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Another awkward silence followed.

“Um. . . can I talk to you?” Ed finally asked.

Gaia had no clue what to make of such a question. She only knew that it kept her heart stuck somewhere between her esophagus and her trachea. She could see it in Ed's eyes. Something was wrong. And if it was wrong enough for Ed to break their little makeshift code of avoidance, then it had to be very wrong.

“What happened?” she blurted far too strongly.

Ed held out his palms in the universal sign for “stop.” “No, it's not—it's nothing too bad. I mean—I don't know. . . . I can't tell, but. . . ” Ed's eyes darted over to Chris and then back to Gaia. “Can we. . . talk
alone?” He gave a nod to Chris. “Sorry,” he said. “It will only take a second.”

Chris gave Ed a quick once-over. “No, it's fine.” He smiled.

Ed turned back to Gaia, but she was already shooting up from the stoop. Whatever was wrong, she wanted to know about it immediately.

Anesthetized Smile

THE SILENCE WAS SICKENING. IT
was quickly becoming so much worse than anything Ed could possibly have to say. Not to mention the proximity problem. Being face-to-face with Ed's eyes reflecting the glaring sun was leaving Gaia with a slew of indiscernible feelings that she very much wanted to sweep away. His hands were thrust deep in the low-hanging pockets of his jeans, and his hair was doing the messy thing it always did, and everything about him was so completely Ed that it was reminding Gaia of everything. Which was exactly why avoidance and distance were really the only way to go.

“I, uh. . . ,” Ed stammered.

“Look, just say it,” Gaia said, far more harshly than she had intended. Ed's eyes widened with surprise. A wave of guilt shot down her back. “I'm—I'm sorry; that wasn't supposed to—”

“No, it's okay,” Ed assured her. “You always snap when you're feeling. . . ” Ed shut himself up and glanced in five different directions before facing her eyes again. He knew everything about her. Everything. God, this was depressing.

“Are you sure you're okay?” he asked.

Gaia crossed her arms tightly to her chest, as if that would somehow keep the thousand thoughts running through her head from slipping out. “I'm fine,” she said, tight-lipped. “Look, Ed, if it's not serious, then let's just—”

“It's Heather,” Ed said.

Gaia blinked hard and tried to force herself to breathe easily. “What happened to Heather?” she asked.

“She's fine. She was just. . . She was worried about you and. . . she asked me to give you a message, and so. . . I said I would. I mean, I know we're not supposed to be—”

“Well, what happened?” Gaia interrupted. Her focus switched instantly to Heather, which at least helped her shove all those indiscernible Ed feelings back where they belonged. If anything else tragic had happened to Heather because of Gaia, she wasn't sure
if she'd be able to deal. “Did something happen to her?” Gaia's foot began to tap repeatedly against the sidewalk. Ed had to give her a piece of actual information that would break this unbearable tension.

“I'm not totally sure,” he said.

“Well, did something
happen
or
didn't
it?”

“Jesus, I'm
trying
to tell you—will you just give me a
chance?
”

Dead silence. Gaia felt another bolt of guilt shoot down her spine. She took a deep breath and tried to relax. But it wasn't working. “I'm sorry, Ed, I'm not trying to—”

“I know.” Ed took a long, deep breath of his own. “I do know. I'm just trying to give you a message, Gaia, that's it, okay? Heather couldn't reach you at home, and the only person she could think of to call was me. I don't think she understood that we don't. . . ” He blew out a puff of air and shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. “Here's the message. She said that some people came to visit her up at the school. Two men, I think. And she said they were asking a lot of questions. Questions about you, about your uncle. She said they were harassing her. She said she was worried that they might be coming to talk to you, and she thought that could be dangerous for you, maybe. . . . I guess that's it. I don't think they wanted her to tell you about them. I think they told her not to tell you about them. Do you think it's really bad, or—?”

“Was that all she said?”

“Well. . . I think she was pretty scared. But. . . a couple of guys asking some questions? That's not necessarily the end of the world, is it? I mean, I don't know. You know how your life works, and. . . I guess I could never really figure it out. Is this really bad or what?”

Gaia was silent.

“Gaia. . . ? Are you okay?”

That was a fair question. Because in spite of herself, Gaia had basically ceased to move. She was for all intents and purposes frozen solid. Her brain had done the math in about two seconds. Oliver's warning at the boardinghouse that night. . . about two men asking questions—two men he didn't trust, two men who had made him deeply suspicious, maybe even a little frightened. She'd been convinced that he was being paranoid—on edge after everything he'd been through with the Agency. She'd been absolutely sure that they were just CIA asking a few perfunctory follow-up questions.

But now she wasn't so sure. Now she wasn't sure at all. Now she was only sure of one thing. This little message from Heather had left her with one very sickening, depressing, pathetic, and most inevitable thought:

It was starting again.

Something. Something was beginning. Some
one
was starting another round of nightmares for Gaia
Moore. Not just Gaia, but everyone around her. As per usual. She was sure of it. She could just feel it. She could practically feel the hook digging into her back. She could feel herself being cast out into the water, and she could feel them coming. Sharks, piranhas, anything with teeth. Anything that could smell her out, track her down, rip her into pieces, and swallow her up.

Two men looking like CIA and asking a bunch of intimidating questions—that had to be the Organization. That was their MO. Everything about it reeked of the Organization. Was Yuri still giving orders from prison? Or Natasha? Tatiana? Somehow, some way? Obviously Oliver was out of the running. Loki totally would have started an operation this way, but there
was
no more Loki. But what about the others? Did they still even have them all in custody?

Which one of them was it this time? And what did they want? And
why?
These were the questions that Gaia would clearly be asking for as long as she lived—as long as she walked the earth.

Gaia Moore. . . this is your life. You know it. You've always known it.

Thoughts of new Gaia were burning up into cinders like useless wads of newspaper in a fire.

“Gaia? Jesus, are you home?” Ed was peering deeper into her eyes. “Is it really that bad? Come on. Tell me it's not that bad.”

“No, Ed,” she said finally. “No, it's not that bad. Don't
even worry about it. I'll give Heather a call. Thanks.” She was numb now. Maybe she could just stay numb for the rest of her days. Fearless and numb.
Ms. Anesthetic 2003. Step right up and check out the human vegetable. She won't react to positive or negative stimuli. She won't react to anything. Go ahead. Throw a brick at her head and see what happens. . . .

She had nothing more to say to Ed. That was the absolute here. Ed would never again be dragged into this five-year-long tragedy. Never. As far as Ed needed to know, everything was just absolutely, unequivocally
fine.

Ed, you go find Kai, and you two have a nice life. Maybe I'll see you someday in heaven or wherever.

“I gotta go,” Gaia uttered. “Thanks for passing on the info.” She pasted a lame Stepford-like smile on her face.

Ed stared at her for about five long seconds. “Sure,” he said tentatively.

And in the moment that followed, their eyes proceeded to have a lengthy and complex conversation about the entire history of their relationship and how and why they had gotten to this most depressing point. And the end of that unspoken conversation was clear: Ed knew Gaia far too well to buy her anesthetized smile. He knew there was much more going on in her head than she was letting on. But he understood: it had nothing to do with him anymore. It couldn't. It couldn't for both of their sakes, and somehow they had each come to accept it. So, with her
smile, Gaia silently begged Ed to leave it alone. And Ed silently agreed to pretend to believe her.

“So. . . bye, I guess,” Ed said.

“Bye,” she muttered.

And Ed turned around, and Gaia turned around. And that was that. Reluctant and awkward discussion from hell over.

Ed made a beeline for the school doors, and Gaia walked back toward Chris, who was still waiting for her on the stoop across the street. She could barely feel her feet or her hands as she walked. Or anything else, for that matter.

“What was that all about?” Chris was examining Gaia's demeanor carefully.

“Oh, nothing,” Gaia said, standing stock still like a robot. “That was totally nothing.”

“Wait a minute. . . . ” Chris got up off the stoop and took a step closer. He leaned his perfect face closer to Gaia's, and then he raised his delicate index finger up to her cheek. “Is that a tear?” He wiped the tear from her face as his expression grew more and more concerned.

“What? No,” Gaia insisted. She swiped at her cheeks quickly. She hadn't been the least bit aware that tears had begun to stream slowly from her eyes. It was the numb person's version of crying. Tears without a hint of emotion. Her body knew she was losing it even when she did not. And now she was embarrassed to all hell. She didn't want to show anything. Not a thing.

“Gaia, come on,
talk to me,
” Chris insisted. Now he had dispensed completely with his usual bright-eyed humor. Now he was 100 percent serious. “What is going on with you? You
have
to let me help you.”

“Why?”
Gaia heard herself cry. It had come entirely from out of nowhere, this sudden regurgitation of raw emotion. It must have been building up this entire time, just waiting to burst through her stone face the first chance it got. And now it was pouring out. To
Chris Rodke
of all people. A boy she hardly knew. It was downright mortifying. But Gaia couldn't seem to locate the turnoff mechanism at this point. Now the whole thing was unreeling, whether she wanted it to or not. “Why do you want to hear any of this?” she moaned. “You don't need this kind of crap in your perfect life, Chris. You just don't. I'm not worth the effort, believe me.
Run,
Chris. Tell your sister. Run while you can, before you end up like that poor son of a bitch who just walked back through those doors.”

“Okay,
stop,
” Chris bellowed. “Just stop. Stop and stay quiet and listen.”

Something about Chris's kind and commanding tone did the trick. Gaia quieted herself down and locked onto Chris's self-assured eyes.

“I don't know
what
you were just talking about,” he said calmly. “I have no idea what you did or didn't do to Ed over there, and I have no idea who or
what
has turned you into this sad tortured soul. But you know
what? I don't
need
to know. The details don't matter. The point is, I've been there, Gaia. I used to
hate
who I was. I hated myself. I was ashamed of my money, I was ashamed of being gay, and I just felt generally screwed by life. So you know what I did? I
changed
it. Me.
I
changed my life. I got some therapy, I started enjoying my money and spending it everywhere and on everyone I could, and I came the hell out of the closet.

“Gaia, what did I tell you in that hotel? What did I say? You said people never change—well, I say that is complete and utter bullshit. The only reason people don't change is that deep down inside, they don't really want to. But you're not them, Gaia, I can see that. You're dying to change. You're dying to transform. If you don't like your life, then change it.
You
have the power. Stop telling me all this crap about being cursed. Stop handing all the responsibility over to fate. Your life doesn't control you—
you
control
it.
If there's something about you that's holding you back from the life that you want, then don't just sit around lamenting it. Don't just sit there in the closet like I did and wallow in it. You go right now and you
fix
it. Right now. Because you can. Because you're in control.”

Gaia went totally silent. Chris Rodke certainly did like his speeches. But she had nothing against speeches when they were so completely, indisputably right. And that was the point of Gaia's silence. Not resistance, not doubt or disbelief. Just sheer unadulterated agreement.

Her whole damn life was always about
them.
It was always about what
they
were going to do to her next or to the people she loved. It was always about what thousand-ton weight the Fates were going to drop on her next. Everything always
happened
to Gaia. And Gaia never made anything happen.

But Dr. Ulrich was just sitting there, holding the key. The key to taking control of her own life. The key to giving those asshole Fates the finger once and for all. Along with all the rest of the scumbags and schemers out there just waiting to sink their teeth in. The nightmare cycle of Gaia's life didn't have to start again. It didn't. No one had to ask any more questions about her if there was nothing to ask about. And no one had to get hurt anymore if there was no reason to hurt them. Nothing had to start again.