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Lake View Cemetery is a peculiar place for a meeting. Before coming, I had to read James’s text message several times to make sure I understood correctly. Now I stand by the virgin statue he gave me as a marker, wondering if I got it right. It’s Monday, right after school. The place is eerie, cold and empty. Only the rustle of leaves teased by a light wind disturbs the silence, along with the cawing crows that stand starkly on white tombstones.
Standing here, I’m reminded of Dad and the fact that I haven’t visited his grave in a long time. My heart shrivels just at the thought of his name engraved on cold stone, of pounds of dirt covering a body that wasn’t done living.
A black BMW with tinted windows pulls up by the curve behind my Kawasaki. The window rolls down and James gestures for me to get in the car. I climb into the passenger seat and shut the door. James is wearing a coat and tie. I’m taken aback by how different he looks and I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him in daylight. Fine laugh-lines surround his eyes, which are a lighter shade of gray than I’d previously thought.
“Hello, Marci,” he says as he presses the button to roll his window shut.
“What happened to you?” I ask, looking him up and down.
James shrugs. “This is me when I’m not trying to save the world.” He gives me a sad smile.
“What are you? Like a CEO or something?” I ask as I examine the car’s fancy interior and decked-out navigation system.
“Yeah, something like that. How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” I lie.
An unamused chuckle sounds in the back of his throat. “You’re a bad liar.”
“It must take a good one to know a bad one. Why did you lie to Xave? Why did you tell him we don’t stand a chance once we’ve been infected?”
“Because I can count with one hand the ones I’ve encountered who are like you and me. Most people succumb to Eklyptors within days. A few are able to fight for a short period of time, but never for long. It takes a very strong will to resist for as long as you have, Marci.” James shifts the idling car into gear. “I know you must have a million questions. Let’s take a ride. I have something to show you.”
“Where are we going?”
James slips on a pair of sunglasses. “You’ll see soon. In the meantime, you can ask me whatever you want. Xave knows most of it, but there’s a pressing question I’m sure you’re itching to ask.”
“Why do you lie to the crew?”
“Do you really need to ask that?”
I look out the window, notice we’re headed downtown, and try to pretend I don’t know what he means.
“Okay, I’ll answer. I lie because if they knew what I am, they would never trust me.” James’s voice is low, sobering. “And that’s not an option. I need them to trust me. They need to trust me. The knowledge I have is invaluable to our fight.” He laughs with no real amusement. “They can’t afford to doubt me, fear me, hate me, because, believe me Marci, that’s exactly what they would do if they knew what I am. What you are.”
“So Clark, Blare, and Oso know nothing about you and Aydan?”
“That is correct.”
“And they don’t suspect?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
To our right, we pass the Space Needle. Tourists snap pictures. A group of Goth kids hang in one corner, laughing and pushing each other in jest.
As I watch, I think about James’s words. It seems impossible for no one to suspect.
“How?” I ask. “That party was full of them. You and Blare went in together. How can she not suspect?”
“I think you know the answer to that, too,” James says, as we wait at a busy intersection on Broad Street.
I think out loud. “Xave said most couples.” Then it clicks. “Blare and the others think that some of the couples are made up of two regular people. They have no way of knowing.” Their heads don’t drum in the presence of Eklyptors.
James nods.
“How do you explain Blare? Shouldn’t Elliot be suspicious she’s not one of them yet? He’d met her before, right?”
“You notice everything, don’t you?” James laughs. “Elliot thinks Blare is ... my pet. Many Eklyptors keep humans as such. The way you might keep a dog. It’s cruel, really.”
“Bastards,” I mumble. I have so many questions there’s barely time for me to be shocked about any of it, so I move on. “How do you know Elliot?”
“Because I made it my objective to meet him. He’s one of the Eklyptors’ most powerful leaders.”
“Yeah, Xave said that. I didn’t realize they were so organized.”
“They have been, for a long time, now.”
“How long?” I ask.
“It’s hard to tell, but with certainty since the seventies when they came up with creative ways to infect more people, faster.”
“What ways?” My hands are shaking and I’m not sure I want to hear anymore.
Deep.
Smells like teen spirit.
Breathe deep.
James offers me a concerned look. “Are you all right?”
I roll my neck from side to side.
“Relax,” James says in his gravelly voice.
“I’m fine.”
“Tell me something, Marci, when was the first time the fog came over you?” James asks with interest.
“The fog? Oh, you mean the ...” I tap my forehead. “I think of them as shadows.”
“Most happen to associate them with shadows, actually. But I started thinking of their presence as a sort of fog and old habits die hard.”
I tell him the story about my fifth birthday. He listens with care. Then asks me if I know who may have infected me. I tell him I suspect an old babysitter. He recommends I check into it and let him know what I find out.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I have no idea. We’re here,” he announces, turning in a parking deck next to a tall building. I look out the window in hopes of spotting a name on the front entrance. There isn’t one. I recognize the Fourth and Madison Building nearby, but I’ve never really noticed this place. It’s inconspicuous.
A light, humid breeze blows from Puget Sound. It’s a beautiful afternoon with the sun setting in the west in a burst of color. We don’t have many days like this in the year.
After flashing a card on a reader, we are allowed entrance to the parking deck. James takes a left and heads toward the underground levels. We descend, going round and round. I notice there are fewer cars in each level the further we go.
We arrive at another barrier and James flashes a second card. Then he drives around the corner and we find ourselves in front of a large metal door. This time, he places the palm of his hand on a small screen.
“Welcome, Mr. McCray,” a computerized female voice says, as the metal door lifts open, revealing a parking lot with spaces for ten or so cars. All are empty except for one, which is occupied by a silver Porsche.
“Nice car,” I say.
James smiles. “You can take it for a ride any time you want.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“Cool,” I say, but my tone reveals a certain lack of enthusiasm.
What is wrong with me? I’ve just been offered a ride in a Porsche and I’m not excited about it. I must be dying a bit every day and, today, I’ll just die a little more.