The Big Sheep (19 page)

“So Priya doesn't remember making the commercials because she didn't make them,” I said.

Selah shook her head. “Priya
did
make the commercials. Bryn Jhaveri doesn't remember making them, because she didn't. But Priya did.”

“Unbelievable,” I murmured. “So how many Priyas are there running around Los Angeles?”

“Currently, there are three, including Bryn. I have plans for more, but I prefer not to get more specific than that. Each of them travels with her own bodyguard and has her own set of handlers. Generally, no one on set is aware that the actress they are working with is not the ‘real' Priya Mistry. Or, more precisely, that she is merely one instance of the real Priya Mistry.”

I shook my head, trying to comprehend the logistics of all this.

“As you can imagine,” Selah went on, “this all can get rather confusing for Bryn. Playing a character twenty-four hours a day can do strange things to your head, and sympaths tend to be emotionally volatile in any case.”

“Does she know about all this?” I asked. “The other Priyas?”

Selah nodded. “Yes. Well, she was informed at one point. It's hard to say what she ‘knows' anymore. These days Bryn is so wrapped up in playing Priya that we try to shield her from the existence of the other Priyas. Whether we're helping or harming her, I honestly don't know. We have some of the best psychologists in the world consulting on her case, but obviously her specific circumstances are unprecedented. There's no consensus in the mental health community on how to maintain the sanity of a person whose whole existence is a fiction.”

“So you just get as much use out of her as you can and then discard her,” I said. “Chew her up and spit her out.”

“First of all,” said Selah, meeting my glare, “Bryn chose this life. She was informed of everything in advance. She was a consenting adult, certified as sane.”

“By the same psychologists you've got salivating over her impending breakdown?” I said. “That worked out well for them, didn't it?”

“Second,” Selah continued, “it's in my interest to keep Bryn sane and healthy for as long as possible. And if she ever does develop some type of serious psychosis, she'll have the best care on Earth.”

“A padded cell with a silver lining,” I said. “That's vastly reassuring.”

“What would you have me do?” asked Selah. “Suppose I release Bryn into your hands and give you unlimited funds to care for her. Then what?”

“She's an adult,” I said. “She doesn't need anybody to care for her.” I looked to Keane for support, but he seemed lost in thought.

Selah laughed. “Bryn Jhaveri wouldn't survive a month in the real world. Her whole life for the past five years has been a fiction. She can barely keep it together with a full-time staff looking out for her.”

“Because you made her into this thing, this creature!” I snapped. “She was just a kid, desperate to be famous, and you've made her into a monster. Taken over her life, destroyed any chance she has for a normal existence.”

“I made her into a star!” Selah cried. “Gave her a life that most people can only dream of!”

“Your benevolence is overwhelming,” I said.

“I gave her what she wanted,” said Selah coldly. “What she begged for. And I gave billions of people what they wanted without even knowing they wanted it. Priya Mistry, a woman they can admire, pity, sympathize with, lust after. And yes, I got very, very rich in the process.”

“And all it cost is one little girl's soul,” I replied.

Selah sighed. “What you fail to understand is that while I created Priya Mistry, I didn't make Bryn Jhaveri a sympath. I didn't instill her with the need to be famous. I just made it possible. Would she have been better off as a frustrated actress, waiting tables in between tampon commercials? Maybe. But who am I to make that decision? Who am I to say to Bryn Jhaveri,
No, the risk is too great. Your dream will have to die
.”

I snorted at this. “Have you heard enough?” I asked Keane. “I'm ready to get the hell out of here.”

“Wait,” said Selah. “You haven't seen the best part.”

“What's that?” I said. “The operating room?”

Selah smiled and spoke into her comm. “Camille, could you please send Bryn Jhaveri in?”

A woman who looked very much like Priya Mistry walked into Selah's office. She looked, I suppose, as much as it's possible for someone to look like Priya Mistry without actually
being
Priya Mistry. Nobody was Priya Mistry, I told myself. Priya Mistry was a fictional character, like Mickey Mouse. Keane and I stood to greet her.

“Hi,” she said quietly as she approached Keane and me. “My name is Bryn. We sort of met the other night.”

I shook her hand dumbly. She seemed calm but slightly embarrassed, like a coworker coming into work after a not-fully-remembered night of overindulgence.

“Hi, Bryn,” I heard myself saying. “I'm Blake Fowler. This is Erasmus Keane.” Keane was once again doing his duckwalk, trying to observe Bryn from all angles.

Bryn laughed shyly. “I know,” she said. “I remember you.”

“You do?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I came to your office. I was … distraught. I suppose you could say I was not myself. But I do remember it, like a dream.”

“Why did you come to our office?” I asked.

“I thought…,” she started. “I was confused. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in being Priya that I forget I'm not her. But then things don't fit. There are still parts of my life where I'm not Priya, and there are the other Priyas, and people watching me.… It can get confusing. And the people around me, people like Roy, they don't know the whole story, so they start telling me I'm imagining things, which just makes it worse. Everybody around me insists I'm Priya, and I start thinking there's this conspiracy, that people are out to get me. I heard about Mr. Keane somewhere, I can't really remember where, but I started thinking he could help. So I sneaked away to find you.”

“Have you seen us since that night?” asked Keane.

“I don't think so,” she said. “But my memory is a little fuzzy. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” I said. “You've been through a lot.” I figured that whatever else was true, that was a safe statement to make. Evidently, she hadn't seen me on the set or at the party the night before. Either that, or she had forgotten about it.

“What about Noogus?” Keane asked.

“Sorry?” asked Bryn.

“What can you tell me about Noogus?”

Bryn blushed and looked for a moment at Selah, who was observing her dispassionately.

“Did I tell you about Noogus?” she said. “I don't remember. Noogus was my teddy bear. When I was very little.”

Keane nodded approvingly.

“Just to be clear, Miss Jhaveri,” I said, “you no longer believe there is any sort of conspiracy or plot against you?”

“No,” she said. “I do not.”

“And you don't wish to retain the services of Mr. Keane and myself to investigate any threat against your person?”

“No,” she said. “That isn't necessary. I'll pay you for the time you've put in, of course. It's the least I can do.”

“Don't worry about it,” I said. “It was our mistake. We should have realized the condition you were in.” I added, for good measure, “Mr. Keane would never take money from someone in a psychologically compromised state.” That earned me a scowl from Keane.

“Thank you, Bryn,” said Selah. “Sorry to drag you away from the set, but I thought it best if you cleared up this misunderstanding in person.”

“No problem,” said Bryn. “I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused.” She gave a little smile and turned to leave.

“One more thing,” said Keane. Bryn froze and turned to face him. She glanced at Selah, who continued to regard her with no identifiable emotion.

“Yes, Mr. Keane?” Bryn said. “What can I do for you?”

“If it's not too much trouble,” Keane said, “I'd love to get your autograph. I mean, Priya's autograph.”

“Oh, of course!” Bryn exclaimed. “No trouble at all.” She walked to Selah's desk. “Do you mind…?”

“Not at all,” said Selah, handing her a pen. She pulled a sheet of paper from a drawer and put it on her desk. Bryn leaned over the desk and signed, in big round letters:

Priya Mistry

She handed the paper to Keane. “Thank you so much,” Keane gushed.

“You're quite welcome,” said Bryn, with a smile. She turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

 

SEVENTEEN

My comm was blinking as the aircar arced away from the Flagship lot. It was Priya's bodyguard Roy. Or one of her bodyguards, at least. I almost didn't answer it, but if he had learned something about Priya's disappearance, I needed to know.

“Hey, Roy,” I said. “What's up?”

“Not much,” he said. “Élan Durham is sticking to his story that it was Stacia who was killed in the blast. He's telling everyone Priya is taking a couple of days off. Any luck on your end?”

“Nothing conclusive,” I said, which was certainly true. “I think Keane may have some ideas, but so far nothing has panned out.”

“You'll tell me if you find her?”

“Of course,” I said, feeling a little bad about the lie. Just a little, though. This was business, and Roy was smart enough to know I was lying. Priya was our client. For all we knew, he was involved in her disappearance. I wasn't going to tell him anything unless I thought it would help us find her. Still, there was something in Roy's utterly guileless nature that made me want to tell him the truth. Somehow I couldn't believe he'd ever do anything to harm Priya. “Seriously, Roy,” I found myself saying, “I'll call you as soon as we know anything.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a quizzical glance from Keane, who was obviously wondering why I was making such a promise. I wasn't sure I knew myself.

“Thanks,” said Roy uncertainly. “Same here. Although I'm not sure how much good I can do wandering around the set. I'm a bodyguard, not a detective.”

A thought occurred to me. “Hey, Roy, one more thing,” I said. “Do you know a guy named Carlos? Or Jamie?”

“I don't think so,” said Roy. “You got last names? Who are they? Something to do with Priya?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Don't know the last names. Just a couple of thugs I ran into recently. They could be related to this other case we're on.” Again, technically true.

“If you tell me what they look like, I'll keep an eye out,” said Roy.

They look like miniature versions of you,
I thought. But I said, “I think it's unlikely you'll run into them.”
Very
unlikely. In fact, it's almost as if you're intentionally being kept away from each other.

“Okay,” said Roy, clearly not satisfied with this answer but not eager to press the issue.

“Gotta go,” I said. “Good luck, Roy.”

“Yeah,” said Roy. “You too.”

I ended the call, not sure why I felt like such a jerk brushing off Roy. It's not like I had shot him in the foot or something.

I turned my thoughts back to the conversation with Selah. “Are we really going to try to get the sheep for her?” I asked Keane. “We're already obligated to retrieve it for Esper.”

“Our taking this case for Selah was preconditioned on her telling us the truth about Priya Mistry,” Keane replied.

“You think she was lying.”

“I do.”

“Good,” I said. “So do I.”

He regarded me with bemusement. “Really?” he said. “About what?”

“Our meeting with Priya—or whoever that was—at the Palomar,” I said. “If she wasn't Bryn Jhaveri, what was she so scared of? And how did she know about Noogus? Unless the story about Noogus is just part of the act. But why would anybody make up such a weirdly specific detail like that? It just doesn't hold together.”

Keane nodded. “Selah seemed to be unaware we had spoken to Priya at the Palomar. She must have debriefed Carlos and concluded you hadn't had a chance to talk about anything substantive with Priya at Griffith Park. So she told us a story that was consistent with what she thought we knew.”

“But then how do you explain the multiple Priya Mistrys? Who was the woman we just talked to in Selah's office?” I asked. “Was that the original Priya? The one who hired us? Or some kind of impostor?”

“I'm not sure any of them are the ‘original' Priya,” said Keane. “But no, I don't think she's the one who came to our office. Selah put her up to that. She's lying.”

“Or acting,” I said.

“Precisely,” said Keane.

“So that whole story about Bryn Jhaveri, the sympaths, gene therapy … that was all bullshit?”

Keane thought for a moment. “It has the appearance of truth,” he said. “Or it would, if we hadn't met the Palomar Priya. My guess is that most of the details of her story will check out. But she's definitely hiding something.”

“Just like Takemago with the sheep,” I said. “I'm getting tired of clients telling us most of the truth. It would make our job so much easier if they would just tell us everything up front.”

“But so much less interesting,” Keane said. “Do you still have the note I sent up to the Palomar Priya? The one she autographed?”

I fished it out of my pocket and handed it to Keane. He pulled a sheet of paper from his own pocket, unfolded both of them, and then compared the signatures. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Looks like a match,” I said. “But, assuming there are multiple Priyas, wouldn't Selah's people have trained them all to sign their name the same way?”

“Of course,” said Keane, studying the two papers. “Signatures are tricky, though. It's a damn good match.”