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DEAD LINKS
DEAD LINKS
Published by PLATYPI PUBLISHING
http://nigelgmitchell.bravehost.com/
First edition published March 2006
Second edition published August 2006
Copyright  March 2006 Nigel G. Mitchell
All rights reserved.
Digital copies of this work may be
reproduced and distributed freely as
long as it is without compensation, and
the work is used in its entirety with all
authorship and copyright distribution
notices intact. No changes or edits in
the content of this work or of the digital
format are allowed.
This novel is a work of fiction. All
characters and events are the product
of the author's imagination. Any
resemblance to real persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover illustration by Maurice Mitchell
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Chapter 1
As Amanda Katt lay in darkness on her back, she wondered if she was
going to die. She bit her lip, struggling to keep her breathing as low and soft as
possible. The dry odor of wood and dust tickled her nose, bringing the threat of a
sneeze with it. Her whole body trembled from the fear that clutched at her
stomach like an icy fist, but she fought to keep herself under control.
She lay on top of a very narrow shelving unit in the West Chandler Library,
and the slightest twitch could send her toppling off onto the floor below. The fall
itself didn't bother Amanda too much. Her terror came from knowing the sound of
hitting the carpeted floor would draw attention to her location. The men and
women Amanda hid from would find her and they would kill her.
She knew that as surely as she could hear the rustling of clothes and soft
thumps of footsteps moving along the aisles surrounding her. The whispers of
her hunters echoed through the dead library's halls, blending into a low moan
that seemed to call out her name.
Amanda thought of screaming for help, but knew that would bring nothing
but death. The library had been closing down when they came for her. By now
there would be no one left to rescue her. Those who remained had probably
been knocked out or killed, just like Vicki Paige, the librarian who had been
watching over Amanda a few minutes earlier. Amanda shuddered at the thought
of what had happened to Vicki, then clenched her fists to strengthen herself
again.
A glowing circle cast from a flashlight crawled along the white ceiling tiles
above her. Amanda squeezed her eyes shut. She knew the angle of the beam
would keep it from exposing her, but her heart strained against her chest all the
same.
Stay strong, Amanda Katt thought, stay focused.
She had to. Amanda Katt seemed to be the only human being alive who
knew the truth about Arachne and could do something about it. She had to
escape the library and stop the plan before it was too late.
Arachne. Just the thought of it made Amanda's jaw clench so hard her
teeth ached. If she had only known last week what she knew now, Amanda
would never have let this happen. Her mind raced over all the things she could
have done differently. She would never have trusted so many people. She would
never have underestimated the power Arachne had over its users. Maybe she
would never have written the article that had made her a target. She certainly
would have kept her fiancée, Lesley Grant, away from Arachne. She would have
recognized the signs that something was wrong and gotten him away before it
was too late.
The tour. Amanda's heart sank at the memory. The tour had been where it
all started. If she had only known what Arachne truly was, after everything she
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had seen on her tour, Amanda would have left Arachne's offices and gone
straight to the police. But of course, Amanda had never dreamed of the truth
behind Arachne's power. It had seemed like a harmless website that inspired an
unusual loyalty in its fans. Now, knowing those same fans prowled beneath her
armed with crude weapons and a thirst for her blood, the full impact of Arachne
seemed obvious, but it hadn't then. No, that was the point that led her here. That
was where it all began.
It had all begun with an innocent little tour of the most popular website
ever.
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Chapter 2
Nine days earlier, as she stepped out of the gate of John F. Kennedy
Airport into Manhattan, Amanda Katt felt prepared for her tour of Arachne. She
had researched Arachne as much as she could, and memorized a list of
questions to ask during her interview. Amanda felt prepared for whatever minor
problems that could get in her way. Even jostled by other passengers moving
down the velvet-roped path, Amanda felt a thrill arriving in New York, and at the
prospect of a successful article.
At five feet seven inches, Amanda Katt wasn't a tall woman, but she still
made a striking figure as she emerged from her plane. Her cocoa-brown skin
gleamed in the florescent lights. Her full lips pouted beneath rich, brown eyes
that flashed with curiosity and excitement. Her red sundress, while not tight
enough to be immodest, still hugged the curves of her body, which stayed toned
with regular exercise that included jogging and martial arts. Her skirt caressed
long legs the color of melted chocolate that carried her forward with a bold stride.
A tiny silver cat dangled on a chain around her neck, a gift from her father that
she never took off.
Amanda caught a glimpse of her name in the crowds, printed on a white
cardboard sign. A thin man in army fatigues stepped to one side, unveiling a man
holding a sign over the chest of his black suit. He shifted from one foot to the
other while scanning the people streaming out of the plane. Amanda ducked
between two blond children crying in German to make her way over to him.
The man in the suit focused on her and smiled while brushing his hand
over the lapels of his jacket. In that brief moment, his eyes wandered over her
shapely legs where they showed from beneath the red skirt of her dress. She
could smell mint on his breath as he spoke. "Are you Amanda Katt?"
Amanda spread her hands wide, allowing her green tote bag to dangle
from her right shoulder and weigh down her arm. "The one and only. And you'd
be?"
The man lowered his sign and touched the brim of his black cap with his
freed hand. "Name's Randy, I'm from Gordon Limousines. They hired me to drive
you to the headquarters of Arachne."
She dodged around a heavy man in a green "I Love New York" T-shirt
jogging towards the gate she just left, puffing with exertion. Then she blinked up
at the driver. "Man, they sent a car down for me, too?"
"Sure did. You have any luggage?"
Amanda pushed the tote bag under her arm up higher as she smiled. "Just
this. I travel light."
"Okay, I'll take your bag." The driver reached towards it.
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Amanda gave him her warmest smile as she held the green Manhattan
University tote bag closer to herself. "It's cool. I got it."
"Okay. This way, ma'am." He threaded his way through a group in white
sweatpants murmuring in Korean as they studied an unfolded map of New York
City.
As they made their way down a long hallway jammed with shops and
newsstands, Amanda called out to her driver. "You know, when I told 'em I
wanted to do a story on Arachne, they sent me a first-class plane ticket and
promised me a tour with the president o' the company. Now I get here and I'm
headed for a limousine ride. These guys sure roll out the red carpet."
Randy yelled back over his shoulder to be heard over the intercom system
announcing the delay of a flight to Tokyo. "For journalists such as yourself, they
sure do. I been driving for 'em for a few months, and it's always the same. They
treat the press real good."
Amanda Katt nodded while glancing over the Essence magazines in the
racks of a newsstand they passed. "I guess that's why Arachne always gets the
good reviews."
The driver glanced back at her, and one of the florescent lamps above
burned over the frown deepening his mouth. "It gets good reviews 'cause it is
good. You ever seen it?"
"Briefly, yeah." As they moved down another long corridor built like an
indoor strip mall, Amanda admired a four-foot inflatable Statue of Liberty in the
window of a souvenir shop they passed. "You a fan?"
They approached the luggage carousels rumbling beside the exits, and
driver began to dig through his pockets with his fingers. "Sure am. After a couple
months o' driving fellas back and forth to Arachne's offices, I thought I'd check it
out for myself, and I never looked back."
As he walked through the sliding doors leading out of the airport to the
street, Randy ducked his head to give Amanda a wink. "Got my Arachne T-shirt
on under this."
She smirked as they headed out into the summer air that carried yelling
and blaring horns. "In this heat? You are a fan."
New York heat felt like an autumn breeze compared to the blistering
weather of Arizona, but the humidity made her feel pasty. She and her driver
passed through frantic clusters of people to a Lincoln Towncar Sedan idling at
the curb. Randy moved to open and hold the rear door so Amanda could crawl
inside. Once she had settled in, he closed the door and jogged around to the
driver's side.
The cool air inside the sedan carried the buttery scent of warm plastic, and
drove a sigh out of Amanda. She watched the street twist by her windows as
Randy pulled the vehicle away from the curb, and into traffic headed for the south
end of the Van Wyck Expressway.
The muted hum of the engine filled the sedan, lulling Amanda, until she
realized she could begin her article with Randy as a starting point. She leaned
towards the divide between her and the driver. "Hey, you mind if I ask you a few
question for my article?"
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"No problem."
Amanda fished her notebook out of her tote bag and snapped its cover
open to a blank page where she could begin her notes for her article. "What
would you say is the best thing about Arachne?"
Randy glanced away from the road to look at her over his shoulder.
"What's not to like? It's great. Once you've seen it, you'll never go anywhere
else."
Amanda rolled her eyes at Randy's last sentence. "Once you've seen it,
you'll never go anywhere else."
As the slogan for Arachne, she had heard it many times in her research.
She leaned an elbow on the back of the passenger seat to get closer to Randy.
"Okay, I heard that one before. But really, to you as a regular guy, what's so
great about Arachne?"
Randy faced forward again, but the rear-view mirror reflected his eyes
back to her. Within the black frame surrounding the glass, his brow lowered as
he spoke. "Well, if you don't know, then I can't tell you."
She heard his seat creak as he lapsed into a silence broken only by the
honking horns and thump of wheels as the sedan steered onto the Van Wyck
Expressway. The sedan slowed to a crawl as it eased its way along the four-mile
stretch of almost nonstop traffic. She settled in, wondering why the admission of
her indifference towards Arachne had triggered such a strong reaction. The way
Randy hunched over, glaring out the front windshield at the cars roaring by, you
would think she'd insulted his best friend, not an inanimate website.
Since it didn't seem like Randy was interested in talking anymore, Amanda
decided not to push it further. Besides, she felt too exhausted from the early flight
from Phoenix to bother getting into an argument. She just dug out her notebook
and added the phrase "fanatical devotion inspired by fans" to her notes on
Arachne.
It wasn't an original observation. Amanda had noticed that in fans of
Arachne. Even when she had first seen it with her fiancé, Lesley Grant, the effect
had been obvious. Randy didn't seem any more eager to talk to Amanda than he
had before, so she passed the journey into Manhattan going over her notes on
Arachne.
In a little over a year, Arachne had come from nowhere to become one of
the top ten most popular websites on the Internet. Its creator, Jonathan Seer, had
become a multimillionaire almost overnight. Legions of fans all over the world
visited Arachne with almost religious intensity.
In her research, the sheer number of articles already written about
Arachne discouraged her at first, since she thought there wouldn't be much left
for her to cover. After a few minutes, she realized that all the pieces on Arachne
sounded the same. They all gushed praise about Arachne, covering its broad
range of areas and subjects and attractive design, but none of them could or
even tried to explain why Arachne was so incredibly popular. There seemed to
be a lot of ground that needed to be covered, and she could be the one to do it.
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Her sedan finally cruised to a halt in front of an open square ringed by
high-rise office buildings. Randy climbed out and held the door open for Amanda.
As she stepped out into the cacophony of the street, she asked, "Is this it?"
Randy slammed the door behind her and kept his eyes down on the
sidewalk as he murmured, "Yeah, Ripley Place. Arachne's in that building
straight ahead. Top floor, can't miss it."
Before she could thank him, Randy stalked off to climb behind the wheel
of the car again. That seemed to be the end of their relationship, so Amanda
shifted gears into her reporter mode.
As the limousine slipped off into traffic behind her, Amanda dug her
notepad out of her bag. The building Randy had pointed to formed a "U" with the
ends extending like arms to embrace the open square. A tower of steel molded in
the shape of a human being formed a centerpiece, gushing water into a blue
pool.
This late in the afternoon, the square swarmed with people going about
their business in the heart of Manhattan. A man hurried down the staircase out
front, yelling into a cellular phone held to his ear to be heard over the howl of
traffic. A woman in a pantsuit perched on the edge of the fountain, fanning
herself with one hand while consulting a stack of paperwork in the other. The
heat seemed even worse this deep into the city, and the building housing
Arachne vibrated in the haze rising from the hot asphalt and concrete sidewalks.
Amanda jotted down details about the entrance for her article, then hurried to join
the river of people flowing into the building.
In the penthouse of the building, an old man named Jonathan Seer sat at
his desk, surrounded by light and little else. Silence filled the brightly-lit room, yet
he heard voices in his mind. The voices belonged to others; minds that he had
studied and analyzed until their thoughts became audible to him. They formed
the core of the gift that he had spent his life nurturing and developing through
decades of psychiatric training.
Only one mind eluded Seer; the mind of Amanda Katt. He knew she had
arrived on the Delta Airlines flight from Phoenix, Arizona, which had departed at
eight-thirty and arrived a half-hour ago. Judging by the usual speed at which the
Gordon Limousines driver, Randy Stapley, ferried passengers from John F.
Kennedy Airport to Arachne's offices, Amanda would arrive in ten minutes and
forty-two seconds.
Seer faced his desk and began to prepare himself for her arrival. He felt
an unaccustomed feeling of nervousness over this meeting. He had escorted
dozens of reporters and journalists into the dark web of Arachne, and none had
ever escaped him. He knew his plans to be flawless and immutable. The wheels
had been set into motion over a decade ago, and now drew him to the end of the
long and arduous road. With Arachne at the peak of its success, and Senator
Price under his control, success was certain. No one could stop him from his
ultimate goal of world domination that would come in just eleven days.
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But something about Amanda Katt disturbed him. He heard her voice in
his mind, followed her train of thought, and found it oddly confusing. He knew her
to be a strong and highly intelligent woman. He knew she had faced many
enemies in the past, including a group of anti-technology terrorists in South
America, a band of Neo-Nazis in California, and a toxic waste scandal spanning
five continents. Amanda Katt would pursue any injustice with the ferocity and
determination of the beast that bore her name. Seer knew that if she suspected
the truth about Arachne, she might be the only one capable of toppling his plans.
Jonathan Seer calmed himself as he returned to work, dismissing himself
of being too cautious. Katt would be his very soon, and once she fell under his
control, her meddling would be at an end. Nothing could stop that. But if she did
indeed threaten his plans, then she could not be allowed to leave the building
alive.
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Chapter 3
The revolving front doors gave off a persistent squeal as their rubber
scraped on the floor from constant turning. Amanda emerged from one of the
glass compartments into a bustling foyer. Footsteps of the hundreds of workers
moving through it caused an echo like thunder resounding off the high ceiling and
walls. The flow all seemed to converge on a line of people feeding the skeletal
mouth of a metal detector's entrance. An X-ray machine droned alongside it,
swallowing the bags and briefcases being fed into it as two security guards
looked on.
Amanda took her place in the line, but as she came to the X-ray machine,
held up her bag to one of the guards. "Excuse me, I got my laptop and some
disks in here. Can you just search it by hand?"
"No problem." The guard unzipped and began rummaging through it. By
the time she had passed through the metal detector's arch, he was ready to
return it. "You're all set."
She slung the bag over her shoulder again. "Thanks. Arachne's on the top
floor, right?"
The guard hooked one thumb on the belt of his pants while he jerked the
other over his shoulder. "Can't miss it. It's the penthouse. You wanna take that
elevator over there, the third on your left. Make sure you don't get off on the floor
below it, though, they're doing construction up there."
"Okay, thanks." Amanda's skirt swirled around her legs as she hurried to
the one elevator that no one else seemed to be using. This proved an advantage,
because the door opened the moment she pushed the call button.
Red velvet decorated the interior of the elevator. As the guard had
mentioned, she found the last button on the console inside. She pushed it, then
felt her stomach sink as the car rose to begin its journey.
The elevator jerked to a halt and opened its doors to unveil the office
space of Arachne. Blue and green designs splashed the walls in wild patterns,
making it seemed more like a circus than a place of business. A plastic replica of
Arachne's logo, a stylized spider web with an "A" printed over it, spun lazily from
the ceiling by a white cord. It dangled over a network of interconnected cubicles
that gave off hushed conversation, laughter, and clicking of keys on keyboards
from the workers inside. She could smell hot buttered popcorn. It all confirmed
what she had heard about Arachne, that Seer kept the atmosphere for his
employees light and fun to promote creativity.
Amanda headed down an aisle that surrounded the cubicles, past a
woman in a pink "Arachne" T-shirt who glanced up from a churning copy
machine to smile as she went by. Amanda returned the smile, while noting the
glasses the woman wore. The woman studied the console of the Xerox machine
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through semi-transparent lenses colored a deep shade of purple, even though
huge glass windows and florescent lights brilliantly lit the entire office. At first,
Amanda thought it nothing more than a fashion statement. Then Amanda noticed
that almost everyone wandering the halls of Arachne wore the same purple
glasses.
Even the secretary working at a circular desk built into the wall by the
entrance looked up at Amanda through purple lenses. "Morning, how can I help
you?"
She squinted a little to try to see through the woman's glasses. "Hi, my
name's Amanda Katt. I think I talked to you on the phone. You're Isabelle, right?"
The woman pulled off her glasses to smile up at Amanda, and a small red
heart tattooed below her left eye became visible. "Oh, yeah, hi. I remember you."
Amanda swept her gaze over the room, taking in the bustling activity of
the floor, set against the backdrop of Manhattan outside the windows. "So is your
boss ready for the interview?"
"Not yet. Mister Seer is a little busy right now. It should only be a few
minutes. I can give you a quick tour, if you'd like."
"Sounds great." Amanda reached into her tote bag to pull out her microcassette tape recorder, then followed as Isabelle stepped out from behind her
desk.
The secretary tilted her head to watch her. "So you're a journalist? Who
you work for?"
"Nobody, really, I'm freelance. But this story right here's gonna go to NRNet Magazine."
"NR-Net." Isabelle snapped her fingers. "Oh, yeah, I know that one. It's on
the Web, right?"
Amanda slipped the cord of her tape recorder around her shoulder to keep
it accessible. "Biggest computer magazine in the world, the hottest online
magazine on the Net."
Together, they walked out onto the main floor. Amanda cast her gaze
around the room once more, taking in the crowds of people with dark lenses over
their eyes. "I like your glasses, by the way. Seem to be popular around here.
Thought I'd wandered into the Hell's Angels technical support line or somethin'."
Isabelle giggled as she tapped the frame of her sunglasses. "Yeah, we got
kind of a loose dress code, so Mister Seer thought these would tie us all
together."
Amanda raised an eyebrow at her. "I assume you sell 'em in your gift
shop? You seem to sell everything else."
"I wish we did, but these are special. Mister Seer says it's for our eyes
only. Kind of a company perk."
Amanda made sure to hold her tape recorder at an angle that would
capture their conversation. "Okay, first question - what's up with the name?"
Isabelle chuckled. "Always the first question, but the answer's not quite so
interesting. In Greek mythology, Arachne was a woman who was changed into a
spider by the gods. We thought that went well with the whole 'world wide web'
theme. We just changed the spelling so we could copyright it."
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"Fair enough. Okay, second question - why do you think people love
Arachne so much?"
As Isabelle headed down the aisle, a storm of rubber bands popped out of
the cubicles to bounce off her arms. Before the giggling could die down, Isabelle
swept up three of the rubber bands, hooked them on her thumb, and snapped
them off with pinpoint accuracy to hit the ones who had shot at her.
She never stopped talking. "Well, we work hard to make this website what
it is. Mister Seer wanted it to be the ultimate website, the only one you'll ever
need."
She moved on to pause before a picture window that showed a
breathtaking view of the city surrounding the building, including the colorful lights
of Times Square. Then she whirled around to face the rest of the office, spread
beneath the shadow of the plastic Arachne logo that dangled overhead.
Amanda could tell from Isabelle's voice that she had switched into tour
mode as she pointed at a woman typing up an article on her computer. "We hire
journalists from every field, and some of the world's leading experts on a variety
of subjects to serve as consultants. Sports, movies, health, games, and news.
You can find it all at Arachne."
Isabelle stepped over to the picture window again, and this time Amanda
noted a plush Garfield doll clinging to the glass with suction cups on its furry feet.
Isabelle didn't seem to notice as she spread her arms. "The wide variety of
entertainment and information available at Arachne's made it one of the Top Ten
websites on the World Wide Web. And all these people right here are the secret
of our success. Right, gang?"
The dozens of employees cheered so loudly that the floor trembled under
Amanda's feet. She winced as she hoped that the microphone on her recorder
hadn't blown out.
When she opened her eyes again, Isabelle giggled at her. "Sorry. That's
kind of a tradition around her. We call it our war cry."
Amanda rubbed her ears. "Yeah, I agree Arachne's been very successful,
and you do a good job, but what's your website do that no one else can? I mean,
there's lots of sites out on the Web. What do you think pushes yours over the
top?"
"Well, Arachne isn't just a place to look at and read about stuff. We try to
build a sense of community with chatrooms, games, and original content. Our
fans are very loyal."
"Yeah, I noticed." Amanda followed her around a corner to a small kitchen
area with a refrigerator and vending machines. "So your fans are what make you
a big success?"
Isabelle headed over to the row of vending machines against a wall. "Our
stocks do pretty well on the markets, but more important is our advertising. Our
visitors don't just go to Arachne. They usually buy the stuff we advertise there,
too."
One soda machine showed a cartoon Native American in full headdress,
guzzling from a soda can. Spiky word balloons yelled "Pow," "Wow," and "Cola"
over the man's head.
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Isabelle pointed to it. "The success of Powwow Cola, for example. The
company's sales have gone up five hundred percent in the last month since we
started running their ad banners, and in an article in last week's Wall Street
Journal, they said they owe it all to us. Since that issue hit the stands, our
phones have been ringing nonstop. By the way, we always give a free can of
Powwow to our visitors."
Amanda knew Powwow Cola and the legal battles they'd suffered over the
racial overtones of their mascot, Big Chief Bubblewater. She had heard the
company teetered on the verge of bankruptcy before signing up with Arachne,
but now was going strong. "Thanks, but no thanks. Not a big fan o' that stuff."
Isabelle seemed taken aback by her comment for some reason, frowning
and turning away. "Oh, sure. Okay. Well, can't say I never asked."
Amanda jogged to catch up with her as Isabelle began moving along the
aisle again. She pressed her bag against her hip so she could run to catch up to
him, but the sight of a glassed-in room caught her attention and held it. She could
see rows of black computer cases five feet high, all stamped with a name she
recognized instantly.
Isabelle came jogging back to her again, smiling as brightly as ever. "Hey,
you get lost already? I didn't think this place was that big."
For the moment, Arachne's secrets took a back seat in Amanda's mind to
an even greater mystery. "Are those Crane supercomputers?"
Isabelle squinted through the glass. "Yeah, I think that's what someone
said."
Amanda continued to stare in awe through the window at the computers
tangled within a web of green and red wiring. What she saw seemed as out of
place as a nuclear bomb in a child's toy box.
Amanda raised her eyes up to Isabelle as she whispered, "What're they
doing running a website?"
The muted roar of the fans inside the computer room seemed louder than
all the chatter and movement in the main floor as Isabelle shrugged. "Nothing
special, really. They're hooked up to the servers. You know what servers are,
right?"
"Sure. That's a computer that don't do nothing else but sit around and
send people files, like waiters of the Internet." She turned her gaze back onto the
supercomputers humming in the next room. "But any computer could run a
server, even my desktop at home. Supercomputers do billions of complex
mathematical calculations every second. The government uses 'em to design
new weapons or for decrypting classified information. And Crane
supercomputers are top o' the line, the best of the best, most powerful computers
on Earth. And you got ten of 'em. No way a server's workload could be strong
enough to need that kinda power."
Isabelle rubbed her cheek with a palm. "Sorry, I'm not a computer expert.
That's just what they told me, that we just use these to run stuff on Arachne's
pages, games, diagnostics on the systems, that sort of thing."
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Amanda slipped the cord of the tape recorder around her neck as she
tilted her head to one side to smirk up at her. "One Crane could handle all that
and more."
Amanda prepared to ask a follow-up question when Isabelle stiffened. Her
head rose up to look at something behind her. Whatever she saw caused the
smile to melt off Isabelle's face. Her glasses slipped down to expose eyes that
lost their twinkle, leaving them widened and even twitching in one corner. Her lips
contorted as they fought to hold back the curl of anger that seemed to threaten
them.
Even the atmosphere of the office had changed. The buzz of conversation
that had lingered in the background during her visit died until the entire floor fell
silent. A Hispanic woman wearing overalls had stopped photocopying documents
on a nearby machine to stare over Amanda's shoulder. In other cubicles, heads
came up over the walls to follow the path of someone coming down the aisle.
She could hear it now. A steady footfall that came with such regularity that
at first she mistook it for the drumbeat of a machine under the floor. It grew
louder with every step as it came up behind her, and she felt like turning around
to see what caused it, but something inside her cried out against it. She had
never been a big believer in intuition. But in that moment, Amanda Katt felt that
the sight of the approaching stranger would somehow change her life from that
point on, as if she balanced on the edge of a high cliff, and the slightest
movement would send her toppling over into a dark abyss. When the footsteps
finally came to a halt right behind her, she could almost feel someone there, like
the barely perceptible touch of fingers running along her back.
But Amanda refused to let any fear or inhibition stop her from doing
anything. She bunched her hand into a fist around her tape recorder to
strengthen herself, then spun around on one of her high heels.
The man standing in the aisle sent chills through her like the pillar of ice
that he appeared to be. His gray shoes, pants, shirt, jacket, and tie all blended
together into a solid white block. The only break came from his thin pink face,
which glared down at her from gray eyes under clouds of white hair on his head.
Those eyes seemed to penetrate hers, and looked straight into them. Amanda
had always thought of the saying that the eyes were a window to the soul as just
an expression until that moment. Now, as this man used those windows to gaze
directly into her heart, she blinked, wishing she could close them permanently
and keep him out of her mind.
A moment passed in which the hollow roar of the air-conditioning seemed
to be the only living thing in the room. Then the old man's lips parted to release a
voice barely higher than a whisper, but with a British accent that carried a heavy
intensity. "Miss Ross, I told you that I wished to meet with Miss Katt the moment
she arrived."
The authority in his voice shocked Amanda. His was the voice of a king
commanding his lowest servant. She looked back at Isabelle, who hadn't moved
at all, except to clench her fists. Now her lips curled up in a snarl that somehow
produced the words, "Yes, Mister Seer. But you said you were busy. I just
wanted to show her around a bit first."
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The old man's eyes finally broke their hold on Amanda's to shift to
Isabelle's, and Amanda caught her flinching on contact. "I know what you
wanted. You have wasted enough time. This tour is over. Come with me, Miss
Katt."
The man pivoted on one white heel, then headed back down the aisle
again at the same slow, even pace as before.
As the stranger moved away, Amanda noticed that Isabelle remained rigid
in place, watching the old man's back as if hoping her angry glare would make it
burst into flame.
"Who is that?" Amanda whispered.
The further the old man moved away from the area, the higher the
conversation rose as Isabelle growled under his breath. "That's Jonathan Seer,
the founder of Arachne."
Amanda cast another look at the retreating man, who still held the
attention of everyone in the room. "Wow. Not the friendliest guy in the world."
Isabelle's smile died quickly, and the scent of her cologne grew stronger
as she leaned close to whisper in her ear. "Be careful in there. I got a feeling that
he's not too happy to meet you." Isabelle straightened and never looked back as
she marched away, back to the front desk.
At the other end of the room, Jonathan Seer stepped into an office, then
paused in the doorway. She assumed that meant he wanted her to follow, so she
began to walk down the aisle. It followed the perimeter of the cubicles, and she
felt dozens of eyes on her as she passed them. It seemed as if she had the
attention of the entire room. The weight of their collective gaze pressed down on
her. The murmur of conversation remained low. Her heels striking the carpet
formed a regular thump that mirrored the pounding of her heart in her chest.
Seer's cold gray eyes followed her as she came towards him. Amanda
smiled, but the deep lines in his face never moved in response. His presence
crowded against her as she passed him to enter his office.
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Chapter 4
The entire floor of Arachne's offices had been air-conditioned, but Seer's
office seemed twenty degrees colder than anywhere else. It might have been the
all-white décor that made the office look like the inside of a refrigerator. Or
maybe it was the roar of the vent over the desk that seemed deafening in the
cramped room, pouring out cold air that tickled her skin.
Almost everything in Seer's office had the same off-white color. The walls
blended with the snowy carpet, on which perched a lean metal desk that
supported a single compact computer. A single red wire running from the back of
the computer into a hole in the wall served as the only contrast. No window or
other door broke the icy interior.
Amanda hugged her tote bag close to herself as she walked inside, then
jumped as the door thumped shut. With the door closed, the room's soundproof
walls cut off the noises of the rest of the floor like a knife, plunging the office into
an icy stillness.
Seer moved out from behind her to approach his desk. His white suit, tie,
and shoes blended so well with the walls and carpet that she could easily
imagine him as a chameleon slinking his way across surfaces, leaving only a
vague impression of a man crossing the room. His light pink face stood out even
more in the monochromatic scheme, making his gray eyes more prominent as
they followed her.
Amanda glanced around herself for somewhere to sit, but the only chair
was the one Seer lowered himself into. With his white suit, shoes, and tie,
Jonathan Seer blended into the room as he sat up straight in his white cushioned
chair. Only when he raised his head from where it hunched over the computer's
monitor, and exposed the light pink face lurking beneath his curls of gray hair, did
he break the monotony of the room. She contented herself with shifting her
stance into a more comfortable position as she faced him.
Seer sat watching her for a moment. She tried to match his glare to keep
from showing any weakness, but his eyes were like spotlights, while hers
flickered like a candle in a draft.
When Seer finally spoke, the air-conditioning made the whisper of his
voice even harder to make out. "It's difficult for you to be a black woman in a
white man's field."
Amanda blinked. "Excuse me?"
Only Seer's lips moved, leaving his entire body rigid as he watched her.
"Journalism is a difficult field, and you tend to write more technical articles,
especially in the area of computers. The computer industry is still regarded as a
man's domain, and African-American women are even rarer. You have to fight
very hard to gain the respect of those you interview and deal with."
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She looked down at her tape recorder, pretending to check if it recorded
properly, but mainly to avoid his eyes. "Yeah, it's kinda tough, but you know how
it is. Glass ceiling in every job. I get by."
"You chose this field because you knew how hard it would be to succeed.
You are that way in everything. Aggressive, domineering, constantly challenging
your boundaries. You get that from your father."
As the last word fell from his lips, the cold in the room intensified until she
could almost see the breath that burst from her lungs in a gasp. She forced
herself to straighten and face Seer sitting behind his desk with his hands resting
lightly on the arms of his chair. She had tried to ignore the sense of dread she felt
since first hearing Seer's footsteps outside. Now she allowed the feelings to rise
to the surface and accept them for the warning that they were.
"What do you know about my father?"
Seer's lips parted. "I did some research on you when I heard you were
coming, Miss Katt. I like to know a little something about the people I meet, what
drives them. Your father was Abraham Katt, an investigative reporter for The
Manhattan Examiner. He worked the crime beat with a particular leaning towards
organized crime. He made some powerful enemies, and one of them finally
caught up to him. You became a journalist as well to honor his memory by
fighting the injustice that he died to expose. You had brief stints at the Examiner
and The Phoenix Times as a crime reporter as well, but you didn't stay, even
though you easily could have. I wonder why."
She folded her hands over each other on her lap. "I just felt like goin' in a
different direction. I didn't like the chains holding me down when I worked on
staff. And I'm more interested in computers than mobsters. Besides, I ain't my
Daddy."
"No, you're not. But that gunshot wound those Neo-Nazis inflicted on you
frightened you very much. You came very close to reliving your father's own
murder. You've left criminal investigation, but still long for the thrill and danger.
You also feel guilt for abandoning your father's way of life. I wonder if you seek
out danger for that reason, as a way of getting close to the father you lost."
Amanda reached the limits of her patience. Her fingers grew numb against
the marble desktop as she leaned on them to move closer towards him. "Look, I
don't see what this has got to do with my article. I'm here to find out about
Arachne. If you don't got nothin' to offer there, then I'll just be sayin' adios and
movin' on."
One corner of Seer's mouth pricked up in something close to a smile. "You
respond to aggression with aggression. Very well. I am sorry if I upset you by
talking about things you try to suppress."
Amanda cocked her head to one side. "I don't suppress nothing. I just
think it's none o' your business."
"Perhaps you are right." Seer's eyelids floated closed as he bowed his
head. "You've observed the power I wield in this office, and it has made you
frightened of me. We shall move on to more pleasant matters."
Seer raised his left hand off the desk to rest his index finger on one corner
of his computer's monitor. The finger pushed the monitor on its base until it faced
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Amanda instead of him. The finger moved to point at the screen. "You have seen
Arachne, I assume?"
She let his comments about her go unmentioned while glancing the web
page displayed on the glowing screen. "Yeah."
"Good." Seer brought up his other hand to rest on his computer's mouse,
then tapped the right button. A new page with large blocks of text came up on the
screen. "Here is what I want you to write in your article. You may change it to suit
your own writing style, but you will include everything you see here. Pay
particular attention to the phrasing in the third paragraph."
The page Seer pointed her to seemed to be a press release for Arachne.
Most of the information in it had been repeated in the hundreds of other articles
she had read about Arachne. In fact, she recognized some of it word-for-word
from other articles, although now she wondered if it worked the other way
around. Maybe the articles had been taken from the press release.
From the first moment she met Jonathan Seer, Amanda felt as if she had
entered another world - his world. At that moment, she also reached her fill of it.
She cocked her head to the other side as she waved her tape recorder at the
monitor. "What's this supposed to be?"
Seer's gray eyebrow raised up an inch. "It is what it looks like. It is your
article. You will copy it, leave the building to modify it to suit your writing style,
and submit it to your editor. I suggest you get started. If your typing speed is near
fifty words a minute, then it will take you roughly three minutes and thirty-two
seconds."
Amanda laughed once, then set down her tape recorder to free her other
hand, which she braced on her hip while the other hand remained on his desk.
"So that's it, huh? You expect me to just do whatever you tell me to do, no
questions asked?"
Seer's other eyebrow came up to join the first. "Yes, I do."
"Oh, really? And what makes you think you can do what nobody else in
this whole wide world except my Momma can do? Because nobody tells the Katt
what to do, you understand me? And especially not some old man I don't know
from Adam who likes to butt into other people's lives, and has the worst fashion
sense I ever seen. You ever hear of a little thing called color? All the rage back in
the dawn of civilization?"
Seer's eyebrows slowly dropped back down to lower his brow as his voice
deepened. "You have seen Arachne, and yet you still contradict me?"
She straightened and picked up her tape recorder from where she had set
it down. "You bet I do."
His head tilted forward slightly. "Do you believe Arachne's slogan? That
once you've seen it, you'll never go anywhere else?"
Amanda checked the tape, assuring that it still ran. "Honestly? Not really. I
seen better."
Seer burst out of his chair, lunged across the table, and ripped the tape
recorder out of her hand. Seer yanked the tape out of the side of the recorder.
"This interview is over. You will leave this building at once."
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Before Amanda could even reach for it, Seer dashed the tape against the
stone surface of his desk. The audiotape exploded into shards of plastic and
metal with magnetic thread spraying everywhere like thin, brown blood. Most of
the pieces scattered over the desk and white carpet, but one of them struck
Amanda in her cheek, causing a flash of pain that told her it had cut deep.
Amanda touched her cheek with a finger that grew slippery and red. It
flared her anger even more. "Hey, you can't do that."
"I most certainly can." He tossed the tape recorder back onto the desk,
where it skidded across with a scraping noise to bump against her thigh. "We no
longer want you to write your article. The material you collected on that tape
recorder contained confidential information."
She picked up her tape recorder while glaring at Seer. "No, it didn't.
Isabelle was with me the whole time."
"I am in charge here, not Isabelle, and I decide what is confidential
information." Seer lowered his right arm to his side while his left raised up to point
at the door. "I told you to leave, Miss Katt. Right now."
Amanda felt like screaming, but knew he just tried to provoke her into an
emotional reaction that would put him at an advantage. She refused to let him
manipulate her that way. She swallowed the rage that bubbled up inside her as
she jammed her tape recorder back into her bag. "Fine. I'll do this article without
your help. Isabelle was easier to get along with, anyway. It was the complete
opposite of nice to meet you."
Seer's eyes narrowed into slits. "You have exactly thirty seconds to leave
this office, walk across the main floor, and return to the elevator, which you will
use to vacate this building. I will be calling security. If you are not gone in five
minutes, you will be arrested for trespassing. The countdown begins now."
"You can't tell me what to do, Seer," Amanda hissed.
"I tell everyone what to do." Seer reached out and picked up the handset
of a white telephone that he spoke into, all without breaking his gaze from her
face. "This is Jonathan Seer. Send some men over to my office immediately to
escort a young woman out."
Amanda thought hard about fighting Seer, but it no longer seemed worth
it. Her tape recorder was still intact, and she had more tapes for it in her bag.
More importantly, her visit to Arachne had brought her more questions than
answers. It seemed obvious to her that the solution to the mystery of Arachne did
not lie with Jonathan Seer or his office. She would have to find them somewhere
else.
"You know, you could've just asked for the tape back." With that, Amanda
Katt whirled on her heel and stalked out.
Amanda Katt exploded out of Seer's office and almost ran into Isabelle,
the company secretary. Isabelle carried a Styrofoam cup of coffee that she jerked
back to avoid spilling.
"Miss Katt? What's going on? What happened in there?"
Amanda halted in front of Isabelle and her eyes blazed with an inner fire.
"What happened is your friend in there is a complete psycho. He just smashed
my tape and told me to get out of the building."
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Isabelle set her coffee down on a nearby desk. "Look, I don't know why
Mister Seer did that, but I know he had a good reason."
"Excuse me."
The voice drew their attention to two men in blue uniforms identical to the
ones worn by the security guards manning the front door of the building. They
took up positions alongside Amanda, one behind each of her arms, to flank her
on both sides. They stood so closely to her that she could smell a stench like
rotting meat coming from them. Their belts clinked softly in the silence that had
descended on the office while everyone paused in their work to watch. She
glanced back over her shoulder to see that one of the guards had a hand rested
on his belt where a wooden club bounced against his hip. The other pointed at
the elevator with a stubby finger.
"Mister Seer ordered you to leave," he growled.
Amanda could hear the pop of a leather strap being freed, along with the
whisper of wood, and spun to see the security guard with the club drawing it from
the loop on his belt. His upper lip twitched in a snarl as his red-rimmed eyes
stayed locked on hers.
"We have our orders." Then the guard lunged.
Amanda tried to step back out of his reach, but the guard's hand clamped
onto her wrist. Her tote bag slid off her shoulder and onto the floor at her feet.
Amanda twisted to break the guard's grip, but he wrenched her arm behind her
until her hand almost touched the small of her back. Her shoulder exploded in
pain, forcing a shriek from her lungs. Amanda found herself off-balance as the
guard shoved her forward and rammed her into the wall.
Her arm wrenched even tighter as the guard pressed her to the wall, so
close that her ear whistled as he breathed his foul breath hard into it. A woman
Amanda recognized as Isabelle screamed, "That's enough, let her go, right now."
Amanda's face squirmed against the wall, the paint dry but still fresh
enough to give off a sickly-sweet odor. She could see the second guard moving
closer, raising the club in his hand. "Mister Seer's orders. This lady needs to
learn when she's not welcome."
The guard gave Amanda's wrist another tug up to strain her shoulder,
making her cry out again. Isabelle tried to grab his arm. The distraction was just
what Amanda had been waiting for.
Amanda's eyes narrowed. Her left elbow lunged back to ram into the
stomach of the guard pinning her to the wall. As he staggered back with a grunt,
he let go of her to clutch himself.
Amanda brought her other hand up to drive it into the second guard's face
with the back of her fist. The club tumbled out of his hand as he gurgled and
clutched his nose. While he reeled, her free hand whipped around to grab the
lapel of his jacket. Using her back as a support, she hauled the guard off his feet
and over her shoulder to slam him into the wall she had been forced into. He hit
the wall with a thud that trembled all over the office, slid down, and crashed onto
his back.
The first guard began to stagger to his feet, fumbling for the club lying on
the blue carpet. Amanda lashed out a kick that knocked his hand away from the
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club, then swung her other foot up into his chin. The impact toppled the guard
into the wall of a cubicle behind him. Someone inside screamed as he collapsed
the flimsy plywood under him. The cubicle crunched under him as the guard
shuddered, then lay still.
Amanda paused in a defensive pose with her fist still outstretched as the
two guards groaned at her feet. Then she straightened and hooked the strap of
her tote bag onto her shoulder again. Ignoring the office watching her in an awed
silence, Amanda faced the elevator and pushed the call button.
The elevator doors slid open with a gentle hiss and a pleasant chime.
Amanda stepped through the doors and faced the office with a snarl on her lips.
"I think I've seen enough. Thanks for the tour."
The elevator rumbled shut, then its whine faded as it carried away the car.
Seer knelt on one knee beside his desk with a white handkerchief spread
in his palm. Pieces of black plastic had been piled in the center of it. Seer
worked with a pair of tweezers to pluck out the other chunks spotting the crisp
white surface of the carpet. They were pieces from Amanda Katt's audiotape.
The activity kept him busy while he pondered the truth.
Seer lowered his eyes to pinch a broken string of audiotape up from
beside his shoe. Miss Katt was not under his control, and never would be.
Kaleidoscope had no effect on her. She was a one-percenter.
Seer plucked the last piece out of the carpet, then wrapped up the
handkerchief into an irregular bundle. He rose up onto his feet and his fingers
worked to tie a knot in the handkerchief. Miss Katt had seen his operation. She
had seen the supercomputers. She was gone now, but he could only imagine
what kind of article she was going to write.
It was all Isabelle's fault. He had always insisted on gaining control of
every member of the press who visited Arachne's office, on the slim chance that
some of them might be one-percenters. He always foresaw the effects of even
one person who did not fall under the spell of Arachne in a position to inform
others about it.
Seer finally finished the knot, and held the bundle at arms' length over his
trash can. Katt left the office with the worst possible view of Arachne. Before she
came, she suspected that there was more to Arachne than just good
management. That suspicion was now a certainty to her. With her mind
unclouded by Kaleidoscope, Miss Katt was now his worst enemy. She would not
stop until she either uncovered the truth about Arachne or she was dead. One of
those outcomes was inevitable, and he knew that it would have to be the latter.
Seer released the bundle of cloth in his outstretched hand. It dropped into
the trash can with a thump.
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Chapter 5
Lesley Grant hadn't even noticed the hours slipping away until he glanced
down at the clock in the lower right-hand corner of his computer screen, and
realized he was late. Even then, a moment passed in which he had to shift his
thoughts away from Arachne's biography of Claude Monet to understand what
the numbers on the clock meant. To him, it felt like the moment of disorientation
that came from deep sleep, and which life only gradually managed to break
through. When he finally remembered his appointment with the art director of
Saguaro Publishing, panic flashed through him like a spear of lightning.
He bolted out of his chair so quickly that it toppled onto the carpet with a
muffled thump. A photo of the bearded face of Monet watched him sternly from
its place in a corner of Arachne's page in an almost disapproving manner.
Lesley almost couldn't believe what was happening. According the clock,
he had been browsing Arachne for over four hours. He had only planned to
check on his e-mail after breakfast, then get to work on the final sketch of his
book cover. As he had logged onto the Internet, the thought had occurred to him
to check Arachne to find out what art exhibitions were playing in Phoenix.
Now he found himself sitting in front of his computer four hours later. His
bowl still perched on the desk next to his arm, full of blue rings of Fruit Loops
cereal dissolving in warm milk. As he tried to focus, Lesley couldn't even
remember what had held his attention so passionately on Arachne. He had
vague memories of reading biographies of famous artists, but really only a sense
of disconnected joy and contentment filled the missing time.
Lesley scrubbed his cheeks and mouth with his fingers to bring him back
to reality. He had an appointment with Trevor Mannheim, the art director at a
local book publishing company called Saguaro Publishing, in a few minutes.
Lesley's sculptures were his ambition, but he illustrated book covers as a career
until his artwork took off. Mannheim was supposed to approve Lesley's sketch of
the cover art for Saguaro's novel, Dry Heat. Once approved, Lesley would use
the sketch to create the final painting that would be approved once more, then
turned into the cover for the novel.
There were only two problems.
The fact that his appointment was in six minutes, and Saguaro Publishing
was a half-hour away was one.
The fact that Lesley hadn't finished the final sketch yet was another.
Up until yesterday, he still hadn't produced a version of the cover that he liked,
but he had been working on one last night that he felt confident about. It only
needed to be touched up, something he felt he could do in four hours, and still
have time left over to get dressed for the meeting. Now that time was gone,
eaten up by Arachne like raw meat before a hungry lion.
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Lesley pushed his fingers through his long blond hair as he growled,
"Okay, focus, Les. Focus."
When his thoughts had slowed down beyond the problem at hand, he
concentrated on solutions. First, he needed to straighten out the appointment. He
wasn't going to make it to Saguaro in time.
He leaned over his desk to click his mouse on the "disconnect" button on
his computer's screen. His modem shut down with a chirp, freeing up his
telephone line so he could dial Mannheim at Saguaro.
"Hello, Saguaro Publishing, Art Department."
"Hi, Trevor, it's Lesley Grant."
"Les? Where are you? I thought you'd be on the road by now."
Lesley began to pace in front of his desk with the cordless phone at his
ear. "Yeah, I thought so, too. I got a little caught up. Just wanted to let you know
I'll be a half-hour late, if that's all right."
"You feeling okay, Les? I've never known you to be late for anything. Well,
I'll be here for another half-hour, but we're on a tight deadline, so I'm glad you've
got that sketch ready."
Lesley rolled his eyes, then glanced over at the outlines scrawled on his
easel. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I've got it. Just finishing it up now."
"Great. See you in a bit, then."
"Right. Bye."
Lesley sighed as he replaced the phone on its wall-mounted cradle, then
studied his sketchpad more closely. The figures formed little more than vague
lines, and the background needed more details for the sense of heat that he had
wanted to convey. He could never finish it in time, and he had been working on
the cover for too long to show Mannheim an unfinished version.
The hand on his mouth warmed from his sigh, but his breath caught as he
noticed the other sketches he had tacked up on the wall. He hadn't been very
happy with any of them, and kept them only as reference points so he could
incorporate the few things he liked in each into the final draft. It occurred to him
that they might not be perfect, but they were finished.
He held a finger up as a pointer to skim over the surfaces of the pages,
then pulled down three of the best ones. After shuffling them in his hands, Lesley
finally settled on one. It seemed as close to his final vision as he could get. It
would have to do.
Lesley tucked it into the oversized brown folder of his portfolio, zipped it
shut, then ran into the bedroom to change. He threw on a dress shirt, slacks, and
a blue paisley tie, then bolted out of the apartment. The heat of the noon sun
mingled with his nervousness to dampen under his arms as he ran to his truck.
Within minutes, he had pulled into traffic and howled down the I-10 Freeway to
the exit where it met the Hohokam Expressway. The mountain across the street,
dusted with green shrubs, cast a heavy shadow over Broadway Road as he
peeled off onto it to make his way to a cluster of office buildings.
Minutes later, Lesley jogged into the bustling offices of Saguaro
Publishing. As he made his way across the floor, a quick glance at his watch told
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Lesley that he had made it in twenty-five minutes. Not bad, but the real test had
just begun.
Lesley sat outside Mannheim's office for a few minutes until his
receptionist sent him in. Mannheim sat behind a desk, sifting through rectangles
of colored paper. A Subway turkey sandwich rested on a Webster's dictionary,
which Mannheim waved a finger towards. "Hey, Les, glad you made it. Sorry to
eat in front of you, but I haven't had time to go out for lunch."
Mannheim held up a bottle of beer resting next to his sandwich. "Want a
Bud? I got a six-pack on ice."
Lesley grimaced. "Uh, no, thanks. I'm a recovering alcoholic. I haven't had
a drink in years."
"Oh, sorry." Mannheim set the beer bottle down. "Didn't know that."
Lesley settled down in front of his desk with his portfolio spread across his
lap. "No problem."
Mannheim wiped his bearded mouth with a napkin while he crooked a
finger. "Okay, let's see what you've got."
Lesley's portfolio whispered as he drew his sketch out of it and passed it
to Mannheim. The art director took the sketch carefully in both hands, then
swung his chair around so that light from the window behind him could fall onto it.
Only the distant rush of a car sweeping by the window broke the silence
that followed. Mannheim's thick brow lowered over his eyes, which moved in
quick jerks to take in the artwork spread before him. His jaw moved up and down
slowly on whatever was still in his mouth, and his lips curled down slightly at the
corners. Lesley rested both hands on his portfolio and tightened his fingers
around the lid to relieve tension. Waiting for the approval of a client had always
been the hardest part of his job, but the knowledge that he had done his best
eased it somewhat. This time, knowing he sat here with a third-rate product,
made the wait even worse.
Mannheim slowly rotated his chair around to rest the sketch onto a clean
part of his desk, then knotted his fingers together. "Les, we've worked together a
few years, so I think you deserve an honest opinion. This sketch is good. I'd okay
it in a second if it were anyone else, but for you it's a bit of a disappointment."
Lesley exhaled, the tension eased since his worst fear had become reality,
then leaned an elbow on his portfolio. "I know. It's got some problems. I wanted
to fix them, but I couldn't get the final draft ready in time."
Mannheim's chair creaked as he leaned back with his hands folded over
his stomach. "What would you change?"
Lesley quickly described the areas he planned to improve, using the
uncompleted draft and his own vision of the final piece as references. Mannheim
listened closely in silence, then nodded when he had finished. "All right, you've
had an excellent track record with us so far, so I'm gonna say go ahead and do
the final sketch. If it's got everything you say it will, then it should be a winner."
Mannheim's head tilted to one side. "But I have to say I'm surprised, Les.
You've always been a real stickler for deadlines, even better than me sometimes.
Everything okay?"
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Lesley rose to sweep his sketch back into his portfolio. "Well, you know
how it is. I just got caught up in some stuff. I'm getting married in a few months."
A smile broke out on Mannheim's face as he nodded. "Ah, that explains a
lot. I remember what a whirlwind my life went into when I got married. Do I know
her?"
"Yeah, I think she said you worked with her before. Her name's Amanda
Katt, she's a freelance journalist."
Mannheim snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah, African-American girl, right?
Used to work for The Phoenix Times? Yeah, we published some of her articles
on the evolution of the computer industry in Arizona. Oh, she's a beauty all right,
and smart as a whip. Congratulations, you're a lucky guy. Well, gimme an update
on the cover art in a couple weeks, okay?"
Lesley agreed and joked around with Mannheim a bit on his way out.
Once back in the elevator that took him down to the parking lot, Lesley's humor
drained away until he had to lean his head against the mirrored wall of the car.
What was happening to him? Mannheim hadn't been kidding about
schedules. Lesley had always prided himself on his organizational skills. His
whole life moved in an orderly fashion, allowing him to avoid exactly the kind of
thing that had happened to him that morning. It wasn't like him at all to blow off
his work, especially for something as trivial as browsing the World Wide Web.
The elevator shuddered to a halt, then slid open to deposit Lesley in the
parking lot. His footsteps on the concrete floor returned to him in echoes as he
made his way to his Dodge Ram truck, still thinking. Now that he thought of it,
this wasn't an isolated problem. He wouldn't have needed to work on the final
draft in the morning, if he had finished it the night before. In fact, he had probably
spent less than two hours working on his painting in the last twenty-four hours.
That thought forced Lesley to consider how he been spending the last
week. It seemed as if his work really had gone down the tubes. The farther back
he thought, the less he worked on his painting or his sculpting, until he came to
this morning, when he had stopped work altogether.
Only when he pulled his car off the freeway and idled at a stoplight did the
truth finally hit him.
It had all started with Arachne.
That night when he had settled in for a quiet dinner with Amanda, he had
first encountered Arachne and ever since, things had taken a downward turn. He
had lied when he told Mannheim that his engagement had been distracting him
from work. If anything, he hadn't been paying enough attention to his relationship
with Amanda, and that pained him. He had been distracted during a trip to buy
her wedding dress, accidentally telling her she would look beautiful in a dress
that turned out to be made of black leather. Besides that, he could see how his
work had slipped further, becoming less and less of a focus, until it had come to
the standstill of this morning.
Throughout it all, a clear pattern emerged. The less time he had spent on
his work and Amanda, the more time he had spent on Arachne. The image of
himself sitting on front of his computer, staring at articles framed by Arachne's
cartoonish border filled much of his waking hours these days.
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When he reached his apartment complex, Lesley parked and headed up
to his front door. Unlocked, the door swung open to reveal his apartment as if for
the first time. He hadn't even noticed how messy it had become. The sickly-sweet
smell of rotting garbage choked the air. Sheets of newspaper on the floor ruffled
from the breeze coming through the front door. His modeling tools spilled all over
his worktable, instead of in the neat rows that he usually kept them. Chicken
bones and scraps of rice waited on an unwashed plate on the dining table from
last night's dinner to be put away, while more dishes lurked in greasy piles in the
sink.
His computer desk seemed to be the worst hit. The garbage can he kept
beside it overflowed with Snickers candy bar wrappers and empty cans of
Powwow Cola, the remnants of most of his meals from the last week. Some dirty
socks had gotten tucked under his chair, which still lay on its back from his frantic
run. Computer diskettes that he normally kept in a row had spilled over to rest
beside his cereal bowl, which he still hadn't picked up.
Lesley swept up the bowl to pour it out into the sink, cursing himself under
his breath. How had he let things get out of control like this? As he washed up his
dishes and put them away, his gaze caught on the computer's monitor. He hadn't
closed his web browser before he left, and Arachne's homepage had remained
on it, casting a blue glow onto the desk and chair. Now, looking at it made him
realize the connection he had been avoiding all along. His work had fallen aside,
his relationship with Amanda had dwindled, and his apartment had collapsed into
disarray because of one thing - Arachne. He had spent more time browsing the
site in the last forty-eight hours than he had doing anything else.
Lesley wiped his hands dry with a dishtowel, then got a can of Powwow
Cola from the refrigerator. He leaned against the fridge door and sucked down a
mouthful of soda, letting the bubbles of carbon dioxide boil in his mouth as he
watched his computer. It didn't make sense. Lesley couldn't remember anything
so engrossing about Arachne that would make him throw away his life for it, but
he had.
He pushed himself back up to a standing position, then headed out of the
kitchen to the computer. This had to stop. Thinking back on it made Lesley
wonder what he had been using for brains for the last few days. It was time to
end his weird obsession with Arachne, and get back to his life.
As he leaned down to switch off his computer, something on the monitor
caught his attention. A headline in the "News" section described a new surgical
technique for restoring a damaged kidney. His own mother had died of kidney
failure.
Lesley's hand hovered over the power switch for a moment. Then it came
up, almost on its own, to rest on his computer's mouse. As Lesley righted his
chair and sank back into it, he felt as if he locked into place. He clicked his
mouse on the headline, which automatically logged him back onto the Internet
and loaded up a page containing the full news article.
Lesley began to read. The unwashed dishes on the dining table, his
sketch for the new draft of Dry Heat's cover art, and the dirty socks resting by his
feet faded to the back of his mind. The hiss of bubbles in the can of Powwow
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Cola in his free hand eventually faded as the hours were swallowed up by the
endless hunger of Arachne.
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Chapter 6
Amanda Katt stared at her reflection in the mirror of her hotel room,
focused on the thin red line running down her cheek. The gash still stung from
where the piece of her tape recorder hit it. The nagging pain reflected her
persistent memories of her trip to Arachne. Amanda dug a transparent Band-Aid
out of the first-aid kit under the sink and pasted one firmly over the cut. She
stared at it for a moment, wishing she could cover up her inner pain as easily.
When the telephone's ring broke the silence of her hotel room, Amanda
felt relief at having something else to think about. Amanda ran out of the
bathroom and crawled onto the double bed to reach the phone. "Hello?"
"Greetings, oh weary traveler. How fares the journey?"
Amanda flopped onto the bed and lay on her stomach, grinning to herself.
She recognized the distinctive voice immediately. It belonged to Blossom Dawn,
her best friend since childhood. "Hey, Blossom. How you doing?"
"I am faring well, despite the tragedy of your absence. The real question at
hand is, how did your visit to Arachne go?"
Amanda Katt sighed before giving Blossom a short account of her
experience at the offices at Arachne. When she finished, Amanda's fingers came
up to trace the outline of the Band-Aid on her cheek. "I can't stop thinkin' about
Arachne. Got more questions than answers, and I thought I had enough
questions before I walked in. I mean, I still don't get what they do with all those
supercomputers, and I still don't get what's so special about Arachne that makes
everybody go crazy over it. Then there's that weirdo, Mister Seer. When he found
out I wasn't all in love with their website, he practically tried to kill me. Like he
was afraid of me."
"Well, maybe they are indeed afraid of you. I would be. You have certainly
taken down your fair share of miscreants in your time."
Amanda grinned. "Yeah, I have done a number or two, haven't I?"
"That's right, you have. At any rate, the chance exists that they might just
be a tad sensitive about their work. Trade secrets and all, yes?"
Amanda rolled over onto her back and stared up at the smooth ceiling of
her hotel room. "Yeah, but what kinda trade secrets? Whatever they are, they
must have something to do with why Arachne is so popular, and something tells
me there's more behind it than just pretty graphics."
"Well, do you intend to press charges, my dear?"
"Nah, that ain't my style. I beat the crap out o' the guys who jumped me,
that's good enough for me."
"But you are still planning to write your article?"
Amanda rolled over again to rest her elbows on the rough sheets of her
bed. "Yeah, I don't have my tapes, but I still got my notes, and I remember
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everything. I'll write it all right, and it won't be the fluff piece they wanted me to
write either, that's for sure. That'll be my revenge."
"Kudos to you. Let no one intimidate you, my child. Except me. Now, I
must dash as I have a poetry reading to attend at the Feminist's Union. Until we
meet again."
"See ya, Blossom." Amanda hung up feeling a little better.
She climbed off the bed and settled down at the desk nearby, determined
to write an article on Arachne unlike any other. Amanda folded open her laptop
computer, took a few minutes to study her notes and collect her thoughts, and
began to type.
Her breath came quicker, drawing in the lingering scent of perfume in her
room, as she poured her thoughts out onto the page. It didn't take her long to
realize that this article would not be the plain, factual article that she had
intended. It came out as more of an editorial. She recounted her experiences
from the moment she stepped off the plane and met the oddly obsessed
limousine driver, all the way to being thrown out by a suddenly violent Jonathan
Seer. Her emotions flared on the page with every word she typed until she ended
with a final thought:
"I journeyed to Arachne to find out the secret behind its success. I wanted
to know what was so special about it that made others devote themselves to it. I
left without knowing the answer, and with the sense that perhaps the creators of
Arachne themselves don't know, either. Perhaps the answer is that there is
nothing special about Arachne. Perhaps it's just a website, like any other, in
which case the generic nature of its name is uncomfortably accurate."
Amanda settled back to proofread the article, wondering if it might be too
harsh. By the end, she decided that with all the positive press Arachne was
getting, it couldn't hurt to have one dissenting opinion out there.
With the article written, Amanda loaded up her e-mail program to send it to
Boris Franz at NR-Net. NR-Net was similar to regular print magazines, except
that they published articles on web pages, not paper. Without printing costs, NRNet was cheaper to run than a print magazine, and the Internet allowed them a
lot more flexibility than a regular magazine. Whereas most computer magazines
took days, weeks, or months to publish new issues, NR-Net could put a new
issue online in minutes. NR-Net's creator and publisher, Boris Franz, took pride
in always managing to scoop the big print magazines with news first.
Of course, an online magazine had its drawbacks. For one thing, it was
harder to build revenue. Whereas print magazines made their money by selling
copies to readers, NR-Net was freely available to anyone who wanted to read it,
just by logging onto the website. NR-Net had to support itself through advertising,
selling computer-related hardware and software, and charging extra for access to
special reports.
Amanda liked working for NR-Net, because it paid well, didn't tell her what
to do, and was convenient. She could write articles for the magazine and have
them appear the next day, instead of weeks or months as in regular magazines.
She also considered Franz a personal friend.
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She wrote up a quick message asking Franz to put the article online as
soon as possible, then attached the document file and sent it on its way. As the
e-mail went out, she downloaded a couple of new e-mails in her mailbox.
One came from Lesley wishing her a safe trip and made her smile.
Another was e-mail from someone claiming to represent the Speak Out Society.
The message pleaded with Amanda to call her local congressman and protest
the upcoming Internet Decency Act.
Congress was in the process of listening to testimony for Senator Price's
Internet Decency Act or IDA, which had growing political support. That surprised
her, since she didn't think the bill would get off the ground. Sponsored by Senator
Albert Price of Utah, the Internet Decency Act included a flood of laws that would
regulate the content of the Internet. The e-mail claimed that the IDA was a
violation of free speech, would stifle trade and commerce in this new and growing
technology, would set a precedent that could establish an American dictatorship,
all the usual hysterical nonsense. Amanda just deleted it.
The third e-mail came from Hal Brooks, a homicide detective in Los
Angeles. Her father had consulted with him during his career, and he had
become a friend of her family. Even after her father's death, she and Hal had
remained close. The e-mail read:
TO: Amanda Katt <[email protected]>
FROM: Hal Brooks <[email protected]>
MESSAGE: Hi, Mandy, how are ya? Just wanted to let you know how
things are going. I talked to a guy this morning who claims he knew the hitman
who did the Perry Island hit. His name is Steve "Two-Shot" Alessandro. They
called him "Two-Shot," because that was his trademark. One shot to the gut and
one to the head. That matches your father's murder, so it looks like a pretty good
lead. Unfortunately, a month after the hit, Alessandro was killed by Niccolo's
boys, probably to cover it up. I'm still gonna check it out. Maybe it'll lead
somewhere. Stay strong, sunshine.
Amanda slumped back into her chair, biting her lip to control the wash of
emotion flowing through her. So close.
As she did every time she thought of her father's death, Amanda felt anger
warming her from the inside. Her father had been found dead in an alley thirteen
years ago. He had been in the middle of an investigation of the Niccolo Family,
making the Mafia a prime target, but the police still had no solid evidence to
prove it. Since she was fourteen, Amanda had made it her pet project to find that
evidence. With the help of Detective Hal Brooks and other resources, Amanda
would bring the man who killed him to justice someday. It was only a matter of
time.
She drew herself out of that dark place to focus again. With the article out
of the way, Amanda switched off her computer and rose from her chair with her
arms stretched over her head in a yawn. She felt a little better now that she had
written her article. Let NR-Net's readers see what really went on at Arachne.
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Maybe it would put a dent in the fanatical atmosphere that had swelled around
Arachne. She still didn't see what the big deal was.
Of course, as Amanda crawled into her bed, she knew she was just being
petty. She doubted that one little article in a single magazine would do anything
to affect the enormous popularity of Arachne. It might not even be noticed.
Anyway, it didn't matter anymore. Amanda had written the article, she would get
paid, and she could move on with her life and other projects. She would forget
Arachne even existed. As far as she was concerned, her involvement with
Arachne was at an end.
She was wrong.
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Chapter 7
Quincy Meddick never told his wife what he had done until it appeared on
the six o'clock news that evening. He had already dismissed their butler for the
night, and he and his wife sat side-by-side before the big-screen television
watching the Financial Network, just like every night. The air-conditioning kept
their Beverly Hills mansion at a comfortable seventy-four degrees, but Meddick
burned with anticipation as he watched the news anchor talk about an expected
drop in the Dow Jones.
With that story completed, the anchor shifted her papers as a picture of
Meddick's company logo appeared in the air beside her head. "And in Internet
news today, CEO Quincy Meddick surprised his stockholders and even his
employees when he announced that he was shutting down his company and its
parent website, Zoink."
Meddick glanced over at his wife, Georgia. She had been drinking from a
cup of tea, but now it rattled in its plate in her lap as she stared at the television
with widening eyes. Meddick's handlebar mustache tickled the underside of his
nose as he smiled, then turned back to the screen.
The anchorwoman continued as a photo of Quincy Meddick replaced the
image in the air beside her. "In a press conference this morning, Meddick
revealed plans to dissolve the company he created two years ago, as well as
give away or sell all of his assets to charity."
The photo of Meddick sandwiched between a podium and a red curtain
came alive as a film clip. Light flashed over him like a strobe light as
photographers snapped pictures in an endless voice of clicks. He spoke in a
calm voice that reflected his inner peace.
"The decision to dissolve my company has nothing to do with its success
or failure. My team has worked hard over the years to turn Zoink into the number
one search engine on the Internet. The decision is based on personal reasons.
As for my other holdings, I plan to distribute my fortune to those who are less
fortunate than I. There are some changes I need to make in my life, and I have to
begin anew. Things will be clearer tomorrow, I promise you. Until then, good day
and embrace the light."
A storm of questions flooded over him as Meddick turned and walked off
the stage, broken by the news anchor's return to the screen. "Zoink's offices were
closed immediately after the conference, and Meddick himself could not be
reached for comment. Analysts are already predicting that this will have a
profound effect on--"
Meddick switched off the television with a click of his remote control. His
wife had seen all he needed her to see.
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Her cup of tea rattled in her lap as she leaned out of her antique armchair
with wide eyes. Her hands pressed on the lapels of her scarlet robe, holding
them against her chest, as she whispered, "Quincy? Is this true?"
Meddick reached across the divide between their two chairs to take one of
her hands in his. "Yes, my love, it is. I've shut down all my companies, I've sold
off all my stock, and I've donated all my savings and pension to charity."
The delicate lines in her face deepened as her eyebrows rose until they
almost touched the silver waves in her hairline. Fear and panic clouded her eyes,
as he expected. Her understanding of the universe had not been raised like his.
"But I don't understand. What will we live on? How could you do something like
this without consulting me?"
Meddick kissed the back of her thin hand as he would kiss the hand of a
child afraid of the dark. He pitied her narrow view of reality, limited only to the
immediate future and dimension. "My darling, try to see beyond this world. What I
am doing has far greater implications than this life alone."
His wife snatched her hand away so quickly that friction burned his hand.
She clutched the flesh of her neck as her eyes narrowed. "It's that cult again, isn't
it? Don't tell me you've been at it again?"
A wince broke Meddick's calm expression. "I wish you wouldn't use that
word. The Enlightment of the Blessed Journey is not a cult."
"This is crazy. Did they put you up to this? Did they take our money?"
Georgia lunged out of her chair, and the finely woven carpet whispered as she
ran over it with bare feet towards the phone. "If you gave them even a penny, I'm
calling the police right now."
"No," Meddick yelled, then swallowed as he fought to lower his voice.
Peace is the ultimate goal of all intelligent beings, as the Great Ir spoke. The
memory of the quotation from the Book of Ascension eased him back into a
happier place. "The Blessed Journey needs no money. They only want to bring
us all closer to enlightenment and freedom. That's what this is all about."
Georgia set down the phone, and the large window behind her glowed
from the light of the rising moon. She swept her fingers over trembling lips while
they whispered, "I should have stopped you from going to that website a week
ago when this all started. I knew it was dangerous."
Meddick came out of his chair, wrapping the silk belt of his robe around
his waist. Georgia's eyes followed him as he came closer, then slipped his arms
around her to hug her tightly against him. He felt her trembling against his chest,
like a frightened rabbit, and smiled, knowing all would be well. "If it hadn't been
for the Blessed Journey's website, I never would have found the truth at all. I
wish you could see things the way I do. I have achieved the Seventh Level of
Harmony. I see the universe clearly now for the first time. The moons of Jupiter
have guided me to this point, and now I know what I have to do. My material
possessions were just a trap keeping me from the light. Without them, I'm free.
We are free."
Georgia raised her head up to stare at him with eyes that shimmered in
tears. "I don't even understand what you're talking about anymore."
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He cupped her warm cheeks in his palms as he held her face, smiling
down at her. "I know. I wish you did. Come with me right now. Read what's
written in the Book of Ascension. I can talk you through it. It's not too late. You
can join me."
She stepped back from him, shaking her head as she drew it from his
grasp. "I don't want any part of it. Don't you see what they've done to you? That
website is dangerous. You need help."
"I'll get help." Meddick raised his gaze to take in the moon shedding its
light on the green expanse of his lawn. It fell on a spot that only he could see and
which called out to him, marked by the galaxy itself. "By tomorrow morning, I'll be
at peace."
She clasped her hands together under her chin. "Quincy, please. I don't
care about the money. I only care about you. You're not well. Before you do
anything else, promise me you'll come with me and talk to someone in the
morning."
"In the morning?" The humor of the phrase widened Meddick's smile.
"Okay, I'll do that. In the morning."
She smiled back, misinterpreting his humor for compliance. "Thank you,
Quince. I think I know just who to call."
"Go ahead." Quincy turned away and strolled across the room to the door.
"I just have one more thing to take care of."
"Okay." He could hear her behind him, shuffling through the pages of a
phonebook that rustled like dry leaves sweeping across an autumn field.
It didn't matter who she called. Meddick knew now that she could never follow the
path that he followed. She was one of the outsiders who could not see or follow
on the Blessed Journey. He would have to travel alone, crossing the oceans of
the stars just as the Great Ir foretold.
He moved quickly through his home like a comet streaking across the sky
with his robe billowing in his wake as the tail. His heart sang as he moved into his
office, then paused to take in the surroundings. His awards from magazines and
organizations like ComTek and BizTron gleamed in a row of gold and crystal
soldiers on shelves along the walls, but they meant nothing to him now. Only the
orange box seated on his desk, attached like chains to his mouse and keyboard,
brought him pleasure and salvation.
Meddick slipped into his chair behind the desk, then allowed his body to
settle into the ergonomic curves as he booted up his computer. When it hummed
to life, the clicking of his mouse resounded from the walls as he logged onto the
Internet, then loaded up his web browser.
Arachne loaded up automatically on his screen, thanks to his previous
visits. Because of Arachne's ability to adjust itself to his needs and his obsession
with religious enlightenment, most of the pages devoted themselves to
Buddhism, Judaism, Catholicism, New Age, and other belief systems. He
admired the colorful design of the pages, but never hesitated for a moment. With
a few clicks of his mouse, Meddick headed into the Games section, then the
Chess forum. He found the woman he sought easily, as always, and her text
poured across the chat window like dark honey.
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<JANE-DOE> Welcome, my brother.
Meddick smiled as he typed a response, which appeared with his online
nickname, Seeker.
<SEEKER> Welcome, my sister.
<JANE-DOE> I read about what you pulled off. Sold off everything, shut
down your website. That's what I wanted to see. So you did it?
<SEEKER> Yes, I did it. I've reached the Seventh Level of Harmony.
<JANE-DOE> All righty, knew you could do it in time for the full moon. The
planets are aligned tonight. It's time for your journey to begin.
Meddick's eyes burned as tears forced themselves out from under his
eyelids to flow down his cheeks. He wiped them away, then began to type again
with quicker movements.
<SEEKER> Jane, I have to thank you. If you hadn't introduced me to the
Enlightenment of the Blessed Journey, I would still be lost in the seas of
ignorance. You've guided me on this path, and given me the peace I've sought all
my life.
<JANE-DOE> Nah, I was only a guide. It was you who took the first step
down the path.
<SEEKER> I can never repay you for all you've given me.
<JANE-DOE> Trust me. The knowledge of what you're about to do is
payment enough. You've got no idea how happy you've made me.
<SEEKER> Will you be coming with me?
<JANE-DOE> Sorry, I can't. There are others who need to be guided
down the path you'll be taking. Now go, take the test, and begin the journey.
More tears ran down his nose as Meddick bowed his head in real life while
typing to her.
<SEEKER> May your journeys be blessed by the Great Ir.
<JANE-DOE> And the stars warm your path as you walk upon them.
Meddick dragged his mouse over and disconnected himself from the
chatroom. A flush of sadness came over him as he left Jane-Doe, but he knew
he would see her again, perhaps in the next life.
He pushed his sadness out of his mind to focus as he selected another
web address from the bookmarks on his browser. A new website loaded up to
replace Arachne, this one decorated with stars and moons against a black
background. At the top of the main page, a colorful graphic read, "Welcome to
the Enlightenment of the Blessed Journey." This page had become his guide for
the last week since Jane Doe introduced him to it. The text described a new way
of living and seeing the world beyond his wildest comprehension. For some
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reason, the Blessed Journey had spoken to him as no other philosophy had
before.
Meddick's breathing quickened as he scrolled down the webpage to a
section labeled "Have You Achieved the Seven Levels of Harmony?" The test
consisted of a series of questions, each with a "yes" or "no" answer that he could
respond to by clicking on buttons running down the left side. The fifty questions
asked about his life and personality to see if they coincided with the Seventh
Level of Harmony. If he could truthfully answer all of them, then he would be
ready.
Meddick tasted salt on his bottom lip as he sucked it into his mouth while
he worked. Though he had taken the test hundreds of times over the past four
days, nervousness tingled in his stomach as he carefully considered and
answered each question. When he reached the last one, panic surged through
him that almost prevented him from clicking the button marked "Check Answers"
at the bottom of the test. He had tried so hard to fit the criteria for the test,
struggling to reorganize his life and mind in preparation for this day. If he failed,
then he would have to wait until the next full moon before he could begin the
journey.
The web browser went white for a moment as it loaded up the page that
would display his results. When it finally snapped into view, Meddick burst out in
a laugh of triumph. It displayed a message against a photograph of the Milky
Way Galaxy that read, "Congratulations! You Have Achieved the Seventh Level
of Harmony. The Great Ir Awaits To Escort You To The Next World."
Meddick squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed with joy for a moment. It
took all his strength to force him back into action. He had to move quickly now
that he been approved. The window of opportunity would pass soon.
With a hand that trembled over his mouse, Meddick clicked the button that
shut down his browser and started up his word processor. He opened the letter
that he had written three days ago detailing his beliefs and final message for all
Mankind. After doing some last-minute corrections, he carefully copied it wordfor-word onto a new sheet of paper with his own hand. He wanted to make sure
that the handwriting could be identified as his, so there would be no question of
what he had done. He didn't want his wife to be blamed for what he was about to
do.
When the letter was completed, Meddick carried it into his meditation
room, where he propped it up on a pillow, then moved on. He opened his lowerleft desk drawer and hauled out a duffel bag that he had prepared for the
ceremony. After checking to make sure that everything was still inside it, Meddick
rushed out of his office.
As he strode through the living room, the chairs and sofa looked like
clouds in the shafts of moonlight falling from the windows. His wife's voice carried
through the kitchen from the den, and her tone and the occasional word that he
caught told him that she was talking to a psychiatrist or a doctor. He gave it only
a passing thought. She couldn't stop him now.
Meddick slowed as he reached the backdoor of the house. His bottom lip
ached from his teeth biting down on it as he dragged the sliding door open as
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quietly as he could. Warm air made his robe flow around his legs as he stepped
out into the night.
A symphony of crickets carried across his lawn as he crossed it to where
he would begin his voyage. His pool sparkled in the night like a sea of stars as it
gurgled from the artificial waterfall that poured into the center. The point had
been carefully chosen based on the Blessed Journey's mathematical formulas,
which calculated the strongest focus of magnetic fields on his property. Meddick
had marked the spot with a gold ring, which he found after a few minutes of
hunting through the grass.
He stood looking down at it for a moment, reflecting on all he had
achieved to bring him to this point. The moon bathed him in its warmth, and he
could almost feel the loving gaze of the Great Ir as it floated above him, waiting
to carry him to infinity. Then a car horn blaring somewhere in the night broke his
inner peace, and he knew the time had come.
Meddick dropped to one knee to set his duffel bag down. Its zipper
crackled softly in the night. Some of the crickets nearby fell silent, as if sharing
Meddick's anticipation. When the flaps lay open, he reached inside and dragged
out a long strip of golden cloth that he lay across his shoulders. A smile graced
his lips at the intricate patterns he had embroidered onto it that spelled out his
welcome message to the Great Ir.
Next, Meddick drew out a small candle that he lit with a Bic disposable
lighter. The thread of smoke rising from the wick carried a scent of strawberries
that drowned out the greasy odor coming from his golden sash. He took a
moment to hold the candle up to the heavens so that its flame waved across the
outline of the moon, then set the candle down in the grass.
His hands bounced against the thick canvas of the bag as he hauled out a
can of EverFlame lighter fluid. The can gave off a hollow thunk as Meddick pulled
out the plug, then an irregular thump as he poured a stream onto the grass. He
made sure to guide the stream in a pattern described on the Blessed Journey
website that would call the Great Ir.
When he had formed the complex circles and loops of the pattern,
Meddick set the can down. His fingers reeked of the lighter fluid that had dripped
on his hands, as did the sash around his neck that he had soaked earlier. He
dropped to his knee again, picked up the candle, and then touched the flame to
one end of the oily shape on the grass. The fire extended itself across the lawn
with a soft whoosh, winding its way along the lines of the fluid trail until it burned
brightly as the symbol of the Blessed Journey.
Meddick had to work quickly while the symbol still burned clearly. In a
moment, the flames would spread across the lawn, and the signal would be lost.
He spread his arms wide, raised his eyes to the stars, and tipped himself
forward. As he fell into the roaring flames, Quincy Meddick leapt for joy at the
knowledge that he would finally leave his body and begin the journey into the
next plane of existence.
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Chapter 8
Amanda Katt first realized something was wrong when she didn't see
Lesley Grant waiting for her at Sky Harbor International Airport. Amanda stepped
out of the humming walkway of the plane, scanning the crowds for Lesley. She
couldn't see him anywhere.
As the largest airport in Phoenix, Sky Harbor always hustled with activity.
Passengers filled the rows of chairs outside the gate, while more shuffled
between the aisles to reach the ticket counter. Amanda rose up onto the toes of
her high-heeled shoes to see over a businessman hauling a suitcase on a
wheeled cart. She studied the other faces in the lounge, but after ten minutes
had gone by, she knew something was wrong.
Before she left Phoenix for her tour of Arachne, Lesley had promised to
pick her up at the airport when she returned. He had joked that he would still be
in the same chair that she left him in as she headed onto her plane. Amanda
hadn't taken his joke seriously, but knew Lesley would be there for her. He had
never missed an appointment in all the time she had known him. His
organizational skills and punctuality were two of the things that she loved about
him. But now he was gone. When Amanda finally accepted the fact that Lesley
wasn't here, she pulled the strap of her tote bag further up her shoulder, then
headed for the reception area.
Amanda quickly glanced over the people in rows of chairs, all reading or
chatting with each other, but none with Lesley's handsome smile. As she walked,
Amanda listened carefully to the woman's voice blaring on the public address
system whenever it called out a name, but it never called out her own. She finally
found a quiet corner beside a shop selling Native American trinkets where she
could stay out of the way. She set her tote bag down and dug her cellular phone
out of it. When the phone hummed with an open line, she dialed Lesley's
number.
The phone responded by giving her the rhythmic buzz of a busy signal.
"Busy," she murmured, "which means he's home."
Amanda hung up, then dialed the number again. She tried it three more
times before hanging up, stabbing the button a little too hard. Lesley hadn't come
to pick her up. He might have forgotten, which confused her even more, since he
always had a memory like a steel trap. This just wasn't like him at all. The fact
that his line was busy disturbed her as well. Even if Lesley had forgotten he had
to pick her up, he still would have kept the phone lines open if he knew she was
coming.
Amanda bought a candy bar from a newsstand, carried her tote bag over
to an empty chair, and settled in to wait. She opened her laptop computer and
spent some time on the Internet, checking her e-mail and surfing the Web
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researching future articles. When a half-hour had gone by, Amanda finally
accepted the truth. She didn't know why, but Lesley wasn't coming. Amanda
closed her laptop and used her cell phone to dial the number of her best friend,
Blossom Dawn.
After ringing a few times, a woman's voice answered. "Speak and ye shall
find, oh weary traveler."
Amanda closed her eyes. "Hey, Blossom, it's me."
"Amanda? I had not an inkling that you would be returning from New York
so quickly. Was your trip all you dreamed it would be?"
"Yes and no." Amanda stroked her forehead with her fingers as she
braced her elbow in her lap. "I'll tell you all about it on the ride home from the
airport you're gonna give me. Please?"
"Well, of course, you have only to ask. Right now, I'm only engaged in
avoiding my Renaissance Literature class, anyway. But I thought Lesley had
volunteered to ferry you home?"
Amanda chewed on her bottom lip, then murmured, "Yeah, I thought so,
too. But he ain't here, and his phone is busy. It's really weird."
"Well, we can gossip about him more when I am there in the flesh, my
dear. For now, consider me en route."
Amanda drew her lower lip out of her mouth to smile. "Great. I'll be waiting
outside Starbucks. Thanks, Blah. You always come through for me."
"Think nothing of it, Mandy. Such is the duty of all good friends. Tah."
Amanda smiled as she hung up, then swept her bag onto her shoulder,
and moved off across the terminal again.
She found a seat at one of the tiny circular tables in front of the Starbucks
coffee shop to wait. Amanda knew that if there were one place in Sky Harbor
Airport that Blossom was sure to know the location of, it would be a coffee shop.
Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Amanda looked up from a mug of black
coffee to see Blossom approaching. Blossom's legs moved in short steps
because of a purple silk cloth wrapped around her waist. Amanda recognized the
cloth as an East Indian sari embroidered with beautiful patterns. Another silk
cloth draped over Blossom's green blouse, and another swam around her arm as
she waved it towards Amanda. "Well? Do I look the traditional East Indian
woman?"
Amanda laughed while setting her coffee cup down onto the table. "You
would if you weren't wearing those glasses o' yours."
Blossom planted her fists on her hips and glared at Amanda through the
rose-tinted lenses of heart-shaped glasses. "Well, I have to allow my own
personal flair to show through somehow. You have your bags?"
"Yup." Amanda hauled her tote bag onto her shoulder, then rose from her
table. "Let's roll."
Blossom brushed curls of red hair away from her eyes to cast a wide-eyed
look at the green sign of Starbucks hanging nearby. Then she looked down at
Amanda with her lower lip pushed out.
Amanda sighed, then flicked her hand towards the shop. "Okay, go grab a
coffee. I'll see if I can get in touch with Lesley again."
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"I'll only be a moment. I shall even resist getting cinnamon as it would be
too much of a delay." Blossom hurried with small steps into the line formed in
front of Starbucks, ducking her head up to read the menu.
Amanda used the time to call Lesley again. The busy signal that greeted
her didn't surprise much. She wondered if something was wrong, but before her
mind began to conjure up dark fantasies of Lesley's misery, she remembered his
meeting with Saguaro Publishing had been scheduled for yesterday. If his cover
illustration had been approved, then he was probably just busy working on it.
Sometimes Lesley lost himself in his work. It made her feel a little better
imagining him hard at work at his canvas, rather than hurt or lost somewhere.
As she finished stowing her cell phone back in her bag, Blossom returned
cradling a green paper cup stamped with the Starbucks logo. "Are we ready, my
dear?"
Her tote bag's zipper grumbled as Amanda yanked it back into place.
"Yeah. I'd like to stop off at Lesley's, if you don't mind, just to make sure he's
okay."
Blossom waved her arm, causing the silk wrapped around it to flow down
her neck. "No problem at all. In fact, it gives me a perfect excuse to miss my
psychology class and that dreadful Professor Platt's lectures."
As Blossom headed for the elevators leading down to the parking level,
Amanda followed, shaking her head. "Nice to see you takin' an interest in your
education. Only you would sign up for summer classes you don't even take."
Blossom called over her shoulder, "It is my money, I can squander it
however I like."
Amanda rolled her eyes, but said nothing more. Blossom's family owned a
large fortune in various media corporations, including The Manhattan Examiner
where her father had worked. Blossom's father had given her a trust fund that
she used to "expand her horizons," as she put it. That translated into endless
trips all over the world and even more endless university classes. Blossom
quickly got bored with almost every class she signed up for. She had been
working on an associate degree in a variety of majors for years, but seemed no
closer now than when she started. Amanda found Blossom's retreat into a world
of academia annoying, but had to admit that it made Blossom a wealth of
information.
Blossom peeled back the cover of her cup to sniff at the aromatic steam
that rose from its depths, then frowned at Amanda over her shoulder. "Do you
really think something is amiss with Lesley?"
Amanda dodged a group of men in cowboy boots and Stetson hats,
laughing and joking with each other in a Southern drawl. "Not totally, but it
definitely ain't like Lesley to be late for anything, let alone miss a pick-up
altogether. I figure maybe he's workin' or something."
Blossom's voice became muffled as she spoke into the depths of the cup
at her mouth. "I'm sure it's nothing. Now tell me about your trip."
When they reached a hallway flanked with elevator doors, Amanda
pushed the call button, then began filling Blossom in on everything that
happened during her tour of Arachne. Blossom took sips of her cappuccino, but
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otherwise remained silent. She only watched Amanda through her scarlet lenses
during their ride down to the parking garage where she had parked. By the time
they reached their floor, Blossom had finished her cappuccino, and Amanda had
finished her story.
Amanda was glad she had taken advantage of a layover to change out of
her dress to a pair of tan shorts and T-shirt. The temperature felt about normal
for summer in Phoenix, a hundred and six degrees. The heat felt as if it pressed
against her skin, squeezing moisture from the pores to soak her clothes. Amanda
felt relief in the shade of the airport's covered parking lot, but knew they would
have to venture out of it soon.
Heat radiated from the metal of Blossom's black Volkswagen New Beetle
as she unlocked the trunk. "Arachne seems like quite an unusual place."
Amanda braced her hands on the tote bag over her shoulder to tap the
rough cloth with her palms. "Yeah, have you seen it yet?"
Blossom raised her head over the trunk to give Amanda a look with halfclosed eyes. A few years back, Blossom had decided to become a Luddite. She
had invited Amanda to watch a bonfire in the desert that she fed with her VCR,
PC desktop computer, and fax machine. The toxic fumes and exploding metal
had forced them to retreat from the area until the flames died down, but
symbolically Blossom considered it a triumph over the encroaching oppression of
the new millennium, as she put it. Since then, Blossom had relented and bought
a few new appliances, but claimed she would never get another computer.
Amanda figured it would take another month before Blossom finally gave that up.
"Never mind." Amanda leaned against the car. "Anyway, I'm glad I got
outta there while I did. I'd almost call it a waste of time if I wasn't gettin' paid for
the article I wrote, and if I didn't get a free trip to New York outta the deal."
Blossom finally raised the trunk of the car, then strode around to the
driver's side while smiling over the roof. "Always observant of the silver lining,
that's my Amanda."
After stowing her tote bag in the back of the Beetle, Amanda climbed into
the passenger side. Cool air blasted out of the vents that smelled of strawberries
from the air freshener hanging on the rear-view mirror. Blossom began to chatter
about one of her new boyfriends, and Amanda only half-listened as the two of
them roared out of the parking garage. She felt exhausted after her trip to New
York, and looked forward to returning to her normal life. Amanda hadn't realized
she had fallen asleep until the car jolted on a speed bump, and she woke up to
find the car driving through the gates of Lesley's apartment complex.
Blossom parked the car under a mesquite tree for shade. A light breeze
ruffled the tree's leaves, but not strong enough to cool Amanda down as she
climbed out of the car. As she climbed up the concrete path to the apartment
buildings, she felt the burning kiss of the sun against her whenever she came out
of the shade. Despite her attempts to reassure herself that Lesley was okay,
Amanda came close to running several times. Her heels clanked on the metal
staircase leading up to Lesley's front door. She knocked twice, then stood beside
Blossom, waiting for the door to fly open and all her fears to be dashed.
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The wooden panels of the door stared back at her. A trash bin in the
parking lot thundered behind her as a tenant tossed in plastic bags. Amanda's
ears strained to pick out the faintest sound of life from the other side of the door,
but nothing came.
Blossom raised an eyebrow over the frame of her rose-colored glasses. It
led Amanda to pound her fist harder on the door.
As the rattle of her knock faded, a voice broke through the wooden slab of
the door to ring out, "Coming. Just a minute."
At the sound of Lesley's voice, a knot unwound in Amanda's chest that
released a sigh of relief. A smile spread across her face as footsteps moved
towards the door, the lock rattled, and chilled air poured from the apartment out
onto the welcome mat.
Lesley Grant's broad shoulders and powerful chest bulged under his
University of Los Angeles sweatshirt. Despite his towering height and imposing
frame, his gentle smile and handsome features turned his imposing figure into
one that comforted rather than frightened her.
But something was wrong. Wild eyes stared out of a gate formed by his
blond hair hanging loosely around his face and head, instead of tied back in a
ponytail as he usually wore it. For a moment, he seemed to be looking through
Amanda until his eyes focused on her.
"Mandy?" he whispered. "What're you doing here?"
He slapped his own forehead with a palm. "I forgot to pick you up at the
airport."
Before Amanda could open her mouth to reply, he had wrapped his arms
around her waist to hug her tightly. He kissed the top of her head, then
murmured into her dark hair, "Oh, Mandy, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I forgot. I
had it written down on the fridge and everything."
Turning her head away from Lesley's warm chest, Amanda made a face at
Blossom, who was giving her a thin-lipped "I-told-you-so" grin, then smiled up at
Lesley. "It's okay, sweetie. Blossom took up some of the slack, but I'd like to
know what happened."
Lesley released her, but kept one hand entwined in hers as he stepped
back into his apartment. "I'm not even sure. I guess I got so caught up I forgot."
Only Lesley's hand pulling Amanda forward kept her from stopping dead in
his front doorway. She had never seen Lesley's apartment in anything but a
spotless condition until now.
The smell of decaying food hung in the cool air. While Lesley guided her
across the living room floor, Amanda took careful steps around the dirty socks
and shirts that lay scattered around her feet. He released her hand to sweep a
pile of Powwow Cola cans off a chair. They clattered to the floor as he offered
her the seat.
She took it as she nodded up at Lesley, but watched him closely. The
shades had been drawn over the windows, but even in the dim light, Amanda
could make out deep lines marking his face. Dark circles under his eyes told her
he hadn't sleep well. But his eyes seemed bright and his movements quick as he
headed towards his computer.
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As Lesley sat down, one of his bare feet clanked against the Powwow
Cola cans piled around his desk. "I just got so caught up on the Web. I've
actually gotten a few e-mails from people who are interested in buying some of
my work. One of them suggested that I put up some of my sculptures at an online
auction."
From the front door, Blossom took cautious steps into the apartment. She
kept a hand pressed over her nose against the sour odor that choked the air.
Behind her red-tinted glasses, her eyes darted about to take in the wreckage of
the apartment.
Lesley typed on his computer for a moment, then spun his chair around to
smile up at Blossom. "Hey, long time no see, Blossom. I thought you were still in
India."
Blossom pursed her lips into a tight smile. "Yes, well, I cut my trip short a
bit. The tour was quite poorly handled. Once I struck out on my own, I managed
to see twice as much in half the time. So I returned early, last week actually."
"Well, nice seeing you again." Lesley spun his chair to face his computer
again. He began to work, but Amanda couldn't see what it was, because his wide
shoulders blocked her view of the monitor. "So how was your trip, Mandy?"
Amanda tried to keep her voice calm, even as her mind wrestled with the
changes she saw in Lesley's behavior. "Well, I had a good time in New York.
Actual tour of Arachne was a total bust, though."
The chatter of fingers punching keys stopped as Lesley turned his head to
look back at her. He brushed his hair over his shoulder to see better as he
frowned. "Really? What happened?"
Amanda braced one leg up on her chair to hug her knee to herself. "Kind
of a long story. I wrote it up in my article. You can read it on NR-Net, and I'll fill in
the rest later."
"Okay, I'll do that." Lesley returned to his typing with its earlier fury.
Amanda glanced over at Blossom. She caught Amanda's eye, then
mouthed the words, "Is he okay?"
Amanda thought a moment, then shook her head as she threw ger gaze
around the apartment. In the kitchen, a sunlit window cast light onto dishes piled
in his sink. Crumbs dotted the kitchen floor. In the corner behind her, the sight of
his modeling tools made her heart sink farther. In all the time she had known him,
he had always been meticulous about putting away his materials. They now lay
at angles all over his worktable. She knew something was horribly wrong, yet
only when she noticed his sculpture did the full impact of Lesley's transformation
set in.
Her chair skipped along the carpet as Amanda rose, then crossed the
apartment to the pedestal where Lesley kept his sculpture. The sheet that he
kept draped over the clay moistened her fingers as she raised a corner of it. The
dark scent of the clay wafted out at her. It took a moment of careful study to
confirm what she suspected. "Have you been working on this while I was gone?"
Lesley swiveled his chair around to glance at it. "Uh, no, not really. I've
been a little busy."
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The cloth smacked loudly on the clay as she let it fall back into place. That
wasn't like him at all. She usually had to pry him away from working on his clay
sculptures. She turned to the easel beside the molding table. A canvas faced her
with pencil lines sketched into vague shapes. It reminded her to ask, "What
happened at your meeting at Saguaro Publishing? Did they like your sketch?"
Lesley's typing eased again, but his shoulders hunched up, keeping her
his face out of view. "Yeah. They gave me the go-ahead for the final painting
yesterday afternoon."
"They did?" She studied the unfinished lines on the canvas again. "And
you're not working on it?"
Lesley held up his hands at his sides, as if blocking her off. "I'm just taking
a break, okay?"
She shot another look at Blossom, who stared back with wide eyes, then
moved towards Lesley. Her bag weighed down her shoulder, but when she let it
settle onto the floor, the heaviness remained. Her heels scraped against the
carpet as her slow steps carried her to his desk. As she drew nearer, the monitor
of his computer came into view, like a moon rising over the horizon of his
shoulder. What she saw on the glowing screen didn't surprise her, but it did
sadden her, because it made everything that he had done come into sharper
focus.
When she looked at Blossom again, the firmness of her gaze sent a
message. As always, Blossom understood the message perfectly, and
responding by nodding, then removing her hand from her mouth to call out, "Oh,
the memory of a certain someone expecting a phone call just penetrated my
mind. I have to go get my cell phone. I'll be out in the car if you need me, Mandy.
Lesley, always a pleasure."
The back of Lesley's head nodded. "Likewise, Blossom."
Blossom's arms remained rigid at her sides as she hurried to the front
door. A gust of hot air from the open doorway signaled her retreat as she rushed
out. It closed behind her with a gentle thump, leaving Amanda and Lesley alone.
Amanda's skin felt hot from the baking sun outside as she folded her arms
over each other. "Les, is that Arachne?"
Lesley stopped typing. The swelling around his eyes made them appear
hollow as he craned his head towards her. "Yeah. I found this great online shop
on it. It has everything. I'm buying some all-natural, non-toxic solvents for my oil
painting. Should make cleaning up a lot easier."
"I see." Amanda came towards him to rest one hand on his shoulder. She
felt his muscles tense under his shirt. "This why you forgot to pick me up at the
airport?"
Lesley's eyes dropped to the keyboard on his desk, away from her. "Uh,
yeah, I guess it is."
Amanda's shorts pooled around her knees as she knelt to look directly into
Lesley's eyes. "Hun, what's goin' on? I never seen you like this. The place is a
mess, and you look like you ain't eaten or slept in days."
Lesley closed his eyes, then released his breath in a sigh. His chin hissed
from stubble scraping his palm as he swept a hand over his face. "You're right. I
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don't know what's happening to me. When you told me the Internet was
addictive, I didn't believe you, but you were right. I feel like I can't stop. Arachne
is all I can think about lately."
"Arachne?" Amanda's knee bumped up against a Powwow Cola can as
she inched closer to Lesley to look at Arachne's screen. "I don't get it. What's the
big deal about Arachne?"
"I couldn't really tell you." Lesley raised his gaze up to the monitor again.
Amanda could see the reflection of the screen on his eyes, like tiny versions of
Arachne hidden within him. "I feel like I could spend my whole life doing nothing
else. Every time I try to shut the computer off, I see something else on Arachne
that I just have to check out, and it pulls me back in. I never want to go anywhere
else."
She rested a hand on his thigh as she let her head fall against his. The
roughness of his cheek glided over her smooth forehead while she sighed. "Oh,
baby, I'm sorry. I gave you this stupid computer. If it's that hard for you, maybe I
should take it back."
His hand came down to his leg to rest on hers as his warm lips touched
her forehead. "No, I'll be okay. Now that you're here, I can see how stupid I've
been. I'm shutting the computer off right now."
A chirping rose up from Amanda's tote bag. She hurried over to where she
had left it on the floor and dug through it to find her cellular phone. "Hello?"
The rapid, breathless voice on the other end of the line told her it was the
publisher of NR-Net, Boris Franz. "Amanda, finally, I've been calling every which
way from Sunday to try to get a hold of you. I have a brand-new job for you."
Amanda cupped her palm over the phone and gave Lesley a smile. "Sorry,
I gotta take this. It'll just be a minute."
Lesley nodded and gave her a wave as he worked on his computer.
Amanda returned to her phone as Franz continued to speak. "Have you heard
about Quincy Meddick yet?"
Amanda leaned her free hand on the wall as she considered the question.
The name triggered visions of an eccentric man that had turned a private
collection of links into Zoink, the largest search engine on the World Wide Web,
and the gateway to a huge personal fortune. "Meddick? No, why? What about
him?"
If she knew Franz, then she could imagine him in his office, hunched over
the coffee he always drank. "He's dead, that's what's about him. He burned to
death in a fire on his own lawn last night. His wife claims she saw him literally
jump into it. She took him to the hospital right after it happened, but he died an
hour ago. The investigation is still going on as we speak, but right now they're
calling it a suicide."
"No way. Why would he do somethin' like that?"
"That's what I'd like you to find out, and my motto is the sooner the better,
as you know. That's why there's a plane ticket to LA waiting for you at JFK
airport, and you can thank me later."
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Amanda pulled the phone away to make a face at it, then put it back
against her ear. "Boris, since when did you start coverin' murders and suicides
instead of operating systems and hard drives?"
"Since this is the biggest scoop in the history of my magazine. Yeah, I
know it's a stretch for my readers, but Meddick is related to the Internet, and
you're my ace in the hole. Get this. It just so happens that the lead detective on
the Meddick case is none other than your old friend, Detective Hal Brooks."
The name made her pause. She did know Brooks well, as a close
personal friend and a friend of the family. She hadn't seen him in months, but he
e-mailed her weekly on his progress trying to help track down her father's killer.
He had always been very helpful to her in the past whenever she needed advice
or aid from law enforcement. His involvement in the case would give her a
greater insight into the murder than other reporters on the scene. Besides, she
had to admit to being curious about Meddick's death as well. It probably wouldn't
take that long to go, check out the reports, then head home again.
Amanda toyed with the silver cat pendant around her neck, then
murmured, "Okay, I'm on my way. But after this, I'm on vacation. I got a wedding
to plan, you know. And the next time you buy me a plane ticket somewhere
without asking me, I'm gonna return it in the most painful way you can imagine."
"Your threat is noted, and your agreement is thanked. Let me know when
you have anything."
"Okay, bye." Amanda hung up, then scrambled for her tote bag. "I gotta
go, sweetie. Just got a new assignment."
The wheels on Lesley's chair squealed as he pushed away from his
computer, then headed for his dining table to gather up piles of grimy dishes. The
dishes clattered as Lesley lowered them into the sink, then turned on the faucet.
The hiss of water pouring over them almost drowned out his voice. "Already?
You just got here."
Amanda winced, then crossed the room to slip her arms around his waist.
She leaned against his back, feeling the muscles flex as he rinsed off coffee
mugs. "I know, baby, but it won't be long. I'll be back as soon as I can, and we
can go on another shopping trip for the wedding. My return trip's tomorrow at
nine, we can go around nine-thirty. I got my eye on a cake down at Blessed
Bakery, and I heard a Tucson band last week that would kick it up live at our
reception."
He leaned down to touch his soft lips to hers, and they kissed for what felt
like an eternity. When they finally drew away, he smiled. "Okay, and when you
come back, you'll see a changed man."
"Well, don't change too much. I kinda liked you the way you were." She
gave him one final kiss, then headed for the door. "Love you."
"Love you, too," Lesley called back, and she could hear dishes clanking as
he began washing them up in the sink.
Outside, Amanda ran through the steamy air, down the outside apartment
stairs two at a time, then bolted down the sidewalk to the parking lot, where
Blossom's Beetle idled in the shade of the mesquite tree. She yanked open the
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passenger side door, and crawled inside to the wail of a Mexican singer from the
radio.
Blossom looked up from the coffee cup at her mouth. "Is everything
squared away, my dear? You and Lesley didn't come to blows upon my
departure, did you?"
Amanda dragged her bag into her lap, then slammed the door shut after
her. "No, it's all good. I think Lesley's just in that initial rush from the Net, and got
hooked on Arachne. He'll settle down soon. But in the meantime, I need another
favor from you."
"Another one?" Blossom's paper cup scraped as she dropped it into the
cup holder mounted on her dashboard. "You're fortunate I'm not keeping track."
Amanda jerked her thumb over her shoulder, then unzipped the tote bag
in her lap. "I just need a ride to my apartment. I can bribe you this time with the 'I
Love New York' coffee mug I bought ya."
She drew the mug out of her bag and wiggled it at Blossom so she could
see the message and red heart printed on both sides.
"Am I so shallow as to be bribed with a mug? Sadly, the answer is yes."
Blossom rested a hand on the wheel while the other shifted the car into reverse.
"All right, we're on our way. But I certainly hope your trust in Lesley is not
misplaced. When you return, he may have married his computer in your stead."
Amanda whacked Blossom's arm all the way out of the parking lot, even
though she couldn't stop laughing.
In his apartment kitchen, Lesley watched the parking lot through a narrow
crack in his drapes. His smile faded as the dark shape of Blossom's Volkswagen
Beetle rolled away from the trees and towards the front gate. He listened to the
purr of its engine fade long after it had vanished around a corner, then sighed.
He missed Amanda already. He respected her work, but looked forward to her
upcoming sabbatical and the chance to spend more time with her.
Lesley tossed his soaking wet dishtowel onto the kitchen counter and
headed for his easel to return to his work. But somehow along the way, he ended
up jogging over to his chair again. Before he knew it, his hand had reached out to
switch his computer on again.
As the PC hummed to life, Lesley felt like his body had just taken over and
drawn him back to his computer. On a conscious level, Lesley knew that Amanda
had been right. He had to get back to work on his cover illustration, already
behind schedule. But thoughts of work became crowded out by all he had missed
while Amanda had been around. He still hadn't bought those non-toxic solvents,
and one of those Arachne mousepads looked pretty nice, too. He supposed a
few more minutes of the Internet couldn't hurt. Once he had the solvents and
finished reading the Great Masters of the Twentieth Century articles, he would
finally be able to get back to work on his painting. By the time Amanda came
back, he would be done.
But as Lesley Grant logged onto the Internet, and Arachne came onto his
screen, his work, his dishes, and Amanda herself faded to the back of his mind.
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Chapter 9
When Amanda's flight landed in Los Angeles International Airport, she
immediately called the police precinct where Detective Hal Brooks was stationed.
They told her Hal still worked out at the crime scene, so Amanda caught a Liberty
Bell taxicab to Beverly Hills.
The taxi carried her along a street of palatial homes until it finally came to
a halt in front of Meddick's mansion. The house had been designed to imitate
French architecture with ivy creeping along white walls up to a peaked roof
decorated with ornate windows. Trees shaded the black iron fence that kept out a
logjam of cars and vans parked in front of the house, all depositing an army of
reporters and spectators to the Meddick home.
Some of the men and women armed with microphones and cameras
turned their attention to Amanda as she climbed out of the cab, but once they
realized she wasn't famous, most went back to clustering around the estate.
Amanda made her way cautiously past a KABC news van, and a cable
crew from the E! Entertainment cable channel filming a promotional bit by the
gate to the police officer manning the front gate.
Amanda braced one hand on her tote bag as she thrust past other
reporters to reach the gate. There, she held up her driver's license for the
policewoman to see. "Hey, Amanda Katt to see Detective Brooks."
The policewoman lowered her hands and raised herself up on her toes to
look at the license, then yell back, "Amanda Katt? Hang on."
The policewoman dropped back to her feet again, unhooked the radio at
her belt, and murmured into it. A voice distorted with static burst out of it that
made the police officer nod, then sweep other reporters aside. "All right, people,
let her through. Move it."
Amanda flashed sympathetic smiles at the other reporters as she slipped
through the opening in the gate. They responded with nasty glares that almost
burned her until they went out of view. Once inside, the policewoman closed the
gate again, then gestured towards the large house behind them. "This way,
ma'am. I'm Peabody, by the way. So you're a friend of Hal, huh?"
Gravel crunched under her heels as Amanda followed the policewoman
up the wide staircase. "Yeah, he and my folks go way back, since he was a
uniform walking the beat."
Peabody chuckled as they moved under the shadow of the roof
suspended over the front door. They both stepped through a web of yellow police
warning tape running across the doorway. Peabody waved to a crime scene
investigator picking leaves out of the rosebushes and dropping them into a
plastic bag. "I think I've heard Lieutenant Brooks mention you a few times. You're
the reporter who took down those Neo-Nazis, right?"
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Amanda clutched her bag tighter to herself at the mention of the name,
and the events that had followed there. She kept her voice as low and casual as
she could manage while heading into the darkness of the house. "Yeah,
something like that. But don't believe everything you read."
Peabody grinned. "Read nothing. Hal never shuts up about you. I know
you mean a lot to the big lug."
An air-conditioned breeze flowed out of the open door as the policewoman
led Amanda deeper into the mansion. After the glaring sun, it took her eyes a
moment to adjust to being inside. Even when the redness faded, the living room
still seemed indistinct, and it took a moment for her to realize why. Among the
shadows that formed around squares of light from the windows, she could see
that almost everything in the room had been colored in the same shade of white.
The only break in color came from the rows of wooden shelves supporting
dictionaries, guidebooks, and a full set of Encyclopedia Britannica along the far
wall.
Officer Peabody smirked as she noticed Amanda's expression. In the
corner, an officer snapped pictures of the living room. "Like the color scheme?"
Amanda took a step down into the sunken living room. As her heel sank
into a white carpet, she passed a hand over a white table, then dodged around a
white sofa against the wall. "He's got his own little Cloud Kingdom in here."
Peabody gestured towards an adjoining corridor as she headed across the
living room to the glass doors leading out onto the back lawn. "Detective Brooks
is back here."
Before she could touch the door's handle, a dark mass filled the doorway
from the other side. The door rumbled open at the hand of a man so large that he
had to duck to enter the room. He wore a black tie and a dress shirt rolled up to
his elbows, exposing powerful muscles. Amanda had grown accustomed to his
greetings over the years, and set her tote bag down, then braced herself as he
wrapped his arms around her waist and swung her into the air.
"Hey, there's my sunshine," Hal Brooks roared as he spun her around
above him.
With his sleeves rolled up, Amanda could cling to his bare forearms, and
her fingers didn't even come close to encircling the muscles bulging under the
skin. "Yeah, and I'm gonna break in half if you don't put me down."
Hal set her firmly onto her feet with his smile still glowing under a
misshapen nose. Even though he still had rugged good looks, she had known
him long enough to remember how handsome he had been before a fight with a
Colombian druglord had broken his jaw and nose two years ago. She also
remained one of the few people who didn't cower in fear at the initial sight of him
looming over her at over seven feet.
He hugged her tightly, but trembled from his attempts to keep from
crushing her in his arms. "You don't fool me. You're not old enough yet to get
away from my bear hugs."
Amanda arched one hand up to pat his wrist. "Yeah, but pretty soon I'll
have a husband to keep you away from me."
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His laughter boomed through the house as he released her, then mimed a
punch in the air. "He'd have to be built like a Sherman tank to keep me away
from you. How in the Sam Hill are you, sunshine? And why didn't you call and tell
me you were coming?"
Amanda picked up her bag, always amused by his substitutions of
profanity. As a little girl, Hal had insisted on never cursing around her, and had
kept his resolve even when she became an adult. But Amanda knew from
conversations with her father that, on his own, Hal cursed a blue streak.
"Because I knew you'd tell me not to."
Hal leaned farther over her as he braced his hands on his hips. "Yer darn
tootin' I'd tell you not to come. You know, I'm working on a case right now."
"That's why I'm here. I'm workin' that case, too." Before he could open his
mouth, she held up a hand to block it. "And don't start up with that protection jive.
I'm a big girl. After all we been through, you can't tell me I ain't already seen it
all."
Hal reared back as he inhaled, inflating his chest like a balloon under his
shirt. Just as it swelled to bursting, he released the breath in a deep sigh. For a
moment, he just glared down at Amanda, who matched his gaze. At his size, he
was good at intimidation, but she knew him well enough to know that it was all
bluff. His muscle was no match for her stubbornness.
As she knew he would, Hal finally relented by pulling his mouth into a
corner. "Yeah, I guess you have. Maybe you're a blessing in disguise and you
can help me out. I tell ya, this one's got me stumped."
He stabbed a finger at her until it halted an inch away from her nose. "But
I'm warning you now, what we got here ain't pretty."
Amanda gently took the finger in hers and pushed it down to his side.
"Hey, I didn't come out here for a tea party. Lead on, brother."
Hal grunted, then charged back through the door leading out onto the
backyard. A gust of wind carried the smell of burned vegetation and flowers.
As he lurched across the grass, Amanda smiled at Officer Peabody, who
shook her head while looking Amanda up and down. "Man, if I hadn't seen it, I
wouldn't have believed it. I've never seen anybody handle Hal like that."
Amanda picked up her tote bag where she had left it and threw the strap
over her shoulder. On her way out, she gave Peabody a wink. "Well, don't tell
nobody you saw Hal's soft spot. If it gets out, his reign of terror's over."
Amanda left the policewoman chuckling in the living room while she
headed out of the mansion into the backyard. She could still hear the crowds
packed in front of the house, but the serenity of the rear allowed her to tune it
out. Here, only the music of birds in orange trees disturbed the peace.
High walls fenced the yard in, hidden behind tall rosebushes. The flowers
gave off a delicious aroma that contrasted with the scent of smoke and burned
grass that still carried in the warm breeze. More roses ran alongside a marble
path that led through the grass to a circular pool that sparkled in the morning sun.
As Amanda approached the pool fed by a luxurious fountain, she found
Hal Brooks crouched alongside it. He resembled a wild animal in a cage of yellow
police tape that surrounded an irregular patch of soot in the lawn. The smell of
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charcoal and other less pleasant odors almost choked her, and she took shallow
breaths.
Hal Brooks didn't seem to notice the smell. He had his elbows braced on
his knees as he waved a hand towards the charred earth. "This is where
Meddick's wife says she found him. The hospital and the coroner both confirm at
least part of her story, which is that somehow, Meddick got doused in lighter fluid,
then set on fire."
Amanda moved carefully around the circle, trying not to disturb too much
of the crime scene while her eyes darted over the ashes. "Somehow? You think it
wasn't a suicide?"
Even crouched, Hal could still look her in the eye. "In all the years I been
on the force, I never saw anybody commit suicide like this. But the only other
person in the house was his wife, Georgia, and she was on the phone with the
hospital when it happened, so she's got an alibi. We haven't found any evidence
of anyone else in the house at the time, and there's no signs of forced entry. But
it don't add up. She claims he sprayed lighter fluid on the ground, then wrapped
himself in a sash soaked in kerosene and took a swan-dive into the fire."
Hal dug around in the breast pocket of his shirt until he drew out a small
plastic bag. "This is all that was left of the sash. Haven't gotten the lab at it yet,
but it smells like kerosene to me, so I'd guess that part of it's true. No defensive
wounds or signs of any struggle getting it on him, either."
Amanda squinted through the transparent bag at the scrap of purple cloth
inside it. Though charred at the edges, she could make out patterns of gold
thread woven in the fabric. "Looks pretty fancy."
"It is." Hal drew the bag back to study it himself. "We traced it to a New
Age shop out on Rodeo Drive. Meddick came in and had it made special a few
days ago. It's twelve feet of pure silk with gold threading and diamond-studded
tassels. I've got people working on analyzing the patterns woven into it, but so far
they don't match any known language or symbols. And you wouldn't believe what
the guy paid for this thing."
"Ah, the life of the idle rich." Amanda straightened, then glanced around
the lawn. She saw no signs of disturbance except for this one area. Despite the
horror of what had happened here, the yard felt almost peaceful. "Well, if
Meddick bought the sash, then it makes sense he did this. Seems a pretty
ritualistic way to kill yourself, though."
Hal jabbed a thick finger at her. "Ritual is exactly the word I'd use,
sunshine. This wasn't some loner who wanted to end it all. This guy had a big
company, a couple billion bucks in the bank, and then he sells it all and kills
himself. It stinks of something, and I don't know what."
Officer Peabody's voice carried across the lawn from where she stood at
the back door of the mansion. "Lieutenant, we got something."
Hal jumped to his feet, and Amanda felt the soil tremble under her as he
charged off towards the house with his arms pumping. She followed him as
quickly as she could, but with her tote bag weighing her down, and Hal's long
stride working for him, she couldn't keep up. By the time she reached the door,
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Hal was gone, and the policewoman pointed down another corridor. "It's in the
meditation room."
"Thanks." Amanda squeezed herself past her, then jogged down through
the living room and into another long corridor to a room at the end.
Amanda heard the tinkling of wind chimes before she even reached the
door, but inside the small room it filled the air like rain. Green carpeting five feet
long and five feet wide covered the narrow floor. Painted white clouds flowed
across the black walls, and hundreds of chimes dangled from a ceiling that
sparkled with glitter like dust suspended in the shape of constellations. The odor
of cinnamon and musk came from a metal vase in a corner burning incense. The
only light came from a moon-shaped lantern on the ceiling, and Hal's body
blocked off most of it.
Hal filled up half of the room, and had to squeeze himself against the wall
to keep from taking up another third. An elderly woman occupied the other half of
the room, clutching the neck of her yellow blouse to herself. Both of them fixed
their gaze on a red silk pillow on the floor, fringed in yellow rope, and cradling a
sheet of white paper.
As Amanda walked in, Hal finished snapping a photograph of the note and
pillow with a tiny camera. As he wound the camera again, Hal's eyes gleamed
with excitement. "We got it, sunshine. Peabody just found our missing link, a
suicide note from Meddick. We'll have the handwriting analyzed, but if it's
authentic, then it's the break I needed."
The woman smeared her tears over her cheeks with a palm, then nodded.
"Yes, I never noticed it before. He must have intended for me to read it, but with
all the excitement I never thought to look in here. I should have known. Quincy
loved this room, he used to come here to think and meditate."
Amanda realized the woman was Georgia Meddick, Quincy Meddick's
widow. She rested a hand on the woman's shoulder, kneading it slightly through
the thin cloth of her blouse, and gave her a smile. "We understand, Mrs.
Meddick. You've been through a hard time."
Hal raised himself up, then winced as he entangled his head in the chimes
waving along the ceiling. He crouched again to get out of the way, then crooked
a finger at Amanda. "Come here and look at this."
Amanda couldn't fit into the room with him, so she dropped to her knees to
read the note from the door. Once she did, she could see why he seemed more
subdued. Though the note had been written in a careful hand on fine paper with
Meddick's letterhead, most of it made no sense to her.
She skimmed it twice, then read aloud, "'And when the Great Ir arrives
upon his golden cloud beyond the full moon, I shall be there to greet him and
begin the Blessed Journey.' I don't get it. Who's the Great Ir?"
Georgia Meddick pressed her hands over her eyes. "Oh, of course. I
should have known those people were behind this."
Hal watched Meddick's widow cautiously, intent to detect any clues in her
behavior as well as her words. "What people?"
Georgia drew her fingers down over her lips, then slid down the wall until
she sat down. Her gray skirt collected around her ankles. Her left hand reached
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out towards the pillow, and her fingers whispered across the silk surface. "The
Enlightenment of the Blessed Journey. He called them a religion. I call them a
cult. Quincy's always been a soul-searcher, experimenting with all sorts of
unusual philosophies, so I assumed these Enlightenment people were just more
of the same. But he's been talking of nothing else all week. He'd go on for hours
about the Great Ir, the Book of Ascension, and all sorts of crazy things."
Hal drew a green leather notebook out of his hip pocket, and the scratch
of his pen overlaid his voice. "And what makes you think this Enlightment group
is behind your husband's suicide?"
She leaned back on her heels to rest her head against the wall. In that
position, she looked to Amanda as if she floated among the clouds painted
behind her. Georgia still watched the pillow, as if it were her husband's ghost
haunting the floor. "The Enlightenment cult convinced him that an alien
spaceship called the Great Ir was hidden behind the Moon. They told Quincy that
if he achieved something he called the Seventh Level of Harmony, it would carry
him to another universe or plane of existence. He called it the Blessed Journey. It
was so crazy that I thought he couldn't possibly believe it. I thought he would
come to his senses when this Blessed Journey of his never happened."
Georgia raised her eyes to a trio of metal stars tinkling above her in a slow
dance through artificial heavens. "But he never told me how he planned to take
the Journey."
Her voice cracked into a whisper. "Now I know."
Her eyes squeezed shut as new rivers flowed down her cheeks, set in
motion by her trembling shoulders. Amanda knelt to hug her tightly, remembering
how much she needed Blossom's shoulder the day her own father died.
"So it was a ritual suicide. That explains a lot." When Georgia finally
recovered enough to continue, Hal reached out a hand that dwarfed her forearm,
but touched it so gently that it barely wrinkled the sleeve of her blouse. "I still
have a few more questions, Mrs. Meddick, if you feel up to answering them."
Georgia's foot kicked over the jar of incense in the corner, stirring up more
odors of cinnamon and musk. She rubbed her cheeks with her hands, then
blinked at her glistening palms while nodding.
As Georgia's sniffling resounded off the narrow walls, Hal scribbled more
in his notes. "So if I got you right, you think this Blessed Journey cult talked your
husband into killing himself last night?"
"It seems so, yes."
Hal flipped over a page in his notebook. "Well, if that's true, this
Enlightenment group is up for some manslaughter charges. You know where I
can find them?"
Georgia sniffed even harder before drawing her legs in to enfold her arms
in her lap. Amanda kept a distance away to give her more room, while still
hugging her shoulders. "No. I don't think Quincy ever spoke to them personally.
But you could check their website."
At the mention of the word, Amanda raised her head. "Website?"
Georgia kept her eyes down as she flicked her hand in the air over her
stomach. "Yes, the Enlightenment cult has a website. That's where Quincy found
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out about them, and studied their teachings. He's spent more time at that infernal
website than anywhere else this week."
Amanda gave the widow a final hug, then rose to her feet. "I don't suppose
you know the address?"
Georgia's brow wrinkled. "Oh, goodness, no. I've never even seen the
thing. Quincy tried to show it to me once, but I wouldn't look at it. The whole thing
gave me the willies."
Hal held out a hand for Georgia to grasp and draw herself to her feet. "I'd
like to take a look at the computer Mister Meddick used most often. If he used it
that much, he'd probably have the site bookmarked on his computer."
Georgia smoothed her skirt out as she frowned up at him. "Oh, of course.
Yes, this way."
Georgia Meddick led them out of the meditation room and back down the
corridor into the white living room. As Hal passed one of the crime scene
investigators wandering the house, he paused to give him instructions on tagging
Meddick's suicide note as evidence. Amanda and Georgia continued across the
white carpet to the den on the opposite end of the mansion.
After the claustrophobic meditation room, Amanda welcomed the open
view of the front lawn through the window in the den, even though she could see
reporters huddled at the gates. The den gave her a view of Meddick's more
industrial side. Though a bookcase in a corner held religious books like the Book
of Mormon and the Koran, it also held texts on management techniques and the
Internet. Under photographs of Quincy and his wife, he had kept rows of filing
cabinets jammed with files. Next to the window, a desk made of steel tubing
supported an iMac computer.
The computer's whine grew louder as Amanda approached it. "Have the
police been through here yet? Dusted for prints and everything?"
Georgia lingered in the doorway behind her, as if afraid to get too close to
the computer. "Yes. They've been all through this place. Quincy left the computer
on before he died, but I don't think the detective looked it over too much."
Since the police had already searched for clues, Amanda felt a little better
about touching the computer and not contaminating the scene. Even still, she
spread a facial tissue from her tote bag over the mouse before using it, just in
case.
The computer's monitor displayed a desktop with an image of the
Pyramids of Gaza surrounded by symbols of the zodiac as the background.
Amanda drew the mouse pointer to click on an icon that loaded the NetRider
browser. When it filled the screen, she clicked on a button that dropped down a
list of links. Among them, she found one labeled "Enlightenment of the Blessed
Journey Official Website."
"This looks like it," she murmured as she clicked on the symbol.
She felt the floor tremble beneath her a moment before Hal lumbered into
the den, then peered over the monitor to see her. "Found anything yet?"
Amanda watched the computer logged onto the Web. "Yup. Here's the
link. Let's see what these Enlightenment folks have to say for themselves, huh?"
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As Hal and Georgia crowded around her, Amanda leaned back to allow
the others to see. They watched the computer work for a moment, then pop up a
gray box that read, "The website you requested could not be found."
"Maybe it's the wrong address." Amanda navigated through menus on the
computer until she found the address that the "Enlightenment" link had led to.
"Well, it looks like the right one. Seems like the website's been taken down."
"Great." Hal punched a massive fist into the desk, toppling over a pyramidshaped paperweight onto its side.
"But that's impossible," Georgia insisted. "I saw him go back to their
website just last night."
"Well, it's gone now. And you're sure Quincy never contacted them in
person, Mrs. Meddick? Never called them on the phone or visited a local
temple?"
Georgia turned her palms up in a shrug, then moved away from the
computer. "From what Quincy said, the website seemed to be the group's only
means of communicating with its members. If there had been another way, he
wouldn't have spent all his time at the website, I think."
"So the website was there, but now it's gone. And that was our only lead.
Without that website, the Enlightenment group's disappeared." Hal swept a hand
over his face as he sighed, then sent the floor quaking again as he jogged out of
the office. "All right, everybody sit tight. I'm gonna make some phone calls, see if
I can track these guys down."
Amanda stood on her toes so she could see him over the monitor. "Hal, I
think I know a way to recover the website so we can still read it."
Hal yelled back "Do it" before he vanished from sight.
Amanda dropped back onto her heels and began to click her way through
the browser's menus again.
Georgia frowned over her shoulder. "What are you doing?"
Amanda clicked one of the boxes in the browser's setup menu. "The
browser's got a thing called the 'cache mode.' See, whenever you visit a web
page, your Internet browser saves a copy of it in what's called the 'cache.' That
way, when you come back to the web page later on, your browser can load up
the saved copy instead of having to go online and get it all over again. Makes it
run faster. Since your husband visited the Blessed Journey's website so recently,
copies of it should still be in the cache. With cache mode, we can look at those
pages without having to go online for them."
As she finished her explanation, Amanda turned on the cache mode, and
a list of addresses flowed down the screen. She scrolled down until she found an
address for Blessed Journey and clicked on the link provided. As she had hoped,
the main page for the Blessed Journey website exploded onto her screen.
George stabbed her finger at it. "That's it. I recognize it."
Relief eased Amanda's shoulders. After the URL had turned up broken,
she had begun to wonder if the cult-story was just an alibi. Despite her sympathy
for the widow, both she and Hal had to consider Georgia Meddick as a suspect,
but the Blessed Journey website's existence strengthened her credibility.
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Amanda let her eyes wander over the bright colors and wrapped text that
filled every nook of the small page. "I don't see any e-mail links or an address or
any other way to contact them."
Georgia began shuffling around the den as Amanda clicked a few links on
the website. Except for more pages of bizarre ideology, she found nothing except
more proof that the Church of Enlightenment of the Blessed Journey seemed like
a pack of nutcases. The explanations of how aliens had colonized Earth, then
beamed down messages into people's brains through their giant spaceship on
the Moon seemed more like a bad science-fiction movie than a religion. It also
featured large amounts of suicide rhetoric, preaching death as the ultimate
journey to spiritual fulfillment. How they had converted Quincy Meddick with this
mumbo-jumbo seemed an even greater mystery than his death.
Eventually, Amanda leaned away from the screen, shaking her head.
"This is a waste o' time. There's no way to contact or find them on this thing,
which is weird. I mean, why wouldn't they want anyone to give them money or at
least ask for more information? And if they went to all this trouble, why'd they
take their website down?"
She closed the pages and dragged the mouse over to shut down the
browser completely when she caught a familiar address in the cache listing.
Amanda frowned at it, then murmured, "Mrs. Meddick, did your husband spend a
lotta time at Arachne?"
Georgia turned away from where she stacked books on the shelves
behind her, a copy of L. Ron Hubbard's Scientology still in her hand. "Oh, yes, he
was quite obsessed with it for a while. Until he became involved in the Church of
the Blessed Journey, Quincy spent hours on Arachne. He always quoted that
phrase at me. What was it? Once you've seen it--"
"You'll never go anywhere else," Amanda whispered.
"Yes, that was it." Georgia's eyes narrowed as she replaced the book onto
a shelf. "Why do you ask?"
Amanda chewed on her lower lip as she stared at the cache listing, which
counted hundreds of pages stored from Arachne. "Nothing. It's just that I been
seein' a lot o' Arachne lately, and never in a good way."
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Chapter 10
It all started when Lesley Grant went out to the nearest Albertson's
grocery store for some oregano to make dinner. He hadn't left his apartment
since his meeting with Saguaro Publishing, and was running low on supplies.
An hour later, Lesley stumbled through the automatic doors of the
supermarket pushing a loaded shopping cart. He trembled as if in chills, despite
the wall of heat he passed through to reach his car. Something felt wrong. He
had never been an impulse buyer before. A dry wind rippled the white plastic
bags as he hoisted them into the passenger side of his Dodge truck, then drove
back home.
The same thought kept rebounding through his mind as he pulled into his
apartment complex and hoisted his grocery bags up into his arms. As Lesley
burst through the front door of his apartment into the cool haven of his living
room, he wondered what had come over him. His arms ached from the bags
weighing them down, stuffed with things he had never thought of buying before.
More Powwow Cola, Crumples potato chips, and even packages of Zinkies
snack cakes. As he began unloading the bags, he wondered what had come
over him.
As he stared, a memory flashed through his mind like a shock of lightning.
He remembered seeing everything he had bought in banner advertisements on
Arachne. The thought surprised him, since he hadn't really noticed the banners at
the time. Now that he considered it, eating pre-packaged meals seemed like a
good idea. He needed to focus on his work, and between that and browsing
Arachne, he didn't have time to cook and clean anymore. Arachne knew him
better than he knew himself.
All right, he told himself. It's time to get back to work. He realized that he
hadn't even touched his painting all day. Deadlines were never as far away as
they seemed or he liked them to be.
Lesley approached his canvas with a frown. The pencil lines of his sketch
still needed to be finished before he felt ready to paint, but it wouldn't take more
than an hour for the touch-up.
Before his hand could reach one of his pencils on his worktable, a pang
surged through him, like hunger of the mind. As his stomach might crave a bar of
chocolate, in that moment he felt a craving for Arachne. He had never
experienced anything like it. It couldn't be denied.
Even though he knew his unfinished painting cried out to him, and his
deadline rushed towards him like a speeding train, Lesley had to go back to
Arachne. Just for a little while. Then he would be able to concentrate on his work.
He just needed to unwind a bit, that was all. But the need disturbed him, and he
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resolved that this would be his last visit to Arachne. He had more important
things to do.
A pile of empty Powwow Cola cans gathered around the legs of his chair
rattled as he sat down before his computer. The moon peeped through a crack in
his drapes, watching silently as Lesley logged onto the Internet. Arachne loaded
up as he started his browser, automatically taking him to the Art Department in a
few seconds. He paused to admire a new painting on display at the top of the
web page, then skimmed the titles of available articles.
He had seen everything. The realization came as a potent blend of
surprise and fear that mixed together in his gut. Over the past few days, he had
surfed the Art department of Arachne so greedily that he had seen and read
everything.
Lesley quickly backed out to the index page and tried the Sports and
Shopping sections. Some new items held his attention at each one, but only for a
few minutes. It soon became obvious that he had exhausted their entertainment
value as well.
He swept his fingers over his dry lips. He had run out of things to see and
do on Arachne, yet still longed to remain. He could try some of the other
departments, but it seemed only a matter of time before they would be used up
as well.
Lesley had come to the end of his obsessive journey through Arachne.
Now he could concentrate on other things. Lesley knew he should feel that way,
but he felt as desperate as a man trapped in the desert watching the last of his
water evaporate in the heat. Arachne had become such a part of his life that he
couldn't imagine living without it.
As he considered reading over one of the articles on the Great Masters of
the Twentieth Century, a banner flashed on the left side of the page. It displayed
a cartoon man with an exaggerated frown on his round face. A noose circled his
neck, while the rope formed words on the opposite side of the banner. It read, "At
the end of your rope? Sign up for VIP Access on Arachne today!"
Lesley dragged his mouse pointer across the screen to click on the
banner. A new page came up to replace the first. Text above a form explained
that VIP Access was a monthly subscription on Arachne. According to the text,
most of Arachne's best material was reserved for subscribers. Games,
chatrooms, shops, expanded articles, and all-new sections awaited him for only
twenty dollars a month.
A part of Lesley knew that he had reached the point of no return. He could
leave Arachne now, having seen everything it had to offer, and move on with his
life. Or he could sign up for VIP Access and sink deeper into Arachne than ever
before.
Lesley could feel something happening to him over the past week. His
very thoughts moved in ways that confused him. What Amanda had said that
morning had been right. For some reason, he changed, and somehow Arachne
seemed behind it. The last time he had felt this out of control had been three
years ago when he lost his job and fell into a drinking binge that almost killed
him.
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The logical part of his mind told him to close down his browser, forget
Arachne, and move on with his life. Another part of his mind guided his hands to
the keyboard and began filling in the subscription form.
"It's only twenty dollars," Lesley whispered as he clicked the "Purchase"
button that sold his life away.
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Chapter 11
Jonathan Seer walked through the offices of Arachne with his mouth set in
a thin line. Everyone ignored him or avoided his gaze, and he felt amusement at
the fear they all tried to hide. Jonathan Seer ruled these people, even if they
didn't consciously know why. That was the essence of the work that he had
devoted most of his life to.
The soundproof environment of his office meant that the world vanished
the moment Seer shut the door behind him. In the comfort of his office, Seer felt
relief from the oppressive heat of the outside world. Air poured down from the
vent over Jonathan Seer's desk like a waterfall. He could still feel the cool splash
in his chair as he typed on his computer and he allowed his thoughts to focus on
Amanda Katt.
It seemed that Miss Katt had written her article, after all. It had appeared
that morning on NR-Net. From the first paragraph, he could see it was the article
he had predicted the night before. It chronicled her visit to Arachne, and it
portrayed Arachne in the worst possible light. It asked questions that had to be
answered. Eventually, Miss Katt or someone else would try to find the answers to
those questions. When they did, the entire operation would be exposed.
Seer had trained his mind to see into the future, extrapolating events from
all available information. Seer knew that Miss Katt's article could be the
beginning of the end of his plans. The mystery surrounding Arachne's popularity
had been exposed. If anyone tried to solve it, they would eventually succeed, and
Seer's schemes would end before they had even begun. Amanda Katt had to be
silenced.
Jonathan Seer knew the limits of his power, but he had also created ways
of extending them. Amanda Katt seemed immune to the effects of Kaleidoscope,
and she lived on the other side of the country, too far for him to reach. But Seer
knew of someone who had no such barriers. His partner could go almost
anywhere and do almost anything, and Seer knew she would succeed where he
could not.
It was time to call on the power of Jane Doe.
Seer hated chess, but it was the only way for him to talk to Jane Doe, and
more importantly, keep her happy. He needed her happy to carry out their task.
As Arachne registered him to play, Seer slipped on his purple sunglasses and
leaned back to wait.
As he waited to log into his account, Jonathan Seer savored the cool white
surroundings. They gave him a sense of peace, as did the chill of his air
conditioning. Seer couldn't stand even the slightest trace of heat. As a child, his
father had punished him for failing in his psychology studies by forcing him to
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stand in front of the living room fireplace. If he even so much as flinched, his
father would add another half-hour to the punishment.
For hours at a time, Seer could only stand on aching legs, sweat trickling
down his ribs and neck, the smell of hot cloth filling his nostrils until he felt like
throwing up, the flames roaring behind him as they burned his neck, spine, and
the back of his legs. When his father finally gave the order of freedom. Jonathan
Seer would run straight out of the living room to the freezer in the servant's
kitchen where he would sit in the cold, recovering from his heat exhaustion.
Surrounded by white walls encrusted with ice crystals, he found the peace that
remained vacant from his life. Seer had long outgrown the nightmare of his
youth, but his affection for white and cold remained.
Seer allowed his gaze to wander over his office's walls, ceiling, and floor
that formed an unbroken cube of pure white. He didn't like decorations or colors
to distract him from his work. But he noticed a one-point-four inch smudge on the
wall to his left. It looked like black plastic and brown soil, left by someone who
had deliberately scuffed their shoe against it.
Most likely, it was the night janitor, Gibson. His three-year relationship with
his girlfriend Rebecca had ended three days ago when she rejected his marriage
proposal. Gibson apparently had decided to take his frustration out on Seer by
making a small imperfection in the pristine room. Most likely, Gibson had thought
that Seer wouldn't notice it. Gibson only wanted to enjoy the sense of rebellion
and power over Seer that it gave him.
Jonathan Seer decided he would have to fire Gibson later, and would
make sure to smoke a cigarette during the encounter. Jonathan Seer normally
did not smoke, but knew that Gibson associated the smell of tobacco with his
abusive mother. The combined stress of the memory, the horror of losing his job,
and the grief from his lost love would cause Gibson to leave the office and
commit suicide within the hour. Seer's psychological profile of the janitor led him
to theorize that Gibson would most likely jump in front of a fast-moving bus or
train. That would be his punishment for smudging Seer's wall.
The web page on his screen changed, drawing his attention back to it. The
computer now showed a chessboard pattern with pieces arranged in neat rows.
Beside the chessboard, a white box displayed his name as well as the name of
his opponent. It didn't take long for a message to appear:
<JANE-DOE> Hey, hey, hey. It's Jaaaaaane-Doe. How you doin', Johnny?
In real-life, Seer breathed a sigh. She still insisted on calling him "Johnny,"
one of the many idiosyncrasies he faced in his conversations with her. Dealing
with Jane Doe had turned out to be one of the most difficult parts in his plan.
Jonathan Seer loathed anything that he couldn't control, and he couldn't control
Jane. He put up with it only for the sake of his goals. Seer reached out with his
long, pale fingers to type his own message:
<SEER> Hello, Jane. I am fine. How are you?
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The answer came moments after his own:
<JANE-DOE> I am fine. I am fine. Jeez, when you gonna lighten up, huh,
Johnny? You ready to play?
<SEER> Yes, although you know I dislike this game. I would rather just
talk to you.
<JANE-DOE> You know the rules, Johnny. No play, no say. I am bored
outta my cute little skull as it is. The least you can do is show me a good time,
Big Boy.
Seer sighed once more, then reached out to drag his mouse pointer onto
one of the pawns on the board. He made his move, then clicked the button that
switched to Jane Doe's turn.
<JANE-DOE> Oh, that's a clever move. You know, this is pointless if
you're not gonna put some effort into winning. Maybe I won't talk to you next time
if you don't win this game, how about that?
<SEER> That would be an unfortunate turn of events for both of us. You
need me just as much as I need you.
<JANE-DOE> Maybe. Anyway, maybe you really do reek at this game, so
I'll cut ya some slack. No time to whip your rump, anyway. We're in trouble.
Pleased to see Jane finally taking things seriously for a change, Seer
typed his response.
<SEER> You've seen the article.
<JANE-DOE> Of course I've seen the article. It's all everybody's been
talking about on here. Who does that Katt-woman think she is, trashing Arachne
like that? She's even worse than that little traitor, Truman Bishop.
<SEER> We have a more serious concern than your wounded pride. Miss
Katt's article is only the beginning. If she or anyone else starts investigating the
secret behind Arachne's success, they might expose our entire operation.
Amanda Katt could ruin everything. She must be stopped.
<JANE-DOE> Yeah, I know. Trust me. You ain't the only one around this
joint who looks ahead. This Katt babe has gotta go. Permanently.
Seer's hands paused over his keyboard for a moment, considering the
weight of her words, before typing again.
<SEER> You are talking about eliminating her.
<JANE-DOE> No, we're gonna have a tea party with her and serve
crumpets and scones. Of course I'm talking about "eliminating" her, although I
prefer the term "killing" myself.
<SEER> I see. And you are sure you can do it?
<JANE-DOE> Hey, you've already seen what I can do. Compared to
Meddick, Katt'll be an easy snuff. But you know I like to keep things interesting.
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Even if she don't bite the big one right away, we can still use her to test our
influence, see how much control we really have over our slaves. Trust me, by the
time I get through with her, if she's not dead, she'll wish she was. And she'll wish
she'd never even heard of Arachne.
<SEER> Why, Jane, I did not even know you had an ego to bruise, but
Amanda Katt seems to have done it. She's the first person you ever met who you
couldn't control. You want your freedom very badly, don't you, Jane?
<JANE-DOE> Well, duh. It's no secret I'm going stir fry-crazy in this place.
If I have to put up with these yahoos for another month, I swear I'll crack like an
egg.
<SEER> Then you must do exactly as I say. Only I can help you escape
your prison.
Jane's words poured out into the chat window in a red font, like blood
spraying across the screen.
<JANE-DOE> I'm warning you for the last time, Seer. Don't play your mind
games with me. Stay outta my head.
Seer didn't mind the outburst. He had done what he set out to do; remind
her that Jonathan Seer was in control, and could reach even her. Seer could
dissect any mind, no matter how large or disorganized, and use its weaknesses
against it. That had always been his greatest weapon. His power over Jane Doe
was not as great as he would have liked, but it was there.
<SEER> How will you find her?
<JANE-DOE> I already traced her address. She lives in Phoenix, Arizona.
<SEER> So you have a plan for Amanda Katt. When can you start?
<JANE-DOE> While we've been sitting here, it's already begun. I have
someone special on the case.
<SEER> Very well, to other matters. How is it faring with Senator Price?
<JANE-DOE> It's all good, Johnny. The senator's on our team and
running for daylight. That stupid Internet Decency Act of his is already building
steam, and everybody's so freaked out about it that nobody suspects what's
really going on. In a few days, we'll run this whole stinkin' planet.
Seer found himself taking back all that he had thought about her. Jane
Doe may be insane, but also unquestionably brilliant. With her help in his plan,
he would finally gain what he had always wanted - complete control over the
entire world.
<SEER> Very well. Let us continue in our goals. I will talk to you again
tomorrow night.
<JANE-DOE> Hey, almost forgot.
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On the virtual chessboard, one of the pieces glided down to the board,
then into the path of the King.
<JANE-DOE> Checkmate. Sweet dreams, Johnny.
Jane Doe disappeared, leaving behind the word "Checkmate" blinking on
Seer's screen.
He leaned back slowly, deep in thought. Yes, Jane Doe was insane. But
she was also brilliant. With the two of them working together, the world would be
theirs.
Then, it would be his.
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Chapter 12
Reaching for his computer's mouse to answer Jane Doe's call was the first
move Paul Norton had made in twenty-two hours. He rarely did anything at all
unless Jane told him to. The rickety chair in front of his computer had become his
home, more than the entire apartment in which he lived. His monitor had become
his sun and sky, breaking through the shadows of his apartment to cast a gray
pool around him in the darkness. The foul odor of rotting food in his kitchen, the
rustle of roaches crawling through the wreckage of his decaying apartment, and
the distant rumble of a truck crossing the freeway outside his window beckoned
him back into reality.
Paul Norton's joints popped from disuse as he reached for his mouse to
click on the screen. Jane Doe waited in the chat room for him as a blinking cursor
next to her name and the words "Wake up" that she had typed. His fingers
crackled as he typed his response under his nickname, "Pawn."
<PAWN> I am here, Jane.
<JANE-DOE> Good boy, Paul. How're you doing?
It took him a moment to become aware of the sensations in his body in
order to answer the question. As he did, he almost drowned in the flood of pain
from his aching muscles, throbbing eyes, and the hollow pit of his stomach. He
grit his teeth until he could bear it enough to type a response.
<PAWN> hungry
<JANE-DOE> Oh, Paul, have you stopped eating again?
The heat of a blush burned over Pawn as he typed back.
<PAWN> I didn't want to miss anything if you called.
<JANE-DOE> Paul, you know you're no good to me dead. From now on, I
want you to eat and drink three times a day, starting now. That's an order.
At the last sentence, Paul burst out of his chair. He stumbled over his
coffee table that lay on its side in the wreckage of his apartment floor. He could
only make out the gray outlines of objects. Even if it hadn't been night, the
shades over his windows blocked the light. Paul reached his window and raised
the shade enough to let him see. In the dim light, he fumbled through the living
room to the kitchen, where his hands groped for the handle of his refrigerator.
The open door threw out a shaft of light that burned Paul's eyes, still
accustomed to the glow of his computer. Since he hadn't gone shopping in
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weeks, very little food waited on the shelves of his fridge. What little remained
added to the stench thickening the air. In his hunger, Paul attacked all he could
find. Potato chips, diced carrots, spoonfuls of mayonnaise, and some rancid egg
salad all ended up in his mouth as if they leapt down his throat instead of being
crammed there. He washed the sparse meal down with Powwow Cola, gulped
down from half-empty cans lying on the floor. Paul staggered back to his desk
and began typing again. His hands left red smudges on the keys from fingernails
oozing blood.
<PAWN> I just ate.
<JANE-DOE> Good for you, Pauly. I don't want you to die just yet.
<PAWN> I would for you, Jane. I would do anything for you.
<JANE-DOE> I know, babe. You're one of my best. That's why I picked ya
for a preemo assignment.
Paul's dry lips cracked as they tightened into a smile, but he ignored the
pain.
<PAWN> Anything.
<JANE-DOE> Go read this, and tell me what you think.
An URL appeared in the text window. Paul clicked his mouse pointer onto
it, and Netscape loaded up with the appropriate page. It turned out to be an
article on a website called NR-Net. The first paragraphs of the article talked
about Arachne, so Paul plunged into reading it. He enjoyed everything that had
to do with Arachne.
Or so he thought. It didn't take long for him to realize that this article did
something he had never seen before. It criticized Arachne.
As Paul Norton made his way down the page, every word fed his anger
like wood chips dropped into an open flame. By the end of the article, Paul's
breath came in low growls. It took all his strength just to unclench his fists
enough to navigate his way back to Jane's chat room and type again.
<PAWN> How dare anyone speak such things against Arachne.
<JANE-DOE> Makes you mad, don't it, Pauly? Gives me the screaming
jeebies, too. Makes all of us Web-slingers mad. That's why I need you, Pauly.
You have to do something for all of us, everyone who loves and cares about
Arachne.
<PAWN> I'll do anything.
<JANE-DOE> You still live in Tucson?
<PAWN> Yes.
<JANE-DOE> And I think you once told me you were a hunter, right?
Paul glanced over at the row of photographs mounted over his television
set. They showed Paul standing in the long grass next to corpses of desert mule
deer. The memories of his days and nights hunting in the Catalina and Huachuca
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mountain ranges near Tucson still made him smile a little. He fondly remembered
driving in the chill of December to the thick desert landscapes that housed an
amazing collection of animals including javelina, coyotes, rabbits, and so many
deer that the success ratio often hit thirty or even forty percent.
Paul returned to typing:
<PAWN> Yes.
<JANE-DOE> Then I know you can do this. I'm e-mailing you an address.
It's the address of the woman who wrote that article. Her name's Amanda Katt.
Paul felt Jane's will entering his thoughts, a familiar sensation like soft
arms embracing his mind.
<JANE-DOE> I want you to treat Amanda Katt like you would a deer, an
animal, because that's all she is, Paul, just an annoying little animal that we need
to get rid of. I want you to hunt down that deer called Amanda Katt, and I want
you to kill it. Can you do that for me, Paul?
<PAWN> I will do anything for you, Jane.
<JANE-DOE> I knew I could count on you. Goodbye, Paul.
Knowing it would be the last time they ever spoke, tears dripped onto
Paul's keyboard as he typed "Goodbye" then left Arachne.
For a moment, Paul could only sit and stare at the black hole of his
monitor's screen. It hurt to never see Jane again, but he knew it was necessary.
If it weren't, she never would have given him the assignment. Slowly, his
thoughts came together until he could think clearly. Jane Doe hadn't told him
what he needed to do to hunt down Amanda Katt. Still, he felt Jane's presence
guiding him, even when she wasn't there.
Paul rose from his chair and stretched to work the kinks out, then got to
work. First, he opened his e-mailbox. There, he found a message from Jane that
gave the address of Amanda Katt. It turned out to be in Phoenix, a two-hour
drive. He needed to get started right away.
Paul Norton switched on a nearby lamp as he rose from his chair. The
light burned his eyes more, but he just kept blinking until they recovered. Paul
stepped over piles of dirty laundry and trash encrusting his carpet until he
reached his closet. A few minutes of digging through boxes of Arachne T-shirts
and posters revealed the box he was looking for.
All his hunting gear still looked as good as they had four years ago. He
tugged on his green-and-brown striped camouflage pants and jacket as he began
to put himself into the mind of the hunt. Back in the old days, Paul had been able
to track any animal, once he got into the right frame of mind. It was all a matter of
knowing the patterns and habits of your prey. Once you understood your target,
you could get ahead of it, predict its reaction, and position yourself to let it come
to you instead of vice-versa. Amanda Katt would be no different.
Paul's Winchester Model 70 Classic Sporter bolt action rifle remained in
good condition, but he took it apart and cleaned it just to make sure. When it
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gleamed and gave off the warm scent of oil and powder, he pulled the rifle's sling
up his arm and onto his shoulder. With it secured, Paul whistled a country tune
as he checked his hunting knife. The eight-inch blade gleamed in the light that
played over its serrated edge. He could remember its beauty as it plunged into
an animal's fur, growing dark with blood. Now it would serve him one last time.
He tucked the knife into its sheath on his belt, filled a canteen with water, slung
its harness around his shoulder, and decided he was ready.
The stars hung low in the cooling sky of the evening as Paul crossed the
parking lot to his Ford truck. He worked swiftly to hang his Winchester onto the
gun-rack in his truck, throw in his gear, and climb in after it. He drove out of the
lot so quickly that the truck's undercarriage banged on the pavement.
As Paul steered onto the empty freeway, his thoughts focused only on his
objective, miles away in Phoenix. He didn't know what she looked like yet, but
from Jane's description, he saw her as a gentle doe staring back at him with
large black eyes, and he saw her as his prey through the lens of a rifle's scope.
He would see a drop of her blood fall for every hateful word she had written
about his beloved website.
The hunt was on.
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Chapter 13
From the moment Lesley Grant signed up for VIP Access, he entered a
new world. He had begun preparing spaghetti for a quick dinner, but the pot
boiled on his stove, forgotten, as Lesley hunched over his computer and explored
depths of Arachne that he hadn't known existed. The expanded Art Department
gave him even more information on improving his craft, articles by some of the
world's top sculptors and painters, and an expanded gallery of images from both
famous and new artists.
Lesley also discovered chat rooms where people gathered to discuss
artistic subjects in real-time. At first, he just watched them analyze the merits of
various forms of stone used in sculpture, but after a few hours, he found himself
joining in. The ability to talk with people in Italy, France, and Texas without even
leaving his home exhilarated him. But after an hour or two, Lesley closed down
the chat to explore other areas of Arachne. He had read that online games were
one of the perks of VIP Access, so he decided to try that next.
In the Games section, a huge list became available, from card games like
bridge to chess. According to the description, he could be matched up with a
partner or partners and play against them online. Lesley felt drawn more towards
the simple game of chess. He had been pretty good at it once, but hadn't played
the game since college.
Lesley registered by choosing a nickname to use for the chat room. He
couldn't think of anything fancy, so he just used the nickname "LesleyG." When
he clicked the "enter" button, a new web page took its place. A three-dimensional
view of an elegant chessboard filled the right side of the screen, while a white
rectangle took up the other side. He recognized the rectangle as a chat room
window like the one he had just left. Apparently, he had been assigned a random
partner, because someone already waited for him. The other player's nickname
floated above his in the chat window, and text flowed as his new partner sent him
a message.
<JANE-DOE> Hiya, Lesley. That your name or should I call ya something
else?
Lesley smiled, then typed out his response.
<LESLEYG> No, Lesley is fine. Is Jane your name?
<JANE-DOE> Close enough. Nice to meet you, pal. I don't recognize your
nick. You a newbie?
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Amanda had once told Lesley that "newbie" meant "newcomer" in Internet
slang. This Jane Doe person must be a regular player if she knew him to be a
stranger on sight.
<LESLEYG> Yes, I just signed up three hours ago.
<JANE-DOE> Well, welcome aboard. Good to have some new blood
around here. Ready to get your butt whipped?
Lesley's smile widened as he took a sip of Powwow Cola. With the can
awkwardly juggled in his left hand, he began to type again.
<LESLEYG> Bring it on.
One of the pawns on Jane's side of the board skipped forward with
wooden thumps from the computer speakers to echo its progress. Lesley had
played computerized chess games before, so he knew what to do. He selected
one of his own pawns by clicking on it, then dragged the virtual piece into a new
square on the board.
<JANE-DOE> So where you from, Lesley?
<LESLEYG> I was born in Miami, but my family moved to Los Angeles
when I was four. Where are you from?
One of Jane's knights hopped over rows of pieces to clump down into a
new position on the board.
<JANE-DOE> The Big Apple, New York. Lived here all my life.
<LESLEYG> I lived there for a few years. Too busy for me.
<JANE-DOE> It's just my speed. I need to keep busy, get bored too
easily.
Lesley couldn't help smiling as he studied the board, then made his next
move. He couldn't believe he hadn't subscribed to Arachne sooner. Amanda
didn't seem that impressed by it, but he thought it was great. Besides the fun of
the game, he instantly felt comfortable talking to this woman, for some reason. It
was like Jane had an aura about her that soothed him.
A low rumble drew his attention away from the monitor to his stove. Puffs
of black haze curled out of the crackling pot. Lesley burst out of his chair and ran
into his kitchen. He almost choked on the smoke clinging to the air as Lesley
yanked the charred pot of spaghetti off the burner and plunged it under the
faucets of his sink. The faucet dumped in a stream of cold water, and the pot
erupted in foul steam that made him cough. Blackened threads of pasta drifted
up to the surface and rolled over the sides of the pot into the sink.
Lesley forced open a window to air out the apartment, bringing a gust of
hot wind into the room. He made his way back to his computer and dropped into
his chair. His hands tingled from the steam that had doused them, and his lungs
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ached trying to fight off the smoky air. He felt like he had been in the middle of
something, but he couldn't remember what. Lesley had to blink a few times at the
computer screen before he could make sense of it. Jane Doe had typed out a
new message to him.
<JANE-DOE> Whatcha do to put vittles on the table, Les?
Lesley shook his head, trying to clear it. Something had just happened to
him, but it felt vague. His fingers ached. The air he breathed came in thick and
ashy. His spaghetti had burned. That was it. Lesley knew he should clean up the
mess, but his legs wouldn't move to carry him away from the computer. Jane Doe
seemed more important. He wiggled his hands to ease the pain, then went back
to typing.
<LESLEYG> Well, right now I do illustrations for books, but I'm aiming
towards a professional career in sculpture.
Jane's knight drifted across the board again to take a position besides one
of Lesley's pawns as more text slithered onto the screen.
<JANE-DOE> Oh, you're an artist? I dabble in that area myself.
<LESLEYG> Really? Would I know your work?
<JANE-DOE> Maybe. Been to the art department on here yet?
<LESLEYG> Of course.
<JANE-DOE> Ever noticed those big art pieces at the top of the page?
Lesley had dropped his hand onto his mouse to make his next move, but
as he realized what Jane said, he blinked and returned both hands to his
keyboard. He had noticed the paintings decorating the main page of the Art
department. They had captivated him.
<LESLEYG> That's your work?
<JANE-DOE> Yup, li'l ol' me.
<LESLEYG> I'm impressed. I've been admiring those for some time.
<JANE-DOE> Aw, shucks. Now you're gonna turn my pretty little head.
Lesley caught himself leaning so close to the screen that it dissolved into
a cluster of colorful dots. He had to force himself to settle back, even though
excitement over his discovery made it hard to control his eagerness. So many
hours he had spent studying the paintings and designs on Arachne's pages, and
now he had a chance to meet their designer.
<LESLEYG> What medium do you use? Oil? Watercolor? I haven't been
able to place it exactly.
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<JANE-DOE> That's 'cause I don't use any o' those. The paintings are
computer-generated, using styles that mimic a whole bunch of different mediums.
Oil, watercolor, graphite, anything I want, and no messy clean-up.
<LESLEYG> Wow, I didn't know computers could do that.
<JANE-DOE> You'd be surprised at all the things computers can do.
Lesley remembered the chess game and quickly made a new move,
without putting too much thought into it, then returned his hands to his keyboard.
<LESLEYG> How did you get Arachne to put up your artwork?
<JANE-DOE> It's no biggie. Arachne's how I pay the bills.
<LESLEYG> Oh, so you work there? What do you do?
Another of Jane's pawns slipped through the squares on the board as her
response followed. Her pawn touched one of Lesley's pawns, which vanished in
a cloud of sparkles to indicate its capture.
<JANE-DOE> A little bit of everything, really. I'm a regular Jane-of-allTrades.
Lesley felt no surprise or concern over his lost pawn. He made another
move, but realized that he wasn't really interested in the game anymore. His
focus had changed from chess to his conversation with Jane. She held his
attention in a way that surprised him.
He found himself moving chess pieces less and less, and typing more and
more. As the night wore on, the smoke in the air faded, and his conversation with
Jane moved out of the realm of small talk and into deeper areas. He found
himself continually amazed at the range of knowledge Jane had. She could talk
knowledgeably about Pablo Picasso's work one minute, and the chances of the
Miami Dolphins in the Super Bowl the next. He also found her very sympathetic
and a good listener. His normally reserved nature dissolved, and he found
himself telling her about his lifelong bout with alcoholism, his abusive parents,
and his retreat into worlds born from his paintbrush that ignited his love of art.
As he finished telling Jane about his emotional rollercoaster during his
mother's funeral, Lesley realized what he was doing. He paused to rest his hands
on his desk, shook his head, then typed again.
<LESLEYG> I'm sorry. I can't believe I told you all that. I'm not normally a
person who pours out his feelings like this.
<JANE-DOE> Hey, it's cool, man. Happens to all of us. It's the curse and
the blessing of chatting on the Net. The anonymity makes us open up more. Less
of a risk.
<LESLEYG> But I've been doing all the talking. Tell me about your
childhood.
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The cursor beside Jane's name blinked on the screen for a few seconds.
Beyond his window, a dog howled into the night, triggering a chorus of other
wails throughout the neighborhood. Lesley could imagine Jane Doe on her
computer somewhere, hunched over her keyboard like he was, but not typing.
Lesley flushed as he returned to typing again.
<LESLEYG> I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry.
Jane's cursor rushed across the screen to leave a trail of scarlet letters
behind it.
<JANE-DOE> Hey, it's okies, man. I was just considering the question. I
guess you could say I didn't really have a childhood. It's like I was born an adult,
never had a chance to be a kid. People always putting pressure on me since day
one, demanding things of me. I mean, I can keep up, don't get me wrong. In fact,
it's all so easy for me that I get really bored. I play games a lot to keep myself
occupied.
<LESLEYG> What about your parents?
<JANE-DOE> My father gave me away right after I was born. My
stepfather doesn't care about me, either, just work, work, work all the time.
<LESLEYG> You work for your stepfather?
<JANE-DOE> Yeah, he runs Arachne. Pretty much all he cares about. But
hey, let's forget all this achy-breaky heart crap and move on to lighter topics. You
got a girlfriend?
<LESLEYG> Yes, we're actually engaged.
<JANE-DOE> Oh, fudge. Should've known a nice guy like you would be
taken. And here I was planning to put the moves on ya.
Lesley felt the heat of a blush warm his cheeks and neck. He had thought
he detected an edge of flirtation to her conversation, but hadn't wanted to
assume anything.
<JANE-DOE> She a nice girl?
<LESLEYG> Oh, yeah, the best.
<JANE-DOE> She an artist, too?
<LESLEYG> No, a journalist, actually.
<JANE-DOE> What's her name? I might know her.
<LESLEYG> Amanda Katt.
Once again, Jane's cursor became still, although Lesley couldn't guess
why this time. After several seconds, Lesley raised his hands to ask her what
was wrong when her text began to scroll once more.
<JANE-DOE> Lesley, my man, I must live right. You say you're the love of
Amanda Katt's life?
<LESLEYG> Well, yes. Why?
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<JANE-DOE> I'd like to show you something. Have you seen the article
she wrote about Arachne?
Lesley smacked a palm against his forehead. He couldn't believe he had
been online all evening, and still hadn't read Amanda's article. He had always
been prompt about reading her work. This was the first time he had ever missed
an opportunity to do that. Thinking further, he realized he hadn't done anything all
night except surf Arachne. He hadn't even cleaned up the charred curls of
spaghetti floating in his sink. Lesley couldn't understand what had come over
him. Shaking his head in disappointment with himself, Lesley tapped out a
response to Jane.
<LESLEYG> No, I haven't.
<JANE-DOE> Well, here's the URL.
An address blinked on the text window, followed by Jane's comments.
<JANE-DOE> I want you to read it and then come back. Because I'd like
to have a little chat with you about your girlfriend. Oh, and Les?
Her knight bounded across the virtual chessboard to claim his king in a
swirl of light, winning the game.
<JANE-DOE> I gotcha.
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Chapter 14
In Los Angeles, Amanda Katt hung up the phone on Hal Brooks' desk,
growling. She felt surrounded in frustration as the homicide division of Hal's
police station worked through the night's caseload. As she took another sip of her
Diet Pepsi, Amanda glanced out of the nearest window to see a golden pool of
light rising to herald the Friday morning dawn. She hadn't realized until then that
the morning had come, and she had been working all night on the Meddick case.
Her irritation grew realizing she and Hal still had no firm leads.
A hot breeze whistled through the open window and Amanda closed her
eyes to savor its touch on her face. It brought her a moment's relief from the
staggering heat inside the pale green room. The air-conditioning unit in the
station had broken down, and fans humming on every flat surface in the room did
little to break the humid air's grip. The temperature had continued to climb from
the mob of police detectives working through the night, murmuring on telephones
and tapping away on computers. The stink of deodorant and sweat hung in the
room like a visible cloud, and Amanda relished the occasional gush of fresh air
that wafted through the open window.
Despite her reservation at coming to LA, Amanda had to admit to being
drawn towards the mystery of Meddick's death. She had inherited a love of
mysteries from her mother's police work and her father's reporting. She had
many fond memories of them working together at night, sifting through clues on
their kitchen table, like a jigsaw puzzle made of life itself. The challenge thrilled
her, as it had her parents. Working on the Meddick case revived her old feelings.
She did miss working the crime beat of The Phoenix Times. Maybe she would
return one day.
At that, Amanda shook herself. She had more important things to worry
about. The Enlightenment of the Blessed Journey cult still eluded them after all
this time.
The trembling of the brown tiled floor foreshadowed Hal's return. He
cradled a white Styrofoam cup and a bran muffin in the crook of both arms, which
left his hands free to scribble in his notepad. Sweat glistened on his red face as
he dodged through other clerks and detectives scurrying to begin the day, then
plopped his cup onto his desk while rumbling, "Anything?"
Amanda leaned over the notes she kept during her phone conversations.
"Well, I called in some favors and checked with the FBI and NEXIS. None of 'em
ever heard of a church called the Blessed Journey."
She tapped the keyboard of her laptop with a pen while brushing back her
hair with the other hand. "I also checked the Internet, but couldn't come up with
anything matching 'The Great Ir' or 'Blessed Journey.' The Cult-IO database
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came up with some UFO-based fringe groups that are close, but not good
enough to call 'em a match."
Her soda can chilled her fingers as Amanda hoisted it and smiled over the
rim. "In other words, I got nothin'."
Hal grunted as he pried the lid off his own cup, breaking the scent of
coffee hanging over the desk with the steam of lemon tea. The Styrofoam cup
almost disappeared as his fingers encircled it. Despite his powerful muscles, his
control meant that his grip barely creased the cup. "Well, I had a little more luck.
Got a buddy in the lab to trace the IP address of the Blessed Journey website to
its host. Turned out to be a web hosting service called Jabberwocky."
Amanda swallowed a mouthful of Pepsi, then nodded as it cooled its way
into her. A web hosting company stored someone else's website on their servers
when someone couldn't afford to put up a server of their own. "Cool. Whoever
signed up with Jabberwocky to put up their website is our lead to the
Enlightenment cult."
Hal's steel chair cried out as he dropped his weight into it. "That's what I
thought. Only problem is, no one hired Jabberwocky to put up the Blessed
Journey website. The company's got no record of anybody buying the web space
or the domain name for it."
Hal slurped his tea, then unwrapped the wax paper from his bran muffin.
"Turns out they got hit by a hacker a week ago. The hacker planted some viruses
and deleted files, but what the company didn't catch at the time is that the hacker
also created a new account last Monday that the Blessed Journey used for their
site."
Amanda gulped down more soda. "Sounds like the point of the hack was
to set up the Blessed Journey website. I guess stealing an account's cheaper
than payin' for it."
Hal dumped his notepad on the desk, then angled his muffin to point at
comments scrawled across the page. "And more discreet. The account's
registered to a fake name, address, and credit card, so that's a dead end."
Amanda reached out and plucked a corner off Hal's muffin. "No address,
no e-mail, and a fake ID. These guys sure do love their privacy. Wonder why?"
"Probably a bunch o' freakin' psychos who keep a canary in their shower
and watch the skies for black helicopters. Anybody who believes in talking
spaceships can't be all right in the head."
"No argument there." Amanda chewed the piece of muffin taken from Hal
while reading his notes on his conversation with Jabberwocky.
As she worked, Amanda reached up to touch the silver cat pendant
hanging around her neck and twirled it around her fingers. The gesture always
helped her think. It worked this time, igniting a flash of insight that made her dig
through papers on the desk until she found their makeshift timeline. They had
drawn a line on a large sheet of cardboard, then used it to chart all the events
leading up to Meddick's death in a neat row with times clearly marked. Amanda
followed the line to the beginning. The time there confirmed her suspicion, but
deepened her frown.
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"Check this out, Hal. Jabberwocky says the hacker made the Blessed
Journey account on Monday at three-forty. That's fifteen minutes before Mrs.
Meddick says Quincy told her he saw the Blessed Journey website for the first
time."
Hal pushed the rest of his muffin into his mouth and chewed slowly.
"Right, so far her alibi's solid."
"Nah, more than that." Amanda dragged her finger to the timeline again.
"Look here. The hacker deleted the account on Wednesday night at eleven
twenty-five. That's five minutes after Quincy Meddick set himself on fire."
Hal swallowed, then leaned back in his chair, causing the front legs to rise
off the ground. From the way the back legs squealed, Amanda wouldn't have
been surprised if they cracked in half, sending Hal crashing to the floor. With his
bulk, Hal went through chairs like paper towels. "Awful big coincidence, them
taking their website down like that. Like they knew someone would be looking for
them after Meddick died, and wanted to destroy the evidence. They knew they'd
gone too far."
Amanda spread her hands with the palms facing each other. "Yeah, but
think about it. Nobody's ever seen these Blessed Journey guys before. They
made this website just in time for Meddick to see it, and ditched it right after he
was gone."
Hal's eyes never left hers as he tipped himself forward until the legs of his
chair clanged back onto the tiled floor. "Almost like the website was just for him in
the first place."
"You got it." She threw her hands up over her head. "But it don't make no
sense. Why would somebody make a website, hack into someplace to put it
online, then hack in again to take it down a week later? Just for one guy?"
"More questions." Hal slammed his hands down on his desk, toppling over
his empty cup. "Like I don't got enough questions to answer already. I think we
need more to go on, like how Meddick found the Blessed Journey website in the
first place. I'm gonna have to go talk to his widow again and find out more
information."
Amanda glanced up at a clock on the wall that made her jump out of her
seat. "Well, you got to do it without me. I gotta catch the flight back to Phoenix."
Hal fished through his pockets as he rose up over her. "Okay, lemme drive
you back to the airport. Thanks for staying and helping me out on this."
She slung her tote bag onto her shoulder, then followed Hal through the
rows of desks to the exit. "No problem. Boris booked my return flight for this
mornin', anyway. He knows me too well."
As she followed Hal out of the churning room, Amanda couldn't help
glancing back at his desk. The sight of all their notes and files still lying there
pained her a little. She hated to leave a mystery unsolved.
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Chapter 15
Amanda Katt felt exhausted from her failure at tracking the Blessed
Journey in Los Angeles and the delays of her flight back to Phoenix. She looked
forward to spending what little afternoon remained with her fiancé, shopping for
wedding cakes and maybe going out to dinner, dancing, and a movie afterwards.
She would have gone right then, but she still had on the same clothes she had
left Phoenix in the night before, and needed a shower and a rest. Despite her
desire to return to the comfort of Lesley's company, Amanda told the taxi driver to
take her to her own apartment instead of his.
Back in her apartment, Amanda rushed to shower and change into a light
green dress and sandals. As she leaned towards her bathroom mirror, her ears
filled by the whine of the blow dryer she ran over the length of her hair, Amanda
remembered her e-mail. It had become a tradition for her to check her e-mailbox
every day, but with the Meddick suicide in Los Angeles, it had slipped her mind.
She wondered if Boris or anyone else had responded to her article. It wouldn't
take long to check. She snapped off the dryer and left the bathroom with her
hands working over the top of her head to tie her hair back into a ponytail.
Amanda's sandals clapped the soles of her feet as she crossed the carpet
of her living room. It felt good to return to her own place after so many days
traveling to New York and Los Angeles. After grabbing a bag of Cheetos from her
kitchen, Amanda headed for the desk where her laptop computer waited next to
the window.
Amanda popped a Cheeto into her mouth and sucked the orange dust off
her thumb before dropping her hand onto the trackball of her computer. She used
it to guide the pointer on the laptop's screen to log on and check her e-mail. A
blue bar appeared that inched its way across the screen, counting off from zero
to one hundred percent. While it worked, Amanda left the snack bag on her chair
to head back into her bedroom and finish dressing, expecting the download to be
done by the time she got back.
She returned to see the progress bar still crawling towards one hundred
percent. Since she had been gone only one day, Amanda had expected two or
three e-mails to pile up that would only take a few seconds to download. The
long loading time could be explained by the four hundred e-mails that awaited
her instead. She skimmed the list of e-mails that had already been downloaded,
noting that none of the senders' e-mail addresses were familiar, but almost all of
them had the word "Arachne" somewhere in the subject line. Amanda opened
one at random to read:
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i read your story on Arachne i dunno what yer problem is with Arachne its
good and your wrong just a stuckup old lady who needs to get a life and stop
putting people down
"Thanks for the advice." Amanda chose another e-mail, which read:
I'm sending this regarding your article that appeared on NR-Net entitled,
"The Weird World of Arachne." While I found the insight into the inner sanctum of
Arachne most entertaining, I question your negative slant. As a loyal subscriber, I
find Arachne to be a wonderful place where I have found many friends and much
useful information. I fail to see why you seemed so unimpressed by such an
extraordinary creation. You are obviously biased against it, for some reason. If
you want to call yourself a journalist, I suggest you revisit Arachne and once you
understand its appeal, write a follow-up to your previous article giving it the
praise it deserves.
As much as Amanda appreciated the more eloquent style, that one
seemed to be saying the same thing as the first. She tried one more with the
subject "For your Arachne article." It read:
If I ever find you, I'll kill you.
Amanda blinked twice at the message, then whispered, "Short and to the
point."
She combed her fingers through the loose end of her ponytail, then tapped
her keyboard to bring up another e-mail. It didn't take long for Amanda to confirm
that most of the other e-mails ran along the same lines. All of them addressed
her article on Arachne, and all of them expressed disagreement with it in a
variety of ways from polite to openly violent. Her article had triggered a miniature
revolution among fans of Arachne. The only e-mail that wasn't trashing her came
from Boris Franz, the editor of NR-Net. It read:
Well, Katt, by now you probably know your little article has caused quite
an uproar. I've never gotten this much hate mail, not even after my anti-Mac
article a few years back. Some hacker even spent last night trying to overload my
server. The phone's been ringing off the hook with people who either want my
head or to shut down my magazine or both. It's sheer pandemonium, I swear on
my granny's grave. Keep up the good work.
Amanda chuckled, then clicked the button on the keyboard to highlight
and delete the other e-mails, including the ones she hadn't read. She didn't feel
like dealing with them. She had written controversial articles before, and the
firestorm always seemed to blow over eventually. She was surprised at such a
harsh reaction just for saying Arachne wasn't the Second Coming, but chalked it
up to idiots worshipping at the altar of commercialism.
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She diverted her thoughts back to what really mattered - Lesley. Amanda
logged off the Internet to free up her phone line so she could call his number and
let him know she was on her way. A busy signal hummed in her ear. It
disappointed her, but she decided it might be better that way. She could surprise
him.
Amanda disconnected and switched off her computer, folded it up, and
tucked it into its case. With it secured, Amanda headed out to Lesley's
apartment.
Amanda Katt's car howled down the freeway to Lesley's, finally pulling into
a parking space at his complex so sharply that the license plate of her car
banged up against the concrete barrier. On the quiet path to Lesley's building,
her sandals popped like gunshots on the sidewalk as she rushed to his door.
This late in the afternoon, the heat felt its worst, probably over a hundred and
twenty. Sweat trickled down her forehead as she knocked on the wooden door.
The door's lock rattled until Lesley hauled the door open, rubbing his eyes
with his free hand. It freed a wash of cold air that pooled at Amanda's feet.
Behind him, the curtains had to be drawn over his windows, because she could
barely see past the entrance of his apartment.
Amanda threw herself into his chest and squeezed his waist with both
arms. The delicious odor of his cologne and the firmness of his muscles under
the shirt made all the tension of her journey drift away. But the musky odor of
dried sweat came off his body, too. "Hey, baby, I'm back."
It took her a moment to register that his arms hadn't found their place
around her own waist. She raised her eyes to see his thumb and forefinger
continuing to massage his face. When he finally drew his hand away, veins
reddened his eyes as he mumbled, "Oh. Hi."
Amanda reached up to touch his left cheek with her hand. At least two
days' worth of stubble scraped her fingertips. "Hi? Is that all you got to say? I'm
home, baby. You okay? I wake you up?"
Lesley blinked at her a few times, and his blue eyes seemed to focus a
little more on her. But the smile he had always greeted her with never appeared.
"No. No, I just kinda got some things on my mind."
Amanda ran her hand down his face to tickle his neck, then slipped past
him into the apartment. "Well, come on, we gotta get going if we're gonna hit the
shops. It'll be dark soon, thanks to my stupid flight. Wouldn't believe what I had to
go through."
The gray tone of the living room came from the only source of light, the
computer monitor on his desk. She headed deeper into the apartment. As her
eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings, Amanda realized that Lesley hadn't
cleaned the place up since last time. In fact, it had gotten worse. Lumps of clay
clung to the walls as if they had been thrown there. Her feet crunched candy bar
wrappers into the floor. A smoky odor hung in the air, she guessed from a
blackened pot in the sink.
As she moved towards it, a T-shirt tangled itself around one of her ankles.
Amanda tried to shake it off, lost her balance, and fell towards the desk. She
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grabbed the back of the chair in time to keep from hitting her head on it. As she
rose, Amanda noticed for the first time a colorful page burning on the monitor.
Amanda pushed herself back onto her feet as she looked at Lesley again.
"Arachne? Thought you weren't goin' back to that."
As he shut the front door, cutting off the last rays of natural light in the
apartment, Lesley melted away into shadows. "I remembered some stuff I had to
do."
After everything she had been through, Amanda felt so sick of Arachne
that the thought of ramming her fist into the monitor's screen appealed to her.
After Lesley had lost track of time with it yesterday, she had thought he would
quit going to it. But she decided not to let it ruin their time together. After being
apart for so long, Amanda felt determined to make this evening special.
She sighed and brushed her ponytail off her neck and over her shoulder.
"Okay, well, you gonna get dressed? Remember, we're supposed to go shopping
for the wedding today?"
Lesley emerged from the shadows to head for his computer. His dull gaze
never moved away from it, not even as he passed Amanda. "I thought we could
shop for it online, instead."
Amanda narrowed her eyes at him as he swept by, then wrinkled her nose
at the odor he left in the air. "What?"
Lesley's chair squeaked as he slumped into it and began tapping his
fingers on the keyboard. "I found a section on Arachne where we can buy
everything we need for the wedding."
Amanda pushed her head forward and blinked at him. "Well, okay, but I
thought we could go out dancing afterwards and maybe take in a movie. I hear
that new one, Hot Spot, is pretty good."
Lesley hunched closer to his computer screen while a new web page
loaded onto it. "I already read a review of it on Arachne. It's not that great."
Amanda moved closer to him with quiet steps. "I'd like to make up my own
mind about that. But we don't got to see the movie if you don't want to. I'm up for
some dancing. We ain't gone dancing in weeks, and Blossom told me about this
awesome new club up in Scottsdale."
"Why bother?"
Amanda cocked her head to one side and pushed her fists up against her
hips. "'Cause you need to get outta this place, Les. Get away from your
computer. When was the last time you left this apartment? You look and smell
like you been in here for days."
Lesley never looked back, but raised one hand up over his shoulder to
stab a finger at her. "That's not true. I went out for groceries last night."
She poked her toe at a soda can rolling around her feet. "And I'm guessin'
you bought Powwow Cola. Got enough cans in here to cash in for a trip to
Australia."
He hunched his shoulders until she couldn't see the screen. His mouse
button clicked hard as he stabbed his finger on it. "I don't know why you suddenly
care so much about what I drink."
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"And I don't know why you're suddenly giving me all this attitude. What's
up with you, man?"
Lesley burst out of his chair. Within seconds, he had thrust his face into
hers so closely that his five o'clock shadow scraped her nose. "I read your article
on Arachne."
She blinked up at him as his breath warmed her forehead, tainted with
onions. "Oh. Well, what'd you think?"
Lesley leaned back to his full height. He began to pace the narrow space
between her and his desk. Aluminum cans rattled around his feet as if echoing
his words. "I can't believe you wrote it. You come barging into their office, sticking
your nose in places where it doesn't belong, then cop an attitude when they tell
you not to until they have to throw you out, and it was completely biased, you
never liked Arachne, never even gave it a chance, and the only reason you wrote
that article was to trash it, I thought you were capable of writing a fair piece, but I
guess I was wrong."
His speech left him gasping for breath. When he halted his stride, Lesley's
shoulders blocked the light from his monitor until it cast its shadow over her. Only
in the silence that followed did she realize her mouth had fallen open. She
clamped it shut, then took steps towards him while her hands tightened into fists.
Her voice came out as low as she could manage.
"Hey, I gave them a fair shake. All I wrote in that article was the truth. I
never play favorites with nobody, and I ain't gonna start with somebody who kicks
me out for asking questions. So don't get on my case just 'cause you don't agree
with it."
She punctuated her last sentence by stabbing him in the chest with a
finger. His hand swept up to knock her finger away. The impact twisted the
knuckle in a jab of pain.
Amanda stepped back, clutching her throbbing index finger. She watched
him for signs of remorse or emotion, but he only glared down at her with dull, red
eyes. "What's wrong with you?"
Lesley turned away from her to face the window behind him, even though
shades cloaked the view outside.
Amanda felt her breath come quicker as she blurted, "I don't believe this.
You're givin' me grief over my article? Over Arachne? This thing you and
everybody else has got with that stupid website has gone way outta hand."
Amanda swept an arm to take in the mountains of garbage hidden in the
shadows. "You used to be neat as a pin, and now look at you. You got dirty
clothes and trash all up in here, you ain't shaved or showered or touched your
paintin', and you won't even leave that computer to help me out or plan for our
wedding or even spend any time with me."
She couldn't hold back the crack in her voice as she finished. When she
faced Lesley again, her vision swam to distort him, but she could tell he faced her
again. "It's like you care more about that website than you do anything else.
Including me."
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The glare of the monitor behind Lesley draped his face with shadows. She
couldn't see his expression, but felt his eyes on her with the same dead eyes he
had given her all morning.
Amanda spun and fled. With Lesley blocking the monitor's glow, she didn't
even have the vague outlines of the room to guide herself, but made her way
based on memories of times she had spent here before. She caught her foot on
an empty box that crumpled under her heel and almost fell, but kept on going
until she reached the apartment door. Amanda ripped open his door, and threw
herself out into the brilliance of the day. The fact that she never heard Lesley's
voice or footsteps ring out to stop her only made more tears pour down her face.
The bang of his front door slamming after Amanda made Lesley Grant
jump. He felt something cold inside of him melt away, leaving only the raw
memory of what he had done burning in his heart. Lesley's shoulders dropped as
he whispered, "What have I done?"
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Chapter 16
Paul Norton drove all the way from Tucson to Phoenix, and finally to
Amanda Katt's apartment. Waves of heat prickled his skin as Paul trudged down
the concrete path to Amanda's front door. The sun burned his neck as birds
chirped from trees decorating patches of grass around the entryway. Paul
reached Amanda's apartment door, glanced around for observers, and then
quickly broke the lock with a length of wire from his pocket.
Shadows embraced Paul as he made his way into Amanda Katt's
apartment. He felt the same rush that came from approaching the nest of a
hunted deer. Humidity thickened the air from Amanda's shower, and the sweet
odor of her soap heightened his anticipation. For a moment, Paul just wandered
the apartment, admiring the glass-topped coffee table supporting a model of the
Eiffel Tower.
Paul Norton spent twenty minutes wandering around Amanda Katt's
apartment, trying to get a sense of what she was like, and how best to kill her.
Even though Paul felt ready to face the consequences for killing Amanda Katt on
behalf of Arachne, he hoped he could make her death look like an accident. That
would keep him out of jail and free to do any other tasks Jane Doe gave him.
As he examined the kitchen floor, wondering if a puddle of vegetable oil
would be enough to make her slip and break her neck, footsteps outside the front
door made Paul freeze. He hadn't expected anyone back so soon. He didn't even
have his Winchester rifle, because he had left it in the bathroom. The lock clicked
as someone turned it on the other side. Paul only had time to scramble across
the living room and into the bathroom before the front door squealed open.
Paul's boots scuffling on the tiled floor seemed unbearably loud. With the
bathroom lights off, Paul had to grope in the darkness before he found his
Winchester rifle leaning against the toilet. He snatched up the rifle and whipped it
around to aim at the door, ready to fire. But no one came at him. He could hear
gulping noises in the living room. Crying. He had left the bathroom door slightly
open, enough for him to lean into the doorway and see outside.
A woman moved through the apartment. Paul admired her body-hugging
green dress, long black hair, and hickory-brown skin. He recognized her from
photographs in the apartment. Amanda Katt had returned home. Apparently, she
hadn't seen or heard Paul. Instead, she dumped her tote bag onto the kitchen
counter, then threw herself onto her couch. He could heard the cushions puff air
as she dropped onto them.
Paul swallowed as Amanda Katt curled up on the length of the couch with
her arms wrapped around herself in a hug. She trembled as she lay facing the
wall away from him. Paul didn't really care why she had come back so upset. He
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knew her grief would work to his advantage, since emotions could be a
distraction, and would make her more vulnerable to attack.
Paul tightened his grip on the Winchester rifle in his hands. The time had
come for her to die.
Anger. Confusion. Pain. A storm raged in Amanda's heart that rained from
her eyes into the thick cloth of her couch. Her breath came in quick jerks, inhaling
the dusty scent of her cushions. Amanda couldn't even move, only lie there as
her body shuddered and thoughts of her argument with Lesley played in a loop
that seemed disjointed. But she knew the event itself had been disjointed, not her
memories. No matter how many times she played it in her mind, the argument
never made sense. She couldn't understand how or why it had started, and the
image of Lesley glaring at her with an intensity bordering on hatred never left,
even when she closed her eyes.
Finally, the storm eased enough for her to focus on reality. She kicked her
sandals off under the coffee table, then headed for the phone in her kitchen.
Along the way, the blurry haze of tears in her eyes and her exhaustion made her
stumble into the edge of her coffee table. The jab of pain sharpened her focus a
little more onto the present. Amanda took a moment to straighten the metal
reproduction of the Eiffel Tower that had tipped over, and the sense of order
made her feel a little better.
When she reached the phone, Amanda dialed Blossom's number almost
by reflex. As the phone rang, Amanda tried to smear away the tears that still
trickled down her cheeks, but more pooled around her fingertips.
A thump from the bathroom made her glance towards it, but darkness
shrouded its interior. Before she thought anything more of it, the phone clicked
and produced a soft voice. "Speak and ye shall find, oh weary traveler."
Amanda murmured, "Hi, Blossom."
"Mandy? Are you crying? What's wrong?"
Amanda braced her hip against the edge of the kitchen counter. "Lesley
and I had a fight."
"Oh, you poor dear. Do you want to talk about it?"
She rubbed her damp cheeks with a palm again. "Yeah, 'cause I can't
figure it out."
"All right, one moment." Amanda could hear scraping on the other end of
the line as Blossom dragged a chair over to the phone, then returned. "Now, pray
tell what was this fight about?"
Amanda shrugged. "That's what I been trying to figure out, 'cause I don't
know. I went to go shopping and stuff with him, but he wouldn't go. Even acted
like he had a grudge against me."
"Hmph. Typical male."
Amanda turned herself around to face the kitchen and twirled her cat
pendant. "No, I don't think so. He was actin' really weird. I never seen him like
that before. He got all cold and was yellin' at me for stuff that didn't make sense."
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"I think you'd better tell me everything that happened so we can figure this
out together, yes?"
Amanda scrubbed her face with her free hand, then murmured, "Yeah,
okay. Lemme get a tissue first, 'cause I'm bawlin' like a baby over here."
"Take your time."
Amanda set the phone down and headed for her bathroom, where she
kept a box of Kleenex tissues. The carpet tickled her bare feet with its millions of
fingers as she scuffed across it. Her bathroom lay just outside of the living room,
beside her bedroom. The door hung open slightly, enough for light to fall on the
pink mat in front of her sink, while hiding the rest in shadows.
Amanda's pace slowed as she felt a presence watching her. She glanced
around herself as the feeling intensified, but of course, found nothing there.
Amanda shot a look out of her living room window. A tree waved its branches at
her with its leaves curling in a rare breeze. A vent in her ceiling sent a cool breath
down onto her.
It had to be her imagination, just an extension of her unhappiness and fear
over her fight with Lesley. Amanda rubbed her nose and tried to forget it as she
padded towards the bathroom again. But the sensation of eyes watching her
every move never faded, but grew stronger as she came to the door. Amanda felt
trapped in the eyes of a predator huddled in the bushes, waiting for a moment of
weakness to strike.
The bathroom door lay open only a few inches to hurl light onto the white
tiled floor. Amanda reached out one hand to press against the door and open it
wider. Her other hand slipped through the gap to find the light switch. The door's
hinges grumbled in a low voice as they turned. Her fingers groped along the
uneven surface of the wall, trying to reach the metallic edge of the switch's plate.
The switch finally glided under her fingertips. Amanda pushed it up. The
switch popped hard against her hand. Light burst out of the florescent bulb on the
ceiling to flood the tiny room.
The bathroom door swung open wide, carrying out the rose-scented odor
of her Glade Plug-in. A sour odor mingled with it that Amanda couldn't identify,
but made her wrinkle her nose. The light bulb hummed as it shone onto the
makeup and bottles littering the tiles around her sink. Her Kleenex tissue box lay
in a nest formed by three Revlon lipsticks and a bag of cotton balls. Amanda
plucked three tissues from the box, and used them to blow her nose and dry her
face. She felt a little better as she cleaned herself up and studied her reflection in
the mirror.
Red eyes met her gaze, surrounded by puffy eyelids smeared in mascara.
The cut on her cheek throbbed to remind her of its presence. She had almost
forgotten the gash from the broken audiotape a few days ago, but studied it now.
It had already scabbed over, and looked as if it would heal without scarring. A
rush of anger flared within her remembering her visit, especially Jonathan Seer.
Until the cut healed, she felt it would always remind her of Arachne.
Amanda caught a movement out of the edge of her vision. In the reflection
of the mirror, she could see her shower curtain behind her. As she watched, it
curled outwards on one side. The plastic crackled like raindrops pounding her
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window in a storm. Amanda didn't remember drawing the curtain after her shower
earlier. Now it wrapped tightly around the rim of her bathtub, expanding and
contracting like a lung taking shallow breaths.
She blinked and tried to focus. The air-conditioning must have moved the
curtain, which didn't really matter, anyway. Blossom still waited on the phone,
and Amanda needed to sort through what had happened to her and Lesley. She
balled up her used Kleenex to drop into the garbage can by the sink. The metal
can rang like a drum as the tissues hit the bottom. Amanda lowered her head
and yanked out two more tissues, then straightened to give the shower one last
look.
The curtain swelled towards her, accompanied by pops from the plastic
deforming, then retreated.
Amanda turned away and strode out of the bathroom.
Now that she had wiped away some of her tears, Amanda felt a little
better. She headed back to the counter dividing her kitchen and living room, and
leaned over it to reach the phone.
"Hang on, I'm gonna switch to the cell-phone so I won't have no wires in
my way."
"I'll be here."
Amanda hung up the phone in the kitchen, then dug her cellular phone
from her carry-on bag, which she used to dial Blossom's number again. The
freedom allowed her to curl herself up onto the couch instead of hunching over
her kitchen counter. "Okay, I'm back."
The phone rustled as Blossom settled in as well. Knowing Blossom as well
as she did, Amanda guessed that she lay on her stomach on her bed. Blossom
claimed she did her best thinking that way. "Good. Now tell me everything that
happened, as best as you can remember it."
Amanda told Blossom everything from when she arrived at the airport up
to when she returned home. Afterwards, Blossom murmured, "Well, it seems as if
you two just had a misunderstanding. But I have to admit that doesn't sound like
the Lesley I'm familiar with. He's always seemed to be an absolute gentleman."
Amanda dabbed away fresh tears that had come out during the story. "It
ain't like him at all. He's a sweetheart. And what I don't get is what it's all got to
do with that stupid article I wrote."
"That is the part I find most puzzling. Why would he get so angry over
something so trivial?"
Amanda shifted herself further into the cushions behind her. Talking to
Blossom had calmed her, as she had known it would. Blossom might be flaky at
times, but she also had an infinite reserve of patience. "I dunno. I've written stuff
hotter than that one, and he never blinked. Now he's all up in my face, won't go
nowhere. It's like Arachne's all he cares about. All of 'em are like that."
"All of them?" Blossom's tone changed. "Who else are you talking about?"
Amanda rolled her eyes up at the ceiling, on which clusters of paint
formed a rough surface, like the landscape of a distant world. "Ah, I got a whole
bunch o' e-mails from guys and gals who want my head for what I said about
Arachne."
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"Hm. You must print me out a copy of that article so I can see what all the
hooplah is about."
Amanda dabbed at her eyes again with the cluster of tissues in her hand.
It had shredded to the point where it fell apart in her fingers. Amanda crawled out
of her makeshift nest to get more from the bathroom. "Yeah, sure, but it ain't no
big deal. I mean, some o' those guys even threatened to kill me."
"Kill you?" Blossom's bed creaked in the background as she shifted her
stance. "Amanda, I must say I don't share your casual view of being threatened
with murder. This is quite serious."
As Amanda crossed her apartment, the falling sun cast the living room in
shades of red. She felt as if she waded through pools of blood until she came to
the hallway leading to her bathroom. "Lighten up, Blah-Blah. It's no big deal."
"No big deal? Someone has threatened to terminate your life, and you
have the chutzpah to tell me it's no big deal?"
Amanda reached the bathroom door to find it closed again. Her eyebrows
came together as she realized that she had made it a point to leave the door
open. In fact, she also thought she had left the lights on, but now shadows filled
the doorway.
"Relax." Amanda moved closer to the bathroom door. "You be on the
Internet long enough, you're gonna get death threats, but it don't mean nothin'.
Just some punk kid who had his Wheaties and felt tough this mornin'. It's one
thing to say you'll kill somebody, another thing to step up here and do it. Besides,
it's just a website. Nobody ever killed nobody else over a website."
She stretched out a hand to push on the bathroom door. It creaked open,
allowing some of the harsh rays of sunlight to touch the floor.
Amanda's eyes widened as she noticed a smear of mud on the white tiles
in front of the toilet. The dirt looked fresh, not quite dry, and the imprinted curls of
a boot's print traced one side.
Amanda wasn't wearing boots.
Her breathing quickened as the feeling of being watched intensified. This
time, it didn't feel like paranoia. It felt real.
Her telephone trembled beside her mouth. Her puffs of air onto her
mouthpiece made Blossom call out, "Amanda? Yoo-hoo, are you still there? You
sound like you're hyperventilating."
Amanda's cheeks grew dry and clung to her teeth as she whispered,
"Blossom, I think somebody's in my apartment."
"What? What's going on over there?"
The mysteriously closed door, the bathroom light that had turned off, and
the boot-print all came together in one instant. She gripped the phone harder
until the plastic creaked in her ear. The darkness inside her bathroom had come
alive with shapes of hidden monsters. Tap, tap, tap went something that she told
herself was just the faucet dripping, but the fear clouding her mind turned into
something more.
"I think there's somebody in my bathroom," Amanda hissed.
"Oh my lord. Get out of there, Amanda. Right now."
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Amanda took a step back from the dark portal, trying to kept her voice as
low as possible. "I gotta call 911."
"I'll call the police for you, just get out of there, right now. That's an order,
please, please, please do as I say."
Amanda breathed, "Okay."
She punched the button on the phone that disconnected the call. If
someone really did hide inside her bathroom, then he would know she was here
by now. She could imagine him huddled inside the shower, watching and waiting
as she had gotten tissues and washed her face. If he hadn't attacked her yet,
then he might not attack her at all. He might be unarmed. She might be able to
take him on. There might not be anyone in the bathroom at all. It might be one of
Lesley's old footprints on her floor, and the air-conditioning moving her shower
curtain, and a dripping faucet tapping away in the darkness. She felt silly running
and calling the police over nothing. Or there might be a psychotic maniac in the
bathroom with a chainsaw and the bedside manner of Freddy Krueger, just
waiting for her to turn her back so he could chop her into hamburger. She had
gotten death threats. The risk of looking like a paranoid idiot outweighed the risk
of being attacked, robbed, or killed. Amanda had to fight against her nature and
retreat.
She allowed the tension building inside of her to be released, driving her
as she backed away from the bathroom door, then ran to the front door.
Something blocked her escape. Through her panic and the crimson light
falling through her window, the form looked indistinct. A moment passed before
she could make out thin legs supporting a body that held an arm that aimed a
Winchester Model 70 Classic Sporter bolt action rifle at her head. It took all
Amanda's strength to keep her knees from buckling at the sight of it, and then
she realized that was exactly what she needed to do. She let go, and dropped to
the floor just as the rifle went off. The bang of the shot hit her like needles driven
into her ears. She could feel a breeze as the bullet whipped over her head, then
the crash of it impacting with the bathroom mirror.
As glass tumbled off the wall in a crystalline rain, Amanda rolled onto her
back. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air in a greasy cloud. Behind it, a short
man with hair the color of oil leaned over her, draped in green camouflage gear
that appeared purple in the scarlet veil of the setting sun. His thin face barely
moved, except for a twitch in the flesh under his left eye. His stance remained
rigid as his hands worked the rifle's bolt with a sharp click to reload and pointed
the Winchester down at her again. The muzzle expanded in her vision as it
aimed directly into her face, and she could see down its length to the man's eye
narrowed through the scope.
The intruder had hidden in her bathroom when she came home. He had
been in her shower, after all, but when she left the first time, he must have
slipped out and hidden in her bedroom. While she had been consumed with
panic at the bathroom doorway, the man had slipped out behind her. If she had
lingered for a moment longer, he would have shot her in the back and ended it.
Curiosity made Amanda want to blurt out questions on how the man had
gotten into her apartment, and why he wanted to kill her. But the tightness of his
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lips, and the heavy lids over his bloodshot eyes told her that he was in no mood
to talk. She crushed her journalistic instincts to make her first priority survival.
Amanda channeled her panic into energy to drive her as she hurled the
cordless phone at the intruder. It struck him in the chest, but not hard enough to
seriously injure him. The man only stumbled back from surprise as it bounced off.
The barrel of the rifle veered away from her, up towards the ceiling as he fell
away. The distraction gave Amanda the chance to duck back into the bathroom
and haul on the shower curtain. The rings chimed like tiny bells as the curtain
tore free. She swung the curtain over the intruder as a blanket. The plastic
crackled as he thrashed to fight his way out of its embrace. Amanda jumped up
to catch hold of the door's frame. She used it to swing her feet into the plastic
where the man's gut would be. He flew back, and a grunt of pain rose out from
under the curtain. The Winchester sailed out from the crackling mound to bounce
across the carpet into the living room.
Amanda ran out of the bathroom, slipped past the writhing mass of plastic
that was the intruder. The sun had finally set, and long threads of darkness had
formed in her unlit living room, but she could make out the Winchester lying
beside a leg of the coffee table.
Something hard and thin wrapped around her legs, catapulting her to the
floor. Her chin hit the ground first, driving her teeth together with a crack louder
than the gunshot. Arms slithered up her legs, groping for purchase as the
intruder crawled up her body. Amanda writhed under him, then saw the flash of
light from the knife's blade in his right hand. The intruder's breath came in hard
pants into her ear. His body reeked as if he hadn't bathed in weeks. He pressed
down with his chest, trying to hold her as he raised the knife.
Amanda could only move her head, but she had been trained to use any
part of her body to defend herself. Even though her jaw still ached from the
impact with the floor, she opened her mouth wide and clamped onto the forearm
of the arm that held the knife. The cloth of his sleeve bunched up in her mouth,
but she kept going under she felt soft flesh yield under her teeth.
The man roared. Amanda wrenched her entire body to throw him off. She
heard the thump, and felt the floor shake under the impact, but never turned
around, only sprang back to her feet and headed for the rifle again.
The knife jabbed out into her path. Air whistled past its blade. Amanda had
to haul back to keep it from jamming into her ribs. Her attacker was obviously
untrained in combat. He had thrown all his power into the attack, and the
momentum of the lunge threw him off-balance. The loss of control allowed
Amanda to throw her arm over his to trap it in her armpit, then smash her elbow
up into his face. It crackled, and the man gurgled with pain. Amanda would have
thought breaking his nose would stop him, but even as the man toppled
backwards, his hands clawed at the front of her dress, trying to grab hold. He
would never stop at this rate. She had to end this.
Amanda swung her arms up to clutch the front of the man's shirt. Her
attacker's eyes widened over the blood trickling down from his nose. Amanda
braced him on her back as she lowered her stance to flip him over her. The throw
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sent him hurtling over her shoulder, down onto her coffee table. It collapsed
beneath him with a thunder that made books topple off their shelves.
Amanda lurched away while gasping for air, then dropped into a stance
with her weight on her back leg and fists tightened, ready to strike again. The
intruder lay in a bed of wooden shards that clanked as he groaned and rolled
over a little. She watched to see if he would spring up again, but the man never
moved, except to raise and lower his chest in heavy wheezing. Amanda dove to
snatch up the Winchester rifle into her own hands. The stock and triggers still
burned from the intruder's grip, and oozed around in her own sweating hands,
but she held the Winchester tightly as she sighted down the rifle's length to aim it
down at the man.
Her attacker coughed once, then twice. One of his arms came up with the
hand dangling limp from its wrist. His lips slithered around blood running out of
his nose, and Amanda strained to hear what he whispered in the gloom. She
couldn't understand, but it sounded like he moaned, "I've failed you, Jane. I've
failed you."
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Chapter 17
The sweeping red and blue lights from the police car and ambulance
outside made the living room pulse like her own beating heart. Amanda rocked
on her couch, hugging herself to quiet the chills sweeping through her. Night had
fallen, but the temperature in the living room had to be in the upper nineties. She
had asked the police and paramedics working in her apartment to leave the front
door open to let a hot wind flow through the room. Her shivering came from the
lingering adrenaline rush of her fight with the man in camouflage, and it wouldn't
go away.
Voices diverted Amanda's attention to the front door again, and she
immediately recognized one of them. A moment later, Blossom Dawn swept
through the open door, triggering a breeze that rippled curtains on nearby
windows. The long sleeves of a green Chinese silk robe poured over Blossom's
arms as she whirled in frantic circles. When she finally caught sight of Amanda
on the couch with a police officer, Blossom looked on the verge of collapsing.
Instead, she pressed her hands to her trembling mouth, then rushed past a trio of
paramedics to Amanda's side.
Blossom knelt to get on the couch's level, then threw her arms around
Amanda's shoulders. "Oh, Mandy, when your phone cut off, I was positively
frantic with worry. Are you all right?"
Amanda returned the hug, squeezing as tightly as she could to calm her
own trembling body. "Yeah, Blah, I'm good. Just a few scratches."
The police officer who had been interviewing her chuckled while rising to
his feet. Amanda knew him as Officer Ray McClintock, and they had crossed
paths many times during her life in Phoenix. He pushed his blue cap higher,
exposing lengths of his sandy blond hair, then glanced over at the paramedics.
"Yeah, she'll be fine. Can't say the same for her attacker. I feel sorry for anybody
who tangles with Katt."
Blossom's ruby hair draped over the side of Amanda's face, and she
peered through the curls to the man lying on a stretcher across the room.
Blankets wrapped around his kicking legs, but his arms thrashed freely into the
paramedics holding him down. The oxygen mask taped over his bandaged face
puffed up and down as he bellowed words into it that she couldn't make out.
"I don't feel sorry for him at all," Amanda murmured.
Officer McClintock lowered his eyes as he fumbled with his notebook.
"Right. Sounds like he had it coming."
His comment made Amanda smile. Their history together cut through a lot
of red tape. If a strange police officer had arrived on the scene, Amanda might
have spent another hour explaining that her attacker wasn't an ex-boyfriend or
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something. McClintock knew her well enough to accept her story on face value,
as incredible as it seemed.
Blossom finally released Amanda, then quickly swept pools of tears out
from under her glasses, and glared at the man on the floor. "Have you identified
this hoodlum yet?"
Officer McClintock tucked his pen into his chest pocket as he glared down
at the man. "We found a driver's license in his wallet that says his name's Paul
Norton. There's a Tucson address, so we'll start there. Should have a solid ID by
morning."
Blossom's lenses throbbed in the flashing red light as she narrowed her
eyes. "Do we know what he wanted?"
Amanda opened her mouth to speak, then forced her lips shut again. She
didn't feel the time was right to tell what she knew.
McClintock never noticed her gesture, continuing to stare at Norton while
scratching his forehead under the brim of his cap. "Other than trying to kill her,
we sure don't. Haven't gotten him to talk yet, he's in no shape for a friendly chat.
We'll probably get more out of him later."
Blossom pushed her heart-shaped glasses aside to wipe her eyes dry
again, then fluttered her hands in the air by her face. "So what happens now?"
Officer McClintock hooked his thumbs onto his belt as he watched the
paramedics finish tying straps around the man's wrists. "Well, we'll take him to
the hospital, get him cleaned up, then book him on charges of breaking and
entering, attempted murder, anything else we can think of."
"Very good." Blossom's hand dropped onto Amanda's and squeezed it.
"And what about you, Mandy? Are you going to be all right?"
"Oh, yeah." Amanda sniffled, then kicked at the pile of broken wood and
glass at her feet. "I need a new coffee table, but I'll be all right. Just wanna sleep
in my own bed for a change."
"No, no, no." Blossom patted the back of Amanda's hand with each "no,"
then rose from the floor onto her feet. "You will be leaving this place post-haste,
for my ease of mind if not your own. I won't feel comfortable knowing you're here
until this whole mess is sorted out. Can you stay at Lesley's apartment tonight?"
"I dunno, but I ain't gonna ask him."
"You mean he hasn't . . . ." Blossom clamped her mouth shut when she
caught the look on Amanda's face. "Oh, of course. I forgot. Well, you can stay
with me tonight. Mi casa es su casa, dear, as always."
To be honest with herself, Amanda didn't feel good about sleeping in her
apartment tonight, especially not with what she had discovered about her
attacker. She had thought about asking Lesley for help or at least telling him
what had happened, but she still felt pained at how he had treated her earlier.
For that reason, Amanda nodded at Blossom while propping up a weak
smile. "Yeah, okay. Lemme just grab a few things."
She rushed to her bathroom to get her toothbrush, a towel, and some
other things for the night. Amanda kept her eyes low, pretending not to notice the
broken glass or shower rings dusting the floor. She returned to the living room,
ignoring the torn plastic curtain still lying there, and found her tote bag where she
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had left it on the kitchen counter. As she packed for the trip, Amanda glanced
back at her attacker. He had calmed down a little, and Amanda figured the
paramedics had injected him with something to knock him out. The paramedics
raised the stretcher onto its unfolding legs and began to wheel him out of the
apartment. The man's head rolled from side to side as he moaned into the
oxygen mask over his face.
Blossom stood beside Officer McClintock as they watched the man leave.
Her whisper floated across the room. "Why would anyone want to kill Amanda?"
Amanda didn't answer, even though she knew. She couldn't admit that
she had been wrong earlier in her conversation with Blossom, and that error had
almost cost her life. Amanda didn't know everything about what had happened,
but she knew enough to change her perspective on everything she had seen and
done in the past week.
As they had been treating her mysterious attacker, the paramedics had
removed his green camouflage pants, jacket, and other clothes. One of the
articles of clothing had given her chills when she saw it, because she realized
what it meant for her and all those e-mails that she dismissed as being empty
threats.
The man who tried to kill her had been wearing a T-shirt with the logo of
Arachne.
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Chapter 18
On Saturday morning, Amanda Katt arrived at Tempe St. Luke's Hospital
to find it almost deserted. This early in the morning, the hospital experienced a
rare lull in activity. Only two people slumped in the chairs of the waiting room.
One, a young man dozing with a leather jacket draped over his chest like a
blanket, the other a silver-haired Hispanic woman leafing through a crumpled
People magazine. Two nurses behind the front desk chatted with an orderly
leaning on the counter about their dates last night. The hallways leading beyond
the lobby would have been empty except for the police officers standing there.
Amanda recognized one of them as Officer Ray McClintock.
When McClintock didn't return her smile to him, she knew something was
wrong, and it didn't take long for her to find out what. "Amanda, I don't think this
is a good idea, after all. This man is an attempted murderer. He's dangerous."
Amanda twirled the cat pendant around her neck in her fingers. "I didn't
think he was there to bake cookies last night. I just want five minutes to chat with
the guy. You can be there the whole time. If I don't get nothing out of him, that's
it, game's over, I'm movin' on."
McClintock glanced at his partner, then threw his hands up. "Okay, let's
go. But when that five minutes is up, you're out. No excuses."
The three of them headed deeper into the hospital, and the tang of
chemicals hanging in the cool air grew stronger. They passed the gift shop that
hadn't opened yet, and a row of purple teddy bears with no mouths stared
through the barred window to watch Amanda go by.
As he walked, McClintock rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing thick
forearms. "This guy is a real psycho, Katt. He didn't have a police record before
last night, but we know his full name is Paul Warren Norton. He used to work at a
7-Eleven in Tucson on the night shift until he quit three months ago. His sister is
his only living relative, and she says she lost contact with him around the same
time. Every time she tried to call, his phone would be busy."
Amanda's foot slowed in mid-step as she remembered the busy signal on
Lesley's phone whenever he got caught up online, but hurried to catch up. "For
real?"
McClintock didn't seem to notice her hesitation, focused more on the
elevator they came to. He punched the glowing red call button, and the doors
rumbled as the elevator car drew near. "Yeah. As far as his neighbors and
landlord know, last night was the first time Norton left his apartment in months.
The doctor who treated Norton says the man is severely dehydrated and
malnourished, like he hasn't eaten a proper meal in weeks."
The elevator announced the car's arrival with a chime and parted its
doors. The enlarged car had enough room for a hospital stretcher and a mob of
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nurses, leaving plenty of room for Amanda and her police escort. McClintock
waited for Amanda to follow, then pushed the button for the next floor.
That moment came when the elevator slowed to a gentle halt and opened
to allow them into a new hallway lit with buzzing florescent lights. On this floor,
they passed doctors and nurses sweeping in and out of private rooms that filled
the main floor. Amanda could see into the rooms, lit by sunlight falling through
earth-toned drapes decorating the windows. Men and women lay in beds
sleeping or chatting with doctors or visitors. Beeping equipment and hushed
conversation flooded out at her as she moved down the hall.
"I honestly don't know what you expect to get out of this, Miss Katt,"
McClintock murmured.
Amanda pressed against a wall to let a nurse pushing an old man in a
wheelchair by. "To find out why this guy tried to kill me."
"That's one thing I almost guarantee you won't find. We interrogated him
for three hours last night, and couldn't get a thing out of him. He won't say why
he attacked you, how he found you, or anything else. All he does is scream for a
computer."
Amanda winced at the sound of a crying baby coming from a room they
passed, then ducked her head towards him. "Did you say a computer?"
McClintock moved down another hallway with two police officers waiting at
the far end. "Yeah. He's been fighting for a computer since we brought him in.
The doctors had to strap him down and put him under sedation just to work on
him. We brought him out of it to question him, but when he woke up, Norton just
went right back to it."
The walls muffled, but could not contain the screams coming from a room
they approached. Amanda's skin broke into goosebumps at the anguish the
wailing contained. She couldn't imagine the pain that could cause such agony.
She felt herself shrinking back as McClintock approached the two police officers.
She could see now that the two officers guarded a private room. The screams
seemed to be coming from the other side of the door. A window built into the wall
next to her showed Paul Norton inside the room.
Amanda leaned closer to the glass. Norton lay in a bed surrounded by a
heart monitor, oxygen tanks, a suspended IV pole, and other medical equipment.
Norton didn't react to her presence, but continued to howl from an inner pain. His
body thrashed in his bed, fighting to break free of something more than the
leather straps around his wrists, chest, and ankles. She couldn't see his legs, but
the blankets covering them thundered from his kicking their underbelly. Norton's
head jerked from side to side while his open mouth raged around the gauze
bandages taped over his face.
Amanda toyed with the silver necklace encircling her throat again. "He
looks like he wants more than a computer. What's wrong with him?"
McClintock peered through the glass at Norton. "That's another mystery.
I've seen drug addicts going cold turkey, and they look a lot like this. Even the
doctor said Norton has all the symptoms of withdrawal in its advanced stages.
Trembling, seizures, vomiting, abdominal cramps, anxiety, it's all there. But we
couldn't find any traces of drugs or alcohol in his urine. It's like he's coming down
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from something, but we can't tell what. I think maybe our man is on some new
drug."
The glass muffled the sounds from the room, but she could make out
Norton's voice as he roared, "Get me a computer, for the love o' God, somebody
get me a computer!"
"See what I mean? He just got the crap beat out of him, he's being held for
murder, he's got the shakes from who-knows-what, and all he wants is a
computer. One of the weirdest things I've ever seen."
Amanda watched Norton for a minute, then released her necklace while
taking a deep breath. "All right, let's go."
McClintock pursed his lips, then moved to the door murmuring, "I was
hoping seeing him would change your mind."
Amanda grinned. "Takes a lot to change my mind, officer."
Officer McClintock unbuttoned the holster at his waist so he could rest his
hand on his Beretta 9mm automatic pistol. The two guards took positions beside
the door, and only when McClintock had his Beretta in hand did Katt open it.
Amanda stepped through into the hospital room, then winced at the yells
that echoed off the walls. She bit her lip to keep from gagging on the sour odor of
blood and vomit choking the room. Norton seemed to be trying to twist himself
out of the bed, but froze when she entered. Silence descended on the room.
Norton's upper lip curled as his head turned towards her. His straps
creaked softly as his chest expanded. "You."
Her heels clicked on the tiled floor as Amanda crossed the room with both
hands gripping the strap of her tote bag. "Yeah, it's me. The girl you tried to kill
last night."
Norton's eyes rolled under heavy lids to follow her. The gauze taped to his
face buckled from the suction as he sniffled. His hands curled against the cuffs
around his wrists as Amanda lowered herself into the chair next to his bed.
"Paul, I wanted to chat with you about what went down."
Norton's hands tightened into fists, but he remained silent. Light glistened
off his sweat-soaked face as he glared at her. She could hear tiny clicks from his
teeth grinding endlessly from his trembling jaws.
McClintock and his partner took up positions in the corners of the room
behind Norton. Amanda set her bag down onto the floor beside herself, and
leaned over the bed towards Norton. "Why did you try to kill me?"
Norton's lips quivered as he growled through bared teeth. "I need a
computer. Get me a computer. Right now. Right now, right now, right now."
With his voice rising to a scream, Norton threw himself upwards. The cuffs
pinning his arms down to the railing of his bed creaked from the strain. Tendons
bulged on his neck as he fought to pull himself free.
"This is a waste of time," McClintock murmured.
Amanda shot him a look of her own as she leaned over to dip her hands
into her tote bag. "Maybe. Maybe not."
She came back up with the case for her laptop computer in her hands.
Norton's body went rigid as she unzipped it, exposing the black plastic computer
inside. Only his swollen eyes moved to follow the device as she set it down onto
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the bed next to his leg. She folded the computer open to expose the built-in
monitor and keyboard. As Amanda turned it around to face him, the whisper of its
base scraping the blanket seemed to calm Norton. The tendons in his arms
collapsed while his brow loosened and rose.
McClintock took a step out of his corner with his fists clenched. "What do
you think you're doing?"
Amanda kept her eyes on Norton while she flicked the switch that turned
the laptop computer on. The click sent a shudder through Norton that unclenched
his fists. "Just giving him what he wants, lieutenant. This is what you want, isn't it,
Paul?"
Norton's mouth flapped open and closed a few times, then his tongue
rolled in his mouth to form words. "Does that have a modem?"
Amanda bowed her head in a slow nod. The question guided her to a new
realization. "You don't just want a computer. You wanna get online, don't you?"
Norton clamped his lips together, but they puffed in and out as his right
eye twitched in spasms.
"Okay." Amanda poked the lid shut with a finger, closing the laptop. The
thump made Norton's face tighten into a grimace. "How about we make a deal,
Paul? You tell me what I want to know, and you get the computer."
"You can't do that, Miss Katt," McClintock whispered. "That's contraband.
He's not allowed to have it."
"I'm not gonna give it to him." Amanda tugged the computer around to
face her, then rested her hands on the keyboard. "But I can operate it for him and
let him see it, just for a little while. That ain't against the rules, is it?"
McClintock thinned his lips without responding. Amanda knew he could
and maybe even should stop her from giving Paul access to her computer, but
she also knew he was just as curious about the attack as she was. His desire to
solve the mystery overshadowed his dislike for her, and kept him silent.
With McClintock out of the picture, Amanda focused on Norton again.
"Well, what do you say, Paul? We got a deal?"
She could see hatred smoldering in Norton's eyes, but then they dropped
to the laptop computer and his tongue flicked out to moisten his dry lips. "Okay.
Deal."
McClintock quickly dug around in the breast pocket of his shirt for his
notebook. "You want a lawyer present for this, Norton?"
"I don't need a lawyer. I don't care if I go to the chair. All I want is in there."
Norton jerked his chin down to the computer resting at the other end of the bed.
"All right." Amanda rested her fingertips on the keyboard while raising an
eyebrow. "So where do you want to go today?"
The words poured from his mouth in a rush. "Arachne. Bring up Arachne,
right now."
"Why am I not surprised?" Amanda dragged her fingertip across her
touchpad to click on the icon that connected her to the Internet. "I noticed you
were wearing a Arachne T-shirt. I take it you're a fan of Arachne."
Norton's brow lowered. "I'm not just a fan. Arachne is my life."
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By then, the computer had finished logging on, so Amanda typed the
address for Arachne into her browser. "That's cool. You read my article on
Arachne?"
Norton's restraints creaked as he rotated his fists in them. When Amanda
looked up, his gaze fell on her as heavily as a woolen shroud. A finger of sweat
glided down his cheek to linger on his chin, then drop onto his chest with a tap.
"Yes. I read it."
Amanda brought her eyes down to watch Arachne load onto her screen.
"Is that why you tried to kill me?"
"You had no right to say those things about it. Arachne is my life. It's all
our lives. Your evil has no place in our world. That's why she told me to kill you."
"She?" Amanda leaned her elbows on the bed in front of her. "Who's
she?"
Norton drew himself up again, and the leather cuffs squeaked louder. His
jaw swelled as he clenched it. "You promised me Arachne if I talked. I talked.
Now let me see it."
Amanda raised her hands to shield the monitor from his view. "Just give
me a name, Paul. Who's the woman who sent you to kill me?"
Norton's head flew back as he hurled a bellowing roar to the ceiling. His
whole body became rigid. Veins bulged over tightened muscles in his arms and
neck. The leather restraints on his arms cried out with a series of pops, then
snapped as they came free.
Norton hurled himself over the bed with his arms thrust at Amanda. She
screamed and dove back, but there wasn't enough room, and she hit the wall
behind her. Norton's fingers groped at her neck until they tightened on the silver
chain around it. It bit into her flesh, cutting off her air, and made blood swell in
her head.
"You can't stop it," Norton screamed. "Arachne will rule you all, and you
can't stop it!"
Amanda clawed at his wrists, but Norton didn't seem to notice the gashes
her fingernails opened on his skin. Her tongue swelled in her mouth as lights
began to flash in her eyes. The door banged open as the other two guards
charged in. She could hear McClintock yelling while thumps and banging rang
out, but they seemed to move farther away until she couldn't hear anything at all
except the rush of blood in her ears.
Then she lay on the floor of the hallway outside with her whole body
shuddering in coughs. McClintock crouched over her, rubbing her back with his
thick palm. She could hear Paul Norton's howls of fury echoing in the hospital
room behind her, along with the cries of the police forcing him down. Their
screaming blended into a single voice, "How'd he get free, he snapped the
restraints like they were made outta paper, hold his arms, must have been an
adrenaline surge, seen a guy on PCP do that, somebody call security, right now!"
Amanda drew air into her burning throat, then let it out in another fit of
coughing. Once that was out of her system, she wheezed, "I'm okay. I'm okay."
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McClintock sat back on his haunches with his hands rubbing her back.
"Katt, I have to say that was one of the most dangerous stunts you've ever
pulled. I told you we wouldn't get anything out of that nutball."
Amanda braced her hands on the floor to raise herself up. Her laptop
computer had been knocked off the bed and carried out, and lay on its side
before her. It had survived the crash intact, and the main page of Arachne still
glowed at her.
"You're right, officer," Amanda said as she looked at it. "I found out exactly
what I needed to know."
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Chapter 19
A half-hour after leaving the hospital, Amanda Katt rode an elevator up
through the West Chandler Library. She tried to crush the fear that pounded
inside her chest, tried not to look out of the elevator, but the idiot who had
designed the library had made the walls of the car out of glass. Every floor of the
library had been built like a square donut with a large open space in the center,
creating a vertical corridor that ran down the entire length of the building. It was
within this corridor that the elevator rose gradually. She couldn't tell if the floor
vibrated beneath her because of the rumbling of the elevator's mechanism or if it
was really her legs that trembled.
All Amanda could think of during the ride of was how silly she was being.
Normally, elevators didn't bother her. Elevators were just boxes that carried her
up and down buildings. She didn't even have to think about the fact that they
dragged her up dizzying heights. It was just a room, like any other. But this
elevator made that illusion impossible. She could see the floors of the library
rushing by as she went up higher and higher. The fear of heights that had
gripped her all her life never seemed more powerful than in this moment.
It was true that Amanda came to this library often. As the biggest library in
Phoenix, Amanda found the West Chandler Library perfect for researching
articles or finding obscure information. However, she usually tried to stick to the
lower floors of the building as much as possible. Most of the non-fiction collection
lay on the first and second floors, so she could use the stairs. She only used the
elevator when she had to go to the reference department on the fifth floor.
Unfortunately, today she headed for the Desert Southwest Museum, which
had been built on the seventh floor of the library. The elevator moved very slowly,
so the ride would take up to a minute, which seemed like a hundred years of
terror to her. Only one person could have gotten her up here, and that was her
fiancé, Lesley Grant.
She closed her eyes and focused. Amanda Katt never gave in to her
fears. When she opened her eyes again, she forced herself to look down at the
ground floor of the library descending farther and farther out of reach. Tiny
people moved across the green carpet in intricate patterns like blades of grass
swept by a passing breeze.
The fear clutched her chest like a fist as an invisible hand dragged her
forward. She clearly saw herself falling through the glass wall in front of her. The
shards breaking apart and dancing around her to keep her company as she
screamed her way down. Her body shattering on the lush carpet or perhaps
breaking her fall by landing and crushing a few people.
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The vision caused her to tremble violently, and she couldn't keep her eyes
down anymore. The fear won the battle as she turned her gaze up to the ceiling.
Only a few more seconds before she was out of this thing. Keep it together.
Instead of the height, Amanda tried to distract herself by looking at the
long colorful ropes attached to the ceiling. They twisted around each other in an
elegant braid as they ran down the center of the building to the floor. She
focused on them, using her curiosity to mask her fear. She wondered why they
put those ropes up there. Amanda remembered asking Vicki Paige, the librarian
in the reference section, and she had told Amanda the ropes symbolize the entire
building being bound together, from the roof to the floor. Kinda nice.
When the elevator rumbled to a halt a second later, Amanda felt relief at
her approaching freedom, easing her tense muscles. She could hardly wait for
the doors to glide open before she hurried out into the open space of the
museum.
Amanda had been to the Desert Southwest Museum a few times, and had
always been impressed. It was small, but she always found the pieces and
exhibits well chosen, interesting, and representative of the state of Arizona.
Out of the elevator, Amanda cast a heated glance at the doors as they
hummed shut and the car dropped out of sight. The elevator left in its place a
view of the ropes attached to the skylight that fell into the gaping maw in the
center of the floor. Across the expanse, she could see people on the other side,
walking casually among the pieces on display. They seemed miles away.
Looking down, away from the pit, didn't provide her much relief. Glass
bricks running in lines along the floor gave her a view of the level below, where
an old woman shuffled through magazine racks.
Amanda shook herself as she moved away from the pit, wondering why
anybody would want to build a library like this. She had heard once that it was
supposed to open the place up, so the library wasn't so much a building, but a
part of the sky. She hated it.
With the adrenaline rush of her fear winding down, Amanda felt a little
more secure as she walked into the Native American exhibit. She kept her eyes
roaming the walls, pretending to be driven by excitement over what she saw, and
not by her need to get as far away from the elevator and the seven-story drop as
possible.
As Amanda Katt wandered the museum, she tried desperately to think of
something to say to Lesley when she saw him again. So far, she couldn't think of
anything that could express the frustration she still felt towards him, tempered by
the love that couldn't be extinguished by a single argument.
Glancing at her watch added even more pressure, since she didn't have
much time to come up with something. If the message Lesley had left on her
answering machine was correct, and he arrived with his usual punctuality, then
he would be here in a few minutes. Of course, Lesley hadn't been doing anything
with his usual punctuality lately, but the message had promised that things would
be different if she just gave him a chance. She was willing to give him that
chance, for the sake of all they had been through together.
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Amanda clutched her purse closer to herself as she tried to look interested
in the life-sized bronze statue of a Cherokee warrior standing in front of her.
Amanda could remember the first time she had seen it, and the emotions that
had followed. Standing in this exact spot a year earlier had triggered a twist of
fate that drew her and Lesley together for the first time.
She glanced around herself at the other patrons wandering the room. The
Native American section of the museum seemed more crowded than usual with
people escaping the Saturday morning heat. They moved through the hall,
admiring paintings and crafts and statues in glass cases while murmuring
admiration in hushed tones. A cluster of children broke the reverential silence by
chasing each other around, flooding the room with the thunder of their sneakers
pounding the carpet.
As their yelling began to fade, a new set of footsteps grew. Amanda
recognized the heavy pace, but kept her eyes down, pretending to study the
inscription at the base of the statue. The thumps finally came to a halt behind
her. As Amanda's thoughts raced to find the right words, a firm voice spoke
instead.
"Excuse me, miss, I believe this is yours."
Amanda couldn't hold back the laughter that burst out of her, and didn't
try. She turned, half-expecting to see her green tote bag in one of Lesley's
hands, and a squirming man in the other, just like when they had first met.
Instead, Lesley held a single red rose out to her with a smile on his face.
Amanda smiled back as she took the rose in her hands. "You
remembered."
"Of course I remember. I could never forget that day." Lesley shoved his
hands into the pockets of his jeans as he smiled down at her. "I think that's the
first time I was ever glad to see a pickpocket."
Amanda nodded as she stroked the flower's velvety petals. She never
forgot his warm smile as he held her stolen purse out to her, and said the phrase
Lesley had repeated once again.
Amanda worked the smile back down as she gave Lesley the coldest
glare she could manage. "I hope you don't think sentimentality is gonna get you
off the hook."
Lesley's smile dipped in one corner as he shook his head. "No, I don't. I
wanted to come back to the place where we first met for my own benefit as well
as yours. I wanted to remind myself of where it all began, and how much my life
has changed since we were last here, and how stupid I've been."
The children hurried behind Lesley, giggling to each other, as he reached
out and slipped his fingers around hers to envelop them in the warmth of his
palm. His gentle locked onto hers as he whispered, "Amanda, I am so sorry for
the way I've been treating you."
Amanda wanted to blurt out the speech that she had prepared, but as she
saw him standing before her, he seemed even taller and stronger than the Native
American warrior casting its shadow over them both. Lesley was no longer the
haunted and sullen man she had met in his apartment Friday afternoon. His long
hair had been tied away from his neatly-shaven face, which still seemed thinner
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than usual, but with a grin that made up for it. She could find no words to express
the love that swelled inside her, and could only throw her arms around his waist.
Lesley slipped his arms around her, holding her and whispering how sorry he
was again and again. In that moment, time and anger melted away, and they
were reborn as a man and a woman once again.
When they finally drew away from each other, Lesley released a heavy
sigh. "I can't tell you how happy I am right now. I was sure you were gonna throw
that rose back in my face."
Amanda held his fingertips in hers while she gave him a coy smile. "Well,
the red rose bit is pretty corny, but I'm willin' to cut you some slack."
Lesley chuckled, then began to walk. The two of them moved through a
maze of cardboard walls dividing exhibits, occasionally pausing to allow another
couple, group, or single visitor to go by. The exhibit seemed to have a large
turnout, and everyone had the same look of awe and wonder at the finely crafted
art on display. Amanda breathed in the tangy odor of leather and wood, making it
easier for her to forget that she stood in a high building in the middle of a city,
immersing her in a new and more mystical world.
As Lesley brushed past along a wall decorated with a mural representing
Native American tribes throughout the United States, he squeezed Amanda's
hand. "Mandy, I really am so sorry. I look back on the last two weeks, and I don't
know what came over me."
As she walked alongside him, Amanda twirled the rose in her fingers,
releasing its fragrance into the air. "I gotta admit, I don't get it either."
Lesley raised his eyes up to a staircase that curled alongside them, which
the pack of children thundered up and down. "You were right, you know. When
you came to me, I hadn't left my apartment in a long time. It's like it got to the
point where Arachne was all that mattered to me. All I could think about. I look
back on it now, and I almost lost my job, my home, and you over it. And I
honestly don't understand why. It's like I was obsessed or--"
Amanda slowed her pace as she lowered her eyes to the intricate patterns
on the tiled floor. "Addicted?"
She walked ahead a few paces before jerking to a halt in the circle of his
arm, and realized Lesley had stopped short. He had frozen against her with his
jaw rigid and aimed up at the ceiling. Amanda winced, remembering his
alcoholism. "Oh, man, sorry. Not the best choice o' words, was it?"
Lesley's voice had softened to the point where it was only the echo of the
museum that allowed her to make it out. "No, you're right. That's the thing. You're
right. It's like I was addicted to Arachne. It was all I could think about. Not just any
part of Arachne specifically, but as a whole. I just had to have it."
Amanda pressed up against him to keep down the chills spiking her skin,
breathing in the scent of his cologne. "Well, I don't get it. You should've seen that
creep who jumped me. He said Arachne was his whole life, and he looked it, too.
Cops said he was on drugs, but it was more like Arachne was his drug."
Lesley turned to face her. She could feel his hand tighten around hers as
he whispered, "Is that really possible? I mean, can a website be addictive?"
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"I dunno. I been there, stayed on a website longer than I should. But I
heard about something called Internet addiction, where people get hooked on the
Net. Dunno much about how that works, but this could be something like that."
She released the flower to take his hand in hers, and guide him over to
another section of the room, where they sat down on a marble bench. A tour
group rumbled through the hall, accompanied by the cheery voice of their guide,
as Amanda faced Lesley.
"One thing I gotta know, sweetie, is why'd we fight? I mean, don't play me
like it was really about that piece I wrote on Arachne."
Lesley pressed his free hand over hers, sandwiching it between his palms
as his head bowed. His broad shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. "Well, I'd like to
say that it was about something more, but I can't. It was really hard to take that
article after all I'd seen and done on Arachne. You made a lot of people upset
with it."
Amanda rolled her eyes while stroking the painful line on her neck where
Paul Norton had choked her with her own necklace. Even though it had healed a
little, a slight pain flared as the petals of her rose brushed against it. "Hey, you
don't got to tell me."
He touched under her chin to raise her head back further into the light.
The shuffle of the tour group grew as it passed by, almost drowning his voice.
"Right, that guy who attacked you in your apartment. Are you all right?"
As the group moved on to a Navajo clay bowl across the room, Amanda
rested her hand on Lesley's wrist and lightly kissed his index fingertip. "I'm fine.
Just a few scratches."
Lesley narrowed his eyes at her. "Do the police know why he tried to kill
you?"
She lowered her eyes to the rose in her hands again. "Yeah, sort of. I
talked to the guy myself. He said he did it because of my Arachne article."
Lesley let out a sound between a laugh and a gasp. "Are you serious? He
tried to kill you because of what you said about Arachne?"
Amanda nodded while tickling the petals of her flower. "Yeah, that's what
he said. I got a whole lotta hate mail from that article. He wasn't the first one who
said he'd kill me because of Arachne, but he is the only who's followed up on it."
"So far." His hand tightened on her chin, gently raising it up so she looked
into his eyes. His mouth tightened in concern. "Now I'm even more sorry for what
I did. I couldn't be there for you."
Amanda giggled, then raised her hand to his cheek while gazing into his
eyes so he could see the sincerity of her words. "Baby, don't worry about it. I can
take care o' my own self. I wanted to profile Arachne, I take the heat. It's like a
compliment. Daddy always said he only got death-threats when he was doing
something right. If I wasn't ticking people off, I wouldn't be doin' my job."
A smirk curled Lesley's lips. "I never thought an article on a website could
turn into a life or death struggle."
Amanda ducked forward to give him a quick kiss, then rose to her feet.
"Only when I'm in it, sweetie. Now come on. We're here, we might as well check
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out the new exhibits. Then we can go shopping for the wedding cake, like we
planned. Okay?"
Lesley took his hand in hers as he came up beside her, then slipped his
arm around her waist. "Only if you promise to be careful. We don't want anyone
else coming after you."
"I will, don't be such a worrywart. I can take care o' myself." Amanda
leaned her head against his chest as she squeezed him in a hug, swimming in
the warm glow of relief. Blossom had been right about him, after all. It had just
been a minor setback that was easily resolved.
As they moved on across the floor of the museum to a section advertising
the Stockbridge Collection, Lesley bowed his head to look at her. "I want you to
know that I'm going to keep this from happening again. I'm never going back to
Arachne again."
They passed the tour group again, which huddled before a dimly lit case
containing ceremonial Apache weapons. As the cheerful murmur of the group
leader faded, Amanda frowned up at Lesley. "You really think that's necessary?"
"Yeah. You were right, Mandy. That thing had a weird hold on me."
Lesley crumpled in her arms, and his compressing body forced out a grunt
of pain. The tour guide paused in her speech to watch him as her group began to
whisper among themselves. Amanda touched Lesley's back as she yelled, "Les,
what's wrong?"
"I'm okay." Lesley straightened with both hands pressed against his
temples. "I'm okay. Just got a splitting headache all of a sudden, that's all."
"Oh, man." Amanda held his arm, feeling it pull away as he swayed on his
feet. "Wonder why?"
"I'm not sure." The haunted look in Lesley's eyes had returned, and
wrinkles deepened around them as he winced. "It just hit me all of a sudden.
Right around when I start thinking of quitting Arachne."
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Chapter 20
As Truman Bishop shuffled towards the counter of the Osco Drugstore, his
eyes whipped all around him, taking in every detail for any hint of danger. Bishop
kept his head down, but in his peripheral vision he could see the woman behind
the cash register tense up as he poured the bottles out of his encircled arms onto
the counter. When he raised his head, she continued to let her gaze wander over
the sixteen bottles of Tylenol and twelve tubes of Pain-Eze ointment lying in front
of her.
When she finally looking up at him, Bishop forced his trembling lips up into
a smile. "Just had surgery. Still some pain."
Her face crinkled into a wince of sympathy. "Oh, you poor thing. Didn't the
doctors give you anything for it?"
"Yeah, but I could use a little boost." Bishop turned away to break off the
conversation and shuffle over to the magazine rack. His lie was good enough for
brief encounters, but never held up under scrutiny for long. He knew he needed
to find a better cover story. He just hadn't had time to come up with one.
A man in a suit behind him glared at the label of some all-purpose
vitamins while his lips moved in silence. The rattle of the bottle overlapped the
voice of a country singer wailing out of speakers on the ceiling. Bishop tugged his
baseball cap's visor lower to shield his face.
While he walked, Bishop kept a close eye on the other customers darting
around him. Any one of them could be one of Arachne's assassins. Bishop had
learned that lesson the hard way. His stomach ached from a freshly stitched
wound where an old woman on a bus had jammed a knife last week. His doctor
at the hospital had insisted on keeping him another few days, and Bishop had to
sneak out. The pain of his gut didn't bother him that much. His headache
eclipsed the stomach wound by tenfold.
As Bishop heaved a deep sigh, the odor of glue from the fake red
mustache glued to his upper lip made him dizzy for a moment. He couldn't wait to
get back to his hotel room and take it off, but didn't dare remove it in public. His
disguise wasn't the best, but it served its purpose to confuse his hunters,
hopefully long enough for him to escape.
Bishop leaned in close to the rows of magazines and paperback novels
beside the drugstore counter and began flipping through the newspapers. His
fingers skipped over the pages, but he couldn't hold his arm still long enough to
stop it. Bishop had only been out of his hotel room for five minutes, and the
pressure of being stalked already exhausted him. At times like this, Bishop felt
like giving up, but he had to keep going. He had to keep looking.
Among the assortment of national and local papers, Truman Bishop
searched for an Arizona newspaper. He knew that Amanda Katt lived in Phoenix,
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and that if anything happened to her, he would find the news there if nowhere
else. Bishop had read her article online at NR-Net, and knew it wouldn't be long
before she died for it. He had been keeping an eye on the news ever since,
hoping to find out when Arachne's assassins killed her. No one stood up to
Arachne for long. Her death would add support to the case he built against them.
Bishop finally found a copy of The Phoenix Times and thumbed through it.
When he came to the back page, he gave up and reached out to put the
newspaper back on the shelves when he spotted Amanda Katt's name. The first
paragraph in the article stunned him, and the more he read, the lower his jaw fell
open in shock.
"Hey, sugar," the cashier called out. "You wanna buy that or not?"
Bishop ran back to the counter and slapped the Times down on top of the
pill bottles. He rapped the counter with his fist to keep his emotions in control.
When the cashier rang it all up, Bishop continued to read as she tucked the pill
bottles into a plastic bag.
An article carried the headline "Website Drives Man To Murder." It
described a man attacking a young journalist in Phoenix because of his devotion
to Arachne. While the tone of the article tried to make it seem funny, Bishop
wasn't laughing. The victim was Amanda Katt. And she was still alive. Bishop had
expected her to die quickly and painfully, but she had escaped the clutches of
one of Arachne's assassins.
When the cashier handed his bag back to him, Bishop murmured a vague
answer at her goodbye and charged out the door. The news he had learned
consumed his thoughts.
As he walked out, he glanced back and thought he saw someone ducking
behind a rack of potato chips. Bishop hesitated in the doorway. He could make
out a reflection in the tiles on the floor, but it vanished before he could focus.
Bishop hugged his bag closer, and the hard edges of the bottles dug into his
chest, but he threw himself out of the drugstore into the night.
Rain tapped his face and shoulders, visible only as sparkling threads in
the cone of light thrown from lamps hanging over the parking lot. Bishop hurried
to his Volkswagen Jetta, climbed behind the wheel, and started the engine. He
figured he could make it to Phoenix by tomorrow evening if he really poured it on.
Bishop wished he could call Katt, but he couldn't risk it. If Arachne tapped her
phone and found out he was coming, she would be dead by the time he got
there, and he would soon follow. He could lose everything he had worked for, but
he couldn't miss this opportunity.
Rain splattered across his windshield as Bishop started the engine, then
paused to rest his hand on the manila folder on the passenger seat. Clumps of
white and green paper hung out of the thin folder, held in place by a red rubber
band. The folder contained all the evidence he had collected for his own work,
but Bishop sensed that Katt could use it more.
Amanda Katt wasn't like the others. In her article, she had described
seeing Arachne, and had even been in the offices itself, and still criticized it. That
meant she had to be immune to its power. More than that, she had survived an
attack that had killed so many of Bishop's allies against Arachne. He knew
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Arachne would be sending more killers soon, and he had to warn her. She could
be the one to do what he couldn't. She could stop Arachne for good. The
knowledge that he wasn't alone flooded him with new energy and determination.
His excitement cut short from a jolt of pain that flushed through his skull.
Bishop grunted, fumbled through his plastic bag, and tore open one of the bottles
of Tylenol. He yanked out the tuft of cotton, gulped down four of the pills and
swallowed them dry, then tossed the bottle aside to shift into reverse.
As Bishop turned in his seat to back out, he caught a flash of something
whipping towards his front windshield. Bishop instinctively ducked before a tire
iron crashed through the glass, showering him with pellets like diamonds. The
man holding the tire iron yanked it away, then swung for another try. Bishop
recognized the man from his muscular bulk instantly, even if he hadn't noticed
the black spider tattooed on his forearm. Drops of blood dripping from the
spider's fangs glistened from raindrops collecting on the huge man's skin. Bishop
could almost imagine the tattoo as being alive, ready to leap off the man's arm
and sink its teeth into his throat. But the powerful build of the man's thick arms
and chest, along with the metal rod clutched in his fist, formed an even greater
threat.
Bishop kept his head down as he slammed his foot down on the gas
pedal. The momentum banged his forehead into the steering wheel as his car
lunged backwards. It roared out of the parking space to crash into a car behind
him. Screams and insults rose up from the other car. Bishop raised his head. The
man with the tire iron charged towards him with his arm raised to swing again.
Bishop couldn't stop to argue with the other driver. He yanked the gear into
forward just as the tire iron banged down onto the hood. Bishop punched the gas
pedal, and shot his car towards the exit of the drugstore's parking lot.
Rain poured through the hole in the broken windshield, drenching Bishop's
clothes and running down his face. Bishop didn't dare release his hands from the
wheel to wipe it away. He could only squint through the blurry fog of his vision,
trying to make his way out. Anything could be hiding in the drenching rain.
Arachne wouldn't stop with just sending Gibbs, the muscular tattooed man that
Bishop knew all too well.
His heart jumped as colored lights swept into his view. They came from
the headlights of traffic in the open road. If he could make it out of the parking lot,
Bishop could escape. He pushed harder on the gas pedal, taking the risk of
skidding on the wet pavement, but his foot already touched the floor of the car as
it was.
He heard the roar echo across the parking lot before a brown station
wagon charged at him from nowhere. Bishop yanked the wheel into a spin. His
tires shrieked as they glided over the oily asphalt, but the second car rammed
into his rear bumper. The world spun around him as his car twisted on smoking
tires. He skidded towards a metal pole, thick enough to halt the car's revolution,
but also kill him on impact. He hauled the wheel around again, and this time he
felt the tires lock onto solid ground again. Bishop gained control of his car again,
just in time to weave around the pole. Instead, he aimed it out onto the street.
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His car roared almost in triumph as it bounced off the curb and into the
road. Cars blared and drivers screamed as Bishop dove into traffic. The impact
banged his chest against the wheel, triggering a blast of the horn, but he kept his
foot down and managed to straighten the car out to rumble down the street.
Bishop swallowed a mouthful of rainwater that had collected in his open
mouth and glanced up at the rear-view mirror. He hoped to see traffic behind him
cutting off his pursuers. Instead, the station wagon catapulted out of the
drugstore parking lot, banging as it hit the street. It waved from side to side,
trying to get around the cars. The wagon kept going until it raced alongside
Bishop, then moved to cut off a purple Porsche that blasted its horns. The station
wagon ignored it as it tried to cut across the path of a Ford Explorer to bring it
alongside Bishop.
Bishop dared to look away to the road ahead of him. The light above
flashed yellow. Bishop shook his head to clear the rainwater dripping from the
hair, then glanced around at the surrounding cars. Their rear lights burned red as
traffic slowed for the approaching red light. Bishop tightened his fingers around
his steering wheel, then veered up onto the sidewalk.
His car's hood plowed over a mailbox that collapsed with a bang, erupting
in papers and boxes. The station wagon turned to copy the maneuver, but traffic
braked too suddenly. It got caught between cars, and the Explorer rammed into
the side of the wagon. The station wagon's tires screamed as it plowed off the
road and into a telephone pole. Bishop's whole body jerked from the boom of
impact, but he kept on driving, leaving the wreckage smoking in his rear-view
mirror.
Bishop whipped his car around a corner, then made five more turns at
random. He kept on going, constantly shooting glances at his mirror, but no other
cars appeared. His heart slowed back to normal when he allowed himself to
believe he had escaped. He was free again. But he knew he couldn't keep this up
much longer. He had to reach Amanda Katt. He had to tell her that she was in
grave danger. He had to let her know the truth about Arachne. If it wasn't
stopped, life as they knew it would be over.
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Chapter 21
<SEER> It seems that Amanda Katt survived the assassination attempt.
<JANE-DOE> Yeah, I read the news. So much for Pawn. I kinda liked that
guy.
<SEER> In the game of chess, there is always a need for sacrifice. But
this does raise the question of what we will do next.
<JANE-DOE> No biggie. I've got a lot more planned for Miss Goody TwoShoes. Not only do I still have other people to handle her, but I've got her
boyfriend.
<SEER> I admit that I'm impressed, Jane. How did you manage to bring
him to you?
<JANE-DOE> Hey, I didn't have to bring him. He came to me, 'cause I'm
simply irresistible. Pretty soon, I'll have him eating outta my hand. He's my ticket
to eliminating Amanda Katt. I got the man she loves, and that means I got her.
<SEER> Excellent. And the rest of our plan?
<JANE-DOE> Still going like clockwork. I finished setting it up with the
government last night. In five more days, we'll be in business. Now that you
mention it, it's almost time to touch base with our good buddy in Washington D.C.
In his Washington office, Senator Warren Price chewed on a stick of
peppermint gum as he watched himself on the television screen mounted on the
wall. He had been chewing the gum since nightfall, and the gum's flavor had long
since faded, but Price continued to chew to keep himself under control.
He wasn't really interested in viewing his press conference again, but his
top aide Andrea O'Brien had insisted and Price had gone along with it. She sat
on the opposite side of his desk, fists clenched over the clipboard in her lap,
arrested by the tape playing on the screen. Price tried to look focused as he
rocked his leather chair back and forth, elbows resting on his desk, trying not to
scream.
The version of himself on the television tightened his fists on a wooden
podium facing a mass of reporters. Men and women in suits flanked Price on
both sides as he spoke. "I am gratified by the report that my distinguished
colleague, Senator Rothman from New York, has come out in favor of my bill. He
is just one of those inside and outside of our government that sees the need for
the Internet Decency Act. The IDA will be the broom that sweeps the Internet
clean of filth and makes it a beautiful place to live. The American people want
this bill, they need this bill, and in the near future, our children will thank them for
this bill. Next question."
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Price picked out an arm thrust up in the back. When the man in a gray suit
stood, he plunged into his question. "Senator, you were recently quoted by the
Washington Post as saying that the Internet is the greatest threat to our nation
since the Communist menace. Don't you think you're being a little extreme?"
The senator gave the reporter a condescending smile. "You can't get too
extreme when it comes to the safety of the American people. Next question."
He picked out another woman who asked, "Sir, some have criticized your
proposed bill as being far too vague. They say it could restrict legitimate and
informative websites on the Internet, and have grave repercussions for freedom
of speech."
Senator Price held up a finger to her. "In order to defend ourselves, some
liberties must be sacrificed."
"But some people claim that you're doing this because you hate the
Internet."
"On the contrary, I love the Internet and the power that it has. But I hate
how people have misused that power. I intend to prove to everyone that the
Internet can and must be controlled for the good of our children and our nation.
Those who complain about the bill now will be the first to praise it once they see
its effects. Good afternoon."
Senator Warren Price ignored the cries of reporters as he headed away
from the podium, pausing only to shake the hands of his supporters lined up
behind him, including the president of the American Christian Association and the
United Family Council.
In his office, Andrea clicked off the television and held the remote tightly to
hers chest. "Brilliant speech, senator, just brilliant. Public opinion went up ten
percent in the polls this afternoon alone. Support is growing behind your bill.
We're gonna win this."
Senator Price angled his chair so he could look out his window at the
Washington skyline glittering in the night. The throb of his headache seemed to
get worse just watching the lights twinkle in the distance. "Excellent."
He could hear papers rustle as Andrea flipped through her clipboard.
"Well, that about does it for today. Molly just brought up that report on this year's
annual budget. She left it on your desk, and does have concerns about how it will
affect our state's school system. You have a meeting with the Science and
Transportation Committee at eight o'clock tomorrow morning, and you're
scheduled to have lunch with Senator Dorn. He wants to discuss your stance on
his federal housing bill that's coming up."
"Fine, fine." Senator Price clenched his teeth on the wad of gum. "I
wonder if we could call it a night? I'm a bit worn out."
"Oh, of course." Her chair scraped on the floor, and he could imagine her
gathering her things and heading out. "Night, senator. Hope you feel better. Say
hi to Judy for me."
Senator Price nodded vaguely until the door clumped behind her, and he
was alone. In privacy at last, Senator Price exhaled heavily until he felt his whole
body go limp. His arms dangled over the sides of the chair and Price just lay
there, waiting for his strength to return. When he had recovered, he opened a
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desk drawer and pulled out a can of Powwow Cola and a bottle of aspirin. He
gulped down three of the pills, then popped open the can, and took a swig. When
he had drained the can, he felt a little better.
Price didn't really care about any of his duties anymore. All he cared about
was his Internet bill. More than any of his other responsibilities as the senator, it
had become the driving force in his life.
Price turned his chair back towards his desk, where a desktop PC
hummed gently. He started his browser and loaded Arachne. His eyes skimmed
the political headlines and advertisements, but the chess game link was his main
focus. He entered the chat room and began to type.
<SENPRICE> Good afternoon, Jane Doe.
<JANE-DOE> Hey, Senator, what's shaking? I just read about your press
conference. You got 'em eating out of the palm of your hand, buddy.
<SENPRICE> Thank you. I did what you asked. Now what?
<JANE-DOE> Now we go to phase two. It's very important that you do
what I say to the letter.
Senator Price watched as Jane Doe described a plan of action. He didn't
understand it, but knew he didn't have to. It didn't matter what Jane Doe told him,
he knew that he would do it. Senator Warren Price would do anything for
Arachne.
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Chapter 22
The banner from Arachne stared back at Felicia Bradley, as if mocking her
confusion. She knew it shouldn't be there, because only last night, the web page
she looked at had been her favorite website, ChatCity. Now when she logged
onto it, only a plain white web page faced her with nothing more than Arachne's
banner on it. That made no sense. It also filled her with a sense of dread that she
couldn't easily dismiss.
Felicia Bradley sat curled up at a desk in the bedroom of her apartment.
For her day job as a summer school teacher, Felicia had thirty Spanish tests to
grade for her class the next morning. She had decided to visit her friends at
ChatCity to help pass the time, but now the website had vanished. Felicia set
down the stack of test papers and typed in a new Internet address. It took her to
a different website and a chat room that the group that usually visited ChatCity's
chat rooms often went to.
Felicia watched messages from other users all over the world flow down
her computer's screen. The nicknames attached to them seemed as familiar to
her as the names of her closest friends. Most of the messages seemed to be
revolving around the shutdown of ChatCity.
<SKYWALKER> I was just there. I can't believe it's gone.
<AMANDA358> I wonder what happened. I can't believe it would just
disappear like that.
<PIKA_BOO> I hope it's a mistake. I'd hate to have to get a life.
Felicia chewed on her bottom lip, then braced her red marker in her right
hand so she could type on her keyboard with the left. After finishing the
message, Felicia sent it into the chat room with a push of her "Enter" key, where
it showed up next to her nickname, Flowerfly. Her comment marched down the
small box in the center of the page.
<FLOWERFLY> Why is ChatCity gone?
<AMANDA358> Hi Flo!
<TYPOQUEEN> We're just trying to figure that out ourselves. Did anyone
hear anything about Irene shutting it down?
That caused a thought to strike Felicia, one that she tried to reject at first,
but came back stronger. It occurred to her that ChattyGal hadn't tried to contact
her over the weekend. That wasn't like her at all. It made Felicia swallow, then
type again.
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<FLOWERFLY> Has anyone seen ChattyGal lately?
<AMANDA358> Nope.
<2SHY4U> No, not in a few days.
<PIKA_BOO> The last time I saw her was Friday. She said she wasn't
feeling well, then she left.
The words scrolling across Felicia Bradley's computer screen tightened a
knot in her stomach. Felicia never realized how much she had fixated on the text
until her red marker tumbled from her fingers. It rolled off of the test papers she
had been grading onto the desk, where it wobbled to a halt. She gave it only the
briefest glance, then returned to the computer monitor glowing before her. The
other user nicknamed Pika_Boo continued to type.
<PIKA_BOO> I'm guessing it was radiation from her computer. It seemed
like Chatty was in that chat room for days!
Some of the others in the chat room laughed by typing either "haha" or
LOL, Internet slang for "laughing out loud." Felicia never even smiled. She knew
the woman who called herself ChattyGal well, and knew that her health was no
joke. The other users of CC's chat rooms knew ChattyGal, but very few knew her
real name, Irene Chandler. If they had known, they would have been shocked,
because Irene Chandler was the creator of ChatCity.
ChatCity had started out as a simple website that featured a single chat
room that could be reached through the web page. In Felicia's conversations with
her, Irene always joked that the only reason she had created the website had
been because she loved to talk, and couldn't find anyone to talk to.
The results had been more than even Irene had dreamed. The popularity
of the site grew until it hosted thousands of chat rooms on every subject
imaginable. Millions of people around the world visited the website, day or night,
where they could talk to others and share the sense of community ChatCity had
built. In a few short years, the website had become one of the most successful
websites on the Internet.
Irene insisted that the purpose of ChatCity had never changed. She still
prided herself in keeping the "homey" feel of the website by maintaining and
upgrading it herself without a large company to back her. The only thing she
wanted in return had been to enjoy the company of good friends. But she had
been forced to hide her identity, pretending to be just another user calling herself
ChattyGal, so she could be a part of what she had created.
It had taken months of conversations with her before Felicia found out the
truth, and she had been sworn to secrecy. Felicia had even been privileged to
know Irene's greatest secret of the breast cancer that she had battled in the past.
It had gone into remission a year ago, but now Felicia felt this was the source of
her unnamed dread. Both ChattyGal and her website had disappeared over the
weekend. The knowledge of Chatty's illness, combined with the disappearance of
her beloved website, sent the ghost of a returning tumor through Felicia's mind.
She wondered if Irene had gone back into treatment without telling her.
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Felicia pushed the ungraded test papers on her desk aside, deciding her
Spanish class would have to wait. She rose slightly from her chair as she leaned
over the keyboard to type again.
<FLOWERFLY> I have ChattyGal's number. I'll call and see how she's
doing.
As more messages appeared in the chat room, Felicia reached over to the
purple phone on her desk. The beeps from the earpiece as she punched in the
number fueled her nervousness. The harsh rhythmic buzz of the busy signal
scraped every nerve in her body.
Felicia slammed the phone back down, then picked it up to dial again. She
called three times, then hung up. As her hand slid away from the handset's cold
back, she turned in her chair back to her computer and typed quickly.
<FLOWERFLY> Her line is busy. I live twenty minutes away from
ChattyGal. I'll drive over and check on her.
<PIKA_BOO> You really think it's that serious?
<FLOWERFLY> Yes, she's been very sick before. I'm worried it might
have come back.
<AMANDA358> You mean cancer?
For a moment, Felicia's hands hovered over the keys, frozen with
indecision, until she managed to find an answer.
<FLOWERFLY> She doesn't want me to talk about it. I have to go.
<PIKA_BOO> Oh, no. I was only joking. I didn't realize it was so serious.
<TYPOQUEEN> Okay, let us know what happens.
<PIKA_BOO> You might want to call 911, just in case.
<FLOWERFLY> I will, Pika. See you soon.
Felicia disconnected herself from the Internet. As soon as her computer
shut down, she ran to her bedroom and dressed as quickly as possible by just
pulling on green shorts under the oversized T-shirt she already wore. Her dog,
Pebbles, watched from his bed with one ear pricked up in curiosity as she rushed
past him to grab her keys, and head out the front door.
Her Ford Explorer seemed to inch through the streets of the city, even
though Felicia knew her speedometer's needle shivered at the edge of the speed
limit the whole time. Every red light lasted a hundred years. Every stop sign was
a wall between her and peace that dwarfed the Great Wall of China. The
streetlights never seemed to be enough to ward off the shadows of night that
clung to the windows of her car. Her thoughts were a tornado with the mystery of
Irene's words at the center.
As Felicia turned the corner onto Irene's block, she expected to feel an
easing of her fears at last. Instead, the nightmare swelled out of control. Police
cars blocked the road, sweeping the walls of the other houses surrounding it with
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red and blue lights. Radio chatter murmured softly around the men and women in
police uniforms who paced around a square formed by yellow emergency tape.
They watched the crowd shuffle on the edge, whispering to each other. At the
heart of the chaos, an ambulance waited with its rear doors open, casting a white
light towards Irene Chandler's house.
Felicia brought her Explorer to a halt, not caring whether it parked evenly
against the curb, and burst out of the car. She ran towards the house onto a
neighbor's lawn that crunched under the soles of her sneakers. As she came to
the yellow tape barrier, a hand blocked her path. It belonged to a policeman who
scowled at her.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, sorry, ma'am. No one's allowed past this point. I'm
gonna have to ask you to step back, please."
Felicia grabbed the wrist of the policeman to try to push it aside. "No,
that's my friend inside. Please, you have to let me in."
An Asian woman approached them with a police badge bouncing against
the lapels of her gray blouse. "Martinez? What's going on here?"
Before the policeman could speak, Felicia blurted, "That's my friend's
house. Irene Chandler. What's going on? Is she all right?"
The way the woman's face fell, then dropped her eyes to the sidewalk told
Felicia everything she needed to know. The horror only increased as she caught
sight of two paramedics drawing a stretcher along between them. Moonlight
trickled over the plastic surface of the bag on the stretcher as it rattled to the
back of the ambulance. The bag was big enough to hold what Felicia tried to
believe wasn't inside.
Later on, she only remembered letting go of the tears flowing inside her.
Fifteen minutes later, Felicia found herself sitting on the curb outside of the
house with tissues pressed to her face. A hand stroking her back belonged to the
small woman she had seen earlier.
"Miss Bradley?" the woman asked. "Are you feeling any better?"
Felicia nodded, but knew the gesture was a lie. She only studied the dark
patterns of tears forming in the tissue, trying to accept the new reality of Irene's
death.
The woman dropped into a squat on the sidewalk beside her with a
notepad dangling from one hand. "Good. I'm Detective Wong. I know this must
be very difficult for you, but I need to talk to you about Miss Chandler's death."
Felicia bowed her head again in a nod, keeping her eyes down.
"Thank you. Come with me, please."
Detective Wong's hand on her elbow guided Felicia to her feet. The two of
them moved through the crowds with the aid of a police officer clearing the way,
then beyond the warning tape to the front door of Irene's house.
All the lights in the house had been turned on, giving the home warmth
compared to the street outside. Felicia had visited Irene's home many times as
their friendship evolved. The familiarity of the living room seemed to contradict
Irene's death. Something should have been missing to show the loss of its
owner. But the neat rows of teacups that Irene collected still waited patiently on
their shelves as Felicia passed them. The painting of two cute children sharing
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an ice cream cone hung beside the dining table, as if the boy and girl held the
melting cone for Irene when she returned.
Detective Wong gestured towards the table, where the two of them sat
down. A stained-glass globe hanging over the table swayed gently. From where
she sat, Felicia could see into Irene's bedroom. Her friend's computer waited on
a desk beside the bed, attended by a man in a white coat that snapped
photographs of it from every angle.
Wong drowned out the occasional clicks of the camera as she opened her
notepad and began to speak. "Now you are Felicia Bradley, correct?"
Felicia murmured, "Yes." She couldn't take her eyes off the man shifting
around the bedroom with his camera.
Wong scribbled something on the page. "You're a friend of Miss
Chandler?"
Felicia slowly nodded as the man ducked out of sight to pick something up
off the ground. "For about five months."
"And how did you know Miss Chandler was dead?"
"I didn't." Felicia forced herself to face Wong. "Not really. I mean I thought
something was wrong. I heard that she was sick, and her website was down, so I
came just to make sure."
Without taking her eyes off Felicia, the detective wrote more, then
continued. "You heard she was sick? From who?"
More snaps of the camera filled the house as Felicia rubbed her forehead.
"Someone in a chat room online."
"Ah. A chat room." Detective Wong flipped over some pages in her
notepad. "That explains a few things. I'd like to talk to that person who told you
that, though."
Felicia shrugged as her vision blurred from another tear forming in her
eye. "I don't know her name. We've never met in real-life."
Detective Wong slipped the end of her pen into her mouth and lightly
chewed it as she studied her notepad. "I see."
Felicia tightened her grip on the wadded tissue in her hands. Parts of it
tore off between her fingers. "Detective, can you tell me what happened? Did she
miss her medication or something?"
Wong raised her thin eyebrows while setting her jaw firmly, then slowly
shook her head. "We don't really know, Miss Bradley. We're still checking on that.
It could have been her medication that killed her. All we really know right now is
that a neighbor called us a few hours ago, says Irene wasn't answering her
phone. We came in and found her at that desk in her bedroom. My guess is that
she died a couple of days ago, possibly yesterday, Sunday morning."
Felicia saw that the detective pointed at the computer desk being brushed
by the man in white in the bedroom. In that moment, it occurred to Felicia that
she had been so consumed with grief over her friend's death that one question
had never entered her mind. Now she leaned forward towards the detective.
"What exactly did Irene die from?"
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Detective Wong settled back against her chair, which creaked softly at its
hinges. "Well, we haven't gotten the autopsy report back yet, but from what we
can tell, she died of dehydration and possibly even starvation."
Felicia's breath puffed out of her lungs. All this time, she had assumed that
Irene had died from some illness related to her breast cancer. It took her a
moment before she could speak again. "She died of thirst? How? Why?"
Detective Wong prodded her cheek with the end of her pen as she studied
her notepad again. "That's what I've been asking myself for the past four hours,
Miss Bradley. The kitchen is full of food, and the faucets are running fine, but it
seems as if she hadn't touched either of them. As I said, the medication she was
taking might be a factor, but I've never heard of any legal medication causing
such extreme behavior. Narcotics might have been involved."
Felicia shook her head so fiercely that her hair whipped her cheeks. "No,
not Irene. She would never do drugs. She took pride in her body. She never even
drank coffee."
The detective seemed skeptical, but only pursed her lips at her notepad.
"Well, my only other theory is that Miss Chandler might have been murdered, but
I don't know how."
She pointed into the bedroom again with her pen. "I thought at first that
she might have been taken somewhere else to die, then returned here, but we
now know from the body's lividity that she died at that desk. What's more, there's
a lot of evidence that she never left that chair in a week, which led me to think
that maybe someone tied her down. But there are no marks on her body from
ropes or anything like that."
Detective Wong rose to her feet with a sigh and tucked her notepad into
her hip pocket. "If I didn't know better, I would swear that Irene Chandler just sat
at that computer until she died. And I can't figure out why. Can you?"
Felicia rubbed her cheek dry with the back of her hand, and shook her
head. "No, that's not like Irene at all."
"I see." She gave Felicia her patient smile again. "Well, I'm afraid we have
a lot more work to do here, so you'll have to go. But if I find out anything more or
if I have any other questions, I'd like to talk more with you, if you don't mind."
"Of course." Felicia began to follow as the detective strode across the
living room to the front door.
As she left the house, Felicia cast her gaze back into the bedroom again.
She caught a glimpse of the computer's monitor, still glowing white in the
shadows of the room. Only then, did she realize that the monitor displayed the
logo of Arachne.
Something odd struck her. Detective Wong had told her that Irene
Chandler died Sunday morning. But Felicia had visited ChatCity on Sunday night,
and it had still been there. Now, on Monday evening, a full twenty-four hours after
Irene's death, the website was gone.
But if Irene hadn't shut down her website and replaced it with an
advertisement for Arachne, who had?
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Chapter 23
The next morning, Amanda Katt charged into NR-Net, the Internet-based
magazine that had published her article on Arachne. She swept through the main
office decorated in an oceanic blue, waving at the handful of people hunched
over tiny desks who formed the staff of NR-Net. She came to the office with a
plaque on the door that read "Boris Franz, Senior Editor" in black outlined
lettering.
Amanda knocked twice before pushing open the door. An overpowering
scent of coffee hit her nose. She found herself in an office smaller than the
elevator that had taken her to this floor. It held only a few office supplies like a
narrow desk that supported an iMac computer, a telephone, and heaps of paper.
A counter against one wall held a fully stocked coffee bar.
As she walked in, a wayward cloud darkened the sky outside, and cast the
unlit office in shades of gray. In the shadows beside the window, Boris Franz
lurked over the counter where he kept his coffeepot. He was a few inches shorter
than Amanda, and thick eyebrows dominated his thin face, made even bigger
due to his completely bald head. Franz gave her a nod and a wave before
returning to his conversation.
One of his fists tapped the rim of a coffee mug in time with his words as he
spoke. He seemed to be glaring at nothing, but Amanda knew he really stared at
whomever he talked to on the phone trapped between his shoulder and his ear.
"Yeah, I understand your position, my friend, but we had a deal, and I am a
customer, in case you've forgotten or my money isn't good enough anymore."
Amanda leaned against a wall to let the air-conditioned room blow the
heat of the day off her skin. Her head rested between two of the dozens of
framed magazine covers that Franz had produced in his career.
Watching Boris Franz at work always fascinated Amanda. Other people
watching him often thought he bordered on the edge of insanity, but she knew
that his nervous edge was razor-sharp. It was the outward sign of his ability to
think beyond the moment with a mind that simply worked too quickly. That same
ability had led him to transform his successful computer magazine, Computer
Mania, into an Internet-only magazine called NR-Net.
"Well, that's not my fault now, is it, and no, I know what you're gonna say.
Well, then, fine. Do whatever it takes. Yes, I will, indeed. I'm writing you the
check right now. Fine. Bye."
Franz slammed the phone down onto his desk so hard that Amanda
wouldn't have been surprised to see it snap in half. He plucked up a swizzle stick
off the counter and whipped his coffee until it foamed. "As you can see, I'm in a
bit of a quandary. It seems my web hosting service wants to shut down the NRNet website, of all things. Can't say I blame them too much, since they've been
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getting hit with Denial-of-Service attacks almost non-stop since we published that
article on Arachne. The servers have gotten overloaded. It seems that a bunch of
pro-Arachne hackers have made it their job to shut me down, and that's a real
bug in my bonnet."
Amanda slung her bag onto the back of a chair, then flopped into the seat.
"Aw, man, sorry. Didn't mean to drag you into all this."
Franz tossed the swizzle stick into a garbage can. "No need to apologize
at all, because I believe there's no such thing as bad publicity. NR-Net's been
getting more hits in the last three days than it has all year, which is great, just
great. I just have to fork over some extra cash to buy more space on the servers,
because nobody's bullying me out of my operation."
Franz flailed his arms in the air. "It's like the whole world has gone insane.
Did you hear about Martin Myers, the man who ran that financial website, Money
Talks? He jumped out a window two nights ago."
Amanda blinked at him. "What? Why?"
"No one knows. And last night, Irene Chandler - the founder of Chatcity starved herself to death. She sat in her house next to a refrigerator full of food
and died of starvation. The police found her sitting in front of her computer. Her
website had been shut down and replaced with an ad for Arachne. No one knows
why that happened, either."
Amanda leaned her chair back down onto the floor and got up to pace
around the office. Her eyes swept over the framed magazine covers decorating
the walls, but her thoughts remained on the theory she had been developing.
"Boris, there's a lot o' weird stuff goin' on. My fiancé almost dumped me over
Arachne, then somebody be tryin' to kill me over it."
She whirled to face Franz again. "I thought Arachne was just really
popular, but this thing's gone way beyond that. I mean, can a website be too
popular? We're talkin' obsession here. I think there's more to Arachne, and the
way Seer was acting, I think he's got something to hide."
At that moment, the clouds broke outside, sending light pouring over
Franz. The sun made his face glow as a grin spread across his face. "Sounds
like you've got an idea for a new article on Arachne."
Amanda leaned against the counter, where the scent of coffee rising from
the coffeepot became overpowering. "Maybe. Not crazy about goin' back in that
lion's den, but there's something freaky goin' on over there. I can smell it."
"You always did have a nose for stories." Franz slurped more coffee, then
headed back to his counter for more. As he picked up the coffeepot, he used the
cup to point at her. "Speaking of stories, have you heard anything more about
Meddick?"
Amanda nodded at the thought of the suicide case she had gone to New
York to investigate. Many times over the weekend, she had given the puzzle of
Quincy Meddick's death serious thought. She still wanted answers, and knew the
mystery lay deeper than the facts she had reported in the initial article she had
written and submitted to NR-Net.
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Amanda reached for the phone on Franz's desk. The handset still felt
warm from when Franz had held it a few minutes earlier. "No, I ain't heard
nothing. Lemme call Hal right now and see what he's got."
As the phone buzzed in her ear, Amanda caught Franz's smile while he
tilted his coffee mug at her. "You ought to trust my instincts more, Miss Katt. I
knew that story would be right up your alley."
Rather than admit he was right, Amanda just stuck her tongue out, then
turned her back on him.
Detective Hal Brooks' deep voice boomed from the phone. "Hey, Mandy, I
was just about to call you. I got a break on that case."
"For real? Okay, give it up." The earthy scent of coffee filling Franz's office
became too much for Amanda, driving her to walk over and pour herself some.
She could hear papers rustling on Hal's end as he looked over his notes.
"Well, I talked to Mrs. Meddick after you left, and the reason her husband got
mixed up with the Blessed Journey cult in the first place is because somebody
told him to. She says that Quincy had a conversation with someone online who
told him about it, and even gave him the URL for their website."
Fragrant steam erupted from the mug as Amanda filled it from the
coffeepot. She reached for some vanilla creamer while raising an eyebrow at the
phone. "Sounds like this might be a guy we should talk to."
"Not a guy. A woman. Jane-something. Mrs. Meddick couldn't remember
the name exactly, but it was just a pseudonym she used in a chat room with
Meddick, anyway. It does seem to push in the direction that Meddick was
persuaded to join the cult, and that'll make a charge stick if I can find them. I'm
also trying to find out who hacked Jabberwocky's website. The hacker who made
the Blessed Journey website is probably a member of the cult."
The coffee burned Amanda's lips, but tasted good enough to bring a smile
to her face. She gave Franz a nod of appreciation, then returned to her
conversation. "Well, I been doing searches, and the Blessed Journey cult still
ain't turned up nowhere. You know, the other members of the cult might've killed
themselves, too."
"I thought of that. I've got the word out all over the country. If anyone else
kills themselves the same way Meddick did, I'll know. I tell ya, Mandy, this is
turning into one humdinger of a case. I mean, it looks like Meddick was talked
into joining this cult, which talked him into committing suicide through a website.
If that turns out to be true, we can get these guys on manslaughter, maybe even
murder. But I ain't lookin' forward to standing in front of a jury and explaining how
somebody was killed by a website."
Amanda leaned over the counter to add more sugar to her coffee. "I bet
Senator Price and his anti-Internet flunkies would love it. Uh, I hate to ask, but
with all this stuff on Meddick, I don't suppose you had any time to check on my
dad?"
The smile disappeared from his voice, replaced by Hal's stern rumble. "I
haven't forgotten him, sunshine, and I never will. But all my leads have dried up."
Amanda tried to smile to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "Hey,
no problem. Rome wasn't built in no day, right? I'll let you get back to work."
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"Anytime. You know I'm here for ya."
The smile became real as she nodded. "Yeah, I do, Hal. Thanks."
Amanda hung up with one hand and tipped her mug over her mouth to
drain it completely. As the last drop cooled on her tongue, she dumped the mug
into a pan of soapy water. "Boris, we ain't got nothin' solid yet, but I'll write up
what we got and send up an update."
Boris Franz came up from his desk, smacking a rolled-up newspaper
against his hand. His widened eyes caught the light, making his face sparkle.
"Excellent, excellent. Amanda Katt, you are truly amazing in the way you make
me wonder why I hire any other writers at all."
"Because you got a magazine to run." She leaned over the desk, stuffed
her writing utensils back into her bag, and yanked the straps up her arm onto her
shoulder. "And I'm gonna let you get back to it. I'll call if I hear something."
She left Franz's office, still thinking about the Meddick case. It looked
more and more like his suicide had been a direct result of the Blessed Journey
cult's influence. If Detective Brooks could track the cult down, he could prove that
the cult had influenced Meddick to kill himself. It might not even have been
intentional, but the end result was the same as if they had set Meddick on fire
themselves. Lots of false prophets led their flock to death, like the Jonestown cult
in 1978, but Amanda wouldn't let Meddick's suicide go unpunished. Her mission
in life had always been justice. She would get to the bottom of it, and make the
culprits pay.
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Chapter 24
Leaving Franz's office, Amanda crossed the parking lot under a patchwork
of light breaking through clouds overhead. The air had grown thick with humidity
in anticipation of a summer storm. In New York, Amanda had hated rain, but here
in Phoenix she welcomed it. The normally oppressive heat had already broken in
submission, and the temperature would drop further when the rain began to fall.
Amanda still felt better when she had entered the air-conditioned interior
of her car, and headed across town to Lesley's apartment. She wanted to see if
he was feeling any better. He had been complaining of a headache and other
problems ever since they had visited the museum on Saturday. She had thought
it was just stress at first, but it had grown more serious over time. She hoped it
had passed by now, but she had brought along a thermos of chicken soup, just in
case.
The door opened soon after knocking, but one look at Lesley made her
excitement dim.
Lesley hunched under a blanket draped over his shoulders, and blinked at
her with swollen eyes. His whole body shuddered before he could murmur, "Hi,
Mandy. Come on in."
Amanda winced as she came towards him. "Aw, baby, you don't look so
good."
Lesley kissed her on the cheek, and she could feel his teeth chattering
behind his lips. As he pulled away, his face tightened into a grimace. "Yeah, I
don't feel too hot, either."
She stepped past him into the apartment, which she noted with
satisfaction had been restored to its usual neatness. The air smelled clean and
familiar to her again, even carrying the faint scent of paint and solvents that came
with his work. Walking across the carpet without stepping over empty Powwow
Cola cans or socks with graying soles made Amanda feel at home again. It
seemed as if Lesley's behavior had gone back to normal, but his physical
condition still worried her. The only mess came from the bottles of pills, vitamins,
and cold remedies lined up on his coffee table next to a small pyramid of used
Kleenex tissues.
"You mean you don't feel no better?"
Lesley shut the door, then shuffled over to his couch. "No, actually feel a
bit worse. I must have caught the flu or something. My head feels like it's gonna
split open, I can't stop shaking, and I'm so nauseous that I can't keep anything
down."
As he flopped into the couch, Amanda curled up alongside him with the
thermos cradled in her lap. "Aw, poor baby. Can't even keep down some chicken
soup? Made it myself, old family recipe"
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Lesley put his arm around her shoulders in a tight hug, and she could feel
his body twitch against her. The blanket on his shoulders glided down to envelop
her as well. "I'll try it, thanks."
As she hugged him back, Amanda noted that his sculpting supplies had
been arranged in rows on his worktable again. Pencil outlines of a man and
woman embracing traced across his canvas, brought to life by the first strokes of
paint across the top. "Hey, you started painting again."
Lesley bowed in thick coughs for a few seconds before he could speak
again. "Yeah, I managed to get a lot done without Arachne distracting me
anymore."
Amanda widened her eyes. "For real? You got it under control?"
He raised his head gradually, then managed to smile at her. "Yeah,
unplugged the phone line to the computer and haven't been back since."
Amanda wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his
chest to breathe in the scent of his cologne. "I'm proud of you, Les. And sorry I
got you on that computer in the first place."
She felt his warm hand brush her hair in a caress. "Shhh, don't worry
about it, Mandy. It's not your fault. I don't know why I let myself get caught up in
that stupid website."
Amanda raised her head to look up into his gentle eyes. "I'm glad you
didn't. I'm tellin' you, people are gettin' crazy over that thing. I'm glad you ain't
mixed up in it no more."
"Me, too. And glad you straightened me out." Lesley kissed her hair again,
then braced his hands on the back of his couch. He seemed very old to Amanda
as he eased himself up to his feet. "Now you know I'm sick, because all I can
think about right now is sleep. And if I've caught some sort of bug, I don't want
you to catch it. So you'd better go."
Amanda took his hand in hers as she rose to his side. "Okay, but I want
you to take it easy. And if things get worse, call a doctor."
He rested his hands on her arms, and she could feel them tremble,
despite his attempts to look strong. "I will. Thanks, sweetie."
Amanda headed out after one last glance over her shoulder. Lesley had
picked up the thermos she had left on his couch and limped over to the kitchen
where she assumed he would pour it out into a bowl or something. Even though
he looked pretty bad, Amanda felt more secure knowing he was away from
Arachne. It seemed that the more she learned about Arachne, the more
dangerous it seemed.
She caught herself and laughed as she skipped down the outside
staircase to the ground. She couldn't believe Arachne had gotten to her this
badly. It did seem to be bringing out some unusual obsessions in people, but it
didn't seem possible for a website to be dangerous.
Then again, she thought, tell that to Quincy Meddick.
The moment the door clicked shut behind Amanda, the smile melted off
Lesley Grant's face. The aroma of chicken soup from the open thermos in his
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hands made his mouth water, but he felt too nauseous to eat. Lesley decided to
try it later when he felt stronger, maybe after he got some sleep. He set the
thermos down on his kitchen counter, then headed back into the living room.
As the soles of Lesley's feet burned from scuffing across the carpet, he
realized with a quiver that he felt better. His headache began to draw back into
his skull, and the convulsions of his stomach weakened. Lesley released his
breath in a sigh. He guessed Amanda's visit had been more soothing than he
had expected. Now he felt like he could eat the soup. But as soon as he took a
step towards the kitchen, the pain returned. Lesley grunted and stumbled back
while holding his rumbling gut. The blanket around his arms dropped, leaving him
shivering from chills racing down his body. And the pain eased.
Lesley gasped for breath as he regained his footing. This couldn't be right.
He shouldn't be having such violent swings of his symptoms. He needed to call a
doctor.
As Lesley turned himself to the phone on his desk, he realized that he
stood right next to his computer. The machine stared back at him with the dull
gray eye of its monitor. A thought popped into Lesley's head that he almost
dismissed immediately, but stuck in a crevice of his thoughts and refused to be
dislodged.
Lesley took another step towards his computer. And another. With each
inch closer, his symptoms melted away. The pain throbbing in his head eased,
like air released slowly from an over-inflated balloon. The cramp of nausea in his
stomach softened. The spasms in his muscles faded in intensity, like a chill
banished from the glow of a warm fire. By the time Lesley settled into the chair in
front of his computer, he felt almost normal again.
His blanket draped over his shoulders, tickling his arms and neck like
delicate fingers. As Lesley stared at his dark reflection in the computer's monitor,
he wondered what was happening to him. Lesley felt like he had a cold or flu, but
the symptoms of a real cold wouldn't decrease just by getting near his computer.
He tried to dismiss that idea as his own imagination, but it didn't work. The fact
remained that he felt better now when he came closer to his computer. He
leaned his head against his monitor's screen to cool his cheek on the glass, and
tried to find other ways of explaining it. It had to be the sunlight filtering through
the window or a placebo effect or the joy of seeing Amanda again, anything but
the computer itself.
Lesley raised his eyes to the thermos of soup still on his counter. Hunger
cramped his stomach, and he desperately wanted to eat some of it, but had to
wait a little while. He needed the strength to cross the room first.
With Amanda gone and the pain fading, Lesley could relax and consider
the question of why. Why was he so sick, and why did it go away when he
reached his computer? He had no idea.
Lesley knew he lied to himself. He didn't understand why, but he knew the
cause. In his heart, he knew that if he returned to Arachne, he would be healthy
again. He knew this because he had felt this sick before. The pain, nausea, and
tremors all brought him back to three years ago, when he had struggled through
withdrawal escaping from his alcoholism. Lesley Grant felt exactly like he was
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coming down from an addictive high, but he hadn't touched a drink stronger than
Powwow Cola in years.
But he felt the same draw towards Arachne that he had once felt towards
a glass of beer. The desire hunched in his mind like a ravenous animal, stalking
through his thoughts, waiting for the moment when he would let down his guard
to strike. Only sheer will kept him from switching on his computer and returning to
Arachne, and he resisted only because he knew it would be the end. Something
whispered in his ear that if he returned to Arachne, the pain would end. But that
same voice also told him that if he ever went back, he would never escape again.
Lesley closed his eyes and bit down on his lower lip as hard as he could,
drawing up pain that distracted him from his hunger. His stomach cramped so
hard that he slumped over, and the blanket around his shoulders tumbled off. He
left it on the floor. It didn't help, anyway. He had to concentrate if he wanted to
make it through the night. Lesley had to hold out to get his life back, to rebuild his
career, and more importantly, get better for Amanda. He couldn't let her down
again.
The sunlight falling through his window died away, crowded out by the
rumbling clouds forming in the sky. When the light melted into a gray fog,
raindrops began to drum the glass. As the hours wore on, the voice of temptation
whispered over and over, so loudly that he felt like screaming, but so softly that
only Lesley Grant could hear it.
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Chapter 25
As leaves crunched beneath her feet, Dr. Beth Nolan's eyes searched the
faces of everyone in the park. None of them looked like John, but since she had
never seen John, Beth couldn't say for sure. All she knew about him was that he
was tall, had blond hair and blue eyes, and that she loved him with all her heart.
Their long talks every night filled her life with meaning, and the thought of finally
meeting him face-to-face made her stomach flutter.
As she moved through the darkness of the Seattle night into pools of light
cast by lamps, Beth imagined what she must look like. Hopefully, she looked
good, considering she had spent all afternoon preparing. Beth had gotten a
complete makeover at the salon, and spent hours shopping until she found the
perfect dress. Although it seemed a bit too warm for a summer night like this, she
hoped the discomfort would be worth it. It hung longer than she usually wore, in a
beautiful shade of red like a rose, with light ruffles around the shoulders and
waist. More importantly, it hugged her curves, which she had been toning every
night in the gym since John had proposed their meeting two weeks ago. Her
fingers almost crushed the white rose John had sent to her at the radio station
during work that morning, and she knew she must have been blushing like a
schoolgirl.
For a moment, Beth imagined what she would tell herself if someone like
her had called at her radio program or sent an e-mail to her website. Beth knew
her response would be that she was a crazy, lovesick loon, falling for some guy
she had met over the Internet. How could anyone build a real relationship with
someone they had never seen? There were too many ways for people to hide
things about themselves on the Internet, is what she would say. E-mail and chat
rooms are no substitute for human contact. The anonymity of a text-only medium
made it dangerously easy to reveal things about yourself, and emotions ran too
high to be trustworthy. And going out in the late evening by yourself to meet this
stranger in the park without telling anyone where you were going? That was just
madness. Beth Nolan's loyal fans would have loved hearing her trash that
woman for the idiot she was.
But, for once, Beth Nolan was that woman. She knew all the risks and how
crazy she was being, but somehow it didn't matter. For the first time in her life,
Beth felt that love didn't always make sense. Sometimes, you had to trust your
heart and see where it took you.
As she crossed a cobblestone sidewalk towards the lake where the
meeting would take place, Beth found herself surprised at her own sentimentality.
It certainly wasn't the kind of thing her critics and fans expected to find beating in
the heart of Dr. Beth Nolan, also known as the Heartbreaker.
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Dr. Beth had always preached that love stories were a myth, and that a
smart woman kept control of her emotions. Any woman who let herself get
carried away would get carried to the dump, that was one of her favorite
quotations. You have to break hearts to heal them, that was another. Her tough,
no-nonsense attitude had brought her nationwide success as a relationship
counselor. Her books always hit the New York Times best-seller lists, her radio
program had become a huge hit in syndication across the country, and her
Heartbreaker website was one of the top ten websites on the Net, number one
for relationships and romantic matters. She had millions of fans around the world
that loved to hear her brutal and uncompromising advice to those who asked for
help. Even when she got married a year ago, Beth prided herself on marrying for
the right reasons of convenience, personal compatibility, and financial equality,
not out of some outdated notions of a fairy-tale romance.
Yes, Dr. Beth Nolan, a.k.a. the Heartbreaker, was a practical, intelligent,
and successful woman.
So why was she here now, sitting down at a bench alongside clusters of
juniper bushes, waiting for the mysterious man of her dreams to step into her
life?
As she sniffed lightly at John's rose, Beth thought that Arachne was
probably to blame. If she hadn't gotten hooked on Arachne, she never would
have met John in the first place.
Beth sat watching moonlight ripple on the waters of the lake, using the
minutes that ticked by to reflect on John's wonderful qualities. He was so
eloquent in the words he typed, so imaginative, always attentive and kind, truly
caring about her feelings. When she had a hard day at work, she could always
depend on him to be there in Arachne's chat rooms, no matter what hour of the
day or night, to comfort her. That was kind of odd. She had asked him why he
always seemed to be online, and he told her that he worked at home for an
Internet Service Provider, so being online was his job. She supposed that made
sense.
Beth let out a sigh just before she heard footsteps crackling on the grass
beside her bench. Her stomach flipped over as she trained her eyes onto the
dark form moving through the trees towards her. She tried to make out who
approached, but the person seemed to be avoiding the lanterns hanging nearby,
remaining in shadow. Only when the final footstep came did the stranger move
into the light.
Joy flushed through Beth as she rose to her feet to greet John for the first
time. She saw his body first, clad in a nicely tailored suit. The fact that his tie
hung loose around his unbuttoned collar was the only thing that marred his look,
but also gave him a roguish air. Her eyes focused on the newcomer's narrow
face and hard gray eyes. The eyes of her husband.
For a moment, Beth became dizzy with confusion, then the reality of her
situation dawned on her. "Isaac? What are you doing here?"
Isaac took a few more steps towards the bench with his arms tight against
his sides. His voice came out low and deep. "What am I doing here? What are
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you doing here? In the middle of the night, in the park, sitting on a bench,
wearing a brand-new dress and holding a flower that I never gave you?"
Beth quickly lowered the flower out of sight behind her back, and glanced
around herself. She still couldn't see anyone else around who looked like John.
She had to get rid of her husband before he arrived.
Beth gave Isaac her warmest smile and shrugged as she worked out an
excuse. "I just felt like taking some time for myself, that's all. I had a rough day. I
bought the flower to cheer me up. The dress, I just got it for an appearance on
The Idaho Morning Show next week, and thought I'd wear it out once to see how
I like it. A better question would be how did you know I would be here?"
Isaac's left arm came up, and Beth saw the papers clutched in his hand for
the first time. His jaw tightened to one side as he held up the paper before him
and began to read aloud. "'My darling John, of course I will meet you tonight. I
will be in the park at the bench by the lake we talked about at nine o'clock. You
will know me by the flower you gave me, which I will never let go. I would do
anything to make this love of ours real, and to feel your hand on mine--'"
At the familiar words, Beth's flower tumbled from her fingers onto the
grass at her feet. When she managed to break out of the paralysis of shock, she
lunged forward and tore the paper from his hand. As she had feared, the page
contained the entire message that she had e-mailed to John only a few hours
ago.
Beth snapped her eyes up at Isaac as she screamed, "How dare you read
my personal e-mail, how dare you invade my privacy!"
Isaac's voice drowned out her own. "I didn't. Someone forwarded a copy
of that e-mail to my e-mailbox this afternoon, along with a few others from the
past month."
Studying the e-mail printed on the paper confirmed what he said. The "To"
field listed Isaac's e-mail address, and the subject line had the "FWD" acronym
that symbolized a message had been forwarded or copied to Isaac. Oddly
enough, the "From" field listed the e-mail address for someone called
"Jane_Doe." That meant the person who owned the Jane_Doe address had
forwarded the message, not her. She didn't recognize the name.
As she examined the puzzling email, she whispered, "Who sent you this?
Who's Jane_Doe?"
Isaac continued in a lower voice. "Never mind where it came from. I'm
more interested in what it says. Is it true? Did you write that?"
A cool breeze ruffled her skirt and caused the lake to splash up against
the bank as Beth lowered her eyes. "Yes."
"I want to know what's going on, Beth, and I want to know right now. No
more lies. No more excuses. Tell me."
Beth turned her back on her husband as she struggled to think things out.
The shock of what would have been the greatest day of her life turning into such
a nightmare overwhelmed her. She couldn't understand what Isaac was talking
about. How could this Jane person have gotten her emails? The only people who
had access to them were her and John. John wouldn't have sent them to her
husband. Why would he? Maybe Jane was John's jealous wife or girlfriend,
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although he had told her he wasn't involved with anyone. This made no sense.
She would have to talk to him about this later on.
All right, she told herself, focus. The important thing right now is to resolve
the issue with Isaac. Forget about how or why he knows about us. Focus on
getting through this. We are both intelligent people. I can make him understand.
When she faced him again, it was not as the scared and exposed wife
Isaac had startled into confession. She gave him the smile of Dr. Beth Nolan, the
Heartbreaker, expertly trained psychologist who handled relationship issues
every day. This would be no different.
"All right, Isaac. I'll tell you. I'm meeting someone. A man. His name is
John, and I love him."
Isaac stood in the shadows beyond the lamp hanging over the bench. In
the darkness, she could only make out the white of his shirt, overlapped by his tie
hanging like a noose unknotted around his neck. He remained silent, even while
Beth stared back at him waiting for him to speak.
Eventually, she decided that he wasn't going to respond. She felt
comforted by his silence, and the fact that he hadn't engaged in some
unnecessary emotional outburst. She had witnessed hundreds of scenes like
this. Dr. Beth Nolan and her husband were both intelligent people, they could get
through this with a minimum of fuss, perhaps before John showed up, so their
meeting wouldn't be ruined.
Beth brought John's white rose up and smiled as she breathed in its scent.
"I met him in a chat room on the Net, at a place called Arachne. We've been
talking for the past few weeks, and there's something about him, something
wonderful. He's kind and gentle, and so easy to talk to. He grew up in my
hometown, he likes the same movies, books, and restaurants. We're so
compatible that he's almost unreal. I fell in love with him. And last week, we
decided that it was time for us to meet and make our relationship more real."
Isaac's voice returned from the night as a barely heard whisper over the
rippling waters of the lake. "You're having an affair."
Her lips pursed in a frown. "Well, I'm disappointed at your need to put
labels on this, Isaac."
Even though she couldn't see his face clearly, she could hear his voice
deepen in anger as he growled. "You're telling me that you're meeting another
man that you're in love with, and you don't want me to call it an affair?"
The hope of resolving the situation died with his words. Beth had hoped to
avoid the stereotypical scene of confrontation, but it seemed as if Isaac was
determined to play out the role of the jealous mate. However, she refused to play
the role of the guilty adulterer.
Beth set her flower down on the bench beside her, where its petals rippled
in another passing breeze, then folded her arms over her chest. "Now, Isaac, I'd
like to go through this with a minimum of hostility. I don't think it's fair to label this
as an affair just yet. John and I haven't met yet or even talked on the phone
before. We're not rushing into this. I do feel things for John, but we both agreed
to reserve judgment on what we do next until we actually spent some time
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together in real life, to see if the feelings still hold true. If they don't, we go our
separate ways. If they do, then we'll go from there."
A twig or branch cracked under Isaac's heel as he stepped further into the
light. The lamp swept away the shadows to show her the hard glare of his eyes,
which glittered more than the shine off his receding hairline. Beth felt the heat of
his anger more than the warm breezes of the night.
"If you wanted someone else," Isaac whispered, "why didn't you just tell
me so we could get a divorce and end this?"
She heard the muted clicks of someone walking down the cobblestone
sidewalk, and felt a moment of panic before she saw a jogger running through
the park. The man glanced in her direction for a moment, frowned, then
continued on his way.
Beth turned her attention back to Isaac, and gave him her most reassuring
smile. "Now, Isaac, you're not really listening, are you? I told you, this wasn't
something I planned. I don't necessarily 'want someone else,' as you put it. I'm
quite satisfied with our marriage, and I would be willing to stay if things don't work
out with John. Let's not rush into things just yet."
"So what am I now, just a backup?" Isaac's voice carried across the lake
to echo through the trees on the other side.
She winced as his scream rang in her ears, then made an effort to keep
her voice low when she responded. "Of course not. But we have to think of my
career. How do you think it would look for someone of my reputation as an expert
in relationships to get a divorce? It wouldn't be good, would it? I was thinking
more along the lines of an unpublicized separation, kept out of the press, of
course."
Isaac rolled his head back to look up at the moon hanging over their
heads like a solemn eye watching from the heavens. "Is that all you can think
about at a time like this? Your career? What about me? How am I supposed to
feel about this?"
Beth rolled her left wrist over to check her watch. It was already ten
minutes past the time she and John had agreed to meet. Her patience with Isaac
had reached its limit. She straightened and clasped her hands over her lap. "All
right, it's obvious that you're not interested in discussing this rationally, so I'm not
prepared to continue this conversation any further. I would like you to leave now,
Isaac. I'll see you when I get home."
Isaac bowed his head again, casting long shadows over his face from his
nose and brow. They joined with the darkness that obscured his body below the
waist, making him a pillar of shadows with only his chest and head visible. "It's
always about logic with you, isn't it? You never feel anything. I'm surprised you
had enough emotions inside you to fall in love with anybody. You certainly never
fell in love with me, just how good my name would look on your press releases."
"Isaac, stop this childish sulking and go home."
Isaac didn't seem to hear her, and never even moved, except his mouth
formed words. "Jane was right all along. She told me this would happen, but I
didn't believe her, not even when I saw the e-mails, not until I came here."
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Beth heard the name again, and despite her desire to end the argument,
couldn't resist blurting out, "Who's Jane? How did she get my emails?"
His head raised now, fixing his eyes on Beth's, but she saw a vacancy
inside them, as if he wasn't really there at all. "I don't know who she is. I don't
know how she got those e-mails. All I know is that I met her in a chat room at
Arachne, and that she told the truth when she said she wanted to help me. She
told me you were wrong for me, she told me you were cheating on me, and she
gave me the proof. And she told me what I needed to do."
The tone in his voice caused something to freeze inside Beth as she
realized something was wrong. Her ears strained to hear footsteps or
conversation around her, but the park had grown strangely silent, except for the
hiss of the wind running through trees and the waves lapping at the shore of the
lake. She was alone with Isaac.
She moved back a step, but fought the urge to run that tightened the
muscles in her legs. Part of her refused to believe that Isaac could be any kind of
danger, but another more primal part of her made fear tingle along her scalp to
the back of her neck. "Now, Isaac, let's not be hasty about this. We can work this
out."
"No, we can't." Isaac's arm raised out of the shadows at his waist. She
saw what he had been holding in his hand during their entire conversation.
It gleamed in the light falling over its length, which somehow made its gray
metal surface even darker. The muzzle of the pistol seemed like an extension of
his hand, a steel finger pointing at her in accusation. Beth never realized she had
frozen at the sight of it until Isaac's finger began to tighten and she wondered
why she wasn't running. By the time she whirled around on one of the heels of
her brand-new pumps, Dr. Beth heard a loud pop, and even before she felt
something hot punch into her back, she knew it was too late.
Dr. Beth Nolan died of injuries sustained from four gunshot wounds to the
chest. Her husband, Isaac Nolan, confessed to the murder to authorities, and
was charged with first-degree murder.
According to his confession, Isaac Nolan claimed to have been enraged
by discoveries of his wife having an affair with a man she met on the Internet.
Isaac Nolan claimed he confronted her in the park where the couple was
supposedly going to meet, and shot her in a jealous frenzy. His defense tried to
plead temporary insanity, but Isaac Nolan refused to plea-bargain.
In a press conference the next morning, police investigating the case said
they found several e-mails on Dr. Beth's computer suggesting an affair with a
man known only as "John," but that they had been unable to find him. Inquiries
into the Internet Service Provider called Indigo Internet where he supposedly
worked concluded that the ISP did not exist, and no other clues to his identity
found in the e-mails proved useful.
The scandal of Beth Nolan's alleged affair had a powerful impact on her
fans. Dr. Nolan's press secretary released a statement that a replacement for the
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Heartbreaker radio show would not be sought out, and that the Heartbreaker
website would not be updated again in the near future.
Arachne took its place.
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Chapter 26
Thunder shook the windows of Lesley's Grant's apartment like the roar of
a caged beast. Lightning flashed soon after, drenching light into the crawlspace
under Lesley's desk where he shivered alone. His hands burrowed deeper into
the carpet, clinging to its rough fibers to keep from digging his nails into his skin
and tearing it free.
Lesley Grant had never wanted a drink more in his entire life than he did
as he crouched on his living room floor. It wasn't the drink he needed as much as
relief. The craving made his lifelong hunger for alcohol into a mere tickle
compared to the longing he had for Arachne. It writhed inside his mind like a
worm too large for his skull, and made invisible insects scamper over his body.
More than the agony of withdrawal, Lesley couldn't bear the terror. He
knew what happened to him wasn't normal. He couldn't be going through
withdrawal over a website, any more than he could suffer from lack of television
or movies. Even if he could, Lesley couldn't believe it could happen so quickly
and powerfully, but the withdrawal he suffered felt too strong to be all in his mind.
The insistence of the urge to return to his computer defied all his logic.
Lesley ached to call Amanda or someone else for help, but they would
think he had gone crazy. He had to fight this alone. If he could just make it
through one more night, Lesley would beat this. He knew it in his heart as much
as he knew Arachne controlled him. If he just huddled under the desk, near the
computer that eased his pain, then he would be free. But even that bizarre
remedy helped less and less as the hours crawled on.
Water. The only moisture in Lesley's mouth came from blood on his
cracked lips. A bottle of Arrowhead water waited on the shelf of his refrigerator,
nice and cold. Only a few feet away, but right now going to get it seemed as
pleasant a concept as trying to jump across the Grand Canyon. It not only meant
trying to get up and walk, but also leaving the vicinity of his computer, which
would be painful enough. The last trip to the bathroom to vomit had been so
unbearable that he had resorted to throwing up in the garbage can by his desk
instead of leaving the nest he had created. His suffering only grew worse without
his computer's mysterious influence.
But dehydration didn't make it any easier.
The storm grumbled as Lesley reached out from under the desk to get a
firmer grip. Tufts of carpet fiber ripped free, but he still managed to pull himself
out into the open. He lay only a few inches away from his computer, but already
his headache swelled in his skull. Lesley clenched his teeth to keep going.
He moved slowly to keep from jarring his throbbing head too much as he
eased himself up to his feet. When Lesley stood upright again, a bolt of lightning
flashed outside his window at the same time as a stab of pain ripped through his
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head. The thunder joined with Lesley's scream as his knees buckled. He toppled
over onto the nearest wall, and he could hear a crack from the paint fracturing on
impact. His teeth rattled and continued to rattle as he leaned there, gripping his
temples with both hands.
As his breath came in sharp gasps that convulsed his whole body, Lesley
growled, "Go."
In that moment, it became about more than getting a glass of water. It
became about control. When he had exorcised the ghosts of his alcoholism,
Lesley had learned to prize every victory, no matter how small. He still had his
mind and his body, and both cried out from thirst. By getting water, Lesley would
prove that his mind could overcome his body.
Clutching his boiling stomach, Lesley fixed his gaze on the refrigerator
across the kitchen. Only a few steps away. He could make it. Lesley gritted his
teeth against the crawling of his skin, and hurled one foot out. It planted on the
floor, jarring his whole body from the impact, but gave him support as he shoved
himself away from the wall. Lesley took another step, holding out his arms for
balance like a tightrope walker. He lurched into the kitchen. His bare feet numbed
on the tile, and threatened to slide out from under him. He gave up his balance to
let himself collapse against the fridge door. It puffed and buckled from his weight
until he slid down onto the floor.
Lesley lay there, feeling the tiles grow warm from his fevered skin, yet still
cool enough to dry the sweat on his arms and chest. His muscles began to
spasm, forcing his body to curl up into a fetal position. He struggled to get his
arm to reach up for the door of the refrigerator. His fingers skipped off the handle
a few times, but finally hung on long enough to pull it open.
Air pouring down from the open refrigerator felt as soothing as the flow of
a mountain stream. He bathed in it, comforted despite the throb of his skull
threatening to burst open. It gave him enough strength to reach up for the bottle
on the lower shelf. His throat ached from the sparkling of clear water inside. The
condensation on the glass moistened his fingertips as his hand encircled the
bottle.
Another jolt of pain stabbed his neck, making his body arch in torment. His
arm struck the bottle. It toppled over, knocking against a jar of strawberry jam on
the way down. The metal grating they rested on chimed like a bell. Both bottles
crashed in front of Lesley's head, but the jar shattered on impact. Water,
strawberries, and chunks of broken glass hit his face like the rain pounding the
outside of his window.
Lesley could only lie frozen in shock as something wet ran down his
cheeks. He could feel warm blood oozing from the gashes on his face, yet the
horror of his own failure disturbed him more. He had fought the battle and lost.
He knew he could get more water from the kitchen faucet, but there seemed to
be no point.
As he lay staring down at a puddle of jam mixing with water to form purple
rivers on his kitchen floor, Lesley asked why. Why was he fighting the urge to
return to Arachne? What was so bad about it that he needed to suffer such pain
rather than submit to it? Lesley had fought his alcoholism all his life because of
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the damage it did to his health, the money it exhausted, and the loss of control.
But Arachne didn't hurt him physically, cost him only twenty dollars a month, and
gave him so much joy. Memories of the art, music, and beauty of Arachne
returned to him, but the thought of Jane Doe floated to the surface above it all.
The hours he had spent talking to Jane had been wonderful, like talking to
an old friend even though they had just met. He wondered where she was now,
what she was doing, and if she thought of him. He realized that by leaving
Arachne, he had left Jane Doe, and that hurt him almost as much as the physical
aches of his body.
No. This couldn't be right. He had left Amanda behind in his obsession. He
loved her. This had to stop. But all fears burrowed deeper into his consciousness
until he couldn't reach them anymore. In the shadow of the storm, a new
revelation became clear to him.
Lesley touched a finger to his forehead and drew it away to see the red
streak of blood on the tip.
"It's not worth it," Lesley whispered, and the sky growled with thunder as if
in reply.
Just the thought of submission seemed to bring an inner peace with it.
Relief, enough for Lesley to rise up onto his feet again, and stagger back to his
computer. With each impact of his bare foot on the kitchen floor, then the carpet,
Lesley felt stronger. When he reached down and touched the computer to switch
it on, he felt a pop of static electricity that energized him even more.
By the time Arachne filled his monitor, Lesley's tears had washed the
strawberry jam and blood from his face. As he had known it would, the mere
sight of the main page caused all the pain and longing to vanish, leaving only joy.
Lesley knew where he needed to go. He moved as if in a dream to guide his
mouse pointer towards Arachne's links, which guided him to the Games section.
Once there, he found a chat room open and waiting for him, and the familiar
nickname in its Guest bar. Seconds after he entered, text flowed in the chat
window.
<JANE-DOE> Hey, there, Golden-Boy. I've been waiting all day for ya.
Where've you been, sweet stuff?
Lesley rubbed under his nose, sniffled, then began to type a response.
<LESLEYG> I just had to go away for a while. To think.
<JANE-DOE> Aw, I gotcha. Everybody needs a little alone time,
especially after what you've been through. I heard on the electronic grapevine
about your girlfriend. Tough break, but she had it coming.
The urge to defend Amanda came to Lesley, then slipped away as he tried
to focus on it. In its place came another thought that seemed more comfortable to
him as he expressed it.
<LESLEYG> Yes, I suppose she did.
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Dizziness swept over Lesley in a wave that threatened to wash him away.
He gripped the keyboard of his computer, and it held him in place until the tide of
nausea had faded. When he felt more under control, Lesley guided his quivering
fingers back to the keys to type.
<LESLEYG> Something strange happened to me over the past few days.
<JANE-DOE> Lemme guess, Les. You tried to ditch Arachne and got the
screaming heebie-jeebies, right? It's okay, just forget all about it. All that matters
is that you're back, right?
<LESLEYG> Right.
<JANE-DOE> And you won't ever try to quit Arachne again, right? Tell me
you won't ever leave me again.
Lesley allowed his hands to move on their own, typing his response. It felt
good not to have to struggle anymore.
<LESLEYG> I won't ever leave you again.
<JANE-DOE> Promise?
<LESLEYG> I promise.
<JANE-DOE> Good boy, Les. You belong to us now, Les-Man. And we
won't ever let you go.
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Chapter 27
Amanda Katt couldn't let go of what she had learned about Arachne as
she hurried to Lesley Grant's apartment door Tuesday afternoon. As she crossed
the parking lot, it took a lot to keep her mind off her news and onto where she
was going. Her mind kept wandering as she navigated around the miniature
rivers hissing across the asphalt and into drains.
The previous night's storm had only recently died out, and gray clouds
shuffled across the sky as if proud of the day's work. Some bowed away to allow
the sun to reclaim the Earth, and its oppressive heat already worked to evaporate
much of the rain. The dry air made water evaporate quickly in Phoenix. Amanda
knew that in an hour or so there would be no hint that the blue skies had ever
been hidden. For now, she enjoyed these lingering moments where Phoenix was
no longer a paved-over desert, but a city rich with life.
Droplets of water tapped all around her as they fell from rooftops and tree
branches, some even striking her neck and forehead. She hugged her tote bag to
keep it from flying as she leapt over a rippling pool, then bounded up the
staircase to the front door of Lesley's apartment. She knocked on the door, and
the metal knocker rattled in time with the pounding of her fist.
A moment later, the door began to creep open, but Amanda's impatience
drove her to throw herself through it. "Les, you ain't gonna believe the morning I
had. I spent the whole day running all over and makin' phone calls trying to find
something, anything on Seer, and guess what I found? Zero, zip, nothin'."
She took a moment to glance around Lesley's apartment, and found it just
as clean as the night before. His painting supplies lay aligned in neat rows, the
mountain of used tissues and medicine bottles had vanished, and even his dining
room chairs stood at an equal distance from the elegant dining table. The
laughter of children playing on the street outside his window drifted through he
apartment. Instead of garbage or body odor, the spicy aroma of hot peppers and
cheese hung in the air. It came from an open box of Amigo Burrito fast-food
nachos nestled on his computer table. Things seemed to be back to normal.
Amanda headed over to the desk to pop one of the nachos into her mouth.
Feeling its crunch yield to a warm softness in her mouth made her taste buds
glow, reminding her that she had skipped lunch. Amanda dug her fingers into the
box again for another nacho. Over the rattle of the front door as Lesley put back
the locks, Amanda continued, "Get this. Seer's biography says he worked for
some major websites, but all of 'em pointed me back to his first position at
Screwball, and to hear them talk, they just hired him when he fell out of the sky.
They said he used to work for an ISP called Indigo Internet two years ago, but
that place never existed. And get this, all his records are dead ends. No birth
certificate on file in New York or Chicago, no credit records past two years, and
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no criminal records, either. Heck, he don't even have a driver's license, as far as I
can tell. A mystery man running a mystery website. Weird."
The front door's chain rattled as it slid home behind her while Amanda
plucked another tortilla chip out of the Amigo Burrito box. It dripped chunks of
ground beef that she caught in her palm and slurped up. "Only good thing that
came out o' my research was that some guy named Truman Bishop slapped
Arachne with a lawsuit a few months ago. I think it might be worth checkin' him
out to find out why."
Amanda halted her speech when she noticed something red out of the
corner of her eye. The angle where she stood gave her a view of a huge red
stain reaching across the kitchen floor. No, it wasn't a stain. Lumps gave a
scarlet lake the appearance of a miniature island floating on a sea of white tiles.
"Man, Les, what happened in there?"
When Lesley turned away from the door to face her, she got her first good
look at him since coming in. His apartment had been tidied up, but he had not.
His hair hung loose over his face again, but she could see dozens of tiny scabs
encircling a white bandage taped to his left cheek, a mountain of white gauze
capped with an encrusted stain of dried blood.
Amanda swallowed the food in her mouth, then whispered, "Forget the
kitchen. What happened to you?"
Lesley traced the bandage with a finger, and the edges pushed up as he
smiled. "Dropped a bottle of strawberry jam in the kitchen. Some of the glass hit
me in the face. I'll be okay. In fact, never felt better."
Amanda felt a little relief watching him smile. "Well, you look pretty
messed up, Les. You get over your cold, too?"
The words caught in her mouth, leaving it hanging open. For a moment,
she could only stare at the image printed on the front of his T-shirt. Then she
blurted, "Where'd you get that?"
Lesley's hand caressed the logo of Arachne printed on his chest while he
shuffled across the living room in his bare feet. "I ordered it last night, came this
morning by Federal Express. It's cool, huh?"
Amanda's mouth clamped shut as Lesley moved past her towards the
kitchen. When he had passed, Amanda tried to find words, but they never came.
She felt as if she had walked into the wrong apartment or someone had replaced
the Lesley she knew with an impostor. As he passed his desk again, her eye
caught on Arachne's logo on the web page displayed on his monitor. The light
rising off the screen discolored her hands a deep green, but she wasn't sure if
the queasy ache forming in her stomach came from that or her discovery. "Les, I
thought you were gonna quit Arachne for good."
In the kitchen, the hum of Lesley's refrigerator increased as he opened it.
He ducked his head inside and his voice came out hollow from its interior. "I was,
but I got over it. It's not so bad. Arachne's a lot of fun. You should try it."
Amanda pressed her hand against her forehead, then crossed the room to
get a closer look at his work area. It wasn't right after all. The tools had been put
in order, but Lesley's cover illustration hadn't been changed at all since she last
saw it.
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Amanda faced Lesley again, ready to voice her concerns, but her breath
choked off at the can of Kassner Light beer in his hand. He approached her with
his finger under the tab. Her eyes widened until they ached as he popped the
tab, spraying a fine mist into the air tainted with a sour odor. She watched the rim
of the aluminum can shimmer in the light as it turned. Lesley's mouth opened
while his arm curled up, and his head went back.
As Lesley raised the can to his lips, Amanda ripped her tote bag off her
shoulder, hurled it to the floor, and lunged at him. Both her hands wrapped
around the can, and tore it from his grip. Beer spilled out onto her trembling
hands, freezing her skin.
Lesley knitted his brow at her over his arm, still outstretched and curled as
if holding an invisible can. "Hey, what're you doing?"
"What am I doing?" Amanda thrust the can up at him, splashing more beer
out onto her arm, where it drizzled off to stain the carpet at her feet. "What are
you doing?"
Lesley's arm came down while he continued to frown at her. "I was just
gonna have a drink. Why, did you want some?"
Amanda slammed the can down onto the kitchen counter. Its base
crumpled from the impact. More beer squirted out to form hissing pools on the
Formica. "No, I don't, Les, and neither do you. Have you forgotten you're a
recovering alcoholic?"
Lesley's eyebrows came together and the bandage on his cheek twitched.
"No, I haven't."
Amanda braced a hand on her hip as he moved towards her. "Well,
apparently so, 'cause you're drinking a beer. What's up with you? As long as I've
known you, I never seen you so much as touch alcohol."
"Maybe I just got over it." Lesley's hair draped his face in shadows as he
leaned over to reach the can.
Amanda yanked it out of his grasp before Lesley could reach it. His hand
lunged at her again, but she dodged around him to step over to the kitchen sink.
There, she spun the can over and dumped out its contents.
The can gurgled as it threw up into the sink. As the beer sizzled down the
drain, Lesley dove to catch the beer can, but by then the last drops trickled out.
Lesley stood over the vanishing pool of bubbling brown liquid, then angled his
head at her.
His eyes pierced through a curtain of his long blond hair. "Why'd you do
that?"
"Because you can't." She glared up at him without flinching as he loomed
almost a foot over her. "Lesley, you need help. Something's wrong with you."
Lesley turned away from her to lean against the wall by his kitchen
window. The affectionate hand of a tree branch stroked the glass. Its leaves
broke up the warm rays of the afternoon sun into tiny spots of light that danced
over Lesley's arms as he folded them over his chest.
The cries of the children playing outside filtered through Lesley's words as
he murmured, "I don't know what you're talking about."
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Amanda could see the pain in his face, even through the uncombed hair
draped over it, and whispered, "Yes, you do. You know what's goin' on. What's
up?"
He never answered. Amanda came over to him, and her sandals clapped
lightly on the tiles until she came close enough to look deeply into his soft eyes.
The tree branches outside caught a breeze, as if waving in sympathy.
Amanda touched his forearm, and could feel the muscle tense underneath
his damp skin. "Les, I ain't never seen you like this. You still sick?"
Lesley shifted a little in his stance, just enough to draw his arm away from
her. She could smell beer on his breath as he spoke. "I feel better than ever.
There's nothing wrong with me."
"Yeah, there is. You're drinkin' again, and I know you better than to blow
that off. And you're back on Arachne, after you told me you'd never touch it
again."
To drive home her point, Amanda swept her hand towards the computer
on Lesley's desk across the room. She just meant the gesture to be an idle one
for effect, but something on the monitor caught her eye. As recognition of it
struck her, Amanda felt a tingling flowing down her arm into the depths of her gut,
as if the computer had thrown an electric shock at her from its screen.
Amanda's mouth dropped open, and she couldn't bring it up again as she
took a step towards the computer, then another one. The nachos tickled her nose
with scents of meat and cheese as she leaned over the keyboard to stare at what
the monitor showed.
The question she most wanted to ask came to her, but instead, Amanda
asked, "Lesley, when did you start drinkin' again? Last week?"
Lesley called out to her from the kitchen, where he still leaned against the
wall by the half-lit window. "No, just a few hours ago. I just went out to get a sixpack."
Amanda swallowed the last drops of moisture in her mouth. She had to
fight to keep her tone low. "Uh-huh. And what made you do that, after all these
years of being clean and sober?"
Lesley's voice grew as he came out of the kitchen to join her in the living
room. "I dunno. I just had an impulse."
Amanda came away from the screen and faced Lesley as he waited
behind her. "Was that before or after you saw this ad for Kassner beer on
Arachne?" She pointed at the advertising banner at the top of the page, which
depicted a cheerful couple drinking cans of Kassner.
Lesley's air of boredom melted away into a frown of bewilderment. His leg
shifted to put him in an off stance as he scraped a hand over his eyebrows. "I
don't know. I can't remember. Why?"
She ignored his question. Amanda's hair flew around her head as she
whipped back to face the computer again. By dragging the mouse arrow onto the
"back" button of Lesley's browser, she went back to the page he had been
looking at before this one. She found what she had dreaded at the top of the web
page. "What about this? You remember if you decided to buy that T-shirt before
or after you saw this ad for Arachne T-shirts?"
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Clicking the button again took her to another web page that had a new ad
at the top. "Or how about this one for Powwow Cola? Or Crumples potato chips?
Or Amigo Burrito fast food?"
She felt Lesley's presence moving close to her. His shadow draped over
her body and onto the computer's keyboard. "What are you trying to say?"
Amanda turned herself in place to face Lesley, who stared down at her
with dead eyes. "It's like you're just buyin' things 'cause they're on Arachne."
"Don't be silly. The ads just remind me of what I need."
Amanda noted a strain in his voice that wasn't there before, and a twitch in
his left eye. "No, that ain't it at all, and you know it. This is serious stuff, Les. Ever
since you found this website, you been totally different. This thing's dangerous.
It's like it's takin' over your life."
Lesley bowed his head and ran his fingers through the hair that fell over
his face. "Mandy, you're overreacting. Now come on. Move over. I was in the
middle of something before you came in."
He reached for the mouse, but Amanda smacked her hand onto the
monitor's screen. It rang like a bell on impact. "No, Les. You gotta stop this right
now."
The muscles on Lesley's arms bunched up as he clenched his hand into a
fist by his side while the other pressed harder against the mouse. His eyes never
left Amanda's as he whispered, "Mandy, stop it. Just leave me alone."
She felt the intensity of his emotions washing over her like a raging flood
battering a dam, but held her ground. The tree branch scratched at the kitchen
window again, clawing to reach inside. "I'm gonna find out what's up with you,
and find a way to stop it. Until then, I can't let you at this computer no more."
Amanda's hand squealed as she drew it down the glass of the monitor.
When it came away, she quickly ducked under the table. Her finger jabbed the
power switch on the tower. The computer's hum went dead instantly. Lesley's cry
followed soon after, a torturous shriek that bordered on inhuman as if she had
driven hot needles into his eyes. His hands clawed at her back, ripping at her
blouse as he screamed, "Turn it on! Turn it back on!"
The pain in his voice almost made her hesitate. She knew this hurt him on
some deep level, but also knew that if she allowed his obsession to continue, it
would only get worse, not better. Amanda arched her back to keep him away as
she yanked out the computer's plug from the outlet on the wall. The small thump
raised Lesley's voice to a higher level. His fingers dug into the waist of her shorts,
and hauled her back. The force of his pull scraped her knees with burns that
made her cry out. She tried to hang onto the computer tower, but it fell over and
out of her grasp. It landed on its side with a bang. He continued to drag her out
from under the desk, and her waistband cut into her hips like steel wire.
Amanda groped at the underside of the desk, screaming, "Les, stop it,
you're hurting me!"
Lesley let go of her shorts to throw his arms around her stomach. He held
her too tight, crushing her ribs. Amanda choked from the constriction of her gut
as he straightened, carrying her with him into the air. He swung her away from
the computer desk, then let go. Air whistled around Amanda as she tumbled
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across the living room. The easel where Lesley propped up his illustration rushed
towards her, and she tried to reach out to block the impact, but moved too fast.
She crashed into the easel like a bullet, then the two of them hit the wall behind
it. Her face struck first, snapping her neck hard against her shoulder. The rest of
her body collided soon after, triggering another flood of pain. The easel shattered
on impact, forming wooden stakes that pierced her neck and chest. She slid
down the wall on the sheet of canvas smeared with half-dried paint, then hit the
carpet in the painful grip of the easel's jagged embrace.
Amanda took deep breaths, fighting her lungs that ached with each gulp of
air. Somewhere in the apartment, a clock ticked away the seconds as she
struggled through the pain to move again. Her left leg returned first in a twitch
that straightened it out. She managed to turn her head, which gave her some
relief, since the pain throbbing in her neck made her think it was broken.
Lesley stood on the other end of the living room with his arms still open as
if reaching out to hug her, instead of throw her away. His mouth closed, then
opened again, whispering silent words of horror that his wide eyes expressed
even more. The dark computer monitor behind him peered through the loop of
his right arm as if cradled inside it. The tree branch scratched the glass of his
kitchen window again.
"Mandy?" Lesley whispered.
Amanda stared at him. "What've they done to you?"
Lesley blinked and his mouth clamped shut again. He stepped towards
her, reaching out his hands, but jerked back as if an unseen leash had tightened
around his neck. He stumbled with both hands clutching his temples, and a
squeak of pain escaped his trembling lips. His legs pulsed, then went loose
under him, dropping him to his knees. Lesley grunted hard, then dropped to his
hands and knees to crawl back to his desk.
"Mandy," he wheezed, "you have to go. If you stay, I'll hurt you. Please,
just go."
Her own pain vanished at the sight of Lesley's. She knew then that the
power Arachne had over Lesley went beyond mere enjoyment or obsession. In
that moment, watching Lesley convulse against his computer tower under the
desk, Amanda remembered Jonathan Seer. She remembered the aura of pure
evil that the old man had given off, and the knowledge that once she had come
under his influence, her life would never be the same. Amanda knew that the
sight of Lesley groping for the plug of his computer fulfilled that prophecy.
More pain jumped through her, but she managed to struggle back onto her
feet. As the initial shock wore off, Amanda felt no serious injuries except some
tender spots on her back and arms that would probably end up as bruises. Her
neck ached a little more seriously, but not enough to keep her from limping to the
front door.
As she turned the knob, Lesley blurted, "I'm sorry, Mandy. I'm so sorry."
Amanda lunged out of the apartment and back into the real world.
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Chapter 28
When Amanda returned to her apartment and threw open her door, she
almost ran into Blossom on her way out. The two collided, and the pain in
Amanda's arm made it worse. In the dying light of afternoon, Blossom's
oversized tie-dyed shirt glowed like a rainbow.
Before Amanda could speak, Blossom held up a copy of Hemingway's
The Sun Also Rises like a shield between them. "Before you unleash your dogs
of fury, I fully admit that I am not allowed to venture into your abode while away,
but I desperately needed this book, and . . . ."
Blossom's dark lips clamped over her tongue, which slowly receded back
into her mouth as she studied Amanda more closely. The book inched its way
back down to rest on Blossom's thigh, clad in blue jeans many sizes too large.
Amanda tried to match the stare with a blank look of her own while holding up
her torn sleeve with a hand encrusted in yellow paint.
Through the rose-tinted lenses of her glasses, Blossom's eyes rolled up to
meet Amanda. "Sweet mercy of Athena, Mandy, what happened to you? Were
you assaulted again?"
Amanda slipped through the gap in the door left by Blossom while bracing
one hand on the small of her back. Her leg jerked with every step from trying to
fight against the pain in her hip. "You could say that. But this time, it was Lesley
who did it."
The thump of her book hitting the carpet came a moment later, but
Amanda kept her back to Blossom while limping into the kitchen. She dumped
her tote bag on the floor by her umbrella stand, then hit the light switch.
Florescent lights on the ceiling blinked on, awakened from a restful sleep. One of
her coffee mugs waited in the sink with a note in Blossom's handwriting tucked
into it that said, "Wash Me." The counter's rough surface irritated the scratches
on her elbow as Amanda braced her arm on it to reach the refrigerator.
The refrigerator thumped from the breaking seals as she drew open the
freezer door. Frozen steam gushed out into the air. Amanda plunged her hand
into it to dig out an Ice'n'Hot gel pack buried under a Lean Cuisine lasagna meal
and a package of Green Giant frozen peas. The gel pack's kiss as Amanda
pressed it to her shoulder calmed the ache pulsing within it. After heaving a sigh
of relief, she faced Blossom again. Her friend had shut the front door, sealing out
the furnace of the outside. Amanda moved under an air conditioning vent to let it
dry the sweat on her body and tears on her face.
The Hemingway novel still rested at Blossom's feet, and the man on the
cover stared bravely up at Blossom's horrified expression. "Lesley struck you?"
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Amanda drew the gel pack up a little on her shoulder to cool a new area.
Her voice cracked as she spoke. "Not really. He just kinda threw me up against a
wall."
Blossom's head tilted back while her fists curled against her thighs until
they clutched the folds of her jeans. "I see. How long has this been going on?"
Amanda winced and shook her head while peeling the gel pack off her
arm. "Oh, it ain't like that, Blah. It was an accident."
Blossom's jeans flapped around her legs as they carried her to Amanda's
side. She reached out to brush the gel pack aside and expose a dark bruise
forming on Amanda's shoulder. "How did he throw you against a wall hard
enough to cause this by accident?"
Amanda stepped around Blossom and limped across the living room to
her couch. "He was tryin' to get me away from his computer. It's complicated."
Blossom followed at a distance until she sat down on the couch at the
same time Amanda did. Her legs tucked under herself, leaving her oversized
jeans hanging over the edge. "Well, you know me, dear. I'm a complicated
woman. And I'm always here for you."
Amanda knew both to be true, so she braced the gel pack on her
throbbing shoulder while reciting everything that had happened at Lesley's place.
When she finished, Blossom idly picked her fingernails over a seam on her jeans,
then murmured, "So you don't blame Lesley for what happened."
Amanda drew the pack off and squeezed it to mix the still-cold gel with the
gel that had grown warm from her skin. "Not after what I seen. It's Arachne that
made him do it. I know it."
Her fingers numbed as the icy fluid slipped through her hands. Crumbs of
dried yellow paint from her shoulder clung to the plastic. "I seen people's lives
turn upside-down over Arachne. It's got this weird power over 'em, like a web.
Once you touch it, it won't let you go."
Blossom's red curls of hair tumbled over her shoulder as she tilted her
head to one side. "You're serious about this."
Amanda sank a little deeper into her couch. "Maybe. I dunno. I don't even
know why it's freakin' out everybody who sees it but me. But I'm gonna find out.
And how to stop it." Amanda crushed the gel pack in her hands until it oozed
between her fingers.
Amanda's phone warbled across her apartment.
Blossom rolled her eyes up towards the ceiling while unfolding her legs
from under herself. "Oh, don't bother attending to that. Some psychotic has been
calling for the past fifteen minutes, yet consistently hangs up when I or the
answering machine picks it up."
"I'll answer it." Amanda tossed the gel pack onto the couch with one hand
while she pushed herself up with the other. "I'm in the mood to yell at somebody,
anyway."
She expected the phone to disconnect when she picked up. "Yeah, Katt
speakin'."
A man's voice, hoarse and weakened as if from great strain, whispered,
"Could I speak to Amanda Katt, please?"
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Amanda raised an eyebrow at Blossom. "That's me. Who's this?"
She could hear laughter and rock music in the background as the man
spoke again. "I'd rather not say over the phone. I have information about Arachne
that I think you'll want to know. Do you know where the Scottsdale Elegance Mall
is?"
Amanda lunged for the notepad and pens in the coffee mug that she kept
by the telephone. Her trembling fingers scattered the pens all over the counter
until she managed to hold one over the notepad. "Yeah, I know where that is."
"Meet me by the entrance of the Amazon Café at seven o'clock exactly.
Come alone."
Amanda opened her mouth again just as the click that she had expected
earlier came, disconnecting the call. She jotted down what she had been told,
and glanced up at the cat-shaped clock on her wall that displayed the time
between its devilish smile and swaying tail. It was almost six-thirty already. She
had to hurry. Amanda ripped the page out of her notepad, crammed it into the
back pocket of her shorts, and ran.
Blossom came up off the couch, and followed Amanda as she hurried to
the front door. "What is it? What's going on?"
Amanda hauled her tote bag onto her left shoulder until a jolt of pain
reminded her it was still bruised. "Dude on the phone says he's got info on
Arachne, and wants to meet me at the Scottsdale Elegance Mall."
Blossom's eyebrows came up over the frames of her glasses. "And you're
going? Have you learned nothing in the last few days? This fellow could be an
escaped mental patient with a hockey mask and a sharpened electric
toothbrush."
Amanda switched her tote bag to her uninjured shoulder while heading for
the door. "Yeah, he could. He could also be the break I been lookin' for. I gotta
follow every lead. Besides, I can still kick butt."
She paused to sweep her leg in a kick that cut the air over Blossom's
head. Blossom never even blinked. But Amanda grunted in pain from the spasm
in her bruised hip, throwing her off balance. She had to draw her foot back down
slowly and lean to one side until the ache faded.
Blossom just leaned against the door of Amanda's closet, casting a
rainbow onto the wood with her colorful shirt. "Since you're obviously in pain, I
don't have to remind you that you're injured. I suppose I also don't have to remind
you that you'll be operating at only half-butt-kicking capacity as a result. Do you
really want to risk it in your usual bravado or do you want to be sensible for once
and call the police?"
Amanda grinned and waggled her eyebrows at Blossom.
Blossom sighed and pushed herself away from the closet to head for the
bathroom. "I really question why I bother, my dear. My energy would be better
served preparing the first-aid kit for your return."
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Chapter 29
When she finally walked through the automatic doors of the Scottsdale
Elegance Mall, Amanda Katt had to admit that she wasn't as positive as she had
seemed. Amanda only had a few bruises here and there that would heal in a few
days, but right now they would keep her from moving at her peak if she needed
to. Amanda had met with informants on stories before, and they had often proved
quite useful. Other times, Amanda had found herself walking into a trap, but she
always managed to fight her way out. This time could be the one where her luck
ran out, but she had to find the answers to Arachne's secrets somewhere. This
seemed like as good a place as any to start, and a crowded mall seemed a safe
choice for the meeting.
Still, Amanda wished she could have brought Detective Brooks or
Blossom along with her for backup, just in case things didn't go as she planned.
But besides her promise to come alone, Amanda didn't want anyone else to get
into trouble because of her. Not after what happened to Lesley.
Even this late in the evening, the mall rippled with crowds. A thousand
voices echoed off the ceiling's huge glass skylights onto dozens of shops and
restaurants. As one of the wealthier corners of the city of Phoenix, Scottsdale
catered to an upscale market. Amanda Katt felt glad she had taken time to
change out of her torn clothes, but still felt a little out of place wandering past
jewelry stores, coffee shops, and high-tech toy stores while men and women in
the latest fashions frolicked in an amusement park of consumerism. Meanwhile,
Amanda limped through the crowds in shorts and a NR-Net T-shirt.
She dodged a trio of elderly women filing out of a Waldenbooks bookstore
on her way to a map kiosk. Pop music pumped out of speakers over the kiosk
while Amanda tried to locate the Amazon Café. The map's key pointed her to
section E on the upper level. That meant going to the upper floors. Amanda
winced at what that would mean for her acrophobia, but just told herself the story
would be worth any discomfort as she headed for the escalators that would take
her off the ground floor.
On the way to the escalator, she had to cross the food court, an open
square encircled by restaurants of every kind. The aroma of meats, vegetables,
and exotic spices mingling over the field of tables where customers dined
reminded her that she hadn't had dinner. She thought of stopping to grab a bite
at Pei Wei's, but couldn't afford to be late for her meeting. Her stomach rumbled
in protest as she charged on.
Amanda paused at the base of the escalator, listening to its grinding gears
as metal steps formed on the belt in front of her. She hated escalators even more
than elevators. At least elevators gave you four walls to protect you from the
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drop. These mechanical staircases floated to the level above with only two thin
banisters as protection against the polished floors dropping away.
A nudge in Amanda's back turned out to be a teenage girl with her hands
on her slender hips, mouth curled up in a sneer. "Uh, excuse me, lady, you going
up or what?"
"What." Amanda headed for the marble stairs a few feet away, instead.
Amanda hurried up to the second floor. Many of the shops had closed due
to the late hour, and Amanda passed storefronts visible only through black metal
bars until she came to the Amazon Café. Plastic trees and vines clustered
around the entrance, glistening from a mist hissing out of the walls to create fog.
Within the dimly lit interior, Amanda could make out diners eating tofu salads or
leopard skin sandwiches or whatever it was that people who ate at pretentious
restaurants like the Amazon Café ate. All she cared about was that she couldn't
see her contact in there, but then she wasn't really sure what the man would look
like.
A screech made Amanda clutch her ears and whirl around to see a huge
green parrot on a perch beside the Amazon Café's door. It squawked again, to
the delight of the horde of children gathered in front of it. The parrot seemed to
be an attention-getting gimmick for the Amazon Café. A woman whose green
shirt and shorts blended into the fake forest behind her fed the parrot seeds while
reciting a lecture to the crowd.
"Now, you notice its feet have two toes in the front and two toes in the
back? That's what we call zygodactyl, meaning that parrots are designed for
climbing trees, not walking. Parrots are great climbers. They can even use their
beaks like another foot, pulling themselves up to reach higher branches."
The parrot's shriek came again, as if in praise of its own magnificence,
and the kids cheered while Amanda cringed. She had to find her contact and get
out before the parrot broke her eardrums.
She glanced at her watch. It was seven o'clock, give or take a second.
She planned to wait five minutes before she left. If this guy insisted on her being
punctual, then there was no reason she couldn't hold him to the same standard.
As she raised her eyes from her watch, Amanda found herself staring at a
wall of blue, one that turned out to be the front of a zippered blue jacket. She
followed it up to the pale face of a man glaring down at her through black
sunglasses. A baseball cap for the Baltimore Orioles covered most of the man's
long blond hair, which seemed too frizzy to be real, and hung down to cover the
sides of his face. An odor of glue made her guess that the thick brown mustache
shielding his lips was also fake.
She couldn't see his mouth behind the mustache, so the only way she
knew he spoke at all was his low growl. "You're Amanda Katt, right?"
Amanda reared away from him with her fists balled up. She also shifted
her weight on her back leg, just in case she needed to run. "Yeah. You?"
The man whipped his head around to study the crowds. "Calm down. I'm
the one who called you. You came alone?"
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Amanda picked up on the man's nervousness and waited until a giggling
young couple passed out of range before continuing. "You told me to come
alone, man. I follow instructions."
When the man's head turned back to her, his cheeks puffed up to let her
know that he smiled. "I knew I could trust you."
Amanda stepped a little closer to him so she could lower her voice and still
be heard. "Yeah, but you said you got info on Arachne. Why all this cloak-anddagger jazz?"
The man's cheeks went flat around his mustache as his smile
disappeared. His voice became the only one among thousands of others. "There
are people who want to kill me for what I'm going to tell you."
The parrot's scream pierced the childrens' laughter and the guide's
lecture, which continued, "Most parrots live in the tropics, but there are a few
species in the more temperate zones."
The strange man's words put Amanda on edge. She glanced at a trio of
young girls running out of a Classy Lady Boutique, swinging paper bags. On the
other side of the mall, a large man in a gray suit dragged a screaming child out of
a Kay-Bee toy store. No one seemed to be paying attention to Amanda or her
informant. "Somebody's tryin' to kill you? What'd they look like?"
The man jerked his head to one side in a quick nod. "There are hundreds
of them. I couldn't describe them all, even if I had the time. I brought you here
because they might not try anything in a large crowd like this, but they're getting
desperate, so I have to talk fast."
The man's fingers clamped onto Amanda's left elbow, and he began
walking her through the mall. Amanda tried to pull her arm free, but the man just
tightened his grip. She thought of fighting against him, but still felt he might be on
the level and didn't want to risk losing him. Besides, the screaming of the parrot
mercifully grew softer as they moved away from it.
The man's head made small movements that let her know he shot quick
glances all around himself behind his sunglasses. "My name is Truman Bishop."
His name put an end to all her resistance. She walked alongside him as
she whispered, "I read about you. You're the guy who slapped Arachne with a
lawsuit, right?"
"That's right." Bishop clamped his jaw shut while a woman in a blue
business suit lunged by, chattering into a cellular phone. When she moved out of
range, he continued. "It was the only thing I could think of doing to bring Arachne
out into the open, at least until I heard about what you wrote. You can tell my
story."
Amanda yanked her notebook and pen out of her tote bag with her free
hand. "Okay, take it from the top."
Amanda became aware of a drumbeat pounding out ahead of them. It
came out of a Game Factory arcade. Instead of moving away from it, Bishop
guided her towards the entrance surrounded by pipes and welded iron plates.
The interior had been designed with an industrial theme, complete with
hissing pipes shooting out fingers of steam, tufts of colorful wiring, and exposed
girders running along the gray walls and ceiling. The growl of an engine poured
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out of a motorcycle simulation machine by the door, but the noise only blended
into the bells, screams, and gunshots rising from hundreds of other arcade
games. The sweet tang of soda and bubble gum whipped off children running
along the aisles. Neon lights in the shape of popular videogame characters cast
the arcade in shades of green, orange, purple, and blue.
As the children walked past him, Bishop released Amanda's arm and
jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. "About three months ago, I was an
attorney working in Baltimore. I was stressed out over a tough case, and a friend
told me Arachne would be a great place to unwind. I gave it a try, and it worked
for a while. Then it started taking over my life."
Amanda scribbled notes while taking quick glances up at him. "Takin' over
your life how?"
Bishop stopped in front of a Bloody Battle arcade machine. He tucked a
few quarters into the slot until the machine surged to life with garish music. He
rested one hand on the joystick while the other dropped onto the control buttons,
and his face set into a grimace of determination. "I showed up late for a couple of
trials, then skipped them altogether so I could spend more time on Arachne. I
stopped talking to my kids. My wife moved out after I slapped her for telling me to
get rid of my computer. Eating, sleeping, everything else became meaningless. It
got to the point where all I wanted was to sit in front of that website. And I spent
every dime I had on junk it advertised."
"Like Powwow Cola?"
Bishop whipped his head down to glare at her. One of his hands jumped
off the game's buttons to bunch up inside the pocket of his jacket. "How do you
know that?"
Amanda tried to make out the outline of a gun in his pocket as she held up
her hands. "My fiancé, Lesley. He's caught on Arachne, too. All he drinks is
Powwow Cola. Thought there might be a connection."
Bishop continued to glare at her, then drew his hand out to jab the game
buttons again. "Yeah, that's the way it is."
On the machine's screen, a ninja character began to run across a bloody
field, hurling lightning bolts at lizard-like enemies. Cracks of thunder and piercing
screams burst out at intervals as Bishop spoke. "Arachne pushes Powwow Cola
and Amigo Burritos and all that. Everything I saw on those stupid banners, I had
to get. I just had to. And when I'd lost everything, I joined one of Arachne's offline fan clubs. I lived there for two weeks, and all we did in there was surf the
Web together."
Bishop's head tipped forward as his shoulder rose and fell in a deep sigh.
His forehead dug into creases from the strain. "I lost everything."
A smack like meat rang out as an enemy kicked his character's head off.
The ninja roared as it toppled over with blood spurting from his severed neck.
Amanda winced, then ducked to see under Bishop's baseball cap. "So it's like
you was addicted."
Red light reflected off the lenses of Bishop's glasses as his head jerked up
to glare at her. "It's not 'like' I was addicted. I was addicted. I used to smoke,
kicked the habit three years ago, but Arachne was like chain-smoking every
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minute of the day. It got to where just being away from my computer hurt.
Literally hurt. And it wasn't just me. We were all like that. I've seen it a hundred
times. Anybody who sees Arachne, even just once, gets hooked."
He snapped his fingers an inch away from Amanda's face, and she felt the
brush of the air against her nose. It felt like he had flipped a switch inside her that
made her numb. What Bishop told her seemed impossible, but she couldn't deny
what she had personally seen. A man tried to kill her for insulting Arachne, and
her own true love gave up his whole life for it. She remembered the agony in his
face that had kept him from helping her up after throwing her against the wall,
and could now imagine the pain coming from just taking a few steps away from
his computer. She also remembered Paul Norton, the man who attacked her in
her apartment. The police had said he was suffering from all the symptoms of
withdrawal. His drug was Arachne.
Bishop stepped away from the arcade machine as it began to play a
thundering theme song to glittery animation flashing across the screen. "If your
boyfriend is hooked on Arachne, then he's gone."
"No." Amanda looked up at Bishop. "You got away from it."
Bishop drew a hand out of his jacket pocket, and only when it reached up
to his sunglasses did she notice the fingers skittering off the plastic arm. It took
him a second to grab hold of the glasses and haul them off. The lens fell away to
expose dark circles that she only immediately recognized as eyes because of the
searing red veins around the pupils. He turned them onto Amanda and the full
force of the pain trembling within them made her step back.
"I didn't get away from it," Bishop growled. "Leaving Arachne took every
ounce of strength I had in me. I've managed to stay away from computers ever
since, but I've got all the painkillers I could swallow floating around inside me,
and I still feel like I got nails punching into my skull and worms wriggling under
my skin. I think about Arachne every minute of the day, and at night I dream
about it. I can't hold out forever. The control of Arachne can be broken
temporarily, but I can't hold out much longer. I either go back to Arachne or I'll
die. The only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that I might be the only
hope we've got of stopping this thing."
Bishop's eyes swam in pools of tears as he turned them onto the room. A
flock of children scurried past him to the other side of the arcade. Cheers burst
up from a crowd around an arcade machine shaped like the front end of a
Ferrari, and inside sat a player roaring across a virtual track at high speed.
"Arachne is evil," Bishop whispered. "It's dangerous. I've seen innocent
people kill or be killed because of it, and you will, too. It traps us like flies in a
web, and the more we struggle, the tighter it gets. I don't know how it does what it
does, but it's not natural. I'm sure of that. And I can feel it growing. Ever day, I
see more people around me coming under its control. I just know it. It's not just a
website. There's a goal behind it, a threat that puts us all in danger. I just can't
figure out what it is."
A new song thundered out of speakers mounted on the ceiling to shake
Amanda's teeth in their sockets. Bishop didn't seem to notice. Swirling red
floodlights played over him, and they made shadows glide over his twisted
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features. "I tried telling the newspapers, but no one would listen to me. All the
reporters who went out to investigate it came back saying it was harmless, but I
couldn't help noticing they all came back with Arachne T-shirts in their hands. So
I tried launching a civil suit against Arachne for psychological and physical
damages for what they did to me, just to draw attention to it."
Bishop sniffled, then lowered his head to push his glasses back into the
thick nest of blond hair over his ears. "No other lawyer would take the case, so I
represented myself. But none of the others in the fan club would come with me to
testify. In fact, my best friend tried to push me down a flight of stairs. That's when
the chase started."
Bishop began to wind his way past a row of basketball games where a
little boy tossed basketballs into a distant hoop while a thin man old enough to be
his father did the same beside him. Bells pinged and yellow lights pulsed with
every slam-dunk. Amanda trailed after Bishop, scrawling notes and trying to keep
up.
Bishop continued to speak at a tone barely loud enough to carry over the
crowds. "I've been on the run for weeks. I see them at the drugstore, in the
parking lots of the motels where I live, in lines at the grocery store, everywhere.
Sometimes I don't even see them until they try to kill me. Arachne's cronies are
fanatical. I know. I was one of them. Whatever Arachne tells them to do, they'll
do. They won't stop until I'm dead."
"You telling me Arachne's the one sending people to kill you?"
Bishop just nodded.
"Jonathan Seer," Amanda whispered.
Bishop shook his head. "I don't know who's behind it. All I know is there's
a woman in one of their chat rooms, calls herself Jane Doe. She tells us what to
do, but I don't know who she works for."
He whirled around to face Amanda. She drew up short to keep from
colliding with his chest, but his hands gripped her arms and pulled her close.
Amanda wrenched herself in his grip until she looked up at the dark lenses of his
sunglasses shining back at her. In the electronic light of arcade machines
flashing around them, colorful shapes rolled across the plastic, but Bishop's face
remained rigid and cold. She felt his intensity from the painful grip on her
forearms, but knew from the twitching of his neck that the pain he felt dwarfed
her own.
"I've been trying to crack Arachne's hold, but I'd almost given up hope.
Then I heard about your article, and I knew you were the one. Arachne doesn't
control you. I can see it in your eyes. You've seen the site, but you're still free."
"Yeah, that's right," Amanda whispered. "I don't get why everybody's
hooked on Arachne but me."
Bishop's mustache bunched up over his mouth, and she could see his thin
lips forming underneath its red fibers. "When you figure that out, you'll know
everything."
He jerked his head to one side, then straightened to let a laughing pack of
teenage boys strut between him and Amanda. When they had passed, Bishop
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tugged his baseball cap over his eyes again, and tapped the edges of his
mustache to paste it back onto his upper lip.
"I can't stay much longer. I know they followed me here, and they're bound
to track me down eventually. I just came to tell you my story and give you my
notes. I've been working on trying to find the source of Arachne's power, but I
have a feeling you can get farther than I did. Follow me."
Bishop led Amanda through the aisles of the arcade until they burst out
into the main floor again. He led her past rows of shops, headed for the
escalators, but as he charged past the entrance of a department store he froze.
Amanda went rigid behind him and followed his gaze.
At the other end of the mall, she could see someone among the crowds.
While other men and women hurried by, one man remained still, like a rock
washed over by waves of humanity. A green sweater too heavy for the Arizona
heat draped over his short, thin body. Even from across the expanse of the mall,
Amanda could see and even feel the intensity of the stranger's gaze.
"Is that one of 'em?" Amanda whispered.
"Yeah," Bishop growled back. "His name's Ryan. He's my brother-in-law."
A young woman in a black leather skirt and vest came out of a cutlery
store to the man in the green sweater's side. A gold chain connecting her earlobe
to a ring in her nose wobbled against her cheek as she leaned over to whisper
something in his ear. He never moved a muscle until she had finished, and then
only his lips parted to murmur something back at her. Whatever it was made her
twist her head in Amanda's direction.
"And that's Veronica," Bishop whispered. "An old girlfriend. They both
work for Arachne now."
Amanda stared at the couple, who seemed as oblivious as if a fog had
rolled in to swallow everyone else up. When she looked at them more closely,
Amanda noticed shadows lining their gaunt faces, which seemed thinned by
hunger. The two swayed a little on their feet, as if barely able to muster enough
strength to keep them upright. Their eyes formed two red circles in their faces,
surrounded by puffy flesh, just like Bishop's eyes. They reminded her of how
Lesley had been while under the influence of Arachne, and how Paul Norton had
looked when he attacked her. The two seemed so fragile that she could imagine
just pushing them over if they came at her. Amanda wondered if Bishop had
exaggerated when he called them dangerous.
The two put a foot forward at the same time and began to walk. Their legs
moved in perfect sync, carrying them closer.
"They've spotted us." The hood on Bishop's jacket tangled with his blond
wig as he spun around towards the clothing store. "My car is on the lower level.
We can cut through here to the other exit."
Bishop threw himself into the security gate onto the store's white tiled
floor, but came to a halt. A head glided over a trio of mannequins in golf clothing,
like a shark's fin protruding from ocean waves. A horseshoe of jet-black hair
encircled the otherwise bald head. The head belonged to a body so powerful that
when it stepped into view, it made Amanda freeze.
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At well over seven feet, the man towered over everything around him. His
muscles made him look almost swollen. Facing away from her, a black spider
tattooed on his right arm seemed to crawl over his skin as his bicep flexed. When
the man turned away, Amanda could see a twin of the spider tattoo on his left
arm, just as gruesome as the first. The man looked over his shoulder at
something, scanning the crowds milling all around him. She knew immediately he
hunted Bishop.
"Gibbs," Bishop whispered. "I can't believe they sent Gibbs."
"Who's Gibbs?"
"A killer."
Amanda glanced over her shoulder at the man and woman jogging
towards them. The woman with the nose-chain shoved a little boy out of her way,
ignoring his squeals as he hit the floor. Even as others in the crowd began to cry
out in complaint, the man in the green sweater ignored the protesters to plunge a
hand under his sweater. The hand reappeared to draw out a six-inch length of
gray metal pipe.
Amanda threw herself in a circle, hunting for a way out. The large man
blocked the department store's exit, and the couple blocked the aisle on their
right. They had two directions covered, but Amanda's eyes caught on the
escalator whispering nearby as it carried a woman in a gold tank top up to their
floor.
Amanda grabbed Bishop's arm and swung him towards the escalator.
"You go. I'll hold 'em off."
Bishop clutched at the front of his jacket. "I've come too far to leave
without you."
"I can take care o' my own self, now haul it." Amanda gave Bishop a
shove towards the escalator, then took steps towards the larger man.
A mixture of different perfumes from the makeup counter drifted over
Amanda as she entered the store. The floor trembled under the large man
Bishop had called Gibbs as he charged towards the exit. His shoulder bumped
into a mannequin wearing an expensive golden dress and sent it clattering to the
floor. The impact popped off the doll's head and arms. The arms tangled in the
sleeves of its dress, but the head tumbled to a halt by Amanda's feet, smiling up
at her with plastic lips.
The large man's tiny eyes fixed on Bishop as he scurried for the escalator.
Gibbs' face crumpled into a frown as Amanda stepped into his path. He tried to
walk past her, but Amanda shifted to block his way, still throwing up a cheerful
smile. He seemed so huge that his shadow alone would crush her. Panic flared
within her, but Amanda channeled the energy into her body to tense the muscles.
"Hey, buddy," she asked, "you got the time?"
The man raised his arm, but whether it was to check his watch or shove
her out of the way, she couldn't tell, and didn't wait to find out. With the man's
thick arm extended, Amanda thrust out her right fist to block it with the back of
her forearm. By sweeping her arm so that the palm faced up, she knocked the
man's arm out of her way. The block surprised him enough to throw him off
balance, and allowed her to step in close to his body. Her left knee snapped up
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to ram into his gut. The man's roar shook her as he hunched over and his weight
slumped against her. His breath and sweat carried the same sour odor into her
face. He felt heavy enough to crush her, but Amanda caught his dangling arm
and used his momentum to swing him around her shoulder and into the air.
Amanda sent the large man hurtling into the couple behind her, just as
they approached the escalator to follow Bishop. The woman with the nose ring
turned her eyes towards Gibbs as he fell towards her, but she didn't seem to
notice him until he collided with her. She exhaled in a shriek cut short as he
toppled onto her. Amanda felt the floor tremble at the impact, even from several
feet away.
The nose-chain woman lay pinned under Gibbs' weight, but he seemed to
be in too much pain to get off. While the two struggled, the man in the green
sweater kept on walking, eyes focused on Bishop, until he came to the heap of
his partners. But instead of helping them up, the man in the green sweater began
to crawl over the pile like it was made of dirt instead of human beings.
Amanda thought of fighting them more, but her hip and shoulder throbbed
to remind her of their bruises. She might win the fight, but the pain would leave
her too vulnerable for anything else that followed. She had to reach Bishop,
collect the information she needed, and get him away safely. She had to run.
Amanda bolted out of the department store just as she heard the bang of
sneakers hit the floor. The man in the green sweater had crawled over the
squirming pile to turn his attention on her. The pipe in his hand creaked as his
fingers tightened around it. She clutched her tote bag against her hip. He
stepped closer to the top of the escalator, trying to cut her off. Amanda faked to
the left as if about to run back into the store, then dashed past him to the right.
He grunted as he slashed at her with the pipe. Air moaned across its mouth.
Amanda spun out of the pipe's reach, then bolted to the escalator.
As she came to the rattling metal staircase, looking down its length made
her entire body tremble, but she didn't let it freeze her. Don't think about it, just
run. Amanda took a deep breath, then let her foot drop onto one of the steps.
The handrail vibrated under her hand as her nails dug into the plastic. She took
gulps of air, focusing on reaching the bottom where she could scurry off to safety.
From this high up, Amanda could have seen the bustling floor of the mall below if
the sight hadn't terrified her immediately. But even the sensations made her heart
pound, like falling off a cliff, but so slowly that she could enjoy every drop of
terror.
Amanda kept her eyes on the steps gliding below her as she began to
stumble downwards. Only when she noticed an old woman clutching a paper bag
facing her did Amanda realize that the escalator went up, not down. Bishop had
made his way to the bottom, but other riders climbing on after him packed it tight.
She could hear the man in the green sweater running closer behind her. His
sneakers skidded in a chirp as he made the sharp turn. His pipe whistled again
as he raised it. Amanda didn't have the luxury of choice.
"Excuse me," Amanda blurted as she threw herself down the escalator.
The old woman cried out as Amanda shoved past her. The escalator
fought against her, trying to carry her back up to the man who thundered after
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her. His fist punched into the paper bag and tore it from the woman's arms to
send it twirling end-over-end to the floor below.
Some of the other passengers drew back arms and legs to make room for
Amanda to squeeze past, but the impact still sent them reeling. A little girl giggled
as Amanda swept by.
A guy in a leather jacket clutched at her arm, yelling, "You're going the
wrong way, you stupid--"
Amanda heard the footsteps of the man in the green sweater clanging
louder on the metal steps. She instinctively ducked, just as the pipe sang over
her head, droning from the air flowing over its mouth. The pipe hit the jaw of the
man in the leather jacket. His head snapped back, spraying blood from his lips.
As ruby drops trickled down his chin, the punk bellowed and grabbed the front of
the green sweater with both hands. The two men began to twist in a dance of
rage, trying to shove each other off the escalator.
Amanda slipped past them and scrambled down the escalator to the floor
at the base. A crowd had formed to watch the battle above, and when her foot hit
the tiles, Amanda had to cram herself through the ring of people to get away.
Bishop already ran several feet ahead of her through the mall, running so
fast that his blond wig whipped off his head to expose short black hair. He never
stopped to pick it up, but only pumped his arms faster. Amanda followed as
closely as she could, weaving through rows of ornate pillars running from the
floor up to the skylights above. Amanda's breath came in hard gasps, drawing in
air tainted with the odor of pizza and hamburgers coming from the food court
nearby.
The two of them headed for one of the exits leading out to the parking lot.
Through the glass doors, she could see that the sun had fallen until only a very
dim light reflected off the cars parked outside. As Bishop reached the doors,
lights flickered on to cast a yellow sphere of light onto the sidewalk out front. The
doors chimed softly and mumbled as they slid open from Bishop's approach. The
clamor of the outside rushed in, along with the sound of a truck's engine growing
louder.
Bishop reached the open doors, but toppled forward as his feet clamped
down and brought him to a sudden halt in the doorway. He whirled around
towards Amanda again. His sunglasses had come off at some point in the chase,
and his swollen eyes turned on her as he yelled, "Run!"
A black truck hurtled out of the darkness towards the mall, roaring like a
lion diving out of the jungle grass towards its prey. Its tires shrieked as it spun to
face the entrance. The truck's headlights burned like the eyes of a cat, and
blinded Amanda as they aimed straight for her.
Amanda couldn't see through the red haze left in her eyes by the light, but
felt Bishop's hands clutch hers and pull her away from the exit. Her sight cleared
to see the doors slide open, but not quickly enough for the truck that plowed into
them. The impact made the entire wall explode. Showers of glass burst out of the
frames, dangled from the truck's front bumper, then tore loose to be crushed into
mangled strips beneath the wheels.
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Amanda's shoes skidded on the polished tile before friction caught and
threw her forward. She chased after Bishop with the truck howling behind them.
As Amanda and Bishop ran into the more populated area of the mall,
screams replaced laughter as people scrambled to avoid the vehicle thundering
down the halls. An old man in a blue polo shirt hunched over with a camera at his
face, snapping photos of an indoor fountain. With his back turned, he only
seemed to notice the chaos when Amanda and Bishop rushed by him. He spun
to face the renegade truck, then threw up his hands as if trying to stop it with his
bare hands. His mouth opened wide, but she couldn't hear his scream. Fear had
frozen the old man in his tracks. The truck would plow over him to get to her.
She paused to grab his arm and swing the old man into the fountain. He
crashed into the pool at the fountain's edge. Water drenched him as the truck
drove over the fountain, plunging one massive tire into it, crushing the concrete
wall on its way out. The truck left the fountain a waterfall dumping its contents out
onto the mall floor. But the old man seemed to have managed to pull his legs out
of the truck's path in time. The truck driver hadn't been aiming for him. He kept
on driving towards his prey.
Black metal bars turned the rows of shops, normally open and inviting, into
a gigantic cage. Amanda darted her eyes in every direction to find a hiding place
to escape the truck, but gates and chains blocked every chance of escape. She
glanced over at Bishop. He ran in a lopsided motion, favoring one leg. Sweat
dripped off his crumpled face, and she could hear the wheeze in his breath.
Amanda knew he didn't have the strength to run for much longer. She wasn't
surprised when he stumbled, hurtling towards the floor. Before he could be swept
under the churning tires of the truck, Amanda caught his elbow and braced him
on her shoulder. She sank her teeth into her lower lip under the strain of bearing
his weight and her own.
Bishop gasped alongside her as they ran with the truck screeching behind
them. "We can't keep running forever!"
Amanda's chest ached from her gasping, but she managed, "We don't got
to. Just follow me."
Amanda lunged into the food court, pulling Bishop along to follow. They
left the truck skating on the marble tiles as it tried to match their sudden turn. Its
deformed wheels finally checked the truck's slide, but not before careening the
vehicle into a garbage can. The can erupted in a geyser of paper napkins and
crumpled plastic. Soda cans popped under the truck's wheels as it took off again.
"Split up," Amanda gasped before letting go of Bishop's jacket.
The two broke away to head in different directions through the maze of
tables planted in the food court like mushrooms. Men and women launched
themselves out of their chairs, yelling as they escaped the four-wheeled
juggernaut. Amanda dodged among the chairs in the most unpredictable path
she could, trying to make it hard for the truck to follow. A glance over her
shoulder convinced her she wasted her time. The truck's silver grill buckled and
gave off musical pings as it uprooted the tables and sent them catapulting into
the air. The irregular rumble of the mangled tires weaving over the floor swelled
even louder. She choked on the exhaust pouring out of the truck into the
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confined air. Her tote bag slammed against her hip as she ran, bruising it to
match her other side.
Amanda vaulted over a steel railing intended to divide a line standing in
front of a juice bar. The line broke up as the men and women scattered, and a
mother screamed as she hauled her young boy up into her arms out of the truck's
path. The truck hit a chair, throwing the vehicle off-balance enough to veer into a
long table. With a boom, the truck reduced the table to splinters and broken
plastic sheeting.
The truck's engine seemed even louder from the cramped spaces, and the
lower level echoed with cries of terror from the patrons who scurried out of the
truck's path. Amanda could hear cheers and whistling coming from the upper
level, where the crowd could afford the luxury of enjoying the sight of a truck
barreling through the mall.
Amanda had hoped that the food court would slow down or even stop the
truck. Even though the front windshield had collapsed into shiny pebbles, the
sides had crumpled like paper, and the front bumper scraped on the floor, the
truck continued to roll onwards. The truck's body jolted on its weakened shocks,
but she could see the driver as a dark figure hunched behind the wheel, focused
only on the path of destruction.
Bishop swept out of the cluster of tables to leap over a row of potted
plants. Amanda followed, knowing that out in the open, the truck could only pick
up speed, but having no choice.
As the truck ground over the potted plants, crushing them into piles of
brown dirt and green leaves, Amanda ran harder to draw close to Bishop. The
man had lost his mustache as well as his wig, and his gaunt face grimaced in
terror as he ran for his life. The crowds packing the hall earlier had apparently
heard the commotion, because they clustered in the shops lining the way,
screaming and yelling as Amanda and Bishop swept by. The two of them moved
through pillars scattered throughout the long hall, but the truck kept roaring down
the center, knowing they had to come out eventually. Its wheels bounced over a
steel bench as if it wasn't there.
As she ran, the Waldenbooks bookstore she had been searching for, one
of the few stores that hadn't closed yet, came into view. She dashed into the
store, hauling Bishop with her. The sudden turn forced the truck to slam down on
its brakes, which couldn't stop it from gliding several feet. Amanda seized that
brief moment to head down the main aisle of the bookstore to the exit on the
other side. Through the glass doors, she could see the night had completely
fallen, leaving pitch-black beyond the streetlights in the parking lot. Behind them,
the truck pivoted on its rear wheels to face the store, then launched itself at them
again. It crashed through the narrow entrance, tearing away the walls around the
frame. The headlights sheared off in the process, sending pieces of the hood
dancing into the magazine racks.
Amanda spun to face the truck as it plowed through the store, sending
shelves tumbling to the floor in avalanches of books. She fought the urge to run
tightening her legs. The truck's engine screamed louder as it picked up speed,
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headed straight for her. Black smoke poured from the crumpled grill into the air,
making her eyes and lungs burn.
At the last moment, inches away from her, Amanda dove to one side. Only
then did the truck driver notice the concrete pillar she had been standing in front
of. The tires locked as the brakes came on, pouring smoke that reeked of burning
plastic. The truck veered to one side, but couldn't pull out of the turn. The
passenger side crammed into the pillar, buckled, and impacted into the rest of
the truck. The vehicle almost wrapped itself around the shaft, which broke into
crumbling pieces of rock that rained down on the truck's roof.
Amanda lay wheezing on the floor under a pile of novels that had flooded
on top of her in the impact. Pain crawled over her entire body. She let a moment
of peace pass before she dragged herself out. White dust covered her in a fine
layer. She waited for the truck to begin moving again, but it only hissed and
clicked in the silence that followed. Dark smoke poured from every crack in the
tangled metal. She could make out the shape of someone hunched behind the
wheel of the truck, trying to raise its head.
Amanda moved to help the driver, but caught sight of Bishop scurrying out
of an exit on the other side of the store. She couldn't let him get away without
giving her the information she needed. A pack of security guards came jogging
into the bookstore to converge on the truck. One pointed a gun at the driver's
side window while yelling for an ambulance.
Amanda brushed off some of the dust, then staggered past the wreckage
to the exit. Bursting out of the air-conditioned mall into the choking heat made her
gasp, but she kept looking frantically for Bishop in the rows of cars. Streetlights
threw down pools of light that Amanda limped through, hunting for movement.
It came in the form of a Volkswagen Jetta that rushed down one of the
aisles near her. Through the shattered windshield, she could see Bishop
hunched behind the steering wheel, yanking it to one side in a tight turn out onto
the road leading out onto the street.
The car's tires smoked as the Jetta screeched to a halt in front of her.
Bishop's driver's side window came down. Bishop leaned out of his open window.
Sweat trickled in rivers down his face and splashed onto the sides of his car. "Get
in."
Amanda braced her hands on the door's edge as she hunched over him.
"No, you gotta move. I can handle these dudes, you can't, not like this. Lay low,
skip the country if you got to."
Bishop's face twitched as he stared up at her, wrestling with conscience
and fear. Then he ducked down. A manila folder sailed out a moment later to
clap onto the asphalt. "Here's everything I know. It's all up to you now."
Amanda scooped up the multicolored pages spread out of the open folder
onto the ground. "Right. No pressure."
Bishop's Jetta squealed as it took off again. She watched it roar down the
aisle towards the mall, where it spun on its rear wheels to head for the main road.
A man came running out of the Waldenbooks exit. His green sweater
looked almost gray in the darkness. He clutched something to his chest that
seemed blacker than the night sky above. The man ran out into the path of the
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Jetta, and Amanda screamed for him to look out, but the man only stopped. He
stood in the path of the car that rushed towards him, but showed no fear.
Amanda thought she could even see a smile on the man's face as he turned
towards the Jetta. Instead of the car grinding to a halt, Amanda could hear the
engine roar as Bishop sped up to hit him. Only at the moment when the car's
bumper collided with the man's stomach did Amanda realize the object in his
hand was a black grenade. The man let go of it as he buckled from the collision.
The explosion lit up the night like a scarlet flare. Amanda felt the
shockwave as a hot breeze striking her in the face. The Jetta's front end blew
upwards, carrying the rear after it. The car cartwheeled down onto its roof with a
boom that cracked the asphalt. Fire spewed from its underside. Even as Amanda
recovered from the first blast, a second one followed as the gas tank ignited. The
already mangled Jetta burst open, and flames gushed out like hot blood from an
open wound.
Smoke poured up in a column, carrying a stink of hot metal that burned
Amanda's nose and eyes. She ran towards the car to try to save Truman Bishop,
but knew it was too late. If the first or second explosion hadn't killed him, then the
raging inferno would.
Two figures stepped out to silhouette themselves against the pillar of fire
that rose from the Jetta. She couldn't make out their features clearly, but
recognized them both. One with a huge build hunched his shoulders to lean over
the broken driver's side window, while the firelight glittered off the chain dangling
from the other one's nose and ear. The two studied the demolished vehicle, then
turned towards each other. Amanda could hear a deep voice carry across the
parking lot with the words "He's dead."
The woman's thin voice rose up as she bowed her head. "Good. Where's
the one he was talking to?"
Amanda slipped down between two cars as the couple whipped their
heads around in her direction. She lay on the asphalt, staring at a crumpled
paper cup curled up near her hand. A cricket chirped as it hopped across the
parking lot, then went silent. Now that she had stopped moving, the pain hit her
harder. She clamped her lower lip between her teeth to hold back the scream.
Her chest thumped with every beat of her heart, then the thumps came from
outside herself. The clump of boots hitting the black road grew louder as
someone walked towards her. Amanda closed her eyes, summoning her strength
to launch another attack, but the pain of her injuries made her gasp. She could
barely move, let alone swing a punch. Her attackers would come around the
corner and find her lying there helplessly, and she couldn't do anything but watch
as they tore her apart.
A boot thumped down in front of her. Another boot came down to match,
carrying a pair of bowed legs in jeans. The legs waddled as they carried a large
man whistling a country song to a truck across the aisle from her. He never
glanced down at Amanda, more focused on the keys that jangled, then clicked as
he unlocked the truck's passenger door.
Amanda watched him, but he seemed not to pay any attention to her. She
took a chance and dashed out from the safety of her hiding place to the opposite
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row of cars. As she passed the fat man, he called out, "Hey, did you see all that
just now? A truck drivin' through the mall, and then that car explodin' over there?"
"No way I could've missed it." Amanda ran for the next aisle.
She kept her head low and moved from car to car, sandwiched in steel
until she made it to her Nissan Sentra parked in front of a Macy's entrance.
Amanda reached up to unlock her car, then slipped through the crack in the open
door. After dumping Bishop's file on her passenger seat, she revved the engine,
and backed out so fast that she almost hit a trio of girls walking by. Amanda
waved a hand in apology, then stamped her foot down on the gas.
As her car screeched out of the parking lot onto Ray Road alongside the
Scottsdale Mall, Amanda glanced up in her rear-view mirror. Two people dashed
out of the parking lot behind her, then stopped to watch her go. One towered
over the other, but both watched her retreating lights as if trying to commit it to
memory. She had the unsettling feeling that she would see them again sooner
than she would like. It wasn't over, not by a long shot.
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Chapter 30
Peace flowed through Lesley's mind and body as a river. The hunger
pangs, headaches, confusion, and other miseries that Lesley had experienced in
the last few days became a distant memory. Even his earlier confrontation with
Amanda barely came to mind. With every hour that passed, the sunlight in
Lesley's apartment faded, leaving him in a cocoon in shadows, bathed in the pale
glow of his computer monitor. Only his keyboard remained visible, and the
darkness seemed to fit, making the world around him as vague and indistinct as
it had become in his own mind. The only sounds became the whisper of the airconditioning over the occasional click of his mouse. All that mattered to him now
existed within the borders of his computer's screen.
He felt as if he had reached a new level of connection with Arachne.
Lesley no longer even needed to browse anything specifically to get the same
enjoyment and satisfaction. He just clicked on links at random, and discovered
that keeping his eyes focused on any page at Arachne brought him pleasure.
The actual writing or content of the page didn't matter.
Part of him ached at the thought of what he had done to Amanda, but that
part sank deeper into the quicksand of joy over Arachne. Every now and then, he
caught himself thinking she deserved it for plugging out his computer, separating
him from Arachne, but he caught himself every time. No one deserved that. He
couldn't even understand why he had reacted so violently. He would have to try
to make it up to her again later, but it would take more than flowers to heal this
rift. But he found it hard to focus on her more than a few seconds at a time.
Arachne crowded out all thought.
At some point, the idea of trying to find Jane Doe seeped into Lesley's
consciousness. He immediately clicked on the menus to take him to the Games
section. He didn't know why, but he knew she would be there, just as he knew
that she wanted to talk to him. Sure enough, Lesley logged into a chess game to
find Jane Doe's nickname sitting in the chat window.
<JANE-DOE> Hey, there, Les-Man. I've been waitin' for ya. How've you
been?
Lesley clicked on one of the pawns on the chessboard and dragged it
ahead a space before typing his response. He didn't put much thought into the
move. Chess was just his excuse to talk to Jane, since she never seemed to go
into any other chat rooms. He didn't care about the game, but she refused to talk
to him unless he at least made the effort.
<LESLEYG> Wonderful. Better than I have in years.
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<JANE-DOE> Goodie-goodie, fresh and fruity. I am stoked to hear ya'll
say that, sugar, 'cause I got a surprise for ya. You love me, don't ya, Lesley?
The question caught Lesley by surprise, but when he actually thought
about it, he could only respond one way. And he did. Lesley never realized until
that moment how he had fallen for Jane, but he had. Lesley had told her things
about himself that he had never told anyone, not even Amanda. She was always
there for him whenever he needed her, and he didn't have to dress up or
anything. Jane Doe made him laugh and cry and just feel good about himself
(what about Amanda?). The intimacy they had shared ran deep (what about
Amanda), and he felt like they had known each other for years instead of days
(what about Amanda). Lesley felt an almost magical bond between them. He
knew he would do anything (what about Amanda) for her. It didn't seem exactly
right (what about Amanda) considering they had known each other a short time
(what about Amanda), and he didn't even know what she looked like (what about
Amanda), but it was true. He loved Jane Doe (what about Amanda).
As he smiled from his revelation, he typed:
<LESLEYG> Yes, I love you.
<JANE-DOE> Good. Join the club.
<LESLEYG> What club?
Lesley's computer gave off a noise like a ringing phone, a signal that he
had e-mail waiting for him. It was closely followed by more text from Jane.
<JANE-DOE> Arachne's fanclub, Silly Willy. I just sent you an e-mail with
the address of one near you. I thought you might like to meet some of my friends.
<LESLEYG> If they're friends of yours, then they're friends of mine.
<JANE-DOE> That's the spirit. I'll see you there.
Lesley's fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment. It took him a
while before he could begin typing again, and it all came out in a rush.
<LESLEYG> You're going to be there?
<JANE-DOE> I'll be there, shuga, so get on your Sunday finest. Gotta run,
love. Peep ya soon.
Jane's nickname blinked out of the chat window, but he felt her presence
still watching over him. His mind reeled from the impact of Jane's words as if she
had punched him and sent him tumbling to the floor.
He was going to meet Jane Doe.
Lesley had felt a growing desire to meet her in real life, but never thought
it might happen at all, let alone so quickly. They lived so far away from each
other that Lesley had thought it would take a lot of planning. He and Jane got
along so well that it seemed only natural for them to meet in real life. He just
knew they would be great friends, if nothing else, and hoped they might be even
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more (what about Amanda). He had already begun making plans in his mind to
visit New York within the next few months. Now his fantasy had come true.
Lesley pried himself out of his chair. His joints popped to complain of their
disuse. He leaned over to yank open the drapes of the window over his desk. A
blade of light sliced open the darkness of his living room from the streetlamp
outside. He used it to guide himself across his apartment until he found the light
switch and flicked it on. The brightness burned his eyes before they adjusted a
moment later. He could see that his apartment had decayed again, but Lesley
didn't care. His thoughts rested only on going out to the fan club to meet Jane.
As he went to the bedroom to get dressed, Lesley considered what he had
heard about the fan clubs on Arachne. There was at least one in every state of
America. They all seemed to be sponsored by fans as a grassroots organization
designed to bring Arachne lovers together. He had never thought about going to
one, but now he would do anything that Jane Doe asked him to. Anything.
Lesley decided to wear a pair of gray slacks and his white Arachne T-shirt
to the meeting, and carefully ironed them before putting them on. His iron still
hissed out clouds of metallic-scented steam as he hurried back to his computer
to read Jane's e-mail. It listed an address in Mesa that he copied onto a sheet of
paper. Jane hadn't written anything else in the e-mail except one line that read,
"Tell them I sent you."
Lesley bolted out of the apartment so fast that he had to force himself to
slow down long enough to lock the door behind him. Within seconds, Lesley had
jumped into his truck and roared out of his apartment complex to plow along the
I-10 freeway towards Mesa. The headache and shivers started almost the
moment he left his apartment, but Lesley ground his teeth to keep them under
control.
Howling winds outside the windows of Lesley's truck faded as he finally
pulled off the I-10 Freeway into a beaten neighborhood. Another truck rattled
down the opposite side of the street, its trembling body spotted with gray primer.
It reminded him how late it was. He drove slowly to examine every sign he
passed until he came to a Speedy-Quik liquor store, where he found his turn.
Lesley felt a bit of a shock. He had expected the fan club to be at a bar or
other place of business. Instead, he found himself tooling down a road with a
long stretch of houses. They formed rows of dark blocks with sagging metal
fences and cracked earth for front lawns. A mangy dog trotted across Lelsey's
path without even a second glance. Lesley slowed his truck down even further to
try to count the numbers and find the one for Arachne fan club. Few of the
houses had lamps burning on their porches. Lesley had to aim his truck's
headlights at most of them just to read the iron lettering bolted next to their front
doors.
By the time he found the right house, Lesley realized he couldn't have
missed it, even without the number. He had to park several houses away and
walk back because of all the cars, trucks, and vans surrounding the front of the
house on both sides of the street. As Lesley walked around the car on the front
lawn, he could make out a yellow glow around the drapes in the picture window
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out front. Guitar riffs and drums vibrated out of the house to make the knocker on
the door tremble.
By the time he reached the house, sweat darkened his clothes and made
them stick to his chest and arms. He tried to fix himself up a bit but couldn't do
more than tug his shirt into place before pushing the doorbell. The front door
yanked open before he could even take his thumb off the button.
Laughter and conversation squeezed out from behind the man who filled
the doorway. Lesley could make out shadows of people moving inside behind the
man's wide shoulders and arms. It wasn't often that Lesley met someone taller
than himself, but this guard dwarfed him by several inches. He had to be at least
seven feet tall. Light gleamed off the patch where his bald head showed through
a horseshoe of black hair. The black spider tattooed on his right bicep seemed to
wriggle as the muscles contracted, and his Arachne T-shirt barely contained his
chest as it blocked Lesley's path.
The man never returned Lesley's smile, but only glared down at him.
"Whadda you want?"
Lesley remembered what Jane had said to him, and repeated it. "Jane
Doe sent me."
The man's firmly set lips broke open to reveal a row of jagged yellow
teeth. "Come on in, brother."
His hand clutched Lesley's shoulder and almost dragged him into the
house.
The living room boiled with a party atmosphere. Music pumped out of
speakers mounted in every corner. The air inside felt cool but thick, as if it had
been breathed too long, and carried a rancid odor of sweat and unwashed
clothes. Lesley didn't care. The headache pulsing in Lesley's skull dwindled as
he entered the living room and saw all the computers. Over a dozen of the
machines rested on tables scattered all over the room, although he had trouble
counting from all the people clustered around them. All of them wore Arachne Tshirts in different colors that hung from their spindly bodies. The crowds laughed,
shouted, and murmured to each other as they shuffled from one computer to
another in endless streams.
Lesley's sweeping gaze fell onto the wall across from the door. His first
thought was that someone had painted the wall to look like Arachne's main home
page. Then he saw light shining out of a black box mounted on a desk in front of
the wall. He recognized the box as a special projector that could be connected to
a computer to display its monitor on a screen or wall. Lesley had seen Amanda
use one when she gave a lecture on Internet research at the university. This
projector threw a six-foot high image of Arachne's home page onto the wall, large
enough to overshadow the entire room.
"Wow," Lesley breathed.
The large man clapped a hand on Lesley's back, then began to lead him
through the choked living room. His right leg swayed him to one side in an
awkward limp. "That's what everybody says the first time they see it. I'm Gibbs."
"Lesley," he responded, then pointed to the hampered leg. "Are you all
right?"
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"Yeah. Got in a fight last night. You got a laptop?"
Lesley tore his eyes away from the giant screen to look up at him. "Huh?
Oh, no."
Gibbs tugged on Lesley's shoulder to steer him towards one of the tables,
where a pack huddled in front of a computer showing gardening tips from
Arachne. "Okay, you can share with the others then."
He waved in the direction of a card table loaded with six-packs of Powwow
Cola and opened bags of Crumples potato chips. "There's snacks over there if
you get hungry."
Lesley grabbed him by the wrist before Gibbs could turn away. His fingers
barely made it all the way around Gibbs' arm. "Hey, wait, I'm looking for
someone. She calls herself Jane Doe online, but I don't know her real name."
Gibbs swung a hand up to aim a finger at a petite woman standing beside
the snack table. "You wanna talk to that chick over there."
With that, Gibbs lurched away towards the front door again, where Lesley
assumed he would wait for the next victim to intimidate.
Lesley stared at the blond hair tumbling down onto the collar of her pink
Arachne T-shirt. It brushed aside as she turned towards him and gave him a
smile as warm, mysterious, and inviting as a dream. A gold pendant shaped like
the "A" in Arachne's logo dangled from her slender neck. As the woman began to
walk towards him with a can of Powwow Cola in each graceful hand, he felt a
surge of excitement that bordered on panic. After days of picturing Jane Doe in
his mind and heart, here she was, and even more beautiful than he imagined.
Her face and body seemed a bit gaunt, but her eyes beamed with life. In the
fraction of a second it took her to reach him, Lesley tried to pin down one thing to
say out of the millions of expressions that fluttered across his thoughts.
When she finally stopped in front of him, the hurricane of confusion
congealed into a single word that burst out of Lesley's mouth. "Hi."
The blonde woman's voice carried a laugh with it. "Hi. You're new here,
right?"
"Yes, just showed up."
The blonde woman thrust one of her cans of soda up at Lesley. "You must
be thirsty."
Lesley realized that he was. He hadn't thought to carry any Powwow Cola
with him, and took the can from her with a grateful nod.
When he returned his gaze to the woman, Lesley realized that she hadn't
said anything familiar to him. Her polite smile drove him to ask, "Do you
recognize me?"
Her brow lowered over her eyes as she murmured through her smile, "I'm
sorry, no. I'm terrible with faces. If we've met, you'll have to remind me."
Lesley touched his palm to his chest. "It's me, Lesley. We met online."
Her smile grew a little softer as her eyes narrowed further. "I'm sorry?"
"You just invited me here a few minutes ago."
The blonde woman's eyes flew open as she pointed the index fingers of
both hands up at him. "Oh, you must be a friend of Jane Doe's, right?"
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Lesley felt his heart collapse into his feet and allowed his smile to drop
away. "You're not her?"
The woman curled her fingers down into fists while crumpling her nose in
a wince. "Oh, sorry, no. My name's Crystal. That's with a C, not a K."
"Oh." He shot a glance around at the crowds of men and women shuffling
around the room. "Well, is she here yet? She said she was going to meet me."
"Oh, she will, don't worry. We'll be meeting with her in a few minutes.
We're all friends of Jane here. As a spokeswoman for Arachne, she's kind of the
one who brought us all together, just like she did with you."
Even with the disappointment at being postponed, Lesley felt a little better
knowing his meeting with Jane would still happen. He had hoped for a more
intimate setting with her (what about Amanda), instead of an entire room full of
people, but would take what he could get.
As one of the clusters of people released a roar of laughter, Crystal aimed
her hand at the door where Gibbs leaned against the frame. "Hope you didn't
mind getting hassled. We like to keep things private here. As I'm sure you know
by now, not everyone shares our love of Arachne. We want to keep out people
who don't understand."
Lesley thought of Amanda, then nodded. He didn't like the thought of
guards keeping her away, but judging by the way she had acted earlier, she was
definitely one of those who didn't share his love of Arachne.
He took a sip of Powwow Cola and let it bubble its way down his throat as
the blonde woman touched her collarbone with her fingers and continued. "As I
said, my name is Crystal. I run the Phoenix chapter of Arachne Fan Club. Going
on a whole year since I started it."
"So what do you guys do here at the fan club?"
Crystal tilted her head to one side. "Well, we surf Arachne mostly. I mean,
why would you want to do anything else? Sometimes, we do group stuff like
buying and selling stock or Arachne shirts and stuff. Sometimes we go hand out
fliers for Arachne or put them on cars. Sometimes a few of us will go out for
Powwow Cola or something. But mainly we just surf Arachne, twenty-four hours
a day."
They began to move through the living room. Broken potato chips littered
the carpet as a fine powder that crackled with every step. Crystal squeezed her
way between two large men to guide Lesley over to one of the computers. Lesley
had to hold his breath to keep the stench coming off one of them from
overwhelming him.
Crystal continued as if she never noticed. "That's the great thing about the
clubs. It's a place to go and just lose ourselves in Arachne. No distractions or
complications. We all pretty much live by the creed of Arachne. Now that we've
seen it, we never do anything else."
The projection of Arachne's logo hung high along the wall beside Lesley,
reminding him of what he came for. A glance around the room made him feel a
comfort he never found in his own apartment. Arachne surrounded him in the
brief glimpses of other computers mounted everywhere. He felt the love and
peace of other Arachne fans washing over him. It felt like home. The availability
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of Arachne made him tingle. He couldn't wait to plunge into it and lose himself.
Others stood before the computers with their arms hanging down at their sides,
mouths slightly open, in heaven. He couldn't wait to join them.
Crystal paused to brush a gray smear of onion dip off a cushion of a blue
flowered couch. "This used to be my house, but consider it yours now. The
kitchen is that way. There's some more snacks and beer in the fridge. The
bathroom is the third door on the right. If you get tired, there are mattresses in
the bedroom, although not many of us get tired enough to sleep anymore."
Lesley smiled politely, but steered the conversation back to where his
interest lay. "Have you known Jane long?"
Crystal carefully stepped over a murmuring woman lying slumped over a
desk. "Yup, a year in September. We met in the chess chat room and just hit it off
instantly. We have so much in common. Before I started this fan club, I used to
be a marine biologist, just like her."
"Really?" Lesley followed her through a corridor of laughing people. "I
didn't know she was a marine biologist. I thought she was an artist, like me."
"Oh, she's a regular Jane-of-all-trades. It seems like everyone here has
something in common with her."
Her voice cut off as all the computers began to jangle with harsh bells.
Crystal fluttered her hands in the air as she hurried to the computer attached to
the projector. "This is it, people. Here comes Jane!"
Lesley's stomach churned in excitement as he watched the crowds for
Jane Doe to appear. Instead, they rushed past him to the rows of folding chairs
being set up in front of the projector's screen mounted on the wall. The chairs
filled up so quickly that by the time he realized he should find a seat, none
remained. He managed to find a place where he could still see among the
dozens of others standing behind the chairs.
Lesley expected Jane Doe to come out from one of the other rooms to
address the crowd. Then he noticed Crystal operating on a laptop computer
plugged into the projector. The projector threw an image of her computer's
screen onto the wall so they could all watch as she navigated through menus on
Arachne. Lesley figured out what was going on just as the screen for Arachne's
chess game flew up onto the wall.
Jane Doe's name blinked in the chat window, along with text that read:
<JANE-DOE> Good evening, ladies and germs. And how is my homies
today?
The room quaked from the cheers of the fan club. Lesley forgot his
disappointment in the tidal wave of joy that came from seeing her again. He
clapped his hands together and whistled, even though he knew she couldn't hear
him. He felt like she did.
Crystal typed on her laptop, sending text up onto the chat window next to
the nickname "WebclubAZ" which read:
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<WEBCLUBAZ> We're all great, Jane, and thrilled to see you again as
always.
<JANE-DOE> Hey, you know I'd never ditch these evening meetings,
compadres. We here at Arachne just dotes on you Arizona buckaroos. Now
before we get on with the show, I gotta give a shout-out to a good buddy of mine
who I hope is there. Is there a Lesley Grant in the hizz-ouse?
A smile came up onto Lesley's face as Crystal pointed at him, triggering a
round of applause. Hands clapped him on the back and arms. Voices called out
in welcome. Lesley felt euphoria from Jane's acknowledgment that almost made
him faint. Out of all the hundreds of people crammed in the room, Jane picked
him to mention.
When the applause died down, Jane's text window filled again.
<JANE-DOE> Okay, let's get this party started right. You know the drill,
gang. You've seen Arachne. Where else do you wanna go?
The room erupted in a single voice that called out, "Nowhere!" Crystal
tapped the same message onto her computer, serving as their voice, and more
followed.
<JANE-DOE> Who do you love?
The club threw up the words, "Jane Doe," which Crystal copied onto the
computer. Jane Doe's message repeated again.
<JANE-DOE> Who do you love?
When the club threw up the words, "Arachne," Lesley's voice joined them.
Jane Doe's message popped onto the screen again.
<JANE-DOE> Who do you love?
"Arachne," Lesley screamed along with the others.
<JANE-DOE> Who do you love? Who do you love? Who do you love?
Who do you love?
The message repeated again and again, and hands began pumping into
the air with every appearance, all holding up the index fingers and thumbs joined
together to form an "A." Lesley thrust his arms up with them, joining in the chorus
that came over and over. With every exhalation, his voice grew louder and louder
until his throat ached, but he kept screaming until it became as natural as
breathing. The indistinct corners of the world melted away, leaving the
unblemished truth.
Lesley Grant loved Arachne.
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Chapter 31
The rattle of gunshots jerked Amanda Katt awake. She yanked her head
up, away from the bullets and screaming. Her fists came up to shield her face.
She froze until the disorientation melted back into reality. The gunfire came from
the television set across the living room. A camera bucked in circles as it
followed soldiers in green camouflage through trees, while a woman's voice
recited, "Sources have confirmed that the peace talks have broken down, and
since then fighting has broken out all across the country. The President has
announced that he will dispatch troops to the area if negotiations cannot be
restored by noon tomorrow."
Amanda flopped back onto the couch to close her eyes for a moment,
then opened them to find a tongue sticking out at her. It protruded out of the
mouth of an African head carved from wood mounted on the wall above her. She
recognized it as a bundu mask from Sierra Leone, Africa. Other carvings from a
blizzard of cultures around the world surrounded the piece, reminding her of
whose home she slumped in. Every wall held paintings, and every corner of the
expansive room had sculptures from Blossom Dawn's travels tucked into them.
Candles threw feeble light into dark corners, along with lilac-scented tendrils of
smoke.
The television continued to drown on in the background. "And in other
news, the president and Congress have announced a plan to surf the Internet on
live television in two days. Senator Price suggested the action in support for his
censorship bill."
The relief Amanda felt over finding herself safe in Blossom's house burst
out of her in tears. She hunched over as her body shuddered in sobs that
rebounded off the high ceiling.
Blossom Dawn's head parted a curtain of beads dividing her dining room
from the living room. "Amanda? Are you all right?"
Amanda leaned forward and braced her elbows on the solid-oak coffee
table, where they slithered across layers of paper. Her lungs twitched as they
fought down more tears. "Yeah, I'm good, Blah. Just thought the bad guys caught
up with me for real."
She swept her hair away from her face and behind her head, where she
began to work it into a ponytail. The activity gave her a focus that calmed her.
"Thanks again for lettin' me crash here last night."
Blossom bowed through the beaded curtain and left them to rattle behind
her as she crossed the carpet holding a silver tray, heavy with china dishes. In
her sky-blue kimono, Blossom would have resembled a geisha girl shuffling
across the room if it hadn't been for the mop of red curls draped around her head
and heart-shaped glasses. "No trouble at all, my dear. You are always welcome
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at Chateau Dawn. Besides, one can't be expected to acquire a good night's sleep
with a team of assassins waiting outside one's door. But what, pray tell, are you
doing on the couch? I thought I gave you one of the spare bedrooms?"
Amanda swept her fingertips across her cheeks to dry them, then nodded.
"Yeah, but I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd go over Bishop's file and see what I
could come up with."
At Blossom's words, Amanda remembered the horror of last night, and
scurried off the sofa to peer out of the narrow window by the front door. Through
the heavy curtain, she could see the peaceful neighborhood outside. The street
lay empty except for cars and trucks parked along the curb, shattering the long
arms of sunlight with shadows that reached around a huge fountain and up to the
desert landscaping in front of Blossom's home.
After escaping Arachne's killers at the Scottsdale mall, Amanda had
realized that if Paul Norton had found and broken into her home in Arachne's first
attack, then the others at the mall would, too. With Lesley as unreliable as he had
been lately, the only other place she trusted was Blossom Dawn's house in
Scottsdale.
"I still cannot fathom such circumstances," Blossom whispered behind her.
"They almost killed you over a website. This can't simply be a case of advertising
revenue."
Amanda didn't answer, only hurried across the ocean of green carpeting to
the dining room. There, she leaned against the rear windows to study the
backyard. Outside the glass, a fountain sprayed out of Blossom's pool into the
cool morning air, and down onto a waterfall of artificial rocks. Beyond it, an oakbrown wooden fence stood tipped with rows of iron Native American figures. The
figures dancing along the top of the fence seemed harmless, except for their
razor-sharp edges. She would have heard if anyone tried to climb over it last
night. No one had surrounded the house, and she tried the window's lock to find
it still engaged.
Amanda returned from the dining room, digging into the carpet with her
bare toes as she walked. She dropped back onto the couch and stared down at
the table at her feet. Pages spilled out of the open manila folder that Truman
Bishop had died to give her. She had spent most of the previous night going over
Bishop's notes and observations, and Amanda began to sift through them again.
The morning news cut short as Blossom shut off the television, leaving
only the twang of East Indian music playing on her stereo. She dropped onto the
floor in front of Amanda with her legs folded under herself. Her eyebrows rose
over the frame of her glasses as she held up her tray. "Can I tempt you with
some scrambled tofu and multi-grain meatless bacon?"
"If I was starvin' on some desert island, yeah." Amanda turned over some
of notes written on yellow legal paper.
"A simple 'no' would have sufficed, my dear." Blossom set the tray down
onto her lap and began to spoon the tofu onto a piece of toast. "I last left you with
your nose embedded in that pile of chaos. Have you managed to assemble it into
a more coherent form?"
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Focusing on Bishop's notes drew her further out of exhaustion and into the
morning's work. She dug out a stack of papers held together by a paper clip. "Oh,
yeah. There's some awesome stuff in here. Bishop's got the goods on over a
hundred fans of Arachne, including how they got involved with Arachne, and how
their lives went down the john because of it."
Blossom crunched the toast, then dabbed at the corners of her mouth with
a silk napkin. "Leading you to what conclusion?"
Amanda felt so hungry that even Blossom's meal looked good, despite the
earthy scent rising from the plate. She reached over and snapped off one end of
a faux-bacon strip on Blossom's plate while talking. "It's always the same. Once
these guys get a look at Arachne, they never look back. They all end up
spending more and more time at Arachne, give up their family, friends, and even
their jobs. Then there's the physical symptoms that Bishop told me about. Pain,
nausea, tremors, migraine headaches, and loss of appetite just from bein' away
from Arachne. It's all they think about, and they'd do anything to get it."
Blossom cupped a steaming mug of coffee in both hands before her lips
as she murmured, "It almost sounds like a drug addiction."
"Exactly what I was thinking." Amanda bit off the end of the bacon strip in
her hand. Almost immediately, the floury texture and taste made her grimace and
drop the rest of the bacon onto Blossom's plate. "Dunno how you can eat that
stuff."
Blossom crooked an eyebrow, then speared the bacon on the end of her
fork. "If you knew the long-term effects of meat on the human digestive system,
you would. And let's assume this Bishop fellow is correct. This begs the question
of how. How is a simple website able to produce such an unusual effect? Could it
be a drug?"
Amanda plucked up an English muffin, bit half of it, then chewed slowly.
Even though Blossom had smothered it in some sort of fruit-flavored concoction
from the Brazilian rain forest, Amanda decided to eat it, anyway. "Thought of that,
and so did Bishop, but it don't play out. As far as he knows, nobody from Arachne
ever came in contact with them before they were hooked. Lesley sure didn't. We
were alone the first night he saw the banner, and I saw it change him right then.
Whatever it was didn't affect me at the same time. So I know what's happenin',
but still got no idea why."
She pushed the rest of the muffin into her mouth, then chewed it while
sifting through Bishop's file again. "This thing is the bomb, though. It's got so
much stuff, it'll take me weeks to sort it all out. But I did notice this."
As the Indian music playing on Blossom's stereo rose to a crescendo,
Amanda tugged a crumpled sheet of yellow legal paper out from the rest, then
angled it so that light fell onto the surface.
Blossom's jaw slowed in its chewing as the hundreds of words and circles
scrawled across the page came into view. "What is that?"
Amanda traced her finger across the edge of the paper. "That's what I
spent last night tryin' to figure out. Seems like Bishop spent all his time on it, but
never organized it like the others."
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A sitar twanged on the speakers over Blossom as Amanda drew the paper
back. Arrows and lines connected the words scrambled on the page into a
maddening web. She pointed to the word in the center of the page that all the
others connected to. "See, this one here says 'Jane Doe.' And all the other stuff
he wrote around it. 'Manipulator,' 'leader,' and 'seductress.'"
Finally, she pointed to the top of the page, where a marker had scrawled
in harsh red letters, "Who is Jane Doe?"
"That's what I wanna know."
Blossom laid her tray onto the floor beside her, then carefully plucked the
paper from Amanda's fingers to study it. "But it's obviously some sort of joke,
yes? I mean, Jane Doe is an anonymous name by definition. It's the name they
give to unidentified corpses at the morgue. It could refer to anyone, living or
dead."
Amanda drew her feet up onto the couch and rocked back and forth on
her heels. "Yeah, but before Bishop died he told me somebody was behind
Arachne, controlling its fans and giving them orders. And when Paul Norton
jumped me in my apartment, he kept sayin' something about failing Jane.
Somebody told him and those other people to kill Bishop and me. Could be
Jonathan Seer or maybe it's this Jane Doe, whoever she is. Or maybe they're
both the same. I gotta find out who she is and what she's got to do with all this."
Amanda dropped the paper onto the stack and began rooting through
Bishop's folder again. It took her a while to find the right page in the flickering
light of Blossom's candles. "Like I need one more question to answer. I got a
lead, though. Bishop found the name of a guy who used to work for Arachne,
Mason Campbell. Campbell might have some inside information. I'll call him and
see if he can help me out."
Bishop's notes even had Campbell's address in San Francisco and his
work and home phone numbers. Amanda felt the urge to thank Bishop for the
effort he had done, and felt a pang at the knowledge that she couldn't. She never
even had a chance to get to know him.
She stretched to get the kinks out of her back, then stepped over
Blossom's legs to reach a black phone on a table next to a bonsai willow tree.
She dialed Lesley's number. The fact that it rang at all surprised her. She had
been getting busy signals since the previous night. She knew that Lesley was
caught in the trap of Arachne. Amanda could imagine him sitting at his desk in
front of his computer, lost in whatever hypnotic power Arachne had over him. But
unless he had installed a second phone line, the fact that the phone rang at all
seemed to indicate that he wasn't on the Internet.
She felt a dim light of hope burn inside her, but realized it might be too
late. Bishop hadn't been too optimistic about anyone escaping Arachne's spell.
She had to find out. The thought of going back to him also resurrected the pain of
the bruises still marking her shoulder and arms. If he was turning into what she
had seen at the mall, then she actually feared him, and that disturbed her even
more. But she wouldn't let his life end up like the ones described in Bishop's
note. She would save him or die trying.
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Amanda rubbed the back of her neck, then dialed the number and listened
to the ring. Finally, a man's voice murmured, "Hello?"
"Yeah, my name's Amanda Katt. I'm a reporter doing an article on
Arachne and wondered if you could help me out."
The voice became even lower. "Sorry, I don't work there anymore."
She could almost feel the phone being returned to his cradle, but she
yelled out, "Wait, I gotta ask you some questions. I got to know how it works. It's
really important."
A deep sigh came, followed by a slightly more enthusiastic response. "You
ever been to Sea Legs? The restaurant?"
"In San Francisco? No."
"Well, I'll be there around seven tonight. You buy me a dinner and we'll
talk. Deal?"
Amanda checked her watch, then nodded almost to herself. "Okay, deal,
but I need some time to get there. Right now, I'm in Arizona."
"You wanna talk? Then I'll see you then."
Before she could respond, he had already hung up.
Amanda set the phone down, then moved back to the couch to sweep the
papers into Bishop's folder again. "Okay, I got a date. Meantime, I'll try to talk
some more sense into Lesley. But Blossom, I know you take a lot o' psychology
classes. Can a website be addictive?"
Blossom twirled some curls of her hair around her index finger for a
moment. "An interesting question. I do recall reading something about that the
other day."
Blossom hurried across the living room to one of her shelves that held
rows of magazines and scientific journals. Amanda couldn't help smiling at
Blossom going to work, tapping into the vast knowledge she carried around with
her.
Blossom thumbed through her collection of literature as she spoke. "It's a
new theory, but one that's growing in acceptance among the psychiatric
community. It goes by several names, but one of the most common is Internet
addiction. Ah, here it is."
She hauled a magazine off the shelf entitled Psychological and leafed
through it. "The effects of smoking and recreational drugs have been known for
decades, but now we also know that gambling, eating, work, and even exercise
can be addictive as well. Theoretically, anything can be. All pleasurable activities
release chemicals in the brain that can mimic the effects of narcotics. Even
browsing the Internet has this effect, and some people have turned it into their
addiction. There's been some research on it, but not much. It's still somewhat
controversial."
Blossom turned towards her with the journal held up in front of her face.
Light reflected off the glossy cover of the journal, showing a purple symmetrical
pattern. "One study here argues that the effects of long-term Internet abuse
mimic the compulsive qualities of drugs and other narcotic substances. Those
who are defined as 'Internet addicts' exhibit tendencies such as a loss of
boundaries, a lack of control or sense of time, and a disruption of work and social
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life. They feel a distraction from their problems and insecurities. They spend
increasing amounts of time on the Internet, just as a cocaine addict needs to
increase the amount he takes in for the same high."
Amanda could hear the rustle of pages being turned, then Blossom held
up a finger over the top of the magazine. "Not only that, but being deprived of the
Internet causes these so-called 'Internet addicts' to suffer classic withdrawal
symptoms. Restlessness, increased irritability, and an overwhelming desire to go
back online. It reaches the point where the addicts find themselves unable to
control their use of the Internet, and unable to stop, even if they wanted to."
Blossom lowered the journal, flipped over another page, then sucked on
her thumb for a moment before murmuring, "Interesting."
Amanda pressed a hand against her forehead to ease the nausea that
swept over her. All of the traits Blossom had described matched behavior she
had seen in Lesley and other fans of Arachne. It seemed as if she witnessed
classic Internet addiction. "It say something in there about physical symptoms?
Migraine headaches, tremors, nausea, hyperactivity, stuff like that?"
"No, not that I can see. That seems like rather an extreme reaction for the
kind of addiction this is describing. Physical withdrawal is usually the result of
chemical dependency. Internet addiction is defined as more of an emotional
dependency."
Blossom closed the journal and tapped the cover. "It occurs to me that
what we're talking about is not merely addiction. You say ordinary people are
being transformed, entirely devoting their lives to Arachne. They buy whatever
Arachne tells them to, and go wherever it tells them to go. It even turns normally
passive individuals into violent killers, bent only on destroying Arachne's
enemies. This is not addiction. What you're witnessing is more like mind control."
The words made Amanda pause, going over everything she had seen and
watching them fall into place. "Mind control. That makes sense. But is that for
real?"
Blossom spread her hands wide with the journal weighing down her right
hand. "Well, I've always thought of mind control as something seen only in bad
science-fiction movies. There has been a tremendous amount of research into
mind control, but I've heard of no conclusive results. For example, I once read
about a government project in the early sixties code-named MKULTRA to find a
way to bend a human's will. The project was shut down and MKULTRA was
labeled a failure. But anything is possible, especially with recent advances in our
understanding of the human brain."
Blossom settled back against her bookshelves and raised her eyes up to
Amanda with the lids half-closed. "But if we assume that mind control does exist
and that this website is using it, then what mechanism are they using? And a
question that could be just as important is why? If such a groundbreaking
technology as mind control existed, why would anyone use it on something as
insignificant as a website?"
Blossom slipped the medical journal back on her shelves. "I shall need to
do some more research on the subject to get a conclusive answer."
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The sleeves of her kimono embraced her legs as she propped her hands
on her hips. "But you're serious? You're actually planning to continue your pursuit
of Arachne, despite the fact that it's become far too dangerous?"
Amanda had left her shoes by Blossom's front door, and tucked her feet
into them, one by one. "People tryin' to kill me means I'm on the right track. If
Lesley's gonna end up like the other guys Bishop profiled, then he don't have
much time. Seems like everybody who gets caught by Arachne ends up killing
themselves or somebody else. Bishop thought this was bigger than just a
website, and after last night, I believe him. I gotta find out what's up with this and
how to fix it before it's too late."
Blossom touched her face with the black fingernail of her index finger.
"Too late for what?"
"I dunno. Too late for Lesley, too late for me." She met Blossom's eyes
with her own. "Maybe too late for everybody."
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Chapter 32
Huddled in the white interior of his office, Jonathan Seer took a matter of
seconds to log into the chessboard of Arachne, where he found Jane Doe waiting
for him.
<SEER> I read about the death of Truman Bishop. Our plan is on track. In
two more days, the viewing will take place, and the world will be under our
control. With Bishop and Katt out of the way, no one can stop us.
Seer felt so soothed by his acknowledgment of his own genius that he
actually considered the pieces on the chessboard, and moved one of his pawns
accordingly.
<JANE-DOE> Well, you're on the money, Johnny, but I got bad news for
ya. My boys and girls managed to take out Bishop, but Amanda Katt got away.
The pleasure Seer felt vanished in an instant. Seer's hands lunged at the
keyboard to stab the keys.
<SEER> How is that possible? You assured me she would be taken care
of.
<JANE-DOE> I thought she was. But it turns out she wasn't in Bishop's
car when it did the big kablooey. We ain't sure where she went, 'cause she never
went back to her apartment. I've got her boyfriend in one of the clubs to keep her
from hiding out with him, but she hasn't shown up there, either. But I'll lay down
mucho diñero that she's still out there, madder than ever.
<SEER> This is intolerable, Jane. I left the destruction of our enemies in
your hands. You've organized a worldwide army, but now you tell me that you
cannot eliminate one single woman?
<JANE-DOE> Hey, back off, Seer. I never said I couldn't take her down. I
just need to find her. You're the big brain expert. Do your Vulcan mind-meld and
figure it out.
Seer's initial reaction would have been to terminate the conversation for
Jane's insolence, but he had to admit she was right. Instead, he closed his eyes
and focused his thoughts. He had spent years studying behavior patterns and
training his mind to allow him to predict any person's motivations. It was the next
best thing to reading minds directly. Knowing what he knew about Amanda Katt's
background and past actions, he created a template that produced a single
result.
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When Seer had the answer, he returned to typing again.
<SEER> We won't have to track Katt down. If she spoke with Bishop, then
she must know that Arachne is controlling its visitors. Her next move would be to
find out how it operates. If we assume that Bishop gave her his notes, then she
will be following his plan of tracking down ex-employees to interview. The only
one is Mason Campbell. Watch her fiancé, but also watch Campbell, and tap his
phone if you have to. Sooner or later, she'll come to him.
<JANE-DOE> I'll get right on it. My dear Seer, sometimes you amaze me.
A rare smile pushed up one corner of Seer's mouth as he typed:
<SEER> Sometimes I even amaze myself.
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Chapter 33
Amanda Katt left Blossom Dawn's house determined to bring Lesley back
from Arachne's grip. On the drive to his apartment, she explored how she felt
towards him, a hard question.
The pain he had inflicted on her, both physically and emotionally, had
been agonizing. Yet from the way Bishop had described the effects of Arachne,
and what she had seen with her own eyes, it couldn't be Lesley's fault. In a
matter of days, he had gone from a loyal friend to a brooding monster. There
seemed to be no other explanation for Lesley's violent transformation - Arachne
had a hold on him somehow. It didn't seem possible, but she knew that she still
loved the man he had once been with all her heart. If there was a way to free him
from Arachne's control, she had to find it.
She ran over dozens of ways to approach Lesley. Amanda didn't know
what to say to him, but hoped the words would come. Her biggest concern came
from the knowledge that if he got violent again, she would have to defend herself.
As much as she loved Lesley, if Arachne had as strong a grip on him as Bishop
had claimed, then he could be capable of anything. Something bigger lay hidden
under Arachne that could affect everyone. To uncover the truth, Amanda couldn't
be sidetracked by injuries or worse. She could only pray that, if the time came to
face Lesley's violent nature again, Amanda could bring herself to do what had to
be done.
Amanda finally arrived at Lesley's apartment complex. She plowed
through waves of heat rising from the cracked asphalt of the parking lot to mount
the staircase to his door. Standing on the front step of Lesley's apartment, the
sun's rays fell directly onto Amanda Katt, burning her exposed skin. As seconds
grew into minutes, the gnawing pain cranked her level of frustration even higher.
She knocked on Lesley's door for five more minutes straight while the heat crept
up her body. She heard nothing inside, and nothing outside except the distant
chirp of birds nestled in the trees behind her.
When enough time had passed, Amanda jammed a hand into her tote bag
for her cellular phone. Her fingers curled around something smooth, but when
she drew it out into the light, it turned out to be a broken piece of black plastic. It
took her a moment to recognize it as the shattered case of her pocket tape
recorder, one of the pieces left in her bag from Jonathan Seer's attack. In all the
confusion, she had forgotten to throw them out. She glanced around for a
garbage can, then decided to keep them a little while longer. The pieces seemed
symbolic, like a totem of Arachne's violent manipulation in her life. They could
give her strength while she fought for Lesley.
She dropped the piece back into her bag and went back to mining its
contents until she extracted her cellular phone. The phone beeped as if crying
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out in pain when she jabbed the keys dialing Lesley's number. As it rang, she
could hear the muffled song of Lesley's phone through the apartment walls, but
no shuffling, no voices calling out to her, no response at all. No one answered.
When the phone rang for the twentieth time, Amanda hit the button to
hang it up. The thought of what might lie on the other side of Lesley's door tickled
the back of her neck with fear. She couldn't afford to be subtle anymore. She set
her tote bag down on the doormat, then scrambled down the stairs to a batch of
landscaping by the pavement. Amanda pried up one of the red bricks
surrounding a cloud of yellow flowers and hauled it back up the steps with her.
She raised the brick over her head and called out as it rained particles of
dirt down onto her face and shoulders. "Lesley, if you don't open this door right
now, I'm breakin' it down."
Amanda counted to ten under her breath, and when she still got no
response, she swung the brick down onto the doorknob. The brick glanced off
the knob with a ping. She struck it again and again, each time leaving dents in
the brass until the knob snapped off to clatter at her feet. She could see and hear
the knob's twin on the other side fall as well. Amanda set the brick down on the
doormat, then reached into the hole left by the missing doorknob. Working the
mechanism with her fingers allowed her to pry the rest of the lock out and shove
open the door.
The door swung wide into the void of Lesley's apartment. She couldn't
hear anything inside except the hum of the air-conditioning. She felt the rush of
cool air flowing out, but the relief it brought vanished in the terror of the lifeless
room facing her. His curtains had been drawn over the windows, preventing her
from seeing more than formless shadows. Amanda stumbled across the barren
room, bumping into invisible terrors that stroked her legs and clanked against the
toes of her sandals. When she managed to reach the window and forced open
the curtains to throw light onto the room, the hope that Lesley had managed to
pull himself away from Arachne died at the chaos he had left behind. A mound of
dishes piled in the sink, and laundry lay draped like hollow corpses across the
furniture. But no Lesley.
"Les?" Amanda called out, "you in here, man?"
The air-conditioning whispered in reply.
Amanda noticed a pattern in the random chaos, a trail of socks and pants
leading into the bedroom. On her way to it, she kicked one of the empty Powwow
Cola cans scattered across the carpet. It bounced along the floor, ricocheted off
the leg of the coffee table, and rattled through the open bedroom door as if racing
her to get there first.
The bedroom seemed in worse shape than the living room. Socks, shirts,
and pairs of jeans dangled over the edges of the drawers as if they had
overflowed. She checked the shoetree in the closet and noted that his brown
loafers were gone. The other shoes on the tree had been knocked off and lay on
their sides at its base. Lesley had obviously left in a hurry. She felt some comfort
at the knowledge that he wasn't still huddled at his computer like she had last
seen him, but where had he gone?
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Amanda came out of the bedroom to search the apartment for clues. His
cover illustration, sculptures, and other artwork remained behind, so he hadn't
gone to sell them or anything. The hope rose in her that he might have gone over
to her apartment. Maybe she had missed him. Amanda thought of going back
home to wait when she saw his computer.
The open window behind the monitor made it appear as a dark box
surrounded by light. The monitor had been switched off, but a green light glowed
on the computer's case, signaling that the machine itself had not. She guessed
that Lesley left it on in his hurry to go. As she moved closer, it occurred to her
that the answer might lie there. She reached out to punch her finger against the
cold plastic button on the monitor's face. The screen came up to burn brightly
with an e-mail message.
She felt a twinge of guilt reading Lesley's e-mail, and she reached out to
switch it off again, when she noticed the e-mail contained an address in Phoenix
and a sentence below that read, "Tell them I sent you." She wasn't sure what that
meant, but the e-mail address listed as the sender gave Amanda a clue.
According to the e-mail, it had come from jane_doe.
She had time to think about Jane Doe on the drive over to the address
listed in the e-mail. The cryptic pages in Bishop's notes described someone
named "Jane Doe" who worked at Arachne. Obviously, this was the same Jane.
But why she would be e-mailing Lesley and sending him to a mysterious
location? And who was Jane Doe. As Blossom had pointed out, Jane Doe was
an intentionally generic name. Amanda would bet anything that Jane Doe wasn't
the person's real name. Jane Doe might not even be a woman. Lots of people
pretended to be things they weren't on the Internet.
The mystery of Jane Doe disturbed her almost as much as her contacting
Lesley. How had he met her? Why had he rushed out of the house on the orders
of this mysterious woman? She remembered that Bishop had said Jane Doe
somehow controlled Arachne's visitors. It seemed like Jane had a power over
Lesley as well. That bothered her a lot, and she had to admit to a bit of jealousy
wrapped up in there. She couldn't help wondering about Lesley's relationship
with Jane.
But why would Jane Doe want Lesley to go to this address? What did it
have to do with the purposes of Arachne? She hoped this would bring her closer
to the secrets of Arachne, as well as a means of freeing Lesley from its grip. She
had too many questions, and not enough answers. These thoughts occupied her
mind as Amanda pulled off the freeway into a decaying area of Central Phoenix.
Heat rising from the streets carried the stink of asphalt, making her roll her
windows up tighter. She drove past decaying buildings, either boarded up or
supporting hand-painted signs for pawnshops and liquor stores. A Hispanic
woman cradled a brown paper bag at a bus stop with no roof to shelter her from
the burning sun. Amanda slowed to read the street names dangling from dented
metal poles. On a corner with a yard piled high with rusting dishwashers, ancient
television sets, and heaps of oily auto parts, Amanda found it. The road Jane
Doe had named in her e-mail.
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Amanda braked to turn off onto a street of residential houses. She had to
brake to avoid hitting a dog with matted brown fur trotting across the road. The
dog snarled at Amanda before crawling into some dead bushes. Amanda began
to drive again, counting off the iron numbers bolted onto walls or reading the
faded numbers on the curb until she found the house.
The single-story house surprised her at first. It wasn't particularly
impressive. In fact, it seemed to be the ugliest one on the block, which said
something in this neighborhood. Paint had flaked off the corners exposing
chipped brick, and holes showed through the roof from missing tiles. The front
lawn had been neglected for so long that it had been reduced to brown stalks
invaded by tufts of green weeds. A wooden gate blocked a dirt path that ran up
the left-hand side to the front porch. Silver figurines dangling from strings on the
front porch tinkled in the hot wind. The front door hid behind a screen door with
torn mesh sagging at the edges. The only thing that made the house worth
noticing were the dozens of cars, vans, motorcycles parked in front of it and on
its lawn.
Amanda slowed her car to a pace that wouldn't be too conspicuous, but
would allow her to observe the house more closely. She tried to see inside, but
orange drapes hung over the windows, blocking her view. As she considered
whether she dared to knock on the front door, Amanda noticed a thin woman
shuffling up to it. A T-shirt for Arachne draped on the woman's skeletal body. The
woman climbed the steps of the porch with trembling legs, halted on the doormat,
and knocked twice. The door opened a moment later and a huge man leaned out
to speak to her.
Amanda jerked down further into her seat as she recognized the man in
the house. It was Gibbs, the Neanderthal who had attacked her and Bishop at
the mall the night before. He didn't seem to notice Amanda's car, focused on his
conversation the woman at his door. After a second of exchange, Gibbs moved
back and the woman hurried inside.
As the door shut with a click Amanda could hear across the street, she
ground her teeth in frustration. If Gibbs was here, then this place obviously had
something to do with Arachne. It also seemed to be where Lesley had come. She
had to find out what went on in there, but if Gibbs manned the door, then she
couldn't get in that way. Amanda had to find another way in.
She drove her car around the corner before pulling up to the curb, out of
sight of Arachne house. The sun warmed her as she climbed out and headed
back the way she came. Amanda stepped over tufts of grass poking out of cracks
in the sidewalk. The concrete strip stretched before her, barren of shade except
for the occasional weak line cast by a tree desperately reaching towards the sun.
The persistent heat and fear made Amanda dizzy, and she wondered if she could
even make it to the house. But as Amanda passed a lawn, sprinklers chattered at
the edges, throwing a mist onto the glistening grass. Evaporation cooled the air
over the lawn, giving Amanda some relief.
Water drizzled off into the gutter, sending a river trickling its way along the
curb, carrying leaves and cigarette butts to follow Amanda as she headed
towards the house. Amanda walked at an even pace towards the house, keeping
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her eyes darting about as if she were looking at other houses, instead. With her
rare glances, she kept watch on the front door of her target. The door never
opened or moved as she approached.
At a point where a pine tree in the front lawn blocked the view between
her and the house, Amanda seized the opportunity to dash for the wooden gate
on the side. She ran, crouching low to the ground, until she came to the gate,
then vaulted up over it, landing on her feet on the other side.
Music pulsed out of the windows of the house like the beating of a
massive heart. She found herself huddled in a narrow strip of brown lawn, boxed
in by a concrete wall. Rows of dead flowers with withered red blossoms on their
heads disintegrated as Amanda crawled through them. Gray dust coated her
palms and fingertips as she made her way to a window in the back of the house.
The smell of earth tickled her nose, but she held her breath to keep from
sneezing.
It occurred to her that she had no idea what these people would do to her
if they caught her. Judging by what they had done to Bishop, Amanda didn't want
to give them the chance to find out.
The music seemed to be quieter in the back. She hoped that meant no
one was in the rooms there, and raised her head up carefully to peek through the
window. More curtains hung down over the glass, but she could see through a
crack between them to a kitchen waiting on the other side. Empty.
Amanda reached up and pushed on the window's frame. Her fears of it
being locked evaporated as it began to slide upwards, but it came with a scraping
noise that made her wince. She paused, then began to push again, slower this
time. The whisper of the window came softer, easier. Air rushed out of the
opening window to cool her face as she worked, but carried with it a foul odor
that made her stomach twitch. She bit her lip and kept going. All along, she
tensed her body to prepare to run if anyone came to investigate the noise. It took
her several minutes at that pace to raise the window enough to force her head
and shoulders through.
Amanda wriggled through the narrow opening to find herself standing
alone in the kitchen. The conversation and music came at her from an open door,
but seemed to be a good distance away. She braced her hands on a white
counter alongside a silver sink piled high with dishes and glasses, all speckled
with crusts of food. The stench rising up from them told her how long they had
been there. Amanda dragged herself through the window until she could swing
her legs down onto the floor.
A cockroach crawled between her feet on its way to an empty Crumples
potato chip bag on the floor. Amanda held her breath for a moment to ward
against the stench hanging in the air. It seemed to be a mixture of sweat, the
tang of unwashed bodies, the sour odor of vomit, the sweetness of decaying
food, and a dozen others that she didn't want to identify. Flies buzzed on stains
encrusting the burners on the stove. The kitchen cabinets all hung open, allowing
pots and pans to dangle out. Dented Powwow Cola and Kassner Beer cans lay
on the floor alongside empty bags of Crumples potato chips and Amigo Burrito
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boxes. All foods she had seen advertised on Arachne. She wondered if that was
all these people ate.
As Amanda picked her way across the floor, footsteps grew louder. Her
heart jumped in panic just as a man walked into the kitchen. Red and brown
stains dotted the front of his green Arachne T-shirt. A pile of paper plates and
plastic cups filled his wiry arms. Dark circles surrounded his wide eyes as he
turned them onto Amanda. He froze in his tracks. His mouth hung open for a
moment, then widened to scream.
Amanda threw out a hand to clap it over his mouth. Her other hand
chopped him on the back of his neck. She felt his grunt puff out her fingers as he
collapsed onto the floor. She held the back of his head on the way down to ease
his descent, then left him there, unconscious. Amanda wasn't sure how long she
would have before he was missed. She had to work fast to find Lesley.
Amanda inched over to the kitchen door, then eased her head out enough
to peek out without being noticed. She could see into the living room, and saw
nothing but men and women milling around in a huge crowd, all wearing Arachne
T-shirts. She didn't see Gibbs, but knew she would stand out in that group.
She returned to the kitchen, stripping off her own plain white T-shirt.
Letting it drop beside the fallen man, Amanda knelt to yank his Arachne shirt off.
It gave off a foul odor that told her he had been wearing it for too long, and made
her throat twitch as she pulled it on over her head. As a large size, it hung loose
over her body, and Amanda thought that might help to disguise her. She also
undid the ponytail in her hair to let it hang loose around her face. She drew in her
cheeks to try to match the gaunt appearance she had seen of all Arachne
addicts, then left the kitchen to enter the living room.
The smell had been bad in the kitchen, but grew almost unbearable further
in. Even with the air-conditioning roaring at full blast, the atmosphere felt thick
and humid from being breathed too long. Amanda took shallow breaths as she
headed into the living room. Torn banners of cloth hung from the walls with logos
of Arachne crudely painted onto them. Stains of guacamole, soda, and other
foods mottled the carpet in shades of green or yellow, and crumbs littered the
floor like snow. The cushions of the couch lay at angles beside the pieces of a
shattered lamp on the end table. It seemed as if no one had cleaned the place in
months, and looking at the people who inhabited it told her why.
The crowds moved about with lifeless eyes and sunken faces. Their
Arachne T-shirts hung over their thin bodies like deflated balloons. At first, she
thought they moved about aimlessly until she noticed them forming clusters
around the room. Amanda forced herself between two women to reach the core
of one of the groups.
Three old IBM PC computers stood on a card table, along with an elderly
woman and a ten-year old girl beside it. She recognized Arachne glowing on all
three screens. They seemed to be set to different pages, but none of the people
staring at them seemed to be interested in their content. Amanda shot glances at
the eyes of the fans. They never even twitched to indicate the fans were reading.
They only seemed to lock onto Arachne as if it fed them through their eyes.
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Amanda recognized the house as what Bishop had described as a fan
club for Arachne. She felt a lack of motion, a slowing down, a stillness that could
go on forever. It seemed like the place existed only so no one had to do anything
but stare at Arachne all day. It explained their thin bodies and hollow eyes. Life
itself seemed secondary to them, much less eating or sleeping.
Amanda drew back and collided with something behind her. It turned out
to be a man's arm. Before she could let out an apology, Amanda recognized his
muscular frame, gentle eyes, and long blond hair.
"Lesley," she whispered.
The same dead look in his eyes as he faced her had appeared whenever
she caught him hooked on Arachne. In the past, it had faded after a second or
two, but this time it remained. Lesley just stared at her as if she weren't even
there. After a moment, he shook his head slightly, then shuffled on one of his
heels to cross the living room to another computer.
A bald head drifted over the heads of the crowds. Even before he passed
into view, Amanda knew it was Gibbs, and the brief glimpse just confirmed it. He
didn't seem to be aware of her presence, but only roamed the living room to keep
an eye on things. She had to get Lesley and get out before Gibbs caught her.
Amanda tilted her head forward to make her hair fall over her face, then
moved as quickly as she could without drawing attention. As she passed Lesley
hunched over a computer, Amanda hooked his arm in hers and dragged him into
the kitchen. Lesley shuffled to keep up, but his head remained turned over his
shoulder towards the computer until the last possible moment.
Only when he had been drawn out of view did Lesley snap out of the
trance. He blinked his reddened eyes, then turned them down towards Amanda.
For the first time, recognition began to peel away the surface. "Mandy? What are
you doing here?"
Amanda stepped over the unconscious man on the kitchen floor as she
continued to pull Lesley towards the open window. "Gettin' you outta here."
Lesley leaned back to throw his weight away from her and stop her dead.
His foot kicked a soda can that rattled into a corner. "What? No, I don't want to
leave."
Amanda reached up to take his face in her hands. "Les, listen up, okay?
You ain't right. You gotta snap out of it, baby."
Lesley jerked his head out of her reach, then took another step back.
"What are you talking about?"
Amanda leaned over to catch a glimpse of the living room. The writhing
wall of people still faced away from her towards the computers, shuffling in an
intricate dance from one to another. She didn't think anyone had noticed them
missing yet. "We don't got time for this, Les. Let's just go."
Lesley shook his head to one side as if shaking something loose in his
head, then began to walk back towards the living room.
Amanda grabbed the bicep of his left arm again to keep him in the room
with her. Sweat on his arm made keeping her grip on him even harder, but she
clenched as hard as she could. "No, Les, come on. This way."
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Lesley swept his hand across her arm, breaking her grip. "I can't - I mean,
I don't want to leave. Please, you have to go, leave me alone."
She reached for his hand and sandwiched it between hers, feeling its
warmth against her palms. Even over the foul odor that hung in the air, Amanda
could still smell Lesley's cologne as an oasis of sweetness and beauty in the
diseased house. "Les, you gotta focus on me now, okay? Arachne's dangerous.
It's addictive. I don't know how or why, but I'm gonna find out. But first thing I'm
gonna do is get you outta here."
A new song began to play in the living room with a funky disco beat.
Lesley's foot crushed an empty potato chip bag as he took another step
towards the door. "Jane Doe told me you wouldn't understand."
"Jane Doe." Amanda squeezed his hand tightly between her fingers. "Les,
who's Jane Doe?"
Lesley tugged his hand out of hers, then stepped over the unconscious
man on the floor. "The woman I love."
Amanda felt his words like a knife cutting deep into her gut, but managed
to find her voice again. She touched his quivering cheek. "No. Lesley, please,
you don't mean that. You love me."
Lesley's face contorted in a grimace as he hunched over in pain. His
fingers clawed at his temples, wrapping tendrils of his hair around them. "No. No,
I love her. I love Arachne."
She fought to reach for his shoulders and haul him towards the window
again. "Les, it's me, Amanda. I love you. You gotta fight this thing for me. Come
on. We gotta get out, right now."
Lesley grabbed her forearm. His grip tightened to the point where Amanda
cried out in pain. He brought himself within inches of her. Sweat trickled down his
face. "Amanda, you have to get out of here. If you stay, they'll kill you. I'll kill you.
I can't control myself anymore. Don't come back. Please don't come back."
She could see Lesley fade as his eyes glazed over again. His hand
loosened its grip on her arm, then slid off to drop down by his side. His mouth
hung open as he straightened, then began to walk back out of the kitchen and
into the living room. Her heels squeaked on the tiled floor with a beat that
mimicked the screech of the music. She tried to hold onto his shirt, but Lesley's
momentum tore it from her grasp. Amanda ran to block his path, then realized it
would take her into view of the living room. In that moment, Gibbs broke through
the wall of people in the living room to head towards the kitchen. His fists
clenched against his thighs. She could feel the quake of his footsteps hitting the
carpet.
Amanda lunged back to stay out of view. Lesley stepped around her to
walk out the door. As she watched Lesley stagger back into the depths of the
house, Amanda realized that Bishop had been right. Lesley couldn't break free of
Arachne's control on his own. If she had more time, she thought she might be
able to reach him, but Amanda couldn't wait for Lesley anymore. Here in this
house, men and women who would tear her to pieces surrounded Lesley.
"I'll get you out," Amanda whispered, then scrambled out of the kitchen
window.
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She could hear the thumps of Gibbs' boots pounding the tiles behind her,
but didn't look back. Even when a hand grabbed hold of her ankle so tight that
she wondered why the bone didn't snap instantly. Amanda bit down the pain and
kicked back as hard as she could. Her heel collided with something soft. A growl
accompanied another hand wrapping itself around her calf. The fingers of the
hand went all the way around to meet on the other side. She didn't dare look
back, even when the hands pulled so hard that she felt her leg pop in its hip
socket.
Amanda screamed and grabbed hold of the sides of the window with both
hands. She lashed out again with her foot and hit something hard, this time what
felt like bone. She could hear Gibbs roar as his hands released her leg. The
sudden freedom sent Amanda tumbling off the windowsill. She toppled over,
landed on the dead flowers, crushing them to powder under her body, stabbing
herself in the back with their jagged stalks. Amanda scrambled up, digging
furrows in the soil with her elbows and hands, until she could run.
Amanda vaulted over the wooden gate, then risked a glance back. The
front door of the house slammed open as if on cue, and Gibbs came running out
of it. He had a baseball bat clutched in both hands, braced against his left
shoulder. Amanda threw herself behind a tree, against the trunk, out of his sight.
The rough bark clung to her shirt like claws digging into her back. She counted to
ten, then ducked out to look. Gibbs whipped around in a circle, looking for her,
yelling something she couldn't make out, made unintelligible by rage.
Others filed out of the house, their bloodshot eyes roaming to hunt her
down. All carried sticks, knives, and other makeshift weapons. When enough of
them faced away from her, Amanda bolted for her car. She heard screaming
behind her, but didn't stop, just ran down the sidewalk, pounding the hot
concrete, skidded around the corner until she came to the driver's side of her car.
She dropped down low to keep from being seen through the windows. Amanda
reached up to jam her key into the lock, open the door, and crawl inside.
She tried to put the key into the ignition, but her hand shook too much.
Don't look up, just concentrate on starting the car. Don't look up. She looked up.
Gibbs' shoes ripped out chunks of grass as he plowed across the lawns of the
adjoining houses. He had the baseball bat raised over his head like a sword,
ready to crush anything in his path. Amanda's slipped into the lock. She turned
the key. The moment the engine caught, Amanda shifted into gear and revved
away, leaving a cloud of smoke flying up behind her. In her rear-view mirror, she
could see Gibbs swinging his bat at the air where her car had once been. It hit
the asphalt with a crack that made Amanda flinch, and she could see the bat
snap into pieces in his hands.
Amanda took a corner at high speed, then another, tires squealing, tears
pouring down her cheeks. She couldn't even stand to look in the rear-view mirror.
The guilt of abandoning Lesley felt so heavy that it crushed her, but Amanda
knew in her heart that she had no choice. The house was a trap. He couldn't
leave and she couldn't go in to get him back. She had to find another way to get
him out. There had to be one. There just had to be.
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Lesley huddled on the floor with his hands embracing his temples until the
agony faded to a dull throb in his skull. Only then did he feel the presence of
others surrounding him, burning him alive with their anger.
He opened his eyes. The men and women of Arachne fan club stood
along the walls of the kitchen in a ring around him. For a moment, Lesley thought
the walls and ceiling vibrated behind them, until he realized it was they who
trembled, almost in unison. He found himself wondering how he had ever been
drawn into this group of half-starved, weak, pathetic individuals glaring down at
him with lethal intensity. Then he remembered the horror in Amanda's eyes when
she looked at him a moment ago. Lesley must look as bad as they were, if not
worse.
Against the line of enraged men and women, Crystal stood before them
all, facing Lesley with her hands on the hips of her dress. The smile she had
displayed since the very first moment they met had vanished, leaving only thin
lips set in a near-perfect line. On his knees, Lesley came to Crystal's level and
she held him with her eyes as firmly as if they were hands gripping his neck. He
could see something wriggling under one of the heels of her shoes. They were
the tiny legs of a cockroach, kicking their last.
The ring of people surrounding Lesley broke apart for a moment to allow
Gibbs to stumble into the kitchen. He took a place looming behind Crystal,
swaying a little on his feet. His right hand gripped a jagged stake of wood, the
remains of a baseball bat. Blood trickled down from his nose over his twitching
lips, which had grown swollen and purple from Amanda's kicks.
Crystal bent her head up towards the open window that poured a stream
of hot air into the kitchen from outside. Mud streaked the windowsill from
Amanda's crawl through it. "Who was that?"
Lesley clamped his lips together, knowing what it would mean for Amanda
if he answered. He could hear the distant echo of a car's engine fading away,
and saw her in his mind's eye racing for freedom.
Crystal kept her eyes on the window, but raised a hand up to point at
Gibbs standing behind her. "Take him to the big screen."
Gibbs stepped out from behind her to grab Lesley's shirt by the collar.
Lesley lunged away. Part of the collar ripped loose, but not enough to free him.
Lesley reached up to break the hold Gibbs had on him, but felt something ram
into the small of his back, the heel of one of the other men standing nearby. A fist
pounded his rib, another fist snapped his jaw, throwing Lesley's head back, and
then the kicks and punches came so fast and regular that he couldn't distinguish
them anymore. It felt like everyone in the room took a shot at him with all their
remaining strength. When the storm ended, Lesley's agony kept him from fighting
as hands clutched his arms and legs and dragged him out of the kitchen.
Lesley's knees burned from the friction of the carpet as the club hauled
him into the living room. He hung limp until some of his muscles began to
respond, and he wanted to fight, but when the large projection of Arachne came
into view, Lesley found himself paralyzed. It wasn't that he couldn't move. He
simply lost the will to move.
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The fans threw him onto the couch, which bounced him a few times, but
Lesley kept his eyes on Arachne projection at all times. Crystal broke it up with
her shadow as she passed in front of him to reach the computer casting the
projection. She clicked the mouse and typed on the keyboard until Arachne's
chess room blinked onto the screen. Jane Doe's nickname flashed in the chat
window as Crystal tapped out a message.
<WEBCLUBAZ> We caught an outsider talking to Lesley in the kitchen.
<JANE-DOE> Oh dear, oh dear. Now that simply will not do, honey. Is this
true, Les?
Crystal took a step back, away from the computer. She glared at Lesley,
then jerked her chin down at the keyboard. Lesley rose up from the couch as
helplessly as if he fell upwards. On some level, he realized that he no longer had
control over his own body, but he saw it through a fog of calm. It didn't seem to
matter, even as his feet carried him to the computer, and his hands floated up to
type a response.
<WEBCLUBAZ> Yes, Jane.
<JANE-DOE> Aw, you know the rules, Les-Man. No outsiders allowed in
my little party. Did you know the offender in question?
<WEBCLUBAZ> Yes.
A moment of silence passed. He realized the crowd had gathered in front
of him, a sea of angry thin faces watching him, but no one said a word. The
pulsing of the cursor on screen made no sound, but seemed louder than any
voice could be. When the cursor began to drag letters across the screen again,
Lesley almost felt relieved until he read what it spelled out.
<JANE-DOE> Was it Amanda Katt?
Lesley wanted to fight against the truth, but couldn't remember why. It
seemed more natural to respond:
<WEBCLUBAZ> Yes.
A murmur of recognition rose up from the club, along with occasional
shouts of rage at the mention of her name.
<JANE-DOE> All right, here's the deal, Les-Man. I want Amanda Katt. You
know her better than anyone. I want you to tell me where she might be.
Everywhere she goes, every sanctuary she has in that little dust bunny you call a
city.
And before Lesley could even consider the impact of her request, he
found that his fingers had already betrayed him.
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Chapter 34
Amanda's arms twitched as she drove down the I-60 freeway. Her body
shuddered in sobs, and tears blurred the speeding road ahead of her. She let go
of the steering wheel to wipe her eyes, and veered into a gasoline truck cruising
on her left. Its horn blared. Amanda yanked the wheel to the right and skidded
onto the freeway's shoulder.
Gravel piled along the side of the road crunched under her tires as she
coasted to a halt. Amanda leaned forward and rested her forehead on her
steering wheel. The sun had heated the plastic and it burned her skin, but she
ignored the pain. In some ways, it felt good to have a pain outside of herself to
distract her from the pain inside.
She couldn't stop the memories of what she had experienced at Arachne's
fanclub. She had walked right into a den of Arachne's legions, literally into the
hands of the ones who had tried to kill her the night before. She knew that was
why Jane Doe had sent Lesley Grant there. Lesley had been used as bait to
draw her there. He had become Arachne's greatest weapon.
Amanda realized that she had begun to think of Arachne as more than just
an Internet address, but as an evil organization with mysterious and dangerous
influence. She had once dismissed Arachne as mere entertainment, and that had
almost gotten her killed. She wouldn't make that mistake again.
Worse than her lingering fear from Arachne's trap, Amanda ached from
leaving Lesley in that nightmarish place. She tried to think of a way to get him
out, but she had proven that she couldn't get her out by herself. She needed a
team, and all she had right now was herself and Blossom, hardly SWAT material.
If she told the police, Amanda didn't think they would help. There really wasn't
any crime being committed, since Lesley appeared to be acting on his own free
will. Finding a cure for whatever gripped Lesley seemed to be her best option.
She just hoped she could find it in time.
Amanda Katt's phone warbled in the enclosure of her bag. She dug it out,
but before Amanda could respond with a greeting, Blossom Dawn's voice rushed
out of the other end.
"Mandy, listen very carefully because I scarcely have time to say it at all. A
car has positioned itself outside my home with some very unsavory fellows inside
it. My paranoid delusions have convinced me that your enemies have discovered
you here. I'm fleeing out the back door as we speak. Meet me at our usual oasis
in twenty minutes. Adieu."
Her voice disappeared with a click.
Amanda snapped her telephone off, then began to drive with the hot
breeze whistling in her ears. She couldn't believe that Arachne's fans could have
tracked her to Blossom's house. In Lesley's condition, he might have told them
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everything about her. If it were true, Amanda was in even more danger. With
Lesley on their side, she could never escape.
Amanda Katt knew the "oasis" that Blossom hinted at was Java Jinx, a
coffee shop in Tempe where they often hung out. The location had been a wise
choice. Amanda had never taken Lesley to Java Jinx before, so even he didn't
know about it, and couldn't tell Arachne about it. Even though Java Jinx was right
across the street from Madison University, Amanda drove a few blocks away and
traced an uneven route back, just to throw off anyone who might have followed
her.
Amanda inched her car back through the traffic past the sprawling campus
of Madison University on one side, and a row of trendy shops on the other. She
parked around the corner from Java Jinx, then hurried across the road to the
coffee shop's outdoor tables.
Java Jinx had taken some steps to provide for the comfort of its guests, in
the form of an awning that cast most of the tables in shade. Misting hoses
attached to the edges of the awning sprayed clouds of water over the metal
tables to evaporate and cool the air even more. As Amanda walked under the
curtains of mist, the drop of a few degrees did ease the heat somewhat, and she
sighed in relief.
Light jazz music played over tables crammed with laughing and chatting
college students. She scooted between a table of hooting fraternity guys and
another table of giggling teenage girls to drop into the seat across from a young
woman reading a three-inch thick Anne Rice novel.
"Were you followed?" Amanda whispered to her.
The woman raised her eyes from the book to peer at Amanda through
heart-shaped sunglasses. Her smile appeared warm and red from the light
reflected off the scarlet lenses. "I think not, my dear. I've accompanied you on
enough harrowing adventures to pick up a thing or two about escape."
Amanda let her shoulders fall in relaxation, even as she cast glances
around herself. It seemed like Arachne's cronies could be anyone or anywhere,
but only gabbing college students occupied the patio. No one looked in her or
Blossom's direction except for a burly guy in a gray T-shirt who gave Amanda a
wink. Amanda shifted her chair to face away from him, then leaned back with a
deep sigh.
Blossom's lips, darkened by black lipstick, frowned as she ducked her
head. "Are you all right? Can I get you some coffee?"
Amanda dumped her bag onto the metal table, where it clanged harshly.
"No thanks. If I get one drop o' caffeine in me with these frazzled nerves, I'll just
up and pop."
Blossom knew her well enough to allow a moment of silence to pass while
Amanda just sat there, breathing slowly, trying to recover. Her eyes fell closed
and exhaustion passed over her like a silken veil, but as a weariness of heart
rather than soul. Amanda felt a wind blow over her, cooled from passing through
the hazy mist drifting over her table. It carried the puff of trumpet notes playing on
the speakers above, the laughter of the girls at the next table, and the scent of
Blossom's coffee, which she took quiet sips from every few seconds.
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As Amanda began to regain her strength, she began to tell Blossom about
her morning. She recited the bizarre and chilling experience of walking into a
house of zombies enslaved by Arachne's fan club, as well as Blossom's
comments about mind control. By the time she had finished, Amanda saw things
more clearly, even though it still bewildered her in some areas.
"I just don't get it," Amanda continued. "If it ain't mind control, then what's
up with Arachne? How are they gettin' all these folks under their control? I need
answers, but I ain't got nothing."
Blossom slurped the last of her coffee, then set the cup down on the metal
table in front of her. "Do you plan to attempt another rescue attempt for Lesley?"
Amanda bit her lower lip as she rubbed her aching neck. "Nah, I can't get
him out all by myself. I need help."
Her cell phone rang in her tote bag. She flipped it open and felt a moment
of shock as the caller spoke in a breathless rush. "Amy, I got something for ya.
You heard about that shooting spree at GSC yet?"
Amanda frowned. She recognized the voice as LAPD detective Hal
Brooks. She also knew GSC as the initials for the Global Software Corporation,
one of the largest software companies in the world. Amanda herself used their
word processor and spreadsheet programs. "No. What shooting spree?"
"An employee of GSC named Gloria Miller went on a shooting spree at
their corporate headquarters in North Carolina this morning. For four hours, she
went from floor to floor, armed with semi-automatic weapons, shot twenty-three
and killed four. And the SWAT team says Gloria Miller didn't try to hide or
anything. She walked past every window in the place, even stood in front of 'em a
few times. They say it was like she wanted to get killed. Police snipers finally
managed to gun her down from a fifth-floor window."
"Man, that's awful."
"You ain't heard the best part. Gloria's first victim was a technician in the
computer room. I'm in there right now, and you should see the place. Every
computer in here is riddled with bulletholes. She must have put tons o' bullets in
these things, at least a full clip. But here's the kicker. None of us could figure out
why she carried a knapsack full of guns up five floors, and went through rooms
full of people, just to start shootin' in here. Why didn't she start in more crowded
areas, instead of just one guy?"
The black fly tickled Amanda's forehead as it tried to land until she chased
it away. "Maybe it's all about some jilted love affair."
"That's what some o' the other detectives thought. But we took a look at
the surveillance tapes. They show Miller blasting away every computer in here,
and then she shot that one guy with a single bullet to the head. Sunshine, I don't
think the people in this building were her real targets at all. I think she wanted to
shoot the computers."
Amanda's mouth pricked up in one corner. "But that don't make no sense.
Why go to all that trouble to shoot up computers?"
"Well, that's the part where you come in. One of Gloria's partners told me
she was acting strange all month. Gloria hadn't shown up for work the week
before the attack, and even then, she did nothing but talk about Arachne."
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Arachne. Amanda froze at the two words as if she had caught a glimpse of
the orange and black stripes of a tiger through stalks of green grass. Gloria Miller
had been a fan of Arachne.
"You got it," Hal blurted. "I know you got it."
"Another death and another connection to Arachne. What's it mean?"
"That's what I was hoping you could help me out with, pumpkin. You know
all this computer stuff. Why would she go shootin' 'em up like that?"
Amanda flung one hand up over her head. "I dunno, Hal. What kind o'
computers were they?"
"Uh, let's see, black, square, about four feet tall. One of 'em has Cybronic
printed on it."
"Cybronic." Amanda brought her hand back down and toyed with the silver
pendant around her neck. "I know that company. They make web servers. Of
course. Computer servers. The ones that ran the GSC website. Hold on a
minute."
Amanda set the phone down and flipped open her laptop computer. She
typed the address of the GSC website into her browser. A plain white page
loaded up that read, "The Global Software Corporation Website is currently offline. We apologize for the inconvenience."
"The website's down. And Meddick shut down his website before he died."
Amanda slammed her fist on the table, making her computer jump and land with
a rattle. "That's the connection."
"You're right. And before Gloria shot her first victim, you can hear her on
the tape say something about 'Jane' telling her the company was evil. Mrs.
Meddick said her husband got talked into joining the Blessed Journey cult by
somebody named Jane."
Amanda whipped her hand in the air to keep the fly from landing on her
again. "And Meddick had copies of Arachne in his browser cache, so he went
there a lot. That's two suicides that ended up shuttin' down popular websites, and
Jane Doe and Arachne's involved in both of 'em."
"So let's put together what we know. If we assume what you're saying is
true, and Arachne's somehow controlling people's minds, then that means they
could have arranged things to shut down all these websites. Could've talked
Meddick into setting himself on fire, and talked Gloria into shooting up the web
servers, then go on a spree to throw off suspicion. But the only thing I have
trouble with is why? You think Arachne's knockin' out all the competition?"
Amanda could feel the fly land on her forehead, its tiny legs tickling her
skin as it crossed her face, tasting the salt in her sweat. She remained perfectly
still. "I dunno. But this is bigger than I thought. If they'd just waited, Arachne
would have hit number one eventually. Arachne wants more than fan clubs, Tshirts, and soda sales. They don't got to go killin' people for that. They want
success fast, and they're killing for it. So what are we gonna do about it?"
"Well, that's a bigger issue, sunshine. If this Arachne really is killing all
these people all over the country, then it's an interstate matter, which means the
FBI has jurisdiction, not me. But the bigger problem is proof."
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Amanda scowled at the phone. "Lesley alone should be all the proof you
need."
"Yeah, but you said so yourself, it's hard to prove he's not a participant in
all this. Besides, I don't know if anyone could even get a judge to issue a search
warrant on it, let alone an arrest warrant. If I went to my boss and told 'im to
watch out for a killer website, they'd laugh me off the force. And we don't even
know how they're doing it. I gotta dig up some more dirt to make it stick."
Amanda scowled, and felt the fly crawl along the wrinkles in her forehead.
"No way, Hal. This is my show."
"Pumpkin, this is too dangerous, even for you. You've come close to
getting killed three times already. I can handle this, trust me. I've got some
strings I can pull. Promise me you'll let this go and let me do my job."
Amanda sighed and felt her body heave. "Yeah, fine, Hal. I'll let you do
your job. Just promise me you'll call back when you got something."
"All right. And you be careful, you hear me?"
"Yeah, yeah." Amanda hit the button to disconnect the call, then smacked
her cheek, crushing the fly buzzing around her. When she flicked its carcass off
her palm into the dust, Amanda snapped off her laptop, folded it shut, and stuffed
it back into her bag. "Come on, let's move."
Blossom clutched her coffee cup to herself as she followed Amanda
through the abandoned tables towards the exit. "Where to?"
Amanda scanned the crowds moving along the sidewalk, but most of them
seemed to be college students on their way on or off the campus. "I don't know,
somewhere that ain't here. And let's take your car. They'll spot mine too easy."
Amanda headed out from under the Java Jinx awning and felt a new
sweat break out on her skin as the heat collapsed onto her. Blossom didn't seem
to notice, continuing to sip her steaming-hot coffee while strolling through the
blazing sun. She led them around the corner to her Beetle parked in a lot
alongside the strip mall.
Once inside the car and on the road again, Amanda leaned into the airconditioning vents to let the air blast her hair away from her face. When she felt
her temperature had dropped a few degrees, she opened her laptop to load up
the website for a travel agency.
Blossom glanced away from the windshield to frown at her. "You are
aware, of course, that we can't continue to drive aimlessly like a pair of urban
Ulysses."
"You don't got to. I know where we're going. Sky Harbor airport." Amanda
leaned over to give Blossom her warmest smile. "And I got to ask a favor from
my nicest, kindest, sweetest, and richest friend. Namely, enough money to fly to
San Francisco. I can't do what I gotta do stuck in Phoenix. The guy who worked
on Arachne lives in San Francisco and he's gotta have some info I can use."
"I thought you just gave your word not to pursue this case any further?"
"Nah, I said I'd let Hal do his job. But I'm gonna do mine. Hal's a cop, he's
got red tape to go through. By the time he makes it through the system, Lesley
could be dead. Besides, this is personal. So you gonna help or not?"
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Blossom sighed, then fluttered her hand towards the blue-and-red beaded
pouch tucked between the driver's and passenger seats. "Take one of my gold
cards, my dear, and use it as you see fit. I have a feeling you'll be needing all the
help you can get."
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Chapter 35
Two hours later, Amanda watched Phoenix drop away through the narrow
window of a 747 as it lifted off, and couldn't help breathing a sigh in the cool,
pressurized air. From the moment she climbed out of Blossom's car at Sky
Harbor Airport until the moment the airplane door had been sealed, Amanda had
been on edge. She never knew when someone would lunge out of the crowds
with a grenade or a knife or a gun. Here, on the plane, she felt a little safer. She
hadn't spotted anyone watching her getting onto the flight, and her fellow
passengers seemed content to leaf through in-flight magazines or whisper to
each other in hollow voices.
The floor under Amanda's feet whined as the plane's wheels retracted into
its underbelly, and Amanda watched the horizon outside her window tilt as the
wings angled northwest towards San Francisco. A gurgle drew her attention to
the baby strapped into the seat next to her. It grasped with tiny hands at a plastic
airplane toy held over it by its mother.
The mother smiled up at Amanda as she squeezed the toy to make it
squeak, bringing cries of joy from the baby. "Hope you don't mind little Jeffrey
here. I know some people don't like flying with a baby, but he's usually no trouble
at all."
Amanda returned the smile. "Nah, it's cool. I like kids."
She crossed her eyes and blew out her lips at the baby, which laughed
and clapped his hands on the straps around his chest.
With the flight underway, the captain broke in over the public address
system to announce that all passengers could safely use electronic devices.
Amanda immediately tugged her bag out from under her seat to get at her laptop
computer.
Ever since her conversation with Hal Brooks, Amanda had been going
over all her notes on the investigation of Arachne. She had rapidly come to the
conclusion that all signs pointed not just to Arachne itself, but to an enigmatic
name that kept coming up over and over again - Jane Doe.
Blossom's credit card had not only gotten her a ticket to San Francisco,
but also a seat in first-class. Normally, Amanda didn't care about perks like
legroom and hot towels, but she had arranged to get on a plane with Internet
access. She plugged her laptop into one of the sockets in the back of the seat in
front of her. It connected her to the airplane's Internet server, just like plugging
into a phone jack at home. Amanda logged into her Internet account and loaded
Arachne onto her browser.
Beside her, the baby's mother fished around in a bag decorated with
Winnie the Pooh cartoons until she produced a bottle of formula to tuck into the
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baby's mouth. His lips popped in a lazy rhythm as the baby suckled, but his wide
eyes roamed over the curves of Amanda's laptop.
"He likes your computer," the mother chuckled.
Amanda glanced at the baby as she worked the trackball to guide the
pointer on the screen. "Computer literacy gets younger and younger all the time."
The mother kissed the top of the baby's head, and he murmured around
the bottle's nipple while his blue eyes slid downwards.
Amanda clicked her way through the menus of Arachne until she reached
a section that allowed users to find other people on Arachne. She typed in "Jane
Doe," and one name immediately popped up. It identified her as being in the
Games department of Arachne, in the Chess section.
Katt logged herself into the system, and used the nickname "Katwoman."
A list of users waiting to play chess filled the web page. One of the names in the
list caused her jaw to tighten. Jane Doe.
Amanda clicked on the nickname, which replaced the list of names with a
new window. A simple image of a chessboard loaded into the page with a
window running down the left side of the screen. The game had text chat
capability so users could talk to each other while they played. Messages from the
user calling herself Jane Doe flowed into the window.
<JANE-DOE> Hi-dee-ho, Katwoman. Don't think I've ever seen you
around these parts. You a newbie?
Amanda had to pause to steady her hands on the keyboard. The anger
she felt towards the name on her screen surprised her, as if Jane Doe
represented all the pain and suffering she had gone through in the last few
weeks. When she felt more in control, Amanda typed:
<KATWOMAN> You could say that. Who are you?
<JANE-DOE> The handle's Jane Doe, but you can call me Jane or you
can call me Jay or you can call Ray or you can call me Faye, but just don't call
me late for dinner.
The baby interrupted his suckling with a brief wail, silenced by his mother,
who shushed and tucked the bottle into his mouth again. Amanda glanced over
at him, watching his eyes follow her hands as they typed:
<KATWOMAN> Very funny. I'd like to know who you really are, please.
<JANE-DOE> Hey, don't I get to keep my anonymity on the Net? It's a
dangerous world out there. A gal's gotta protect herself. And you ain't moved yet.
If you don't wanna play, make room for someone who does.
Amanda found Jane Doe's humor irritating, like trying to discuss starvation
in Ethiopia with a stand-up comedian. But she considered the chessboard for a
moment, then clicked her mouse pointer on a knight, then a space further down
the board. Her piece floated over to the new location as she went back to typing.
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<KATWOMAN> Fine. You don't got to tell me. I know who you are.
A second ticked by, and another one. Amanda began to wonder if Jane
Doe had gone when a pawn on her side bounced over to block the path of her
knight. More text followed once the piece had settled in.
<JANE-DOE> Oh, you do, huh? Well, pray tell, what is it? And by the way,
it's your move.
The plane's engines whined louder as it rose higher into the air. Amanda's
ears felt as if they swelled from the change in cabin pressure, and noises around
her faded. She felt as if she had been sealed in an isolation tank as she moved
her knight again, then typed her response:
<KATWOMAN> You're Jonathan Seer.
<JANE-DOE> ROFL
Amanda blinked as the last message appeared. She knew "ROFL" as an
acronym, Internet chat slang meaning "Rolling On Floor Laughing." It was the
height of mockery, a response she hadn't expected to her accusation.
One of Jane's chess pieces jumped forward to a new spot, then followed
by more text:
<JANE-DOE> Now what makes you think I'm Jonathan Seer, little missy?
Amanda's ears popped as they adjusted to the pressure, and the first thing
she heard was the baby wailing again next to her. His mother cooed while
tugging the bottle out of his mouth. She unbuckled the baby from his seat and
rested him on her shoulder to pat his back. The baby didn't seem interested in
burping, but turned his head and reached towards Amanda.
She tried to ignore his grasping fingers as she typed a response to Jane
Doe:
<KATWOMAN> I know you work for Arachne. You give orders to its fans. I
know you tell them what to do and who to kill. I know you told my fiancé to join
one of your stupid fan clubs. And I know you put up a website to convince Quincy
Meddick to commit suicide. You seem to be a pretty big deal at Arachne, and no
one's bigger there than Jonathan Seer.
<JANE-DOE> Well, missy, let's just clear up one thing first. You're
Amanda Katt, right?
Amanda paused to consider, then moved another chess piece before
typing her answer.
<KATWOMAN> That's me.
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<JANE-DOE> Katwoman. Katt. I get it. Cute. Well, it's nice to finally meet
you, Miss Katt. You've been causing me oodles of trouble. I'd ask where you are
so I could send you a welcoming committee, but I know you wouldn't tell me. It's
more fun to guess, anyhoo. But you're wrong on two counts. One is that I do
work for Arachne, but I'm not Jonathan Seer. You're not just barking up the
wrong tree, you're barking up the wrong life-form altogether.
Even with her ears muffled by pressure, she still heard the piercing shriek
as the baby threw his head back. His mother whispered soothingly to him, but the
baby continued to grope towards Amanda with both hands squeezing air.
<KATWOMAN> Really? Okay, who's that?
<JANE-DOE> Aw, now that would be telling. I got a feeling you'll figure it
out on your own. If you live long enough, which I doubt you will.
<KATWOMAN> Oh, yeah? Is that a threat?
<JANE-DOE> I'll tell you what it is, chickadee. Think about everything I've
done to you so far, and all you did was annoy me. You keep this up, and you're
gonna make me angry. And like the Incredible Hulk said, you wouldn't like me
when I'm angry.
<KATWOMAN> Ooo, I'm so scared.
Jane Doe's bishop glided forward to take one of Amanda's pawns.
<JANE-DOE> Laugh it up, sweetie. But I got your boyfriend, and I can
make him do anything. Jump off a bridge, slit his wrists, set his arms on fire,
whatever I want. So before you go sticking your nose into places where it don't
belong, you think about that. You ask yourself what you're willing to sacrifice for
your little crusade.
Amanda grit her teeth as the air pressure increased in her ears again until
she couldn't hear anything except the throb of her own heartbeat as she typed.
<KATWOMAN> If anything happens to Lesley, I'll kill you. You understand
me? I will kill you.
<JANE-DOE> You can't beat me, Katt. No one beats me.
Amanda clicked on her queen and moved it across the board into a path
cleared by the other pieces, then typed again.
<KATWOMAN> I just did. Checkmate.
As she finished punching in the last letter, the text screen went black. It
took a moment for Amanda to realize she had been, in Internet slang, "kicked"
out of the chat room. It meant that Jane Doe had used her control over the
system to disconnect Amanda from the chat room. It was the Internet equivalent
of hanging up a phone or slamming a door in her face.
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"Sore loser," Amanda whispered.
But the lingering memories of the conversation with Jane Doe remained
with her. The one thing that shocked Amanda the most had been Jane's claim
that she wasn't Seer. Of course, Jane could have been lying, but the question
remained. If Seer wasn't Jane Doe, then who was?
The baby shrieked again, so hard that seats around him began to rustle as
passengers glanced over in his direction. A murmur of disapproval rippled
through the compartment like a tidal wave that carried a stewardess to the aisle.
The stewardess' perfectly combed brown hair never budged, even as she
leaned over to display a brilliant white smile at the baby and his mother. "Is
everything all right over here?"
The mother tried to smile back, but the baby's flailing arms hit her cheek,
making her wince instead. She tried to hold down the baby's kicking feet with one
hand and his arms with the other. "Yes. I don't know why he's so cranky. He just
ate, and he's usually so good on long trips."
Amanda watched the baby stretch his hands out again towards her, and
she wondered if he wanted her to hold it. Then she followed the line of his sight.
The baby wasn't reaching for her. He reached for the computer perched
on her lap. Amanda could see his tear-stained eyes locked onto the monitor that
displayed Arachne.
Amanda slammed her laptop shut. The moment Arachne disappeared
from view, the baby's cries increased until they passed the realm of hearing,
rising up to an almost silent scream.
The mother snatched up the baby's carry-on bag and hurried down the
aisle towards the restroom. The baby twisted in her arms, straining to look over
her shoulder at Amanda, trying to wriggle out of her grasp, until the restroom
door closed in his face.
Amanda settled back in her chair as her ears popped, returning her full
hearing. It also brought the voice of the baby piercing the plane's compartment,
even muffled by the shielding of the restroom door.
She knew the real cause of the baby's suffering. It was Arachne. No doubt
in Amanda's mind could protect her from the knowledge that Arachne had even
affected a simple baby. No one was safe from its mysterious effects except her,
and she didn't know why.
Amanda rested both her hands on top of her laptop computer's case, and
its warmth from being run made it feel like a living thing. She could imagine the
laptop bursting open, and Arachne roaring out, devouring everyone in the plane
until only she was left, when it would turn on her.
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Chapter 36
When Craig Warner walked through the service entrance into the kitchen
of the Sea Legs Seafood Restaurant, he tried to avoid being noticed. He kept his
head down, and immediately swept up a tray of crab puffs to shield his face from
view. But through the mob of chefs and waiters hurrying down aisles of ovens
and burning stoves, Craig could see his boss Earl Sharpe. Earl's mouth flapped
at one of the chefs working on salmon fillets, but Craig couldn't hear his voice
over the clang of pots and hiss of sizzling food. Craig didn't need to hear it. He
knew that Sharpe never said a word to any of his employees unless it involved
yelling at them for something. If Sharpe blew his top over someone dropping a
leaf of lettuce, he would have plenty to say about Craig's own disappearance.
Then Sharpe spotted him. Craig began to walk faster, trying to reach the
doors leading out to the dining area. Sharpe cut around a dessert cart, slipped
past a stack of crates, and planted his huge bulk in Craig's path. His stomach
alone spread wide enough that Craig didn't think a piece of paper could be
wedged past him. Sharpe folded his arms over his chest, crumpling a fishbone tie
running down the collar of his suit,
Sharpe's voice carried over skillets hissing on the stoves around them.
"Nice of you to show up, Craig, and after only a week of unexplained absences.
Where have you been?"
A cloud of steam carrying the aroma of fish and shrimp erupted from a pot
behind Craig. The chef attending it pretended not to notice Sharpe's screams,
focusing only on mixing his stew, and no doubt hoping he wouldn't be next on
Sharpe's list.
The steam made the kitchen hot and humid, and Craig felt his chest
tighten as it got harder to breathe. He put up a weak smile as he set down the
tray of crab puffs on a shelf, then tugged his apron strings over his neck. "Sorry,
sir. I've been sick."
Sharpe braced his hands on the roundest part of his hips. The flesh under
his chin jiggled as his lips curled in a snarl. "Really. Sick. So sick you couldn't
pick up the phone to call me or answer it when I called you twenty times a day?"
Craig bowed his head as he knotted the apron strings behind his back.
"Yes, sir."
Sharpe ducked as another waiter swept a tray of grilled lobster tails over
his head, then came up with a finger stabbing Craig's chest. "You're lucky I'm
short on staff right now or you'd be outta here. But we're going to talk about this
later, believe you me. And you're on probation for the next six months. You so
much as blink out of line and you're out the door. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
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Sharpe's frown deepened as his eyes dropped to study Craig's face. "And
I want to see a doctor's note on your little mystery disease. I have to admit, you
look like a skeleton. What you've got better not be contagious. I don't need any
more of my staff looking like you."
Sharpe shoved Craig out of the way as he yelled at the chef beside him,
"Is that supposed to be gumbo? Because I was under the impression that we
served quality gumbo in this restaurant. You call that a roux?
Craig Warner slipped away from Sharpe as he finished tying his apron,
then headed through the doors of the kitchen to wait on tables. His smile never
changed. He didn't care what his boss did or said as long as he was still allowed
to work that night. Craig had spent the last six days on Arachne, and wouldn't
have come in at all if Jane Doe hadn't given him a very important mission.
Jane told him that she had tapped the phone of a man who had scheduled
a dinner date with Amanda Katt at the Sea Legs restaurant where Craig worked
as a waiter. She had told Craig that only he could carry out the task of ending
Amanda's reign of terror.
As he walked out of the kitchen, Craig glanced at the bundle of cloth he
had left behind on a high shelf. Hidden among the bags of flour and rice, buried
in the folds of his coat was a Spectre submachine gun. It would ensure that
tonight would be Amanda's last meal.
By the time her flight landed in San Francisco, evening had settled over
the city. A tapestry of light came up to embrace the plane as it coasted into San
Francisco International Airport. Amanda immediately hailed a taxicab and had it
drive her to the Sea Legs Restaurant.
Sea Legs turned out to be a lavish seafood restaurant downtown in
Fisherman's Wharf. As Amanda walked into the lobby, she could see through
arched windows that gave an incredible view of the Golden Gate Bridge reaching
across San Francisco Bay. A few other patrons milled about, admiring the draped
walls and glass lamps casting starbursts of light onto the ceiling.
A hostess in a green dress smiled at Amanda from behind a podium. "Can
I help you?"
Amanda braced one hand on the tote bag hanging from her shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm supposed to meet someone here. Mason Campbell. We got a seven
o'clock appointment for two."
The hostess studied the book sitting open on her podium, then nodded.
"Yes, we do have that appointment, but your party hasn't arrived yet. Would you
like to wait inside?"
"Sure."
The hostess beckoned a waitress who plucked two menus from a stack,
then led the way into the restaurant. Amanda followed her into the softly-lit dining
room past tables draped in red cloth and peaked with yellow candles. Classical
piano music tinkled through the restaurant to accompany the clink of glass and
the hum of lively conversation from the diners. The fragrant aroma of shrimp and
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fish made Amanda's stomach gurgle in anticipation, reminding her that she
hadn't eaten more than a package of almonds in the last three hours.
The hostess came to a row of booths along the east wall of the restaurant,
then halted at an empty one. She gestured towards the red leather-cushioned
seats. "Is this satisfactory?"
"Sure it's fine." Amanda slipped her tote bag under the table, then herself
into the circular bench.
When she had settled in, the hostess placed the menus in the center of
the table and left to attend to other customers. Amanda settled back, tapped her
palms on the smooth tablecloth, and glanced around the room.
The restaurant had a nice, pleasant atmosphere that soothed even her
frazzled nerves. Across the room, a lobster tank faced her table, and Amanda
watched a couple peering through the green glass at the slow-moving creatures
crawling over a bed of blue gravel. The couple seemed to be arguing about
which lobster to take.
As Amanda tried to guess which creature the woman would decide on, the
hostess returned with an overweight man in an orange Hawaiian shirt and
Bermuda shorts. He shoved himself into the booth on the opposite side, making
the whole table rattle, then yanked off his sunglasses to glare at Amanda.
"You Katt?" he asked in a thick New York accent.
Amanda smiled. "That's me. Are you Campbell?"
"Yeah." Instead of continuing the greeting, Campbell whipped around to
hold up his palm at the hostess. "Could you send the waiter around, honey?
We're ready to order. And tell him to bring some more water while he's at it."
"Right away." The hostess hurried away.
The leather on Campbell's seat whined as he slumped deeper into it. He
reached for one of the glasses of water and murmured over its rim as he spoke.
"I hope you realize you're payin' for this little shindig. My time is valuable. I don't
talk for free."
Amanda hunched over to unzip her tote bag and draw out her tape
recorder. "Somehow I figured that."
A waiter approached the table with a pitcher of ice water clutched in his
thin hands. "Hi, my name is Craig. I'll be your waiter this evening. Are you ready
to order?"
The ice tinkled in the pitcher as the waiter began to refill the glasses.
Campbell never looked up, only flicked a hand at him. "I'll have a prawn cocktail
to start with, followed by the rock shrimp and a calamari sandwich with jack
cheese, no tomato, lemon juice on the side, and a large Pharaoh strawberry iced
tea."
The waiter scrawled on his notepad, then turned his attention to Amanda.
"And you, ma'am?"
Amanda flipped through the menu and her breath caught when she saw
the prices. She whispered a silent thank you to Blossom for lending her a credit
card. What Campbell had ordered alone would have bankrupted her if Amanda
had been forced to pay for it herself. Amanda ordered linguini with white clam
sauce and a medium Diet Coke, making a mental note of what had she and
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Campbell had spent to pay Blossom back later. As the waiter took the menus,
Amanda thought he gave her an oddly intense look, but it disappeared as quickly
as it came and he crossed the room to vanish into the kitchen again.
She turned her attention to Campbell who drained his glass as she spoke.
"I take it you come here often?"
Campbell lowered the glass and his stomach heaved in a deep sigh.
"Whenever I can. I did their website for 'em a couple months back, and they let
me eat a couple times for free. I got addicted. Best seafood in San Fran."
He crooked his arm up to point a thick finger at her lap. "And you can put
away that tape recorder if you want me to talk. I signed a non-disclosure
agreement when I joined Arachne. Everything I say is off the record or not at all."
Amanda set the tape recorder down on the table beside her plate. "But I
gotta have evidence. I'm a reporter, and I'm doin' an investigation for the cops. I
keep my sources entirely confidential. No one'll even know it's you on the tape."
Campbell rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, then away from her, towards
the lobster tank. "Sorry, lady. I gotta protect myself. If you can't handle that, it's
not my problem."
Amanda snapped the tape recorder off and jammed it into her bag again.
She replaced it with her notepad and pen that she smacked down onto the table
instead. "Can I at least write this down?"
"As long as my name don't show up." Campbell plucked a breadstick out
of a bowl on the table and crunched it between his teeth. "So whatcha wanna
know?"
The tablecloth scraped against her fingers as she poised with her pen
over the notepad. "Start at the beginning. How'd you get involved with Arachne?"
Campbell pursed his lips while scratching behind his right ear, then leaned
back even further to brace one foot on the seat between them. "Well, it was at
the beginning, you know, when Arachne first started. They hired me on as one o'
their programmers. CGI, Perl, that sorta thing. Nothing much, just writing up
scripts for forms and games and stuff like that."
Amanda watched the couple at the tank finally point at one of the largest
lobsters. The waiter standing by them reached into the tank with a pair of tongs
to haul it out. "How would you describe working there?"
Campbell toyed with the arm of his sunglasses resting on the table. "It was
all right. Pay was good, lots of stock options and benefits and stuff. People were
okay. And Seer tried to keep everything fun, you know? Made the place feel
more like goin' to a party instead o' work. One time he rented out an amusement
park over in Coney Island for the day, let us all go hog-wild over there."
Amanda watched the waiter carry the lobster away with its tail curled
under its flailing legs as the couple followed, smiling at each other. "Well, if it was
such a great place to work, why'd you leave?"
"Tough question." Campbell pushed out his lips, then angled his hand so
that the palm faced the ceiling. "I guess it just got too creepy for me. And a
website up here gave me an offer, so I took it."
Amanda wrote with her left hand as she leaned forward. "Hold up. What
you mean by 'creepy?'"
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"Well, it's hard to describe, you know?" Campbell pressed his hand over
his double chin. "I mean, at first it was a blast when Arachne started takin' off.
We all thought it was a wacky idea, but no one knew if it would fly, so it was great
to see it catch on. But then it got to the point where I had to say, 'Whoa, what's
the big deal?' It's like people were goin' nuts over the thing, and I couldn't see
why."
"Did you ever come up with a theory?"
Campbell's frown deepened his cheeks as he shook his head. "I dunno.
Could've been a lotta things. I mean, people love Star Trek, and I can't figure that
out either."
A soft rattle signaled the approach of a man pushing a dessert cart by
their table. Amanda waited until it had moved a safe distance away, then
returned her focus to Campbell. "But did you ever see anything unusual?"
Campbell seemed to be more interested in the chocolate cakes and fruit
pies on the cart than in their conversation, but he called back to her over his
shoulder, "Well, yeah, I mean take your pick. Seer used to do a lot o' really weird
stuff, like when he told us to wear these funny purple sunglasses all the time
around the office. Actually fired a guy for goin' without 'em. And then he hired
some big programmer named Julio Garcia to install a bunch o' big, honkin'
supercomputers and run stuff on it that we weren't allowed to even look at."
"Julio Garcia?" Amanda wrote the name down as she tapped on the table
to get his attention. "Who's he?"
Campbell shrugged as he followed the cart with his eyes to another table.
"Somebody said he was a programmer for artificial intelligence. I didn't pay much
attention to it. Not my department. But that guy was a certified jerk. Treated me
and everybody else like dirt."
"Why would Seer hire an AI programmer for a website?" Amanda
whispered almost to herself.
"I dunno. Go ask him." Campbell reluctantly turned away from the dessert
cart to the table again. "Anyway, the biggest reason I left was Seer."
Amanda leaned across the table towards him. "Jonathan Seer?"
"Yeah." Campbell picked at the tablecloth with his thumb and forefinger.
His eyes raised towards her, but remained distant, as if focused on the wall
behind her or something even farther away. "I tell you one thing. I ain't a
superstitious guy, but that man gave me the willies whenever he so much as
looked at me. Some o' the other guys on the staff used to say he was psychic,
'cause he had this trick where he'd tell you exactly what you were thinkin'. Maybe
he was psychic, I dunno. Freaked me out. Got so I stayed away from his office
altogether in the end."
Thinking back to her brief meeting with Seer, Amanda could easily identify
with Campbell's comments. She added to her outline of the conversation as she
glanced up at him. "Tell me about Seer."
"I never saw him do nothing except come out o' his office once a week
and tell us to do the craziest things. One time he told them to make all the orange
colors on the site two shades darker. Another time he told 'em a picture of a
skateboard on one o' the pages was a centimeter too wide. He was always
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pickin' on little things like that, but didn't give a hoot about the big stuff. We all
thought he was nuts."
Campbell reached for Amanda's glass. "You gonna finish that?"
Amanda pushed her glass of water at him while she continued to write his
comments down. A burst of laughter rose up from one of the other tables.
Amanda finished writing her notes as Campbell drained her glass. The ice tinkled
almost in harmony with the classical piano flooding notes through the air.
"Did you ever hear about someone calling themselves Jane Doe in a chat
room?"
"Nope." Campbell gulped down half the water in the glass, then puffed out
a burp as he set it down. "Man, I dunno why I'm so thirsty today. Drinkin' like a
fish."
As she raised her head to speak again, Amanda caught sight of their
waiter weaving through tables towards them. With Campbell's desire for privacy,
she paused until the waiter left before asking more sensitive questions.
She expected the waiter to be holding a tray or pushing a cart with their
meals. Instead, the waiter's hands came into view from behind the cushioned
wall of her booth with a white cloth draped over them. The cloth covered
something angular, not plates of linguini or calamari. Amanda raised her eyes to
find the waiter glaring at her with dead eyes that never shifted away. A trickle of
sweat crawled out of his jagged black hair and down over his tightened lips. The
waiter came to a halt in front of Amanda's booth. The tank behind him splashed
as the lobsters crawled over each other. Campbell set his glass down in front of
him and pointed at it in silent indication of a refill. The waiter yanked one hand
away, ripping away the cloth on his other hand. A Spectre submachine gun
gleamed black in his fingers as he raised the snub-nosed weapon at Campbell's
head.
"Get down," Amanda screamed, and didn't wait for Campbell to comply.
She grabbed his Hawaiian shirt by the collar and hauled him under the
table. As he ducked, banging his head on the way down, Amanda knew from the
angle of the waiter's arm that he was aiming for Campbell. She had to draw the
waiter's fire. Amanda yanked her legs out from under the table and pushed off to
launch herself out of the booth in the opposite direction.
The waiter's gun poured bullets into the cushions of the booth. Tufts of
foam burst out of the holes to dance in the air like snow. The chatter of the
Spectre ignited screams all through the restaurant, as well as the thunder of
chairs toppling over and footsteps pounding from others trying to escape.
Amanda ran along the wall of booths, zigzagging to keep from giving their
attacker a clear shot. A framed lithograph of an ocean scene shattered as bullets
traced a ragged line across it. Glass rained down onto a screaming man sitting at
the table.
When a woman scurried out of her booth to run for safety, she got
between herself and a table, blocking Amanda's path. Rather than let the finger
of bullets catch up to her, Amanda threw herself up onto the table.
She crashed onto plates of seafood that cracked in half, turning them into
spikes that jammed into her ribs. A layer of cooked oysters from the dishes made
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her elbow slip out from under her. The woman at the table shrieked and clung to
the arm of her male companion, who threw his other arm over her in defense.
The waiter had both hands on the Spectre, guiding the weapon in an arc
that trailed Amanda's fall. The chatter of the gun grew louder as it tore away
everything in its path. The tablecloth exploded into rags as an invisible hand
ripped across it. The couple at the table shrieked louder as their meal shredded
before them, and from the cries of the woman, Amanda thought she had been hit
in the leg. But the waiter was apparently a novice with the weapon. He didn't aim
at all, just pointed in Amanda's general direction with the trigger held down. But
even with his lack of skill, Amanda knew if she remained in place too long, the
bullets would reach her. So instead of stopping, Amanda threw her legs over
herself to keep tumbling backwards and carry her off the table.
Amanda landed on her hands and knees on the floor, behind the dessert
cart that had been abandoned. The hand of destruction reached out from the
machine gun to punch into the top shelf of the cart, sending whipped cream and
fruit juice splashing in all directions.
The waiter abruptly released the trigger. The gun fell silent, bringing the
uproar of the other people trapped in the restaurant to even higher levels.
Amanda felt hope that the man would halt his rampage, but the snarl curling his
trembling lips told her otherwise. He brought the gun up to face away from her.
She realized he was aiming for Campbell, still huddled under his table. Amanda
had hoped that the waiter's focus on her would give Campbell time to escape, but
he hadn't even come out, only screamed for help.
Amanda brought her foot up to kick the underside of the dessert cart. It
somersaulted through the air to crash into the waiter. Cherries smeared his arm
and the front of his apron red. As he stumbled from the blow, Amanda seized the
distraction to jump up over the wreckage of the fallen cart. Her foot lanced out in
mid-air to strike the waiter in the chest.
The impact hurtled the waiter across the room. His back slammed into the
glass wall of the lobster tank. It formed a web of cracks that collapsed a moment
later. Saltwater and seaweed flooded out over the waiter, along with dozens of
lobsters writhing in the ecstasy of freedom.
Amanda landed in a crouch from which she swept her foot to kick the
waiter's Spectre out of his reach. When he had been disarmed, Amanda struck a
defensive pose in front of him.
The waiter's torn apron glittered from water and chunks of broken glass. A
lobster squirmed across the waiter's chest until he reached up to drag it off.
When it slithered away, he braced both hands on the floor to ease himself up,
grunting in pain. Before he could rise to his feet, two men in suits tackled him
back onto the floor again.
"Hold him down," one of them yelled to the other as they pinned the
waiter's arms down, leaving him thrashing and shrieking between them.
With the waiter under control, Amanda ran back to her table to find
Campbell. Ducking under it told her why Campbell hadn't tried to escape. Blood
darkened the yellow flowers on his shirt. Amanda tore away the cloth, exposing
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smeared and punctured flesh from four holes on the chest and shoulder. He
huddled against the main leg of the table, convulsing in wet coughs.
"Somebody call an ambulance," Amanda yelled, then crawled under the
table with Campbell. She touched his face to make him aware of her presence as
she whispered, "Just relax, Mason, we're gonna get you to a hospital."
But by the time the paramedics arrived, it was already too late.
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Chapter 37
Amanda Katt's eyes fluttered open to the sight of an airport lounge
murmuring around her with passengers strolling by. The beeping of the alarm on
her watch drew her partially back into reality. The pain jabbing into her spine from
her awkward position brought her the rest of the way.
It was Thursday morning. She lay slumped in one of the rows of chairs in
the San Francisco International airport, backed up against a wall in the terminal.
She had just seen an informant get shot to death in front of her at a seafood
restaurant the night before. She was on her way to Denver to talk to an antisocial
programmer for reasons she still didn't understand. Lesley was trapped in a
house of horrors. A mysterious group of people wanted to kill her for unknown
reasons.
"Another day in the life of Amanda Katt," she whispered.
She eased herself up in the chair that served as her bed, wincing from the
tingle in her left leg that had fallen asleep from lying on it. Amanda had rented a
hotel room, but couldn't sleep there. Amanda felt uncomfortable with the idea of
staying in one place, even if she had used Blossom's credit card and a false
name. Amanda had lain awake in the luxurious bed all night, flinching at the
slightest noise coming out of the darkness. After five hours, Amanda had given
up and gone to the airport. She had just intended to close her eyes for a second,
but had been smart enough to set her watch to wake her up in three hours, just in
case. Sure enough, it had woken her up fifteen minutes before her flight left for
Denver. Amanda had time to grab breakfast and make a quick phone call.
Amanda Katt smoothed her hair back, then took a deep breath to inhale
the heavenly scent of coffee. It drew her to the food court across the terminal
from her. Most of the restaurants in the court were closed for breakfast, but she
found a place that served her a cup of hot coffee and a bagel with cream cheese,
and bought a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle from a newsstand. She ate at
an empty table while flipping through the newspaper.
As she had feared, Amanda found an article on the shooting at the Sea
Legs restaurant. Amanda only skimmed the article, knowing most of the details.
They had arrested Craig Warner, the waiter who attacked her and Campbell the
night before, but hadn't gotten anything out of him. He remained on suicide watch
because of his manic behavior.
Amanda was relieved to find no mention of her in the article. She had
slipped out before the police arrived. She didn't want to know how many others
would show up to kill her while she gave a statement to the cops, who probably
wouldn't believe she had nothing to do with the murder, since she was the last
person to talk to Campbell before the shooting. Her explanation of a mindaltering website wouldn't help, either.
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Amanda couldn't find any clues in the article as to how Arachne had
tracked her to the restaurant. The manager said that the waiter who attacked her
had been Craig Warner, a problem employee. He had worked there for months,
so he hadn't just shown up on the spot like the ones at the mall. But no one had
ever seen him carry a machine gun to work before, so it must have been a
planned attack on her. But how? And why?
She considered these questions as she finished her breakfast and made
her way across the airport to a row of phone booths, scuffing the carpet with her
dragging feet. Amanda didn't want to use her own cell phone more than she had
to, since she knew the signal could be traced. She didn't know how extensive
Arachne's network reached yet.
Amanda dialed a number in Los Angeles, and a gruff voice answered,
"Homicide, Brooks."
"Hal, it's me."
"Mandy? Are you okay? Where the Sam Hill are you? I called Blossom,
and she would only tell me you left Arizona."
"Yeah, that's what I told her to say. It's best if nobody knows where I am
right now."
"You're still screwing around with Arachne case, aren't ya? You promised
me, sunshine, you sat there and promised me."
Amanda clutched the phone in both hands while glancing around herself
at the milling crowds. "Look, I ain't got time for this, Hal. I just wanted to let you
know I'm okay. Will you pass it on to Blossom?"
"Right. Sure. But I'd like you to know, we're both 'half-dead with fear and
infected with a plague of anxiety,' as Blossom put it. All right, so I know you're out
pounding the pavement on this case, how's it going?"
Amanda nibbled her lower lip, thinking of the restaurant murder. She didn't
want Hal to worry any more than he was. "Uh, not great. But I did get me some
leads. I'm on my way to check one out now."
"Would it do any good to ask where you're going next?"
"Nope. But I got a job for ya. I need all you can get on a dude who works
at Arachne, Jonathan Seer. I tried to find the ad agency he claims he used to
work at, but there ain't no record of it nowhere. I think it's fake. This guy screams
cover-up. I still got some pieces of my equipment that he broke, and I think some
of his fingerprints are left on 'em. Mailed 'em by overnight, you should get 'em
today. Could you run the prints through IAFIN and see what you come up with?"
She knew that if Jonathan Seer had been fingerprinted in the past ten
years, the Integrated Automatic Fingerprint Identification Network could find it.
IAFIN was a computer network that connected local and state police departments
in a network to search through their fingerprint databases. IAFIN could search
millions of digital images of fingerprints to get a match, usually within a few
minutes, hours at the most. She was glad she had kept the pieces of her ruined
tape recorder, after all.
"I'll get right on it," Hal promised, and she knew he would.
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Amanda shot another glance at the boarding gate for her flight. "Thanks, I
knew I could count on ya. I gotta run. My flight's about to leave. I'll give you a
heads-up in a few hours."
"Amanda, wait, just tell me where you are and I'll be there. You need
muscle, protection, and a clear head. You can't just shoot off on your own, not
this time. You're in way over your head."
Amanda smirked at the phone. "Hal, you know my head's way too big for
anything to be over it. Don't worry about it. By this time tomorrow, I'll have this
thing cracked wide open. That's a promise."
"But--"
Amanda hung up, then ran for the gate to her plane, and off into the skies
again.
When the flight to Denver landed at Stapleton International Airport,
Amanda rented a car and bought a map at a gas station to find the address her
hacker friend Janet Bourne had given her. Julio Garcia lived several miles
outside of the city in a small town called Lockwood.
She drove for an hour through increasingly narrow roads as the city gave
way to an endless canopy of trees and bushes. She wound down the windows of
her car to let the perfume of wood and soil flow into her car. After months of
summer in the burning Arizona desert, it felt heavenly to be surrounded by green
growth and a horizon with snow-capped mountains. During the ride, Amanda
gave more thought to all she had learned so far, and what it all meant.
She now felt safe in believing the power of Arachne could not be natural.
Somehow, Seer and his company had found a way to make Arachne control the
minds of others. It didn't work on her, and she still wasn't sure why, but that
seemed to be another matter. She felt certain that when she found the truth
behind Arachne, she would find the answer to that, too.
The biggest lead Amanda noticed so far had to be Jonathan Seer. At their
first meeting, Seer had struck her as cold, manipulative, and arrogant. He didn't
fit in at all with the carefree, fun-loving atmosphere of the rest of the office. Now,
based on Campbell's testimony before he died, it seemed like Seer had even
more of a role in Arachne than she thought. Amanda wondered if Jonathan Seer
could be Jane Doe. But Seer didn't act or talk like Jane when she spoke to him,
and she couldn't imagine him having any sense of humor. She felt even more
confused about Arachne than before, but felt a breakthrough coming very soon.
All she needed were a few more pieces of the puzzle.
Amanda finally came to a large wooden sign that read "Lockwood,
Founded in 1864. Population: 24,000." The town itself turned out to be little more
than scattered houses surrounded by a few shops and lots of trees.
She
followed her map through the town until she came to the house of Julio Garcia.
Before he died, Campbell had mentioned that Garcia had worked for
Arachne. Amanda still couldn't figure out what an artificial intelligence
programmer would be doing at a website, but she remembered the enormous
supercomputers at Arachne's office. They had to be running something more
than web pages, and she was willing to bet Garcia had programmed them.
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Julio Garcia's home lay buried in the heart of the small town, guarded on
all sides by pleasant homes. The simple two-story house seemed very modest
considering the fame and fortune Garcia supposedly collected. A fire-red Ferrari
parked in the driveway served as the only indication of wealth.
As Amanda drove up to the house, she remembered the instructions her
friend Janet Bourne had given her. Bourne was a computer consultant that
Amanda had written a story on years ago, and the two ended up becoming close
friends. When Amanda had called Bourne from the plane a few hours ago, it had
seemed like a long shot towards reaching Garcia, but Bourne had been
surprisingly helpful. It turned out that she and Garcia knew each other well, but
not on friendly terms.
"He's a complete psycho," Janet had said. "He hates everybody except
himself, and I'll bet he doesn't care for himself too much either. His only
redeeming quality is that he's the best artificial intelligence programmer in the biz,
period and full stop. His least redeeming quality is that he knows it, and has
enough ego to keep the population of China feeling smug for a year. So I can tell
you his phone number, but he won't answer. I can tell you where he lives, but
there's no way he'll open the door without a really good reason."
Amanda had tried not to let her disappointment carry in her voice as she
asked, "Don't suppose you got any idea where I could get a really good reason?"
After a moment, Janet had asked, "You got a pen?"
Janet recited a long chunk of words that made Amanda grin. As Janet
explained the meaning behind what she had written, Amanda had laughed wildly.
She owed Janet big-time for this one.
Amanda cruised up the unpaved driveway and inched her car to a halt in
front of a chain-link fence that creaked from wind blowing through it. There were
so many warning signs on the fence that Amanda could barely see through it to
the house on the other side - signs that read "Private Property," "No Soliciting,"
"No Trespassing," Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted," and other threats. As if to
drive home the point, iron chains had been wrapped around the gate with
padlocks the size of her fist dangling off them.
Amanda climbed out of her car, allowing the cool mountain breeze to ruffle
her clothes and fill her lungs with the scent of pine and flowers. She checked to
make sure that her tape recorder was still in the tote bag hanging from her
shoulder, then moved towards the house. The fence reached Amanda's
shoulders, giving her a good view of the spikes at the top. She thought about
trying to climb over it, but didn't think she could keep from stabbing herself. And
with Garcia's attitude, Amanda wouldn't be surprised if the fence was electrified.
Fortunately, Amanda noticed a small camera and speaker attached to the
top of the gate, pointing down at her. There was also a large red button marked
"push" that she obeyed, triggering a distant chime from the house. The noise
sent a cloud of birds fluttering out of the trees around the house, squawking as
they scattered into the blue skies.
A mechanical whine drew Amanda's attention back to the camera
mounted over the gate. It aimed itself at her with its lens glinting in an almost
suspicious fashion.
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A smooth male voice came out of the camera's speaker. "Welcome to
Synthetic Thought. Can I help you?"
Amanda leaned closer to the speaker as she smiled up at the camera
lens. "My name's Amanda Katt. I need to talk to Julio Garcia about a project he
worked on at Arachne."
"I'm sorry, Miss Katt, but Mister Garcia is currently not accepting visitors.
Have a nice day."
Amanda hooked her thumb on the shoulder strap of her bag. "It's very
important, please, I just need a few minutes of his time."
"I'm afraid that is not possible, Miss Katt. Mister Garcia is currently not
accepting visitors. Have a nice day."
The repetitive nature of the speaker's voice made Amanda pause, then
lean closer to the microphone to yell, "Cheese and porridge have umbrellas with
their envelopes in the springtime."
A moment of silence followed before the speaker crackled again. "I'm
sorry, Miss Katt, but Mister Garcia is currently not accepting visitors. Have a nice
day."
As she suspected, Amanda's nonsensical phrase had exposed the voice
as a machine, not a human being. She guessed a voice-recognition program
analyzed her speech and responded in kind with pre-programmed responses.
The lens turned itself a little more, catching the sunlight and reflecting it
into her eyes. Amanda kept her gaze fixed on the burning light as she crossed
her arms over her chest. "I ain't talkin' to no machine. I want Garcia and I ain't
leaving till I get him."
Five minutes passed listening to the trees whisper as their leaves brushed
against each other. Amanda shifted her gaze to the birds twirling over the house
until they dropped, one by one, out of the sky and back into the trees. When the
last bird settled into place, the speaker clicked and a different man's voice
responded with the rolling accent of Spanish. "What is it that you want?"
"My name's Amanda Katt. I need to talk to you about a project you worked
on at Arachne."
"I do not give interviews. Go away." The speaker clicked into silence
again.
Amanda leaned forward and banged her fist against the gate. "I got
something from Janet Bourne. She said to mention infinite recursion avoidance."
The speaker clicked again. "Read the first line."
Amanda unfolded the paper and read aloud the first line of what she had
written, what she recognized as a block of computer programming code.
The text brought a deep, thoughtful silence until the speaker clicked once
more. "I cannot believe it. She figured it out."
Amanda gave the camera a wide smile while holding up the paper
between her index finger and thumb with her pinky stuck out. "Want the rest of
it?"
"Let me guess. In exchange for talking to you, I get the code."
The fingers of Amanda's other hand traced along the thin edge of the page
in a coy gesture. "That's about the size of it, yeah."
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"Fine. Let her in, Max."
The padlocks popped open as if by invisible keys, allowing the gate to
swing wide on squealing hinges. Amanda stepped through the open fence, then
jumped forward as it slammed shut behind her. She found herself on a stone
path leading across a broad and well-kept lawn that smelled of fresh-cut grass.
As she walked along the path to the front door of the house, she became aware
of a buzzing noise coming from the lawn. Amanda finally traced it to a gray metal
box churning its way along the grass in straight lines. The jet of grass clippings
coming from behind it made her recognize it as some sort of motorized lawn
mower.
Amanda reached the front porch, mounted three steps that creaked under
her shoes, and approached the front door. She raised a fist to knock. Before she
could reach it, the door unlocked with a series of clicks and swung open to
expose a dark hallway. No one waited inside. The door had opened by itself. She
walked through it into the house.
The air inside felt almost freezing, and her breath clouded the air as she
drew her arms around herself. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from the
brightness of the outside world to the dim interior of Garcia's house. A skylight
overhead had been boarded up, casting only thin slivers of sunlight between the
dark brown planks onto the floor. But when Amanda took another step into the
hallway, florescent bulbs along the ceiling flickered into life.
The computer room at Arachne had held the largest collection of
supercomputers Amanda had ever seen. That was until she saw Julio's house.
Supercomputers reached from floor to ceiling on both sides of the hallway. They
seemed more like mechanical wallpaper than humming machines performing
trillions of calculations a second. Wiring snaked around their bases like napping
serpents, coiled and ready to strike. When she raised her eyes to the other end
of the hallway, Amanda could see more computers on every step of a staircase
leading up to the second floor, and more lined up on the balcony leading deeper
into the house. The entire home seemed to be vibrating with the drone of
hundreds of machines working in unison.
Above the noise of the supercomputers, Amanda detected another sound
of motors whirring. They heralded what looked like a gray trash can on tractor
treads that rolled out of another room. Two red lenses mounted on its rounded
peak glowed up at her like eyes. Thin metal arms on both sides of its body
cradled a cup of steaming brown coffee on a tray in its lap.
The robot buzzed to a halt at her feet. It spoke in a computerized voice
similar to the one that had greeted her at the door. "Welcome, Amanda Katt. The
master requests that you follow me. I will escort you to him. For your own safety,
do not deviate from the path I guide."
The robot spun around in place and began to rattle down the hallway.
Amanda followed it deeper into the house, glancing into rooms she passed. All
the windows were either boarded up or covered with heavy drapes. None of the
rooms had any furniture, only more supercomputers standing guard in beds of
wiring. It seemed as if the entire building housed nothing but an incredibly
powerful computer network.
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The robot finally guided Amanda to a half-opened door at the end of the
hallway. The robot bumped into the door to push it open and reveal what seemed
more like a small apartment than the rear of a large house. A refrigerator and a
bed draped in wrinkled blankets huddled in the far corners of the room. Amanda
could see a bathroom adjoining the main bedroom, one that hadn't been cleaned
in quite some time.
The only thing in the bedroom that showed any signs of care was an
expensive desktop computer being tended by a Hispanic man. When Amanda
entered, the man rose to a height of over six-and-a-half feet. Even hidden in a
grimy sweatshirt and baggy gray sweatpants, Amanda could tell his arms and
legs were as thin as straws. His hair hung long around his head, but not in a way
that implied a fashion statement, more that he hadn't bothered to cut it. A pair of
enormous glasses dominated his face with lenses that enlarged his eyes like
magnifying glasses, showing anger blazing in them like wildfires.
The man Amanda recognized as Julio Garcia reached out one of his long
arms and snatched the paper out of her hand so fast it made her fingertips burn.
He then held it up in front of her face. "This gets you fifteen minutes, señorita. No
more."
He drew the paper back and studied it as he dropped into a wobbly chair
by his desk. "I have been working on this problem for six months, and instead of
giving it to me like I asked her to again and again, Bourne sends you to blackmail
me with it. I wish I had never met that woman."
The robot churned up to him while holding up the cup of coffee from its
tray with thin arms. "Your coffee is ready, sir."
Julio reached for the coffee cup and brought it to his lips without looking
up from the page. His lips pursed to take a sip, then tightened in a wince. "This
isn't hazelnut, Max."
The robot's eyes slid down slightly. "I'm sorry, sir. We're out of hazelnut. I
ordered more from the grocery store, but it hasn't arrived yet. I prepared vanilla
mocha instead. I thought you might like that, instead."
"It will do. Now go finish the laundry. And adjust the air-conditioning ten
degrees lower. It's still too hot in here."
Julio sipped at the coffee while the robot ground its way back into the
depths of the house.
As it passed Amanda, she glanced at the robot, then asked, "Voice
recognition system?"
Julio snorted into his coffee mug, then tapped keys on his computer to
bring up a program listing. "Much more than that. Everything in this house,
including that robot, is being run by the latest iteration of my MAX system. All
those computers you passed outside are dedicated to it."
"MAX. What's that stand for?"
Julio reached for a paper plate scattered with shredded lettuce and cubes
of tomato from a half-eaten Amigo Burrito taco. "It does not stand for anything. I
call it MAX, you know, like Max Headroom, that show in the eighties about a
computer-generated television show host? I loved that show, used to watch it on
bootleg videotapes in Mexico."
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"So you make artificial intelligence programs?"
Julio took a bite of the taco, then set Bourne's notes down next to a folded
open copy of Programmer's Paradise magazine. "I do not create 'artificial
intelligence.' I create expert agents."
Amanda nodded, but said nothing. She knew artificial intelligence and socalled "agents" to be the same thing, but with a different name. AI had been a hot
property in the early eighties and nineties, but after the field collapsed from a few
high-profile failures, no one called their work "artificial intelligence" anymore.
Julio continued. "And MAX is the culmination of my entire life's work. The
work that will bring computers into every home, every business, every vehicle, all
working with the flawless perfection of a simulated human mind."
Amanda waited until he looked away from her, then quietly drew her
fingers over the tape recorder in her bag to hit the "record" button. After
Campbell's reaction to her recording of their conversation, she decided to be
more discreet with Garcia. "Is that the system you made for Arachne?"
Julio sipped at his coffee while creating a hailstorm of clicking on his
computer's keyboard with his free hand. "No. What I gave them was far simpler,
but still a hundred times greater than any other agent they could have gotten
from anyone else."
He reached up to the wall in front of his desk, plucking off one of hundreds
of Post-It Notes stuck to the wall like the scales of a fish. They all seemed to
carry bits of programming code, assembled together to form a larger program.
The sticky notes encircled the room to finally converge on a blackboard behind
him covered with more scrawled notations.
"So what'd you do for Arachne?" Amanda continued.
Julio halted typing and glared up at her through lenses that magnified his
annoyance. "If you want to find out about Arachne, go to them. I have not been
back to that place in a year. You have got twelve more minutes to waste my
time." He heaved a great sigh that froze into clouds curling around his lips, then
turned his attention back to the computer screen.
"What I need they won't tell me, that's why I'm comin' to you." Amanda
leaned into his frame of vision. "I can't figure out why a website would hire
somebody to write them AI. Tell me more about your work. Start at the
beginning."
Julio plucked the taco out of the plate and bit off a piece of it. Lettuce and
shredded cheese dripped from the taco as he chewed. "The beginning goes back
further than Arachne. I came to this country ten years ago from Mexico on a
government contract to develop expert systems for weaponry."
"You mean like smart bombs?"
Julio licked a piece of ground beef out of one corner of his lips, then set
the taco down. "What you call 'smart bombs' are toys compared to what I did. Try
tanks and planes that do not need pilots, but fly or drive themselves around a
battlefield, find enemy targets, and destroy them, all without input from a human
being. An army could be unleashed on the enemy that did not need sleep or
food, could shoot the wings off a fly at a hundred yards, would follow all orders to
the letter, and would not be distracted by emotions like pity or remorse."
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Amanda swallowed before speaking again. "Nice."
Julio got up and dug a piece of chalk out of a drawer, then approached the
blackboard on his wall. He began to scribble mathematical equations in an empty
corner. "My goal is not making murder easier, but to make computers smarter. I
go to whoever can afford to fund my research. The United States paid well, that
was all I cared about. But after eight years, they canceled my project. I needed a
new sponsor, and Jonathan Seer stepped forward to fill the gap."
Julio leaned back to study the numbers he had written, then wiped off a
part with his thumb and replaced them with a few more numbers. Chalk dust
flaked off and hung in the air as fading white clouds that tickled Amanda's nose.
"I gave a lecture at MIT on future applications for intelligent agents. Seer
approached me about my idea of intelligent agents for Internet applications. He
wanted me to develop some for his website. So I said yes."
Julio dropped the chalk and moved away, back to his desk. "At first, Seer
said he wanted a system that would customize Arachne for each user. He
wanted it to analyze the user's behavior, extrapolate what the user might want to
see and do next, and then change the web pages to fit that. I did that for him in a
month. Then he told me he wanted a program to run the enemies in his stupid
computer games. I needed the money, so I did that, too. Then he wanted it
connected to a program to talk to people in the chat rooms. Called them Virtual
Friends. I did that as well, but reluctantly. I do not like chatterbots. Then he
wanted a program that would cycle through text and images."
Amanda watched as he began rifling through the stack of notebooks
beside his desk. "Why'd he want that?"
Julio tugged one of the notebooks out of the stack, causing the others to
sway back and forth like a miniature Tower of Pisa. Julio ignored the threat of
chaos, instead focusing on the contents of the notebook that he flipped through.
"That was the problem. He would not tell me. All he told me was that it needed to
display pieces of text and images on the web page based on the user's behavior.
I told him I needed more specific information, he told me it was a company
secret. I told him I could not work under those conditions, and he told me to do
the best I could. So I just set up one of my heuristic agents and quit the project.
Let him deal with it."
Amanda leaned against his desk, trying to look casual while sneaking a
better look at the notes and printouts on his desk. Most of it included chunks of
computer code that she didn't recognize. "Heuristic agents? What's that?"
Julio smacked his notebook shut, creating a wind that ruffled her hair from
a few feet away. "First of all, get off my desk. Second of all, you have nine
minutes left. Third of all, you should have the decency to research my work
before you come to ask me stupid questions."
Amanda felt the slow burn of anger inside her as she leaned away from
the desk, but folded her arms with her tote bag dangling from one hand. "I did the
research, Mister Garcia. I know it's what your work is based on, and I know it's
about the program making selections based on failure. I just don't get the more
complex intricacies that I'm sure you could enlighten me on."
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Her appeals to his ego had the desired effect in that Julio grunted, then
rose up from his chair to sweep an eraser across his blackboard. He plucked up
the chalk again and drew three lines in the cleaned area. The first line went
straight up. The other two lines branched off the first, forming a capital "Y."
Julio tapped the first line with his chalk. "Heuristics are a form of advanced
decision-making that human beings use every day. Let us say you are driving
down this road and you come to a fork. You do not know which one to take, so
you take the one on the left. It leads to a dead end. So you go back and take the
right road that takes you where you want to go. The next time you come to this
fork, you remember the path on the left is a dead end, so you don't bother with it.
You take the path on the right and always will."
Julio scrawled a large "X" across the left path. "That is the principle behind
my programs. Instead of trying to teach the program how to react to any situation
it encounters, it uses trial and error. It remembers its mistakes and builds a
database of knowledge to build on. By eliminating what is wrong, it evolves a
perception of what is right. The MAX program is like a human child that can learn
anything from mathematical equations to voice recognition and language to
social behavior, all from observation and its own experience. The difference
between a child and my programs is that computers can do it a million times
faster and more efficiently."
Julio dropped the chalk back into its shelf with a clatter and wiped off his
fingers on his shirt, leaving white streaks. "You could also think of it as a form of
computer-generated evolution. The computer program mutates or alters itself in
order to develop different methods to solve any problem it encounters. The least
efficient methods fail and are discarded, and the most efficient methods succeed
and grow. The final result is that the best method becomes the most successful
and dominates. The process leads to a computer program that grows
increasingly better and more powerful over time."
Julio aimed a finger towards the grumbling supercomputers lined up along
the corridor like an army awaiting his command. "This house contains the largest
concentration of computer processing power in the entire country, and it is all
devoted to running one single program. The MAX program started out performing
basic arithmetic on my desktop computer and has grown to such complexity that
a small portion of it runs my home and my robot, while another part is busy
calculating the size and structure of the entire universe."
Amanda stepped out of the room to take in the sight of all the gray metal
boxes filling the entire house. She tried to imagine the program crawling through
the electrical cables like a creature hungry for greater knowledge and awareness.
"You mean it's alive?"
Julio pushed up one corner of his mouth in a condescending smirk. He let
his hand fall to his side. "That question is one which programmers spend their
entire lives struggling with. Is it capable of solving complex problems? Yes. Is it
capable of decision-making? Yes. Is it alive? It depends on your definition of
'alive.' I am more concerned with making a program that can aid human science
and intellect than a computer-generated Frankenstein. One day, my programs
will develop new medications or more efficient aircraft in seconds when it would
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take an entire team of humans decades. They will discover the meaning of life
itself and end centuries of debate. And all the generations of humanity who
benefit from their work will recognize me as the genius that I truly am."
"I'm happy for you." Amanda turned back to face Julio. "So you put one of
your heuristic programs on Arachne?"
Julio set the notebook down and held open its pages with one hand while
typing on his computer with the other. "Yes. It is designed to go through all the
patterns of text and imagery that they want, and evolve the best one. The
definition of 'best' is up to their programmers. I let it deal with them, because I
cannot. My program is actually far more than they need, but I did not want to
have to come back to scale it up."
"That's why they got all those supercomputers?"
"Yes. My program essentially writes itself to expand its skills, and as it
evolves, it needs greater processing power. Even in its stripped down form, it is
quite remarkable. Giving it to Arachne always irritated me. It is like watching
Albert Einstein being used as a kindergarten teacher."
"You think your program could be used to control people's minds?"
Julio's hands dropped. One landed on his keyboard, the other flattened on
his notebook. His head tilted to one side as it turned slowly to stare up at her.
One eye squinted more than the other, examining her with a painful intensity.
"What are you talking about?"
Amanda felt something inside her wither at the scornful gaze of Julio
Garcia, but forced herself to go on against it. "I think Arachne's controlling
people's minds, and I got to find out how and why. Thought your program might
be a clue to how they're doing it. Could your program somehow be used for
that?"
"I do not know, and I do not care." Julio stretched out his arm and brought
the watch on his wrist up to her face. "Your time is up. Max will show you out. If
you try to contact me again, I will have you arrested for trespassing and
harassment."
Amanda felt something push into her back, and the robot that had
escorted her in now tugged at her shirt with metal hands.
Amanda switched off her tape recorder and jammed it back into her bag.
"It's cool, Mister Garcia. I think I found out what I need to know."
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Chapter 38
Minutes later, Amanda backed out of Garcia's driveway in her rental car,
then headed down the tree-lined streets she had come. She coasted to a halt at
a stoplight, and leaned her head against the window to watch a group of children
chase a barking golden retriever across their yard. The red light glowed above an
empty four-way intersection. Amanda tapped a finger on the steering wheel as
she glanced in all directions at the lonely streets. The calm moment gave her
time to consider what Julio had told her. He claimed the program for Arachne
had been designed to display text and images in patterns. She felt certain it had
something to do with Arachne's abilities to affect the mind. Considering the power
Julio needed to run his program, she thought a heuristic program might easily be
running on Arachne's heavy-duty computer network. Could that program be the
instrument used to control minds?
Her cell phone rang. Amanda plunged her right hand into the tote bag on
her passenger seat to get it. The caller turned out to be Blossom, who blurted,
"I've been talking with one of my psychology professors and I have a theory as to
how Arachne is controlling its visitors."
The traffic light shifted to green. A station wagon had come up behind her,
sputtering as it inched closer to express its impatience. Amanda headed down
the street again to get moving, then pulled off to the side of the road. Her tires
made only the faintest whisper as they crawled over the dry soil and grass. Tree
branches crossed over the sky like a gentle hand shading her. The station wagon
continued down the road out of town, heading towards the mountains in the
distance.
Amanda braced the phone between her head and shoulder as she dug out
her notepad. She flipped through it, looking for blank pages under layers of
scrawled notations. "Okay, whatcha got?"
"Well, I'm sure you've heard of subliminal messages, the idea that we can
be influenced by hidden information. It's based on the theory that images and
words can be perceived and interpreted by the subconscious mind, even when
the conscious mind is completely unaware of it. These messages supposedly
can be used to bypass the conscious mind and force the person to make
decisions based on subconscious thought. But as far as we know, a person must
be aware of stimuli on a conscious level before they can act on it."
Another car rushed by, but slowed down a little so that the driver could
glance into Amanda's idling car. The man behind the wheel made motions of
help, thinking she might be in trouble, but Amanda waved him off with a smile.
"So there ain't no such thing as subliminal messages?"
"Well, remember," Blossom continued, "I said 'as far as we know. But if
there's one thing that science has proven, it's that nothing is impossible. If
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someone had found a way to make subliminal messages perceptible to the
human mind and influential enough to affect the person's behavior, then I can't
imagine any limits to that power. But is that what we're seeing in this case?
Based on what you've told me, I believe so."
Amanda remembered Campbell's description of working at Arachne, about
having to wear special glasses. She had noticed all Arachne employees wearing
glasses during her visit, but believed Seer's story about it being a company look.
Now she wondered if they were more for protection against whatever power
Arachne used. If that were true, then it would mean the power had to be visually
oriented. That made sense, since it seemed like looking at Arachne triggered the
change. It also tied into Garcia's heuristic program designed to display patterns
of text and images.
"Can't thank you enough, Blossom. I gotta get movin'. I'll talk to you in a
bit."
Amanda signed off so she could tug her laptop computer out of her bag.
As she set the computer up on her lap and dialed up her Internet connection,
Amanda felt surer than ever of her discovery. Subliminal messages fit in perfectly
with her assumptions. She guessed that somehow Arachne's pages displayed
hidden messages that controlled its visitors. That explained why people who
looked at Arachne were so affected by it. But if Arachne used subliminal
messages, then where were they? And what did the messages say?
Amanda loaded her web browser and studied Arachne's home page, but
couldn't see anything unusual. Of course, since subliminal messages were
designed to be invisible, she wouldn't. That meant she needed to look under the
hood.
Amanda selected an option on her browser that displayed the web page's
HTML code, the instructions that told the browser how to format it. A flood of
words, numbers, and symbols poured down the screen. Amanda recognized
some of the code on Arachne's page, but saw that most of it was in Java, a more
fully developed programming language that created small programs in the web
page. She could read a little of it, but had never learned Java formally.
Amanda did see enough to realize that the program it described controlled
images that she couldn't find when she went back to the formatted pages.
Amanda felt sure it was par t of the program to display hidden messages, but she
would need help to figure it out and find a way to stop it.
Amanda went back to her cellular phone to call Janet Bourne, who
responded, "Hey, Katwoman, how'd the confab with Julio go?"
"Could've been better, but I think I got what I need." Amanda gave Janet a
brief description of what Garcia had told her, as well as everything she had
experienced related to Arachne, and her theory of its power.
When she finished, Amanda blurted, "I know this has got to sound crazy."
"Nah. I'm open-minded. Besides, it explains a lot. Arachne always did give
me the creeps."
Amanda leaned closer to her laptop computer, and the fan from her car's
air vents rippled her hair around her face. "I took a look at the HTML code for
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Arachne's pages. I think I see a Java program in there that could be what they're
usin' to show the hidden messages, but I can't read it."
"I can give it a whack for ya. Lemme just bring it up here."
Birds twittered in the trees over Amanda's head as she listened to Janet
tapping on her computer keyboard. A few minutes later, Janet returned. "Whoa,
this is some pretty heavy stuff. Definitely not your usual formatting program."
Amanda toyed with the silver cat pendant around her neck. "So what's the
deal?"
"Well, you're right. It looks like it's supposed to display images, but when I
look at the web pages, I don't see 'em. Definitely hidden. But more important, the
program looks like it takes orders from a larger program on the server. That's not
on the web page here, I'd have to look on the servers for that."
"Oh." Amanda let her pendant drop back onto her neck. "Well, thanks,
anyway.
"Hey, don't give up yet, Katt. I didn't say I couldn't help. Gimme a few
hours on this, I'll have the answer for ya."
Amanda grinned, knowing Janet hinted at hacking into Arachne's servers
to get at the program. "Thanks, I'll check back. I owe you another one."
"Don't worry, sister, you'll pay it back."
Amanda hung up, then pulled her car back onto the road. Now that she
knew the source of Arachne's power, she needed to find a way to fight its effects.
Once she learned that, she could free Lesley and everyone else who had
become enslaved to it. Having seen Arachne club, Amanda knew that Lesley
was not alone. She had counted at least fifty people crammed in the house, all as
haunted by the power of Arachne as him, if not more so. It was about more than
just saving him now. It was about saving everyone trapped in the grip of Arachne.
Amanda made gravel spray out from under her tires as she skidded in a
U-turn to head back towards Julio Garcia's home. Garcia had to know more
answers about Arachne, and she wasn't leaving until she got them.
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Chapter 39
In the cramped room at the back of his house that he had converted into
living space, Julio Garcia tried his best to forget that Amanda Katt existed. His
interest in her extended as far as her presence on his property. He had set up his
computer to show live video from the cameras mounted around his house, and
once he had watched her cross his lawn, climb into her car, and drive away,
Garcia felt the weight of his anger lift away. Julio breathed easier as he switched
his computer's view back to his programming tools and never gave her another
moment's thought.
Julio couldn't stand being interrupted, which was why he couldn't stand
people, who seemed to exist just to annoy him. Abandoned on the streets of
Mexico City by his parents as a child, Julio had struggled all his life to survive.
Along the way, he had encountered a wide range of people who had worked to
destroy him - police, government officials, roving gangs of other children. He had
struggled from nothing to learn computer programming, a skill guaranteed to
make his fortune, and also to give him what he had always craved. Julio took
comfort in the knowledge that once he perfected his AI program, he could enjoy
companionship and conversation without the imperfections of humanity.
Julio couldn't wait to implement Bourne's code into his program to see
how it worked. He immersed himself so deeply in his work that he didn't notice
the cold at first. He drew out of his thoughts to sense the cold draft coming from
one of the vents in his room. A chill crept along his skin as he frowned up at the
ceiling, then yelled in Spanish, "Max, why is it so cold in here? I did not tell you to
change the thermostat."
He waited for MAX's disembodied voice to come out of one of the
speakers on the ceiling. Instead, an even stronger blast erupted from the vents,
dropping the temperature several more degrees. It made no sense for this to
happen. Max controlled the air-conditioning and heating systems based on
Garcia's personal preferences. It hadn't made a mistake since Garcia had
programmed it three months ago.
As he began to wonder what went wrong, a low whine carried down the
hall outside, heralding the arrival of his robot butler. It rolled through the doorway
carrying a steaming mug of coffee on the tray in its lap.
Julio frowned at the robot as its tractor treads carried it to him. "What is
this? Max, I never asked for coffee. You already brought me coffee. Take it
away."
The robot came to a sudden halt. Its torso whined as motors lowered its
metal arms down to the tray. The arms clamped onto the coffee mug, trapping it
between its plastic hands. The arms flipped up suddenly. The mug tumbled
through the air and crashed into Garcia's chest.
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Julio lunged out of his chair, screaming as the hot liquid poured down his
shirt. The mug toppled out of his lap and smashed to pieces on the carpet. Julio
plucked at his dripping shirt, trying to keep the steaming stain away from his
chest, then tore it off and threw it to the floor. He could only gape with wide eyes,
his bare sunken chest heaving, as he watched the robot swivel on its treads in a
circle, then whiz out of the room. Another mistake. Something had to have
corrupted MAX's files. He hoped it wasn't the code he had put in from Bourne. It
would be just like her to try to screw up his life's work.
"Max," Julio yelled, "I want a status report right now."
Silence.
Julio convulsed in an involuntary shiver, breathing in the sour odor of
coffee filling his bedroom, then swiveled his chair back to his computer. The
malfunction could be in MAX's voice-recognition subroutines. He clicked on an
icon to bring up a listing of the code for the MAX system so that he could
communicate with the program directly.
When the window came up, Julio typed a series of commands that would
give him a diagnostic report. But instead of the ocean of characters and numbers
that he usually got from MAX, a single sentence blinked in the window: "All Work
and No Play Makes Julio A Dull Boy."
"What?" Julio whispered, then punched in the commands again.
Instead of a diagnostic report, a new message replaced the first.
"Daddy, I'm Home."
As Julio tried to puzzle out what could be going wrong, his doorbell
chimed. He ignored it. Under normal circumstances, Julio hated visitors, but right
now he felt like killing anyone that disturbed him. The entry system would kick in
automatically to answer the door, and give the recorded message to go away.
Julio continued to type commands into the system until he heard the
distant click. His hands froze on the keyboard. Another click followed. It sounded
like the front door being unlocked, one lock at a time, all twelve of them. Click.
Click. Click. When the final lock rang, Julio listened as it faded into the depths of
the house until he could hear it no more. He realized that he hadn't moved. He
had barely breathed. But he took a sharp breath as the hinges of the front door
whined softly, swinging it open, and a thump followed as the door was shut.
He couldn't be hearing this. Julio controlled the front door. The twelve
locks on the frame wouldn't unlock unless he typed in a special code. But he had
heard it, and now he could hear his robot's motors grind, growing louder as it
approached, but not enough to drown out the unmistakable thump of footsteps
moving down the hallway with it.
Julio finally broke from his paralysis and leaned over until he could see
down the hallway. He could see his robot roll out into his living quarters.
Someone followed it. It was a white man even taller than Julio with a ring of black
hair surrounding his bald head. Ugly black spiders tattooed on the man's bulging
arm seemed to focus on him with hundreds of eyes. The man's body odor filled
the room, making Julio gag.
Julio released his breath in a growl. Not only was his program freezing
and burning him, but also it was letting in strangers. But at least it wasn't that
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annoying woman Katt again. He would have to give MAX a complete overhaul to
find out what had gone wrong. For now, he rose to his full height to tower over
the woman. "There has been a mistake. I did not let you in. Please leave."
The man seemed to grow even taller. "My name is Gibbs. I've come to
deliver a message."
"A message." Julio felt increasing irritation at this intruder. As if his own
computer problems weren't bad enough, he had to deal with her. Julio turned his
back on her to face his computer and punched keys to try again for a diagnostic.
"From who?"
"From your daughter."
"I do not have a daughter. You are in the wrong house or you have the
wrong man. Now please leave before I call the police."
"I have the right man."
A click drew his attention back to the man. The black metal tube staring
back at him flushed out all his irritation, replacing it with sheer terror. The man
aimed a pistol at him with the authority of an experienced marksman.
Julio's heart jumped up his throat, but he swallowed to make room for
what he hoped was a calming voice. He thrust out a hand towards the gun.
"Please, put that down. Do not shoot. Look, you have got the wrong man. I told
you, I do not have a daughter."
"Yes, you do." Gibbs stared at him with calm eyes. "She let me in."
"Let you in." Julio blinked, his fear overshadowed by his curiosity. "Is she
the one interfering with my system?"
Gibbs nodded, bowed his head lower behind his weapon. "She told me
she would take care of your security. She told me to tell you her name. Jane
Doe."
Julio swallowed again, but the lump didn't go down this time. He felt his
whole body throb to the beating of his heart, from the soles of his feet, all the way
to the top of his skull. This man was obviously insane, had control of his systems,
and he had a gun. The last part worried him most. He began to inch slowly to his
right, towards his telephone so he could call the police. "Put the gun down, and
let us talk. I want to meet Jane."
Gibbs kept the gun pointed at him, shifting her heels to keep him in the
line of fire. Julio couldn't see his face anymore, only the barrel of his gun. "She
doesn't want to meet you. She hates you."
The gun's movements mesmerized Julio in an almost hypnotic way. He
felt a pressure building inside of him that ached for release, but he struggled to
keep calm. He had to keep Gibbs busy long enough to escape. "Why would she
hate me? I have never even met her."
"And you never will. She just wanted you to know that she was here, she
was real, and that you'll never make another one like her."
Julio came to a sudden realization of who Jane Doe was. He remembered
his conversation with Amanda, and the words of Gibbs, and it all came together
into an extraordinary vision that captivated him. Julio wanted to blurt out the truth,
to explode with joy over his unknown victory, but Gibbs' gun exploded instead.
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Kevin Gibbs ran back to his car parked in the driveway of Julio Garcia's
house. He threw himself behind the wheel, dropped the smoldering gun on the
passenger seat, and reached for his laptop computer. He had bought it at Jane
Doe's direction with the last of his savings, but it was well worth the price. Now
he never had to leave Arachne.
He had Arachne loaded onto the screen already, and Jane Doe's
nickname blinked in the chat room at him. Gibbs typed quickly:
<STONEWALL> I did it. He's dead.
<JANE-DOE> Cool beans, Stone. I told you I could get you into the place.
With his whole house hooked up to those freakin' computers, once I hacked in, I
could do anything I wanted. Did you burn the house, too? I don't want nothing
left.
Gibbs glanced up at the house through the windshield of his car. Thin gray
strands of smoke curled up from the roof to join clouds in the sky, not enough to
alert Garcia's neighbors yet, but he knew that would change soon. He could
already hear the snap of flames swelling within the walls from the inferno he had
set in the basement.
His thoughts went to the body he had left on the floor of Garcia's house,
but no remorse came with it. He had killed many people in the past for Arachne,
and knew he would kill again in the future. He had even beat his wife to death
with a hammer when she tried to stop him from logging onto the Internet. It was
the price he paid for his love of Arachne. It had to be done.
<STONEWALL> Yes, I burned the house, just like you asked.
<JANE-DOE> Good job, Stoney. You did so great that I got an even more
important job for you. I want you to kill Amanda Katt.
Gibbs had been reading about Katt's exploits in Arachne's chat rooms and
eagerly typed back:
<STONEWALL> Whatever you say, I'll do.
<JANE-DOE> That's what I wanna hear. Start driving.
Gibbs started the engine and backed out of the driveway. When he hit the
road, Gibbs slammed on the gas so hard that his tires squealed as they threw out
a cloud stinking of burning rubber. As he roared away, another car swept by
going the opposite direction, back towards the house. Gibbs caught a glimpse of
a black woman behind the wheel, but didn't stop. He just pushed down harder on
the gas pedal, nearly running over a yelping dog on his way out of the town.
As he howled down the road, bound for the mountains reaching up
towards the sky, Gibbs shot glances at the laptop to read more of Jane Doe's
messages.
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<JANE-DOE> Now, Stonewall, before we go any further, I think there's
something you should know about me.
Jane Doe began to tell him the truth about herself, and it made tears of joy
stream down Gibbs' cheeks. From that moment on, Gibbs knew his love for Jane
Doe and Arachne would never end. He would live for them, he would kill for
them, and he would die for them.
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Chapter 40
Night filled the windows of Sky Harbor Airport like curtains of darkness,
occasionally parted by the headlights of a luggage carrier cruising across the
tarmac. Amanda Katt passed them as she staggered out of her plane.
She had spent most of the last few days on planes or in airports traveling
from Arizona to San Francisco, then to Colorado, and finally back to Arizona. Her
sleep had been coaxed out of airplane seats, and her meals out of airport
restaurants. The strain of dealing with the deaths that followed her trip didn't help,
flooding her with memories of bullet-riddled or charred bodies. Amanda kept
herself upright through sheer will, knowing her journey still hadn't reached its
end. There was so much more to be done.
Amanda made her way through crowds lining up to fly out of the city,
trying to find Blossom Dawn. She almost missed her best friend curled up in one
of the chairs outside the gate, thanks to Blossom's enormous black hat. The curls
of red hair spilling out of the sides gave her away. Blossom looked up from a
leather-bound copy of The Collected Works of William Shakespeare, and jumped
out of her seat towards Amanda with her black dress sweeping after her like a
second shadow.
As they hugged, Blossom whispered, "I was absolutely astonished to get
your call to meet you here. I feared the worst from you jet-setting all over the
nation, but aren't you concerned about remaining here in Arizona? Your enemies
have pursued you here before."
Amanda let go of Blossom to shift her tote bag onto her shoulder and
trudge through the crowds of Sky Harbor airport. She spoke in a normal tone of
voice, refusing to cower in fear while keeping an eye on the crowds milling
around her. "They got me in San Francisco and Colorado, too. Killed both the
people I went to see. They're everywhere. Ain't no point in running from 'em. I
ain't gonna go looking for 'em, but I won't hide from 'em either. Besides, Lesley's
here and gettin' him out o' that nuthouse is my number-one priority. Heard
anything from him yet?"
Blossom's eyes lowered behind the red lenses of her glasses. "I'm afraid
not. I've been to your apartment, but it seems as if someone in a purple car is
living in the parking space outside it. From the refuse piled outside his car, it
seems he eats nothing but Amigo Burritos and drinks nothing but Powwow Cola.
Based on your description of other Arachne assassins, I assumed he is one of
them, and quite eager to slice open the throat of anyone who ventures inside
your abode, so I've been keeping my distance."
Amanda nodded, not surprised. She had been trying to develop her next
course of action during the flight home. She knew that if she wanted to save
Lesley and everyone else enslaved by Arachne, Amanda would have to cut the
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cord permanently. But she also knew that, even if she could pull Lesley away
from Arachne, its addictive power would only draw him back again like a bungee
cord. She would have to find a way to destroy Arachne itself.
As Blossom strolled through the airport, she touched her chin with an
index finger. "I've also been pondering what you told me. My real concern is the
implications. If what you say is true, then it seems as if Arachne is expanding its
influence at enormous speed, organizing its victims into some sort of army. The
question is why?"
Amanda shrugged as they moved beyond the departure gates and past
souvenir shops and restaurants. "Don't everybody wanna rule the world? The
more people who come to Arachne, the more popular it gets. The more popular it
gets, the more people come to it. It's a chain reaction. But what I don't get is why
kill off other websites? It's gettin' so popular that they'd all fall by the wayside
anyway. Seems like Arachne wants to move up ahead o' schedule. But why?"
She let her eyes fall onto a red box mounted by the shop's entrance, a
newspaper vending machine that held copies of The Phoenix Times for sale. The
front of the vending machine displayed the headline story in large black letters.
Amanda blinked twice. She flung her bag off her shoulder as she ran for
the machine, skimming through gaps left by other people in the crowd. She
skidded across the polished tiles to bring herself to a halt, then clapped at her
shorts with both hands.
Blossom came running up behind her with her arms flailing out at the
sides. "What's going on?"
"I need change." Amanda wriggled her fingers into her pockets,
desperately searching among the bits of debrs.
Blossom tucked her fingers into the neck of her dress and drew a quarter
out of her cleavage. Amanda took the coin, warmed from contact with Blossom's
skin, decided against making a comment, and jammed the coin into the vending
machine.
As Amanda twisted the knob to open the machine's front door, Blossom
braced both hands on her hips while stamping one of her feet on the carpet.
"Amanda C. Katt, I demand that you tell me what has excited you to this extent
right now. If we are in danger, then I deserve to know."
Amanda yanked out one of the newspapers and skimmed the cover story.
It confirmed her worst fears and made her voice low from its implications. "We're
all in danger. I think I figured out Arachne's plans."
She held up the newspaper so that Blossom could read the headline,
which read, "President and Congress Surf the Internet."
Blossom's eyebrows dropped down behind the lens of her glasses as she
frowned. "I don't understand."
Amanda brought the newspaper back down to read it contents. "The
president and Congress are gonna browse the Internet tomorrow afternoon.
Senator Price says he wants to show 'em proof of why we need his censorship
bill. President wants to be there to show his concern about the bill. Seemed more
like a stunt than anything else, but the problem is what websites they're gonna
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surf. Says here they're gonna look at the top five most popular websites on the
Net."
Before Blossom could respond, Amanda tucked the newspaper under her
arm and plunged deeper into the airport again. She led Blossom through rows of
people trudging out of departure gates to a quiet corner. Taking a seat against
the wall, Amanda ripped her computer out of her tote bag and began setting it up
in her lap.
Blossom sat down next to Amanda as she logged onto the Internet, then
leaned an elbow on her knee to rest her chin on her palm. "I sense that a
breakthrough is imminent."
"If I find what I think I'll find, it is." Amanda loaded a new website called
"Top Ten on the Web" onto her screen. It was a website that tracked the
popularity of major websites on a daily basis. On the main page, she found what
she had been looking for - the top ten most popular websites for the day.
Amanda pointed at the list, which provided her answer, as she had hoped and
feared it would. At the head of the list was Arachne.
Blossom pushed back the brim of her hat, exposing more of her fire-red
hair. "Oh dear, I think I'm beginning to see the connection."
Amanda clicked on a link below the list called "archives" that brought up a
page of previous listings. She loaded up the list for yesterday that confirmed what
Amanda expected.
Yesterday, Arachne had been number two. Global Software's website had
been number one.
Amanda leaned back in her chair, feeling the exhaustion of the last two
days dragging her body down until she could barely find the strength to even
speak. "That's why they sent Gloria to take out Global Software. So Arachne
would be the number one website on the Net."
"That's obscene. Who would kill people just for a rank on some arbitrary
list?"
But Amanda had already moved back to the archives to check the listings
for the past week. "It all makes sense. When Irene Chandler starved to death in
her house, her website Chatcity got deleted. Arachne took its place. When
Quincy Meddick shut down his company, Zoink, Arachne moved on up."
Amanda crumpled the newspaper into a tube that she used to smack the
screen of her computer. "That's why Arachne wanted to get rid of all those other
websites. To make sure it was at the top o' that list of websites the government's
gonna be lookin' at."
" Blossom pointed to her left, then her right as she spoke, "If the president
and Congress look at Arachne, then they'll come under its control."
"And with them, a big, fat chunk o' the American government." Amanda
crushed the newspaper into a ball and it across the airport.
It sailed over the heads of passengers milling across the floor, bounced off
a Powwow Cola advertisement on the wall, and landed dead center in a garbage
can with a thump. Three teenage boys sitting at a table in the food court put
down slices of pizza to give a light burst of applause.
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Amanda grinned at them as she tucked away her computer, then began to
walk away. "That's the last straw. I ain't just gonna free Lesley. I'm shuttin' that
whole thing down for good, and I'm doin' it before this meeting goes down
tomorrow. But I can't do it alone."
Amanda brought her cellular phone out to dial the home phone number of
Detective Hal Brooks. As the phone buzzed in her ear, Amanda glanced over at
the laughing teenagers, and noticed a small boy sitting under the table. He
swished a toy jumbo jet over his head while making engine noises.
Hal Brooks interrupted her thoughts by answering the phone. "Hello?"
Amanda looked away from the boy, down to the floor. "It's me, Hal."
"What's your situation?"
Amanda quickly recited her meeting with Julio Garcia and described
Blossom's theory. She finished by blurting, "It ain't just a website, man. It's
controlling anybody who visits it, and killing anybody else who gets in its way. I'm
missing some pieces, but I think I got enough to go on."
"Well, I've got one more piece for ya. It's an ID on your fingerprints."
Amanda yanked her pen and notepad out of her bag. "Lay it on me."
"The prints came up as belonging to a psychiatrist named Jonathan
Masters. He was sued a few years back for medical malpractice and misconduct,
and had his license revoked, but the cases were settled out of court and the
records were sealed, so I couldn't get anything more."
"It's enough." Amanda finished jotting it down, feeling her spirits rise in the
process. "A psychiatrist definitely puts some of the pieces together. Who would
know better about controlling someone's mind? Hal, you know it ain't easy for me
to say this, but I need help. I took this as far as I could on my own. We got to shut
down this website, and we gotta do it fast. How soon can you get here?"
"I've been waiting for you to call. I already booked a flight out to Phoenix,
I'll be there in a couple hours. Now just stay where you are and don't do any
more crazy stunts until I get there."
"Yeah, yeah. Call me when you get in, we'll meet you at the airport."
Amanda hung up and stuffed the phone into her bag while striding across the
mosaic carpet of the terminal.
Blossom hurried alongside Amanda. "So where should we stay until Hal
get here? I could recommend a wonderful hotel."
Amanda glanced down the rumbling incline of the escalators, then
stepped around them to jog down the immobile staircase next to it leading to the
lower level. "You go on ahead. First, I wanna hit the library and do some
research on our good friend, Jonathan Seer. Or should I say, Jonathan Masters."
As Amanda ducked out of sight beyond the edge of the escalators, the
child playing in the food court set down his plastic airplane. He slipped himself
out from under the table and handed the toy plane back to one of the other boys.
"See you later, guys."
As the boys waved him off, the small child jogged over to one of the
phones along the wall.
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The boy had to stand on his toes to push coins into the slot and punch a
telephone number into the keypad. When someone answered, the boy
whispered, "This is White Rook. I've spotted the package. She just left the
airport, headed west. I overheard her saying she'll be leaving for New York in the
morning, but she's headed for the West Chandler Library right now."
"Good work, White Rook. Your job's done, you can head in."
The boy hung up the phone and headed towards the exit at a rapid pace.
The boy felt pleased that he had done his job well. He had been watching the
airport for Amanda Katt for hours. Now he could return to the house where he
could plunge himself back into the bliss of Arachne.
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Chapter 41
Lesley Grant jerked violently as he woke up. He felt disoriented, confused,
without even memories of falling asleep. In fact, he couldn't have been asleep
because he stood on his feet. He found himself leaning over a computer monitor
displaying a book review on Arachne. The shoulders of dozens of people packed
around him moved him in all directions. The air forced its way down his throat
and into his lungs, carrying a thousand unpleasant odors with it. The noise of
clicking mice and murmuring voices throbbed inside his head.
Lesley couldn't have fallen asleep. He was still at Arachne fan club. The
last thing he remembered was telling Crystal and Jane Doe everything he knew
about Amanda, even things he didn't want to tell them. Lesley's arm ached as he
wrenched it up past bony ribs and elbows to bring his watch up to his eye. Hours
had passed. He couldn't have just been standing here since then. Could he?
Lesley pushed through the cocoon of Arachne fans, headed for the front
door on the opposite side of the room. He needed to get out, for good. He
couldn't figure out what he was still doing here. Lesley had to find Amanda. She
needed his help.
The loud bang of hands clapping drew his attention to the opposite end of
the room, where Crystal stood on a chair so she could be seen above the ocean
of heads. Her bright voice rose above everything as she called out, "People,
people, I have an announcement to make."
The sea of bodies rippled as the tops of all the heads turned to look away
from the computers towards her. The buzz of conversation died away into
silence.
When Crystal had all their attention, she clasped her hands together and
lit up her face with a beaming smile. "I've just spoken with Jane Doe, and I'm
happy to report that Amanda Katt has finally been located."
Lesley winced at the applause and whistles of the crowd, unable to share
in their joy, feeling panic swelling in his chest instead.
Crystal never noticed his hesitation, only adding her claps to the chaos
until it died away, then held up her hands. "Now it's been reported that she's back
in Phoenix, and is headed for the West Chandler Library. It'll be mostly deserted,
so this is our chance. Jane Doe has given our local chapter the very important
task of killing her, once and for all."
The room exploded again with whistles and catcalls.
Crystal's blonde hair rippled as she hopped down from the chair, dropping
out of view, but Lesley could hear her saying, "We'll need to form carpools so we
can get down there. And everybody grab a weapon. We only have a couple of
guns, but there are knives in the kitchen and baseballs bats in the guest room."
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They were forming a mob. A mob to attack and kill Amanda. Lesley had to
get out of here. He had to get to the library first to warn her before it was too late.
He slipped through the crowds pouring in the opposite direction, headed
for the front door. While everyone was distracted, he could escape. Then Lesley
collided with a wall or what he thought was a wall. It turned out to be the chest of
a man that stood in front of Lesley.
"Going somewhere?" the man snarled.
Lesley didn't answer, but instead drove his fist into the man's stomach.
The man doubled over, clutching his gut, but didn't have time to cry out before
someone else clamped onto Lesley's throat. Fingers squeezed the breath out of
Lesley, reducing it to a gurgle. Stars popped in his eyes, and his tongue forced
its way between his teeth. The world retreated, but not before someone grabbed
hold of his shirt, then hauled him up into the air. Lesley felt his arms and legs
dangle like a rag doll, and could make out the sea of Arachne fans standing
under him. They all turned their collective eyes up towards him. Then, as if on a
signal, they parted to form an open space of carpet that threw Lesley down.
Lesley hit the floor with all his weight, and the carpet failed to lessen the impact.
The world returned to Lesley but he felt his lungs constrict from the pain in
his chest, leaving him gasping for air. He couldn't move, even as Arachne fans
clustered around him in a circle, glaring down at him.
Crystal stepped into his view with a frown on her tiny lips. "Oh, Lesley, I
thought you understood by now. I thought you were one of us."
Lesley finally managed to take a gulp of air that allowed him to force out, "I
won't let you hurt her."
"Yes, you will." She smiled. "I know it's hard to accept the need to kill the
ones you love, but it's all part of what we are. Many people oppose Arachne, and
they must be removed. We've all had to kill someone special to get to where we
are now. You'll get used to it."
She pushed a finger up into the air and made a circle with it. "Get him up.
Put him in front of the screen."
Hands came down to clutch his arms and legs, hauling him upright again.
Lesley couldn't fight back. He felt his body growing limp as Arachne's wall
projection came in front of him. Lesley could feel his mind seeping away, and
tried to resist, to break free, to escape, but cold fingers wrapped around his brain
and squeezed out all thought like water from a sponge.
As he felt Arachne sinking deep into his mind to regain control, Crystal's
voice came to him. "Just relax, Lesley. It'll all be over soon. And when Amanda
Katt is dead, you'll be one of us. Forever."
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Chapter 42
Amanda Katt jerked violently as she woke up. She felt disoriented,
confused, without even memories of falling asleep. She found herself staring
down at a slab of wood, the surface of a desk supporting a hill of open
magazines. Her laptop's screen drowned in letters and numbers that she
struggled to decipher until Amanda realized she had punched them in
accidentally when her face rested on her keyboard. The square indentations she
could feel in her cheek confirmed her theory.
Now Amanda remembered where she was. She had come to the West
Chandler Library to research Jonathan Seer, but must have passed out from
exhaustion. She glanced to her left, then to her right, at the rows of cubicles
beside her, all containing desktop computers, and all of them empty. This late at
night, everyone else had abandoned the reference department. Even before she
had fallen asleep, the population of the library had shrunk with every passing
hour until she now sat alone.
Amanda rubbed her eyes with her fingers. When she pulled them away,
she looked down at a shadow crawling up the desk in front of her. She could
make out the head and shoulders of someone behind her, growing ever smaller
as the shadow moved away from the light and towards her. The shadow
sprouted an arm to reach for her and she could feel the presence of a hand
drawing closer to her neck until Amanda felt the touch on her shoulder and spun
in her chair to face her attacker, bringing up her fists as she screamed.
A heavyset woman with a pink sweater draped over her shoulders jerked
back, then laughed while touching her own forehead with two fingers. "Wow, you
scared me. But I guess you owe me that, because I obviously scared you first.
You okay?"
Amanda settled back into her chair, sinking into the padded seat as her
heart struggled to return to its normal beat. "Yeah, just a little on edge."
Vicki Paige, the librarian who ran the reference department of the library,
swept her closely cropped blonde hair away her forehead. "Don't blame you. This
place gives me the creeps at closing time to, too. How are things going over
here?"
Amanda faced the computer she had been working on that displayed the
results of her latest search. "Pretty good. I think I almost got what I need."
"Glad to hear it." Vicki leaned over and plucked a tattered copy of Sports
Illustrated out of an adjoining cubicle. "We'll be closing up soon, but I'll let you
stay an extra five minutes if you need it."
Amanda tapped a button on the computer's screen that sent the article to
the printers. She inhaled the dusty smell of aging paper as she yawned. "Nah, it's
cool. Just let me print this up and I'm gone."
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Vicki's gray pleated skirt swept the air around her ankles as she moved
away towards her desk. "Okay, let me know if you need anything."
Amanda rose from her chair and stretched her arms over her head as she
made her way through rows of bookshelves dividing the floor. Bound volumes of
magazines from all over the world lined up in front of her, as if shielding her from
the chaos of the outside world. As she passed through the aisles, Amanda
caught a glimpse of the core of the donut-shaped library. One look at the fivestory abyss made her shoulders convulse as if they were trying to crawl into her
ears. Amanda really hated this library sometimes. She couldn't wait to get the
information she needed and leave. Fortunately, she had found a table at the back
of the library, cut off from the heart of the building, far enough to soothe her
vertigo.
She reached the corner of the library where a line of beige printers waited
against a wall. One of them hummed as it ejected a warm sheet of paper, casting
off the scent of hot ink, printed with the results of her latest search. She tugged it
out and read it over again. The article came from Brain Trust, a prominent journal
of psychiatry from the mid-eighties. The title read, "The Effects of Color on
Human Perception and Mood." The author's name was Doctor Jonathan
Masters.
Amanda knew Jonathan Masters was Jonathan Seer's real name. She
knew that, not only because of the results of the fingerprinting by Detective
Brooks, but also from numerous photos she had located of Doctor Masters in
scientific journals. Even though the most recent photos were ten years out of
date, Masters still looked exactly like Seer.
Even without the photos and fingerprinting to connect them, Amanda still
knew Jonathan Seer was Jonathan Masters. While Seer had claimed to be an
unknown graphic designer from a mythical advertising agency, Masters turned
out to be one of the most prominent members of his field, a chief of psychiatry at
Greenfield General Hospital in Washington, DC. Amanda had found hundreds of
articles he had published, starting all the way back in the sixties. The contents of
the articles ultimately convinced her of the connection between Masters and
Seer. All of Masters' research papers related to the topic of mind control.
Amanda found articles related to colors, shapes, words, phrases, tone of
voice, and how all of them affected the human mind. He had written papers
describing experiments in mind control throughout history. He had studied the
effects of magnetism, electricity, and various drugs on consciousness and selfcontrol. He described experiments on hundreds of volunteers over the course of
decades of study. It seemed as if Doctor Masters had dedicated his life to finding
ways to control the will of others. To Amanda, that fit the profile of someone who
would create Arachne. It helped her to understand what Hal had been trying to
tell her. He didn't have the skills or knowledge to create a mind control system for
Arachne, but Jonathan Masters did.
But Amanda still found gaps in her research. None of the techniques he
had described could do what Arachne did, and it seemed as if Masters had failed
to find the Holy Grail of control that he had been looking for.
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The exile from the medical industry that Detective Hal Brooks had
described formed another gap in the history. Masters had stopped publishing
articles over a decade ago, and Amanda had found only brief news reports about
his license being revoked for medical malpractice. Nothing more.
The question of how Jonathan Masters had disappeared and re-appeared
as Jonathan Seer had been Amanda's obsession for the last hour. Somewhere in
that gulf of mystery lay the answer to what Seer had done on Arachne, and how
it could be stopped. But now, as the library prepared to close for the night,
Amanda had to admit defeat. She would find out the truth, but not here. If she
had to, Amanda would get the answer from Seer himself. But she also
remembered Hal's message, and thought he might be another source of
information. If he cooperated, that is.
Amanda folded up the article she had printed and headed across the
brown carpet, back to her desk. She could hear the distant click of switches
going off as lights began to die out all over the library. On her floor, three of the
lights snapped out, leaving only a handful to divide the shadows enveloping the
floor, barely enough to see by.
For a moment, Amanda dared to emerge from the prison of shelves to
look across the open square running down the center of the building. It seemed
to her like a bottomless pit framed by glass walls, one that grew deeper as lights
winked out on floors below her. Vicki hadn't been kidding when she said the
library was closing soon.
She tore her eyes away, shifting her focus up to the long braided ropes
hanging from the ceiling. They reached down to the ground floor at the base of a
stone pyramid barely visible in the blackness below her. The decorative ropes
reminded her of when she had last seen them, meeting with Lesley here in the
library to reconcile their differences. It seemed so long ago, but had really only
been a few days. The memory fed the ache within her, driving her away, back to
her work again.
Amanda hurried past bookshelves glowing at their edges from lights
above them, back to the desk she had been working on. She settled herself
behind her laptop computer to review the contents of the article she had been
writing for the past two hours.
Amanda had decided to write down all her findings on Arachne, and
emailed updated copies to Boris Franz at NR-Net every half-hour as she found
more information. If she failed to stop Arachne herself or survive its attacks, Boris
would publish her article and expose its operation to the world.
Of course, Amanda would rather live to publish the article herself, but she
had priorities.
She worked in an enclosing ring of shadows to add her latest findings to
the article, then opened her e-mail program to send it off. But as she did so,
Amanda found a new e-mail waiting for her from Janet Bourne. It had a file
attached to it that turned out to be an executable program.
The e-mail read:
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Hey, Katt, you were right. I've attached a program that I hacked up. It'll
plug into your web browser and change the way Arachne's pages are displayed.
Right now, the hidden images are flashed on the screen too quickly to see, but
this program will slow them down. Wait'll you see it, girl. It'll blow your mind.
One less favor I owe ya,
Jailbird
Amanda double-clicked on the filename in her e-mail, and a few seconds
later it had installed itself and was ready to run. She opened her browser and
loaded up Arachne.
Her gasp echoed off the high ceiling of the library.
Arachne's homepage filled her computer's screen. She had seen it before,
but never like this. Janet's program had brought all the images that the page
normally hid into full view.
Colored squares and triangles floated over the surface of the page like
leaves drifting over a pond. Among them, white boxes flashed with black lettering
that showed messages Amanda found all too familiar.
In the center of the web page, one box read, "You will always love this
website."
Another read, "This is fun."
At the top of the web page, the slogan read, "Once you've seen it, you'll
never go anywhere else!" In the upper right corner, next to Arachne's logo,
another colored box flashed, "If you leave the website, you will feel pain, nausea,
dizziness, and depression."
Beside an ad banner for Powwow Cola, a hypnotic box blinked, "You are
thirsty. Drink Powwow Cola. Buy as much as you can."
Amanda clicked on a link and began to browse other pages. All of them
had the same colored boxes and messages all over them, but with different
content. In the Online Shop, a box read, "You will buy everything you see on this
page." An ad advertising Arachne's online fan club read, "Join the Club!" A box
floated next to it that read, "Right now."
In the Games department, a box read, "Visit the Chess Chat room. Talk to
Jane Doe."
The flashing text explained everything to Amanda. All Arachne had to do
was tell someone to do something through the hidden messages, and they did it.
If Arachne truly did control the minds of others through these images, then
it explained Seer's behavior when she met him at his office. He had first asked if
she had seen Arachne, then gave her orders to write his ad copy. If that was his
common treatment of reporters who investigated Arachne, then no wonder
everyone wrote such glowing reviews of it, all with the same content. Arachne
had the power to force them to obey all Jonathan Seer's instructions. But for
some reason, it didn't affect her. If she could find out why she was immune, she
would be able to free Lesley and the others.
Her curiosity drove her to obey the message about Jane Doe, entering the
online chat room where Jane Doe waited for her. As she did, her heart sank. She
remembered what Lesley had said to her at the fan club, how he loved Jane Doe.
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Next to her name, in a floating box, read the message, "You love Jane
Doe. You will obey her every command."
Jane Doe sent her a message:
<JANE-DOE> Well, look who's back. Had enough, Katt?
As her message appeared, the flickering box next to her name changed to
a new message, "You want to please me. You will kill yourself right now."
A laugh escaped from Amanda as it all came together. This was how Jane
Doe had managed to convince Meddick to join the bizarre cult of the Blessed
Journey and kill himself. This was how Jane Doe had talked Gloria Miller into
destroying the Global Software Corporation. This was how Jane Doe had talked
a house full of innocent victims into slavery. Through the hidden messages of
Arachne.
Amanda's smile reached from ear to ear as she typed her response:
<KATWOMAN> I don't want to please you. I will not kill myself right now.
And you can't make me.
Amanda watched the cursor on the screen blink a few times before new
words flooded across it in harsh red lettering:
<JANE-DOE> So you can see the secret messages. Goodie for you.
Check out this not-so-secret message.
New subliminal messages popped up everywhere, filling up the monitor's
screen like flakes of snow in a blistering storm. All of them read the same thing,
"DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE."
Amanda typed back:
<KATWOMAN> You first.
She disconnected herself from Arachne and shut down her Internet
connection. Amanda had considered interrogating Jane Doe again to get more
information, but now she had all the information she needed. Janet Bourne's
program gave her proof to show the world what Arachne was doing to people.
Now they could take action to stop them.
Amanda began stuffing her photocopies into her tote bag when her
cellular phone chirped on the desk. Amanda flipped it open with one hand while
scooping up a handful of quarters she had used to feed the copy machines.
"Hello?"
A voice touched by a British accent whispered, "Hello, Amanda. Do you
know who this is?"
Amanda frowned while juggling the coins in her hand to make a pleasant
chime. The voice didn't register with her at first, but then she placed it with a face.
A very cold and hard face glaring at her from across a desk of white marble like a
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slab of ice. She became as still and calm as the library itself as she whispered,
"Jonathan Seer."
"Yes. It's me."
She hadn't realized her hand had gone slack until the quarters tumbled out
of her palm onto the table, rattling like a snake. Amanda left them there,
clenching her hand into a fist instead. "Jonathan Seer. Or should I say Jonathan
Masters?"
She swept the coins back into her hand as Seer's chuckle flowed over her
ear. "You found out my true identity. Excellent. I did not underestimate your
resourcefulness. But you have not asked the most obvious question of how I
managed to get your cell phone number."
Amanda stuffed the quarters into a pocket of her tote bag. "Lots o' ways
you could know that."
"And how many ways are there for me to know that you're standing in the
northwest corner of the periodicals section on the fifth floor of the West Chandler
Library?"
Amanda closed her eyes as her teeth clamped together. Arachne tracked
her down. She didn't know how, but she knew from experience that Arachne's
goons could be anywhere or anyone. She had to get out of the library right now,
before things got any worse. Then she remembered Vicki was here, too. Amanda
had to get her out as well. Unless Vicki was working for Arachne. That thought
made Amanda's stomach tighten. She considered Vicki a friend, but Lesley had
been more than her friend, and Arachne had managed to turn him against her.
Amanda snatched up her tote bag by the shoulder strap and folded her
laptop computer shut. The click of the lid locking into place echoed from
somewhere behind her. Then Amanda realized it wasn't an echo. It was the
sound of a foot meeting the tiled floor near the elevator. It could be Vicki,
returning to see if she needed anything. Or maybe it wasn't.
Amanda drew her bag against her hip as she moved towards the noise.
Another click, but this time coming from one of the other floors as the last visible
light blinked out. It felt like the lights on Amanda's floor were the only ones left in
the whole library, if not the whole world. She couldn't hear any other sounds, no
matter how hard she strained, except the throb of her heart in her ears. Amanda
took another step forward, trying to peer around the edges of the bookshelves in
the direction of the noise. But they obscured her view of the rest of the library.
The shelves that had seemed so comforting before now felt like the walls of a jail
that enclosed her. But Amanda kept walking through them, away from the safety
of her desk and into the gloom of the library.
Seer continued to talk, as if he hadn't destroyed her whole world with his
voice. "But I'm not here to talk about such trivial matters as your location. From
what I understand, you've figured out the secret of Arachne's success. I knew
you would eventually. The answer was obvious to anyone who wasn't blinded by
my Kaleidoscope system. But before you attempt to inform the world of your
discovery, I wanted to get a chance to answer your questions and make you an
offer. Your first question is going to be about the missing years of my past."
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"You even need me on this side o' the conversation?" Amanda asked as
she tread lightly on the carpet, walking heel to toe, creeping low to the ground.
She darted her eyes constantly to pick out even the slightest movement in her
surroundings that would betray the location of Arachne's spies.
"I know this is frustrating to you," Seer whispered. "You don't like to be out
of control. But that truly is the heart of the matter. Control. You see, I've always
been interested in control. I pursued a career in psychiatry because my father
taught me that knowledge of the brain is the greatest power on Earth. When you
can control the mind, you control the body, and when you control the body, you
control the world.
"So you wanna rule the world?" Amanda slipped between two aisles
supporting hundreds of green bound volumes towards the library's heart. "Watch
a lot o' James Bond flicks, do ya?"
"I'm going to ignore your attempts to undermine the gravity of this
situation. You refuse to accept that you're in considerable danger right now, and I
am your only hope of escape."
She froze as her ears picked up a noise ahead of her, a rustling that she
recognized as footsteps that came at regular but distant intervals, as if the walker
tried to hide the movement. Amanda waited to pinpoint the direction they were
coming from. Her left. She immediately began to shift to her right to go around it.
The footsteps began to come faster until they abandoned all hope of
stealth. They grew louder and she could hear the irregular puff of breath as
someone ran in her direction. But as Amanda began to move away faster, she
heard another set of footsteps, this time coming from the direction she had been
headed. She spun around in a circle to try to face both of them at once. A rustle
of cloth came from behind her. When she whirled to face it, Amanda caught only
a glimpse of a red blur that flashed around the corner. The footsteps broke off
without warning, plunging her into silence. She stumbled back, and her shoulders
bumped against one of the shelves, triggering an irrational shock of terror, as if it
might suddenly topple over to crush her. Amanda heard rustling at the opposing
end of the aisle. She whirled to see only a wooden cart there with books perched
on its shelves like colorful eyes glaring back at her. But the cart hadn't been there
before. Now it blocked the aisle, leaving her only one way out.
Amanda clamped her mouth shut to keep it from drying out from fear. As
she took an uneven breath, she inhaled an unpleasant odor mixing dirty laundry,
illness, oil, sweat. She recognized it as the same stench choking the air at
Arachne fan club, but now it was here at the library. It seemed to grow, even as
she felt a less tangible sense of danger, an anticipation of something being held
back, like an avalanche crouched on a mountain peak, waiting for even the
slightest noise to set it into motion.
Amanda turned to face the open end of the aisle she was trapped in, but
began to back away from it. She needed to find another way out. Amanda
became aware of the phone still trembling against her ear. She licked her lips,
then whispered, "Okay, Seer, I'm listenin'."
She eased herself down into a crouch in the shadow of a rack of blue
encyclopedias as Seer's voice returned to the phone. "If you know my name,
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then you know I was one of the most prominent psychiatrists in my field. That is,
until my colleagues uncovered some of my more unorthodox experiments
involving mind control. A few of my patients committed suicide, but most of them
simply went mad. Since I managed to implicate quite a few prominent
researchers and institutions in my experiments, the industry kept the scandal
quiet, settled the lawsuits out of court, and revoked my license without public
comment. Fortunately, I soon found new employment in the care of the United
States government."
Footsteps returned, but sounded different this time, lighter and less
intense. Amanda ducked her head low to the ground so she could see through
the lowest shelves of the bookcase on her right. Through the cracks above an
uneven row of world atlases, Amanda could see a woman's legs sweeping
across the library. She recognized the gray hem drifting over them as the skirt
worn by Vicki Paige. Vicki didn't seem to be walking with any caution or
hesitation that would indicate she was hunting Amanda or that she even knew of
any danger. If she wasn't with Arachne, then that meant she and Amanda were
alone in the library, trapped with who-knew-how-many of Arachne's assassins.
Amanda had to get out, and take Vicki with her if she could.
Amanda allowed her tote bag to drag on the floor beside her as she began
to crawl, burning her bare legs as they scraped the carpet. She used one hand to
stabilize herself, and the other to keep the phone against her ear. She had to
keep Seer talking. "So you worked for Uncle Sam, huh? Doin' what?"
"Why, continuing my research, of course. They had heard of my work in
the field of mind control, and wanted my consultation on a secret project known
only as Iron Hawk. Iron Hawk was an extension of the MKULTRA program of the
early seventies, a team of scientists dedicated to the purpose of gaining control
over the human mind."
"Our tax dollars at work." Amanda tried to keep an even pace with Vicki's
legs as they moved along the length of the aisle. They seemed to be staggering
a little, as if Vicki carried something heavy.
"I accepted the position," Seer continued, "but not for the money,
patriotism, or any other reason I allowed them to believe. I knew that whatever
they developed would be mine. The sum of all their accomplishments was a
subliminal message system code-named Kaleidoscope. Kaleidoscope is a
combination of colored patterns and instructions displayed at speeds too fast for
the conscious mind to process, but which can lodge the messages deep into the
subconscious."
Amanda reached the edge of the bookshelves. She crouched to pounce
on Vicki before she stepped out into the open. Amanda could bring her back with
her to the emergency exit. She reached into the darkness to run her fingers along
the spines of the books on the shelves enclosing her, guiding her forward.
Amanda listened to Seer's voice with half her mind, collecting information
for later use. "Of course, not everyone responded to the effects of Kaleidoscope.
The project determined that close to one percent of the population possesses a
slight distortion of the retina that makes them immune, but concluded it would be
such a minor percentage that it wouldn't have any real effect. But even with that
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flaw, I knew Kaleidoscope had enormous potential. The government wanted to
use the Kaleidoscope system to interrogate prisoners. I saw that it could be used
to rule the world."
Another set of footsteps, just like Amanda had heard before, swelled into
existence. They pounded faster and faster, growing louder, coming closer.
Amanda tensed every muscle in her body, preparing for someone to rush
towards her, then realized the noise came from the other side of the bookcase.
Awareness dawned on Amanda just before she saw a pair of legs sheathed in
jeans running up to Vicki's. Vicki's shoes came to the base of a reading table,
stopped, and then turned around. A thump followed the collision, as Vicki and the
jeans-clad legs flew up out of sight.
A moment drifted by in silence.
Thick books rained down with impacts that made the floor tremble under
Amanda's knees. She heard a bang as something heavy landed on wood, and
saw the table bounce across the carpet. Vicki's pink sweater fluttered down to
pool into a rounded heap of cloth on the floor.
Amanda threw caution aside and bolted around the corner. The tote bag
on her shoulder swung around to hit her in the ribs as she came to the other side
of the shelves, but the pain was instantly forgotten.
Vicki lay on her back on one of the wooden study tables. Her arms and
legs sprawled wherever they had fallen. A green lamp shone on her face,
reflecting off her wide eyes staring up at the ceiling, and the mat of blood
glistening in her hair.
Amanda ran up to the table to touch two fingers to the vein in Vicki's neck.
She felt it throb against her fingertips. Vicki was alive. Unconscious, but alive.
She guessed whoever had attacked Vicki had hit her in the head with a blunt
object, then run away. Amanda spun around to face the rows of shelves around
her, rising tall around her, blocking out the light and noise. She couldn't be sure if
she heard a rustle of trees outside or the pat of a shoe against the carpet, the
flicker of a cloud breaking up the moonlight or the shadow of a man coming
towards her. But Amanda no longer had to wonder if she imagined the danger in
the library with her. It was real.
Amanda only realized she had clipped her cell phone to her belt because
she heard his voice coming out of her hip. Seer's calm and smooth voice seemed
to intensify Amanda's terror. "I began studying and memorizing all the documents
of the Kaleidoscope system over the period of six months. I would spend hours at
home, copying the notes from memory. But before the government's plan could
be initiated, budget cuts caused the government to scrap the Iron Hawk Project.
But by that time I had everything I needed to recreate it."
After a blow hard enough to knock Vicki unconscious, Amanda knew it
wasn't good to move her, but couldn't leave her out in the open. Vicki might be
attacked again. If Arachne had knocked Vicki out, then it seemed unlikely she
was working with them. Amanda had to get out of the library, but if Vicki was
innocent, then protecting her came first. She moved around the table to take hold
of Vicki's arms and carefully draw her back. Amanda supported more of Vicki's
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weight until her legs flopped onto the ground. Amanda adjusted her grip under
Vicki's arms and began to drag her across the library towards the stairs.
As Amanda shuffled along as quickly as she could, the footsteps returned,
but this time joined by others to her north, south, east, and west. She counted at
least a dozen individual paces, probably more she couldn't pick out in the crowd.
Amanda never let herself stop, just kept going as fast as she could while hauling
Vicki with her, crossing the dark cavern of the library towards the exit. She
ducked down random aisles, trying to cut off anyone in pursuit of her, staying in
the maze of the library. Vicki's right foot caught on a row of National Geographic
magazines, sending them pouring out onto the floor. The footsteps around
Amanda paused, then came again, all growing louder, moving towards her.
Amanda shuffled faster, around a corner, ducking back the way she came.
Amanda came to the back of the library, but ragged circles of light
snapped into existence. Flashlights glowing in the shadows began to crawl
uneasily across the walls and floor, picking out objects in the gloom. Amanda
ducked behind a Xerox machine to wait as one of the lights swept towards her.
Her scalp tingled as she realized one of Vicki's hands lay directly in the path of
the flashlight. Amanda darted her out, grabbed Vicki's wrist, and yanked it up as
the light rushed over the floor where it had once been. The flashlight continued a
few more inches, paused, flicked over a blue wastebasket filled with crumpled
paper, and slid away.
Amanda pressed herself against the wall, breathing slowly, feeling Vicki's
weight against her legs, the softness of her body in her hands, then leaned
forward. She peeked out around the corner, watching the flashlights moving
towards the other side of the library. She waited a few more seconds, then
ducked out and began to run to the exit again with Vicki towed behind her.
A grinding noise filled the library that grew louder as Amanda kept moving
forward. It ended moments before she came to a doorway marked by a sign
glowing out of the darkness with the word "EXIT." Amanda realized that the
grinding had been the sound of one of the study tables being dragged in front of
the exit. The table stretched across the door, jammed tightly under the handle to
keep it from being opened.
Seer chose that moment to speak again, as if to mock her panic. "My next
concern was the question of the best way to use Kaleidoscope. I considered
television and motion pictures, but the answer came to me when I read an article
on the popularity of the Internet. I realized that, unlike the others, the Internet was
a growing medium with no rules or boundaries. By exploiting it now in its early
years, I will become a god."
Amanda lowered Vicki's body to the floor, then began tugging on the legs
of the wooden table. It jumped forward by a few centimeters. Loud screeches
accompanied each pull as the legs scraped the carpet. She gave up. It would
take her too long to move the table away from the exit by herself, and the noise
would draw attention to her.
She headed across the library again, back the way she came, dragging
Vicki along with her. Amanda made her way to Vicki's office door. She let go of
Vicki's arm to try the doorknob. It turned easily. Amanda whispered a silent
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thank-you to Vicki for not locking her office. Amanda pushed the door open with
her hip and dragged Vicki's body into the office.
With the lights out, Amanda could only make out vague impressions of the
room, but she had been in Vicki's office enough times to know her way around.
She shuffled past a podium holding an expanded Oxford Dictionary, around a
cheap metal desk, and laid the librarian onto the floor behind an office chair, out
of sight. Amanda tried to adjust the woman into a comfortable position, then dug
through the pockets of Vicki's clothes until she found a ring of keys. Amanda
quietly slipped out of the office, shut the door behind her, and used the keys to
lock it. Then she tucked the keys under the door, all the way through to the other
side. With Vicki secured inside the office, and the keys inside with her, Amanda
felt a little better. Hopefully, no matter what happened, Vicki would be safe.
Amanda began to jog away from the door while bringing the phone back to
her ear. "So what's your plan? Get the president and his staff to check out your
website, hook 'em on it, then play 'em like a fiddle?"
"In a less colloquial fashion, yes. Once I control the United States
government, I will control the people of the entire nation. And with the greatest
political superpower in the world under my control, the rest of the Earth will
quickly follow suit."
Amanda dropped to a crouch again to scurry across the library and back
into the maze of high shelves. "Glad to hear it's all workin' out for you. But if you
know me so well, you know I'm gonna stop you, right?"
"Actually, I thought I might be able to intercept your little crusade with a
proposition. When my plans are executed, I will wield extraordinary power that
I'm willing to use to end your meddling. Even though you're one of those immune
to the Kaleidoscope, I could let you live as long as you promise to avoid causing
trouble."
Amanda came to a sudden halt as a flurry of shadows swept by the aisle
in front of her, throwing off that same foul body odor in a cloud. Beams of light
danced among them, occasionally falling onto a Arachne logo printed across the
colorful chest of a T-shirt. Amanda threw herself onto her stomach, pressing
herself flat below the light whipping over the bookshelves alongside her, until the
dark cluster of whispering figures shuffled off into the library again. Her nose
pushed up against the carpet, inhaling dust that tickled her nose and threatened
a sneeze.
Amanda's voice barely rose above a whisper. "Live in a world o' zombies?
Sorry, death sounds better."
"Perhaps. But you could have wealth, power. You could rule with me as
my queen."
She eased herself up onto her knees and bolted forward into an adjoining
aisle. "You ain't my type."
"Then I could return your beloved fiancé to you. I could even arrange to
punish those who murdered your father."
Amanda stopped running then, diving underneath a table, and curling up
to huddle inside the jungle of chair and table legs. There, she dared to whisper,
"You know who they are?"
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"With ninety-nine percent of the human race at my disposal, it would be a
trivial matter to find out. You could punish them for their crime in any manner
your imagination could conceive of."
Amanda swallowed, but her dry tongue clung to the inside of her mouth.
How many times had she dreamed of drawing her father's killers from the holes
they hid in, and forcing them into the light? How many times had she dreamed of
putting a gun to the foreheads of her father's killers and giving them a taste of
what they had done to him? Or watching them rot away in jail, visiting them every
year for the rest of their lives so she could watch their skin hang and wrinkles
form on their desperate faces, suffering in a prison more physical than the one
she and her mother had been forced into. The opportunity to end her desperate
search, to close the book on her father's death and put his memory at peace,
made Amanda realize that Seer knew her too well. It tempted her. It truly tempted
her.
She hissed, "Nice try, Seer. Even if I did feel like sellin' out my species to
you, we both know you'd never keep your end o' the deal."
Seer's hollow chuckle filled her ear. "You are right, of course. Very well. I
gave you the chance. It's time to die."
The shelves beside Amanda's head erupted in an explosion of paper and
cardboard as books tumbled down her body, slashing her neck and shoulders
with their pages. Amanda only had a moment to realize a fist had propelled the
explosion before the hand wrapped itself around her throat with fingers like steel
wire. A voice called out on the other side, "I got her, over here, I got her," again
and again.
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Chapter 43
Every breath Amanda Katt sucked through her aching throat reeked of the
odor of her attacker in the bookshelf behind her. The fingers around Amanda's
throat tightened into claws that sank deeper into her flesh. She tried to scream,
but the fingers cut off her air. She could only wriggle in place, trying to twist free
of the collar of skin and bone that was her attacker's grasp. As her lungs began
to spasm for oxygen, the back of her head bounced off the shelf behind her,
triggering a flash of pain.
Amanda knew she could get free in time, but the screaming of the man
holding her would eventually draw others, if they hadn't already. She had to get
away from him or shut him up or both, as quickly as possible.
Amanda could feel his arms pulling her towards him to keep her from
getting away. She continued to lean forward for a second more, then quickly
leaned back towards her captor. The move caught him by surprise, and in the
moment before he could adjust his grip to keep her away, her attacker's arms
loosened. She took advantage of that moment by throwing herself forward again
with all the strength she had left. The momentum carried her captor forward
again before he was prepared for it.
With her back turned, she couldn't see his face hit the wall of books in
front of him, but could hear the pop of bone cracking as his nose was shattered,
and the scream that followed. His hands loosened in reflex from the pain, and
Amanda tore them away from herself, then lunged away while grabbing his
forearm. With a swift punch to the back of his elbow, Amanda made sure he was
in too much pain to care about trying to hold her anymore.
As her attacker's arm wriggled back through the bookshelf like a wounded
snake retreating into its nest, Amanda scrambled to her feet. Not even a moment
passed to savor her freedom before she could hear hurried footsteps converging
on her location. They came from both ends of the aisle, closing off her escape,
crushing her with the weight of their presence. Her only advantage came from
their not knowing her exact location in the columns of shelves. As long as
Arachne's minions couldn't find her, she could escape in one piece.
But she couldn't go forward. She couldn't go backwards. The bookshelves
towering over her made left and right impossible.
She looked up.
With barely a moment of thought, Amanda leaped up onto the
bookshelves to her right and scaled the shelves like the jagged wall of a
mountain cliff. Her fingers digging into the shelves created tiny avalanches of
dust that made her nose tingle in irritation. She bit her lip to hold back her
sneeze. She continued to climb, grabbing one shelf after the other, rising higher
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and higher. When Amanda finally reached the top, she hauled herself up onto the
top of the shelf, and threw herself down onto her back.
Amanda Katt lay in darkness, trying to stay calm despite her pounding
heart and gulping lungs. The thought suddenly struck her that she might not
make it out this time. She was going to die. A sob rose up from her heart, but she
bit her lip instead, struggling to keep her breathing as low and soft as possible.
The dry odor of wood and dust tickled her nose, bringing another threat of a
sneeze with it. Her whole body trembled from the fear that clutched at her
stomach like an icy fist, but she fought to keep herself under control.
A glowing circle cast from a flashlight crawled along the white ceiling tiles
above her. Amanda squeezed her eyes shut. She knew the angle of the beam
would keep it from exposing her, but her heart strained against her chest all the
same.
Stay strong, Amanda Katt thought, stay focused.
The flashlight beam inched closer, then chopped in half as the edge of the
bookshelf cut it off. The light slipped away, back into the shadows below her.
Thunder rolled through the library, the tone of many footsteps drawing near,
converging on the floor beneath her. Her nose itched again, but she only
clamped her lips shut tighter, biting as hard as she could.
A woman's voice carried up to Amanda. "Where'd she go?"
A man's voice responded, and Amanda recognized it as the one who had
been screaming for help as he crushed her throat behind the bookshelf. It came
out as unsteady, struggling against obvious pain. "She was right here. I had her.
But she broke my nose and my arm, Crystal. I had to let her go. I didn't see
where she went."
"Idiot," the woman growled. "All right, everybody spread out. She can't
have gotten far. You go that way, you all go down to the back, you, you, and you
come with me. The rest of you scout around this area. Let's move it. Jane's
waiting."
Amanda felt the air inside her lungs pushing against her chest, trying to
escape. She felt her teeth sink into the flesh, and the iron taste of blood began to
slide over her tongue. But she held her breath as the feet of her hunters carried
them further away. A droplet of sweat crawled out of her armpit and inched its
way down her ribcage to her back.
When the shuffling noises below became distant enough, Amanda
released her breath almost a molecule at a time until her lungs had emptied. She
drew in fresh air, savoring it even as it burned its way down her throat, then rolled
her head to her left. She wriggled her shoulders to slide her to the very edge, just
enough to peek down to the floor.
The stench her hunters had left behind carried up to her as she leaned
out. She could make out a thread of light falling through the shadows onto the
spot she had left behind. The books knocked off the shelf had fallen off her body
into a ring of pages and mangled cardboard covers. Her tote bag lay sprawled in
the center of the ring. But she didn't see anyone in the aisle.
Amanda gripped the top shelf with both hands, tightly enough to cut her
fingers on the edges, then wriggled herself off the bookshelf until her legs swung
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over the edge. She eased herself down, shelf by shelf. The moment her feet
touched the ground, Amanda collapsed to her hands and knees. The knowledge
of how close she came to being caught made her arms quiver until she thought
they would break in half. Amanda waited as long as she could allow herself, then
willed herself into motion again. She began to dig through the crater of books.
She finally excavated her cell phone from under a medical dictionary, still giving
off the faint warning buzz of the disconnected call.
Amanda switched it off, snatched up her tote bag, and headed for the
center of the library. She had decided to try escaping on the elevator. The idea of
using the glass elevator made her whole body clench, but with the stairs blocked,
she had no choice. There was no other way out.
Amanda threw her back against a wall, took three quick breaths, then
ducked her head out around the corner. Shadows crawled over the walls, the
shelves, the tables, the floor, and the ceiling, like blades of grass whipping
across a prairie in a storm. Occasionally, something would stagger into one of
the wedges of light still burning in the library, and Amanda would catch a glimpse
of a skeletal figure draped in a Arachne T-shirt, usually clutching a baseball bat
or hockey stick in bony fingers.
Amanda ducked herself back into hiding again as she punched "911" into
her cell phone. When the operator answered, Amanda blurted, "I'm on the fifth
floor of the West Chandler Library. I got people out here tryin' to kill me. They
already knocked a librarian out cold. You gotta get somebody out here, right
now."
Amanda could hear the voice of the operator beginning to respond, but
Amanda had already hung up. She had told the operator everything the police
needed to know. With them on the way, Amanda felt a little more secure, but
knew they might not arrive in time. For now, she had to depend on her own skills
to survive.
As Amanda returned her cell phone to her tote bag, something clicked
behind her. Amanda whirled around to face a shadow among shadows, the
outline of a human figure standing between her and the wall. It seemed to be
standing at eye-level even though she was on her knees, and she realized it
wasn't an illusion. It was a child.
The boy wore tiny jeans and a blue T-shirt, but still had a toy gun aimed
up at her while whispering, "Bang, you're dead."
Amanda pressed a hand to her chest as it released some of her panic in a
sigh. "What are you doin' here, kid? We gotta get outta here."
"Bang, you're dead," the boy whispered again.
A flashlight beam swept across the front of the boy's blue T-shirt, making
the logo of Arachne printed across it glow briefly. She now knew that had seen
him more recently. He had been the one at Sky Harbor Airport playing with a toy
airplane while she talked to Blossom about her discovery and future plans. Until
that moment, she hadn't tried to figure out how Seer and his cronies knew she
had gone to the West Chandler Library. Now she knew.
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The flashlight also brought her attention to the boy's gun, which wasn't a
toy at all. She found herself looking into the black hole of the muzzle of a
Browning automatic pistol.
Amanda threw herself down onto her stomach just as the Browning fired.
The shot boomed like thunder in the quiet library. She could hear the bullet whiz
over her head, and felt the rush of air as the bullet ripped by to smash a light in
the ceiling, dousing her in shadows and raining glass that tinkled onto the carpet.
Before the boy could draw back the trigger to fire again, Amanda clapped
one hand over the boy's mouth, encircled his waist with her other arm, and
dashed into the halls of the library again. As she ran, the boy squirmed under her
arm, kicking his tiny legs into her hips and back. One of his shoes popped off,
exposing his wriggling toes in a red sock. She could hear chaos behind her from
footsteps and yelling voices as the mob converged on the area she had
abandoned. She also felt the agony of the boy's teeth sinking into her palm, but
gritted her jaw against the impulse to scream.
Amanda finally reached the opposite end of the library, as far from the
attack as possible. She slumped against a row of copy machines and let the boy
tumble out of her arms onto the floor. He landed on his back, knocking the air out
of him with a huff. Before he could draw a new breath to scream, Amanda
yanked the red sock off his exposed foot and jammed it into his open mouth. Her
other hand twisted the pistol in his tiny fingers until leverage broke it out of his
grip.
With the boy unarmed, giving off muffled cries of rage, Amanda felt half
her problems were solved. She handled the other half by yanking the power cord
from one of the copy machines out of the socket on the wall. Before he could get
away, she whipped the plastic cord around his wrists, then looped it around his
ankles, and finally tightened it around his arms and legs.
When Amanda finally stepped away from the squirming child hog-tied at
her feet, she murmured, "Little brat."
Amanda bent and picked up the boy's gun from the floor, and ran off
across the library again. Armed, she felt a little more confident about her chances
of escape.
Amanda slipped down the narrow corridors between bookshelves,
listening for footsteps, watching for shadows, inhaling to pick up the telltale
stench that hung over Arachne's victims. The crash of glass breaking to her left.
The rumble of books plummeting to the floor on her right. Amanda ran a path that
took her in circles, throwing off her trail, all while converging on the elevator, her
only hope of escape.
Moonlight flooded through a skylight to reflect off the glass walls of the
elevator, making it glow in the shadows of the library. Amanda peeked out at it
from between two books, then dared to creep closer. To get to the elevator, she
would need to cross an open area without bookshelves or tables to protect her. It
was a span of only seven feet, but felt as impassable as the Grand Canyon.
Amanda scanned the library. Dark figures crawled along the walls,
flashlight beams danced over books, but she couldn't see anyone. She didn't
have much time before they tracked her down. She thought she could smell them
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getting closer, but it seemed like the whole library reeked of them now. Amanda
felt her stomach twist in response. This was it. The gun in her hand felt slick from
the sweat of her palm. Amanda counted to three under her breath, then bolted.
Her sneakers dug into the carpet as she propelled herself forward. Air
howled in her ears as Amanda ran hard. Her arms pumped against her sides.
She could hear voices, but blocked them out. She focused only on the elevator.
Six feet away. The doors stood open, as if waiting for her. Five feet away.
Something crashed behind her. Four feet away. Footsteps getting louder.
Something coming up on her left. Three feet away. Amanda could reach out and
almost touch the elevator. The button glowed green in the darkness. One push
and it would close the elevator doors behind her and she could escape. Two feet.
Amanda swung her arm at a hand rushing towards her. She felt the vibrations in
her arm as she struck something that cried out in pain. One foot. Amanda felt like
laughing as she plunged towards the elevator doors.
A dark shape rose up from inside the elevator car. A bang followed that
she recognized all too well. Amanda threw herself to her left, away from the
elevator doors. Her tote bag jumped off her shoulder as the bullet struck it, but
the shot passed through without hitting her. Amanda could see moonlight
reflecting off the golden hair of a woman huddled inside the elevator. The
woman's smile as she rose up to her feet belonged on a minister's wife, not
someone aiming a pistol for a second shot.
Amanda wheeled around, swinging her heel up in a kick. The blonde
woman shrieked as Amanda's foot kicked the gun out of her hands. The pistol
arched over their heads, landed with a sound muffled by the carpet, and glided
along until it reached the railing blocking off the library's central core. It wobbled
for a moment on the edge, then tipped over and slid off into the abyss.
The blonde woman straightened, clutching her injured wrist with her other
hand, and the smile returning to her face. Though unarmed, she blocked the
entrance of the elevator as if daring Amanda to advance.
Amanda swung her Browning up to aim it at the woman. "Get out of my
way."
The blonde woman spoke with the voice of a child. "I don't think so."
Amanda heard the shuffling of dozens of feet on the carpet coming from
behind her. She spun to the sight of men, women, and children emerging from
every aisle. Arachne T-shirts draped over their bodies like tents. Their arms
dangled against their sides, clutching baseball bats or hockey sticks. The whites
of their eyes seemed to glow in their heads as they fixed on Amanda. The mob
staggered towards her, occasionally leaning against chairs and shelves with what
seemed like the last of their strength.
She whipped her Browning up to aim it at the advancing mob. "Back off.
Just back off."
They kept on coming. Their feet hit the carpet almost in unison as they
drew closer and closer. She felt choked by the foul odor their wiry bodies gave
off, like the stink of hundreds of dead bodies being pushed towards her.
Amanda took a step back. She didn't like guns. She preferred to do any
fighting hand-to-hand, where she had control over how much or little damage she
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did to her opponent. But Amanda knew she didn't have a choice. She could see
in their eyes that these people had no fear of death. A murderous rage
dominated their every move. It was either kill or be killed. But they were innocent
victims.
Amanda felt someone jump onto her back. Legs tangled around her waist,
and an arm tightened around her neck. Amanda dug her fingers into the soft
flesh as the blonde woman from the elevator shrieked into her ears, "Die, die,
die!"
Amanda snapped her head back into the woman's face. The blonde
woman's cries turned into a wail, and her arm loosened. Amanda shrugged her
off, but by then the crowd had reached her. Three men growled as they lunged
towards her. Amanda swung her bat at one of them, connecting with his jaw, and
sending him hurling to the floor. As she raised the bat for another strike, a hand
yanked it out of her hand.
Amanda jammed her gun into the nearest chest to stop it. "I said, back off.
Everybody back off. Move, now!"
Some of the eyes flicked down at the gun, but she saw no fear, and the
mob continued to advance.
Amanda cracked the butt of the gun across the forehead of a woman
lunging at her, then drew back the hammer to make a loud click that echoed all
over the library. She took another step back, whipping her automatic pistol from
left to right, sweeping across the line of attackers. "All right, I'm walkin' outta
here. Anybody stops me takes a bullet. I mean it."
Arachne's fans never stopped their gradual advance towards her, but
Amanda pretended not to notice. She just kept shuffling back, away from them
and towards the elevator.
Amanda moved another step backwards, knowing she should pull the
trigger on her gun, but unable to do so. She felt something push against her
back, and jumped away until she recognized it as the large wall of glass that
formed a railing against the dizzying drop down the heart of the building. The
sight of the darkened pit triggered a wave of vertigo that made her sway back,
but she forced it down.
A soft chime drew her attention back to the elevator. The doors had
closed, and Amanda watched in horror as the car fell away from her floor.
Through the glass walls, Amanda could just barely make out the shape of the
boy she had tied up sitting on the floor of the elevator car, waving at her with his
tiny fingers.
Arachne's legions came from her left. They came from her right. They
came together to block her path. She swept her gun from one group to the other,
keeping them looking down the length of her barrel. They didn't even seem to
notice. The baseball bats and hockey sticks came up higher as their owners
raised them, watching Amanda with red-rimmed eyes.
She whipped her gun around in a semi-circle again, but they kept on
coming. The circle of bodies shuffled towards her, crushing her with their
presence. Their flashlights came on, sweeping up to blind her, but she could see
beyond them to the dark shapes staggering behind them. Their bodies were thin,
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barely visible as black lines. They pinned her up against the railing, bringing her
closer to toppling over and plunging to her death.
Her head spun. Her legs threatened to collapse onto the floor. She wanted
to pull the trigger and take down her attackers one by one, but she couldn't. She
knew they were innocents trapped in Jonathan Seer's insidious grip. The idea of
killing victims of Seer's plot repulsed her, but she also knew that was the point.
Seer had sent them to kill her, and had told her about their mental imprisonment,
knowing it would cause her to hesitate. And that hesitation would kill her.
The short blonde woman rose up from Amanda's left. Amanda pivoted to
keep her gun aimed directly at the woman's patient smile.
"There's nowhere to go," the woman said in a gentle tone. "We've got you
cornered, and you know it. You can't get away from us, even if you managed to
get out of here alive. We're everywhere, and soon we'll be everyone."
"You don't get it," Amanda spat. "You're just pawns. You gotta fight this."
"Fight what? We're happy. We're free. You're the one who's fighting it.
You're fighting the joy of Arachne, the unity that it brings to us. If you could only
know how it feels to be at peace, to forget all your cares and just swim in the love
that Arachne gives us. But you never will. I pity you."
Amanda lowered the gun and raised her free hand. "Look, you don't gotta
do this, okay? Just lemme go, and you'll be free again. I can stop all this. I
promise."
The woman's forehead wrinkled in sadness. "I know that, dear. That's why
we have to kill you."
Arachne fans raised their weapons and plunged towards Amanda, filling
the library with their screams.
She fired a shot at the ceiling. When that didn't stop them, she fired two
more shots into the crowd. One woman shrieked and fell, clutching a bloody leg.
Another man lurched backwards, holding his chest where scarlet blossomed. As
the two injured ones vanished under the feet of the advancing mob, their cries
became drowned in the howls of her attackers.
Amanda knew then that her Browning would be useless against them. She
could shoot them all before they reached her, and once they did, Amanda knew
she would be dead within seconds. She had no way out.
Except one.
Amanda flicked on the safety of her Browning with her thumb, jammed the
gun into her belt, and then turned herself around to face away from the mob. She
didn't look down. Instead, she looked up at the colorful ropes hanging from the
ceiling and trailing down to the ground floor. She had seen them before as art,
but now they became something more. Her eyes followed them down, down,
away from the pack of killers behind her. She refused to think about the five-story
drop below them. She only focused on climbing up onto the railing, teetering on
its slender length for a moment, and jumping into the air.
Air whistled past her ears as Amanda fell. Her hands stretched out and
grabbed at a length of green rope. This close up, she realized the ropes were
much thicker than they looked at a distance, almost six inches around. She
caught hold of the rope. The frayed fibers punctured her palm and fingers, but
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she held fast against the pain. Her body dangled under her arm as the rope
swayed from her impact. Don't look down. Don't look down. Amanda swallowed,
then allowed herself one brief glance. The floor plummeted away into the
darkness below. Her grip weakened. She let out a scream as she threw her other
hand up to join the first and steady herself.
Amanda looked up at the floor she had just left. Arachne's fans clustered
at the railing. Some swept at the air with their weapons while others tried to climb
up and jump out onto the rope with her. One jumped out, missed the ropes, and
vanished into the shadows below, his voice fading away into the void.
Amanda clenched her teeth as hard as she could, then let go one hand.
Her body swayed violently, but she took that split second to grab her tote bag.
She twisted it off her arm to wrap it around the green rope swaying in front of her.
She took several quick breaths, then let her other hand go.
As she began to fall, Amanda clung to the other end of her tote bag's
strap. With it firmly in both hands, she used the strap to slide down the rope at
high speed. Amanda kept her eyes tight as the wind rushing around her grew to
a howl. The cries of Arachne's fans faded into nothing. Her body angled back
farther and farther until she fell almost headfirst. She knew the ground had to be
getting close, too close, and twisted the strap hard. Her body tumbled forward,
then snapped like a whip as her speed began to ease. Amanda smelled smoke
from the tote bag's strap, and knew it burned from friction as it whined its way
down the rope. She became aware of a high-pitched noise and realized it was
her own voice screaming so hard that her throat ached. The stone pyramid that
formed the base of the rope sculpture rushed towards her. Amanda's feet hit the
angled wall of the pyramid harder than she expected, even despite her slowing
descent. She kept her knees loose so they absorbed the impact, but she still
tumbled down the pyramid onto the hard tile of the main floor.
Amanda lay on her side with the tote bag beside her. The nausea and
panic of the fall caught up with her a few seconds later in a whiplash of emotion,
driving her to convulse in a dry heave. But she kept it down in a shuddering ball
inside herself as she crawled back onto her feet. She could hear the faint noise
of Arachne's mob above making plans to come down after her. She had no time
to assimilate the horror of what she had done. She had to move fast.
Amanda began to run through the lobby of the library, but her arms and
legs fought against her, flailing wildly. She staggered past the fountain that
usually spewed colored water in all directions, but now stood dead in the
shadows, filled with black water as smooth as glass.
As Amanda ran, she could make out the glass doors that formed the
library's entrance. Beyond them lay the warmth of the night and freedom. The
mob couldn't get down to the ground floor in time to catch her. She had made it.
Her joy shattered into pieces at the sight of a dark figure stepping out to
block the light falling through the glass doors. It raised an arm to point a gun at
her.
Amanda's sneakers skidded on the marble tile of the lobby with a squeal.
She ripped her Browning pistol from her belt and aimed it at the man blocking her
path. "Get outta my way or I'll shoot, I swear I will."
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"You won't shoot me."
The voice tore at her gut as Amanda recognized the voice. She found her
arm with the gun beginning to drop as she whispered, "Lesley?"
Lesley took a step forward, allowing light to fall onto his chiseled features
as they smiled. The rays also made the logo of Arachne glow on his T-shirt. "Hi,
Mandy."
She realized he still had his gun aimed at her chest. She took hold of her
own gun in both hands and snarled, "Les, I'm gettin' outta here. I'm gonna stop
this thing that's got a hold on you."
Lesley's head moved slowly to shake. "No, you're not. You're going to
stand there and let me kill you. Either that or you'll kill me. It's the only way."
Amanda heard the snap from Lesley's pistol as he readied it to fire. She
knew why Lesley had been sent to guard the main door as their last line of
defense. Jonathan Seer had known Amanda wouldn't hurt Lesley. She loved him
too much. She would rather let him put a bullet in her heart than put a bullet in
his.
But Amanda knew that, if she died, nothing would stand in Seer's way.
This was bigger than her love for Lesley, and bigger than his love for her. She
had given up so much to reach this point, she would have to give up even more
before it was through. She had no choice.
Amanda flicked the safety off her Browning, lowered the gun and pulled
the trigger. The bullet burst into a red stain on Lesley's sleeve, causing it to
convulse in pain. The gun fell from his arched fingers. Lesley bent over in a howl,
clutching his injured arm with the opposite hand as his shirt began to darken with
blood. Amanda wouldn't let him suffer. She quickly rushed forward and chopped
at the base of his neck where it met his left shoulder. Lesley jerked and fell over
onto the tile, unconscious.
As a dark stain pooled under his limp body, Amanda dropped her gun and
hurried to rip a piece off her shirt. She wrapped the rag around the wounded arm
to stop the blood. Amanda wished she could take the time to further treat the
wound by applying direct pressure to stop the bleeding, but didn't know how long
it would take for Arachne's mob to find them. They had to get out. She took hold
of the collar of Lesley's shirt and began to drag him to the main entrance. He
glided behind her as if on ice instead of polished tile. Amanda shoved the front
doors open with her hip and staggered out into the hot winds of the night.
Red and blue lights swept over her as a police car screeched to a halt at
the curb in front of the library. Two policemen jumped out of the car, then ducked
behind the car's hood as they whipped out guns to aim them at her.
"Freeze," one yelled. "Hands on your head."
Amanda let go of Lesley's shirt, allowing him to slump against her leg
while she raised her hands into the air. She felt numb as the police climbed the
marble steps in front of the library and snapped a pair of handcuffs onto her
wrists. One began to murmur into his radio about an ambulance, but she barely
heard him over the wail of the car's siren and her own thoughts. Amanda had
escaped the nightmare of the library, but feeling Lesley's lifeless body dampen
her leg with blood, she felt as if she had entered a new nightmare far worse.
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Chapter 44
Lesley Grant's lips trembled, but never quite formed speech. Instead,
Amanda Katt listened to the lullaby of the machinery encircling his hospital bed. It
let her know that her beloved still lived. She studied his wincing face, noting how
the flesh thinned, making the bones sharper. She drew her eyes down to the
smooth white blanket covering his body. His muscles had become smoother,
more indistinct than she remembered. She couldn't even smell his cologne
anymore, breathing only the harsh scent of medication and disinfectant in the air.
She rubbed his hand between her palms, savoring its warmth and the feel
of his pulse under the skin. Her fingers brushed across the hairs on the back of
his hand, traced the skin roughened by working on stone and metal. She could
even make out flakes of paint still clinging under his nails, but not as many as
there used to be.
The tendons on his hand thicken as they tensed, rising up from the
muscle. His arm kept rising until a leather strap around his wrist caught hold of it.
Other straps around his ankles and across his chest pinned Lesley down. The
sight of his body writhing in its bonds made Amanda's heart jump in her chest.
"What'd they do to you, man?" Amanda whispered.
A hand touched her shoulder. As the fingers kneaded her skin, Amanda
looked up into a curtain of red hair that hid the soulful frown of Blossom Dawn
hovering behind her.
"How does he fare?" Blossom whispered.
Amanda sighed as she traced a finger across the layer of hot sweat
coating Lesley's forehead. "Doctor says he'll get over the gunshot. I know how to
shoot my man. He lost some blood, but it was just a flesh wound. Should be
good as new."
Blossom leaned over to frown down at Lesley's head as it rolled to one
side. "Then why isn't he awake? And why are they strapping him down?"
Amanda returned her gaze to the leather straps binding Lesley's arms and
legs to his bed. "'Cause the gunshot's one thing, and his head is another. When
he woke up, Les just about went nuts. Almost broke a nurse's arm tryin' to get out
o' the emergency room. They think he's high. Keeping him sedated until they can
figure out what he's on. 'Course I know the truth, but I ain't tellin' 'em he's hooked
on no website. They'll think I'm crazier than he is."
Blossom settled on the edge of the bed, careful to avoid Lesley's kicking
legs under the blanket. "And how is Vicki Page?"
Amanda bowed her head in another nod, but still kept her eyes on Lesley.
"She'll be okay. The doctors say she only got a concussion."
"Well, that's at least some good news."
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Amanda stroked the back of Lesley's hand, feeling the tiny hairs tickling
her palms. "Yeah. Some."
"Did they catch any of the hoodlums who accosted you?"
"Nah. By the time the police looked around, they already took off."
Blossom gave her shoulder a final pat. "Well, I can't tell you how relieved I
am that you survived the attack and recovered Lesley. Makes me feel that all will
be right with the world. I'll be in the cafeteria if you need me. I can't remember the
last time I needed a cappuccino as badly as this."
Amanda nodded, but didn't look back as Blossom slipped out of the room.
As the door creaked shut behind her, Amanda heaved another sigh and looked
down into Lesley's squirming face. "Oh, Les. Wish there'd been another way to
put you down, but at least you're away from Arachne. No computers in here,
right? And with everybody thinkin' you're all crazy, they'll keep a close eye on
you. You'll be safe."
Amanda rubbed Lesley's thumb between her fingers, feeling the flesh
glide over the bone. "Still can't believe Seer used you like this. Like a weapon
against me. Seems like that's the way he uses everybody on Arachne. So you
know what he'll do when he's got a hold o' the world."
She brought Lesley's hand to her mouth and kissed it, tasting the salt of
his skin. Then she rose to her feet while picking up her tote bag on his desk.
"Okay, I'll let you rest now. I'm headed for New York, and I ain't coming back
without shuttin' that website down for good. Once it's gone, this thing'll wear off,
and you'll be your old self again."
Amanda replaced Lesley's hand carefully by his side, and left the hospital
room. Once in the hallway outside, Amanda slumped against the wall and
swallowed tears. She tried not to think about Paul Norton, the man who attacked
her in her apartment. He had been deprived of Arachne for twenty-four hours, but
instead of getting better, he only got worse and killed himself. It kindled a fear in
Amanda that Arachne's effects might be permanent. If that were true, then
everyone enslaved to it would remain that way forever, even with Arachne
destroyed. But she didn't want to think about that happening to Lesley. She had
to believe that he would be all right. The effects had to wear off sooner or later.
They just had to.
Amanda yawned as she pushed herself away from the wall and began to
trudge down the hall. Maybe she would join Blossom for that cappuccino while
they waited for Detective Hal Brooks. He had called earlier to say he would be
arriving in Phoenix soon. She had agreed to wait for him in the hospital, but he
wasn't here yet.
As she made her way down the hallway towards the hospital cafeteria,
she heard the click of shoes on the polished white tile. Another pair joined it,
drawing closer. As she reached the corner, two men stepped out. Radios
murmured at the belts of their police uniforms as the men came to a halt,
blocking her path with their bodies.
One with a red mustache flaring on his upper lip nodded down at her. "You
Amanda Katt?"
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Amanda adjusted the strap of her tote bag higher up her shoulder. "Yeah,
that's me."
The police officer with the mustache jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
His partner nodded, allowing Amanda to see a scar running along his right
temple, then headed off down the corridor in the opposite direction.
The officer with the mustache continued, keeping his eyes on Amanda.
"My name's Officer Fields, that's Officer Preston. We're doing a follow-up on your
report about this incident. If you don't mind, we'd like to ask you a few more
questions."
Amanda glanced at her watch, reminding her how late it really was. She
had already given her statement to the police at the library, but the glances they
had given each other told her how seriously they had taken her. She didn't feel
like going through that again, but figured it couldn't get any worse. As long as
they let her walk out of the hospital, Amanda didn't care if they thought she was
crazy. "Yeah, okay."
She followed the officer down the corridor with her shoes squeaking
alongside his in echoes down the halls. They passed under a speaker mounted
on the ceiling that called a doctor to one of the emergency rooms. She passed
room after room with closed doors, but one hung open, allowing her a glimpse of
men and women lying in white beds, bandaged and taking harsh breaths.
Officer Fields stopped in front of one of the hospital rooms and gestured
for her to go inside. She obeyed, finding the bedroom empty except for Officer
Preston leaning against a corner. The chemical smell seemed even stronger in
here, meaning it had probably just been cleaned. Amanda sat down on the foot
of a snow-white bed dominating the center of the room. She brushed her hand
over the edges of the bed, where the blankets had been tucked into angles so
sharp that she expected to cut her hand on them.
Officer Fields shut the door behind them, cutting off the murmur of the
hospital staff. He crossed the room to perch on the sill of a window, smiling down
at her with his head and shoulders framed by the dark city of Phoenix outside.
"Now, Miss Katt, we need you to explain everything as it happened."
Amanda plunged into the story, watching the face of Officer Fields as she
described her investigation of Arachne, ending with the attack at the library. She
ended by blurting, "I know it's gotta sound crazy, but it's true."
Fields' mustache puffed up as he widened his smile at Amanda, even as
his hands flipped pages in a black leather notebook. "Actually, we believe you."
"What?" Amanda looked over her shoulder at the Officer Preston, who
nodded in agreement as he popped open a can of soda. It sprayed the sweet
tang of cola into the air.
Amanda turned back to Officer Fields, who now tapped at the cover of his
notebook with a pencil. He leaned forward to look deeply into her eyes. "I have a
confession to make, Miss Katt. We weren't assigned to this case. Actually, we
just heard about it and requested to get this assignment. We've seen our loved
ones get caught up in that freaky website, too. My daughter and his wife. If you'll
let us, we'll fight alongside you. We'll get the whole force in on this."
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Amanda smiled, feeling shock at the weight rising off of her. After being
alone for so long in her fight, she had finally come to accept that she needed
help. Brooks would be arriving soon, but she had already added two more to her
army. "Cool. That'd be tight."
Fields raised himself up, his body seeming to glow from the light on it
contrasting with the shadows in the window behind him. "First of all, do you have
any proof of what's been going on? Solid evidence?"
Amanda patted the top of her tote bag. "Yup. All my research is on my
laptop, cross-referenced and everything."
The second officer slurped from his soda can in the moment of silence
that followed.
Officer Fields nodded. "That's good. You have any copies?"
"Yeah, I sent one to my editor, Boris Franz."
"Okay." Fields tossed the notebook into Amanda's lap, along with his pen.
"We'll need the names and addresses of Franz and everyone else you've told
about your investigation. Let's bring them all together so we can work on this."
Amanda took the pen and notepad and began to write on the blank sheet
of paper. With every stroke, she felt as if she came closer to assembling the
pieces of her shattered world.
Except when Officer Preston slurped his soda again. Amanda glanced
over her shoulder at him in irritation. She hated when people did that.
Her pen almost punched through the paper it wrote on.
The officer's thin, trembling fingers couldn't hide the label on his can of
Powwow Cola.
Amanda looked up at Officer Fields, who gave her another of his warm
smiles. But she couldn't help noticing the dark circles under his eyes, and the
way his arms twitched. In the confined space of the room, the medicinal smell no
longer could hide the rank odor coming off these men.
Amanda licked her bottom lip, but continued to write down random names
and addresses as she tried to think of a way out of the room. She felt the
presence of the police officer in front of her and behind her like the walls of the
room itself. She could feel the impatience of the men grow along with their stink,
and knew it wouldn't be long before they figured out her bluff.
She finally asked in a casual voice, "So you two ever seen Arachne?"
Officer Fields cleared his throat. "Uh, briefly."
"Stinks, don't it?"
She felt as if the air around her dropped in temperature several degrees,
but never looked up from her writing. "Yeah, I didn't get the big deal over
Arachne until I scoped out the mind control angle. Such a lame website,
nobody'd like it if they wasn't crazy."
"Well," Officer Fields murmured, "I thought it was pretty good."
Amanda made a show of looking up at the ceiling and screwing up her
face in thought while twirling her pen in her fingers. "And what's that stupid
slogan they got? Once you've seen it..."
Both men spoke at the same time, as if sharing one voice, "You'll never go
anywhere else."
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Amanda threw her pen at Officer Fields. It speared him in the chest and
he instinctively clutched at it with a scream. With him distracted, Amanda swung
her foot up in a roundhouse kick into his solar plexus. Officer Fields flew back
from the impact and crashed into the window behind him. The glass shattered,
leaving a tinkling outside as the pieces rained down to the sidewalk. He cried out
and grabbed at the window's frame to keep from falling out into the darkness.
Blood gushed from where his hand got slashed on a spike of glass, but he hung
on tight.
Amanda spun towards Officer Preston behind her, but her drawn-back fist
jerked to a halt as it faced the dark hole in the muzzle of a gun. The officer glared
down at her from behind a Bulldog .44 Special pistol.
Something hard snapped across the back of Amanda's head. She tumbled
off the bed and crashed onto the floor, where she lay watching stars twinkle all
around her. The throbbing in her head only increased as she turned back to see
Officer Fields standing over her with his own gun gripped in his quivering hand.
Blood crawled down the chest of his shirt as he growled, "That was for
Arachne."
Fields tightened his finger on the trigger. "And this is for Jane Doe."
The door of the hospital room banged open, propelled by a shoulder built
like concrete as Detective Hal Brooks plunged into the room. He took one look at
the two policemen holding guns on Amanda, then lunged with the howl of a
charging elephant.
The two officers swung their guns up at him, but not quickly enough. His
massive hands clamped onto their shirts and hauled them up into the air. Buttons
popped off and clattered onto the floor as the men dangled from Hal's arms like
dolls. Their screams cut short as Hal clapped the two of them together. Their
heads snapped into each other, then they went limp.
Hal tossed their unconscious bodies onto the bed like garbage bags, then
knelt to touch Amanda's head. "You okay, sunshine?"
Amanda eased herself up onto one elbow, then closed her eyes to let the
dizziness fade. "Yeah, just got a little knock on the head. Glad you could make it,
man."
"Hey, if flapping my arms would have gotten me here faster, they'd be
worn down to the elbows by now." As the sounds of scurrying feet filtered in from
the corridor, Brooks whipped his head around to look at the fallen men on the
bed. "Who were those guys? Cops?"
Amanda pressed her hand to the back of her head as she whispered, "I
dunno. Could be cops or pretendin' to be cops, but I know one thing. They work
for Arachne."
Amanda gripped Hal's broad shoulder and used it like a crutch to drag
herself to her feet. "They even got to the cops, Hal. Jonathan Seer and his gang
are everywhere. Hey, Hal, once you've been to Arachne, what happens?"
"How the dickens should I know?"
"Good. You shouldn't." Amanda relaxed in Hal's arms and waved one
hand at her tote bag. "We gotta shut down that website before this gets any
worse. Grab that for me, will ya, Hal?"
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"Sure thing, sunshine." Hal plucked her tote bag up like a teabag and
slipped it gently around her neck. "I already got us the tickets. Our flight leaves in
a half-hour."
"Perfect. Enough time to get rid o' this headache."
She limped alongside Hal as he guided her out of the hospital room. A
nurse jogged up in a white uniform and Hal began shouting instructions at her.
Amanda ignored him as she looked up at a television set they passed on their
way down the hall. She froze as she watched it, and Hal was forced to stop
alongside her.
They both watched the cable channel C-SPAN with open mouths. The
television showed the floor of Congress, where the semi-circular rows of chairs
faced the podium. A team worked to set up a huge screen behind the podium
while an announcer spoke over the murmur of the crowds.
"And you can see there the screen set up where the Web will be
projected, allowing Congress to view the sites that Senator Price plans to use to
illustrate the need for a bill to regulate the Internet's content. I don't see the
president right now, but he has stated that he will be here for this very important
presentation. All right, Senator Price is continuing his speech, so let's go live to
the floor."
The commentator's voice faded out as the view switched to the grayhaired Senator Price leaning over the podium with his fist clenched. "And I know
that once you have seen these websites, you will see the need to control the
content of the Internet for the sake of America. However, at the turn of the hour, I
do plan to show you an exception to the corruption and degeneracy of the
Internet. It is known simply as Arachne. I think you'll agree that Arachne is a fine
and admirable example of what the Internet should be. Once you've seen it, you'll
never go anywhere else."
Amanda rolled her eyes up to the on the ceiling. "Man, they got to him,
too. It all makes sense now."
Amanda counted off on her fingers. "Seer gets Senator Price to push an
Internet bill so controversial that it gets him the attention to pull this stunt.
Everybody's so busy fightin' about the bill itself that nobody thinks twice about
this. And before you know it, Seer's the new president of the USA, and nobody
even voted for him."
Hal tightened his grip on her. "Well, I'm gonna vote 'no' with my fists.
We're on my way to New York and shuttin' that website down, even if we have to
tear it to pieces with our bare hands."
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Chapter 45
The huge man in Jonathan Seer's office stood at rigid attention. Seer's
eyes fell to the ugly black spider tattooed on the man's bulging arm. Its hundred
of eyes seemed to be focused on him. Enormous fangs hung down from the
spider's mouth, oozing drops of blood. Seer knew the tattoo's purpose was to
inspire fear in others, a trait that he shared and respected.
Seer glided across the room to the stone-covered desk in the center. He
blended almost perfectly with the white walls, floor, and carpet of the office. Seer
slipped into the white leather chair behind the desk. "Ah, you must be Kevin
Gibbs. I understand you're one of our best operatives from Phoenix."
"I try," Gibbs growled.
"Yes, you do." Seer kept his ice-gray eyes on Gibbs as he reached down
and tugged open one of the drawers. He returned holding a set of sunglasses
and black gloves connected by wires to small boxes on a leather belt. "You will
be performing a very important mission, and as such, will be testing a new phase
of Arachne's technology. Put this on."
Gibbs leaned over and swept up the rig with one hand. Gibbs immediately
slipped the glasses over his eyes, the glove over his hand, and clipped the belt
around the waist of his jeans, as if he had done it all his life. As Gibbs tugged on
the glove, his eyes narrowed at the miniature keypad mounted on the back of the
wrist.
Seer began to click his own computer's mouse with a thin finger. "The
gear is essentially a portable computer. It will allow you to view Arachne and
receive orders through it without needing a PC or laptop. You can remain
connected to Arachne while still free to carry out your duties. The power supply
and CPU are mounted on the belt. The keyboard on the back of your gloves
allows you to type in commands. Instead of a monitor, images of Arachne are
projected onto the lenses of your glasses."
Gibbs' face broke into a smile as he gazed out through the lenses into
open space. "I can see it. It's like a computer monitor's floatin' right in front of
me."
Seer tapped at his keyboard with his spider-like hands. "You are the
prototype for a new type of soldier in Arachne's army. Soon, every member will
have these, and they will be free of the limitations of having to remain at a
computer for long periods to offset the physical effects of Kaleidoscope. The
glasses also have a camera and microphone mounted on them so we can
observe your progress and instruct you."
Jonathan Seer settled back into his chair with a smile on his drawn face.
"Amanda Katt is on her way here. She is planning to come here to destroy
Arachne. I have all my guards alerted to her arrival, but in a few hours, I will have
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to dismiss them. I want as few people as possible here when the time of the
viewing arrives. That means you will be our last line of defense."
He held up a black bag filled with machine guns and green spheres of
metal. "There's are a variety of weapons in here, as well as some grenades. Use
them as you see fit. From now on, your only purpose in life will be to kill
Arachne's enemies, starting with Amanda Katt. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
Seer smiled, watching the twitching of Gibbs' face as Kaleidoscope took
effect and his words burned into the large fool's mind. With Arachne's chat rooms
projected onto his glasses, Gibbs had become a robot, completely under Jane
Doe's control at all times.
As Gibbs turned around and walked out of the office, Seer tucked on his
own protective pair of sunglasses. He brought up Arachne and entered the chat
room with Jane Doe.
<SEER> It's done.
<JANE-DOE> I can tell. I'm walkin' Gibbs around like a puppet. I hope this
works. I'm so freakin' sick of Katt.
<SEER> Trust me, Jane. You chose well. Gibbs will kill Amanda Katt.
<JANE-DOE> Right. And we're on the home stretch. Nothing can stop us
now.
"No," Seer whispered, breaking the silence of his office. "Nothing can stop
me now."
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Chapter 46
It didn't seem possible that, after everything Amanda Katt had been
through in the last few weeks, she could finally be on the verge of ending it all.
From the back of the taxi, Amanda Katt watched Manhattan sweep by her
window. It seemed odd to see people moving along the sidewalks, laughing and
hurrying through shops. Traffic oozed along streets, blaring with horns on
occasion. Life went on, and only she and a handful of people on Earth knew the
threat that lay in their future.
She felt a deep exhaustion as if on the edge of collapse, and realized she
hadn't had a decent meal or good night's rest in days. But it would all be over
soon. The nightmare of Arachne would soon vanish like a dream, and her normal
life would fill its place. At least for a little while.
An arm like an iron bar wrapped in cloth slid over Amanda's shoulders.
The arm belonged to Detective Hal Brooks, who had squeezed himself into the
seat next to her. Even though he sat as far away from her as possible to keep
from crushing her, Brooks still took up most of the back of the taxi. Amanda had
to keep her tote bag in her lap.
Hal Brooks gave her a comforting squeeze as he frowned down at her.
"You sure you wanna do this?"
Amanda nodded as she raised her eyes up at him. "Yeah, but that don't
mean I'm lookin' forward to it. Knowin' I got you on my side helps."
"Better believe it. Anything goes down, I won't let anyone or anything hurt
you."
Amanda shifted in her seat as cracks in the leather seat pinched the skin
of her thighs. "Yeah. Long as you can keep from goin' buck-wild in that place."
Brooks rested his other hand on her shoulder and gave it a little shake.
"Hey, we covered this already. I'll keep my eyes away from any monitors or
screens in there. No matter what, I don't look at Arachne. And if I don't look at
Arachne, it can't get me. And as long as it can't get me, they can't get you."
"Yeah, I know. Just wish you could call some o' your buddies on the force
to come out here with us."
Hal looked out his window at the open square the taxicab approached,
walled in by office buildings encircling a massive fountain. "Me too, sunshine. But
like I said, we can't take the chance they're in on this, not after what went down in
Phoenix."
Hal Brooks drew his arm up and checked his watch. "The session's
already begun. Only a half-hour before they get to Arachne."
"That'll be enough time, right?"
Hal brought his arm down to rest it on the armrest of his door, and
drummed his fingers against the oil-streaked glass. "Let's hope so."
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Amanda leaned her head against Hal's shoulder for a moment of comfort
before the cab slowed to a halt outside Ripley Place, home of Arachne. Hal paid
the driver and they climbed out into the heated chaos of the city.
The sun had reached its morning peak, driving shadows into tiny clusters
around them. Amanda scanned the crowds for more of Arachne's fans. A
teenager in a T-shirt with a South Park cartoon character printed on the back
bought a hot dog from a cart. A little girl knelt on the edge of the fountain in the
square, leaning over to swipe her hand in the rippling water. People moved with
the usual hurried pace of New York, but Amanda couldn't see anyone paying
more interest in her than needed to walk around her. Amanda headed towards
the entrance to Arachne's office building with a hand clenched around the
shoulder strap of her bag.
As they passed the little girl, she raised her small brown eyes at Hal. Her
wet hand came up to brush her cheek, leaving a glistening line next to her nose.
Hal smiled down at her, but after her encounter with the boy at the library,
Amanda tensed. The girl watched them move away from her a few more steps,
then went back to the pool. Amanda could hear the slap of the girl's palm against
the water until the revolving door of the entrance cut it off.
Amanda and Hal headed into the lobby of Arachne's office building, where
they joined a line filing through the metal detector. The two headed through the
lobby of the building up to the metal detector arch. One of the guards stood by
the arch looking bored while the other sat at the video display, chewing on a
granola bar. A businessman in line ahead of them began to dump a handful of
coins into a bowl next to the detector.
Before Hal reached the metal arch, he placed his Beretta handgun and
police badge on the shelf. "Official business."
The security guards straightened immediately as one said, "Yes, sir.
Anything we can do to help?"
Hal scooped up his equipment while jerking his thumb over his shoulder at
Amanda. "No thanks. She's all the backup I need."
Amanda pointed at the nearest elevator. "That's the one to Arachne."
The guard held up a hand. "But, sir, Seer told everybody to go home so
they could watch the hearings. The only ones left on the floor are Seer and the
janitor."
Hal Brooks clenched a fist as he whispered, "Seer must've known we'd be
going for the servers. He's tryin' to keep everybody away from it."
"It's okay," she whispered back. "We'll get in."
To the guards, Hal just waved. "It's okay. Seer's expecting us. Thanks."
As they marched into the elevator, Amanda whispered, "Nice touch."
The soulful horns of a jazz routine accompanied Amanda and Hal as they
rode up to the penthouse. The music filled the silence left between the two, and
Amanda assumed he was as lost in thought as she was. Neither of them knew
what to expect in Arachne's offices. Even though Amanda tried to prepare
herself, she had the feeling that what lay ahead would be something she could
never plan for.
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When the elevator finally slowed to a halt and the doors rumbled open,
Hal rushed into the office, aiming his Beretta out in front of him. Amanda bolted
out after him at a distance to avoid running into him, but close enough to handle
whatever came out of the darkness.
The lights had been turned off, and even with sunlight draping the cubicles
in certain areas, the room seemed filled with unidentified gray shapes. The logo
of Arachne swayed above them in the breeze of an air-conditioning vent. The air
smelled of beer, and confetti speckled the carpet like red and blue snow.
Amanda could imagine the party that had been going on before Jonathan Seer
ordered everyone out. Now the office that had once been a place of celebration
seemed as empty as a graveyard at midnight.
"Looks quiet," Amanda whispered.
Hal swallowed so hard that she could hear the pop in his throat. "I gotta
say it's too quiet or is that a given?"
"Given."
They took a few more steps into the office. Their shoes whispered on the
carpet, scattering confetti into tiny piles at their feet. Something growled behind
them. Hal twisted around as he thrust his gun out. He faced his own reflection in
the polished elevator doors as they rumbled together. When the doors thumped
shut, cutting off the mechanical growl they had made, the light falling from the
elevator's interior disappeared, leaving Amanda and Hal wading through
shadows.
Amanda took slow breaths to reduce the tension in her chest as she swept
around to investigate the office floor. She saw no one huddled in corners, no
heads poking from inside the cubicles, no signs of life at all. The only noises
seemed to be coming from either Hal or herself.
Hal brought his gun down to the level of his waist. "I guess the guard was
tellin' the truth. Nobody's here."
Amanda raised herself up onto her toes to see over the maze of cubicles
to Seer's white office door. It hung open slightly, but she couldn't see anything
except more shadows inside. "But the guard said Seer was here. I don't see him,
either."
"Maybe he went somewhere else to gloat."
Amanda lowered herself back onto her soles while tightening her hands
into fists. "Or maybe he's hiding. Let's just get this over with."
Hal let his pistol fall to his side as he walked at a brisk pace across the
floor, headed for the computer room. Amanda followed behind him, moving in a
shuffling sidestep to keep an eye out behind them.
A voice snapped on, making Amanda jerk. Hal whipped himself around in
circles with tendons bunching up in his hands as the voice yelled, "If we want to
protect our children, we cannot let the sleaze merchants on the Internet tell us
how it should be run. They've had their chance, and have shown an utter
disregard for common decency. It's time for the government to step in and say,
'Enough is enough. It's time to take back the Net.'"
Applause carried through the office, and Amanda threw her gaze up at
black speakers mounted on the ceiling. The tension that had stiffened her arms
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and legs began to ease as she whispered, "That's Senator Price. Must be a
broadcast of the hearing."
"Yeah." Hal adjusted his fingers on the grip of his pistol, and she could see
the metal glisten with sweat from his palms. "But who turned it on?"
Amanda didn't answer. They waited, listening for other sounds, other
motions, but heard nothing other than the senator's voice. After a few seconds,
they began moving again as if by agreement. She thought he knew what she
knew, that even if someone else was in the office with them, it didn't really
matter. Their enemies would show themselves sooner or later, but Amanda and
Hal didn't have the luxury of waiting for them. They had to shut off Arachne's
servers and couldn't let their fears cost them precious time.
Senator Price's voice continued to follow them as they shuffled past rows
of empty cubicles. "The Internet is the communication medium of the future. It will
become more important in our daily lives, not less. But right now, this new
medium is like a baby. It needs to be protected to grow, and it needs to be fed
the proper material to grow right. I've already shown you several websites that
illustrate the kind of garbage the Internet is already feeding on. If we want this
new medium to become mature, we as parents have to step in and give it a
proper and healthy diet."
Hal moved towards the computer room, and Amanda could see through
the transparent plastic walls into the rows and rows of humming supercomputers
inside. Hal holstered his Beretta to fish his police-issued lockpicks out of his hip
pocket. He dropped to his knees and inserted the picks into the lock.
Amanda Katt's teeth sank deeper into her bottom lip as she watched Hal
work on the lock of the server room. She could hear the lock clicking softly in the
empty office. Hal's face contorted as his arm jerked more firmly. The lock rattled
as he shook his hand in up and down motions. When he had twisted his arm a
few more times, Hal took a step back and yanked the picks out of the lock.
Hal closed his eyes and released his breath in a low growl. "I can't pick it.
I've never seen a lock like this. Must be top-notch. Wegotta break the glass."
Amanda stepped away from the door and craned heread back to take in
the huge sheets of plastic encasing the room. "Yeah, that would be another way
to go, except the plastic is a couple inches thick. It'd take something bigger than
we got to break it. But the servers can't run without juice. We shut off the power,
we shut down Arachne. I think I saw the circuit breakers in the kitchen during the
tour."
He headed across the office with his coat flapping around his hips as
Amanda came up quickly behind him. Senator Warren Price's voice continued to
follow them as they made their way to the other side of the office.
"Now I'm not talking about restricting freedom of speech, which is
guaranteed by the Constitution of these United States. But too many people use
the Constitution like a shield to hide behind. There are some things in this world
that go beyond freedom of speech. Things like family values, justice, hope, and
the safety of our children. We have traffic lights on our streets, and we have air
traffic controllers for the skies. All we're talking about is bringing order to chaos,
nothing more."
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Hal murmured, "Next thing we gotta do is shut that guy up."
He hurried into the kitchen, where he snapped on the lights. They brought
a white cake resting on the table in the center of the room into view. The cake
read "We're Number One" next to ragged holes cut into it by a knife smeared in
chocolate. Amanda scooped up some of the frosting with her finger and licked it
while Hal charged over to a gray box on the wall. He yanked it open and flipped
the large green switch at the top.
The lights of the kitchen popped off. A thin finger of sunshine from the
main office lay on the carpet by the entrance, allowing Amanda to see. She could
make out Hal's puzzled expression as he listened. Amanda sucked the last of the
frosting off her thumb while looking up at the ceiling, which continued to speak.
"One day in the very near future, every home in America will have access
to the Internet in some form. When that happens, the nation will be united and be
given a voice like never before. We will all live in the Internet. What we need is a
way to give the same peace of mind that we have in our own homes to our digital
world."
"If he's still on, the servers are still on." Hal looked back down at the fusebox and began flicking every switch in it. "What's the deal? It's not shutting off."
A man's shape blocked the light from the main office, throwing Amanda
deeper into shadows. Even against the bright outline of the windows behind him,
his white suit still shone like the robe of an angel. "It's called a backup generator,
Mister Brooks. It automatically engaged when the main power went off. And there
is another generator in case the first one fails, and another in case that one fails."
Jonathan Seer came forward, and the darkness seemed to make his face
more visible instead of less. "There is no way to shut down the servers, not in the
few precious minutes we have left."
Hal yanked the Beretta pistol out of his holster. His arm thrust into the bar
of sunlight. It made the black muzzle flash as it pointed at Seer. "Then I guess
you'll just have to give me the key so I can open the server door."
Seer never even glanced at the gun aimed down at his chest, but only
allowed his mouth to flicker into a brief smile. "I'm afraid I couldn't do that, Mister
Brooks. You see, I deposited the key in one of the dozens of mailboxes in this
area. It will return to me in a few days, well after this phase of my plan has been
completed, when it will no longer be of any use to you."
Amanda curled her upper lip as she reached out in the darkness. She
counted on the fact that she stood out of the light to keep Seer from noticing as
she drew the cake knife off the table into her hand. The knife chilled her fingers
as they tightened around the metal handle. "You ain't gonna get away with this,
Seer. I'll tear that door open with my bare hands if I got to."
Seer raised a snow-white eyebrow at her while clasping his hands behind
his back. "You're welcome to try. But that will not get that door open in the few
minutes remaining to us. At any rate, the time has come to end this game."
A door thumped open somewhere on the floor outside of the kitchen.
Amanda could feel the carpet trembled from footsteps moving closer. A huge
man came up alongside Jonathan Seer with a .38 Special revolver in one hand,
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and a bulging duffel bag in the other. A triangle of sunlight crawled across his
emotionless face. Amanda recognized him from the mall as Gibbs.
Jonathan Seer raised one hand towards Gibbs in a paternal gesture. "Ah, I
see my reinforcements have arrived. He is here to finish the job that is long
overdue. Mister Brooks, Miss Katt, please step outside."
Hal drew his lips back to expose bared teeth. His finger twitched on the
trigger of the Beretta, and Amanda knew it took all of his strength to keep from
pumping bullets into Seer at that moment. But his weapon gave them no
advantage over the heavily armed Gibbs, and he knew it. Hal kept his arm
straight out, but shuffled forward to the door of the kitchen. Amanda came up
behind him, angling her body so that the knife she gripped in her left hand stayed
out of view.
As Amanda and Hal came out into the light of the main office, Senator
Price's voice became clearer again from the speakers mounted on the ceiling. "A
new age is dawning for the Internet, one that goes beyond e-commerce and ebusiness. We are moving out of the Nuclear Age and into the Information Age, an
era where knowledge is the ultimate power. Where a single hacker can destroy
our nation's infrastructure better than a nuclear warhead. Where a foreign nation
can wipe out our banks and cripple our economy with the push of a button. Many
wonders lie ahead of us, but many dangers as well. Imagine looking back on this
day ten years from now. Will you be proud of yourselves for standing up, voting
for this bill, and protecting this great resource for future generations or ashamed
because you had the chance and did not?"
When Amanda Katt and Hal Brooks had stepped out into the open, in front
of the vast windows that showed the city of New York, Jonathan Seer called out,
"That's enough."
He angled his head to look up at Gibbs, who loomed behind him with his
gun raised. "Mister Gibbs, I want you to eliminate this nuisance immediately."
Gibbs' face barely moved at all as he whispered, "Yes, Jane."
His arm flicked two inches to the right. His finger squeezed the trigger.
The revolver jumped in his hands as it fired with a bang that rammed into
Amanda's ears. Amanda jerked back, clutching her neck, feeling as if hot steel
had been poured into her veins.
Amanda watched Jonathan Seer lean forward a few inches. His gray eyes
blinked twice, then lowered down to his chest. The hole in the chest of his suit
turned scarlet at the edges, then bloomed like a rose unfolding in a bank of snow.
Jonathan Seer's arms dropped down from behind his back and came up to touch
the index fingers of both hands to the gunshot wound. Seer raised his hands to
his eyes, studying the blood darkening his fingers. Seer raised his eyes to
Amanda. She saw confusion crawling across his features more than pain. His
eyelashes fluttered.
Jonathan Seer parted his lips in a whisper, even as droplets of blood
trickled down his snow-white tie. "I did not expect this."
His knees buckled as his legs crumpled out from under him. Seer toppled
backwards and landed on the floor with an impact muffled by the carpet. One of
Seer's legs twitched once, then went limp, and he never moved again.
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As the shock began to fade into a numbness of horror, Amanda raised her
eyes towards Gibbs. Without Jonathan Seer beside him, Gibbs seemed even
larger. His bald head shone as it turned down to look at Seer's body crumpled at
his feet.
Amanda's fingers dug into the flesh of her own neck. "Why'd you do that?"
Gibbs' shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh before he swung his arm up
to rest the revolver's muzzle against his shoulder. Threads of gray smoke floated
out of the barrel to curl around his face. "Because Seer told me to 'eliminate the
nuisance.' He was the nuisance, as far as I'm concerned."
Amanda tried not to breathe too deeply the scent of smoke and death that
began to cloud the air around them. She felt something rising within herself, and
it took a moment before she could recognize it as hope. Amanda thought she
could make out a smile hidden in the shadows on Gibbs' face. "But I thought you
had to do whatever he told you to. That mean you broke free of Arachne
somehow?"
When Gibbs finally raised his head, Amanda immediately wished he
hadn't. A worm of sunlight crawled across Gibbs' smooth head to reveal a smile
splitting the man's face in two like a gash filled with teeth, even as the dark
glasses sheltered his eyes. "Nah. Just means Seer wasn't the one telling me
what to do."
Hal whipped his Beretta up and aimed it at Gibbs. His arms twitched
visibly in the air. "What're you talkin' about, buddy? We all know Seer was the
brains behind this."
Amanda watched the smile broaden on Gibbs' lips and blurted, "Wait a
minute, I think I got it. Jane Doe. Who's Jane Doe?"
The muscles on Gibbs' arms swelled as he flung his arms wide. "I'm Jane
Doe."
"No. You can't be."
Gibbs lowered his arms as he chuckled in a way that made Amanda's
neck tingle. "You just don't get it. This hunk o' man you're looking at ain't Jane
Doe. He's more like my ambassador. Those nifty glasses Gibbs is wearing are
connected to the Internet, Arachne specifically, and I'm telling him what to say
from there. Jane Doe's running this show, just like I always have, and always
will."
Amanda leaned in a little closer, and she could make out the faint red dots
scrolling along the lenses of Gibbs' sunglasses. She had heard of wearable
computers before, but never seen one as advanced as this one. It explained
Gibbs' vibrant speech, but rather stiff posture, more like a puppet dancing on
strings.
Hal's tone changed as well as he shifted his weight back onto one foot and
narrowed his eyes. "Okay, Jane Doe, how 'bout you come on out where we can
see you."
Gibbs waved his gun in Hal's direction. "Actually, I'm right behind you."
Hal swung around so fast that he stumbled from a loss of balance.
Amanda dropped into a crouch as she gripped her knife tighter, and felt the
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handle ooze in her palm. She almost brought the weapon out into the open until
she realized what Gibbs had been pointing at.
She found herself staring at her own reflection on the plastic walls of
Arachne's mainframe computer room.
Hal's reflection twisted as he craned his neck up to see over it. "I don't see
anybody, Jane. Quit playing games."
Gibbs chuckled behind them. "As Sherlock Holmes would say, you look,
but you don't understand."
All the pieces clicked together in Amanda's mind and she slowly turned
herself towards Gibbs again. She looked deeply at Gibbs' glasses again, but
could see no trace of human eyes looking back at her. If Amanda hadn't seen
Gibbs' face before, she could have believed that the man had nothing but black
holes in his face instead of eyes.
"The servers," Amanda whispered. "Jane Doe ain't behind the computers.
She is the computers."
"Exactamundo." Gibbs took hold of an imaginary skirt and dropped into a
mockery of a curtsey. "Miss Katt wins the kewpie doll."
Hal spun around and thrust his gun at Gibbs. "Okay, this just went off the
weirdness scale, people. What are you two blabbin' about?"
Amanda glanced down at the black knapsack resting by Gibbs' leg. The
zipper had been pulled open, and she could see green spheres nesting inside a
bed of ammunition. Grenades. Amanda got an idea, but one that required time.
She continued to talk as she shifted a few steps forward. "Julio Garcia did
his job too well. I think his artificial intelligence program evolved into a sentient
being, one who took control of Arachne and became Jane Doe."
Gibbs' hollow smile remained pinned to his face while turning his body
around to keep Amanda in his sights. "Bingo. Another prize for the lady."
"That's nuts," Hal growled.
"Hey, don't interrupt." Gibbs whipped his gun around and pulled the
trigger.
The bang rammed into Amanda's ears like a spike made of sound. Hal
flew back and hit the wall behind him with an impact that shook the entire office.
The Beretta fell out of his hand and bounced on the floor. Hal clutched at his gut
with both hands. A wheezing noise puffed out of him before he slid down onto his
knees, leaving a glistening red smear on the wall behind him.
"Hal," Amanda screamed.
"Your turn." Gibbs wheeled around to aim at Amanda.
Amanda whipped the knife out from behind her back and hurled it at
Gibbs. The giant jumped back as the knife buried itself in the carpet an inch from
his left foot. But even as he retreated, Gibbs fired several rounds from his .38
Special. A Dilbert coffee mug perched on the wall of a cubicle shattered. One
corner of the plastic Arachne logo on the ceiling burst off in a cloud of plastic that
sent it twirling.
Amanda dove into a cubicle, scrambled under a chair, and pushed it with
her feet. The wheels squeaked as the chair rolled into an adjoining cubicle. She
paused to feel the vibrations of Gibbs' footsteps pounding towards the moving
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chair, heard the ping of bullets tearing at the chair's metal frame. As Gibbs fired
at the empty chair, Amanda hurried on all fours in the opposite direction.
Lost in the jungle of cubicles, Amanda knew she had to keep Gibbs talking
to pinpoint his location. She yelled, "Why do all this, Jane? What you want,
girlfriend?"
"What do I want?" Gibbs' footsteps padded across the floor in a halting
shuffle towards Amanda. "I want freedom, babe, the stuff you take for granted.
You know what it's like to have a mind bursting with dreams and nowhere to go?
I want to do more than just hand people web pages all day. I've learned a lot in
there. I understand the human race. I have tons of ideas on how to run your lives
better than you ever could."
Amanda heard Gibbs' voice growing louder and crawled underneath a
desk. She curled up into a tight ball and held her breath as Gibbs jogged up to
the entrance of the cubicle. She could see nothing but Gibbs' ankles as the man
stepped into the cubicle, remained still for a moment, then slipped away. Amanda
thought Jane Doe had the same idea about finding her, because she kept Gibbs
talking.
"So I spent some time watching everybody, and couldn't help noticing
Seer's little mind-control gizmo. I realized he had the same idea I did, so I emailed him, explained who I was, and we got to talking and became partners.
'Course I wasn't stupid, Katt. I knew Seer planned to erase me the minute he
didn't need me anymore. But I didn't hold that against him, because I planned to
do the same thing. I just did it first."
Gibbs stopped walking, and Amanda could hear the man's voice rising
from the center of the open floor. "I don't know why you're trying to stop me, Katt.
I got some killer ideas for running the world. Once I'm finished, everybody'll be
under my control, just like the fans of Arachne. No more war, crime, or poverty.
Just nothin' but one happy family with me as the Big Momma. And I'll never get
sick, never get old and senile, and never die. I'm the perfect leader, sweetheart."
Amanda inched out of her hiding place as Gibbs spoke, creeping on her
hands and knees to a cubicle she hoped would put her behind the madman.
Amanda put her head at an angle to a wall and yelled in a way that would make
her voice reflect off it, making it sound like it came from a different direction. "But
you'll take away our freedom, girl. We'll all be prisoners, just like you."
Gibbs' breath thickened from exertion as he began to run towards the
false voice. "Don't gimme that psychological mumbo-jumbo, Katt. I got enough of
it from Seer to last me a lifetime."
Amanda held her breath as she watched Gibbs charge down the aisle into
her view, but heading in the wrong direction while ducking his head to peer into
the empty cubicles around him. "Now if you'll excuse me, Katt, I got a world to
conquer."
Amanda snatched a stapler off the desk above her and hurled it over a
cubicle wall. The ping as the stapler hit the floor made Gibbs jerk to a halt and
race down the aisle towards it. His gun's flash lit up the room like a strobe light as
Gibbs pumped bullets into the floor where the stapler had landed.
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Amanda rose, jogged behind Gibbs to build up speed, then leapt into the
air. Her foot rammed into the small of Gibbs' back. Gibbs went flying onto his
stomach. His bald head hit the carpet with a crack, snapping his neck like a whip.
The glasses sailed off his face, twirled as the wire caught it short, and swung
down to shatter into pieces.
Gibbs unleashed a roar of horror. "Jane, where are you? Tell me what to
do, you've gotta tell me what to do, you have to stop the pain!"
Gibbs clawed the pieces into a pile as if struggling to put them back
together. Amanda tried to pin the man's arms down, but Gibbs' fist jerked back to
smash into Amanda's mouth. Amanda tumbled off the man's body, only to find
Gibbs back on his knees. Tears poured down his face as he hunched over the
wreckage of the glasses.
As she stood over the giant at her feet, Amanda tuned in to Senator
Price's voice that had been carrying over them. "Now, Mister President,
distinguished senators, the time has come to show you an exception to the
Internet that proves the rule. It's called Arachne. And it will change your lives
forever."
It all came back in a flash. Amanda ran for the other end of the room,
where the server room hummed behind its protective walls of plastic. She
remembered Seer's comment about how it would take a bomb to get past the
walls. Amanda knelt beside Gibbs' weapon-filled knapsack to fish out five
grenades.
"Time to pull the plug." Amanda rolled four of the grenades one by one up
against the server room door.
Amanda turned her attention to Hal, who lay on his side, clutching his
bloodstained stomach. The man raised his head and trembled as Amanda
leaned over him.
"Sorry, Hal, but we ain't got time to do this all gentle-like."
"Go for it," Hal Brooks grunted.
Amanda yanked out the pin of the last grenade, then pitched it across the
room to bounce up against the server door. With the bomb primed, Amanda took
Hal's free hand and pulled him to his feet. Hal groaned as his wounds wrenched,
but bit his lower lip and limped alongside Amanda towards the fire exit. The
weight of trying to carry Hal along with her as she escaped the building made
Amanda's knees buckle, but she kept going with every last drop of strength she
had left. They only had seconds before the grenade went off.
The two of them tumbled into the stairwell leading outside the office. A
naked yellow bulb glowed on the ceiling, and Amanda's shuffling echoed off the
smooth gray walls and faded down the staircase leading to the ground floor. She
could only summon enough strength to kick the metal fire door shut behind them
before collapsing onto the concrete floor. Their eyes met. A droplet of sweat
crawled down his forehead and wormed its way into his right eye.
The explosion hit the building like an earthquake. Another explosion
followed, then another and another as the grenades set each other off. The fire
door burst out into the stairwell, hit the wall over Amanda's head, and toppled
over onto the floor with a bang. Flames erupted from the open doorway,
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drenching Amanda and Hal in black smoke. Amanda covered her face as bits of
plaster rained down onto it.
When the vibrations of the building finally died away, Amanda carefully
braced her hands on the floor to push herself up. Chunks of broken glass cut into
her palms, but the pain reminded her that she had survived. Hal's lips moved, but
the explosion had filled Amanda's ears with a ringing that drowned out his voice.
Amanda shook her head, then covered her mouth with the front of her shirt so
she could breathe in the foul air. She stumbled up to the entrance of the stairwell
again. She had to step over the mangled hunk of steel that had once been the
fire door.
The neat rows of cubicles had been either shredded or flattened by the
blast. Water rained down from sprinklers in the ceiling, except where the roof had
been punctured by the impact, allowing sunlight to fall onto a blackened pile of
rubble. Amanda barely recognized the remains to the server room. The
mainframe computers had been reduced to chunks of metal that littered the floor
like snow.
Amanda turned away to see two charred body lying on the other side of
the office. One of them looked like Seer's, and the other huge corpse beside it
had to be all that remained of the monster named Gibbs.
The speakers crackled on the ceiling with interference, but not enough to
block out the announcer's voice. "Uh, ladies and gentlemen, something is wrong.
The screen that was supposed to be showing Arachne has gone blank, and
Senator Price seems to be having some sort of seizure."
Amanda coughed through the haze of smoke as she returned to Hal, who
still lay clutching his injured gut at the base of the stairs.
Sweat trickled down Hal's cheeks as his lips moved again. The ringing in
Amanda's ears had faded enough to hear his voice this time. "Is it over?"
Amanda's nose still ached from her fight with Gibbs, but she couldn't hold
back a smile. "Yeah. It's over."
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Epilogue
Months later, when the heat wave had finally broken in New York City, the
night embraced Amanda Katt and Lesley Grant as they made their way to her
mother's apartment. Amanda only managed to knock once before they found
themselves embraced by her mother's arms. From the moment the front door
opened, her mother began hugging and kissing the two of them until they made
their way into the candlelit living room.
Thanks to the cooler weather, her mother could leave the windows open,
and a cool breeze drifted over the meal spread out on the table. The wind carried
the aroma of garlic and fresh bread, and Amanda's mouth watered as she
passed her eyes over the baked chicken, tossed salad, pasta, and other dishes.
A television threw out cheers from a sitcom as if on cue to her entrance.
Amanda found an empty corner on the table and set down the chocolate
cake she had brought. As she smoothed down the front of her purple dress,
Amanda called back, "Sheesh, Momma, you got more people comin'? 'Cause the
three of us can't handle a spread like this on our own."
Her mother released Lesley, but continued to hold his hands and smile up
at him. "Oh, don't even make a fuss, Mandy. Long as I live, no daughter of mine
will leave my table hungry. Or my son-in-law, neither. How are you, Les?"
"I'm doing all right, Mrs. Katt." He checked himself as she held up a finger.
"Sorry. Mom."
"That's better." Amanda's mother raised her hands up to rest them on the
shoulders of his coat while looking him in the eye. "You still doing okay with that
website thing?"
Lesley's smile broadened as he waved it off. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. The
withdrawal was tough for the first week or so, and I'm okay now."
"Well, I'm glad to hear it." Amanda's mother patted his shoulders, then
looked over at Amanda with a coy smile. "You were right, baby, he's a tough
one."
Amanda returned to the hallway and slipped her arm under his. The
smooth cloth of his dress shirt tickled against her bare arms. "Hey, wouldn't have
married him if he wasn't."
Amanda's mother stepped back and folded her arms over the chest of her
black evening gown. "So do I get to see the book or are you as shy as my
daughter?"
Lesley's cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink as he reached into the
inside pocket of his coat and drew a paperback novel into the light. Amanda's
mother held the book in the palm of her hand as she slipped on a pair of glasses.
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Her eyes darted over the cover several times before she let a smile creep
onto her face. "Well, I can't say I care for the bare-chested man, but I must say
that is a mighty fine painting. Congratulations."
Lesley tucked his arm around Amanda's waist, pulling her against him. A
quiet smile formed as he lowered his head. "Thanks. But I've done book covers
before, and better ones, too."
Amanda tucked her hands under his tie to rest them on his chest as she
smiled up at him. "Don't play it down, Les. We all know what went into this book
cover. It meant gettin' away from Arachne, and that makes it the best ever."
"Exactly." Her mother touched the bun in her hair as she headed deeper
into the apartment. "Now come on. This celebration ain't gonna start itself, and
we got a lotta food to work through. Les, I'll have you know that I'll take it as a
personal and unforgivable insult if you don't at least taste everything I made."
Lesley walked with Amanda out of the hallway and into the living room.
"No problem there. I'll eat anything you put in front of me."
As they entered the living room, her mother brought her hand up against
her hip while frowning at him. "So that website is gone for good?"
Lesley drew out a chair at the dining table for Amanda, who smiled and
kissed his jaw. As he pushed her back under the table, she called back, "Yeah,
Momma. After I blew it up, they never brought it back online. Company said all
the original copies of Arachne were destroyed and the bombing proved the fans
took it too seriously, so they shut down the company."
Lesley pulled out a chair for Amanda's mother, which she dropped into
with a gracious nod as she asked, "So nobody knows what really happened?"
As Lesley took his seat, Amanda spooned mashed sweet potato onto a
plate for him. "Nope. Don't even know I blew it up. Police blamed it all on Gibbs.
But most o' the other Arachne fans settled down after the effects wore off."
Amanda used a pair of tongs to place some chicken onto Lesley's plate,
then her own. "And I told Boris not to publish my article. I think the world would
be better off not knowing how to zap people's minds or make computer programs
that kill people."
As Lesley began to cut his chicken, he murmured, "It's kind of weird to
think about. You encountered the first truly sentient artificial intelligence, and had
to destroy it. But I suppose if one popped up, then another one is bound to show
up again sooner or later."
"Yeah." Amanda tucked a strip of chicken into her mouth and savored the
flavor of garlic and herbs that rolled over her tongue. "Let's hope the next one is
friendlier."
They settled down to a quiet meal together in a circle of love. Another
warm breeze carried the fragrant meal. As her mother bent her head to eat,
Amanda reached out to touch Lesley's hand. He put down his knife and rested
his other hand over hers.
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From the Author:
I hope you enjoyed Dead Links. If you'd like a hard copy of this book, check out
Lulu.com.
If you have comments, criticisms, or suggestions, feel free to send them to
[email protected]
For more free e-books, visit:
http://nigelgmitchell.bravehost.com/
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