Elixir (8 page)

He imagines his mother crying and hyperventilating as their plane was nosediving, his father trying to appear strong for her in the next seat even though he was horrified himself. He visualizes his dad clasping his mom’s hand and telling her how much he loved her. Then the impact. His mother, at least seventy pounds less than his father, dying right away. His dad watching the life sucked from her face, alive another two minutes or so himself as the flames overtook him. That’s how it always happened in his nightmares at least.

He watches the feeding birds for a while longer, then gets up and walks to the bathroom. Urinating, he looks at the empty bottle of OxyContin in the trashcan by the toilet, Mary flushing the remaining five pills. He enjoyed them before he passed out, feeling like someone he wasn’t, escaping his mind. He pulls up his gray sweats, presses the toilet handle, and wanders back to the bed.

Visiting Netflix on his laptop, he puts on an episode of
Family Guy
, his favorite show. He doesn’t laugh. The characters don’t even sound like he’s used to, his entire sensory toolset skewed. He figures it’s because he’s depressed, things once fun now stripped of their flavor. His whole world feels barren, no excitement from anything.

He turns to a knock at the door. Aunt Mary is in the hallway, a wide beam of light behind her cutting through the darkness across the floor and up the mattress and over him. “Hey bud,” she says.

“Hey.” She comes in, sitting next to him. He puts the computer down and grasps a wooden slingshot from the night table he had since he was a little boy, a worn, chipped look to it. “What do you need?” he asks, no mood for chitchat.

“Instead of cooking, maybe we can try that burrito place again. The new one you like.”

“I don’t want to go outside. It’s cold.”

“Come on. It’s not that cold. You’re used to way worse in Pennsylvania.” Ignoring her, he catches his reflection in the mirror on the bathroom door. He aims the unloaded slingshot at it, stretches the band, and lets go, a snapping noise accompanying. “I’ll even try some of that super-spicy sauce this time,” she says, pushing his arm in a joking way, scanning him for a smile.

He remains devoid of emotion. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

“You need to get out of this room,” she says, expression shifting from playful to concerned. “One way or another. I’m going to annoy you until you do. Get rid of me quick or draw it out. Up to you.”

He fires a blank at his reflection in the glass again, then with reluctance says, “Fine.”

About an hour later a middle-aged waitress balances a tray as she maneuvers down a crowded aisle of the Dapper Devil Burrito Shack, approaching the Malones’ booth. “All righty,” she says. “Tilapia for you, no sour cream.” She slides a combo basket toward Mary. “And coffee.” She places a mug in front of her with the place’s logo on it, cartoon devil in a tuxedo. “Large Coke for you.” She sets a plastic cup of soda by Sean with the same logo, no food for him. “Enjoy.” She scurries off.

Mary scoops some guacamole with a tortilla chip and eats it. Going for a second, she asks her nephew, “Want some guac bud?”

Slumped against the wall on the vinyl bench across, he doesn’t answer, his filthy boots on the cushion, elbows on his knees. He looks around, a man in an Oakland Raiders jersey eating at the counter, a couple fighting two tables over, their waitress lighting a cigarette outside the backdoor. He turns to his aunt and says in a casual tone, “I’m dropping out of school.”

“You’re what?” Shocked, she freezes while raising the chip to her mouth.

“I’m done.”

“Sean. How—”

“I made up my mind. Nothing you can do to change it.”

“You thought of this now?”

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Why?

“I’m not getting anything out of that stupid place.”

“Please. Pause for a minute.” She pats the tablecloth by him. “You never loved it, but you never considered dropping out before. I don’t understand the sudden...change of heart.”

“Feels right.”

“Sounds wrong.” She rubs her forehead. “That’s not the type of decision you...just make.”

“I already made it.”

“Does this have anything to do with you running out of the house to go there last week? I find it a little too much of a coincidence Sean. What were you so upset about then?”

His eyes dart away. “It’s...I felt like this for a while. All right?”

She glimpses her untouched fish burrito, then him, and in a concerned-adult voice says, “I wanted to give you your space for a few days. I know you needed it. But in light of this...revelation of yours...I think it’s time to find you a good counselor. Someone you’ll be comfortable talking to—”

“I’m not going to some shrink, okay?”

“Why? Because you’ve been so mentally stable recently? Overdosing on hard drugs in your shower and almost drowning? There’s obviously something...going on with you you’re not telling me. With that college. You need to talk about it with a professional, and work it out. If you don’t, you’re bound to buy more of those Goddamn pills. I will not let that happen again. You understand me?”

An urge runs through him to confess all his secrets to her, the NSA stealing his algorithm, the dead couple in Mexico, the contract he was forced to sign. But then he considers the possibility of her leaking it, and pictures leading the rest of his life with one eye over his shoulder in fear of criminals who want what’s inside his head. His foot starts tapping, specks of dirt flaking off.

“This is not up for debate,” she says. “I’m finding you a therapist on our health insurance first thing tomorrow and booking the next available appointment. I’m forcing it as your guardian.”

“Fine. I’ll go. I got no choice I guess. But you can’t keep me at SoCal Tech. It’s college, not elementary school. You can’t force me to stay. I can leave on my own whenever I want.”

“If I don’t have legal authority to keep you in I’m going to press you as a...loving family member then. Who cares. I think it’s a big mistake.”

“Going was a big mistake.”

“Going was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” she says, her voice elevating, neighboring patrons staring. “You got a full scholarship to the best technical university in...well the world. As a twelve-year-old. Are you aware how many people would kill to have that chance?”

“I only went there because I thought I’d meet someone...you know...smarter than me or whatever. Same reason I went on
Jeopardy!
.”

She weighs that comment for a few seconds. “I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for.” He flicks the straw in his Coke, knocking it into the cup rim, watching the black liquid swirl. She eyes his disheveled appearance, stained sweatpants, crooked baseball cap, messy hair peeking out. “Finish out the semester and see how you feel then.”

“Why go back at all?” he asks in a challenging way, swinging his right hand through the air.

“Because you have a gift,” she says, stress on the last word.

“People gawking at me on national television like a circus act? Doesn’t sound like much of a gift to me.” He flicks the straw again. They don’t talk for a while, loud rock music from a nearby speaker consuming their booth.

“You leave, then what?”

“Then...I’ll figure it out.”

Leaning forward, she pushes away the salsa bowl between them and grabs his forearm. “You’ve had this ability your whole life so you’ve never been able to see it from the outside in. Don’t waste it. You have the power to do...so much. So much good.”

He breaks away from her grip. “If I was so smart I should’ve realized the plane mom and dad were getting on that morning was gonna crash. How come I didn’t know the weather was gonna change? I can answer ridiculous questions about meaningless facts, but I couldn’t figure that out.”

“You had nothing to do with that flight,” she says as if she told him countless times before. “Jesus.” She presses her fingers tight against both temples, then pulls them off. “The fact that you’re still stuck on that...”

“Being...how I am...doesn’t mean you can do anything that matters. Like predicting a disaster and saving someone’s life. It just makes you some novelty. A trivia-show spectacle. Or a number cruncher other people take advantage of.”

“That is so not true Sean.”

He fixates on the cloud of smoke around the waitress out the window. He starts torturing himself with thoughts, the inside of his chest burning. He wonders why he was born so different than the six billion other humans on the planet. With so much pain engraved into his past, he considers if it’s possible he can ever be happy again, the way he was in the picture of him and his parents in the Poconos. Or if moments like that are lost on him forever, just as dead as Billy and Jenny Malone. He feels in all likelihood they are.

A few evenings later Mary sits at the kitchen counter picking at leftover pasta, the only light the glow of the TV from the den,
Seinfeld
rerun playing, no one watching. It’s Thursday, movie night, but Sean didn’t want to go this week, two in a row. His pill mystery and dropping out have been weighing on her. There’s a physical tension to her movements, how she’s chewing her macaroni even, her jawbone protruding with each nervous chomp.

The bell rings. She wonders who could be visiting at almost ten o’clock. She wanders through the shadowy house to the front door and opens it. “Can I help you?” she asks, staring at a man she doesn’t recognize.

“Good evening ma’am,” Patrick says on the stoop in the chilly weather, five o’clock shadow, jetlagged eyes. He’s not in a suit like usual, rather, jeans and a North Face jacket. “I know your nephew and I need to talk to you both,” he says with urgency. “It’s extremely important.”

About twenty minutes later they’re huddled in the living room, the two Malones on the couch, Patrick in a chair across. Nursing a vodka tonic, Mary looks out the window, dry tears on her cheeks. Patrick and Sean just filled her in on it all, the algorithm, the real reason for the flight to DC, Operation Golden Bear, the Peltex threat to Paul Pine, the fake accusations about to land from the Justice Department. Everything. The pieces make sense to her now, why he rushed to see his professor during the news report, the OxyContin, withdrawing from SoCal Tech.

“So let’s say it works,” she says, voice hollowed and raspy from crying. “And they lie and accuse him of hacking and willful communication of so and so. Then what?”

Patrick sticks up his index finger. “For starters they’ll probably throw him in some hellhole juvenile detention center.” He extends his middle finger. “Then when he gets out they’ll limit where he can work, people he can associate with.” Last his ring finger. “To boot he’ll have a black mark hanging over him. An American traitor. Forever.”

“What’s the point of putting him through all that?”

“The conviction would destroy his credibility. So if he were ever to come out with information against Pine and Peltex in the future, nobody would pay much attention to it. They’d dismiss Sean as some...crazy anti-American hacker, spinning lies so he could get back at the Secretary for busting him on the sale of government data to the Ukrainians. It’s a dirty, old-fashioned political move.”

A few moments pass. “So we just hang around and wait for him to do whatever he wants?” she asks. “We have money from the game show. We’ll hire a lawyer. The best.”

“A lawyer is one route,” he says, setting his drink on the coffee table, using her
Good Housekeeping
magazine as a coaster. “But if you want to take this to a public court and fight Pine’s lie with the truth, you have to keep in mind the truth can come back to bite...maybe even worse than the lie. If it gets out that a fourteen-year-old kid was able to get the attention of the United States Secretary of Defense with a formula, it would be pretty apparent this was some special formula. Every cyber criminal in every hole around the globe would want to know the math Sean does so they can use it. He’d be a walking bull’s-eye for...kidnap, extortion, you name it. For the rest of his life.”

The room is hushed, Sean and Mary both in a daze, the bleakness of their options sinking in. Patrick taps his knuckles on the table, capturing their attention. He swings his green eyes to her, then Sean. With an undertone of optimism Patrick says, “There is something else though.” A pause. “It’s not conventional and you don’t have to go along with it. But in situations like this...it does work.”

“What?” she asks, shrugging.

He reaches under his coat, sliding out a thick white envelope. He places it on the glass table. “You disappear.” The overhead lamp shines on it, throwing a soft-edged rectangular shadow on the tan carpet below.

“Disappear?”

“I explained the situation and Sean’s innocence to a buddy of mine in the FBI. I convinced him to put together profiles for both of you. The papers inside cover everything. New names, backgrounds, all of it. Obviously, Sean’s the only one that needs protection, but with him being so young, I assumed you’d want to go too. As opposed to him getting paired with a foster family.”

“It’s a completely different identity?” she asks, fingers raking through her uncombed hair.

“A fresh start.”

“This is the only way around it?”

“If you stay, when the charges hit, Sean’s life as he knows it will be turned on its head anyway. He’ll be stamped a US enemy. Someone who exposed secret government files to foreign fugitives. And since he’s a public figure from
Jeopardy!
, the media will have a field day with it. He’ll still end up with a new identity. An ugly one. If he goes with the FBI program on the other hand, yes, he’ll still have a different identity, but it’ll be one for him to craft at his own will. No black marks.” He puts his hands in a praying position and shakes them at her, urging her to heed his words. “My friend from the Bureau can guide you through the whole process. His number is inside. I suggest you both discuss this tonight, think about it, and if you want to move ahead...give him a call tomorrow. Don’t wait any longer than that.”

“Where would we live?”

“Most people go with Europe or South America. The choice of cities they can relocate you to is phenomenal. You have a lot of places to choose from.”