Vicarious (24 page)

I point down the platform as I scramble to my feet. “That guy pushed me!” I look left and right, hoping to see the navy uniform of a transit officer, but it's like they say in the movies—there's never a cop when you need one.

The tracks are only about three feet below the platform, but just as I'm about to head for safety, I catch a glimpse of the train bearing down on me. I freeze up. The wind blows my hair back from my face. The train clatters on the tracks. I can see its rectangular headlights shining through the gloom. I can envision the red and blue stripes on the front of it. It's close. So close.

Winter, move,
a little voice says. I know I need to move.

But it would be easy to stand here, to be done with everything.

To be with my sister again.

I'm so tired. It would be quick.

“Damn it, Winter!” The sound of Jesse's voice snaps me out of my trance.

He's moving toward me. People are gathering around, panicked. They're pointing. They're talking on their cell phones. Some of them are even snapping pictures.

I dive shoulder-first for the safety of the platform, rolling once on the hard concrete as the train roars into the station. Jesse runs to my side and kneels next to me. All of the color has drained from his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he says. “You just took ten years off my life.”

Now that I'm safe, the crowd starts to disperse, a couple of kids clapping as if what happened was all a big performance. Jesse pulls me into a seated position as the train slows to a stop. I sit just beyond the yellow stripe, trembling as passengers begin to disembark.

“Are you okay?” he asks. He's still completely pale.

I nod. “Did you get a look at the guy who pushed me?”

“All I saw was you down there playing chicken with the train.”

“I'm sorry,” I tell him. “I zoned out for a second. I didn't mean to scare you.”

“Well, you did.” Jesse shakes his head. “I thought you were going to die.”

People hurry past with big purses and shopping bags. A few of them flip us curious glances. Most people don't sit on the cold concrete in the middle of winter. I slowly rise to my feet as the train pulls out of the station. “I wonder how long before the next one arrives.” I turn to consult a nearby schedule.

“I know it's cold, but how about we walk home instead?” Jesse suggests.

I shrug. “All right.”

We head back up the steps. Jesse wraps his fingers around mine as we leave the MetroLink parking lot and turn toward the Lofts. I would normally object to this, but I suspect he's doing it so he doesn't have to worry about me wandering out in front of a bus or something. I'm not going to, but after the scare I just gave him, I suppose the least I can do is let him hold my hand. My phone buzzes with a text. My fingers are still shaking and it takes me a couple of tries to access the message with my free hand:

If you go public with that recording, next time the train won't miss.

*   *   *

I don't
show Jesse the text until we're home, safely locked away in the penthouse.

“Did you respond?” he asks.

“I tried.” I curl my arms around my body. I'm still a little shaky. “The number won't accept incoming texts.”

“We need to show this to Baz and Gideon. They might be able to trace it.”

“To a disposable phone,” I say. “Or some anonymous texting app. Besides, Gideon is paranoid enough as it is. If I tell him someone pushed me onto the MetroLink tracks, he'll probably want to put me in the witness protection program.” I flop down on the sofa. Miso wanders out of the kitchen. He jumps up and crawls into my lap.

Jesse sits next to me. “We both just want you to be safe.” He reaches out and strokes Miso's head. “What's up, Moo?” Miso purrs but for once doesn't abandon me for Jesse.

I lean back and let my body sink into the cushion. “Sometimes I wonder if this whole thing is just a huge mistake. Some crazy guy thinks someone caught him doing something wrong on a ViSE, but maybe we didn't. Or maybe we did and edited it out without even knowing. I never pay attention to the people in the background. Do you?”

“Not really.” Jesse gives me a long look. “So do you want to talk about what happened back there?”

I don't, but I need to give him some kind of explanation or he'll probably call Gideon. I pet Miso's soft fur. “Like I said, I didn't mean to scare you. I guess it was one of those deer-in-headlights moments.”

Jesse reaches out to pet Miso. The cat's toes flex, his tiny claws catching in the fabric of my shirt. “I don't believe that, Winter. I've worked with you long enough to know you're not a deer-in-headlights kind of girl.”

“You're right,” I admit. “It was more like … have you ever peeked over the edge of a cliff and thought about jumping? Not that you want to jump, but just like what would happen if you did?”

Jesse exhales a big breath of air. “Well I'm all about cliff diving, but not if it's going to end in a horrible death.”

“I didn't want to die,” I say. “I swear. I'm just tired. I feel so powerless. Do you ever feel like that? Like you have only the smallest say in what actually happens to you?” I run my fingers through Miso's fur again, comforted by the soft vibration of his purring.

“Well, yeah. But you're talking to a guy who handed control of his life over to the military and then was disappointed when they gave it back.” Jesse pauses. “So staring down a train made you feel in control?”

“Yes. Because in that moment I was in charge of my future.”

“Or at least whether you were going to have one, I guess.”

As if sensing that Jesse needs comfort, Miso stands, stretches, and crawls across me to the next cushion. Jesse scoops him up into his arms and touches the cat's forehead to his. “What do you think, Moo?” he asks. “Think we need to do a better job taking care of Winter?”

“I don't need either of you to take care of me,” I say. But I give Jesse a half smile.

He sets Miso on the coffee table and then turns to me. “Question,” he says. “Have you talked to your therapist since you found out Rose was dead? Even on the phone or something?”

I sigh. “I told you I wasn't trying to hurt myself. Someone pushed me. You saw the text.”

“I believe you,” he says. “Still. You've been through a lot lately.”

I start to ask him how he even knows I have a therapist and then I remember Gideon mentioning her in the office at Escape after I watched the recording of Rose.

“I'll make an appointment when we get back from Florida, all right?”

“Thank you,” Jesse says.

We stare awkwardly at each other for a few seconds and then he says, “Do you still want to look for the one-eyed man?”

“Right.” I almost forgot about the weirdness at Phantasm. “I guess we could start with him and then finish up the ViSEs if there's time.”

“Okay.” Jesse gets my tablet from where I have it charging on the kitchen counter. He brings it to the coffee table and opens a search engine. We both lean in toward the screen, our shoulders brushing.

According to sources on the Internet, Phantasm has offices in eight American cities but the company was purchased last year by a Korean
jaebeol,
a powerful industrial corporation, called Usu. I remember seeing that name on the banner in the picture with the one-eyed man. A search for Usu returns over twenty thousand websites. I scan the main page for the corporation and find out that Usu owns over thirty companies in industries ranging from textiles to technology to pharmaceutical development.

“Great,” Jesse mutters. “This won't take long at all.”

We start by going through all of the executive and employee photos on the various Phantasm web pages, but we don't find anything. We split up the list of Usu affiliates—me on my tablet and Jesse on his phone—and click through as many photos as we can find. After about an hour of searching, we're both ready to admit that it's hopeless. Some of the smaller Usu companies don't have photos of their executives or staff and there's no guarantee the one-eyed man still works for Usu.

I upload his picture from my phone and try to search by image, but after another hour of clarifying and enlarging and scrolling through unrelated web pages, I'm forced to accept the fact that the Internet isn't going to give up his identity. I do a last-ditch search for “Korean men” plus “one eye” and get a gruesome return of about fifty people who have been shot, stabbed, or mauled, but none of them are a match for the man from Phantasm.

Jesse turns away from the screen, like maybe looking at mangled faces is hitting a little too close to home for him.

“Sorry. I didn't think.” I power down my tablet.

“It's fine,” he says. “What next?”

Glancing at the time, I frown. We lost a lot of time walking home. “I want to play more ViSEs, but I've got to take Miso down to Natalie's apartment and then start packing if we're going to Miami tomorrow morning.”

Jesse and I have gone away together before, but Gideon always went with us. Thinking about a couple of nights alone with Jesse in a hotel room makes me even more nervous than the idea of him sleeping out on the living room sofa. I can't hide from him in a tiny enclosed space. He'll see the real me. And maybe he won't like what he sees.

This thought should fill me with relief—maybe then he'll finally give up on us—but instead it makes me want to abort the whole plan.
You have become one of those girls who wants him to want you, even though you don't want him.
No, that isn't true. Part of me does want him. I feel it every time we're in the same room, but I don't think it's enough to make things work.

“It'll only take me ten minutes to throw some stuff in a bag. Let me help you go through some of Rose's ViSEs while you deal with the cat and pack,” Jesse says. “Overlay doesn't bother me at all.”

“All right.” I retrieve my notebook and the music box from my room and set them on the coffee table. Part of me feels weird sharing my sister's personal experiences with Jesse, but strangers have played these recordings. There's nothing personal about them to her. Not to mention, there are still eleven more ViSEs to go and I could use some help if I'm going to make it through all of them without throwing up again. “Anything without a number hasn't been played.”

Jesse pulls his headset out of his pocket. He selects one of the memory cards and inserts it with a click. He slips the headset over his head, adjusting it so it fits snugly. Then his eyes fall closed.

“Be sure to let me know what kind of ViSE it is and who's in it,” I say. “I don't want to miss anything.”

“Trust me,” Jesse says. “You don't want any of this action. It's a switch party at Inferno.” He makes a face without opening his eyes. “I'm kissing a frat boy. Who wears a backward hat to a club? How does a guy like that even get in?”

“Money, probably.” After noting the ViSE in my notebook, I leave Jesse to his switch party and focus on gathering together the things I'll need for our trip. By the time he finishes the ViSE, I'm almost done packing. “Did you see Baz?” I ask. “Or anything weird?”

He shudders. “Plenty of weird stuff, but I didn't see anyone I know.” He hands the card to me so I can number it and then selects another one. “Nice,” he says, closing his eyes again. “Salsa dancing with a bunch of creepy dudes.”

I crack a smile. I'm really glad Jesse is with me.

 

CHAPTER 27

I have
to wake up at five a.m. the next morning to go to the airport. For once, I don't oversleep.

Jesse is sitting on the sofa waiting for me. “I called us a cab already,” he says. “You need help?” He looks expectantly at my duffel bag and backpack.

All of my luggage together probably weighs only thirty pounds. I roll my eyes. “I think I can manage. Thanks.” I draw the living room curtains across the rectangle of dark sky beyond the glass. Only Gideon would think a seven a.m. plane ride was a good idea.

“Ready?” Jesse holds the door open.

I step out into the dimly lit hallway. As we head to the stairwell, the morning feels heavy around me, like it's holding secrets.

Our footsteps echo on the concrete stairs. Jesse reaches the bottom first. He opens the door to the lobby with a faint squeak and I slide through behind him.

Jesse takes a seat at the long bar, one foot tapping idly against the base of his stool. I stride to the front door and peer out into the purple-black morning. The city is a wasteland of frozen streets, of silver and gray corners backlit by the waning moon. There are no people. No cars. The air is sharp and cold. Steam filters up from a nearby manhole cover.

Just as I'm about to turn back to the warm lobby, a cab pulls up to the front of the building, its headlights cutting white streaks through the gloom.

Jesse materializes at my side, his duffel bag hooked over his shoulder. He gestures to the taxi driver and approaches the vehicle. I follow him, but inside I hesitate. It still feels like a bad idea to be leaving town while Rose's killers are out there somewhere.

*   *   *

Both
Jesse and I sleep through the first leg of our trip. We make it to Philadelphia without incident, but our plane to Miami ends up delayed for over three hours thanks to an equipment malfunction and wing deicing. Jesse dozes on and off in the airport while I take turns fidgeting in my chair and pacing back and forth. There are too many people here. Too many strangers. Most of them are staring into their phones or tablets with glazed-over eyes, but occasionally I feel someone looking at me. I wish I had something to do to pass the time. I don't feel comfortable vising out in the open like this, but I hate the thought of wasting time doing nothing.