Killer (18 page)

So he trudged on, past the fountain. Maybe they'd meet up again someday, when they were old and widowed, when they had most of their lives behind them. By then Gaia would be ready to forgive him.
And that old spark would still be there.
And they could finally be together. Just like they were meant to be. They would spend the rest of their days laughing and feeding pigeons and playing chess. . . .

A fantasy. A nice pipe dream from the movies. But it was all he had.

 

Tears

GAIA RESTED HER HEAD ON ZOLOV'S
chess table. Slowly energy pumped back into her tired limbs. Dawn was finally breaking, and soon the city would be
stirring to life. Soon students would be shuffling off to classes, storefronts would raise their scrolling metal gates, cabs would be hailed and buses taken to offices all around Manhattan. But for the moment the streets were empty and still.

There was no greater isolation than feeling alone in a huge city before sunrise. It had a way of making you feel like the last person on earth.

In a way, Gaia wished she was.

If there were no one else, then there was no danger of losing someone ever again. If she was the only person left on the planet, Gaia would automatically know that she was destined to be alone for the rest of her life. And that was okay.
Once you knew what you were up against, you could deal with it.
It was the continual hope of getting close to someone that killed you.

A band of golden light rose up from behind the buildings that flanked the park. A deep sob wrenched itself loose from where Gaia had buried it and rose up to her throat. A few tears stung her eyes, and soon they flowed freely. Anguished cries shuddered through her body, dredging up years of pain and loneliness, anticipating the bleakness of years to come. There were tears lost for her mother and betrayal of her father. Sorrow for Mary. Confusion over an Ed she no longer recognized. Regrets for Ella. Anger over her messed-up life.

And Sam. Sam Moon. The Boy That Never Happened . . .

There was so much to cry for, Gaia didn't think she'd ever be able to stop.

 

SAM WAS ABOUT TO TAKE A RIGHT
at the dog run and head back to his dorm, but at the last second he changed his mind. He decided to head to the chess tables instead. Maybe he was being a masochist by surrounding himself with places that reminded him of Gaia, but at the moment he needed something—
anything
—that could make him feel close to her.

Mirage

The sun was finally in the sky, bathing the park in the orange-yellow glow of early morning sunlight. Morning was his favorite time, when the day was ripe with possibility. No matter what was going on in your life, morning had a way of giving you hope.

Sam walked on, through the children's playground toward the southwest corner of the park. He would've liked to have shared a morning like this with Gaia, just sitting quietly with her while watching the sun rise. . . .

Stop it. Just stop it . . . ,
Sam scolded himself.
You can't go through the rest of your life dreaming of someone you'll never have. . . .

And then, as if his mind were rebelling, Sam saw Gaia sitting there.

Where she always should have been.

She was sitting at Zolov's table, with her head resting in her arms, her beautiful hair sliding off the side of the table in a tangled blond waterfall. Her shoulders were shaking, as if she were crying.

Twenty-four hours without sleep, and this is what you're reduced to
—
hallucinations.

Sam blinked hard and shook his head, but when he opened his eyes again, she was still there, bathed in golden sunlight.

First on the agenda was to sleep. Then he'd check himself into the psych ward at St. Vincent's. But maybe, before anything else, he'd enjoy the mirage for just a little while longer.

 

Hunger

GAIA TILTED HER DAMP FACE
toward the sun, the bright light washing every tree and branch with gold. In the distance the figure of a man approached, crowned with
ginger-colored curls. Gaia's heart throbbed in her chest.

Sam. Sam. Sam . . .

She lifted her head off the table and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her coat. She watched his strong arms swinging gently at his sides as he drew nearer. If this was a dream, then that was fine. Because she desperately wanted those arms around her, holding her, shutting out the rest of the world.
Only those armscould provide solace.
She gazed at his soft lips. She saw the raw pain of his heart reflected in those hazel eyes. At that moment she wanted, more than anything, to wash it away. Because it would take her own pain with it.

 

WHAT SAM SAW WAS NOT MADE UP
of dreamlike vapor but the rounded, three-dimensional contours of flesh and bone. Instead of floating or evaporating into an ethereal mist, she seemed to be obeying all laws of the physical world. This Gaia before him wasn't a ghost or a hallucination. She was for real.

Connected

Their gazes locked.

With blood rushing in his ears, Sam stood before
her. For a brief instant he reached out to touch her on the shoulder but hesitated at the last second. He held his hand suspended in the air, then let it drop by his side.

“Ella's dead,” she whispered. “She's over by the fountain. . . .”

The words barely registered. Sam didn't know what to feel. He only knew he didn't want to look in the direction of the fountain or ask what had happened. He didn't want to contribute to Gaia's pain. Now was not the time for questions. It was time for explanations.

“Gaia, I just want to tell you that I'm sorry for everything—”

“It's all right, Sam.”

“Please just listen,” he begged. Before he even realized what he was doing, Sam was holding her firmly by the shoulders. This time she didn't curse at him or resist. This time she didn't pull away. She was rising up from the table.
She wasreturning hisembrace.
Tenderly his finger grazed the long, graceful curve of her neck and slowly tilted up her chin so that she stared directly into his eyes.

“Gaia, I love you.”

 

GAIA FOUGHT TO SHUT OUT THE WORDS,
to not let them seep in, but it was too late. They had worked their way inside her, filling the wounded cracks of her soul. She tried to tell herself that it couldn't be true or that it would only lead to heart break in the end, but her heart wouldn't allow it. And to her amazement, Gaia found herself pressing herself against Sam. Wrapping her arms around his neck.
Asthough she knew exactly what to do. As though she had done this a thousand times before.

The Moment

“I love you, too,” she answered. The words felt strange on her tongue. But they were the right words, the ones she had longed to say.

Sam swallowed hard, his hazel eyes smiling down on her. His strong arms seemed to speak for him, tightening around her waist and holding her so close against him, it was almost as if he never would let go.

With timid fingers Gaia explored the line of Sam's jaw, the sensuous curve of his mouth. Slowly she withdrew her hand and pressed her lips to his. The heat of his touch flooded her senses. For a long, slow moment she stayed there, breathing in Sam's warmth.

Whatever had come between them in the past had been obliterated. The only thing that mattered now was that they were together.

So this is love,
Gaia thought, losing herself in another blissful kiss.

It was like coming home.

 

Holed
up here in this hospital room, I've had a lot of time to think about the past. I've had time to reflect on how I could have changed it. This is very dangerous for someone in my profession, but sometimes the mind works independently of the will—no matter how much training a person may have had.

I've come to realize that until the time I was a young adult, three separate forces conspired to make me into the person I am today. These forces molded me, and, in the process, they took the two people I love most.

The first was my mother. More specifically, it was her devout Roman Catholicism. She taught me that piety, above all, would save my life. And I believed her. She instilled in me a desire to serve something greater than myself. So by serving my country, by helping to rid the world of criminals and terrorists and extortionists of the lowest kind, I truly believed

I would be serving God. It sounds ridiculous to me now. Even worse, it sickens me. Because I know that all the while, I was just serving myself. I was patting myself on the back for all the terrible secrets I kept and all the horrors I witnessed. I was allowing myself to feel superior. I was a hypocrite.

Which leads me to the second force. My brother. My twin. Loki never had the same problem with hypocrisy that I did. He rejected my mother's faith from the start and decided that he would live his life according to one set of laws: his own. And in this crucial way, despite the countless number of lies he has told, he has always been a more honest person than I have ever been or ever will be—because he is honest with himself.

Understanding this about him made me an expert in my field. Few people are more dangerous than those who are completely at peace
with their own motives and desires. I knew this about Loki intuitively, from the time we were children. His mind fascinated me, because it was so similar and yet completely alien . . .

In any event, the third force, which is in some ways the most powerful, is also the most difficult to define.

It is my loneliness. Or no . . . maybe that's the wrong word. It's my self-imposed solitude. I've always been an outsider, an observer. I've never truly
belonged
anywhere—which, as I understand it, is rare for a twin. But Loki and I were islands; besides, our family was never known for its intimacy. The only exception was that brief, blissful period when Katia, Gaia, and I were together. As one. And when that ended, I slipped back into my old skin. I wore the shell that keeps the rest of the world at bay.

And it has nearly destroyed me and everything I care about.

The protective solitude has kept me from interfering directly with Gaia's life over these past few months. Of course, this isn't what I've told myself. No, I justified my distance by the empty belief that I kept her safe from danger, that contact with me would have placed her life in jeopardy. I rationalized my own behavior to the point where I could only trail Gaia around like a voyeur. And was I helping her in any way? Was I protecting her? Somehow, she only slipped farther into Loki's orbit . . . into the plans he has for her. Plans that I can't even begin to imagine. That I won't allow myself to imagine.

But the period of solitude is over. I won't let the forces of my past control me any longer. I'm going to be the father I never was. Or I'm going to die in the process.

 

Nearly
two decades of waiting are finally drawing to a close.

I never had you, Katia, but I will have our daughter.

Yes.
Our
daughter.

I no longer think of Gaia as having anything to do with Tom. Genetically, he and I are one and the same. That is all that matters. In areas of consciousness, of personality, of all the intangibles that go into making a human being's
individuality
. . . Gaia is far more my own than my twin's. I've studied her from afar; I've interacted with her on an intimate level; I've watched her transform from a lost little girl to a self-assured woman.

And she has passed the final test.

Ella is dead. Whatever delusions she may have suffered in the last moments of her life, whatever misguided attempts she may have made to give Gaia a sense of peace and closure, she will always represent one thing to that girl: Deceit. I will make sure of it. I
have
made sure of it. There is
nothing left for Gaia here. It is time to make my final and decisive move—to take her away from this city, to take her away from her past . . . to reinvent her.

Katia, if you could only glimpse what I have in store for our precious daughter, it would change your life. Because Gaia is indeed far more special than either of us ever dreamed. She is the future. Not just my own. She is
everyone's
future.

The vision is nothing more than a sketch at this point, nothing more than a vague collection of ideas and plans. But it will become a reality. Once you tip a boulder over a cliff, it doesn't stop rolling. It gathers speed and momentum. It becomes a force unto itself, independent of that first light push.

All my life, Katia, I've dreamed of leaving a lasting legacy. I've dreamed of an accomplishment that will be remembered a thousand years hence. And I've
never lacked the desire to make it happen. I've only lacked the right tool. But now . . .

No—it's too impersonal to refer to Gaia as a “tool.” She defies description. You already know that, though. One day, my love, history might invent the means to categorize Gaia. But for now, no such term exists.

Only one possible obstacle stands in the way of Gaia and me. You know what it is, Katia. Rather, you know
who
it is. Only Tom could possibly interfere with us. He is resourceful, brilliant . . . but he has an Achilles' heel.

Himself.

He is too clouded by false emotion, too clouded by his own self-inflicted wounds. He is weak. His weakness will be his death.