The Linear Accelerator generates an earth-shattering thrum that eclipses a blaze of fire as the police unleash their rifles’ fury. For a millisecond, Jonas feels his body burn. A bright flash blossoms out from the center of the Linear Accelerator, and for a split second, Jonas thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed.
Then he’s flying, hurled back from the SLA. He feels himself slam into the SAT officers, the muzzles of their weapons, hot from their recent discharge, digging into him like tiny brands, before he falls again. The catwalk rises to swat at him, and Jonas feels the impact flip him over. He thrashes, his hands flying in search of the catwalk’s edge, but he grasps only air.
And he falls.
THREE YEARS AGO
The Parker New York was an unremarkable hotel on West Fifty-Sixth Street, the kind frequented by business travelers, where every room came equipped with a coffee machine that brewed cups from little plastic pods. Jonas rode the elevator to the seventh floor, padded down the carpeted corridor to room 712, and knocked without hesitation.
He saw a shadow pass over the fish-eye lens embedded in the door. A pregnant pause. He envisioned Amanda on the other side, weighing whether to unlock the dead bolt. She waited long enough that Jonas thought of knocking again, but then the door swung open, and she stood there, framed in the doorway.
“How’d you find me?” She sounded half-amused, more impressed than perturbed.
Jonas shrugged. “I’ve found you in Manhattan before,” he reminded her. “But this time was easier.” He held up his iPhone, displaying the Find My Phone app. A small circle with a photo of Amanda floated over the Parker on a map of New York City. “Getting your room number out of the person at the front desk was a little more challenging, though.” He pulled out a Verizon phone bill, still in its windowed envelope with her name and their address. “But apparently you really wanted ‘your assistant’ to give this to you.” He held up her engagement ring. A tiny star, cast by the overhead lighting, sat atop the diamond. “And this.”
Amanda looked at it and glowered slightly. “I can’t take that,” she said.
Jonas continued to hold it out. “Then take it in trade. For an explanation.”
“I wrote everything in my note.”
“A conversation, then. You owe me that much. You owe us that much.” Jonas’s eyes pleaded with her.
After a moment’s consideration, Amanda retreated inside. Jonas stepped in and let the door close behind him. The room was a typical affair, with decor by committee, sweatshop artwork, and a bedspread that looked like patterned vomit. It hurt Jonas that she had chosen to spend time here rather than with him.
Amanda sat on the bed. Jonas remained on his feet. They each waited for the other to talk. Finally, Jonas said, “Everything you wrote, I’ve felt. Everything.”
“Then why do we need this conversation?”
“Because we’re wrong. Because all those feelings are temporary. They’ll pass.”
“They won’t.”
“They will. We’re good together. Maybe we didn’t talk about starting a family because there are a lot of things we don’t talk about. Because we don’t need to.”
She stared down at the carpet. “Do you want the truth?”
Jonas didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Of course.”
“You want children.” The way she said it carried a glimmer of accusation.
“What?”
“On our third date, you talked about your friend Peter. About how you met his baby daughter.” Jonas stared back, confused. “The way you talked about holding her . . . your eyes came alive. And I knew in that moment that you desperately wanted to be a father. Even if you didn’t know it yourself.”
Jonas shook his head. “I don’t know. I think I do. And if you want kids, too, we can have that discussion. We can talk about adopting. But the only thing I know, the only thing,” he repeated, “is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Tears began to glisten in Amanda’s eyes. “I love you too much . . . ,” she began.
“I love you more,” said Jonas, completing their catechism.
“No.” She shook her head. “What I mean is, I love you too much to see you make any compromises. I want you to be with someone who can give you everything you want.”
Jonas dropped to one knee to be face to face with her. “You’re everything I want.” He felt like he was begging for his life. He was.
She shook her head again. “You’re not being rational.”
“No, I’m not. You cured me of that. You cured me of everything. I love you.”
She leaned forward to clasp his hands. In her touch, he found the same electricity as when he first saw her on the Columbia University quad. “And I love you,” she said. “That’s why I want more for you than I can hope to give.”
“Except you don’t get to make that decision,” he asserted. “Not alone.” Conviction flowed into his voice like molten steel, building in hardness and strength with each passing second. “I’m here. I’m right here. Right now. Telling you that all I want—the only thing—is to spend the rest of my life with you.” He rose slowly. “You want to talk about what I ‘deserve?’ I’ll settle for being taken at my word.”
She stood up to meet his gaze. “And what happens when you see another friend’s baby? Or a child playing in the park? And you wake up the next morning with regret?”
“The only way I wake up with regret,” he said, “is if I wake up and you’re not there next to me.” He gripped her hands and moved close enough to kiss her. The small channel of air between them felt charged, heavy with emotion and sorrow and attraction. “I love you. And I’m not going anywhere.” For months, she’d repeated those words—I’m not going anywhere—and this was the moment to return that vow. “I’m. Not. Going. Anywhere.”
Her chin rose as she looked up toward him. Her lips parted, and her eyes held an unspoken entreaty. “Then don’t go,” she whispered before she kissed him.
NOW
Jonas shoots up and is rewarded with a throbbing in his skull. Settling back down, he realizes he’s lying on a bed. He inspects his surroundings, expecting to see his makeshift bedroom in the apartment he shares with Eva. But the room is painted white. No wallpaper. No mass-market furniture or symptoms of a long-term rental. Venetian blinds front the windows instead of curtains. A thin white sheet covers him. A tube snakes into his arm, trailing back toward what he assumes is an IV stand.
He’s in a hospital.
A new worry strikes him like lightning. He throws off the sheet to find his hand. It’s there. The tether. He exhales his relief.
Relaxing back down into the bed, he takes a quick inventory. He survived the onslaught of six assault rifles unleashed at him. He survived a fall from the highest constructed perch in the world. The odds of all this are almost too infinitesimal to contemplate.
