Circuit Of Heaven (33 page)

“I didn’t think they existed anymore. Not in here.”

They
. He couldn’t say it. Construct mistress. Whore. “You couldn’t tell?”

He shook his head. “No, I couldn’t.” He seemed almost sad to confess it.

She didn’t have to tell him. He never wouldn’ve known. Had he thought about that? She didn’t have to tell him, but she had. “I was afraid to tell you. Lawrence said you’d be okay, but I wasn’t so sure.”

“Lawrence knew about this?”

“I told Mr. Menso, and Mr. Menso told Lawrence.”

“Mr. Menso?”

“The little man with the bookstore I told you about. Lawrence says they’re old friends. I needed somebody to talk to, and I couldn’t talk to you. I’ve got so much to tell you, I don’t know where to start.”

“You’re sure you’re a Construct? How do you know?”

“Positive. That’s what my dreams are all about. I had this dream, but it wasn’t a dream. We were in this big old house—I talked to them all—they spoke to me—Angelina, the old woman, and the pregnant one. She was huge, out to here.” She stopped, her arms out, as if holding her rounded belly. Something had happened to his face. Something was terribly wrong.

“Angelina?” he said.

“The young one in my dream. Angelina Rawson.”

He lurched to his feet, stumbling backwards, shaking his head. She reached for him, but he drew away.

“What is it, Nemo? What’s wrong?”

He whipped his head around, glaring back at the house. “How could they do this?” he hissed. “How could you fucking do this!” he shouted at the ivy-covered walls.

Justine felt as if the ground was opening up at her feet, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. “Do what? I don’t understand.”

He turned on her. “Angelina Rawson was my grandmother!” he screamed.

He stood there, rocking back and forth. She thought he might collapse, but he turned on his heel, stumbling at first, as he headed toward the low stone wall that surrounded the place, running by the time he reached it, vaulting high into the air, and over.

She’d been leaning forward, her arms outstretched to him, even as he ran away. Now she pitched forward, landing hard on her knees, throwing herself onto the ground, beating her head on the lush, green grass, screaming with shame and fury, cursing whatever gods had made her.

SHE
COULD
FEEL
THE
THUD
OF
THEIR
FOOTSTEPS
THROUGH
the ground as they came running from the house. She was on her back now, staring at the sky, waiting. She felt a great calmness, a watchful detachment. The worst had already happened.

Lawrence slid his hands under her like shovels and lifted her off the ground. She laid her head on his shoulder, felt his scales pressing into her cheek like leather petals. He carried her into the house and put her on the sofa, a pillow under her head. Todd and Elizabeth hovered over her as if she were a dying invalid. She wondered if they’d heard their son screaming, wondered if she should hate them now.

“Whatever happened?” Elizabeth asked her. “Where’s Nemo?”

“I told him the truth,” Justine said. “He ran off.”

“What truth, dear?” She was wringing her hands as if putting on hand lotion. Justine didn’t think she was even aware of doing it.

“You can cut the crap, Elizabeth,” Todd said. “She knows.” He spoke to Justine, “Don’t you?”

Justine sat up, pushing back her hair from her face. “Why don’t you tell me what I know?”

Todd sighed and shook his head. “You’re right. You’re right. We’ve put you in a terrible mess. I thought it was a bad idea from the beginning, but I guess that doesn’t matter now. Winston approached us about three weeks ago with the idea of…you…to…entice Nemo inside. He was certain it would work, of course. Against my better judgment, we told him to go ahead. He said it would be weeks before you figured out what you were, and by then Nemo would be inside. We meant no harm to you. Truth is, we didn’t give you much thought.”

“But you were lying to your own son.”

“To save his life.”

“How could you be so sure he’d fall for me?”

“That was my question, but Winston said it was practically guaranteed, that you’d be specially made for Nemo, that he’d find you irresistable—and that certainly seemed to be the case there for a while. He must be furious at us now.” Todd shook his head back and forth, imagining his angry son.

Justine searched their faces. They didn’t know, she was sure of it. They hadn’t been told
why
Nemo would like her so much, why they’d feel such an immediate affinity. She was just another whore to them. They’d been duped, too. “There are three lives inside me,” she said. “I only know one name. Now Nemo knows it, too: Angelina Rawson.”

Elizabeth gasped and turned on Todd. “Todd, did you know about this?”

But Todd didn’t have to answer. He was slack-jawed.“Your mother?” he finally managed, and peered at Justine as if he could see the dead woman there. “Dear God,” he said and turned away.

Elizabeth was staring at her in a daze. “Tell me about her,” Justine said. “Tell me who I am.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “It can’t be. You can’t be her.”

Justine rested the back of her head on the sofa and recited to the ceiling: “I remember growing up in an orphanage in Dallas named St. Catherine’s. My best friend’s name was Stephanie Boyd. I probably talked about her. My hero was a nun named Sarah who—”

“Stop!” Elizabeth threw up her hands. “Please stop. If I’d known—” Her voice trailed off, and she was wringing her hands again. “How could Winston do this?” she asked no one in particular.

Justine didn’t care about their family politics. “Forget about Winston. I want to know who I am, goddamnit. You brought me in here, now deal with me.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said. “Of course. Anything we can do.”

“Another one of my lives was a patient of your father’s. Do you have any idea who that might be? She was giving birth to an illegitimate child.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and she clutched her chest. She felt for the chair behind her, and sat down heavily. Todd knelt at her side and took her hand.

Justine watched them reeling under this latest revelation—Elizabeth mumbling to herself, teetering on the edge, Todd coaxing her back. Elizabeth kept shaking her head, hoping they’d all go away.

“We have to tell her,” Todd said to Elizabeth, stroking her hand as if it were a kitten.

“Tell me what?” Justine demanded.

Elizabeth finally managed a quick nod of assent, and Todd rose to his feet, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “When Angelina was thirty-three, she got pregnant and decided to keep the child. God knows why. She’d never made a commitment in her life, had already had a couple of abortions. Wade Donley was on call the night Angelina gave birth to Winston. That’s how they met. She married Wade six months later. Winston was never told Wade wasn’t his father. Truth is, Angelina didn’t know who the real father was. Elizabeth was born two years after that.”

Todd sighed and tightened his grip on his wife’s shoulder. “No one knew any of this until thirty years later when Wade was in the hospital, dying of cancer, and Elizabeth saw his medical history while talking to one of the doctors. It said he was sterile, had always been. He wasn’t Elizabeth’s father either. She confronted her mother about it, after Wade died, and she told her everything, except who her real father was. Years later, when Angelina was dying, she told Elizabeth that Newman Rogers was the father, but she was saying a lot of crazy things by then, and we never knew whether to believe her or not. She’d talked about Newman Rogers for years. Her best friend, she called him. He’d moped after her for years, had proposed a dozen times before she married Wade, but Angelina said she never felt that way about him.”

Justine wanted to stop her ears and scream, but it was too late for that. “He called her his sweetheart,” she murmured.

Elizabeth slowly brought her head up and looked her in the eye. “You are her, aren’t you?”

Justine stood. There was nothing more for her here. They’d all been used, lied to—and the truth was even worse. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” she said. And she was, deeply sorry, though she’d done nothing to harm her. Sparks padded into the room and rubbed against Justine’s legs, meowing loudly. She bent down and picked him up, scratched between his ears. He closed his eyes and settled into a rumbling purr.

Elizabeth stood, brushing away her tears, trying to get a grip on herself. “We’ve done an awful thing,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

Justine couldn’t bring herself to hate this woman forwanting to save her son, for being duped. “You meant well,” was all she could manage.

“He usually doesn’t let anyone pick him up,” Elizabeth said, pointing at Sparks, cradled in Justine’s arms like a baby.

“He remembers Angelina,” Justine said. “You changed his name.”

Elizabeth started, apparently realizing how Justine knew this. “Nemo named him. He couldn’t say Ishmael. He was only five.”

Justine rubbed the top of Sparks’ head with her nose and set him on the carpet. He trotted off, his tail held high.

“Do you remember me?” Elizabeth asked timidly.

Justine shook her head. She remembered nothing she wanted to say. “No, not really.”

Elizabeth nodded, as if that was as it should be.

Why had Angelina told her the truth? Justine wondered. Several convenient lies came to mind. She’d already lied for years. Maybe she’d hoped for her daughter’s forgiveness, just that. Wade had forgiven her. She could see his face—the Dr. Donley of her dream, years older, loving her till death took him away.

“How long were Angelina and Wade married after you were born?” Justine asked.

Elizabeth started wringing her hands again. “Thirtyone years.”

“He must’ve forgiven her, don’t you think?”

Elizabeth looked down at her hands and clutched them together. “Yes,” she whispered. “I suppose he did.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t work out as planned,” Justine said. “I’ll show myself out.”

Lawrence, who’d been standing in the background the whole time, like a patient footman, stepped forward and offered to accompany her to the hotel.

She looked into his reptilian eyes and wondered howmuch he knew. After all, Menso had sent him. Nemo trusted him completely. What better person to deceive him. “All right,” she said.

At the door, Elizabeth laid her hand on Lawrence’s arm. “Tell Nemo I need to see him. I promised to tell him some things. He’ll know what I mean.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Thorne.”

“Elizabeth,” she said. “And Todd.” Todd stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

Justine turned and walked away. She supposed they waved good-bye.

JUSTINE
SAT
ON
THE
TRAIN
AND
LOOKED
AT
HERSELF
.
THE
front of her dress was smeared with dirt and grass. The palms of her hands were green. Lawrence had been silent, but she felt him watching her, trying to gauge her state of mind. “You still think Nemo and I are going to end up happily ever after?” she asked him. “Looks like you’ll have to revise that part of the script.”

He ignored her accusing tone. “You’re not Angelina Rawson, you know.”

“Like hell. They’re
all
her, aren’t they? All three of them.”

“That’s not what I mean. Angelina Rawson’s dead. You’re Justine now. Sooner you get that figured out, the better. Don’t try to live in the past: You’re dead there.”

“Nemo evidently doesn’t see it that way.”

“Maybe he needs some help.”

She laughed bitterly. “From me? He can’t stand the sight of me.”

“You give up awful easy, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about? I’m his
grandmother
, Lawrence!”

“Bullshit. You’re nobody’s grandmother. You’re four days old—acting like it, too.”

She’d had just about enough from the lot of them. “Who the hell are you to lecture me? Do you have any idea how much Nemo loves you and trusts you? At least I didn’t know what was going on. But you knew the whole sick scheme from the beginning, didn’t you?” She was screaming at the top of her voice. Everyone in the train was looking at them. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Lawrence said quietly.

“Then fuck you, Lawrence! Fuck all of you!”

She glared out the window, putting it all together, putting herself together like some kid’s puzzle. Lenny’d said Winston had done it for somebody else, somebody who made him feel like an errand boy. That wouldn’t be Elizabeth. Oh, no. He’d be the big shot brother throwing his weight around. He’d get off on it. It had to be somebody else. Her kindly old friend, tugging at her heartstrings with his bullshit stories about his sweetheart.

As they were pulling into Dupont Circle, she said, “Tell him I want to see him, Lawrence.”

“Nemo?” he asked in the British voice.

“Nemo doesn’t want to see me. You know who I mean.”

Lawrence nodded his huge head. “Very well. We’ll tell him.” He looked into her eyes. “When we were living our old lives, we thought of ourselves as quite separate from others.” He ran his fingers over the back of his own scaly hand. “The boundaries were precise, ending exactly there.” He rubbed one of the scales between his fingers. “We’ve learned differently. All the Constructs have. You’ll learn it, too.”

“I’ve learned quite enough for one day, thank you.” She rose from her seat and stood by the door. “Does he enjoy playing God?”

“No. He loathes it, actually.”

“Well, he’s sure bungled this one, hasn’t he?” The train rocked to a stop, and the doors slid open. “Maybe he should just stick to peddling books.” She stepped onto the platform and headed for the escalators. As the train pulled out of the station, she looked back. Lawrence’s green face was still pressed to the glass, still watching her.

JUSTINE
WENT
UP TO
HER
ROOM
AND
SAT
IN
FRONT
OF
THE
window, staring at the city lights. A light rain was falling, and she remembered wet asphalt, the snicker of tires on the pavement, people huddled in doorways with no place else to go. Everybody had a place in here. She surveyed her place, a hotel room she never checked into. Her birthplace.