Slip (The Slip Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

The door closes, and he turns back to the screen, where Harrison’s projected face smiles back at him. Bright blue eyes, a confident smile bordering on cocky, tousled blond hair. A pinprick of regret jabs him in the heart. As a protector, he’s done all right so far. But as a father, he’s been dismal. He knows one of the only reasons Harrison’s become such an arrogant temperamental teen is because of his absence growing up. He takes full responsibility for his son’s shortcomings. If he was a better father, he’d make his bent relationship with his son a priority.

Instead, he swipes the photo away and focuses on his bigger problem; namely, the Slip investigation. At least he’s back in control of it. With Corr and his attack dog, the slightly scary Destovan kid, out of the picture, he can steer the task force in whatever direction he wants. In other words, the wrong direction.

“Camera one-oh-two,” he says. His holo-screen shows him an image of Corr’s office, which is already in shambles. Apparently Corr didn’t take his dismissal too well. His holo-screen is on the floor, a diagonal crack running from corner to corner; the chair is overturned, one of its legs bent at an unnatural angle; all the photos and plaques from his desk are overturned.

“Camera forty-nine,” he says. The view switches to the elevator. Corr stands empty handed, a security bot on either side, holding him by the elbows. Evidently he only went back to his office to trash it, leaving all his personal possessions behind.

In some ways he envies him, being able to walk away from this life. God knows Michael wants to, and he almost did nine years ago during the last Slip investigation. He’d kept the task force chasing their tails for as long as he could, until the public opinion against him had turned toxic. Another few weeks and he’d likely have been fired. But he couldn’t let that happen, not when his other son might need him some day, so he finally let them catch the little girl and her father. On his order they’d killed them.

Are all the deaths worth it to save his son’s life? As a father and an imperfect human, he knows he’d kill anyone so his son could live. Even still, from his position as Head of Pop Con, he’s done everything in his power to minimize the termination of UnBees during his watch. And yet it’s still never enough. He’s not in denial—he knows his soul will be stained red for all of eternity.

Projected from his screen, the lifter doors open and Corr steps out. “Camera one,” Michael says. For hopefully the last time, Michael Kelly watches his old friend step from the Pop Con building, the security bots only releasing him when he shakes them off. An aut-car waits for him at the curb.

Michael’s about to move on to the next crisis, when Corr turns back and looks directly at the camera. Directly at him.

And he smiles.

~~~

Harrison wonders how long it will be before the school calls his father. It’s possible they’ve already called him. An absence by a model student like him would certainly raise all sorts of alarm bells. He wishes he could see his father’s face. Maybe this will finally get his attention.

Although the last time he was here, nearly a decade earlier, he was only a child, he knows the building. Beige stone block walls full of graffiti that no cleaner has ever managed to fully scrub away; thick bars over the shatterproof windows; a tall wrought-iron fence around the whole complex. He’s looked at projections of it a hundred times from his holo-screen, wondering which barred window was his mother’s.

He steps aside as a dog-walker bot passes steering a dozen dogs by their leashes. The dogs strain and pull and crisscross and bark, but, incredibly, the eight-armed bot manages to keep them all untangled and moving forward.

“Good morning,” the bot says, and Harrison can tell it’s trying to scan his eyes. He turns away and doesn’t respond. Bots are notorious for snitching, and if the bot matches his eye signature with the school absences database, he’ll be busted before he even has a chance to think about visiting his mom, much less break her out.

The bot continues on and Harrison does the same, running his hand along the thin iron bars of the fence. Each vertical bar is connected by two horizontal bars, one high and one low, coming to a sharp point at the top. Climbing it would be next to impossible. Fortunately, he has a different plan.

There are four security bots at the gate, two inside and two outside. Harrison stops and says, “Visitor for Janice Kelly.”

“Name,” one of the bots drones, as if he’s already the millionth visitor of the day.

“Harrison Kelly.”

“Please hold for verification.” Red light shoots from the bot’s visor, and Harrison does his best not to blink. Will the security bot scan the school absences database and find a match? He holds his breath and waits.

After a moment, the bot says, “Harrison Kelly, son of Janice Kelly. You are on the visitor list with a maximum visit length of one hour. Failure to comply will result in physical removal from the premises.”

Harrison almost says,
Don’t worry. I’ll remove myself from the premises
, but knows it would be a mistake. Bots don’t do well with backtalk.

“Please wear your visitor’s badge at all times.” The bot hands him a surprisingly basic clip-on tag, although the weight of it suggests it contains some sort of tracking device. Eventually he’ll have to ditch it.

He fastens it on his shirt and strides through the gate, which opens in front of him. Inside, one of the bots hands him a tiny holo-screen and says, “Our records show this is your first visit in the last year.”
Try five years
, Harrison thinks. “Please let the holo-screen guide you to Janice Kelly’s room. Do not stray from the highlighted route. In the case of an emergency, simply say ‘Help,’ and someone will be along shortly. Any questions?”

Yeah, if I were to use the electromag-stick in my pocket on you, how long would it take for your circuits to fry?
“No,” Harrison says.

“Proceed.”

The holo-screen vibrates once, urging him forward. He follows the concrete path to a heavy steel door, which opens as he approaches. Inside, the walls are painted white, reflecting the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights overhead. The white tiles beneath his feet complete the stark ensemble.

The hallway shoots straight out in front of him, but there’s also a stairwell to his left. He looks at his holo-screen, which has a flashing yellow light guiding him forward. Just for the hell of it, Harrison turns left into the stairwell.

The holo-screen vibrates angrily. “Please return to the highlighted route,” it says.

Harrison wheels around and moves back into the hall, squinting against the bright whiteness. The holo-screen stops vibrating, although he can tell it’s awaiting his next false move. No one comes to check on him though. Maybe it takes two or three violations before the security bots get antsy. Or maybe he has to go further off the route before it raises any alarm bells. He’s pretty sure he’ll find out eventually.

Following the screen’s instructions, he makes his way down the hall and past an orderlies’ station. The woman at the desk doesn’t look up from the screen she’s hunched over. It’s a personal device, much smaller than the huge holo-screen on her desk. She’s probably reading a novel or watching some pointless show.

The hall comes to a T, and the screen sends him left. He’s feeling more confident now, both with the navigating and his plan.

A high-pitched scream startles him as a door to the right opens and a male orderly bursts from the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The moment the door closes, the scream is cut off. Soundproof rooms, Harrison realizes. The orderly rushes past without a second glance. “This job is so not worth the money,” he mutters to himself.

For the first time since he set out this morning, Harrison wonders what his mother will be like. He remembers her before, back when she used to paint with him, play games with him, teach him magic tricks. She helped him get ready for school, made him breakfast, and was there to greet him when he returned home.

His father, on the other hand, was rarely around. Being an important man and all, he didn’t have time for his family.

When his mother was committed, he thought maybe that would change.

But Harrison learned the hard way that even when you desperately want them to, some things will never change.

Thankfully, he doesn’t remember much of the period when his mother was slowly going crazy. At least his father did something right in shielding him from that. But he’ll always remember that last day, his only visit to the asylum after she was committed. She couldn’t sit still, her hands dancing around, tapping on her legs, on the bed, on each other. She kept standing up and sitting down, standing and sitting, like she couldn’t decide which she preferred. And she was talking nonstop. Some of it made sense—like when she said she loved him and would miss him; he cried when she said that—and other things scared the crap out of him—like what she said about his brother getting a dud Death Match.

Harrison never had a brother and he promised himself he’d never visit her again. He wonders whether the worst kind of broken promise is one you make to yourself.

The holo-screen vibrates and he realizes that, lost in his thoughts and memories, he’s gone off track again. No flashing lights; no running feet; no warning shouts. “Please turn around and proceed to the stairwell,” the screen says.

“Yes, sir,” Harrison says, even though it’s a woman’s voice.

The screen ignores the jab.

He’s glad when the screen guides him up a flight of stairs, then another. For his plan to work, the higher they go the better. He enters the third floor, which looks identical to the first. There’s an orderlies’ station to his right. Finally his presence is acknowledged when a pretty young orderly smiles at him.
Perfect
, he thinks.

“Can I help you?” she says. He looks at his holo-screen, then back at her. Technically, he doesn’t need help. But he’s never been one to resist big brown eyes and a dazzling smile. He approaches the station, the holo-screen buzzing angrily.

“I’m visiting Janice Kelly,” he says. “I’m her son, Harrison.”

“Oh my God!” she exclaims. “She talks about you all the time.”

He feels a slight burn in his chest, like his breakfast isn’t agreeing with him. But he knows the sensation has nothing to do with food. It’s guilt. The moment his mother became a freak, he cut all ties with her. Bitterness crowds inside his mouth when he remembers how he used to join his friends in making fun of her insanity after she’d been sent to the asylum.

“Really?” he says, his tongue feeling thick and dry.

“Yes! Of course. I’m so glad you came. I’m Alice.” She sticks out a slender hand and he takes it. Her skin is cold and he retracts after only one shake. “Sorry,” she says. “This place feels like an icebox most of the time.”

He nods. The holo-screen continues to vibrate. “So…”

“Oh, yes, of course. Janice—I mean, your mother. She’s halfway down the hall, room three-oh-nine. Your visitor’s pass will open the door for you.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Call if you need anything,” she says brightly, motioning to her large desk-mounted holo-screen. “I’ll be monitoring the visit. You know, just in case.”

For a moment he’s worried she’s on to him, but then realizes Alice isn’t worried about him—she’s worried about his mother. “We’ll be fine,” he says.

A minute later, room three-oh-nine stares at him. He takes a deep breath, extends his hand, and opens the door.

~~~

For the first time ever, Janice can’t wait for Michael’s next visit. If she can only get control of her…
issues
…then maybe she can convince him that she’s okay. And then he’ll be forced to help her, right?

The walls begin to close in on her and she feels the urge to scream rising in her throat, but then she takes a deep breath and pretends to push back at the room. To her surprise, the feeling passes.

Tick, tock
, the watch says, still stuck on 3:02. “Shut up,” she says, willing the broken device to leave her alone. A moment passes, then another. When the watch remains silent, she claps her hands gleefully. She can do this. She can be sane. Mind over matter and all that. No screaming, no talking to things, no voices in her head. Three rules to follow. There will need to be other rules, too, but she’ll start with three. And by the time her husband comes around again, she’ll be ready to surprise him with her sanity.

She remembers the way his face looked that day, cracked with mourning and dried tear tracks.

“No!” she screams. Dammit.
No screaming, Janice
, she thinks. Rule number one. Repeatedly, she smacks the heel of her palm into her head. As a headache starts to throb in her forehead, she thinks of a fourth rule. “No hitting yourself,” she says.

“Memories are bad,” she adds. Wait, no. Most memories are good, but not the ones she remembers. She changes the rule slightly. “Bad memories are bad,” she says to the watch. Damn. She’s just broken rule number two: no talking to things. This is going to be harder than she thought.

The padded white walls fade, and she goes away to another place, another time.

She awakes every night from the same nightmare. Screaming. She always hears the screaming first, and it always takes her a moment to realize it’s her. By then Michael is stroking her back, whispering calming things to her.