Echo 8 (18 page)

“It was real, Jake. I didn't dream it. Ross said I was there, and then I wasn't.”

When I came back, he held me until I stopped shaking. Until I almost felt safe again.

“I don't doubt it was real,” growled Jake. “This is because of your contact with me. We're running because Ross knew that, and he didn't want you doing the transfers anymore, and he was fucking right, Tess.”

She nodded. “I agree. It's the transfers. And it could happen to him too.” Fear sucked at her stomach as she thought about him dislocating and not being able to get back.

Jake stared at her, angry and incredulous. This was going about as well as she'd expected. “So let's hear some geek-speak, Doctor. Explain to me how this is happening and what you're going to do if it happens again.”

“I can't explain it, but I assume our exchanges have created some kind of link to your world. And there was a trigger too.… I think it had to do with Ross.”
With running away from Ross
. “It's like you said about the hydrogen atom—you and me and Ross are hopelessly tangled up. I
feel
that, Jake.”

“You could have died. We have to stop.”

“You're right; I could have. And I won't lie to you; it scared the hell out of me. But I think it's possible I may be able to control it. I think it may be related to fight-or-flight response, and if that's true, if I get into trouble I should be able to come back.” It was the only thought that had kept her from losing it in the twelve hours since the dislocation.

“Not only that, Jake. If it happens again, maybe I can learn more about your Earth. If rats survived, other mammals may have.
People
may have. Many omnivores survived the K-Pg event—the one we believe killed off the dinosaurs. What if you could go home, Jake?”

Jake leaned close, eyes bright with anger. His voice burned low as he said, “Back on my Earth, I lost the only people I loved. They died because of me. I didn't want to go on living without them, so I blew my brains all over the wall of my apartment. I haven't changed my mind about that decision. I've never regretted it, not even for a moment. On this Earth,
you're
my reason for living. I go along with your crazy ideas to make you happy. I like talking to you. I like feeling your energy running through me. But I won't let you die because of me.”

He stood up. “Come on.”

Tess sat gaping at him, still taking in the stream of revelations.

“I said
come on
.”

She ground her teeth together and folded her arms over her knees. “Do you have any idea how tired I am of the two of you telling me what to do?”

“You need handlers, Tess,” he snapped. “Deal with it.”

“Unless you plan to throw me over your shoulder, I'm not going anywhere. If you want to go, go.”

“Christ, do
you
have any idea how aggravating you are?” He gave a loud groan and sank down beside her. His hands clenched in his lap, and he sighed. “I can't leave my orbit, remember?”

She raised her hand toward his face, and he flinched away. Her hand followed, index finger touching a dark-blond curl, light as a feather.

“Tess … God…” He turned his head slowly, until his lips brushed the tip of her finger. “I think I'm falling in love with you.”

*   *   *

Tess dropped her hand, guilt collapsing her chest.

Jake didn't break eye contact. “I'm not sorry I said it, but I don't expect you to answer.”

There was a part of her that thrilled to his confession, and that confused her. Yet why should it be hard to understand? Beneath a thick protective coating of anger and sarcasm, Jake was
lovable
. Scruffy good looks, a quick wit, and a sexy smile. He had a bizarre ability to make her feel his regard even while baiting her. And they had shared a bond neither of them really understood.

But it was a ridiculous thing for him to say. For more reasons than she could count.

“You don't mean that, Jake. You hardly know me.”

Anger flashed again in his eyes. “I'm not confused about the fact that the last thing we can be is lovers. And I know you love someone else. But don't try to make yourself feel better by talking me out of how
I
feel.”

“That's not what I'm doing.” Was she? “I'm only suggesting the possibility you've mistaken gratitude for love. I've been taking care of you. Keeping you alive. You've lost your home, and it's not surprising that—”

“Jesus, Tess! Is it so hard to believe that I love
you
? Not your bedside manner. Not your energy. Not your suicidal superpowers.
You
.” He shook his head. “Let's just drop it.”

She sighed, frustrated with her lack of tact. “I'm sorry. I care about you, and I don't want you to be hurt. I guess that's why I'm trying to talk you out of your feelings.”

Jake's shoulders drooped as his anger ebbed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Promise to tell me the truth?”

“Hmm. Let's hear it first.”

“Would I have a chance? I mean if I wasn't toxic, and if you'd never met Tall-Dark-and-Angsty?”

“Ah, Jake.” She wished with all her heart he hadn't asked. Lying to herself was easy. She wasn't so good at it when it came to other people. “I can't see any good coming of answering that.”

He frowned. “Coward.”

She studied his downcast face. “All right. You are exactly the kind of guy I'd go for if circumstances were different. Now do you feel better or worse?”

Jake grinned. “I knew it. How could you resist?”

She rolled her eyes and stood up, brushing grit from her skirt.

“Where are we going?”

“We skipped lunch. My judgment has clearly been affected. Let's go downstairs and see what they've got.”

*   *   *

Stubby candles placed on alternating steps lit the way belowdecks. Dribbles of wax collected in pools around them, and in some cases had run off the stair edges to form colorful stalactites. Fire on board a ship seemed like a bad idea, but there was probably no power source. And the thing
was
basically a giant tin can—not much to burn.

Next to the candle on the bottom step was a shoebox full of flashlights and batteries. Tess bent and picked one up, shining it around the small room at the foot of the stairs. Lockers lined the walls, some open and partly filled with garbage. At the other end of the room was a jagged, rounded opening hand-cut into the wall—obviously not a part of the ship's original architecture.

“Normally I'm in favor of dining by candlelight,” muttered Jake, “but this is creepy.”

“I don't see anything that looks like food. Do you?”

Jake flicked on another flashlight, and the second beam bounced over the walls. “No. Let's go back up.”

She grinned at him. “Afraid of ghosts?” It didn't seem the right time to tell him she knew of at least one documented death down here—a suicide. There'd also been some amateur documentation of paranormal activity.

“I'm more afraid of the living,” he said.

“You keep forgetting you're a walking weapon.”

Jake scowled. “
You're
the one who keeps forgetting that. And I'd rather not go looking for trouble.”

“We'll make it quick. Find the food and get out.”

“I could slip Myrtle another twenty. Make her do it for us.”

“I'd like to limit our interaction with
Maggie
—and everyone else—as much as possible.”

“Right.” Jake sighed. “Okay. I'll go first.”

He stepped into the room and opened one of the lockers, jumping back as something tumbled out—a stack of paper coffee cups. He opened the locker below it more carefully, shining his light in.

“Rat poison. That's encouraging.”

The next six lockers contained toiletries and stacks of folded clothing, but nothing edible.

“Come on,” she said with a shiver. “There's nothing in here.”

They ducked through the hole in the wall into the next room. Though larger than the room with the lockers, the clutter of furniture and the absence of any light source made this space feel close and heavy. An ornate bar carved of dark wood lined one wall, and half a dozen small tables had been shoved against the adjacent wall. Velvet-covered stools still formed an orderly row along the bar.

A thick layer of dust coated everything, and cobwebs hung like dark lace curtains in each of the corners.

“What was this thing, anyway?” asked Jake, directing his beam along the bar until it came to rest on a large work of stained glass.

“A ferry.”

“Why is there a bar in the basement?”

“It has a couple bars, and a restaurant, I think. It used to be really fancy.” She dragged a finger through the blanket of dust on the bar.

“When? A hundred years ago?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

He cast her a look of disbelief. “I was joking.”

Tess shrugged and started toward the other side of the room. “Doesn't look like anyone's disturbed anything here in a long time. Let's keep going.”

She stepped over a prostrate barstool and landed on something squishy—it squealed and so did she. She hopped to one side, and Jake shone his light on a retreating rat. It gave her a sick feeling, reminding her of last night's dislocation and the perils that seemed to be multiplying around them.

“I
hate
rats,” she muttered. “Give me a huge, hairy spider any day.”

“I'm sure they've got some of those down here too.”

She swallowed. “I take it back.”

She moved closer to Jake. He didn't flinch away from her this time, but he said, “How is it I'm not on the list of things that make you scream and run away?”

“You're not hairy or creepy. Well, maybe a
little
hairy.”

“Do you like the beard? I could shave it.”

“You wouldn't be Jake without the beard.”

“Emily always hated it.” He ducked and stepped through another roughly cut opening.

“I'm not your sis—”

Suddenly Jake yelled and slipped out of view. She heard a series of scuffling and thumping noises, accompanied by
“Fuuuuuuck!”

“Jake!?”

She ran to the hole and popped her head through, pointing her light down. The opening hung over a steep stairway, and Jake lay at the bottom.

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

“I found the engine room,” he groaned. “In case you were looking for that.”

Tess crawled through the hole, careful about where she put her feet. She grasped the metal rail and made her way down.

“Did you break anything?”

“
Can
I break anything? I don't know. Feels like I might have twisted my ankle.”

She reached for his pant leg and then drew back, remembering. “Can you walk?”

Jake hauled himself to his feet and tested his weight on the ankle. “It's not bad.”

He bent and picked up his flashlight, and she shone hers over a huge iron cylinder that ran the length of the wall.

“Wow, look at the size of that engine,” said Jake. “When did you say this was built?”

“1920. -Ish. Or maybe that's just when they changed the name; I can't remember.”

“That's bad luck, isn't it?”

“What is?”

“Changing the name of a ship.”

“You know … I read a story in the paper a couple years ago, and now that you mention it they said it was a bad-luck ship. It burned once. The original was made of wood. It also crashed a few times.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Well how about that. The two of you were made for each other.”

She scowled and opened her mouth to accuse him of engine envy. Before she could, he asked, “Do you hear anything funny?”

Pausing to listen, she heard nothing but silence made heavy by the water that pressed against the sides of the ship, and the occasional loud creak. Then she noticed a faint
drip, drip, drip
.

“Maybe there's a leak.”

“You don't get to pick any more hideouts, Doctor.”

“Come on, it's perfect. Who's ever going to look for us here?”

“Uh,
no one
. Don't know that I'd call that a selling point.”

She groaned. “Okay, it's stupid to be down here. I admit it. We wouldn't be if I weren't starving.”

Jake eyed her guiltily. “Sorry—I know I'm being an asshole. I hate boats. And if something happens to you because of me…”

“Let's check one more room. If there's no food, we'll go back up and find Myrtle.”

“Deal.”

They waded through a layer of trash to more stairs at the far end of the engine. Ten steps up they found another hole in the wall. Jake shone his light in, and her stomach growled, the sound amplifying in the mostly empty double-deck room.

“Well, no food in here either. Just a pile of … rolled-up carpets?” He stepped through the opening and she followed.

Dust coated the floor in this room, so thick it rose in a choking cloud as they walked.

“What the hell?” grumbled Jake, pulling the collar of his shirt up to the bridge of his nose.

He stopped, but Tess took a few steps forward. They did look like carpets, piled higgledy-piggledy at the back of the room. And this was apparently the end of the line. No more holes cut through the wall.

“Let's go,” muttered Jake. “No telling what kind of nasty shit we're breathing.”

“Hang on a minute.” Tess followed his example, covering her nose and mouth with her shirt, and took one more step into the room. There was something strange about those bundles. The shapes were too irregular—too lumpy—to be rugs.