Resonance (49 page)

He clutched the note to his chest. He'd done it! And then he was running.
She
was outside. Annalise Fifteen. He'd found her. He'd told her he would.

He raced down the stairs, bounding onto the landings. Two people pressed themselves flat against the wall as he clattered past.

"What's the matter with him?" one said to the other.

Couldn't they see? Didn't they recognize true happiness when it nearly knocked them over on the stairs? He started laughing, laughing and running. He felt like he could do anything. He felt like he could run and run forever.

He reached the ground floor, a grinning, giggling idiot running along the back corridor, past the Post Room, not caring who saw him or what they thought. He dodged past the lunchtime stragglers in the entrance lobby, fixed his eyes on the pavement and exploded into the light.

Where was she? He was on the pavement outside the DTI, spinning, his hand shielding his eyes. She had to be here, she had to!

Had he flipped again?

"Graham! Over here!"

He turned. She was leaning out of a car window, the car double-parked, Annalise waving, her hair shining in the sun. He started to run, the car door opened. They met by the curb. Graham kept going, sweeping her up and swinging her around so fast they toppled against the boot of a car.

"It's really you, isn't it?" she said as they untangled themselves.

"It's really me. I told you I'd find you."

"Come on!" shouted a woman from the car. "We're late as it is."

Annalise and Graham piled into the back of the car. Graham pulled the door shut behind him and was immediately thrown against the rear seat as the car accelerated away.

"Time to get changed, Graham," said Annalise, handing him a police helmet and uniform. "Disguise," she said. "There are twenty Graham and Annalise look-alikes heading for Ladbroke Road. We're going to be the ones who don't look like us."

Annalise pulled what looked like a long black dress over her head. "I've converted to Islam," she said as her head reappeared. "It was either this or become a nun."

"You could have dyed your hair," said the woman driver.

"That's Jenny," said Annalise, "She's our fairy godmother."

Graham stared at Annalise. She was amazing. Ninety minutes ago, she hadn't known he was coming. Now she had twenty look-alikes and two fancy dress costumes.

"How did you find time to get these costumes?" he asked.

"They're not costumes," said Annalise. "They're the real thing. Thanks to Jenny and her horde of contacts."

The car stop-started through the London midday traffic, switching lanes and accelerating whenever it could. Graham slid in the back seat, trying to get changed and wishing his arms were articulated differently.

He noticed Jenny watching him in the mirror. He wondered how much she knew. And how much she'd guessed.

"Doesn't seem to be anyone following us," said Jenny. "The look-alike convoy at the flat must have worked."

"Trouble is they don't need to follow us," said Annalise. "They know where we're going."

Jenny pulled the car over two blocks from the police station. Graham grabbed his helmet and followed Annalise onto the pavement. Jenny leaned out the driver's window, gave last-minute directions and wished them luck. "See you in five minutes, she said, pulling back into traffic.

Annalise clipped her veil over her face. He wouldn't have recognized her, covered head to toe in black.

"Graham," she said. "I'm a married woman, you shouldn't be staring."

They split up as arranged—Graham walking on ahead, Annalise following slowly behind, letting the gap between them grow to forty, fifty yards.

As soon as they separated, he kicked himself for not asking her how the other Grahams were doing. He checked his watch. It had been nearly twenty minutes since he'd left the room. How was everyone coping? Were the girls keeping it going? Were the Grahams running out of choices? Were they . . .

More guilt. He'd been so busy worrying about himself and how to stop the resonance wave he hadn't stopped to consider the other Grahams. What was this doing to them? Some would see a room unravel before their eyes. One second they'd be an anonymous guest at a party, next they'd be the center of attention, people asking them for help, people in tears.

What had he done? Had he made things worse? Was he going to prosper at the expense of others? They might be scarred for life—even more scarred than they already were. Freaks to be pointed at—"That's Graham, the one with the visions. Where's my message, freak, why'd you leave me out?"

An orange-haired Annalise look-alike appeared ahead of him, briefly pulling him out of his despondency. He'd have to make amends. Whatever it took. He had to make sure the Grahams were okay.

Other look-alikes appeared, on both sides of the road, each with a look-alike Graham in tow. He wondered if that was an omen. Fate parading anonymous Grahams in front of him, every one of them a target whose sole purpose was to allow him—the one Graham—to arrive unmolested at his destination. The one Graham, the selfish Graham, the unexpendable Graham.

He suppressed the desire to rip off his uniform and shout his name to the rooftops. He'd make amends. But not now.

He increased his pace, moving up to a brisk march, took a deep breath, two. He had to concentrate. He saw the entrance on his right, a flight of steps. Two look-alikes were already there. They jogged up the steps. Graham followed. He was inside. Jenny was waiting, she was waving him over. He slipped off his helmet, ran to her and, suddenly, everything slipped into dream time. Three, four men appeared alongside, their hands supporting him, guiding him through labyrinthine twists and turns. A door opened, he was led inside, a large window, six men lined up against a wall, he recognized one, picked him out.

"Are you sure?" someone said.

"Yes," he heard himself say. "That's him."

A scene repeated four times.

A gaggle of lawyers and detectives huddled in the corner. Graham used the opportunity to drag Annalise away from Jenny. "What's happening with the Grahams?" he whispered, praying that he would have the strength to cope with the answer.

"It's working," she said. "Some of the Grahams are freaking out but we're getting through to them. Even if they can't talk, they're making choices. And the girls are prompting like crazy. Passing on details of everyone you helped."

"It's still going on?" He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. He'd hoped it would be over in an hour.

"Do you think I should . . ."

She grabbed his arm. "You're not going anywhere," she said. "You've done your bit."

"But . . ."

"No buts. The girls have it under control." She tilted her head to one side. "I'm listening to them now."

"You can hear them all? At the same time?"

She smiled. "If I wanted to go insane I could. I tune them in and out, though they're not at their most lucid at the moment. It's one crazy circus out there."

He wondered how long they could keep it going. And how many Grahams they'd reached. Was it just the same Grahams cycling back and forth or had they reached out to the billions as he'd hoped? And did it matter? Was it the strength and number of flips or the breadth across the worlds? If he'd been a scientist, maybe he'd have stopped and run more simulations beforehand.

He looked at his watch. 1:31. The party would be finishing soon. Maybe it already had? Maybe most Grahams had only stopped by for the first ten minutes?

Jenny came over.

"They've charged the four men and grounded Sylvestrus's plane."

Graham forced a smile. Annalise and Jenny embraced.

"They'll need to take your statement next, Graham," Jenny said. "Jerry'll be with you. if you have any questions . . . Graham?"

Something strange was happening. Jenny's voice had receded.

"Graham!"

Annalise's face ballooned into view, strangely elongated as though a giant hand had stretched it apart.

"No, Graham. You can't!"

Graham's head spun. He needed fresh air. The world was closing in on him, he felt disorientated. He couldn't trust his eyes and ears.

Panic! He was flipping. He reached out. His hand tapered away twenty yards distant and receding. Annalise was at the end of a long dark tube, a ray of golden orange in a night sky of starless black. He grabbed with distant fingers, felt them close around something soft, something warm. He tightened his grip and hung on. Someone screamed, the sound reverberating slow and deep, a painful scream stretched out and drawn.

Annalise sprung back into vision, the tube receding, lengthening, Annalise dancing back and forth on the end of his arm. Never in focus, always painted on a stretched canvas. Voices speeding and slowing, everything out of kilter.

Annalise disappeared. Jenny too. The room stayed. The same decor, the same sparse furniture, different people. Then no people. Then a different room. Open plan. No police. An office. A police station. An office again.

Images cycled faster and faster. He was outside. Rain was falling on his face. He was standing on a pavement, a field, a road. The sky was blue, white, black. The buildings opposite flickered with the sky. They rose and fell, gave way to green fields, castle walls, tower blocks, space ports, a forest.

Faster and faster. His head spinning. All noise compressed into a single hum. All images into one confused blur.

And then blackness.

Silence.

And pain.

He was lying in a bed. White ceiling, white walls, a clear plastic pouch hanging above his head.

He was in a hospital? A pain hit him behind the eyes when he tried to move. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing appeared to happen. Was he badly injured?

He tried to recall what had happened. He remembered the birthday party and the police station and . . .

No! He couldn't have. After everything he'd done, the preparation, he couldn't have flipped. There couldn't have been another Graham in the police station.

Could there?

A monitor somewhere in the room beeped.

And what was he doing in a hospital?

And why couldn't he move? His muscles felt nonexistent. They . . .

Was he in a coma?

Was he paralyzed?

Had he flipped into the body of a comatose Graham?

"Graham?"

Annalise's voice! Had he flipped into Annalise Twelve's world?

He tried to speak. Maybe he was coming out of the coma? Maybe there was hope?

His mouth refused to cooperate.

Annalise's face loomed over his. Twelve had orange hair. The same as Fifteen and Seven.

He moved his eyes, flicked them left and right to show her he was alive.

"He's coming round," shouted Annalise over her shoulder.

Another face appeared. A doctor. She looked like Shikha but she couldn't be. Her hair was shorter and . . .

Jenny? What was Jenny doing in this world. He could see her at the foot of the bed.

"Graham," whispered Annalise, leaning over close to his ear. "You did it. The link's broken. All the Grahams collapsed at the same time. The girls got theirs to hospitals. I'm sure the others are okay too."

He struggled to say something. Was he going to live? Was she really Annalise Fifteen? Was it over? Was Sylvestrus in custody?

"You're going to be fine. The drugs will wear off soon. All the Grahams will be fine. Sylvestrus is on his way to South America, on the run and discredited. His driver and bodyguard have agreed to testify against him."

He fell asleep sometime after that.

Graham returned to work the next day. To clear out his desk and appease his conscience. He had to find all the people he could have helped the day before if he hadn't been in such a rush to free Annalise.

He scrolled through the staff list, ticking off the names in his head—Holly, Stephen, Colin—and wondered how they'd react. Yesterday he'd been the idiot savant touched by God, every word he'd uttered had been gospel. But today? Today, his name was all over the papers. The mysterious victim in the ParaDim scandal. The friend of the Flame-Haired Firestarter. The Annaliscious babe's not-so-photogenic sidekick.

"Graham?" A voice from the doorway made him turn. Sharmila was standing there, her eyes wide open with surprise. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in a hospital. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine now, Sharmila," he said. "Thank you for asking. How are you?"

They chatted—uneasily at first—words clicking against his dry pallet. He told her he was leaving, taking a holiday until he worked out what to do with the rest of his life. He probed her about Holly and the others. She asked him about Annalise and the newspapers.

The delivery bay doors swung open.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Post-it," said Ray. "On a flying visit, are we? Girlfriend kicked you out?"

"Shut up, Ray," said Graham.

"It speaks?" said Ray, his eyes beginning to sparkle.

"It bites too," said Graham, amazed at how easily the words came. And at how small Ray really was. What was he? Five and a half feet? Five and a half feet of swagger and mean-spirited pettiness.

"So, the big man's gonna bite me, is he?" said Ray, opening his mouth and spreading his arms wide in mock fear as he sauntered towards Graham.

"Ray!" warned Sharmila. "Leave him alone."

Graham stood up and looked Ray straight in the eyes. The shorter man kept coming, not stopping until their chests almost touched.

"Do you really want to do this?" Graham asked.

"What?" said Ray, defiant, contemptuous.

"Be an idiot all your life."

Ray stiffened. "Who you calling an idiot?" he snapped.

"You," Graham said. "You pick on people for fun. You delight in other people's embarrassment and . . ."

"And what? Do tell?" A finger poked Graham hard in the chest. The finger turned into a hand, the poke into a shove. "Come on, Graham, what's the matter? Cat got your tongue again?"

Graham shoved back. Hard. Then stopped. "This is ridiculous," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not going to fight you."