Tabula Rasa Kristen Lippert Martin (28 page)

been worse. Just when I was making my wedding plans—
 and by the way, David, the wedding is next month, but I’m
 sorry to say that you didn’t make the guest list.”
“I’m sure you’ll make a beautiful bride. Though I hope
 you’re not planning on wearing white.”
“As a matter of fact, I am. Now where was I?”
8-Bit brushes my finger with his shoe. “You were
 about to tell me what the girl did to mess everything up
 for you.”
“Yes, right. Here I am looking at wedding venues and
 deciding whether to have canapés or little mini-quiches
 and suddenly I find out there’s someone raiding all of  
Mr. Claymore’s projects. A teenage girl, the rumors said.
The media turned her into a sensation. And I knew! I knew
 that my mercy had been a mistake.
“If I’d only been able to get my hands on her before the
 police did, all this fuss could have been avoided. But she
 got caught. And then she told them who she thought her
 father was. They didn’t know what to do with the infor-
 mation, so they called me to see if there was any merit
 to her claim. Unfortunately, Virgil overheard me talking
 to the police about her. I told him that I’d tried to spare
 him the pain of seeing her. The girl was a mess—a com-
 mon criminal. But I told him that perhaps she deserved a
 fresh chance, free of the Claymore money, spared from the  
Claymore curse. He agreed to send her here, to the Center.
It was the perfect solution for everyone.”
“I see,” 8-Bit says.
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“Yes, but it gets even better. You see, Claymore Senior
 had invested heavily in Wilson’s research, and we knew the
 project was in trouble. And that’s what makes this all so,
 so perfect.”
“What does?”
“Wilson was this close to a breakthrough at the same
 moment that the government was this close to pulling the
 plug. We couldn’t have asked for a better situation.”
“Why?”
“Because then they’d wash their hands of Velocius
 and walk away, and Wilson, without bothersome ethical
 restraints and government oversight, could move forward.
And when he succeeded, all the proprietary research that
 the military had largely paid for would land in the lap of
Claymore Industries, and we would be free to develop this
 technology for the private sector. In whatever way we saw
fit.”
“And Claymore Industries obviously had plans to do
 exactly that.”
“Indeed. Who wouldn’t want to be able to think ten
 times faster? What CEO or entrepreneur wouldn’t want to
 get a crack at that technology?”
“So you’ll just sell this ability to them? To anybody who
 wants it?”
“It’s not my place to judge who has the right to this or
 that piece of information. We only need to know who has
 the money to pay for it. Let’s face it, all this research is a
 double-edged sword. You can do good with it, you can do
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great evil. Depends on who’s holding the sword. And right
 now, I am.”
8-Bit looks down at me and then over at Thomas, who
 is now moaning like he’s struggling to speak.
“Ev. The girl. I asked about the girl.”
“Patience, patience. I’m getting to that now. Wilson told
 me that he needed an undamaged mind to test the proce-
 dure. Not these rejects and delinquents we’d been trying to
fix. For a while he thought that all that was necessary was
 someone young, but that wasn’t enough. See, the irony is,
 this procedure works beautifully. Just not on the people it
 was intended for. If you actually have PTSD, the treatment
 is a disaster. All Wilson had to do was keep the girl a secret
 for a little while. Just long enough for the government to
 officially cancel the contract and walk away. Then he could
 use her to find out if his theories were correct. Turned out
 they were.”
“So she was your first success.”
“Yes. Wilson wanted to keep her alive to study her fur-
 ther, but I told him that either she died or his career did.
Simple as that. She was supposed to have a little accident
 during surgery. If things had gone as planned, this whole
 rather expensive raid wouldn’t have been necessary.”
“And what went wrong?”
“What went wrong was Wilson’s assistant. He
 ruined”—she pounds on the desk with each word now—
“the  . . . whole  . . . thing!”
Larry!
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“I have no idea why people keep trying to help her.
Look at her. She’s a skinny, pathetic, ugly thing, with all
 the grace of her mule of a mother.”
My body wants to explode toward her like a bomb, but
 it’s not time. Not yet.
“I had to think fast and fix this whole mess. I decided
 the best thing to do was wipe the whole place out. Make
 it look like some other country decided to raid the com-
 pound and destroy it. And to be convincing, of course, we
 couldn’t just kill her. That would draw attention. No, we
 had to kill everyone.”
8-Bit says, “So you get rid of the girl, keep all the data
 on a multibillion-dollar research project, and marry into
 the Claymore billions. Not a bad day at the office, all in
 all.”
“Thank you!” she says. “I know you wouldn’t say that
 if you didn’t really mean it. I’ve invested too much here.”
She walks over to me, and I can hear the rustle of her
 skirt, the tinkle of her bracelets. “She seems to be good and
 dead, which is fine. I was hoping for more of a bang than a
 whimper, though, after all the trouble she’s cost me. I guess
 things rarely work out exactly how you hope.”
She digs through her purse and pulls out a hairbrush.
“I need to freshen up a bit now, if you’ll excuse me. Gotta
flight to catch.”
“I guess we’ll never get our issues settled then, will
 we?” 8-Bit asks.
She sits down on his lap and plays with the collar of his
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shirt for a moment. “Oh, we will. We will, David.” She
 kisses him on the cheek and then, without looking up, says,
“Shoot him, please. Right about here.” She touches his
 chest, just below his heart, and then leaps off his lap.
The soldier raises his rifle to comply. Just as he fires,
Thomas uses his last ounce of strength to throw himself off
 the couch. In the process, he knocks the candy dish into
 the air. I watch the arc of the pill as it flies out of the dish.
I roll and turn just in time to catch the pill in my mouth.
Hodges is too distracted to notice. She glances at Thomas,
 who is now lying on the floor next to me, then turns her
 back on us both as she kneels in front of 8-Bit.
8-Bit is bleeding, panting for air. “Why? Why did you
 do that?”  
“Because I need to erase the past, David. Erase it com-
 pletely. And that means you.”
A storm gathers on Hodges’s face at the sudden sound
 of helicopters approaching, a sound that she’s clearly not
 expecting.  
8-Bit winces as he tries to smile. “A flaw in your perfect
 plan, perhaps?”
“Give me some binoculars,” she says to the soldier who’s
 just shot 8-Bit. “I’ll be right back. Shoot anyone who
 moves. Actually, feel free to shoot them even if they don’t.
It’s up to you.”
She leaves briefly and then stomps back into the room.
“Bad news, darling. That helicopter has E. C. on it.”
She turns her back on 8-Bit as if she’s already forgotten
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he’s there and stands in the center of the room for a moment,
 spinning the bracelets on her wrist round and round.  
As the helicopter sound grows louder, a robotic voice
 prompts her. “What do you want us to do with the boy?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Ma’am?”
She exhales in annoyance and closes her eyes. She waves
 her hand blindly toward the floor. “Give me a minute . . . .”
She kneels beside Thomas, almost as if her legs have
 given out, and runs her fingers roughly through his hair.
I know she must see the red hair at the roots. Her voice
 betrays a twinge of feeling, of softness, even as she says in
 exasperation, “Fine. We’ll take him along and see if he can
 be patched up. He’s not half bad looking. Looks a lot like
 me, actually. Maybe I’ll take him under my wing.”
And there is my limit. Right there.
I spring up and crouch over Thomas, my hands on his
 chest. I say calmly, almost in a whisper, “Do not touch
 him.”
Hodges falls back clumsily, and one of her high heels
 snaps off. She looks astonished, in shock, like she’s seen the
 dead rise.
8-Bit manages one last smile before his head droops and
 his chin comes to rest on his chest.
Hodges screams, her voice high and shrill. “What are
 you waiting for? Shoot her! Kill her! That’s what we’ve
 been trying to do for the past two days, and now you just
 stand there doing nothing!”
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But they don’t shoot me. One of the soldiers puts his
 hand to his ear, as if he’s listening to something inside his
 helmet.  
She runs up to each of the soldiers in turn, trying to pull
 the rifles out of their hands. “What are you doing? I’ve paid
 a lot of money for you to do exactly what I tell you to do!”
The lead soldier pushes her back so hard she trips and
 falls. He turns his weapon on her. She is furious and bewil-
 dered. The soldier adjusts something on his translator and
 begins to speak.
The robotic voice addresses Hodges. The words come
 slowly, haltingly. “The good thing about mercenaries
 is that they can be bought. Unfortunately, the bad thing
 about mercenaries is also that they can be bought.”
The helicopter is landing outside. The sound pumps
 through the windowless lobby. I feel the air pulsing against
 my eardrums. Hodges looks toward the office door, her
 face teetering between fury and terror.
She stands and smoothes her hair and rumpled clothing.
“Who are you? Why are you talking to me like this?”
“Don’t you recognize my voice?”
“Of course not! You all sound exactly alike!”
“It’s Virgil.”
“Virgil? That can’t be. . . .”
“This man with the gun has just shifted to my employ.
I’ve been watching the girl’s progress for months. The
 security feed went dead, but came back on again a few
 hours ago. I saw everything.”
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She’s shaking her head so fast her red hair flies out to the
 sides like flames. “We turned that feed off.”
“He turned it back on,” I say. “Your son did. He saved
 me.”
The robot voice addresses me. “Sarah, there’s so much
 to this story that I don’t understand. I’d like you to tell it
 to me.”
“Angel. I go by Angel.”
I stare out the door, past the wreckage of the lobby, and
 look at the helicopter. I watch the blade spinning. I can see
 it move, and wonder how it will ever lift off with its rotor
 going round that slowly.
I don’t see Hodges anywhere. I try to ask a question.
Where is she? Is she gone? I want to make sure she can’t get to
 me or to Thomas. But I can’t get the words out. My mouth
 and brain are out of sync.
“My men here will escort her from the building.”
Suddenly there are more men in the room. They must
 have been on the helicopter. Just like that, Hodges is in
 handcuffs, and they are taking her away as she writhes and
 kicks at them with her pointy shoes.
Is everything going to be okay? Is that what’s happening? Is
 this real?
I unclench my fists and put one hand to my lower back.
All this time I’ve managed to slow the bleeding, but I can’t
 hold it back anymore. I can’t hold back anything. My legs
 give out and I’m kneeling.
“Do you need help?” Virgil asks.
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“No.”
Why did I say that? It’s a habit. I do need help. I should
 admit that. I should shout it. Help me. Someone please help
 me. This time when I try to speak, nothing comes out.  
In the slow-motion rush of activity around me, I now
 hear what I know are words, but they are just sounds dis-
 connected from any meaning. I want to ask what’s wrong
 with the soldier’s translation machine. I can’t understand
 what he’s asking me. Something about New York City.
I think he said the word home.    
Time seems to rush, stop, and then hurry again. Para-
 medics appear. I turn my head and see them working on
Thomas. He’s completely unresponsive. I use the last of my
 strength, the whole of my broken soul, and crawl  toward
 him. I want to tell him to hold on.
I put my hand out to touch his hair, but I collapse before
I reach him. I try to say his name, but I can’t. It’s too late
 to speak. I’ve run out of time. Oblivion has come for me at
 last, but I won’t let it take me without a fight.
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CHAPTER 40
 can’t shake the habit of looking down and counting the
I  tiles. These sidewalks near the park are full of them.
Thousands of little granite hexagons.
A cab whizzes by, blaring its horn. I turn and watch it
 go. Slow and plodding as I am, I’m quickly overtaken by
 people hurrying home at the end of the workday.
The city carries on as fast as ever. I just can’t keep up
 anymore.
I hate walking with a cane, but still can’t manage with-
 out one. Every week I get a little stronger, and my physical
 therapist says that if I keep up with my therapy, I’ll be all
 better before I know it. But that’s not how I feel. Every tap
 of my cane reminds me my life is frustratingly slow. And
 the being “all better” part? I’m not sure if that’s ever going
 to be possible.
Things are coming back to me, yes, but not as much or
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as fast as I’d hoped. And while I’m grateful for what I do
 remember, I wish I could have more than my memories.
And more than my mother’s grave. I go there about once
 a week and shell pepitas. Some I eat; the rest I leave for the
 birds.
As for Thomas . . . I have nothing. Nothing but memo-
 ries of him, and that’s not enough. Not enough by a long
 shot. I knew him three days. That’s all. But I think I’ve
 fallen in love with him since then.
Is it crazy to fall in love with a memory? Probably. I
 wish I could ask Thomas about it, because I’m sure he’d
 have an opinion.
Sure, it’s a bit crazy, Angel. Not that I don’t understand. I am
 pretty amazing.  
I have conversations with him in my head so we can
finish talking about all the things we didn’t have time to
 discuss back at the hospital. Back when everyone was try-
 ing to kill me. And we always laugh. I think if we’d had the
 chance, we would have laughed together a lot.
“Remember that time you told me you loved me
 because you thought you were dying?”
Yeah. That was horrifically embarrassing, wasn’t it?
“I told you the same thing.”
It doesn’t count when the person you say it to is unconscious,
Angel.
“Yeah, I know. You were way braver than me.”
I reach the end of the block and pivot with my cane
 to face the steps of the cathedral. There are a lot more to
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