If Michael stepped out onto the little balcony he could see the Pacific Ocean in the distance,. but he had no use for views and usually kept the curtain closed. After his phone call to Gabriel, he made some coffee, ate a protein bar, and started calling real estate investment firms in New York. Because of the three-hour time difference, they were working in their offices while he was wandering around the living room in his underwear. "Tommy! It's Michael! Did you get that proposal I sent you? What did you think? What did the loan committee say?"
Usually the loan committees were cowardly or foolish, but you couldn't let that stop you. In the last five years, Michael had found enough investors to buy two office buildings and he was about to close a deal for a third building on Wilshire Boulevard
. Michael expected people to say no and he already had his counterarguments ready.
Around eight o'clock he opened his closet and picked out a pair of gray pants and a navy blue blazer. Adjusting a red silk necktie, he moved through the apartment, passing from one television set to another. Fires and the powerful Santa Ana winds were the big story that morning. A fire in Malibu was threatening the home of a basketball star. Another fire was out of control east of the mountains, and the television screen showed images of people tossing photo albums and armfuls of clothes into their cars.
He took the elevator down to the parking garage and got into his Mercedes. The moment he left his apartment, he felt like a soldier entering a battle to make money. The only person he could count on was Gabriel, but it was obvious that his younger brother was never going to get a real job. Their mother was sick and Michael was still paying for her care. Don't complain, he told himself. Just keep fighting.
After he had saved enough money, he would buy an island somewhere in the Pacific. Neither he nor Gabriel had a girlfriend, and Michael couldn't decide what kind of wives would be suitable for a tropical paradise. In his dream, he and Gabriel were riding horses through the surf and the two wives were slightly out of focus, standing on a bluff wearing long white dresses. The world was warm and sunny and they would be safe, truly safe. Forever.
Chapter 6
A brush fire was still burning in the western hills and the sky was a mustard-yellow color when Gabriel reached the hospice. He left his motorcycle in the parking lot and went inside. The hospice was a converted two-story motel with beds for sixteen patients with terminal illnesses. A nurse from the Philippines named Anna was sitting behind a desk in the lobby.
"It's good you're here, Gabriel. Your mother asks for you."
"Sony I didn't bring any doughnuts tonight."
"I love doughnuts, but they love me too much." Anna touched her plump brown arm. "You must see your mother right now. Very important."
The hospice aides were always washing floors and changing bedsheets, but the building smelled like urine and dead flowers. Gabriel took the stairs to the second floor and walked down the hallway. The fluorescent light fixtures in the ceiling made a soft humming sound.
His mother was asleep when he entered her room. Her body had become a little bump beneath a white sheet. Whenever he visited the hospice, Gabriel tried to remember what his mother was like when he and Michael were boys. She liked to sing to herself when she was alone, mostly old rock-and-roll songs like "Peggy Sue" or "Blue Suede Shoes." She loved birthdays or any other reason to have a family party. Even though they were living in motel rooms, she always wanted to celebrate Arbor Day or the winter solstice.
Gabriel sat beside the bed and took his mother's hand. It felt cold, so he held it tightly. Unlike the other patients at the hospice, his mother hadn't brought in special pillows or framed photographs to transform the sterile environment into a home. Her only personal gesture was when she asked that the room's television be disconnected and taken away. The TV cable lay coiled on a shelf like a thin black snake. Once a week, Michael sent a new bouquet of flowers to her room. The last delivery of three dozen roses was almost a week old and fallen petals had made a red circle around a white vase.
Rachel Corrigan's eyes fluttered open and she stared at her son. It took her a few seconds to recognize him.
"Where's Michael?"
"He'll be here on Wednesday."
"Not Wednesday. Too late."
"Why is that?"
She let go of his hand and spoke in a calm voice. "I'm going to die tonight."
"What are you talking about?"
"I don't want the pain anymore. I'm tired of my shell."
The shell was his mother's name for her body. Everyone had a shell and it carried around a small portion of something called the Light.
"You're still strong," Gabriel said. "You're not going to die." "Call Michael and tell him to come."
She closed her eyes and Gabriel went out into the hallway. Anna stood there holding some clean sheets. "What did she say to you?"
"She said she's going to die."
"She told me that same thing when I came on shift," Anna said. "Who's the doctor tonight?"
"Chatterjee, the one from India. But he went out for dinner." "Page him. Please. Right now"
Anna went downstairs to the nurse's desk while Gabriel switched on his cell phone. He dialed Michael's number and his brother answered after the third ring. There were crowd noises in the background.
"Where are you?" Gabriel asked.
"Dodger Stadium. Fourth-row seats, right behind home plate. It's great."
"I'm at the hospice. You need to come here right away."
"I'll drop by at eleven o'clock, Gabe. Maybe a little later. When the game's over."
"No. This can't wait."
Gabriel heard more crowd sounds and his brother's muffled voice saying, "Excuse me, excuse me." Michael had probably left his seat to walk up the steps of the baseball stadium.
"You don't understand," Michael said. "This isn't fun. It's business. I paid a lot of money for these seats. These bankers are going to finance half of my new building."
"Mom said she's going to die tonight."
"But what did the doctor say?"
"He left to get dinner."
One of the baseball players must have gotten a hit because the crowd began to cheer. "So find him!" Michael shouted.
"She's made up her mind. I think it might happen. Get here as fast as. you can."
Gabriel switched off the phone and returned to his mother's room. Once again he took her hand, but it was several minutes before she opened her eyes.
"Is Michael here?"
"I called. He's on his way."
"I've been thinking about the Leslies ..."
This was a name he had never heard before. At various times, his mother mentioned different people and told different stories, but Michael was right—none of it ever made sense.
"Who are the Leslies?"
"Friends from college. They were at the wedding. When your father and I went on our honeymoon, we let them stay in our apartment in Minneapolis. Their apartment was being painted . . ." Mrs. Corrigan shut her eyes tightly, as if she were trying to see everything. "Then we came back from the honeymoon and the police were there. Some men had broken into our apartment at night and shot our friends while they were lying in our bed. They meant to kill us and made a mistake."
"They wanted to kill you?" Gabriel tried to sound calm. He didn't want to startle her and stop the conversation. "Did they catch the murderers?"
"Your father made me get in the car and we started driving. That's when he told me who he really was ..."
"And who was that?"
But then she was gone again, drifting back into a shadow world that was halfway between here and far away. Gabriel continued to hold her hand. She rested awhile, then woke up and asked the same question.
"Is Michael here? Is Michael coming?"
***
DR. CHATTERJEE RETURNED to the hospice at eight o'clock and Michael showed up a few minutes later. As usual, he was alert and full of energy. Everyone stood in front of the nurse's desk while Michael tried to find o
ut what was going on.
"My mother says she's going to die."
Chatterjee was a polite little man who wore a white physician's jacket. He studied their mother's medical chart to show that he was aware of the problem. "Cancer patients often say things like this, Mr. Corrigan."
"So what are the facts?"
The doctor made a notation on the chart. "She may die in a few days or a few weeks. It's impossible to say."
"But what about tonight?"
"Her vitals haven't changed."
Michael turned away from Dr. Chatterjee and began to walk upstairs. Gabriel followed his brother. It was just the two of them in the stairwell. No one else could hear.
"He called you Mr. Corrigan."
"That's right."
"When did you start using our real name?"
Michael stopped on the landing. "I've been doing it for the last year. I just haven't told you. Right now, I've got a social security number and I'm paying taxes. My new building on Wilshire Boulevard
is going to be owned legally."
"But now you're on the Grid."
"I'm Michael Corrigan and you're Gabriel Corrigan. That's who we are.
"You know what Dad said—"
"Goddamnit, Gabe! We can't keep having this same conversation. Our father was crazy. And Mom was so weak that she went along with it."
"Then why did those men attack us and burn down the house?" "Because of our father. Obviously he did something wrong, something illegal. We're not guilty of anything."
"But the Grid—"
"The Grid is just modern life. Everyone has to deal with it." Michael reached out and touched Gabriel's arm. "You're my brother, okay? But you're also my best friend. I'm doing this for both of us. Swear to God. We can't keep acting like cockroaches, hiding in the wall whenever someone turns on the light."
***
THE BROTHERS WENT into the room and stood on opposite sides of the bed. Gabriel touched his mother's hand. It felt like all the blood had left her body. "Wake up," he said gently. "Michael's here."
She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw her two sons. "There you are," she said. "I was dreaming about both of you."
"How are you feeling?" Michael looked at her face and body, evaluating her condition. The tension in his shoulders and the quick way he moved his hands showed that he was worried, but Gabriel knew that his brother would never show it. Instead of accepting weakness of any sort, he always pressed forward. "I think you look a little stronger."
"Oh, Michael." She gave him a tired smile as if he'd just left muddy footprints on the kitchen floor. "Please don't be that way. Not tonight. I need to tell you both about your father."
"We've heard all the stories," Michael said. "Let's not get into that tonight. Okay? We need to talk to the doctor and make sure that you're comfortable."
"No. Let her talk." Gabriel leaned over the bed. He felt excited and a little frightened. Maybe this was the moment that it was finally going to be revealed—the reason for his family's pain.
"I know I've told you different stories," Rachel Corrigan said. "I'm sorry. Most of the stories weren't true. I just wanted to protect you."
Michael looked across the bed and nodded triumphantly. Gabriel knew what his brother wanted to say. See? What did I always tell you: everything was fake.
"I've waited too long," she said. "It's so difficult to explain. Your father was . . . When he said . . I didn't . . ." Her lips trembled as if thousands of words were fighting to get out. "He was a Traveler."
She looked up at Gabriel. Believe me was the expression on her face. Please. Believe me.
"Go on," Gabriel said.
"Travelers can project their energy out of their bodies and cross over into other realms. That's why the Tabula want to kill them."
"Mom, don't talk anymore. It's just going to make you weak." Michael looked disturbed. "We'll get the doctor in here and make you feel better."
Mrs. Corrigan raised her head off the pillow "Not enough time, Michael. No time at all. You have to listen. The Tabula tried to . . ." She began to get confused again. "And then we ..."
"It's okay. It's okay," Gabriel whispered, almost chanting.
"A Harlequin named Thom found us when we were living in Vermont. Harlequins are dangerous people, very violent and cruel, but they're sworn to defend Travelers. We were safe for a few years, and then Thorn couldn't protect us from the Tabula. He gave us money and the sword."
Her head fell back onto the pillow. Each word had drained her, taken away little pieces of her life. "I've watched you grow up," she said. "I've watched you both, looking for the signs. I don't know if you can cross over. But if you have the power, you must hide from the Tabula."
She closed her eyes tightly as the pain pushed through her entire body. Desperate, Michael touched her face with his hand. "I'm here. Gabe is here, too. We're going to protect you. I'm going to hire some more doctors, every kind of doctor ..."
Mrs. Corrigan breathed deeply. Her body stiffened, then relaxed. It felt like the room had suddenly gotten cold, as if some kind of energy had escaped through the little gap beneath the door. Michael turned and ran out of the room, shouting for help. But Gabriel knew that it was over.
***
AFTER DR. CHATTERJEE confirmed the death, Michael got a list of local funeral homes from the nurse's desk and called one on his cell phone. He told them the address, asked for a standard cremation, and gave them a credit card number.
"Is all this okay with you?" he asked Gabriel.
"Sure." Gabriel felt numb and very tired. He glanced at the object that was now concealed beneath a sheet. A shell without Light.
They remained beside the bed until two men showed up from the funeral home. The body was slipped into a bag, placed on a stretcher, and carried downstairs to an unmarked ambulance. When the ambulance drove away, the Corrigan brothers stood together beneath the security light.
"When I made enough money I was going to buy her a house with a big garden," Michael said. "I think she would have liked that." He looked around the parking lot as if he had just lost something valuable. "Buying her a house was one of my goals."
"We need to talk about what she told us."
"Talk about what? Can you explain any of it to me? Mom told us stories about ghosts and talking animals, but she never mentioned anyone called a `Traveler.' The only traveling we ever did was in that goddamn pickup truck."
Gabriel knew Michael was right; their mother's words hadn't made any sense. He had always believed that she was going to give them an explanation for what had happened to their family. Now he would never find out.
"But maybe part of it is true. In some way—"
"I don't want to argue with you. It's been a long night and we're both tired." Michael reached out and hugged his brother. "It's just the two of us now. We've got to back each other up. Get some rest and we'll talk in the morning."
Michael got into his Mercedes and drove out of the parking lot. By the time Gabriel straddled his motorcycle and revved up the engine; Michael was already turning onto Ventura Boulevard
.
The moon and stars were concealed by a thick haze. A fragment of ash drifted through the air and stuck to the Plexiglas visor of his helmet. Gabriel kicked into third gear and shot through the intersection. Looking down the boulevard, he saw Michael turn onto the ramp that led to the freeway. Four cars were a few hundred yards behind the Mercedes. They sped up, formed a group, and headed up the ramp.
It all happened very quickly, but Gabriel knew the cars were together and that they were following his brother. He kicked into fourth gear and went faster. He could feel the engine vibration in his legs and arms. Jerk to the left. Now to the right. And then he was on the freeway.
Gabriel caught up with the group of cars about a mile down the road. There were two unmarked vans and two SUVs with Nevada plates. All four vehicles had tinted windows and it was difficult to see who was sitting inside. Michael hadn't changed his drivi
ng at all; he seemed oblivious to what was going on. As Gabriel watched, one of the SUVs passed Michael on the left and cut back in front of him while another came up directly behind the Mercedes. The four drivers were in communication—maneuvering, getting ready to make a move.
Gabriel glided into the right lane as his brother approached the transition to the San Diego Freeway. They were all moving so fast now that the lights seemed to streak past them. Lean into the curve. Brake slightly. And now they were gliding out of the curve and heading up the hill to the Sepulveda Pass.
Another mile passed, then the SUV in front of the Mercedes slowed down while the two vans came up on the left and right lanes. Now Michael was trapped by the four cars. Gabriel was close enough so that he could hear his brother beeping his car horn. Michael moved a few inches to the left, but a van driver came back aggressively, slamming against the side of the Mercedes. The four cars began to slow down together as Michael tried to find a way out.
Gabriel's cell phone started ringing. When he answered it, he heard Michael's frightened voice. "Gabe! Where are you?" "Five hundred yards behind your car."
"I'm in trouble. These guys are boxing me in."
"Just keep going. I'll try to get you clear."
As his motorcycle hit a pothole, Gabriel felt something shift inside his messenger bag. He was still carrying a screwdriver and the adjustable wrench. Holding on to the handlebar with his right hand, he ripped off the Velcro strap, pushed his hand inside the bag, and grabbed the wrench. Gabriel went even faster and cut between his brother's Mercedes and the van in the far right lane.
"Get ready," he told his brother. "I'm right beside you."
Gabriel got close to the van and smashed the wrench at the side window. The glass cracked into intricate lines. He swung the wrench a second time and the window shattered.
For a brief moment, he saw the driver—a young man with an earring and a shaved head. The man looked surprised when Gabriel flung the wrench at his face. The van swerved to the right and hit the guardrail. Metal scraped against metal, sparks spitting out into the darkness. Keep going, Gabriel thought. Don't look back. And he followed his brother off the freeway and down an exit ramp.