Sigourney’s Line

November 16, this year
Venice, Italy
7:37 pm CEST

The Devil watches.

Marcus Rearden watches.

Astrid cannot remove her eyes from the page. She attempts to command the muscles of her face to refrain from wrenching into horror—into joy—into haste. Every impulse yearns toward tears. She checks her breathing. She concentrates on staying calm—without expression. Marcus Rearden’s keen ability to read faces is unparalleled. One wrong move and its over.

Cythe slowly rises and reaches for the knife embedded in Yafarra’s thigh. He yanks it out. Yafarra groans.

“What does it say?” Rearden hisses.

Composure. Her heart pounds rapid, ghostly pink blemishes into her vision. She reads the page again.

Rearden’s palm cracks across her face. “Tell me!” he demands.

Her eyes meet Yafarra’s. She could not help it. The two connect. Seeing the exchange, Rearden shouts, “Last time I will ask!” The sting of his hand sends a flash of white through her head.

Then there is a sickening thud with a simultaneous low ringing tone. Nicholas Cythe falls forward. His forehead bashes into the patient monitor. An instant later he is on the floor unconscious. Blood squirts. A gruesome divot is gouged into the back of his skull.

Astrid swivels to see Graham Cremo holding aloft a large red fire extinguisher. Rearden turns just as Graham growls, “Get away from her, you bitch!” The impact ratchets Rearden’s chin down. There is a muffled crack as the spine fractures. His body collapses into a heap beside Nicholas Cythe.

Graham wobbles as he lowers the heavy canister to the floor. He is shaking. He is wearing a light sweat suit. “It was a toss up…” he breathes heavily, looking down at his handiwork, “tough choice between Sigourney’s line or ‘No one puts baby in a corner.’”

Astrid rises and throws her arms around him. “I thought they had taken you—I thought you were—” She holds him tight.

“I’m okay—a little unbalanced, but okay.” He lets her go and moves to see her face, “Are you okay?”

She stares at him as if trying to connect silky lines of Elliqui. When he smiles, she smiles.

From the floor, Cythe’s hand twitches. White bubbles have formed within the cleft of the wound. Rearden issues a moan.

She shoves the Red Notebook into her bag. “We need to get out of here.”