Shannon stands there wearing the black hat, the hat that Tara hasn’t thought about on this day of developments, her future opening in front, her attention being directed to the past, pulling her in opposite directions. The young man with the hunter’s eyes and the black hat seemed a forgotten player to her.
Now he is back. Tara knows this, and Shannon must too.
I could have warned her, Tara thinks.
Shannon says, “I don’t want to interrupt this. I really don’t. Trust me, I understand the importance. But I would like to have a few words alone with my sister before we begin any interviews.”
Agent Andrea Carter is not happy with this. She rises, and for the first time Tara can see the intimidation evident in that lean, well-muscled frame. She moves with a menacing grace, like the instructor in the one self-defense class Shannon made Tara take before she went off to college. For frat parties, Shannon explained. And pay attention to the groin shots.
“We’re not stopping now,” Agent Carter says. “This is a lot bigger than this room, Ms. Beckley. This is more crucial to more people than you can possibly fathom.”
“I’m not asking anyone to stop, just to give me a minute alone with my sister,” Shannon says, and if she’s intimidated by Carter, she doesn’t show it. In fact, her bearing seems oddly helped by the strange hat, all that flat black beneath the lighter silver thread that draws the eye above the brim.
“You’ve had plenty of time to discuss this,” Agent Carter says. “Tara just gave me consent in front of her doctor. I will not waste her time or put her at risk, but I will also not be interrupted. If you’d like to—”
“Hang on.” This is from Dr. Pine, and Shannon and Agent Carter seem surprised that he is still in the room. He and Shannon have clashed from the start, but he’s looking at her intently, seeing the insistence in her eyes, and when he looks back at Tara, he takes a protective step in her direction.
“This isn’t your jurisdiction,” he says, pointing at Agent Carter with his right index finger. “And it isn’t your decision.” He points at Shannon with his left. “This is my hospital, Tara is my patient, and she and I will make these decisions together. Tara gave consent to an interview, yes, Agent Carter. She also has the right to have a few private words with her sister beforehand.”
“I’m not trying to stop you,” Shannon says again. “But the private words…I need them.” She looks at Tara, trying to convey how badly she needs these words, but the look is unnecessary, because Tara knows the hat.
Dr. Pine pivots, looks at Tara. “It’s your call, Tara. I’m going to ask you two yes-or-no questions. First: Would you like a private word with your sister at this point?”
One flick. Yes. Very much so. Because that hat…
“I’m going to—” Agent Carter starts, but Dr. Pine cuts her off with a wave of his hand.
“Second: Once you’ve concluded that exchange with Shannon, are you willing to continue the interview with Agent Carter?”
One flick.
Andrea Carter’s chest rises and falls with a frustrated breath. She’s been overruled by the locked-in girl, and she doesn’t like that at all. Tara finds a strange pleasure in this. She can’t move or speak, but she can control the room. It’s a sense of power she hasn’t felt in a long time.
“Make it quick, Ms. Beckley,” Agent Carter snaps. “There’s a lot riding on this.”
Commands like this usually don’t sit well with Shannon, but tonight she barely seems to register the tone, just gives a half nod and keeps her eyes straight ahead. As Dr. Pine passes by Shannon on his way out, she whispers, “Thank you, Doc.” He almost stumbles, he’s so surprised.
“Of course,” he answers, and then he and Agent Carter are out the door. It closes behind them with a soft click, and the Beckley sisters are alone. With their respective questions. Tara knows hers—Where did the hat come from, and what does it mean, and did he hurt you? but she can’t voice any of those, so she has to trust her sister. She’s back in that basement at 1804 London Street again, steel doors between them, a thin band of light, and a lifetime of trust.
The doors are heavier here, the band of light narrower, but the trust has only deepened.
“Tara,” Shannon whispers, “I need your help right now. For both of us. And for Mom and Rick. I need you to understand that without me saying much more. I need you to trust me.”
Tara gives her one flick.
Shannon smiles awkwardly. Her grateful smile, the least natural, the most heartbreaking.
“Everything that you’ve been through,” she says, “and I need you to save us all. No pressure, T.”
Then she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone.
No, wait. It’s not her phone. It’s a black iPhone without a case. Tara understands immediately: It is Oltamu’s phone. Somehow, Shannon has come into possession of this oddly desired item, and it has something to do with the reason she’s wearing the black hat and is afraid.
Tara’s pulse begins to hammer. Not since they sealed her in the tube so she could demonstrate proof of life has she felt an adrenaline rush like this.
“Do you know what this is?” Shannon whispers, her voice so low it’s scarcely audible.
One flick.
“Okay. I don’t know if this will work, but I need you to try.” She taps the screen with her finger and then turns the display to Tara. The blackness has been replaced with an image: Tara standing uneasily beside Dr. Amandi Oltamu above the Willow River, the spindly shadows of the railroad bridge visible just beyond them.
The last memory Tara has of when her body was her own.
For a moment, her vision grays out, and she’s afraid she’s doing something that would seem impossible—can a paralyzed patient faint? She’s about to. But then there’s gold-green beneath the gray, and she sees the girl in the kayak, sees the river wide and rushing and the girl riding it out, riding the current into that shimmering gold-green mist, and Tara knows the mist this time—it is spray from a waterfall. There’s a waterfall up ahead, but the girl in the water is paddling straight for it, and she is unafraid.
Suddenly all of that is gone and the room is back and the phone is before Tara once more. Shannon’s face is hovering just behind it, her eyes darkened by the terrible black baseball cap.
“I’m going to turn this around now and try to capture your face. Just like a camera. It’s locked, and you…you might be able to open it. You understand what I mean?”
One flick. Tara grasps the idea, and, bizarre as it sounds, she thinks she even understands it. The odd photos, the way Oltamu gave her the phone…nothing was accidental. Not those choices, and not the choices of the man who drove into the two of them just seconds later.
All part of competing plans. Tara is the pawn in the middle. She has been turned into a human key.
Shannon wets her lips, breathes, and turns the phone around. Tara wants to adjust her head to face the small camera lens, but of course she can’t do that. She has to trust that Shannon will get it right.
It takes longer than it should, and Tara is sure it’s a failure, but then Shannon arches up a little and changes the angle, pointing the camera down at Tara’s eyes from above, and Tara can tell from the way her body relaxes that she has the result she wanted.
“Okay,” she says. “That’s good, and bad. Take a look.”
She turns the phone back to Tara. It says FRS verified and there is a green check mark. But just below that, there’s a red X and a white box beside the command Enter name of FRS-verified individual to complete authentication.
FRS. Facial-recognition scan? That seems right, but it wasn’t enough to unlock the device. The name prompt remains.
“Do I just try yours? First and last? First only?” Shannon’s voice is rising now, and her attention is totally on the phone, and that can’t happen, because Tara knows what she needs to enter, Tara knows this and has to speak it and—
The gray-out comes again, and then the green-gold mist, and Tara is riding the waterfall, tumbling and falling to an endless depth, spiraling down through the green-gold liquid light…
When she comes back, it’s with a vengeance—her thumb twitches, yes, but so do two of her fingers. A rapid twitch, a plucking gesture, like a child’s frantic grab at a firefly.
She’s not immediately sure that it was real, but then she sees Shannon staring at her right hand in shock, and the shock confirms the sensation.
Tara is opening the channel. Tara is forcing her way back into the world.
“Did you feel that?” Shannon asks.
One flick.
“Can you do it again?”
She can’t. Not yet. But maybe soon…Tara opts not to respond to that question. She doesn’t know the answer yet. Her control of her own body no longer belongs to the land of yes-or-no answers. What an amazing thing that was. She wishes Dr. Pine had seen it. And Mom, Rick, all of them. But at least Shannon was here. At least Shannon saw.
“I tried your name,” Shannon says then, and Tara remembers the phone, the reason for all of this. “It says ‘access denied.’ I’ve got only one try left.” Her voice quavers. “T., do you have any idea what he called you?”
One flick.
“You’re sure?” Shannon says.
One flick.
“Can you spell it?”
One flick.
Shannon reaches for the alphabet board with a trembling hand.