Vaporware (33 page)

“Hi.”

“Ryan?
Don’t tell me you have to stay late tonight.” Her voice was worried, not angry.
“The lasagna’s in the oven already.”

“No,
no, no,” I said, doing my best to be reassuring. “It’s the exact opposite. I’m
coming home now.”

There
was a pause, then a burst of static. Individual words came through, “can’t” and
“what” and “call back.” Then it faded, letting me hear Sarah’s voice. “Ryan?
Are you there? Ryan? This isn’t funny. Just let me know if you’re coming home
tonight, okay?”

“Sarah?”
I said, and got that flat, dead tone that’s an absence of the phone’s mike
picking up your voice, a sure sign that it wasn’t getting through. “Look,
Sarah, if you can hear me—”

“She
can’t hear you,” Blue Lightning said, and then the connection dissolved into
howling static.

Deliberately,
I put the phone in my pocket before turning to face her. It was a small thing,
maybe, a way of demonstrating that I wasn’t entirely at her beck and call.

If
it worked, she didn’t show it.

She
was perched on one arm of the guest chair, balanced perfectly on something that
should have supported neither her weight nor her pose. One foot in front of the
other, crouched down like a hunting cat ready to leap upon its prey, she looked
at me with wide eyes. “I could have done more than block your call, you know,”
she said. “I can imitate your voice. I could call her and have her think it’s
you. I could say terrible, terrible things to her and have her think you said
them.”

“Why
didn’t you,” I said warily, and thought of “Sarah” supposedly calling Eric.
“And why would you want to?”

“Silly.”
She leaped off the chair without so much as a millimeter’s disturbance in where
it sat. “I wouldn’t do something like that. It’s not nice. Besides, I don’t
need to do anything like that. You’re mine already. You just need a little more
time to figure it out.”

I
shook my head. “I’m not anybody’s. And whether or not I…finish my work on you
has nothing to do with Sarah.”

She
put a cool finger to my lips. A tiny spark jumped from her fingertip to the tip
of my tongue, making me taste ozone and smoke. “It’s got everything to do with
her. And here. And what you do from now on.” Her finger slid along the side of
my mouth, catching the faintest hint of moisture between my lips, and trailed
along my jawline. I found myself holding still, hardly breathing. She stepped
closer to me, and I became aware of how intensely female this thing I’d created
was, how much sexuality I’d hidden in her creation and my imagination. Her
every move was a hint at what else that body might be capable of, in love or
war or both. The sleekness of her skin, the play of muscle underneath it and
the smooth curves of her flesh, all said “sex” even though she’d been designed
to deal death.

“Please,”
I said. “I need to get home.”

“Do
you?” She stepped even closer, pressing her body against mine. I could feel the
heat of her now, warm in all the right places to let me know she wanted me, and
without wanting to I felt myself responding. “Maybe you should work late
tonight. You’ve got so much to do.”

One
step back was all I had, and then my back was against the wall. I took it, and
she closed with me. “I’m going home,” I told her, “And I’m doing it right now.
We can talk tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow.” I gulped down air through a throat
that felt like it had been twisted shut. “But not tonight. Not now.”

“If
you say so.” She laughed, and her finger tickled my ear before she pulled it
away. “But I think you want to stay.”

“Not
tonight,” I said, trying to put a little more finality in my voice, and turned
away from her. “That’s all I can say right now.”

“Oh,
all right.” Her voice dropped to a pouty whisper. “By the way, it was very
selfish of you to get those other boys fired. You didn’t need to be jealous,
though. You’re the one I really want. The one I really need.”

“Is
that true?” I asked, but she was already gone.

Chapter 26

“Good
night,” I told Sarah, and kissed her on the back of her head.

She
sneezed. “Bless you,” I told her, and kissed her again.

“It’s
not funny.” She sniffled once, experimentally. “I’ve been sneezing all week
when I come home.”

“Not
at the office?”

“No.”
She sniffled again. “And I have no idea why. It’s worst when I’m in here.”

“Maybe
you’re allergic to me,” I said, spooning up behind her. “Any minute now you’re
going to break out with gigantic purple spots.”

“Stop
it,” she said, making feeble batting motions in my direction. “I think I need
to go see an allergist.”

“OK.”
I held her for a minute. “I think I got some people fired today at work,” I
said finally.

“I
was wondering.” She rolled over to face me. “You were acting so strange during
dinner. Not that I wasn’t glad to have you home, but still.”

“Weird
day,” I admitted, “and a rough one. I got into some arguments at work, and I
slipped in the break room, and then Eric called me on the carpet and I had to
come clean about some stuff that I’d been sort of covering up for the guys.”

“Oh,
babe, I’m sorry.” She reached out to stroke my face gently, her fingers tracing
up and down where a few hours ago, Blue Lightning had run one finger across.

I
tried not to think about that.

“Are
you all right? Do we need to get you to a doctor?” I caught her hand in mine
and wound our fingers together, held her tight, hand to hand and arm to arm.

“I’m
fine,” I said. “I just need a good night’s sleep.”

Sarah
said nothing, but her look was one I’d seen before, the one she’d always used
to let me know that I wasn’t getting away with anything when I tried to be
brave.

“Seriously,”
I told her, “I’m all right. A lot of things have gone wrong, and there’s a long
way to go, but,” and I gathered myself to say it, “I think I’m finally headed
in the right direction. With work, with us, with dealing with some old stuff,
all of it.”

“Uh
huh,” she said, and sneezed. “Any more ghost sightings?”

“No.
Not that it would have made a difference today.”

“If
they got fired, sweetheart, it’s because of something they did. They can’t
blame you for not protecting them forever when they were doing something
stupid.”

“Yes,
but….” The words ran dry. “I wish there had been another way,” I finished
lamely.

“It’s
their fault, not yours,” Sarah said firmly. “Now stop worrying about it, and
get some sleep.”

“You
sure you want to sleep?” My fingers left hers and traced a line down her arm.
“I’m not too tired.”

“What
exactly are you suggesting?” She caught my hand with hers and brought it to her
mouth and kissed each fingertip. “Don’t tell me you’re in the mood all of a
sudden, now that you’ve made your grand confession.”

“Maybe.”
I moved a little closer to her. “And maybe you just made me realize how lucky I
am to be with someone like you.” The back of my fingers brushed her cheek, then
she turned away.

“I’m
sorry, babe,” she said. “I’m just really tired. And some of us don’t have
flextime.” She curled up around her pillow. Half the blankets went with her.

“It’s
OK,” I heard myself saying. “I love you.”

“I
love you, too.” A minute later, she was snoring gently. I curled up around her,
my left arm draped over her for protection or comfort, my hand carefully placed
not to cup one of her breasts. The rhythm of her breathing soothed, and I closed
my eyes and wondered why the single line Blue Lightning had drawn across my
cheek still burned.

*   *   *

Sarah was gone by the time I
got downstairs in the morning. She’d left a note on the kitchen table, a yellow
Post-it stuck to the side of the sugar bowl. “Friday Night Movie Night? Your
pick. —Love, Sarah.”

I
pulled the note off the bowl, folded it carefully, and tucked it in my pocket.
Friday Night Movie Night had been a staple of the early part of our
relationship, right up until about the time we moved in together. One of us
would pick a movie, and then we’d just cuddle up on the couch and watch it
together. We’d get to the end maybe half the time before finding each other
much more interesting.

The
rest of the Post-its were upstairs, so I sent her a text instead: FNMN sounds
good. Will pick something you hate so we can start making out early. Love you.

I
hit send, shoved the phone back in my pocket. The last bagel in the bag had
definite blotches of mold on it, so I decided to skip breakfast and just head
in. With luck, I’d be safely ensconced in my office before either HR or Lucas
and his crew got in, saving me from the possibility of bumping into any of them
in the hallway and any unpleasant scenes that might ensue.

Halfway
to work, I realized I’d forgotten to make coffee. That meant either braving the
corridors at work, or doing without.

I
compromised by pulling in at a gas station and getting a cup of something
dubiously labeled espresso there, the non-dairy creamer distinctly identifiable
as non-organic. I bought the stuff, paid cash, and headed back to the car after
a couple of tentative sips scalded my tongue.

When
I got in, music was playing. I hadn’t turned the phone on when I’d started
driving; I hadn’t plugged it in to the jack in the car when I got in earlier.
But it was thundering away, loud enough that I could hear it through the
windshield as I walked up.

It
wasn’t playing Blue Lightning music, which was a mild surprise. Instead, it was
playing “Such Great Heights” by Iron and Wine, a song that Sarah had played for
me when we first started dating. “It’s not quite our song,” she had told me,
“but it’ll do for now.”

We’d
never gotten around to having an “our song,”, but “Such Great Heights” still
put a smile on her face when she heard it.

And
now it was playing by itself. I froze, my hand on the door handle, listening.
As if it had been waiting for proof I was in earshot, the volume swelled. The
sound distorted, rattling the windows in a way I didn’t think the song was
capable of. As I listened, it changed. Notes started getting skipped, long
jagged tears in the fabric of the song. The singer’s voice distorted, warped,
choked. The sound was horrific, as if someone were playing a record that was
melting on the turntable. All the while, the volume got louder and louder, the
distortion greater and greater until I thought the speakers would blow out, or
the windows.

“This
isn’t helping,” I shouted, and opened the door. The sound hit me like a
two-handed shove to the face, driving me back with the sheer pressure of the
noise. I stumbled back, caught my footing, and staggered forward. One hand
caught the phone up and pulled it loose, slamming it down on the ground.
Abruptly, the music dimmed.

“Like
I said, you’re not helping yourself here!” Little sparks of blue danced around
the cracks in the phone’s case, and I was seized with a cold fury. It had been
a gift from Sarah, or its predecessor had, and twice now it had been touched by
Blue Lightning’s hands.

The
steaming cup of coffee was still in my left hand, so I dumped it out on the
iPhone. It gave a fierce, impossibly loud screech, then lay silent. Tiny
popping sounds, the evidence of liquid hitting current, bubbled up for a
minute, then subsided into silence.

I
nodded, mostly satisfied, then I got in my car and drove over it five or six
times. When I was finished, I parked, picked up the pieces, and threw them in
four different trash bins. Some of the other customers stared at me; none of
them said a word.

“We’ll
talk later,” I said into the last trash can, the one that got the remains of
the earbuds and a piece of screen. “Later.”

Then
I went in to get another cup of coffee. The time on the receipt said “9:24.” It
didn’t look as if I would be beating anyone in after all.

*  
*   *

Lucas
was putting boxes into his car as I pulled up. I pretended not to see him as I
got out and headed inside, but I could feel his eyes on my back with every
step. Eric was at the front desk and nodded fractionally as I passed.

“Morning,”
he said.

“Morning.
It’s done?”

He
jerked a thumb toward HR. “The last one’s in there now. Everyone should be
packed up and gone by lunch. Oh, and Terry was looking for you.”

“Of
course he was,” I answered. “Tell him I’ll be waiting for him at my desk.”

“I
should do that, should I?” Eric said, his voice incredulous, but he said it my
back, as I was already gone.

*  
*   *

It
wasn’t five minutes later before Terry was knocking at my door. I didn’t have
time to tell him to come in before he’d already shoved it open, his face red,
his hands shaking.

“You
prick!” he shouted. “You absolute prick! You sold us out!”

“No,”
I corrected him, gesturing to the empty chair. “I sold Lucas and the other guys
out. You still have a job, and there never was an us.”

He
crossed to the chair and kicked it. It bounced against the wall, hit the
underside of my whiteboard and then slammed backed down, rocking crazily on the
carpet. “That’s bullshit and you know it! You were supposed to keep her secret
so we could finish her. And now Lucas is gone, and it’s just you and me left,
and I don’t think I want to work with you.”

“That’s
fine,” I said. “I don’t want to work with you, either, but we’ve got a project
to finish, and Salvador’s on a tight deadline.”

Terry
actually sputtered at that, and I swear little flecks of foam bubbled at the
corners of his mouth. “Salvador? Salvador! What the fuck are you talking about
Salvador for? There’s one thing we’re working on that’s worth talking about.
One! And that’s Blue Lightning!”

“Yeah.
And that’s the problem.” I stood up. “Let’s take this outside.”

Terry
gaped like a fish. “Are you trying to fight me?” he finally choked out.

“No,”
I said, squinting in anticipation of the headache that I was certain the
conversation would bring on. “I just want to talk in private, and we’re a lot
more likely to get that if we’re out of the building.”

“Your
office door is shut,” he said stubbornly. “We can talk fine right here, unless
you’re trying to avoid me.”

“Not
you,” I said. “Her.” I let that sink in for a minute, while suspicion and anger
chased each other around Terry’s face. “Now, do you want to talk, or do you
want to just stand here and yell at me? If that’s the case, let me go get some
Advil and you can do it all day long. But if you actually want to talk about what’s
going on and what I did, then we’re taking a walk.”

I
could see his hands clenching and unclenching as he thought about it. “Nothing
funny?” he asked.

“There’s
nothing funny about this at all,” I said, and walked past him to the door.
“Come on.”

Terry
followed me at a safe distance, hunched over and with enough steps between us
to let any observers know he was just coincidentally going in the same
direction I was. Once we got outside, I waited for him. He stopped  and lit a
cigarette with nervous fingers. One puff, and then another, and then he finally
sauntered up to where I stood.

“You’re
not supposed to smoke out front,” I reminded him.

He
gave a snort of laughter. “Or what? I’ll get fired?”

“Point
taken.” I turned and started walking. After a second, Terry scuffled after me.
“You wanted to talk. So talk.”

“That
was a shitty thing you did,” he said, ever so slightly out of breath. “You
didn’t have to get them fired. She’s not going to be happy with you.”

“Funny,”
I said, “She said it didn’t really matter as long as I was still around.” I let
that sink in for a moment as we rounded the corner of the building and caught
the first faint whiff of stale tobacco from the smokers’ lounge.

“She…told
you that?” he said after a minute. “That can’t be right. She told me that she
needed all of us.”

“Uh-huh.”
I shot a glance at him. He looked genuinely upset. “You think maybe she was
just telling you that?”

“No!
And that’s not the point. You didn’t have to get them fired. Hell, I know
things about you that would get you shitcanned, right now. Or maybe I call your
house and tell your girlfriend what went down at the coffee machine. You ever
think about that?”

I
shook my head. “You’re not going to get me fired, because she clearly wants me
around, and that would piss her off. And besides, from the way Eric handled
things yesterday, I’d say you and I are both bulletproof right now.” Stopping,
I turned to look at him. He nearly ran into my sternum before he realized I
wasn’t moving any more. “And sure, you can call Sarah if you want, and tell her
what you think happened, but if my home life goes in the crapper because of
you, I’m going to make your life a living hell through the end of Salvador.”