“So if Sigma equals zero, that means you and your Proxy are almost identical?”
“If you have infinite Proxies, you’re bound to have billions and billions of them that are almost identical to you. I think this formula means something else.” He looks up and into space, his thoughts unfolding.
Neve watches him, feeling overcome by nostalgia. Being here feels just like one of their old study dates.
A curious smile overcomes Dylan, and he shifts on the couch to face Neve better.
“Alright,” he raises his hands like someone who’s about to pitch a brilliant new idea. “Imagine you’re done with med school, that you’re a world-renowned cardiologist like your mom.”
“Ugh.”
Dylan chuckles. “Now imagine one of your Proxies dropped out of school and wound up becoming this super famous artist. She lives in LA, owns her own art studio, and charges a ton of money for each of her pieces.”
Intrigued, Neve pulls her legs up on the couch and faces him with a tight smirk.
“Now… imagine there is this big, glamorous event that only the world’s elite are invited to.”
“In which dimension?”
“Both,” his brows rise.
A faint smile colors Neve’s expression. “This event is the common denominator,” she nods, “where both of my realities overlap.”
“It’s when your deviation from your Proxy is zero: you are both in the same place, at the same time.”
“We’re in Sync,” Neve says, her mind wandering back to how Galen put it: that you ‘feel connected’ to something much bigger than yourself whenever you Resonate with your Proxy.
She looks down at the formula, nearly certain that ‘R’ stands for Resonance. But when she looks up to meet Dylan’s gaze, her smile melts right off her lips.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hmm?” Dylan snaps to attention. “Oh—nothing.”
And Neve notices him pull his index finger off one of the ‘death’ nodes on the final diagram.
Her fears come full circle, reminding her of what their conclusions really mean.
“Can I just—” Dylan pulls the book onto his own lap and flips back to the table of contents. His finger traces down the list until it arrives at ‘Dreams’.
“Dylan,” Neve watches him flip to the designated chapter and start to read.
And the fold between his brows becomes deeper and deeper as his green eyes glide from left to right.
He flips to the following page, but a few words in, slams the book shut.
“It’s okay,” Neve starts to rub his back.
His breathing is rapid and shallow, and his body quivers every time he exhales.
“You’re fine. Just keep taking deep breaths,” she says, knowing exactly what he’s going through. She reaches up and runs her hand through Dylan’s hair, just like how she used to whenever they cuddled up on the couch.
“I’m okay,” he tries to brush it off, but it’s clear he is nowhere near over the hump.
“Let me get you some water,” Neve rises from the couch, but pauses. She bends down and takes Dylan’s face into her hands, and plants a gentle kiss between his brows.
His eyes fall shut, and for the first time, Neve feels what he felt every time he kissed her worries away: the joy of his frown unfurling beneath her lips.
Parting with Dylan’s smooth skin, Neve heads for the kitchen.
“I’m fine, Neve,” he calls after her as she opens the fridge. “It’s nothing new.”
Neve turns to face him with a pitcher of water in her hand.
Nothing new? Since when has he—
An aggressive knock on the front door makes her jump out of her skin.
“Jesus—” she puts the pitcher down on the black stone countertop. “I’ll get it.”
“Just leave it,” Dylan’s hushed voice reaches Neve from behind as she walks over to the door. She peers through the peephole, and suddenly jolts back with a horrified gasp.
“What’s wrong!?” Dylan springs to his feet.
‘Oh my GOD!’ Neve mouths as she rushes back to him. “It’s that guy,” she whispers, “it’s the creep that was following me!”
Chapter 19
Quandary
Despite gripping Dylan’s switchblade in her hand, Neve can’t rid herself of the fear wringing her insides. Hiding in his bedroom, she watches Dylan through a hairline gap between the door and its frame. Bursts of aggressive knocking continue to shake up the air, and Neve can’t imagine what will happen once Dylan swings the apartment door open.
How did her stalker find her? And how did he get into the building? Did a neighbor let him in? If so, how did he know which floor Neve ran up to? It’s not like the lift would have given her away, she took the stairs.
Unless… The stalker isn’t after her. He’s after—”
Neve flings her focus back onto Dylan as he looks through the peephole. His intensity diminishes a bit, making Neve wonder if it’s because he knows the man behind the door.
Is this whole thing just a huge misunderstanding?
Another burst of aggressive knocking.
“What do you want!?” Dylan shouts.
“RCMP! Open up!”
The police? Neve’s glare tightens as Dylan glances in her direction, looking completely puzzled.
Is her stalker just an undercover cop? But even if so, why is he after her?
Her heart drops.
Is this about the cemetery? Romer was convinced that they were being watched. Oh, she’s in so much trouble. And she can’t even explain what happened!
The sound of Dylan unclasping the locks beckons her attention.
No, don’t! Tell them I’m not here!
The instant Dylan opens the door, a group of men in black uniforms flood the foyer. Two of them grab Dylan by his shoulders and arms, and bend him over the kitchen counter.
A choked grunt escapes Dylan as his face collides with the stone surface, and Neve jolts back, covering her mouth at the sight of her stalker walking into the apartment following the initial flurry.
His hollow gaze scours his surroundings until it fixates onto something further ahead of him. He then heads towards the living area, out of Neve’s narrow range of vision.
“What’s going on?” Dylan demands.
“You’re under arrest,” says the thick-necked alpha applying his handcuffs.
“For what!?”
Moments later, the stalker reappears in the foyer, slipping Galen’s book into a protective plastic case.
What..? Neve gawks at him. The book was in her purse. How did he know she even had it!?
Something’s wrong. Something’s seriously wrong. And not the kind Neve can fix by bursting out of the bedroom and claiming the blame.
These men seem dangerous.
All this over a book?
Neve’s stalker scans his vicinity, gives the alpha in charge a terse nod, and then disappears into the hallway with the book in his possession.
“What the hell is going on!?” Dylan demands.
The man who cuffed him grips the back of his neck and pulls him off the counter without uttering a word. He then—with the aid of two others—escorts Dylan out of the apartment.
Those who remain behind start to toss the place.
But they got the book, Neve thinks. What else are they looking for?
She can’t think. Everything is happening too fast. She needs to buy herself some time till she can figure something out. But with the men guarding the front door, running is out of the question.
She needs a better place to hide. But where? The closet? Under the bed? They’d find her in seconds.
The moment the men are out of her direct line of sight, she slides out of the bedroom and scampers all the way down the adjacent hallway, opens the very last door, and sneaks into the laundry room.
She gently shuts the door behind her, but realizes it doesn’t lock from the inside.
Shit!
As sh
e turns around in a state of panic, her eyes are stung by the glare of a big, bright square in the ceiling.
Her pupils constrict, but once her eyes adjust, she realizes what she’s looking at is not a light fixture, but a rooftop-access hatch!
It’s almost unbelievable.
She bolts to the back of the room and climbs the narrow metal ladder two rungs at a time. She fiddles with the snap-closure of the hatch, and then pushes up against it.
The hinge squeaks, pinning her in place like a thumbtack on a map. She can’t seem to open it any further without it making more noise, so she rests the weight of the door onto her back and struggles through the narrow gap.
Once her feet have cleared, the door falls shut with a loud and echoing bang.
RUN.
She breaks into a sprint towards the rooftop exit, ready to explode through it. But at the touch of the door handle, she suddenly hesitates.
What would a cop do in a situation like this?
Cover all exits.
Her realization punctures her like a bullet wound, her hope spilling out.
She turns around, expecting to be met with one of the men in her pursuit. Instead, she witnesses a row of rooftop hatches trailing behind the one she just emerged from.
Her eyes widen. The very last hatch is open, its door resting onto its retaining arm.
A sound comes from inside Dylan’s unit.
They’re coming.
Neve pushes on the stairwell exit and swings it open so hard that it slams against the inner wall.
She then sprints past Dylan’s hatch towards the opposite end of the roof, and climbs down through the neighbor’s open hatch into their laundry room.
She bangs her fist against the retaining arm and catches the hatch door as it falls down on her.
A moment later, she hears the same squeak that gave her away, and watches the back of a man’s head emerge from Dylan’s hatch—just in time for him to witness the rooftop exit door swinging shut.
With a burst of static, he relays this information over radio, and Neve knows her diversion was at least somewhat successful.
She lowers the hatch door into its frame, locks it, and exhales the breath she’s been holding onto.
She crawls down the ladder and curls up in the corner of the room, but it’s no good. She’s still in full view of anyone who might walk by on the roof.
A coarse and assertive voice draws her attention from inside the apartment unit. She is almost certain it belongs to one of the cops who partook in Dylan’s arrest.
Between him and the cop manning the roof, her only viable escape routes have been compromised.
She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to think a way out of this mess. She’s already managed to outsmart them once, so it’s not impossible.
Think! What else would a cop do?
What wouldn’t he do?
Her eyes fly open.
She checks that the coast is clear up on the roof, and then bolts towards the dryer and looks inside.
It’s a long shot, but it’s her only shot.
She pulls the hamper towards her and rakes out the dry clothes, sizes up the inside of the machine, and with substantial effort, crawls into it.
Tight, bumpy, and painful.
But she fits!
She reaches out, grabs a handful of clothes from the hamper, and starts to restock the confinement. It doesn’t take much to conceal her, but she pulls it all back in. She just can’t risk tipping off the owner. The hatch being locked from the inside is already a huge discrepancy.
She grabs the dryer door and shuts it as gently as she can. With it, what little light was seeping through the folds in the clothes is snuffed out.
And now it’s a waiting game.
There’s barely enough air in here to sustain her for a few minutes, and she’s already starting to feel dizzy from the thick scent of fabric-softener.
Her heart is drumming against her ribcage, and her folded legs pressing onto her chest won’t let her take a deep breath. But if there’s the slightest chance that she can evade those men—those aggressive and frightening men—
Dylan.
With the thought of him, a pang of anxiety stabs the inside of her chest.
If Galen’s book was what those men were after, then this entire thing is undeniably her fault.
What is she going to do?
What are they going to do?
Her thoughts and breathing cease immediately as the door to the laundry room is swung open.
“Here we are,” a woman’s voice announces. “What exactly has she done, again?”
She? So it was her they were after.
Another burst of static is followed by a muffled mumble. Either they’ve caught onto her little stunt and she’s about to be yanked out of the dryer, or—
“Thanks for your time,” says the coarse voice, and then the laundry door moans shut with a small click.
Neve breaks into a silent sob.
Her purse, along with her keys and wallet are still back at Dylan’s.
If they didn’t already know who she is, they sure as hell do now. And even if by some miracle Neve manages to snag her keys back, going home would most likely mean walking straight into their trap.
What has she gotten herself into?
What was Galen so afraid of?
What if the book isn’t even his? Did he use Neve to smuggle out someone else’s property!?
With every labored breath, the consequences of knowing about Galen’s theories become even more terrifying.
Knowledge is power. And people kill for power.
What is she going to do?
Chapter 20
Hollow
Romer sits by himself on a small stretch of beach, gazing at the blue harbor beyond. Light and warmth come and go as mild gusts of wind drape off the sun, making the atmosphere waver back and forth between blue and gray. And today, instead of squawking seagulls or giant cruiseship horns, it’s Neve’s shrill cries that echo in his mind.
He remembers the way she looked up at him, her big, brown eyes amber in the sunlight. How her tears had cut trails through the dirt on her cheeks, and how her heart was drumming against his lower chest like a little hummingbird.
But what he remembers most vividly is how just moments before, her grip was hard enough to crush the bones in his wrist. Hard enough for Isaac’s blade to break upon contact with her flesh.
He squints as his mind draws parallels between the two incidents.
At the prison yard, his life was on the line. At the graveyard: Neve’s.
Survival mode. Life or death.
Is that what it takes.? Is that why whenever his emotions are heightened, inexplicable things start to happen all around him?
He rises to his feet, pats the sand off the back of his jeans, and starts towards his workshop.
Up ahead, a row of industrial buildings run along the train tracks like a brick fortress, separating the harbor from Gastown. But unbeknownst to even the locals, Romer knows a way through which cuts his trip in half.
He dips under a broken chain-link fence, then cuts across the tracks towards a narrow gap separating two abandoned factories.
He turns to his side and slips into the divide—an efficient shortcut, but not a comfortable one.
Halfway through the passage, his phone vibrates.
He retrieves it from his back pocket, careful not to scrape his leather jacket against the walls.
Neve… A faint smile sweetens his lips.
Think I’m ready for my cape.
He clears his throat and receives the call. “Hello?”
“Romer—thank God!” Neve breathes heavily into her phone. “I’m so sorry. I’m just—I didn’t know who else to call.”
Her urgency alarms him. “What’s wrong?”
“The cops are after me,” Neve whispers. Her voice is somehow loud and muffled.
Romer frowns. “Why?”
“I don’t know for sure. They came
over to Dylan’s looking for me I think, but arrested him instead.”
“Well that makes perfect sense.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Where are you? Why are you whispering?”
“I’m in Dylan’s neighbor’s dryer.”
Silence.
“Is that slang for something?”
“What? No, no I’m hiding. I’d leave, but there’s no way to know if they’re still searching the area.”
Is this a prank, Romer wonders?
He tilts his head back and shuts his eyes. “Neve—I got a lot of work to do.”
“I swear, I’m not messing with you. This guy was following me on the street, and less than an hour later, he shows up at Dylan’s with a bunch of cops.”
“How do you even know they were after you?”
“I overheard one of them.”
“What did you do?”
“I hid in Dylan’s room, then I—”
“No, forty-watt. What did you do that made the cops come after you in the first place?”
“Well, that’s just it. I’m not even sure they were the cops. They said they were RCMP, but something was really off about them.”
“Like what? Their belts didn’t match their shoes?”
“They didn’t ask for Dylan’s ID. Just barged in and arrested him. They didn’t even read him his rights.”
Romer suddenly feels a tight, painful heaviness in his gut. “What?”
“The Miranda rights? You have the right to remain silent,” Neve starts to recite from memory, “anything you say—”
‘May be used against you in a court of law—’
Romer’s mind wanders back to the worst day of his life.
Suddenly he is standing in the middle of a police barricade, staring at the bloody body of a child being strapped to a stretcher.
All he sees are flashing sirens.
All he hears is the wailing of a broken father.
And all he feels are the steely handcuffs biting his trembling wrists.
“Romer?” Neve’s voice frees him from his waking nightmare, but the wretched self-hatred continues to wreak havoc inside him.
He leans forward and rests his forehead onto the cold brick. He feels faint. There isn’t enough air. It feels like the walls are closing in.