Dreams Of The Golden Age Part 20

"No," Anna said. "I don't care how high tech a company is, there's always a paper trail. People sign things, people turn in receipts, they make copies, they get forms and notices from the city."

"You the business expert or something?"

She didn't say anything, because she would have to talk about West Corp and what it was like growing up in the middle of the city's largest privately held business. "It's just common sense."

"I suppose I can try hacking into their computer, just in case there's something there."

"No, you can't," she said and held up the monitor cable-which wasn't plugged into anything. There was no CPU, just the monitor and keyboard for show. "This is a fake law firm."

"That looks like a real diploma to me," Eliot said, pointing at the wall.

"The guy's probably a real lawyer, but the firm isn't really doing any business."

"So we're dealing with a fake company fronted by a fake law firm? Now what?"

"Makes me want to hide out and see what really goes on here." She pulled out her cell phone and started taking pictures. Not that it would do any good, but it might mean ... something. She could send the pictures to her mother-anonymously, of course-and see if it meant anything to her.

In the meantime, Eliot opened and closed desk drawers. Pens and other office detritus slid on particle board, but for the most part the drawers seemed empty. Then he came to the locked drawer.

"What's in there?"

"Let's find out," he said and got out the lockpicks. This one took even less time than the front door. Anna moved to look over Eliot's shoulder.

The drawer was deep, but all that lay in the bottom was a file folder. Slim, not much in it. Eliot took it out and set it on the desk's surface, and Anna flipped it open and scanned the scant handful of pages within.

"Anything good?" Eliot asked after a moment.

She couldn't tell right away. The business jargon made her eyes blur at first, until she made the effort to focus. She had to look them over a couple of times.

"They're invoices. But they're going the wrong way. They ought to be charging Superior Construction, not paying them." But she wasn't reading these wrong-Superior Construction hadn't paid the law firm to file their paperwork and front the company. The law firm was paying Superior Construction, apparently for the mere effort of existing-but why?

The last couple of pages in the file were direct deposit receipts, the payments going in, made by a company called Delta Exploratory Investments. Those were pretty big numbers in those deposits-six figures. Not just-doing-business big. Payoff? Bribery?

She showed the page to Eliot. "You ever hear of them? Could this have something to do with the Executive?"

He hesitated and pursed his lips before shaking his head. "Doesn't ring a bell."

This was important. She didn't know how, but her only task this trip was finding the next piece, not solving the whole puzzle. After glancing around the minimalist office again, she growled. "There's no copy machine-what office doesn't have a copy machine?" Finally, she took pictures of the doc.u.ments and hoped the images came out good enough to be useful.

"You get what you needed?"

"I think so." She tucked her phone away. "Let's go. Make sure everything's locked."

They locked all the doors, turned out the lights, scanned the rooms one more time to make sure everything was in place-not hard, considering how little was there. The offices were just real enough to make a casual visitor believe it was a real business. No more effort than that had been put into the place.

Now that they were on the way out, Anna's sense of urgency grew. They'd stayed too long already, someone would find them out. Eliot kept his cool, though, casually striding up the stairs and across the empty floor until they arrived back on the patio. The night sky opened up, and the edge of the patio loomed.

The thought of Eliot jumping off the building and diving straight down to the street below made Anna's knees lock up. Eliot had already climbed halfway up the patio railing.

"You coming?"

She didn't have a choice, but she couldn't get her legs to move. "I'm not sure I can do this." Closing her eyes, she crept forward, her steps slow, until she reached the railing-and made the mistake of looking through the bars and down the side of the skysc.r.a.per. Gasping, she took a step back.

Eliot said, "You can't be a superhero if you're afraid of heights."

"I'm not a superhero, I'm just a freak with a parlor trick," she replied.

He laughed. "We all are. It's how you use the trick that matters. Trust me, it'll be okay."

He even looked like a superhero, standing above her, legs straddling the railing, with the haze-lit city skyline as a backdrop, his smile blazing under his mask and helmet. I wonder if I should ask him to prom ... Maybe if she asked him to kiss her. For luck, right?

With that distracting thought, she took a deep breath and grasped the hand he reached out to her. Instead of looking down again, she stayed focused on the plastic sh.e.l.l of his mask. His grip around her middle was tight, and she tried not to cling to him too hard.

"Hold on," he said and then dropped. Just stepped off the ledge. Anna squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her jaw to keep from screaming.

He bounced once, and in spite of herself she looked-he'd pushed off from the side of the building, changing direction and slowing down. They swooped toward the building across the street, and Eliot shoved off from that one as well, aiming them downward, until he landed with a controlled jolt. At the last moment, he lifted her up in both arms, holding her completely off the ground. She was pretty sure she would have smashed into the pavement otherwise. He straightened from his shock-absorbing crouch and set her on her feet.

"See? I told you it'd be okay."

"That was ... that was really cool. Thanks." Her smile at him felt ridiculous, silly, but she couldn't help it. She really wished her heart would stop flipping over like that.

And then she stood on her toes and kissed him, just briefly, on the cheek. For luck, after the fact. It might have been the most impulsive thing she'd ever done in her life, and she instantly regretted it. In a novel or movie, he'd kiss her back, of course. Get a steamy look in his eyes and sweep her off her feet with those strong arms. Instead, he looked back at her with a kind of bafflement. Her cheeks burned.

"I'm sorry ... I just ... I'm happy to be alive, I guess..."

His grin was crooked. "You're pretty cute, Rose," he said, in the same way he'd describe a kitten dressed up in doll clothes.

The end of the night was a letdown. Marching off in a huff would have made her feel even more childish than she already did, but her feet dragged on the way back to his car, and once they were driving, she didn't want to take her mask off. First time for that. But the mask hid the blus.h.i.+ng. Eventually she did, and he was already back in his mundane clothes, and they were just two normal people out for a drive again. The world somehow seemed plainer.

"Can I drive you home?"

"Back to campus is fine, I still have time to catch the last bus." She almost apologized again for kissing him, but if he wasn't going to say anything, neither was she.

"You don't want to give anything away, do you?" he asked.

"Not really, no."

By the time Eliot pulled back into the student parking lot, it was later than she thought-she'd be cutting it close for the bus, so she didn't have much time to stand around and chat. Thank G.o.d.

She grabbed her bag and climbed from the car. "Thanks for your help."

"Let me know what else you find out, okay?" he said.

She almost said no, that she had just about vowed to never speak to him again, But- "I'll e-mail you, I promise," he said.

Nodding, she turned and jogged to the bus stop a couple of blocks away. Caught it just as it was pulling away, yelled at the driver to stop, and he actually did. Which was good, because if she'd missed the bus she'd have been tempted to go back and ask Eliot for a ride home. Never mind that she still wasn't ready to give that much of her ident.i.ty away. What was left of her dignity wouldn't have survived.

The next morning before leaving on her trip, her mother dutifully hugged them, told them to be good, and sent them off to school. She seemed awfully sappy about the whole thing, in a way she hadn't since they were little. She was supposed to catch her flight while they were at school.

But she didn't go anywhere.

When they got back home, Mom was still there, in one of the penthouse's guest rooms. Obviously hiding out and not gone at all. The compa.s.s's pressure in Anna's mind didn't lie. If she'd canceled her trip, she would have just been in her office or bedroom. But she was hiding.

Something really weird was going on.

Dad was at his office on one of the building's lower floors-keeping up the pretense that everything was normal, which meant he was in on the deception. He'd pretty much have to be. Anna waited in the living room for him to come home. She had homework, reading for English and math worksheets and all the usual c.r.a.p, but she couldn't focus on any of it. She sat in an armchair and looked out the vast living room window to the cityscape beyond. West Plaza was still, after some forty years, one of the tallest buildings in Commerce City, and from this vantage the whole city spread out like a 3-D map. The tangle of downtown architecture, the silver line of the harbor marking out the edges. From here, she should have felt above the chaos. Instead, she imagined it rising up to swallow her.

The presences she'd cataloged in her own psyche were growing. She could find her family, Uncle Robbie, and all her friends laid out like glowing spots on that map. Eliot was at the university; she was thinking about him a lot more than she probably ought to be. She couldn't really help it. His presence was a warm, comforting glow. A fuzzy blanket in her mind. The thought embarra.s.sed her. Even Ms. Baker, Mayor Edleston, Judge Roland, and Captain Paulson had begun to intrude on her awareness. Once she found people, imprinted on them, they never really left her.

She wondered: If one of the people she knew so well that she always knew where they were, if one of them died, what would happen? Would she feel it? Would she still be able to find them? She was scared to find out. She'd had such an easy life, she realized, that no one she cared about had ever died.

The thought gave her a chill, and she pulled her knees to her chest and hugged herself.

She knew when her father left his office and mentally followed him to the elevator, where he keyed himself to the penthouse and rode up to the private top floor. When the elevator doors slipped open and he strode through the foyer, she was waiting.

He wasn't at all surprised to see her there, of course. Nothing she did would ever surprise him, and the thought made her suddenly angry. They regarded each other a moment, and for once she didn't try to cloud her mind with thoughts of music or flat colors. Let him see her confusion. Let him try to calm her down.

"Where's Mom?" she said.

Not a flicker of emotion from him. Not surprise, not chagrin from lying, not anything. Like he was some kind of mutant statue. Anna wondered how far she'd have to push him to get a reaction from him.

"She told you, she's traveling."

"No, she isn't. She hasn't gone anywhere."

Her father raised an eyebrow, tilted his head. "How do you know?"

Oh, yes, how indeed ... "I just know. Why are you guys lying, that's what I want to know."

"Anna, is there something you'd like to talk about?" So inhumanly calm. Though the lines around his eyes seemed more creased than usual.

If she kept pestering him, she'd never have to answer questions about herself. "Just tell me why you and Mom are lying."

"I can't tell you. I'm sorry."

And that was that. She didn't have anywhere left to push. She could stomp off to her room in a rage, but that would mean he'd won. She glared. "I wish I could read minds, like you."

"Or perhaps not."

She marched across the living room. "How about I go ask her why she's lying to us-"

Arthur planted a hand on her shoulder, and emotion trembled through him-frustration, determination ... fear. A tightly wadded-up ball of panic that flashed in his eyes and faded, but not before it pounded into her own psyche, and she couldn't tell then if he was transmitting his own fear too strongly to control, or if her own fear was boiling over.

This is what he's holding back all the time, she realized. He had to constantly lock himself behind that cool expression ... the price for being able to read minds.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and stilled her racing heart.

"Please don't do that," he said. The emotion had lasted for only a flash; he was back to stone now. "She'll tell you everything when she's ready, I promise, but for now"-he pursed his lips, his hand tightened-"please wait."

She didn't know what she was going to do. Two paths opened up, one in which she confronted her supposedly absent mother, one where she didn't, and neither option looked right. What she did know: Confronting her mother meant revealing her power. How did you follow your gut when it was telling you two different things?

Out of a sense of directionless rebellion she said, "You going to stop me?"

He could. He had the power to control minds, and if he controlled hers, would she even know it? But he drew his hand away from her.

She strode off-but not to go to her mother, and Arthur would have known what she would do as soon as she made the decision. Instead, she stormed to her room, slammed the door, and stayed there the rest of the night. She didn't speak, because she knew he'd see it all written plain in her mind, and he wouldn't be able to fix it any more than she could.

SEVENTEEN.

"ANNA knows," Arthur said.

Late at night, he came to stay with her in the guest room. Nurse her, more like. She was too cranky and in pain to sleep, so she propped up a laptop on pillows next to her, thinking maybe she could get some work done. She couldn't just lie there, could she? But she was having trouble focusing on the screen. Reading a single e-mail seemed to take an hour, so she ended up just staring at the device, pretending, too woozy to do anything else.

However angry Anna might be with her on general principle, Espionage came through, using an anonymous e-mail address to send a pack of information on the McClosky and Patterson firm. Now if only Celia could concentrate enough to read. But she was supposed to be delegating, so she forwarded the packet on to her law team. The initial court hearing was in a couple of days; the info had arrived just in time.

Her little nudge had worked, and she resisted feeling guilty about it. She was a terrible mother, just awful. Either that, or she was successfully encouraging her daughter in her current interests. Sure.

She was frustrated and depressed. "One day at a time" had turned into "one hour at a time," and Celia could imagine a point when it would become "one minute at a time," just trying to breathe enough to make it to the next day. She'd recover soon enough. She had to. She refused not to. But for this particular round of treatment, she would just lie here, weakly fuming.

"Anna knows what?" she murmured.

"She knows that you haven't really gone away. That you've been here the whole time." He sat on the edge of the bed, delicately, like he was afraid of disturbing her. She wanted him to hold her but was afraid that his touch would hurt. So he kept back.

"How could she possibly know? What is she doing, hacking into the building's security cameras? Spying on me?" But she stopped, stared a moment, and the pieces fell into place. A roiling sense of discovery. "It's her power, it's mental. Telepathic, like you." Squeezing his hand made her ache, but she did it anyway, because his touch was more important than pain right now. "How long have you known?"

"About three years. It seems to have started then. She's only really been learning how to use it in the last year. It's not precisely telepathy, more like what I'd call psycholocation. She knows where people are."

Celia put her head in her hands. So many pieces falling into place.

Arthur went on. "I've been waiting for her to say something, encouraging her to talk about it. But she's only retreated, burying it all deeper and deeper. She's gotten very good at blocking me. If I didn't know her so well already I wouldn't be able to read her at all."

"You sound proud of her," Celia said.

"I am. She ... I think she wants to see if she can do this on her own. She wants to live up to some kind of ideal she's invented for herself. Sounds like someone else I know, eh?"

"This is my fault, isn't it? I'm a terrible mother." She snuggled closer to Arthur, and he took the cue, putting his arms around her, holding her. The pain faded.

"No, you aren't," he said dutifully. "Celia, she's going to continue asking what's going on. I don't know what to tell her. I can only put her off for so long. It's not really fair to her, when I keep asking her to share her secrets. Suzanne is worried, but she's very sensitive about giving you s.p.a.ce. No one wants to pressure you, but the fear is there."

She thought for a long time. Thinking had become difficult. "My parents never kept secrets from me. I always knew who they were and what they were doing."