We agree to sleep in shifts. Because Cecily and I napped on the way to Charleston, we’re wide awake. Linden stretches out across the front seat, and eventually I can tell by his breathing that he’s asleep. If he’s given any thought to his father finding us through Cecily’s tracking device, it doesn’t seem to be among his concerns. He has a better understanding of Vaughn’s tactics than I do.
Cecily is beside me in the backseat, and she stares through her vinyl window at the darkness for a while before she says, “That’s the first time he’s talked about Rose in front of me. That story about the Ferris wheel and her parents traveling.”
“It’s painful for him,” I say.
She shakes her head, still looking away. “That’s not it. He knows that I get jealous sometimes.”
“Jealous of what?” I say.
“It isn’t easy competing with three other women for my husband’s heart,” Cecily says.
“There’s no competition,” I say. “You’re the only wife he has now.”
“I know Linden,” she says. “He’ll always love Rose. And Jenna was the beautiful one—I’ll never be able to compare.” She turns her head and looks at me, and there’s so much pain in her eyes.
Softly she says, “And then there’s you.”
“Son, if you’re listening to this, I’d like you to know that I won’t stop until I find you.”
Vaughn’s voice emerges from the static, and at first I think I’m dreaming, but then I open my eyes. Linden and Cecily are in the front seat, listening intently to the radio as Vaughn tells the person interviewing him that his only son and his son’s wife have disappeared, believed to be in immediate danger. He says there have been no demands for ransom, but he says he doesn’t believe the pair left of their own free will. He says they were missing from their beds this morning. He says he’ll offer a reward for their return.
“Why is he lying about everything?” Cecily asks. She’s gnawing worriedly on the knuckle of her thumb.
“He knows I ran away,” Linden says. “He just wants to put out a description of us so that we’ll be found.”
My stomach is twisting. Linden looks at me in the rearview mirror. “My father didn’t mention you,” he says. “But I bet he knows you’re with us.”
“What about Bowen?” Cecily says. “Linden, if your father has him—”
“Uncle Reed wouldn’t let that happen,” Linden says.
She doesn’t look convinced. She’s pale, and her arms are shaking.
There’s a burst of static on the radio, and then some generic music starts to play.
It’s early morning now, the sky a threatening shade of gray, the tides getting heavy along the littered shoreline. I know that beach. This isn’t exactly where Gabriel and I arrived—we were closer to the carnival—but I recognize this dismal atmosphere. I’ve never seen it in the daylight.
Several yards away there’s a brick factory building that looks abandoned except for the plumes billowing out of its smokestack. Something is being produced, which means there is civilization here other than Madame’s carnival.
There’s a cluster of buildings that could be an apartment complex, or they could be abandoned. It’s hard to tell. There’s no sign of any electricity. But I know from makeshift houses like the fortune-teller’s that people live in this vicinity.
Linden shakes open the map and says, “We’re about three miles from the research lab your brother—the lab that was destroyed. It’s back in the direction of the carnival.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “We should go to the site to ask if anyone knows where he went. Are you ready for that?”
I don’t see how we have any other option. “Just as long as we stay away from the carnival,” I say.
I don’t allow myself to think that Rowan has seen Madame’s Ferris wheel, that he may have ever spoken to that woman. That she’s seen his eyes and made the connection that his dead twin sister isn’t really dead but is the only girl who ever managed to leave her exquisite and demented prison. The first generations are good at making prisons. I suppose it’s because they remember a time when things were as beautiful as the illusions they use to construct their cages.
I don’t want illusions. I’m tired of feeling like I’m in a dream from which I can never awaken.
Cecily is trying frantically to get in touch with Reed through the cell phone, but there are no towers. Reed said there would still be some out there, though, particularly in places with strong radio signals, as that’s the best sign of technology being nearby.
“I promise you, Bowen is all right,” Linden tells her, putting his hand on her knee. “I wouldn’t have left Uncle Reed in charge of him if I didn’t have complete faith in him.”
“It’s your father I don’t trust.” Cecily’s voice is tight. She’s trying not to cry.
“I trust Reed,” I say. “I bet he’s not even in his house now. He has so many friends who are off the grid. I bet that as soon as we left, he took Elle and Bowen someplace where Vaughn can’t even find him.”
Cecily sniffles. “He better not be smoking around my son. I don’t care that he says it won’t make him sick, it’s still vile,” she says, but she has calmed down a little. She watches the world move by her window in ugly hues and crumbling pieces, and she glances occasionally at the cell phone’s screen.
I can see the Ferris wheel again, purplish and faded against the sky. Madame’s girls must all be sleeping now, as the children tend the laundry and patch tears and harvest crops. Jared is no doubt working on another invention.
I glance at Cecily. Times like these, when she’s very worried, she looks about ten years older. She looks like a woman who has given birth, been married, witnessed death, and now carries the world on her shoulders.
Linden drives slowly, like we’ll find clues on the side of the road. He asks me if I’m okay, if I need air. I shake my head and watch the world warped through the plastic.
Then I see the ashes. Far down a road that’s barricaded by steel barrels and makeshift wooden fences, there’s still the rubble from the explosion my brother caused. I see distant figures moving about it, a yellow crane hauling bits of wall into a dump truck.
This charred monstrosity will be a part of the scenery for months or years to come. And they probably won’t build another lab. They didn’t in Manhattan.
My brother won’t be here. He’s smart enough to stay moving; he’ll stay just long enough to make his mark, maybe incite a riot, but not long enough to be caught by someone seeking revenge. He knows exactly how long it takes for shock to turn to anger.
I yank my door open, and Linden slams on the brakes a split second before I take off running. I wedge myself between the makeshift fence pieces, untangle my sleeve from a rusty nail, and run for the ashes of the laboratory my brother destroyed, only vaguely aware of the voices calling after me.
The road feels miles long. It feels like I could run it forever. But I’m hardly out of breath by the time I reach the heap of walls and broken windows that was once a laboratory. There are people working through it, all of them in plainclothes, probably just citizens trying to clean up the mess. Everyone knows the president won’t offer any help, though maybe he’ll make a speech or something if the explosions gain enough attention.
“If you’re looking for anything salvageable, you’re too late,” a faraway voice tells me. “Place was picked clean apart yesterday.”
I say nothing, kneel down, and press my hand to a crumbled column of bricks. It’s warm—maybe from the sun, or maybe because it has somehow retained the heat of the flames. But I feel my brother there for just an instant, a rush of energy shooting through me, a sharp sideways pull as though he’s trying to get me to follow him.
“Where are you?” I whisper.
A hand touches my arm, and I flinch. There’s the hazy, sudden feeling of waking from a long dream.
Cecily crouches beside me. “Are you okay?” she says.
“My brother was here,” I tell her. “Right here. Just a couple of days ago.”
She frowns. “You shouldn’t be running off by yourself,” she says, and tugs me to my feet. “We’re here to help you. You know that.”
Linden catches up to us, gasping for breath. “What are you thinking, running off like that?” he says.
I say nothing. I watch the ashes swim around like dandelion puffs, making swirls where bodies and walls once stood.
“Are you going to help or not?” a man snaps. “This isn’t tourist hour.”
Cecily draws a breath, and I can tell she’s about to snap back something volatile, so I am quick to say, “Sorry. It’s just . . . ” My voice trails away. It’s just what? I expected to find answers here? Clues? I’ve only found more of what my brother left at our house: some charred remains, more evidence that he’s gone mad since deciding I’m dead.
“We’re looking for someone,” Linden says. “One of the people who caused this explosion.”
“If they’re smart, they’re gone for good,” the man says. “Are you helping or not?”
“Wait,” a boy says. He’s a new generation and hardly taller than Cecily. “Dad,” he says to the man standing before us, “that’s the one we saw on the news. He’s that scientist’s son.”
I see a light of recognition in the man’s eyes. Several others have heard this, and a circle has formed around us.
And there’s silence, only silence. Linden and Cecily and I have orbited close together. It’s all we can do, because we know it’s too late to run.
Linden tries to leave Cecily and me behind. When the man shoves Linden into the backseat of the rundown car, Cecily cries out and rushes after Linden, and he tries to pull the door shut. But this is not an option, and judging by the brute force used to throw us into the hot and stuffy car, I’d guess that the reward for Linden’s return is exorbitant. The exact amount of money a town like this would need to build a hospital or rebuild the lab my brother destroyed.
“It’ll be okay,” Linden says. “I won’t let my father harm either of you.”
He hasn’t been very good at this in the past, but I don’t say that.
Cecily is pale and silent. I catch her glancing at her pocket, and through the fabric I can see the rectangular glow of the cell phone for an instant before she silently flips it shut. It’s no use; there’s no reception anyway.
