MirrorWorld

19.

“Vengeance,” I say, without enthusiasm. The word feels hollow. Untrue. Vengeance is an act of passion, driven by emotion. It’s not even a desire. It’s a need.

“And there’s the real problem,” Allenby says. “When Lyons offered to remove your memory, it was an act of mercy, but also refinement. You were always his preferred coconspirator. I was never sure if that was because of your potential to be a living WMD used in humanity’s defense or genuine affection, but when Simon and your parents died and Maya… You lost focus. You nearly lost your mind. You—”

“My parents are dead, too?”

Allenby sucks in a breath. She’s horrible at keeping secrets.

“Tell me about them.”

“They were beautiful people.” Her eyes are downcast, unable to meet mine. “Joyful. Silly, really. Laughed a lot. You did, too, for a time.”

“What I meant,” I say, “is how did they die?”

“Oh,” she says, then a whisper. “Oh…”

“They were on vacation. A tropical resort. Had a suite on the top floor. Jumped off the balcony.”

“They killed themselves?”

“That’s the official report. Mutual suicide. But when you know how to look between the lines, you can make sense of the senseless. Your father, Daniel, hit the concrete walkway not far from the pool. Your mother, Lila, made it to the water but struck the bottom. When she was lifted out, she regained consciousness long enough to speak.” Tears well up in her eyes. She’s describing the brutal death of her best friend and sister-in-law. My mother. Lila. Though I have no memory of the woman, I find myself moved by the story. I take Allenby’s hands. The gesture elicits a sob, but it’s quickly crushed with an efficiency that only comes from practice. “Your mother’s final words revealed the truth about their deaths. ‘The darkness came for us,’ she said. A monster, like the one you glimpsed outside, drove them to jump.”

“Drove them?” I ask.

She nods, her fluffy hair sliding slowly forward and back, seaweed in a current. “They’ve turned fear into a weapon. Can push it into people. Steal their sanity. Force them to do things to themselves, to others, that… they can make us do horrible things.”

“So my mother knew about these fear-inducing shadows? About what’s outside?”

“We all did. And it made our family targets. That same night… that same damn night, they took Hugh, my husband—your uncle—and Simon.”

They… Who or what are they?

“But you survived,” I point out.

“I nearly didn’t. I was tackled before I could follow Hugh into traffic. I tried to warn you, but was too late. The phone was ringing when you found them, Maya and Simon. You never answered, but it was me on the other end.”

“This is what I ran from,” I say. “Why I erased my memory.” Losing an entire family in one night… It sounds like enough to break even the strongest of men. But not Allenby. I hid from it, but she’s been dealing with this pain for more than a year.

“While you retreated, Lyons became even more obsessed with his research,” Allenby says, lost in the past. “His theories about their intentions had been—” She stops. Looks me in the eyes. She’s revealed something she wasn’t supposed to. Knows what my next question will be.

Why did Lyons become obsessed over my family’s deaths?

“You’re not supposed to know,” she whispers.

“No more secrets,” I remind her.

“Except this one,” she says, keeping her voice low. Despite her assurances that our conversation is private, the secret she nearly revealed has her on edge. Nervous.

I continue my argument in a lower voice. “You made opposing promises.”

She shakes her head, disappointed. “Bollocks.” Eyes on mine again. “Not a word.”

I nod.

“Maya’s maiden name is Lyons. Stephen is her father and Simon’s grandfather. He never had a son. Just the one daughter and he loved that boy more than his own child. Their loss set him on a… refined path. He was driven before, by what he described as a cursed childhood, taunted by the darkness, monsters in the closet, unceasing, crippling fear for which there appeared no source. He spent years with psychologists and psychiatrists who rotated him through various drug cocktails. But nothing helped. And then, when he was grown and accustomed to the fear, it left him wounded, but driven to understand it and uncover its source, which he did, and they took his—our—family for it. Rabid curiosity and study shifted to preparedness and, I fear, vengeance. But… who can blame him? I’d be lying if I said I never thought about finding a way to hurt them. Hugh… the man was an angel.”

“Who’s left? In our family.”

“Just the four of us, counting Maya. Stephen’s wife passed away when Maya was still a child.”

“Why would I run from all this?” I ask. It’s a rhetorical question, wondering aloud because what Allenby has said doesn’t feel like me.

Allenby shrugs. “God only knows, but you took Lyons up on his offer to erase your memory, which, if you ask me, was your first and only real act of cowardice. When you woke with no memory, you attacked. This part is secondhand, mind you. As I mentioned, I found out about your decision via e-mail, and the job was done when I arrived. You were subdued and drugged. Katzman drove you away, put you on a park bench, and set you loose upon the world. I don’t know what the man was thinking, but within a few hours you’d been arrested. I located you when you were committed to SafeHaven a few days later.”

“And left me there.”

“It seemed the best place for you. Even you believed you were crazy. So, yes, we left you there.”

It’s a lot to assimilate, but one detail stands out. “You said I had the potential to be a living WMD.”

She nods.

“I’m just a man.”

This gets a laugh, like I’ve just told the funniest joke. “Okay,” she says. “I’m going to be honest with you because it seems to be the only thing that keeps you from throwing yourself out of windows or punching people in the face.”

“Makes sense.”

“You were born without fear. Didn’t shed a tear when you entered the world. While your mother and I wept, you stayed as calm as a—”

“You were there when I was born?”

“Cut the cord.”

“How old am I?”

“Thirty-four. Your mum was twenty-three at the time. I was twenty-two. Turns out you were born with malformed amygdalas. Your memory was unaffected, but you couldn’t feel fear. You never have.”

“A lack of fear doesn’t explain what I can do.”

“It explains why you excelled in the military.”

“What branch?” I ask. I’m not sure why I care, but I want to know who I was, and different branches of the military can shape a man.

“Army,” she says. “First as a Ranger, and then Delta. But that didn’t last long.”

“I washed out?”

“You were noticed.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

“Lyons,” I say. “What is this place, CIA?”

“Once upon a time,” she says, “as were you. Your skill set made you the ideal operative.”

“My skill set…” I say. “What did I do?”

“In the Rangers, and Delta, you fought alongside some brave and highly skilled men, and one woman if I’m not mistaken, but your willingness to take on any assignment and do whatever insanity was required to get the job done set you apart. You went into the darkest places and saw the vilest aspects of humanity, and somehow, on your own, came to understand something that Lyons had already hypothesized; that there were monsters in the world, just beyond our experience but influencing it.”

If what Allenby is telling me is accurate, I was a fearless, highly skilled soldier who could experience horrible things and not be forever changed. That information, combined with my mental filing cabinet overflowing with ways to inflict pain, extract information… and kill, forms a picture in my mind. I know what I was. Who I was.

“Assassin,” I say.

“The best,” Allenby says. “The CIA would never confirm this, of course. Assassination isn’t a sanctioned activity, you know. And it’s not the best career choice for a husband and new father. Lyons, like you, worked for the CIA once upon a time, but the company specializes in international affairs, not… what we do. So Neuro was formed as an off-the-books black operation with limited oversight, and you signed up, in part because Lyons was already your father-in-law, but also because that skill set of yours made you even more qualified for what Neuro was tasked to research, and not just as a warrior. Threat assessment was part of our job, but we were also tasked with uncovering any natural resources that might exist just out of reach. Our research had the potential to change the world.” She watches my face, judging my shifting expression. “What’s confusing you?”

“It’s just hard to believe I’m who Maya married. Who Lyons let her marry.” Who would let their daughter marry someone who killed for a living?

She smiles. “First, it’s the twenty-first century. She did what she wanted. Second, that’s the part that confuses you? Really?” She shakes her head, still finding the humor in it. When I don’t reply, she continues. “Well, I can’t speak for Lyons. He knew who you were. What you did. Honestly, my best guess is that he saw you as the best man to protect his daughter. He knew you loved her. Everyone did. A lack of fear can be disastrous, but it can also be romantic. You were never afraid of telling the world, or Maya, how you felt about her.” She smiles, remembering something. “You were good friends for a time, through Lyons. And then one day, at a party, you approached her, said with your usual boldness, ‘You’d make a good wife. Want to get married?’”

“That worked? Sounds a little old-fashioned.”

She laughs and wipes a tear from her eye. “She thought you were joking. Said yes, not knowing you were serious. But that boldness of yours is something she came to love. Working backwards, you then asked her out on the most nonromantic date imaginable. Really, who takes a girl bowling on the first date? But… it worked. And you got her a ring. And gave her a son.

“As for why Maya married an assassin, your lack of fear also meant you had no qualms about hiding the details about what you did. She knew you worked for the CIA, like her father, and understood that secrecy was part of the job. She didn’t ask. You didn’t tell, and you never had a problem with it, or the work, until you had a son.”

“And then?”

“Neuro. Lyons had been at Neuro’s helm from the beginning, some twenty years before you were brought on board, but the discoveries made with your help turned the once-small operation into what you’ve seen. Your job shifted from ending lives to being the point man for Neuro’s… explorations. What you saw out there, it was our world. The Earth. But it wasn’t the Earth as we know it. Another world, but not. What’s important to know is that it’s real. They’re real. They might sometimes appear as a shadow, a hint of something in the dark, or a feeling of something near and impending, but they are physical beings. They’re simply beyond our perception. And they’re the source of all this fear that’s eating up the world.”

“But not me.”

“Not you,” she says. “And that’s why Lyons wants you here. Why he always wanted you here. He eventually brought both sides of the family into the fold. Said it would be safer that way.”

“And all this is funded by the U.S. government?”

“Once you and Lyons had physical evidence for the existence of other realities sharing this world, he received all the funding he asked for. Off the record. If something went wrong, the government wanted deniability. It was real, but it was still fringe science. But the possibilities for energy, environmental, industrial, and military applications are vast. That said, most employees here have no idea who they’re really working for, or what the true scope of Neuro’s research is. Our only true oversight is Winters, who reports to the director of the CIA. Whether or not information gets passed on to the president, I have no idea, but I’d guess that he’s happily in the dark.”

I tap my fingers on the tabletop, weighing what to ask next, and realize that Allenby hasn’t asked me a question in a while. Her job probably ended when she confirmed I could see whatever that was outside the window. Her last statement about the dark reminds me of my mother’s supposed last words. “What is it? The darkness. The shadows.”

“We call them the Dread,” she says with no hesitation, looking up at me. Apparently, this is information she’s been cleared to give. “Capital D. You’re immune to the fear they can instill in people, and the resulting influence on our actions, but the rest of us…”

“I’m officially confused.”

“You should be,” she says. “Showing you might be easier than telling you. Do I have your word that you won’t punch, kick, or otherwise maim anyone you might encounter outside of this room?”

“As long as no one tries to kill me again and you keep telling the truth, we won’t have a problem.”

“Good enough for me,” Allenby says, and then shouts, “Katzman, it’s okay. We’re green. Pack it up.”

The doors to the second bedroom, bathroom, and several closets open at once. Men dressed in riot gear and armed with an array of nonlethal weapons file into the apartment and out the front door.

The last man to emerge is Katzman. His eyes linger on me for a moment and then swivel to Allenby. “You sure about this? We’ve got a handful of men in the infirmary already.”

“You need better men,” I say.

Katzman stops behind me. I can hear the barely controlled anger in his every breath. But he doesn’t act, or even address my comment. I have to give him credit for self-control. I would have punched me.

“It will be different this time,” Allenby says.

“How can you be sure?” Katzman asks.

“Because this time, we’re telling him everyth—”

An alarm interrupts. It’s the same alarm that sounded when I escaped. I lift my hands off the table. “I didn’t do anything.”

Katzman puts a finger to his ear, pressing the barely visible earbud down tight so he can better hear the voice on the other end. The anger melts from his face as his listens. It’s replaced by fear, an emotion I’m getting really good at recognizing.

Allenby stands. “What is it? What’s happening?”

Katzman pulls his finger away. Turns toward Allenby. “Incursion. Third floor.”

“Here?” Allenby nearly shouts the word. “How could that happen?”

Katzman looks down at me. I’m positive he’s going to blame me, and to be honest I wouldn’t even argue the point. There’s no doubt my actions have compromised the security of this building. But that’s not what happens. Instead, he swallows his anger, and maybe some pride, and says, “We’re going to need your help.”