Naked (5 page)

HEATHER STARED AT ED FOR AS LONG
as she could without speaking. Her body was on fire. Those god-damn crutches. Why did he have to do it? Why couldn't he have sat in the wheelchair just a little longer? She wanted to make him squirm. She wanted to make him feel like shit. Basically, she wanted to hurt him the way he'd hurt her. If that were even possible.

Miracle of Miracles

Here he was, not only walking—not only breaking his vow of secrecy to her and pretty much ruining any chance she ever had of seeing that money—he was talking with Gaia. Intimately.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” she demanded.

Ed stared at the floor, looking very much like a dog with its tail between its legs. But that wasn't the look she was going for.
She was going for pain.


Sharp sensations needled the base of Heather's stomach. She hadn't spoken to Ed in almost a week. For all she knew, Ed and Gaia had fallen right into bed, all turned on by Ed's lifesaving heroics in the park. Of course. Gaia “Man-eater” Moore always got what she wanted or, rather,
who
she wanted. After all, Ed could make himself
walk
for Gaia.
Miracle of miracles.
For
Heather. . . he couldn't even keep his mouth shut.

“I don't know what that was about,” Ed finally muttered.

He's still thinking about her.
Heather's jaw tightened. He didn't even seem aware that his actual girlfriend was standing right in front of him.

“Oh, I'm sorry, ” Heather said with a big, phony smile, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Was that a lover's quarrel? Did you want to go after her? You might as well, Ed. Your walking in public seems to be improving.”

Ed flinched.
There
was the pain she was trying to bring. “Not here, Heather,” he whispered. “Okay? Not now.”

“Oh, are you too busy now?” Heather asked, the icy smile frozen in place. “When should I make an appointment, Ed? Can I book something between your walks with Gaia?”

Suddenly Heather heard titters from behind her. When she turned around, she saw Carrie Longman and Tina Lynch—gaping at her, trying not to laugh, hands cupped around their mouths. Well. This was just what she needed.
There was apparently no finer entertainment for her friends than watching her life fall apart.
But she couldn't deal with them now.

“We need to talk, Ed,” she hissed, backing away from him. “We need to talk
tonight.
”

“I
know,
” Ed replied shakily. “I want to talk. I really am sorry, Heather, you have to believe me.” He looked stricken. “Let me call you tonight. We'll go somewhere where we can really talk, okay? We'll have dinner.”

Heather looked into Ed's eyes. For the briefest instant she felt a twinge of guilt. She suddenly realized that she was looking
up
to see Ed's eyes. Her heart lurched, and she almost smiled—sparked simply by the change in their physical orientation.
But the memories of his past sweetness only led her back to his present betrayal.
A wave of fresh anger followed.

“That better not be another lie,” she warned. “You'd better call me tonight, Ed.”

“I will,” he assured her.

“You better not let me down,” she whispered, almost mouthing the words for fear her friends would hear. “Do
not
let me down again.”

I'm
confused. This morning before school, “crutching” my way down the street, trying not to get knocked over or trampled on, there was one thing I was sure of: I couldn't stand the invisibility. I felt like a goddamn human turnstile, like I was just this little obstacle between point
A
and point
B,
and all anyone had to do was push right through me.


But when I hobbled into school this morning. . . it was like I was hobbling onto the red carpet at the Oscars. No longer a turnstile, I was now a superstar. And it made me sick to my stomach. It left me begging for invisibility. Go figure.


Everyone (and I mean that literally) seems to have gotten wind of my new and improved walking capabilities. And if I have to look at one more condescending congratulatory smile or one more “you
go,
ex-cripple!” thumbs-up, I swear to God, I'm going to cripple one of
them.


It's like they're all saying, “Ed! Where have you been? Welcome back to the world of the living!” All I want to do is scream in their faces, “I'm not back from the
dead,
you asshole!” Was I such a pathetic loser when I was in the chair? It's degrading.


I'm the exact same guy, you idiots. In a chair, on crutches, on my feet.


Same guy.


She didn't want to fight the emotion. She wanted to drink it in, thirstily, like wine.

BERLIN WAS THE LAST PLACE ON
earth Tom wanted to be right now—although any place other than home with Gaia would have felt equally as torturous. She could only hate him at this point. There was no doubt of that. After all his promises. . . to simply disappear again, leaving nothing but a cursory note, it must have appeared to be his all-time low.

Porcelain Angel

Appeared?
It
was
his all-time low.

Since the moment he and Gaia set foot in their Mercer Street apartment, Tom had begun to entertain one notion far more seriously than ever before: Maybe he had finally done enough for his country. Maybe it was time for Enigma to disappear and for Tom Moore to risk the consequences.

But the agency had given him no choice. Not when Gaia's safety was at stake. If there truly was a leak in Loki's organization and the agency wanted Tom in Berlin as the contact, that's where he would be. He'd be there even if they
didn't
want him as the contact. If this informant knew anything about Loki's inevitable plans and how they might involve Gaia, Tom wanted to hear them firsthand.

He wouldn't risk any possible misinterpretation. No one on this earth was more qualified to interpret
Loki's sadistic logic than his own twin. Yes, Tom was where he needed to be: sitting on a park bench in the public square just beyond the Brandenburg Gate.

The square was filled with loud tourists who fired off photo after photo of the imposing gate, with its massive pillars and the triumphant sculpture of a four-horse-driven chariot at its peak—the Quadriga. The more people, the better, as far as he was concerned. He could melt into the crowd here. It had been a long time since Tom had been in Berlin. He shivered. He'd forgotten how cold it could get. Cold and foggy.

The informant refused to give any identifying information. His gender was just about the only thing the Agency knew about him. He was obviously skittish. Who wouldn't be after choosing to betray Loki? That was something akin to a self-imposed death sentence. So Tom had no idea who or what to look for. The informant had only said that Tom would know when the time was right.

It felt like hours had passed before a young girl approached him at the park bench. She was selling German chocolate bars from a cardboard box. Tom smiled. She had long blond hair, and she couldn't have been more than ten years old. She was wearing a white dress, like a porcelain angel. She was utterly adorable. Until she came closer.

Her eyes. . . from a distance Tom could have sworn
they were blue, but when she stepped closer, they were so dark, they appeared nearly black.

“Is your name Tom?” the little girl asked with a German accent.

“Yes, it is,” Tom replied. “What's your name?”

“My name is Gaia,” she said. “And I'm going to die.”

Tom stiffened. There was a split second of uncomprehending, paralyzing shock—and then gunshots were echoing through the square, one after the other, seemingly coming from every angle.

This is an ambush. I've been set up.

Tom screamed for the crowd to drop to the ground, to no avail. Panicked tourists fell over each other in terror. Tom pounced on the little girl, knocking her to the ground, desperately trying to protect her from the spray of bullets. The shots seemed infinite. The screams were deafening, melding together into a high-pitched screech that was gouging Tom's eardrums. Flashbulbs blinded his eyes, and the cold white ground was like ice, painful to the skin and wet. Had it begun to rain?

And then, very abruptly, the gunfire ceased.

Tom lifted himself off the girl to make sure she was unharmed.

“Oh my God,” he said.

He wasn't wet from rain. He was wet from her blood. “Dad?” she moaned, blood trickling from her mouth and soaking through her white dress. “Why did
you leave me? How could you leave me again?”

Tom's breathing became short and forced. He was beginning to hyperventilate. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even scream. The sound of his breath echoed through his head, over and over. Getting louder and louder—

He jerked upright.

It was a dream.

The square was gone, as was the blood and the girl.

He was soaked in his own sweat in his hotel in Berlin. The sun through the window was blinding. The screech of the terrorized crowd was now a horrible noise blasting from the hotel alarm clock. Tom slammed it off and ripped the wet sheet from his body, then jumped out of bed. He didn't wait to collect himself from his horrible nightmare. Instead he dropped into the chair of the hotel desk and tore a piece of notepaper from the pad. He was still gasping for air.

Dearest Gaia,

You can't read this, but I have to write it. I swear to you I'll be back as quickly as I can. If it can be a day, it will be a day. I have not abandoned you, Gaia. Some part of you knows this, I'm sure of it. Just as I'm sure some part of you despises me. Wait for me, Gaia. Please. And protect yourself. Not just your body, but your heart and your mind, too. Your sanity can protect you. And then I'll be home. I promise.

Tom crumpled the note and stuffed it in his briefcase. He walked to the window and stared down at the stark Berlin streets. He had no faith whatsoever in premonitions. He was a pure pragmatist. But the dream had shaken him to such an extent that he actually found himself believing for a split second that he'd been given a horrible glimpse of future events.

So he did all he could do. He prayed that he was wrong.

“SHE'S HERE! SHE'S HERE, SHE'S
here!” Mrs. Moss greeted Gaia with a warm embrace that quickly turned into a suffocating bear hug.

Magical Fortress

Gaia watched over Mrs. Moss's shoulder as the rest of the family gathered in the foyer to greet her, each of them with bright grins of anticipation.
The next world war had just ended, and this was her long-awaited homecoming.
She had just entered some fantasyland—one so alien, she could hardly process it. But then, fantasyland was just another term for Central Park West: the Victorian colored glass chandeliers, the varnished blond wood
floors, and those elegant but funky antiques that only Mrs. Moss could have found.

And then there was the family. It was so strange; when Gaia had first come to New York, she hated “the beautiful people”—the happy wanderers who walked the city without a care in the world other than their next shopping journey. Had she seen any member of the Moss clan at that time, all would have certainly fallen into that category. But now she could appreciate their beauty. Just as she had appreciated Mary's.

They lined up in a row to hug Gaia. First came Mr. Moss—who was sturdy and somewhat nondescript, with brown hair and brown eyes and a deep comforting smile. Then came Mary's oldest brother, Brendan, the NYU student—and Sam's former suite mate.

Gaia held her breath. A burst of adrenaline coursed through her veins.
She'd been expecting that seeing Brendan would dredge upall the recent Sam-related horror and misery.
A small part of her also half expected him to lash at her; she knew he was no great fan of Sam's. But miraculously, nothing happened. He just offered her the same melancholy smile as his father had. The apartment was a fortress, a magical fortress that seemed to keep the outside world at bay.

Then came Mary's brother Paul, whom Gaia suddenly remembered—with crimson-faced embarrassment as he hugged her—as “the cute one.” Paul had
much more in common with Mary and her mom physically, with the exception of course of the quarter inch of reddish blond stubble on his chin. But his shaggy hair was a shade of red bordering on blond, and his eyes were the exact same shade of bright blue.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. Gaia felt like she was being carried along by a wonderful, warm, and enveloping current; she was powerless to do anything but watch, to let the experience wash over her. The family immediately ushered her into the dining room and sat her down for dinner. The scent of “real” food wafted in from the kitchen as Olga, the family cook, brought in a platter of roast chicken. Gaia suddenly realized she was starving. After weeks of pizza and chili dogs and doughnuts, she was worried that she'd grab the chicken and start ripping it from the bone with her teeth, like some homeless savage wild child who'd been raised by wolves and was attempting her first “civilized” dinner. Olga brought the tray to Gaia's left and offered her chicken. Gaia took only one piece even though she wanted ten.

“Take more, dear,” Olga said. “You look hungry.”

Gaia flashed a self-effacing smile. “You're right.” She took another piece. “Thank you.”

“I always forget that you speak Russian,” Mrs. Moss marveled as she took some chicken.

“I'm sorry?” Gaia asked.