The Retribution of Mara Dyer (32 page)

He takes a step closer to me, but not close enough to matter.

“I thought you were ready to be the man your mother hoped you would be, but I see you’re just a child, who would burn all his gifts because he can’t have the one he wants.”

“Put it down.” Mara’s tone has changed. She is begging me now. Desperate. But my hand doesn’t move.

“The syringe contains sodium pentobarbital, which will stop Mara’s heart. The knife is the one method you’ve always . . . preferred. And that gun you’re holding to your head has only one bullet.”

He’s so sure I won’t do it. Doesn’t care whether I do.

“Please,” Mara says.
“Please.”

I barely hear her. All I can think is that I am nothing more than a tool to him. But a tool can’t work if it’s broken.

I pull the trigger.

58

BEFORE

London, England

T
HE PROFESSOR PICKED UP ON
the first ring.

“Get here
now
,” I said. “David keeps threatening to call an ambulance.”

“Don’t let him—if anything changes, I can’t predict the outcome anymore. The ambulance might crash before the child is born. It could die while still in the womb.”

“She’s bleeding,” I said to him. My clothes were damp from the evening drizzle, and I hugged myself to stave off the chill. “It’s bad.”

“She’ll survive.” The professor’s calm was maddening. It always has been. “He’ll come when he’s ready,” he added.

That’s what Naomi said. “Look, I’d feel a bit more comfortable if I had some assistance? Unless you’re busy with something
more important than the potential future of the human race, or whatever it is you’re fucking around with here?”

The professor refused to be baited. “She lives. He lives. It has to be this way, Mara.” But before I could argue, I heard Naomi scream.

“Come,” I ordered him. “Come now.” I hung up the phone and rushed back into the room.

Naomi was still in bed, propped up against several pillows. Wisps of her blond hair were matted to her forehead and her pale cheeks. She looked at me with glassy eyes but managed a wry smile.

“I think my water finally broke.”

I looked down. A red stain blossomed beneath her.

“I’m calling the ambulance,” David said, his expression a mixture of wrath and terror. He’d wanted to call one from the beginning. He’d wanted Naomi in the hospital, a controlled environment. Protected. He rushed to the door and shot a dark look at me over his shoulder. “Stay with her.”

As if I would leave now, after everything. But of course David didn’t
know
everything. He barely knew
anything
.

“This.” She paused to breathe. “Sucks.” She tossed her tired head back against the pillow. “How come no one told me how much this would suck?”

“I believe I did, actually,” I said.

“It feels like he’s trying to chew his way out.”

I managed a small smile. “You’re so weird.”

“I’m fascinating. There’s a difference.” She breathed shakily and opened her eyes. The humor had left them. “I’m really scared, Mara.”

“I know. But he’s seen this,” I said to her in a low voice, one David could not hear. “I know it feels like you can’t do this, but you can. I believe in you.” The words were bitter in my mouth. I felt like a farmer leading an animal to its slaughter, holding out a sweet to tempt it to its death. That Naomi knew what she was doing, that she chose this, didn’t make me feel less guilty.

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house just then, and I both hoped and feared that the ambulance had arrived. It hadn’t. It was the professor instead.

He followed David into the room, carrying a doctor’s bag that I recognized from half a century before. He settled in beside the bed. “May I?” he said, gesturing to the sheets. Not even so much as a hello. Bastard.

“Make it stop,” Naomi whispered as he checked her.

“Not much longer, my girl. You are doing well.”

“What about the blood?” David said angrily, trying to mask his fear. It didn’t work.

The professor did not look up. “The placenta may have detached.”

David seethed. “May have?”

The professor ignored him. “But the contractions are strong enough now that even if there were time to take her to a hospital, I wouldn’t. But Mara,” he said, turning to me.
“When the baby comes, I want you to be ready to call one if we need to.”

“Is he going to die?” Naomi asked between gasps.

“He is not going to die.”

“Am I going to die?”

The professor smiled. “Not today.”

I could kill him. Sometimes I wish I had.

“Just promise he’s going to be okay,” Naomi said through gritted teeth.

The professor obliged. “I promise.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear.”

Naomi twisted in the sweat-soaked, blood-soaked sheets and screamed. David’s face was ashen. He looked so young. My heart ached for him.

“Brave girl,” the professor said to Naomi. “You know how to do this. Now I want you to start pushing.”

“Fuck. It hurts.”

“It was no different for me,” I said to her, hating the sound of my own voice, hating my false smile. “Or the millions of women before us.”

David looked shocked for a moment. “You have children?”

I have a grandchild,
I almost said, which would’ve shocked him even more.

It was barely a few minutes later when the professor said, “He’s ready, Naomi. Are you?”

She nodded.

“All right, then. Give it everything.”

She did. I held one hand and David held the other.

“Good,” the professor said. “He’s almost—he’s here.”

Naomi made a sound, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, and fell back against the pillows. David’s face was ashen, but his eyes were full of awe.

“I want to hold him,” Naomi said weakly. Then, a beat later, “Toss him here.”

“Is it—is it a boy?” David asked.

“Yes,” the professor said in the eerily silent room.

“Why isn’t he crying?” David asked, and then saw the baby. He was blue.

“Oh God,” David whispered.

“What?” Naomi said, with an animal fear in her eyes. “What is it?”

The professor worked quickly. He was afraid, too, but no one would ever be able to tell but me. I held Naomi’s hand as she asked, “Is he—is he—?”

The cord was around the baby’s neck, but the professor cut it, and a second later, the baby turned from blue to pink. He was still silent, but the professor no longer looked alarmed. “There,” he said with satisfaction. “Good boy. He’s fine,” he said to Naomi.

“Why isn’t he crying?” David asked warily.

The professor cleaned him off a bit with a towel, looking relaxed. “What reason does he have to cry?”

“I thought that was normal? That babies cry when they’re born,” David said.

“Some do, yes,” he said, and handed the child to Naomi, who watched him raptly. “He’s scrappy,” she said with a smile on her lips as she cradled him in her arms. The infant’s eyes were open and eerily alert. “My little hero.”

She was a fierce girl, ferocious, even, but at that moment, she looked completely at peace.

But David was still unsettled. “Is there something wrong with him?” He looked at the baby with suspicion.

“No,” the professor said. “Everything is right.”

“What’s his name?” I asked Naomi.

She looked at the baby, then at David. “Noah,” she said, her eyebrows raised as if daring her husband to challenge her. Wisely, he didn’t.

I looked at the little shell of the newborn’s ear, the soft, perfect skin on his cheeks, the tiny fingers on the hand that would one day extinguish my life, and I said, “Good choice.”

59

I
DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TIME
to scream before I noticed that Noah was still standing. The gun had jammed, or something. I didn’t know and did not care.

Noah was staring at nothing. He was blank, expressionless, stunned, motionless. The gun was still at his head. His father didn’t even react.

I was going to have to fix this. I was the only one who could. I said Noah’s name and he looked at me as if I’d spoken to him for the first time in history, as if he had no idea who I was.

“Give me the gun.”

He didn’t. But he did lower his hand, and then he spoke as if we were alone.

“Let’s go look for your brother.” He took my hand in his free one.

“There’s no time,” I said calmly.

“We can torture my father until he tells us.” I thought I caught David rolling his eyes in disgust. He was clearly not threatened.

“Uh, guys?” Jamie’s voice. We both blinked, confused, until we remembered the laptop. Jamie had seen everything. “As much as I’d like to watch that, I think—I think you should be quick,” he said diplomatically. But I knew what he was thinking.

Noah acted as if he hadn’t heard him. “We should start looking.” He tugged at my limp arm. My fingers were dead weight in his. I wasn’t going to follow him. There was no point. And parts of my legs were still numb anyway. I wouldn’t get very far, even if David and Jude let me.

“I can’t walk,” I said.

“Then I’ll carry you.”

Noah still didn’t get it. “We’re never going to find him before—before—” I couldn’t say the word.

“Not if we don’t try.”

I forced myself to remember that for Noah, Horizons seemed like yesterday. He didn’t know what had happened since.

I’d woken up strapped to the table like an animal, but I wasn’t one. I’d done things—things I regretted and things I
didn’t. I was too old to blame them on being young. My family had been too good to me for me to blame it on them. I’d made my choices by myself. Some of them had been wrong, but they were my choices. I owned them. No one else.

Noah’s father knew he would never be able to convince Noah to kill me. This display was for me, so that
I
could prove to Noah why I should die. No one else could do that for me.

I didn’t want to die, but maybe I should. Maybe the world
would
be a better place if I did.

“No,” Noah said, in response to the question I hadn’t asked out loud. I wondered for a moment if he could somehow hear my thoughts, but then I realized that he didn’t have to; he could read my face.

“I can’t let Daniel go,” I said, fighting vainly to stay calm. “I can’t let what happened to me happen to Joseph. They’ve done nothing,
nothing
wrong. I’ve done everything wrong.”

“Not everything.”

“You haven’t
been
here.” I could tell that my words stung him. “You haven’t seen—” I tipped my head in the direction of the pictures of Dr. Kells and Wayne and Mr. Ernst. “Your father isn’t lying. I did those things. All of them.”

“I’m sure they deserved it,” Noah said, a tiny smile lifting the corner of his mouth. I couldn’t smile back.

David Shaw was sick and awful, but he was right about me too. Nothing good would ever come from me. Nothing ever did. But Daniel, Joseph—they were different. They
would do good. They
were
good. And I could save them.

All I had to give was my life. My life for my brother’s. It would be worth it. It could never not be worth it.

Leaving Miami with Jamie and Stella had felt like good-bye. It felt like good-bye because it
was
good-bye. Something in me had always known it.

I pulled myself up onto my elbows—my feet still felt numb—and reached for Noah’s hand, the one with the gun in it. It had jammed once, for Noah, but I knew it wouldn’t for me.

A shiver rolled through him when my skin met his. He looked like he might be sick.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“Yes, I do. Come closer.”

He held the gun limply, so I lifted the barrel of it for him and pressed it against my forehead. We were beaten, and I was decided.

“Do it,” I said softly.

He was tortured, and I hated to be the one to torture him. I hated that it had to be him, that he had to watch me die and live with the guilt for the rest of his life. I hated that just as my hope of finding him had been rewarded, I was being forced to throw it into the fire, and myself along with it. I hated leaving my family. I hated leaving him.

“Mara,” he whispered. His finger was on the trigger. He was shaking.

“I’m begging you. I don’t want to be this person.” It wasn’t true, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was what Noah needed to hear. “This is my choice. Help me.”

His eyebrows drew together, and for a fraction of a second, I thought he would do it.

“I
can’t
.” His arm went slack, his face twisted with disgust. Then immediately he raised his arm again, but not at me. He shot a mannequin instead.

No more bullets. I looked at David; there was no surprise in his expression, no shock. He’d been expecting it.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Noah went on, his voice firm, strong, determined. “I’ll call the police. We’ll find Daniel. I’ll heal him. You’ll get better—”

“Stop it!”
My words battered the walls of the factory. They seemed to echo forever. “This is not something you can fix.” And I couldn’t risk letting him try.

“You always think the worst of yourself,” he said with bitterness.

“And you always think the best.” It was true, which made me smile. “You can’t see me objectively because you love me. But I’ve done things. How am I any different from him?” I flicked my eyes to Jude, who lowered his to the floor. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have said he looked guilty.

Jude was sicker than me and crazier than me and crueler than me, but he’d loved his sister, his only family. Deborah and David had used that love to control him. I didn’t forgive
him for the things he’d done—I would never do that. But I understood them.

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. It only matters why,” Noah said. “He uses his ability to hurt people. You use yours to protect people.”

Not always,
I thought, and said so. “The villain is the hero of her own story. No one thinks they’re a bad person. Everyone has reasons for doing what they do. Jude and I are not as different as you think.”