She stood by the bed, looking down at the two sleeping figures upon it.
"Try to understand," she whispered to no one, "Everything I did, I did for you two. Everything."
With a trembling hand, she lifted a syringe—then paused, set it back down again. What was wrong with her? They were cured, both fine now. Besides, she had specially seen to it that the contents of the syringe didn't harm her brothers.
Ned still had headaches once in a while, but they were very rare, and didn't hurt as much. Ted could see like any other person, but occasionally his sight blurred over and had to see a doctor. Right now, the two of them were in Tel Aviv for their bimonthly therapy session.
"Everything I did was for them," she repeated to herself, then, with a calculating look in her eyes, stabbed down.
She handed the body—not the body, his body—to the two men waiting outside, then re-entered the room. He looked so peaceful, safe with the knowledge that his brother was sleeping with him. So innocent…
He has to understand, she thought furiously. He has to. He will. Sinead left the note on his pillow and exited the room.
::[x]::
Ted woke with a jolt, immediately noting the lack of warmth by his side. His brother was gone—probably shopping or in the washroom. Blearily, he moved his hand to find his glasses. Rsst. Something crinkled as he touched it.
He half opened his eyes, glancing at the piece of white paper in between his fingers instead of his glasses. Better be a good explanation of where Ned is.
Ted,
I know you're wondering where Ned is. The truth is, Vespers were never defeated. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I had to do this. I did it all for you. I know you'll understand why I became a Vesper—don't you hate the Cahills too, for what they did to us? I know you do. But guess how come you're cured, and Ned's cured? Because of me. I became Vesper Three. I got Vesper One what he wanted, and he cured you. He cured you both. I'll come back for you, dear brother. We can live in the Vesper HQ together. In hiding, but together.
Your darling sister, Sinead.
He bolted up in his bed, wide awake. Sinead, Vesper? Why didn't Amy and Dan tell me?
An answer came back in his head, unbidden. They didn't want me to know the truth about my own family. Don't you hate the Cahills too, for what they did to us? I know you do.
No, of course not, he chided himself. They didn't tell you…because they didn't want you to…worry? Two years. They kept the truth from me for two years. And you wondered why Sinead didn't have a grave.
He needed to stop the thoughts, to stop thinking such horrible things. To clear his head. Yes, he needed to clear his head…get out…get away…
Almost unbidden, Ted started to run. Not sure where he was running or how he was running. His legs moved on his own: right foot up, right foot down. Left foot up, left foot down. He had a brief memory of opening the hotel door. His vision started to blur before his eyes, saw only flashes of colour, brief memories of what he was doing.
Ted had no idea how he got outside of the rehab building, but there he was, standing on the sidewalk, watching cars rush past his face. But he saw none of it, heard none of the cacophony of yelling pedestrians and peddlers, honking cars and chatting tourists. There was only darkness.
Sinead, Ned and Ted, The Starling triplets, always. There was Sinead on his right and Ned on his left, and that was how it always was, but now he was all alone and empty inside and outside. Hollow aches pressed down on either side of him. It was bad enough when he and Ted thought their sister was lost in the war, but he'd never felt like this. Maybe it was because Ned was dead and Sinead…
She wasn't dead, obviously. It would feel worse if she was. But she was a Vesper and lost to him, and that was as good as dead. I don't know her anymore!
With a jolt Ted realized that people had been screaming at him for a while—two seconds? An hour? A fat merchant shouted unintelligible gibberish from beneath his thick moustache, gesturing vigorously with his hands. Belatedly, he realized why. Without realizing it, he'd stepped into the road, was almost in the middle of it. Fortunately it was a red light, but…
Ted's Ekat brain started calculating ultra-fast. A car, red Chrysler, running the red light, speeding towards him. Fast, too fast, if I leap out of the way I can make it, no I can't, Hamilton could it's too far I can't make it—why does the driver look so familiar? It's Sinead; Sinead my sister is she trying to kill me on purpose? I'm trying to run but not fast enough arms and legs feel like lead
Sinead. Is. Trying. To. Kill. Me.
But why is there a look of horror on her face, why can I see her jerking the steering wheel close, closer now the most I can do is get down on the road don't kill me don't kill me DON'T KILL ME—
There was the hard squeal of tires jerking on the road. Ted tried to get down on the road but wasn't fast enough; he saw the bright red of the Chrysler and the thousand colours of the crowd, the sun-baked yellow-brown of Tel Aviv, the bright, burning white sun, all blend into one colour and swirl before his eyes. Something hard hit his body and he flew up, up, up look I can fly, look at me can't you see my wings?
And then his head hit the ground and there was a sharp pinch at the back of his head, ouch ow it hurts look at me I'm in pain can't you see I'm in pain LOOK AT ME and from a million miles away, Ted recognized sounds—shouting of multiple people, someone sobbing. A car door slamming, footsteps pounding hard on the ground. An ambulance siren, in the distance, too far away…
He tried to force his eyes open one last time, but everything seemed to crash down on him at once. Without knowing why, the last thing he said before he passed out: "Sinead."
::[xx]::
Ted was floating. He was paper-thin, super-light, drifting away in the desert. Murmurings, murmurings all around him, surrounding him. They meant nothing to him, because his body was there and he wasn't, and everything he held—everything he remembered—they were just dragging him down, if he could let it all go he could fly higher…but I can't, a voice whispered in the back of his head. I can't let it go, I want to remember everything, everyone…
Remember all the pain, the agony, the waste of your life. Let it go, why hang on to misery? You can forget and begin again. Why stay grounded when you can fly?
Ted flew higher.
As he flew, he started letting go. No more dinner time with Mom, discussing physics with Dad. Laughing with Sinead. Teaching Ned to tie his shoelaces, attending Grace's funeral, snatching the clue from Amy and Dan—oh, how good it felt then—lying in the hospital, unable to see a thing, crying over Alistair…
He forgot it all.
When he woke, he would be new.
Eyes open. Bright, white, light, two people talking—talking about him—lying on a bed, a hospital bed—I had such bad history with hospital beds, I can't believe I'm in another one—why would I think that? Hospitals—I've never been in one—what?
"Ted! Ted, you're awake! Thank goodness, do you remember anything?"
Ted. That was his name. He tried it, seeing how it tasted on his tongue… "Ted."
"That's your name, yes," the doctor encouraged. "Do you remember anything else?"
He lowered his head for a moment, then met her eye. "No. I remember nothing."
::[xxx]::
Sinead stalked into the HQ, unable to hide her emotions. Fear, anger—anger at herself. Vesper One forcing her to kill Ned just to prove her loyalty was enough—and then she'd ran over Ted. An image flashed into her mind—Ted, lying motionless on the black asphalt, limbs splayed at unnatural angles, head lolling to one side. The shouting pedestrians had crowded around his body, blocking him from her view. Stop it, she wanted to scream, that's my brother! He might be dead!
It's your fault, her own mind retaliated. You ran away. You could have checked his pulse, anything. But you ran away instead—your safety over his. I thought you were doing everything for Ned and Ted, but—
SHUT UP—
"Sinead."
Cool, sardonic tone. Slightly amused yet always slightly disgusted, as if he couldn't believe he was actually talking with…others, the lower class, everyone beneath him—which actually was everyone.
"Vesper One." She returned his tone and gave him a polite nod. He raised an eyebrow in return and she sighed. "Yes, I left the note with Ted. The bad news is…well, I almost ran him over when I was driving away." She swallowed and looked to the side.
"Is he dead?" he asked softly.
"No, sir. He was still alive when I ran away."
Sinead felt caught between his piercing gaze. A predator playing with his trapped prey… "Look, I'll hack the files of all the local hospitals and find out if he's alive," she blurted.Who talked back to Vesper One? Nobody. I'm dead for sure. Sinead's heart was thumping furiously in her dry, dry throat.
"You have nerve," he replied finally. "And that's kept you alive. I want your—brother—" he spat the word with contempt "—here in the HQ, before me on his knees, Vesper or not. You have a week's time or you die. Are we clear on that, Vesper Three?"
Not trusting her voice, she nodded and hurried out of the room.
My name is Ted Starling. I have two siblings, Ned and Sinead. I lived in Boston, Massachusetts. I came to Tel Aviv from Berlin a week ago. I'm a biochemistry prodigy. I have auburn hair and green eyes. I am 20 years old. I was in a car accident three days ago and I have been diagnosed with psychogenic amnesia.
Ted stared at everything he had written down. That was everything he knew for sure about himself, collected with information from government files, items found in his wallet, and everything he remembered—not a lot. He moved on to the next section—everything he remembered unrelated to him.
I can bake and cook. I remember how to write in longhand. I remember what I learned on biochemistry. I know about the world's basic history. I know how to add, subtract, divide, multiply. I know the countries of the world and remember how to speak English, French and German. I can name the seven ancient and modern wonders of the world. I know all the car companies and technology companies. If you gave me an iPhone I could tell you all about it.
Ted read it over. How could I know that and not know who I am?
"Amnesia," someone whispered.
Except it wasn't him. He whirled around, catching sight of a girl his age, with the same auburn hair and green eyes standing in the room. A name came to him and he said it without thinking: "Grace."
She wrinkled her nose. "Grace was an evil witch of a woman—sent us off on the hunt and nearly got us killed in an explosion. A Cahill, that's what she was—a stinking Cahill."
"No," Ted stammered, standing up suddenly. "I don't know what you're talking about—I don't know what a Cahill is, sorry—Grace, is that your name?"
Immediately he knew it was the wrong thing to say. The girl stepped forward, fists clenched, eyes flashing furiously. "Don't you dare compare me to that woman!"
"She was nice," Ted whispered, drawing on a memory—a blurry, hazy echo of a flashback. An old silver-haired woman, looking as though she were fifty years younger than she was, handing him a thick book. "She gave me my first biochemistry book…at—at a reunion. A family reunion," he recalled. "There were a lot of people there. Were they all family…Sinead?" He hoped it was the right name.
"All family," the girl replied, showing no signs of anger at the name. "They're all Cahills. You really don't remember, do you?"
He stared blankly. "Are you a hospital patient? Do you have amnesia, too?"
"I'm your sister," she snapped and despite the anger Ted thought she was going to cry. "Do you remember—do you remember anything?"
I have two siblings, Ned and Sinead.
"No…yes," he stammered. "I do…little pieces." It was coming back to him now. "There was…something loud…an explosion. Benjamin Franklin. I was in the hospital—you were there and I had a brother—I have a brother, I think—and then I couldn't see and I was captured, crying—there was a war. A hunt and a war. And before that, I was designing an ultralight plane—a red car—I don't remember…"
He turned around and she was gone.
Maybe he was imagining things…
::[xxxx]::
I was reading the book Grace gave me.
I was designing a plane.
There was an explosion at the Franklin Institute.
I was in the hospital with Sinead and Ned. I was blind and he was having a headache.
There was a play at the Globe, Romeo and Juliet.
I was in an elevator—I was being captured. I was taken to a room…
There was a war, a hunt and then a war. What does that mean?
A red car was crashing into me. I ended up in the hospital and remember nothing.
"What do you remember?"
She was back again, this girl, supposedly his sister. He didn't mention her to the doctors, fearing that he actually was hallucinating and that they'd put him in Intensive Care or something.
"I remember the Franklin Institute, being at the hospital—and there was a play, a Globe, something to do with Shakespeare. Then I was in an elevator and being captured—someone was grabbing my arms, and then there was a war." Deep breath. "That's what I know for sure, everything else is bits and pieces: a microwave burrito, a hunt for something, a biochemistry book, a plane, and then Grace, Cahills, Vespers. Three names, always three names. What do they mean?"
"Like I said," Sinead replied bitterly. "Grace—she was one of them, well us I suppose—a Cahill. She started the official hunt for Thirty-nine Clues—that's why we were almost blown up, and another Cahill injured us badly at the Globe."
"But—what is a Cahill?" Ted asked, bewildered.
"A family," Sinead said. "A powerful family, extending way back before the 1500s. They originated from Ireland and split into five branches, Lucians, Ekaterinas, Janus, Tomas and Madrigals. The first four had their DNA altered by pieces of a powerful serum that, when put together, could let the drinker rule the world.
"That's when the Vespers come in. They've been in the shadows ever since the master serum was created, trying to steal it from the Cahills, or should I say, steal it back. It was rightfully Damien's serum, and Gideon denied him the rights to it and drank it himself! The Thirty-nine Clues were the ingredients to the serum.
"We're Cahills, you and me. Ekaterinas. But I saw what the Hunt really meant, I saw Grace's real intention. That explosion? That was on purpose. We were supposed to die!" Sinead slammed a fist into her hand and Ted flinched at the dangerous glint in her eye. "What do you think of them now? Join the Vespers, Ted. Join us and together, we'll killwhoever exploded the Institute. Weak Tomas scum."
Without giving him a chance to reply, she was gone.
The memories were out of his grasp.
Only when Sinead was there, ranting about Cahills this and Vespers that—with a Guardian or two thrown in somewhere—did something start to itch at the back of his head, giving his memories (or lack of) a nudge, and then he would start to get a slight picture in his head. A memory, a smell, a touch, sometimes a quote. But otherwise, he made no progress in his amnesia.
Ted tried to remember, oh, he tried so hard. He would reach out as far as he could, probing and prodding mentally, but always come back empty handed. He tried to figure out what it was Sinead said that triggered his memories and tried writing some of those words down: explosion, Vesper, Holt, red snapper, gauntlet.
But nothing triggered, nothing worked. The boredom didn't help matters—one day would seem like a month: a dreary, disappointing month. The only thing Ted looked forward to were Sinead's visits—were they daily? Every few hours? He lost track of time and didn't bother to look at the clock or out the window. He actually preferred his timeless, eternal world to one where the seconds were counting down and everyone was on a schedule.
Now Ted lay there, staring at the white ceiling. So many things were white here—too bright, too bright. The world Sinead had described wasn't white and black, as the doctors were making him write down. It had many shadows and so many shades between. There were Cahills, the "good guys" who were evil, and the Vespers, the good guys who did evil things with good intentions. He'd tried pointing this out to Sinead, that they both seemed like bad guys, but she had just snapped at him.
Ted pressed his fingers to his temples. He had a headache, born of confusing thoughts that swirled through his head. Ted shut his eyes, and promptly fell asleep.
"Position A, radio check," Sinead commanded, flipping her long auburn hair over her shoulders.
"Target in clear sight, V-3," came the reply over her hidden radio. They ran over the procedures used for an assassination. We're not killing anyone, Sinead reminded herself.Just getting Ted to come with me.
"Backup?"
"Backup confirmed."
"Position B, utility check."
"Assembled and ready for use, V-3."
"Hidden?"
"Hidden from sight."
"Escape driver?"
"Parked on said escape route."
"Is that a go, Miss?" Position B asked.
Sinead started to respond yes but changed her mind. "No. I'm going to go in and see if I can persuade him first." She nimbly scaled the maple tree, popped open Ted's window and leapt inside agilely.
"Ted!"
Her brother had been sleeping and now woke with a jolt. Saw Sinead, relief and recognition spreading over his face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." Nervous. Almost to the point of sweaty-palms nervous. Did Ted really read her that well?
Before she could say something else, Ted cut in, asked, "What's iron solute?"
Sinead froze. "What did you say?"
"Iron solute. It keeps coming back to me, has something to do with Ben Franklin and the explosion. There was…a camera. On a phone. Someone took a picture. And then we were knocked off our feet—a man in black ran past us, I think—"
"Iron solute, Ted, it's one of the thirty-nine Clues, the one that Amy and Dan found." Ted didn't ask who they were; they had the previous honour of sharing a spotlight in one of Sinead's rants. "And they led us right to it, and we took a picture with my phone. Remember, Ted, how accomplished we were—and they didn't even know it was the Clue, they were so stupid, oh God." She laughed. "We were in the Institute then, and after they left it blew up. They tried to warn us about a Man in Black and got us to go outside. But it didn't work, no, we stayed in the museum and so they exploded that. Working with the Holts—who in their right mind would do that, no-good stupid brutes…"
Sinead seemed to catch herself and gave a fake little laugh. "Anyway, Ted, I'm really here to ask you something," she said, and now she seemed a little nervous. "It's—It's a really big deal, and I wasn't sure you were quite ready yet. But I want to help you a lot, and now that you've got some of your memories back, I think you're quite ready."
She beamed at him and Ted gave a weak grin back, what was she talking about? He wondered if—
A searing pain shot through his forehead and he gritted his teeth, trying not to show it. Lightning bolts flashed before his eyes—
I don't know her anymore!
The words seemed to drift through his mind, not only his mind—he heard them echo, saw the words, felt their pain. And just like that, it was gone, and he was staring at the smiling face of Sinead Starling, his sister.
Sometimes a girl comes into my room. She's supposed to be my sister, Sinead. With her, I get my memories back. I feel so comforted around her, but I'm not sure if I'm imagining her or not.
Now the truth came—I'm not imagining her! She's real, not a hallucination! Oh, God. She's real. So are Cahills, and Vespers, and the Hunt—the Hunt was real.
"I remember the Hunt!" Ted blurted.
Sinead was taken aback, raised an eyebrow. "You…do?"
"N-not all of it," he stuttered, gave a shaky laugh. "Not much to remember, is there? But most of it, yes, starting from Grace's funeral. They aren't complete memories, just bits and pieces, brief flashes here and there, but I've got the basic picture…"
He trailed off. Sinead's face was one of thunder, staring into the distance. Softly, she said, "Do you remember what the Cahills were like?"
"What are you trying to offer me?"
She smiled. "A way to get your memory back faster, of course! Vesper One so kindly offered to help—you know, we're resourceful, we've got so much that no one else has. I mean, if your branch really cared about you they would've tried to help you, you'd think."
But he was thinking of something else. "Sinead," he said slowly, "what happened to Ned?"
He'd caught her off his guard. She shifted her eyes, bit her lip. Mournful expression. Deep sigh. "I-I don't know how to tell you this…but the Cahills got to him after the war. You do remember some of the war, right? They killed him…killed him in cold blood. Ted, I am so sorry." Tears streaked down her cheeks but she didn't seem to notice.
Sinead attempted to pull herself together. "So…what do you think of the Vespers' offer? Wanna come to the HQ with me? We could live together." She managed a teary smile.
But a voice in Ted said, she's lying.
He didn't want to believe it, but he knew, just knew she was lying. The Cahills did not kill Ned…
In fact, he couldn't remember anyone killing Ned at all. More pictures: their apartment in Tel Aviv, sharing a bed with him, throwing popcorn at each other.
And that was after the war, too.
Since when did anyone kill Ned Starling, his brother?
"…Ted?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Does…does that mean I'll have to leave the hospital?"
Sinead beamed brightly. "Of course! You get to live with me, silly! We're going to have so much fun together!"
And somehow he knew it was an act.
I don't know her anymore!
In that moment, another flashback came to Ted. "Shoelaces…" he murmured, staring.
His sister looked annoyed. "What?"
"I'll go with you."
He stood up, nearly staggered from the sudden rush-load of memories flooding his head. I became Vesper Three. But it wasn't him…it was…
Her.
"That's great! So, I have all the papers here, and it shouldn't be a problem. We could go, like, right now!" Huge, brilliant fake smile. All white perfect teeth showing.
"Yeah, um…I don't have much luggage," Ted said lamely. He wasn't sure how he was going to pull it off, so he dropped to the ground and grabbed his shoelaces, started to methodically undo them.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you doing?"
"Tying my laces," he replied, as nonchalantly as possible. He began to loosen his laces while trying to look like he was tightening them—not an easy task. Sinead stepped toward him, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Step one. Pull two laces out.
Step two. One more lace.
Step three. Last lace.
Step four; mouth open, ready to speak. Finally done. Arm muscles tense.
Another step forward; narrowed eyes. "Ted, you—" Get ready now.
"—stop what you're—" Timing, all about the timing.
"—doing and tell—" Don't screw this up.
"—me what you're—" Slipping the laces off. Getting into position.
"—up to—" NOW.
Ted stood up abruptly, shoelace in hand. As he straightened, he was already swinging, stepping forward, grabbing Sinead by the throat and winding the shoelace—that white, white shoelace—around her neck.
She struggled for breath, met his eyes, breathed, "Why?"
Ted pulled even harder. "Because Vespers are evil. Because you killed Ned. You killed our brother."
"I had to," Sinead gasped. "Prove—my loyalty—to V-1. Did it all—for you—and Ned—could be cured—"
"I love you," Ted whispered. "I know you loved us back. But becoming a Vesper…you didn't have to do that. We hated the Cahills, too, but not so much that we'd betray our family. You were doing it for yourself, in the end. Not for us, but for yourself. Your own selfish reasons."
He gave one final pull with the shoelaces.
My brother, Ned, is a genius. When he was 10 he got a PhD in quantum physics, but still couldn't tie his shoelaces.
As Sinead fell to the ground, the last thing she said was, "Live."
Ted stroked her red hair, tucked it behind her ears. Paused. Live. What did that mean?
::[xxxxx]::
On the rooftop across from Ted's window, Position B adjusted the crosshairs on his scope. The boy was directly in his line of fire. He could see everything clearly now—Ted, bending over Sinead's body. He had heard her last words over the radio. Live…
He tightened his finger on the trigger. Just half an inch, and the Starlings would be gone. No more Vesper Three. Bye-bye, Vesper Council, Cahill traitors.
He closed his eyes. Smiled.
Pulled the trigger.
Hamilton Holt put the gun back in his bag, and climbed back into the building. His escape car was, after all, just out the door, and no one liked to keep Ian Kabra waiting.
Behind Ted, the glass window tinkled and burst into pieces.
His Ekaterina-training instincts took over, but not fast enough. The bullet touched flesh. Penetrated.
But not enough: Ted had managed to roll away at the last minute. It grazed the back of his head—not deep, but deep enough.
And all he knew was that he was flying, and letting go.
::[xxxxxx]::
He opened his eyes. The room was black, so black, and he couldn't see a thing. He tried to sit up, but something was keeping his head pressed into place. "Where am I?" he said aloud.
Faint lights flickered on in the room and a man, dressed head-to-toe in dark clothing, rushed to his side. "Ted, thank goodness. You're awake. Do you remember anything?"
Something was sticking out of his pocket—a pistol handle. Where was he? Ted raised his eyes. "No. I don't remember anything. Nothing at all."
"That's good," Vesper One smiled, and raised the pistol. "That means I can kill you."