Fixer (30 page)

“As I was saying,” Ames said, “when you got that letter you were working as a fry cook in some god-awful place.”

“As my lawyers have undoubtedly explained in painful detail, using dozens of unnecessarily large words, I have decided to give all of my money to you. This is a gift, but it does not come without a price.”

Ames went on. “Suddenly, at twenty-one, you became one of the richest men in the city, but to keep that money, you had to swear an oath to a dead man.”

“Understand that, much like yourself, I did not begin my life with great wealth. The money I am forwarding in your name was earned through many years of hard work and dutiful cheating. By that I mean I put the curse you and I both share to good use—and often shamefully so. It was not until many years later that I even knew to feel guilty about it.
”

Corrigan was having a hell of a time paying attention to both of them at once. It helped only a little bit that he could keep up with Ames by listening to him twice, and that he already knew what Harvey was saying by heart. Still, it was a lot to take in.

“I didn’t
have
to do anything,” Corrigan said. “The money was mine either way.”

“True. But you felt obligated to, as Harvey well knew you would.”

“And so, here is the price. I have given you enough money to ensure that you never want for the rest of your life. In return, I am asking you to do what I never could—help people. How you do that is up to you.
”

Ames said, “Despite being insane, Harvey was a very good judge of people. He knew you would do what he wanted. But the question for you became, how?”

“This may sound to you like the foolish decision of an old man who is trying to get into heaven. But I am not a religious person, and if I were, I would know that no amount of last-second penitence would affect my ultimate destination. Having said that, I do think you and I were given this talent for a reason. Now, if you are asking yourself how you can possibly apply your curse toward the greater good, I say the universe will provide a way.
”

“The universe will provide a way,” Corrigan repeated.

“Just so,” Ames agreed.

“I am taking quite a risk, giving you this money. I have no way of knowing if you have, in the intervening years since that awful day, grown into the man I saw you on the way to becoming. I can only hope you have.
”

“And when a way
was
provided,” Ames said, “you didn’t ask yourself how or why, you just followed along. You’re still just following along, because you believe you must.”

“Please, take seriously what I am asking of you. And if in the future, you find you’ve lost your way, think back to that young man and the day he tried to be a hero. That boy saw something wrong with his world and had to fix it, and he was braver than most adults could ever hope to be. Don’t lose sight of your potential, young Corrigan. Even if you hate me, you can at least do me the honor of being a better man than I was.”

Harvey finished his recitation and lowered his head, as if this had been his whole reason for being in the room. Ames, who Corrigan was nearly positive couldn’t hear Harvey, picked up the conversation as if he had been tag teaming with the old ghost the whole time.

“But here is the question you should have been asking yourself, Corrigan. Why did you not get these messages
before
Harvey gave you all of his money?”

“That’s easy,” Corrigan said. “It wasn’t my job before then.”

“All right . . .” Ames said, shifting in his seat. “A dodge, but all right. Try this then. Why do you suppose it is that the universe wishes you to save these people, and not some other people?”

“I dunno. Never thought about it.”

“I imagine there are those worth saving who happen to come under risk at, say, two in the morning. Do you get messages about them?”

“No.”

“How about people who live outside the Commonwealth? Or ones who are murdered or die of natural causes? Why does the universe ignore them?”

“I don’t see what you’re getting at,” Corrigan said.

“Yes, you do,” Harvey said.

“Quiet, Harvey.”

“My point is that everyone you save is within your limits. Physically, geographically, and temporally. You never have a scheduling conflict, you never have to travel great distances, and you never end up facing a situation that you cannot resolve.”

“The ghosts would disagree with that last part,” Corrigan said.

“The ghosts come from the same place your messages do. In here.” He tapped his own head. “You, my boy, are a disaster area of misplaced guilt and misinterpreted cause and effect. You’ve convinced yourself that the only way to keep these manifestations of failure from haunting you is by working harder, and that conclusion has prevented you from dealing with your real problems. Now you’re in a hell you’ve constructed for yourself, and the reason you cannot get out of it is that you refuse to recognize an important truth. Something happened to you nine days ago that upset your apple cart. Until you figure out what that was and why it had such an effect, you will continue to block the messages, the ghosts will continue to haunt you, and I will be calling my friends at McClaren to reserve a room.”

Corrigan took all of that in a couple of times. Harvey, who was nodding through the whole thing, said in regards to the conclusion, “Stay the hell away from McClaren, boy. I was fine before they sent me there.”

Corrigan ignored him. “That’s a lot to absorb,” he said.

“I know. I’m sorry. Under normal circumstances I would try and lead you to the point where you arrive at these conclusions on your own, but these are not normal circumstances.”

“Meaning I’m a hair away from getting committed?”

“Meaning I’m old and expect to die soon.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Now

It had been quite a strange day for Erica. It started with her waking up from a coma and discovering that (a) she was still alive, (b) she’d lost nine days, and (c) her parents were in town. (A) was probably the biggest shock of all, although (c) came close. One does not often survive the experience of being stabbed, as far as she knew, when there was nothing preventing her assailant from stabbing her a few more times—other than a screaming Tanya. And why would that have stopped him, really? 

The coma was a weird experience. She had vague recollections of conversations taking place in her presence—of people speaking
to
her sometimes—but the details of those conversations were lost to her. Still, she recalled the confusion well. It had been as if someone had shut the world off but forgotten to hit the volume button. At one point she had decided everyone thought she was dead and these were people speaking at her own funeral. And she kept trying to tell them it wasn’t true, that she was still
in
herself somewhere and they had to try and find her, because someone had obviously made some sort of horrible mistake.

She was surprised to have woken up in a place other than a coffin. 

When she came to, her mom and dad and Tanya were all there, looking alternately excited and on the verge of tears. An Indian woman—her doctor, it turned out—who spoke to her as if they were old friends was by her side and asking her questions. Did she know where she was? Did she know
who
she was? She liked the sound of the doctor’s voice and wondered if maybe they
did
know each other. Later she realized hers was one of the voices she had been listening to while in the coma.

After a question-and-answer session, in which it was established that Erica knew who she was and could infer that she was in a hospital, it was decided by all that it would be an excellent idea if she got some sleep. She had no objections to this decision, as breathing and talking turned out to be much
harder than she remembered and besides, sleep was different from a coma, which she’d had quite enough of.

She dreamed of the others. In a way, this was an indication that her brain was well, because that’s exactly what she did every night for a month leading up to the attack. It was a happy dream, with everybody celebrating again, except that each time she turned around to talk to one of her friends, they suddenly weren’t there anymore.

When she woke up again a couple of hours later, she felt more like herself. Parts of her brain that had not been used for a long time stood up and stretched and began jogging lightly. As a test, she ran through a couple of differential equations she’d memorized long ago, by way of a mnemonic technique. The equations were put to nursery rhyme tunes. By the time she opened her eyes again, she’d been humming the nursery rhymes for several minutes, which made the only other occupant of the room curious. Tanya was sitting where she had been earlier, gripping Erica’s hand as if one of them was in danger of drowning.

“Where . . .” Erica tried. Speaking was harder with only one fully functioning lung. She gave it another shot. “Where is everybody?”

Tannie said, “Your mom and dad went back to their hotel. Something about Valium and mini-bars. It’s been a long few days for them.”

Erica nodded and found that to be no treat either.
Have
all
my muscles decided to quit on me?
 

She wasn’t going to come out and say so, but she was glad her parents had left. Her father was a midlevel accountant who realized over a decade ago that his daughter was smarter than he was and had resented her for it ever since. Her mom, while being much more supportive in general, was your basic WASP nightmare who had a habit of lobbing backhanded criticisms at her only daughter without realizing it and then either claimed she meant no offense or insisted she’d never said such a thing. Erica loved them both and all of that, but it was hard sometimes to get past the hostility to unearth that love and doing so now would just require too much energy.

Tanya caught the vibe from her friend. “Your parents are, um, interesting folks,” she said.

“Spend a lot of time with them, did you?”

“Just the past week.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Tanya laughed. “S’all right. Hey, at least you had two of ‘em growing up. That’s hard to beat.”

They smiled at one another for a time, and then Tanya turned serious on her. “Do you remember much?” she asked.

Erica did, but didn’t really want to. “A little,” she said.

“Any chance you’d want to . . . explain it? Because I gotta tell you, Rickie, I don’t understand. And I saw most of it.”

“Another time,” Erica said.

“Yeah. All right.”

Light from the hallway crept across the room, and a woman Erica had never seen before poked her head in through the open doorway. The woman glanced at Tanya, who smiled and waved her in. “Hey, hey, Rickie,” Tanya said. “You should meet her. She’s a friend. Kept me out of jail.”

“Excuse me?” Erica said. She tried to slide onto her elbows in an attempt to sit up, but the muscles in her arms weren’t responding well, either.

“Lemme get that,” Tanya said. She fiddled with some buttons on a black remote and lifted the whole head of the bed.

“Thanks,” Erica said. “Jail?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” the woman said. She had long red hair and was wearing a fantastic black dress. Erica remembered coveting that very outfit in a downtown shop window not so long ago.

“The cops thought I’d done this to you,” Tanya explained.

“Oh,” Erica said. “Sure. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Maggie Trent,” the woman said by way of introduction. “FBI. Can I . . .” She gestured at the chair on the near side of the bed.

“Go ahead,” Erica said.

“Thank you.” She sat down and then looked uncomfortably toward Tanya. “I was wondering if I could talk to Erica alone for a few minutes. Would that be all right?”

“I could use some coffee,” Tanya said. “You okay?”

“It’s fine,” Erica said, still looking at her new guest. Maggie Trent didn’t look anything like an FBI agent, and if Tanya hadn’t been there to confirm it, she’d be asking for credentials. She was also clearly worried about something.

Tanya released Erica’s hand, patted it a couple of times, and then promised to be right back. As soon as the door was closed, Agent Trent leaned in.

“I need you to tell me everything you can about who attacked you,” Maggie said, skipping the preamble. “And fast.”

“I really don’t feel like talking about it right now, Agent,” she said, for essentially the same reason she wouldn’t answer Tanya’s questions. She wasn’t ready yet.

“Yes, I’m sure you don’t, and I’m sorry, but this is terribly important.”

“I . . . couldn’t see him,” Erica said, which was true, but didn’t sound as insane as it could have.

“We know that. Listen, let’s skip ahead. He’s invisible. I don’t know how or why or if he’s even a
he
and not some sort of . . . thing. You don’t need to be worried about telling me something that sounds outlandish. We’re way past that. I need to know how to stop him.”

Erica’s heart started to race, a fact that was betrayed by the heart monitor she was hooked up to. “Stop him?” she asked.

“Here’s the thing. After the attack, I kept your survival out of the press. Or rather, I thought I did. But there are TV reporters downstairs, and in a little while the entire city is going to know you pulled through. I can’t stop them. I’ve tried. But maybe I can stop the one who did this to you before he shows up to finish the job.”

Erica smiled, but it was a sad smile she didn’t really stand behind. “You can’t stop him,” she said. “But . . . oh God. Jamie. You should warn Jamie before he gets to him, too.”

“Jamie Silverman?” Maggie asked. Just the way she said it sounded bad.

“He’s not—”

“More than two weeks ago.”

“Oh . . .” Erica’s vision started to blur. She was crying. It would have been an all-out weep, but she was too spent to muster the energy for it. “Well, that’s it, then.”

“I don’t understand.”

“In a little while he’ll take care of me, and then he’ll be finished, and you won’t have to worry about him any longer.”