Chapter Two:
All in Your Head . . .
She spent most of the next day wandering about Seattle with the sector pass she'd stolen out of a police car at the truck stop. You'd think people would know better than to leave their valuables lying out that way, she thought to herself. Leaving it there in a locked glove box in a locked car, why that's just asking for someone to give it a new home. She'd done a clean job of breaking in, so they probably wouldn't even miss it for a while. She was anxious to see Max, but she also wanted to get a look around, just in case she somehow ended up in a different spot in the city and needed a niche to crawl into. In the end it wasn't really necessary. It had been a long time since she'd been in Seattle, but nothing had really changed.
She let herself get lost in the crowds, enjoying the feeling of anonymity. Anonymity was safe. There were so many different people, with different faces and different lives, all completely unlike her own. They'd never had to live on the run. They didn't have to spend their lives looking over their shoulders, wondering if some demon from the past would ever catch up with them. Every now and then a face would seem familiar. It came with the territory of having a photographic memory, she guessed. She may not have seen them for several years, but somehow they still seemed familiar. Familiar strangers, she mused. She was sure she even recognized a few of the homeless people as she wandered down South Market, but the face that jumped out at her from the middle of a crowd on the other side of the street was one she remembered most distinctly.
Her muscles clenched instinctively as the split-second memory came back. Gunshots. Screams. Coming back five minutes too late. "Son of a bitch." She took off across the street, running right in front of an ancient Chevy pick-up.
The driver braked, narrowly avoiding hitting the woman who was little more that a blur as she streaked across the road in front of him. "Hey, watch where you're going, you worthless little-" but she didn't hear the driver's outraged response. She was already across the street, pushing her way through the crowd in search of that face. After fifteen minutes of searching every alley, every nook and cranny within a couple of blocks, she finally decided that it had all been in her imagination. You need a break, girl, she told herself. It's all in your head. That worthless little piece of slime can't be anywhere around here. She sighed, wishing for a moment that the memory of that day would just leave her alone and let her suffer in peace.
Just before the sun began to set she tightened the arms on her backpack, checked that the zipper was open just enough, and headed across town to the address Krit had given her.
Krit had been right. It wasn't much to look at, but then again, ever since the Pulse hit, people had slacked off from hanging lace curtains and planting flowers in window boxes, not that that was Max's style, she suspected, but somehow the building held the air of anonymity and old secrets that would have fit them all so well. Krit had said that Max had a roommate, but other than giving her name he didn't say anything else about her. She paused, looking up at the building and wondering how much this 'Original Cindy' person might know. Best to play it safe, just in case.
She'd had a roommate once herself, and she and Trish had gotten along fine, but she'd never been close enough to tell her the truth. The less she knows, the safer she is, she'd told herself. Of course, she hadn't seen Trish since that evening late last winter, when she'd overheard a broadcast on the neighbor's television set as she left for work and figured it was time she got the hell out of Dodge, or San Francisco, as the case happened to be. She'd left Trish a note that said, "Sorry, but I gotta go. Family emergency. Don't worry, I'll be fine. Have a nice life." and enough money to pay her half of the rent for the next month. It seemed kind of a cruel way to say goodbye, but she hadn't had much of a choice. She knew how dangerous she could be to the people she loved. She had grabbed Andy, Milly, and all the cash she had left from her emergency fund, and then she'd run. She hadn't heard from Trish since, though she planned to check up on her in a few months, when she was sure all of the proverbial smoke had cleared, and when, hopefully, Trish would have forgotten about the mysterious cable hack the night that she had vanished . . .
She entered the building and crept down the hallway of the seventh floor, keeping her eyes peeled for any movement in the shadows. She didn't really expect any trouble, but years of watching over her shoulder had made her rather wary, especially in closed spaces and dark hallways. She wondered if Max was home, and how she might react to finding her sister showing up rather unexpectedly on her doorstep. Pausing just outside the door, she listened to the movement within. Over the music on the radio her sensitive hearing could pick up the sounds of footsteps. As much as she would have enjoyed sneaking in, she didn't think Max's roommate would enjoy a stranger popping in unexpectedly, so she took the more traditional route of knocking.
There was a sound of shuffling as the music was turned down, and then the door opened to reveal a black woman holding a bottle of fingernail polish and wearing a bright red T-shirt. Noticing the cautious expression on the woman's face, she put on her sweetest smile.
"Hi, I was wondering if Max might be home?" She peeked around the door into the apartment.
"And you would be . . ." The statement was short, almost rude, but there was a sense of wariness and caution in the way she'd spoken. Maybe she does know something after all.
"Just an old friend from grade school." There, that would certainly settle it.
"Uh-huh." Original Cindy eyed her suspiciously. "How old a ---"
Just then the phone rang, cutting her off mid-question. She paused, looked her over for a second, and then motioned her to enter as she went to answer the phone. "Yeah . . . oh . . . her pills?" Then she lowered her voice a bit and turned to face the wall as she continued speaking with the person on the other end of the line, as if that would block the X5 across room from hearing all she had to say. "How bad? . . . she ok? . . . I'll be right over, aiight?" She hung up the phone and glanced across the room at her guest.
"Original Cindy don' mean to be rude, but she got a little . . . errand to run."
"It's the seizures, right? Max is having seizures." She put a hand on her hip. She'd bet good money that Max had told Original Cindy more than she had told Trish. Original Cindy narrowed her eyes, not quite sure how to answer the question. "Look, if I said I was a member of the barcode class of February '09, would that mean anything to you?" From the way one corner of her mouth tilted up, it was obvious that it did.
"Turn around, girl." Okay, if this was what it took. She checked to make sure that she was out of sight of the window. Knowing what she was looking for, she turned, pulling the hair aside just enough so that the barcode on the back of her neck was visible.
"So, you got any of that tryptowatsit on ya?"
"Did she run out?" She turned to face Original Cindy again, concern written on her face.
"Well, no, she's got some . . . it's just real complicated, girl." Original Cindy grabbed her coat and led her out through the door. "You betta come with me, suga'. All will come clear with time."