Falcon sat in the cushy reclining chair, his knees up, arms pulled tightly around them. He wanted to rock his whole body back and forth, but the cushions wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he could only bob his head on his shoulders, and rhythmically flutter his wrists and fingers where they clasped his forearms.
Everything about the suite was wrong, right down to the light tan of the fake adobe walls. The colors on the wall decorations and the faux-viga ceiling jarred in his vision.
His paranoia grew, the urge to throw up sending prickles through his stomach.
They’re coming for us. Closing in.
“What a wuss,” Rudy Noyes observed in a voice dripping with irritation.
“Oh, hush,” Falcon snapped, wishing that the major or Theresa were around to ameliorate Rudy’s delinquent presence. “I need to think. I have to think!”
Once again, the memory flashed into prominence: His box of crayons stood on the corner of his desk. Yellow was in his fingers as he dotted the piece of paper he was working on with stars. He had already drawn in the spaceship, a gray thing of angles and square blue solar panels.
The teacher had said to draw the most fantastic thing, to imagine freely. What could be more fantastic than being in space? Daddy had said it had no end, that an infinity of worlds . . . He liked that word, infinity. It meant endless, beyond counting.
He reached for the dark blue, and had just plucked it from the box when the principal knocked on the classroom door and leaned her head in, asking, “Ms. Grant, could I see Jimmy Falcon?”
That first moment of panic replayed in his memory as every eye in the classroom fixed on him. Then came the long walk down the hallway to the principal’s office. That’s where bad kids went. And Jimmy Falcon couldn’t figure out what he’d done that was bad.
To his complete surprise, Aunt Celia was already there, and so was his little sister, Julie. When he was led into the room, Julie had run to him and grabbed for his hand.
That’s when Aunt Celia leaned down, her face frightening him with its strained grief, her eyes glittering with tears. In a quavering voice, she had said, “Jimmy? Julie? There’s been an accident. Mommy and Daddy? They’ve gone to be with the angels.”
They’re coming for us. Closing in.
“You’re a fucking sick and twisted man!” Rudy’s sharp voice intruded. “You’re on the run, man. Everyone’s counting on you, and you’re stuck in childhood? Shit! You think you had it tough as a kid?” He made his voice falsetto. “Aunt Celia bought you a Jaguar XK when you turned sixteen, you spoiled little fuck! Just so you could drive to prep school and fit in with the rest of the golden-spoon babies.”
“Shut up!” Falcon shouted, closing his eyes.
Behind his eyelids the loop began to replay: His box of crayons stood on the corner of his desk. Yellow was in his fingers as he dotted the piece of paper he was working on with stars. He had already drawn in the spaceship, a gray thing of angles and square blue solar panels.
The teacher had said to draw the most fantastic thing, to imagine freely. What could be more fantastic than being in space? Daddy had said it had no end, that an infinity of worlds . . . He liked that word, infinity. It meant endless, beyond counting.
He reached for the dark blue, and had just plucked it from the box when the principal knocked on the classroom . . .
“What a shitty little maggot you are,” Rudy insisted.
“Get out of my room, Rudy!”
But it was Dr. Ryan’s voice that intruded gently.
“Falcon? Can you open your eyes and talk to me?”
He did, half expecting Rudy to be leering over the Skipper’s shoulder. Instead, Cat Talavera stood behind Dr. Ryan, a concerned look on her delicate face. Falcon absently noted that her hair was freshly washed, thick, and gleaming with bluish tints in the morning light that streamed through the windows.
“Rudy’s here?” Ryan asked, dropping into a crouch beside the chair. The Skipper stared earnestly into Falcon’s eyes.
“He won’t leave me alone! I have to think. I must think. They’re coming for us, Skipper. Closing in.”
His fingers began to flutter with greater intensity. “The loop just plays over and over in my mind. I’m in third grade. At my desk, drawing my spaceship . . .” The image—a daydream come to life—took over. He carefully replaced his yellow crayon, reaching for the dark blue . . .
“Falcon?” Dr. Ryan’s firm voice intruded. “It’s all right. You’re in a new place, a different environment that’s suddenly unpredictable. That’s making you anxious, and in defense, you’re obsessively activating the same pattern of brain engrams. I need you to do two things: First, I want you to take a low-dose Valium. Just this one. And second, I need you to come next door to Edwin’s suite. He’s just downloaded the contents of Bill Minor’s cell phone.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Falcon almost cried out.
“Asshole, pussy!” Rudy cried from where he leaned against the wet bar counter, his arms crossed so they pulled the sleeves of his leather bomber jacket tight.
Cat leaned close. “It’s all right, Falcon. I’ll wait here while the meds take effect and make sure that Rudy doesn’t bother you.”
“He says terrible things about you,” Falcon confided. “Rude things.”
“I don’t care,” she told him. “We should have anticipated the stress you’d be under. We just left home in such a hurry we didn’t think about it.” Her large dark eyes warmed. “And you are right, Falcon. They’re hunting us. Janeesha said the CID showed up right after we left. You saved us all again.”
“For the moment,” Falcon whispered. “They’re coming, closing in.”
Cat stared into his eyes. “We’ve got new information. They’re running a test on the time machine tomorrow night. We know that they’ve alerted the power company. They’ve got a dedicated 360Kv line all the way from the power plant in Arizona to handle the load.”
“Got to stop it,” he said. Would there be enough time?
They’re coming for us! Closing in.
A blackness lay just over the horizon, if only he could concentrate. If only he could put the yellow crayon down, avoid that terrible trip to the principal’s office . . .
I just can’t. I’m going to fail them. And my people are going to die.
“Yeah.” Rudy made kissing noises with his mouth. “And just imagine what Gray’s going to do to get even when she escapes.”
A cold fear washed through him. And in his hand he tightened the grip on his yellow crayon, watching the wax melt and bend and squeeze through his fingers like runny cheese . . .