“Eric,” she whispered. “Eric.”
“Hello, Lisa.” He moved toward the couch, glancing warily to left and right. For the moment, at least, they were alone.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Then, in a completely different tone, “They told me to forget about you, that I’d never see you again.”
“They’re not always right,” he murmured, wondering as always who “they” were.
His body moved of its own voliton and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to step around the couch to sweep her up in his arms. The fervor of her embrace dispelled any final, lingering doubts he might have held. All the agonies and pain of the past week, all the questioning and confrontation were washed away by the tears she poured out on his shoulder.
“I don’t understand you.” He used a gentle finger to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes. “In Nueva York Tarragon tells you to go to your room, and, like some dumb automaton, you comply. You never came out to see what was happening to me.”
She looked back toward the river. “I didn’t want to see what was happening to you because I knew what was going to happen to you.”
“But to leave like that, without a protest, without a good-bye. Why?”
“Because I had to,” she told him simply. “Tarragon is one of my bosses. I have to do what he says.”
“Not anymore you don’t. Not ever again.”
She shook her head sadly. “It’s so easy for you to say that, Eric.” The bitterness in her voice was directed more at herself than at him. “You still don’t know anything.”
“Do you still love me?”
“That’s a stupid question. Of course I love you. It shouldn’t be and I don’t know why I should but I do.”
“It’s simple for me. I know that I should love you and that it should be. It’s right.”
She looked past him, toward the door. “How did you find me here?”
He was too exhausted to feign bravado. “It wasn’t all that hard. I flew in on a plane, had a nice rest in a comfortable bed provided by the State, enjoyed some organized exercise, and here I am.” No need to go into details she wouldn’t believe anyway, he mused. “And now you’re leaving this place, leaving Tarragon and your other ‘bosses,’ to come with me.”
“Where?”
“To Phoenix, of course. We’re going to get married.”
“Then what, Eric?”
“Settle down, have some children.”
“Children?” She pronounced the word oddly, as though it were something she’d never considered before. “Yes, I suppose that, given certain conditions, it would be possible.” A strange way to put it, he thought, but rushed on by to other thoughts. “It’s not impossible.”
“No, of course it isn’t,” she said dryly. “I’ll get a nice job to complement yours and we’ll live happily ever after. Just your typical suburban couple.”
“It’s a picture worth considering,” he told her. “Sometimes the simplest thoughts are the easiest to hang on to, especially when everything around you seems to be going mad.
“As for Tarragon and his bosses, I’ve already thought about how we can take care of them. We’re going straight to the biggest media center in London and offer the whole thing to the opto networks. When a few million people know your story, Tarragon’s people will be a damn sight more careful before they try sprinting you off to another country and sticking me away somewhere where I can’t say anything.”
She brightened a little at the idea. “That’s just sane enough to be possible. I never thought of that before.” Watching as she sloughed off her apathy the way a butterfly sheds its cocoon was a wonder to behold. “Stranger things have happened.”
“Only on the rarest of occasions,” said a new voice.
Eric turned and stared.
Tarragon again, standing in the hallway door.
XV
Always Tarragon Would they never be free of Tarragon? Must he forever play Valjean to Tarragon’s Javert? It wasn’t fair, dammit! It just wasn’t fair!
“Not this time, Tarragon. You’re not separating us this time.”
“I’m sorry. Abbott. I have to. My job, you know.” Eric could see the heavily masked men clustered in the narrow passage behind him. A similar mask dangled from Tarragon’s neck.
“And this time we won’t allow you the luxury of waking up. Someone made a mistake. My people won’t repeat it.” Even as he spoke Eric saw the tiny capsules arcing through the air. As they struck the floor and furniture, they burst, hissing softly. Tarragon pulled his mask up over his face.
At the same time men pushed into the room, aiming their guns at the single target. No stunguns this time, he noted. No more kid gloves, no more chances. Simple automatic projectile weapons.
He knew that they meant to kill him, regardless of the mental damage that might result to Lisa. He knew it not only from the weapons themselves but from the expressions on the men and women who wielded them. He knew it from the way Lisa screamed behind him.
Her hand was still in his and he felt his fingers tighten convulsively around hers. She screamed again us the guns went off.
How strange, but he thought he heard Tarragon scream, too.
Darkness then, so warm and quiet.
So this is death, Eric thought. Not unpleasant, in fact, peaceful as the pastors claimed, save for the angelic choir singing somewhere off in the distance. That was only natural, of course.
He’d never been a particularly religious man and was vaguely surprised to hear angels. Well, life had been full of surprises. Why not death?
