9
"Your name came up again," D'Agosta said from the doorway, smiling crookedly.
"Do come in," Pendergast told him, stepping aside to allow the larger man to enter his abode.
"You left the scene of an accident."
"I gave the police officer who approached me my contact information, then departed, yes."
The police officer trailed his friend deeper into the mansion suspiciously, one hand unconsciously rubbing at his chest. "Where's the kid?"
"Amanda is directly behind you."
D'Agosta jumped, turning. "Don't get too close, kid."
She walked past him as though he'd been in her way, reaching the front parlor before them.
"Would you care for some refreshment?"
"I'd love a beer."
Pendergast knew his friend was being facetious. He offered a choice of seats to his guest, then took his own. The teenager sprawled comfortably across the loveseat beside him, as collected as a cat. D'Agosta grabbed a chair that was surprisingly heavy for its looks and dragged it nearer to Pendergast and the small, delicate coffee table before him.
"Okay," he said, consulting the view screen on his new phone, "let's see where this all begins."
"I went to pick Tristram up from the hospital."
"How is he, by the way? Okay? No cuts, no scrapes, no bruises?"
"He is taking a nap."
"I see. So…you were headed to Jersey…for a lovely drive in the country?"
"I had business to attend to."
"With your son?"
"He played a part in it."
The cop knew the FBI agent was intentionally being evasive. He honestly didn't care what Pendergast had been up to, and really hoped not to get involved any more than he already was. "And the girl?" he jerked a thumb toward the unusually quiet, passive teen.
"Yes."
"…and…Proctor was a witness, too?"
"I'm afraid so."
D'Agosta grinned. "I bet you are. So you're heading toward the GWB, and traffic is literally crazy."
"It was impossible to say exactly what had gotten into everybody," the pale man said. "One might say it was like a madhouse. Signals were malfunctioning, people were driving erratically, causing accidents."
"All along the exact route you happened to take from the hospital. And yet you never got in any accidents."
"The car is being washed and waxed by Proctor. You are welcome to examine it."
"Not like you have two of the same car and switched plates on it or anything?"
"I have no issue with you checking to see what specific vehicles I have registered," Pendergast responded.
"Of course not. I only mention it because…." he trailed off, startled by the sight of a tall pilsner glass dripping foam onto a coaster in front of him. He hadn't seen or heard anyone enter the room and refused to look at the girl. "I'm on the clock," he mentioned.
One corner of Pendergast's lips twitched upward. "Ice water? A cold lemonade?"
"I'd like to get out of here just as soon as I am able," the man said, nodding. "Now…I was saying…yes. Right. There was a report," he said, scrolling through the data, "of a fender-bender-"
"If my driver managed to damage someone else's vehicle, then I will of course take full responsibility. And if you need to photograph my car.…"
"Which I'm certain is in mint condition," D'Agosta sighed. "Okay. Cars were reported swerving right and left almost as if they were clearing a path, and you decided to take advantage of this truly astonishing coincidence by speeding right through it and several stoplights, too."
"I was not driving. That was Proctor."
"Certainly. Yada yada, here's a weird one…people reported taking turns down streets they'd had absolutely no intention of going down."
Pendergast spread his palms apart. "It was utter pandemonium. I kept looking up, trying to see between the buildings, wondering if there was some huge threat or something terrorizing everyone into foolhardy behavior."
"You saw nothing."
"Correct."
Beneath his breath, the cop muttered, "Neither did anyone else." Then louder, "so you hit the bridge and the traffic is still crazy, but only on the level and side you happened to be traveling on."
The man nodded.
"And then what happens?"
"What happens?"
"Yeah. With the big black Mercedes they're still trying to recover from the river."
"It went airborne."
"And how the hell did that happen?"
"I'm certain I don't know." Pendergast leaned forward to lift a teacup D'Agosta hadn't noticed before. "It was traveling at excessive speeds."
"As were you, so I understand."
"Well anyone would want to flee the situation, given the nature of the circumstances. I mean, it was dangerous to be on the road at all, and then the same bizarre behavior starts taking place on a bridge?"
"There's no way it was any kind of a pursuit then?"
"Not intentionally. Obviously," he said, setting the cup back down carefully, "if they were taking advantage of any gaps in traffic and we happened to be doing the same.…"
"Right," D'Agosta sighed.
The lean man crossed his legs and placed his interlaced fingers around the top knee. "As I recall, the black car—A Mercedes, did you say?"
This received a roll of the eyes.
"Yes. It was speeding and behaving erratically also…it was several car lengths ahead of us when it tried to ride on the outer edge of traffic, as if there was enough room! It came back down and tried to merge, and then somehow it went airborne…there was a limousine involved and a large bus…and then, quite to my surprise, it managed to go flying off the bridge!" He shook his head. "Highly disturbing."
"Oh, yeah," said D'Agosta. "And then what happened?"
"Well, Proctor tried to brake the car to avoid a collision and I leaped out and ran to the outer railing to see if I could see any survivors in the water down below."
"Sure, sure, right," the other man said, jotting down details in his notepad, despising a hand-held communications device that wasn't designed for thick fingers. "And what did you see when you got there?"
"Well," Pendergast said, running a hand across his hair. "I nearly went over the edge myself in my haste!"
"But you didn't."
"You see me before you."
"Did anyone else go flying off the bridge?"
"Not that I saw. Why? Did someone attempt to help the driver of the Mercedes?"
D'Agosta sat staring at the silvery-eyed man, wondering if he'd ever hear the truth or if he'd be better off never knowing. "Ah, no. Two people said they thought they saw you…or some guy in a dark suit anyway, go vaulting off the railing and disappear."
"Was it a suicide?"
"I guess we'll know if the divers recover any odd bodies."
"The current is strong. They may want to search the banks farther downstream."
"Oh, good point, let me write that down," Vincent agreed, not writing anything. "And, then there's this." He fiddled with the phone, irritated that it wasn't easy to operate for anyone over nineteen, finally calling up what he was looking for on You Tube. He handed the phone to Pendergast who stared at it briefly.
"I don't see anything."
D'Agosta took it back and pressed the screen, activating the play function, then passed the device back.
Pendergast watched poor quality footage of what looked like a dark figure shooting up to the side of the bridge.
"There's another one. D'ya need to see it?"
"Does it look the same?"
Nodding.
The agent said, "That's rather demented, don't you think? Giving someone false hope that their loved one is somehow all right by playing footage of a suicide backward?"
"Oh!" Vincent grunted, accepting the phone back. "Yes, when you put it that way it seems absolutely sick!" He turned the phone off and returned it to his pocket. "What the hell is going on?"
Pendergast reached again for the tea.
"Where the hell did that come from? That table was empty when we walked in here!"
"Are you certain?"
"No!" The man readjusted himself in the chair and ran a palm down his face, composing himself. He said more calmly, "This place is becoming a home for way-out, wayward, wacky weirdos! I know you're like eccentric and all…but this…this kind of bull crap defies science!"
Pendergast drank and regarded the gold-green liquid he swirled lightly within the porcelain cup. "Have you made any headway on our new friend?"
Turning his face away, the man grumbled, "I knew it…I don't know what the hell I know because I really don't know anything, but this is all somehow connected to her, isn't it?" He glared at the girl who stared back owlishly. "Except, how could it be? Because none of this makes any sense.…"
Another sip, and then, "You weren't able to find anything, were you?"
"No. Nothing. That hair sample won't be ready for another week or two." He leaned forward over his spread legs, elbows over his knees, hands clasped before him. "What is she?"
"Some kind of…biological weapon," the slender man suggested, shaking his head.
"Several people grabbed footage of the two of you walking around on that bridge. They missed the whole…rescue thing-"
"Flying?"
"No one can fly," D'Agosta grunted testily. "What I'm saying is, she's no longer your secret. She's in the hands of the public now, the great social exposure unit. Whoever made her, whoever she belongs to—they're gonna be coming for her soon." He leaned back again. "And what I need to know is…what are you gonna do about it?"
He let his focus drift to her. She sat watching Vincent, and he knew a part of her didn't trust him even though she had graciously offered him his wished-for beer. Pendergast felt entirely safe with her even though he didn't fully understand her and wasn't certain he ever would. Somehow they had become friends, and this suggested to him that she had to be human. She not only protected him no matter what, but was willing to do whatever it took to ensure the safety of those he cared about as well.
After arriving back at the mansion, he had asked Constance to make certain Tristram wasn't hungry, to suggest he bathe and don fresh clothing. The boy, bright eyed with excitement, grew very tired quickly, and so she had agreed to read to him until he fell asleep.
"I'm sorry I lost track of her," she had apologized. "I searched the entire house, and then I thought she must have run away."
"It's okay," he'd reassured her. "Everything turned out just fine."
To Proctor he'd mentioned having the car taken to a body shop for damage assessment. The man had nodded smartly and departed, only to return a moment later looking somewhat pale and saying, "Done."
Guessing what he'd meant, the agent had only nodded and allowed the frazzled chauffer to do as he pleased for the rest of the day in order to regain his normal sensibilities.
He'd examined his clothing, finding it spotless. It had smelled freshly cleaned and not of roadway or even salty air. Retiring to his room, he'd doffed his suit jacket and donned an old, rarely used lounging jacket, pairing it with slippers. Then he'd descended the stairs to find Amanda standing where he'd left her, a slight smile upon her features, prepared for whatever might come next.
He'd taken her down into the bowels of the property, requiring privacy, and then he'd perched upon a stool within his little medical-themed laboratory while she'd sat upon the examination table as before, watchful and patient.
For some time he found himself unable to express exactly how he felt. Then, finally, he simply allowed the words to flow.
"I don't know exactly what you did, nor how…but I am extraordinarily grateful for it. I…recently reached a point in my life when I thought it was no longer worth…the effort. Something I had treasured and lost was returned to me just as whole and wonderful as before, only to be cruelly extracted from my life yet again. You have shown me that the past is just that, and I do have something worth living for, something very dear and precious. When I nearly lost my son…I was willing to do anything to try and save him, even if it meant my sacrifice. I…despised you when you…you saved me," he said, still amazed at how it had occurred, "but then you showed me that I didn't have to go that far. I…am a very dark man," he admitted. "There are corners and shadows inside of me that even I prefer to ignore when I know it is to my benefit to expose them and properly clear them out. Your arrival in my life has presented me with challenges…." He hesitated, shaking his head. "I understand that I need not always attempt to maintain control, that things can and will work out whether I am forcing the issue or not. There are some things in life that are unexplainable—which I ought to know considering the life I have led—and there remains magic in those things that just happen, beyond any known laws, beyond any sane reason…." He rolled closer to lightly lay his hands upon her upper arms. "I want you to know that you are always welcome here. You are special. I'm afraid that word is inadequate…you are…a muse," he suggested, lifting his hands toward the ceiling, "some kind of an angel…or perhaps the most deadly and effective thing I have ever seen. I know that I will ultimately have to let you go…and after today it will likely be sooner than later. Oh, I hope your purpose is a noble one. The devastation I imagine you could cause otherwise…." He smiled at her and touched her hair. "You could make my life so much easier, everything I do go so much smoother." Pendergast chuckled lightly. "And yet…how can I keep you when I know there will be others asking questions and people undoubtedly attempting to spirit you away?"
He stood and bowed flamboyantly, casting an arm out to the side. "O spirit, spirit of benevolence, spirit of chaos, spirit of…dreams that walk beneath the sun. How say you, my good, dear friend? Will you remember me? Will you ever seek my company again?"
Head cocked to one side, she looked at him like he was crazy. She reached toward his chest and said, "You are a phoenix," as she made a fist.
He looked down and saw that she had hold of his modified family crest talisman, the one he wore upon a fine chain about his neck. His jacket remained neatly in place, his tie still knotted, his shirt buttoned to his throat…and yet there it was in her hand.
"Yes," he said softly, uncertain as to what he was agreeing to. There was indeed a phoenix on the metal disc. It was the one alteration he had made to the design to personalize it.
She smiled broadly, still holding it tightly.
He nodded, feeling wonderful without actually knowing why. "A phoenix. And you are a Quasar."
The smile melted and she became very serious. "You know then? Don't you? Where I go home to? From the bridge?"
Her chatter alarmed him. She sounded like she was about to depart too soon. "From the bridge? The one that we were on today? You…you live there?"
"No." She made a face. "Across the bridge? StarNet? ArtReal?"
"StarNet ArtReal." His eyebrows knitted. "They sound…almost like military code words. Were you created by the military? Do they own you?"
She gestured to the computer screen and he turned to see it was on, he was already logged in, and the Internet awaited.
He turned away to do a search on the words. He was actually beginning to grow accustomed to the surreal happenings surrounding her. Clearly she was possessed of some form of powerful telekinesis amongst other strange abilities. It was as if she could do anything in real life that one could do within one's dreams. ArtReal yielded sites about artists. StarNet was a foreign Internet provider among other things. If they were code words, they were unlikely to pop up in a regular keyword search. He added Quasar to the search, then all three words together and still nothing came up that sounded remotely connected to her. "Are you saying…that the place you came from is just over the bridge?"
She nodded vigorously.
"Do you want me to take you there?"
Her face fell. "Couldn't find it. Not here. This place is not home."
He racked his brain, trying to assist her. "What about…the cetacean room?"
"The what?"
"Where we were before you came here. Before you brought me to Rat Island?"
Her brow wrinkled. "That was just a dream."
He looked thoughtfully at her. "Are you somehow connected…to a dream research facility?"
She nodded. "ArtReal!"
"ArtReal is a dream research facility?"
"Yes!"
"And you…you definitely have something to do with dreams."
"Uh-huh!"
"Is that how you got here? We met…in our dreams?"
Now she shook her head. "Your dream. You needed help."
"How did you know I needed help?"
She gave a half-shrug, stopping herself in embarrassment. "Just knew."
"You just knew it. Are you psychic?"
Amanda looked at him strangely again.
"Or, you just knew it the way people sometimes just know things within their dreams? Like that music box…it does not exist anywhere in this house, you know. Yet, I was able to describe it to you…."
She nodded slowly.
"You can somehow travel through the dream realm. And…despite this being reality and not a dream, you retain all of your dream abilities, scientific theory be damned."
"Okay," she agreed.
He didn't know whether to believe her or not. She did foster that effect on him. "And, the people who…created you…they call you a Quasar?"
"One sixty-nine."
"You are experiment, prototype, soldier, something one sixty-nine."
"Quasar," she corrected.
"Quasar one sixty-nine."
"Yes."
Suddenly his face fell. "You mean there are at least one hundred and sixty-eight others like you out there?"
Now he faced his friend, Vincent D'Agosta and replied to his question with, "I am uncertain that anyone is actually looking for her nor any others like her. It may be that they were created to perform just as they are on their own-"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait a second. They? You know for a fact that there are others like her out there?"
"I do not know for a fact," he replied calmly. "But it may be that she was sent out into the world for a specific purpose, or that she and others of her kind, if there are any, may have possibly escaped some scientific or military setting, and do you have any idea how difficult it is to get her to do anything other than what she desires at any given moment?"
The other man said, "Nope. I'm afraid I don't know, don't really wanna know. If she's a handful, then for all I care she is your handful, but I do know that you need to try and keep the damage down to a minimum if you don't want the mayor sending you a big fat bill."
Constance arrived in the doorway and stood waiting patiently until Pendergast acknowledged her. She approached the loveseat and the Quasar chose to sit on the half nearest her new friend. "Tristram seems fine, just a little tired," she said.
"Thank you," her benefactor told her.
"Is she okay with this?" D'Agosta indicated the woman with his thumb.
"Am I okay with what?"
"With me allowing Amanda to remain here for as long as she wishes."
"Well that would depend," she said, "on whether the tale Tristram told me was true or not."
Pendergast smiled. "I assure you that it was."
She made a face and withdrew within herself a tiny bit. "She's…intriguing. She did save you. And him. But she did also disobey you…with fortunate consequences."
"Not for the guy driving the Mercedes," Vincent muttered.
Proctor walked by, then backtracked to announce that the Wraith was shiny and spotless inside and out. He lingered in the doorway, watching D'Agosta a little apprehensively.
"Every time I show up here, is the story just going to get weirder and weirder? People already think creepy things about you," he told his friend. "They don't like how everyone you're supposed to deliver due process to turns up conveniently dead. People are going to have a field day with this one, and my name's gonna get thrown into the mix. If I keep feigning innocence, I risk my job. This one's too big to sweep beneath the carpet. I have a harrowing suspicion it's only going to get worse."
Aloysius was actually uncertain if he could detach himself from the girl if he wanted to. He glanced her way worriedly. Was she powerful enough to keep him and his loved ones out of harm's way indefinitely? Would someone come looking for her and threaten their lives to get her back? Was there a trick to banishing her or otherwise rendering her vulnerable? Was she a danger to the citizens of New York?
"I was wondering if you had tried her name for you in a search on the computer."
He blinked at Constance. "Forgive me, what was that again?"
"Her little name for you? The one you told me…where she strung your initials together?"
D'Agosta tried, "Axel P.? She's been calling you Axel?"
"Yes, although I don't know why. I told her I prefer Aloysius, and she already knows my full name."
"Axel," repeated Proctor thoughtfully, trying to think of something it might relate to.
"It's an anagram," Constance told them, "for Alex."
At that moment her eyes went very wide and she inhaled sharply. Proctor stared at her, then where she was staring and jumped. Amanda's eyes lit and her face broke into a huge grin of joy. "Alex!" she said, clapping her hands together sharply.
"Alex?" Vincent repeated, not getting the connection.
"Where the hell am I?" asked Alex, gripping the arms of the chair like it might take off like a roller coaster.
"Jesus H.!" D'Agosta blurted, jumping so hard that his own chair hopped.
"What have you done to him!" Constance nearly shrieked.
The stranger in the chair Pendergast had just occupied patted himself down, ending with his cheeks. "Done to me?" He blinked at the almost hysterical woman. "Get a hold of yourself lady, yer given me the heebie jeebies."
D'Agosta was holding onto his chair and whipping his head around.
Proctor stepped forward and snarled, "What have you done with him?"
"I ain't done squat," the man replied. He looked at Amanda. "Where the hell have you been?" He glanced around the room. "What the hell is this place?" She threw herself across the arm of the loveseat and flung her arms about his neck.
Proctor halted his advance, unwilling to tangle with the teen.
"Oh, so you're familiar with her, huh?" said the guy knowingly. He put his arms around her. "You been scarin' the hell outta these people? You gotta stop disappearing on me like that!"
Vincent was on his feet, drawing his weapon. Constance was about to ask the man a question, but was interrupted when he keyed in on the armed guy and quickly blurted, "Home, Kid! Now!"
There was no miniature thunderclap as displaced air collided back into the space they had just occupied. It was silent save for Constance's quick, shallow breaths. They all stared at the spot where Pendergast had been, where a total stranger had just been, and watched the seat cushion return to its normal puffiness. For several heartbeats no one moved. Constance began to shake and pressed a hand to her heart and another to her forehead. "Lie down," Proctor ordered hoarsely, rushing to help her recline upon the loveseat.
"But Aloysius," she told him, her voice soft and cracking. "No! Aloysius!"
"What on earth just happened?" roared D'Agosta, gun drawn.
"I don't know," Proctor said shaking his head in agitation. "I don't know!"
"What on earth is all the ruckus?" came the Southern sweet tones of Pendergast as he rounded the corner from the hallway, disheveled, looking like he'd just awakened…from a hangover.
D'Agosta staggered back and laughed weakly. Proctor exhaled loudly and seemed to wilt with relief. Constance got up and banged her shin against the coffee table on her way to him, wanting to throw herself into his arms, but composing herself when she was close enough to register his bafflement.
"Is everyone all right?" he asked. "My heavens! You make enough noise to wake the dead!"
"What happened to you?" asked Vincent.
"Why…I just woke up." He glanced down at himself, then straightened with absurd dignity like a cat that didn't want you to know it had just climbed out of a well.
Constance stared at his attire. He was wearing the same outfit they had seen him in when they'd left the mansion to wait out the storms. "Where were you?" she asked.
"In my bed," he replied, his voice growing sharper with surprise.
"Just now?" Vincent asked.
"Yes. Have I missed something? Is there anything the lot of you would like to confess to me?"
Proctor tried, "What do you remember?"
"Remember? About what?" He checked his disheveled state and asked a little more meekly, "Was I knocked unconscious? Did one of you carry me to my bed?"
They all began talking to him at once, and while he attempted to restore order he received the impression that something very extraordinary had occurred and perhaps he had been out for longer than he thought. "Forgive me," he said loudly, placing a palm to his forehead. They all quieted down. "I have apparently lost time somehow. You all seem to be attempting to relate to me some story of which you claim I was a part of…but cannot recall."
Constance asked, "You don't remember Amanda?"
"Amanda…Amanda… Amanda who? Oh…no," he said to himself dismissively, then looked at them and chuckled. "I just had a very strange dream about a girl whose name happened to be Amanda, but that-"
"With black hair to here?" asked Proctor, turning to indicate the small of his back.
"Large pale blue eyes, and this tall?" Constance asked.
"Pale as a ghost?" Vincent suggested.
The man's jaw parted and he looked at them each in mild astonishment. "Then I could not have dreamed it… Will you stay, Vincent? I think we need to talk…."
"What's for dinner?" D'Agosta asked.
"I think we should order in," Constance said, turning toward the chauffer. "This may take awhile."