worked together. When we sat on the couch and I helped you—”
“I want your confession.”
Juno had never, even in her most complex fantasies, imagined Charley Pierce could be this romantic. That he’d beg her to tell him over and over how much she loved him. That they’d be this close to death—to a fiery corpse and to their own approaching ends, here in the heated river—and that he’d want nothing more than to hear Juno’s loving words.
“Charley. I don’t know how else to say it.”
She tried to lean forward to kiss him, but his hold on her shoulders kept her in place.
“Say it the usual way, Juno. The way any murderer would. Say it.”
“I—”
The water closed over her head again. Juno felt the pressure on her shoulders increase. Charley was disoriented. The funeral, all those people, the out-of-control bonfire. Now he was struggling and didn’t realize what he was doing. Juno started breathing in the water. She’d never thought she’d have to die in order to save Charley, but if she did, then she would. Just as she was surrendering herself to a martyr’s death, she was pulled back to the surface.
“I’m not letting you off this easily, Juno Sangstrom.”
Bliss. Hearing him say her name. Juno puked out a liter of water.
“I’d do anything for you, Charley. I don’t need to say it. It’s true. You know it.”
“I want your confession. I want to hear you say you killed Althea. Say it.”
“Charley—I—” She must have misunderstood what he was saying. The spreading fire, pushed around by what was now a heavy wind, distorted his words.
“Althea. Charley, she’s gone. We have our future together. Finally.”
Something plunged into Juno’s stomach. Was Charley kicking her?
“That’s—”
“I’m asking one last time. Confess that you killed Althea. I want to hear you say it. Look at me.”
Juno looked into Charley’s eyes. The reflection from the fire on the shore had turned them orange. The current was pulling them downstream.
“Althea killed herself.” Juno loved saying that. It sounded better than it had in her imagination. It sounded better than the truth.
“I’m not letting go. You might as well say it before you’re finished.”
“She killed herself, Charley. I never meant it to—”
She was underwater again. She kicked out, tried to push against Charley, but the water was becoming familiar, almost pleasant. It was cooler down here. She’d told Charley the truth—her unending love and devotion—but it hadn’t been good enough. She wasn’t supposed to die today. This was the day Charley would love her.
Something wrapped itself around her, under her armpits, an embrace. The world became brighter. She was breathing, gagging, struggling. Not the calm death she’d anticipated.
“You’re safe now. Only a few more minutes.”
Charley’s voice had changed. Was this an effect of death? Juno could see the sky, clouds, a too-bright sun spreading across the horizon, igniting everything in its path.
Lying on the sand. Hands pressing into her.
“Breathe.”
She breathed out the river that had become part of her. She breathed in life.
When she looked up, it wasn’t Charley’s face she saw but the face of someone she recognized—someone anyone would recognize.
“You’re going to be fine,” Lukas Adler said. “Take it easy for a bit.”
Chapter 40
“Juno has outdone even herself. If people weren’t dying I’d be begging every awards committee in the field to honor her.”
Hal Ledyard had spent the last twenty-four hours locked in what had been Beryl’s bedroom, the shades drawn, the lights off, doing nothing but working on his scroll, poring over the code as he delved into the leap virus. The group’s suspicions, that Juno Sangstrom had created the code, had to be correct. No one else was capable of this and, anyway, the code—most of it—was written in Juno’s invented language.
