Crosstalk (60 page)

Plus, there was how he'd looked the first time he'd been blanked out, so shocked and so…stricken. She'd been certain then—and she was certain now—that he'd had no idea what was happening.

Which left Maeve.
But if she's doing it, and she thought I suspected her, she'd pop up with a story to throw me off the trail.

She didn't. The only one who did was Trent, texting her at eleven to ask if she'd gotten in touch with C.B. yet, and when she told him no, Trent texted back, “Probably in lab. No coverage down there.”

Or anywhere,
she thought, listening to the silence. It seemed to her as the night progressed that it was deepening, taking with it the final vestiges of the voices beyond the perimeter. And any hope that Maeve—or C.B.—was doing the blocking.

At eleven thirty the phone rang.
It's Trent again,
she thought, and then, when she saw the number,
It's Mary Clare
. But it wasn't either of them. It was Maeve. “I have to talk to you,” she said.

“I thought your mother took your phone privileges away.”

“She did.”

“So how are you calling me now?”

“On the stupid landline. I had to wait till she was, like, snoring, and then call you. I
hate
it that I can't just talk to you whenever I want to anymore! I can't do
anything
.”

“You're still grounded?” Briddey asked.

“Yes,” Maeve said disgustedly, “and it's all your fault. If you hadn't let the voices out, none of this would have happened. There wouldn't have been that stupid cascade, and I wouldn't have been blanked out, and I'd have heard Mom coming into my room, and she wouldn't have caught me. And now I can't watch
anything
on my laptop. She put a block on everything, even Hulu and YouTube, so I can't watch videos at all. You ruined everything!”

I know,
Briddey thought, and knew it wouldn't do any good to tell Maeve—or C.B.—that she hadn't meant to. The fact remained that she'd done it. C.B. had tried to warn her about unintended consequences, but she hadn't listened.

“This so sucks!” Maeve wailed. “I mean, the zombies were really scary, and I'm glad I don't have to hear them anymore and hide all the time and worry about what'll happen if I go to the mall and school and stuff. But some of it was fun. I
loved
having a castle and being able to talk to you guys—”

“You can still talk to us—”

“It's not the
same
!” Maeve wailed. “I could talk to you anywhere! I
hate
not having that anymore.”

So does C.B.,
Briddey thought,
in spite of what he told me.

He'd hated the hiding and the roaring voices and having to constantly witness humanity's nastier side, hated being an outcast and having people think he was crazy. But it was still his life, and the only one he'd ever known. And his gift—and it
was
a gift, in spite of everything bad that went along with it—had molded him and made him who and what he was: kind and funny and selfless and unbelievably brave.

And there had been parts of it he'd loved—the late-night silences and the Carnegie Room and the crosstalk they'd shared.

“And now
not
having it is like way worse than before I got it,” Maeve was saying, “because before, I didn't know what it was like, but now I do, and I know how neat it was, and I really miss it, you know?”

“Yes,” Briddey said, thinking of C.B. sitting next to her in the car, leaning over her in the stacks, talking to her about
Guys and Dolls
and Bridey Murphy and where they were going to go on their honeymoon.

“You don't think there's a chance it'll come back, do you?” Maeve asked wistfully.

“C.B. doesn't think so.”

“That's what I thought.” Maeve sighed. “I really liked him. You're not going to marry Trent now, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, that's good, anyway. Are you
sure
it won't come back? I was watching
Tangled
before I called you, and the witch kills Rapunzel's boyfriend, and it's
awful
. You don't think there's
any
way they can fix it, but then Rapunzel starts to cry and one of her tears falls on his cheek and it grows into this big gold fireworks thing and he comes back to life and they live happily ever after.”

I don't think tears are going to bring the telepathy back to life,
Briddey thought. And because she was afraid
she
might start to cry, she asked, “How were you watching
Tangled
? I thought your mother blocked your laptop.”

“She did, but I figured out a way around it. You can't tell her. If she finds out, I'll be grounded
forever
!”

Which you probably deserve,
Briddey thought, but she said, “I won't, I promise.”

“You have to promise you won't tell her about my watching
Zombiegeddon
either, or—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I've gotta go. I think Mom's awake. I
hate
this!” Her voice cut off.

I hate it, too,
Briddey thought.
And I hate that I'm the one who did it to you.

And if she'd needed any more proof that her theory had been wishful thinking, that phone call should have been it. There was no way Maeve could have faked the frustration and disappointment and sorrow in her voice.

Although Maeve was an even better actor than C.B., and she'd been able to get around all of Mary Clare's restrictions and blocks and V-chips to watch the movie she wanted. A movie in which something dead had come to life again. Could Maeve, sworn to secrecy by C.B. and unable to communicate any other way, have been sending her a message that all was not lost?

I hope so,
Briddey thought fervently.
Because otherwise I have to face the fact that I've destroyed C.B.'s gift. And his life
.

He would never be able to get into the Carnegie Room again. Without the telepathy, the librarians would almost certainly catch him. And three
A.M
. would no longer be a star-scattered, enchanted time of night. It would be just like it was for F. Scott Fitzgerald and everybody else—a time for lying awake in the darkness squirrel caging about the terrible things that might happen. And the terrible things you've done.

“Unless there's some other piece to the puzzle that explains everything,” she murmured, and finally fell asleep at a little after one.

She woke abruptly to even deeper darkness, convinced she'd heard something, though the room was completely silent.
Middle-of-the-night silent,
she thought, and reached for the clock. Three
A.M
. C.B.'s time of day.

C.B.?
she called hopefully into the darkness.
Are you there?

Nothing.

And it wasn't a voice,
she thought, staring into the darkness, trying to reconstruct the sound in her head.
Or a noise.
It had been a sudden cessation of sound, like the stopping of a refrigerator's hum. Or a car outside switching off its engine.

Only this wasn't outside,
she thought, and knew with sickening certainty what had stopped: the feeling of C.B. clasping her hand in both of his and holding it close to his heart.

She'd first felt it in the Carnegie Room when she'd woken and found him asleep, and it had been there ever since, though she hadn't been consciously aware of it. It had even been there when she was blanked out. That was why she'd believed—in spite of all the evidence to the contrary—that the telepathy hadn't shut down, that he and Maeve were somehow blocking it. She'd known that wasn't possible, but she'd believed it because he'd still been there, holding tightly to her hand, pressing it hard against his chest. Until now.

The thought that it had been the very last thing to go comforted her a little. It meant he must not totally hate her for ruining everything, though she didn't see how that was possible. He had rescued her, protected her, waded through floods and fire for her, like Joan of Arc. Or the Hunchback of Notre Dame. And she'd repaid him by burning down the cathedral. And the library.

You were wrong about the whole three
A.M.
thing, C.B.,
she said, though she was certain he couldn't hear her. And would never hear her again.
Fitzgerald had it right. It isn't the best time of day. It's the worst. Definitely the dark night of the soul.

“So what happens after he climbs up and rescues her?”

“She rescues him right back.”

—Pretty Woman

The good thing about hitting bottom is that things can't get
any worse,
Briddey thought, lying there in the dark listening to the silence, but she was wrong. She didn't even make it out of the parking garage the next morning before she ran into Suki. “You look awful,” Suki said. “Did you and Trent break up?”

At least she hadn't asked her if it was true the Hermes Project had gone smash, which meant Trent must have thought of something to tell Hamilton, and they all still had jobs. For the moment.

“You did, didn't you?” Suki was saying, her eyes glittering with curiosity.

“Of course we didn't break up. I was just up really late dealing with a family problem. Why? Were you hoping we had?”

“No,” Suki said, “although I love his car. And those flowers he sends. But right now I've got my eye on somebody else. Do you know if C.B. Schwartz is involved with anyone?”

Not anymore,
Briddey thought.
Not since I ruined his life
. “I don't know,” she said.

“He's not gay, is he? The cute ones are always gay.”

Briddey thought of him in the stacks, leaning over her, so close she could hear his heart beating. “No,” she said.

“Oh, good,” Suki squealed. “He's Jewish, isn't he? Do you know if he's Reform?”

“Why don't you just ask him?”

“I was going to google him, but I lost my phone yesterday. I can't find it anywhere,” Suki said, and launched into the saga of all the places she'd looked. “I borrowed a phone and tried to call it, but there wasn't any answer—”

“Which reminds me, I've got some calls I need to return,” Briddey said, and started toward her office.

“Let me know if you find it!” Suki called after her. “Do you think I should try to get him to ask me out, or should I just ask
him
?”

And as if that wasn't bad enough, when Briddey reached her office, Charla told her, “Trent Worth just called. He wants to see you right away. It must be about your EED.”

“M-my EED?” Briddey stammered.

“Yes. He sounded really excited. I'll bet he was able to get the date of your surgeries moved up.”

Or he's located a telepath who hasn't been affected by the cascade,
Briddey thought, and hurried up to his office. But when she got there, the first thing he asked, after sending Ethel Godwin to make copies of a report, was, “So, did Schwartz know of any other telepaths?”

“No,” Briddey said.

“And I'm assuming you didn't hear anything last night after we talked, or you'd have called me?”

“No, it's completely gone. Did you?”

“No. And neither did Lyzandra or Dr. Verrick's other patients. I just talked to him. He said none of them have heard a thing since yesterday. So it looks like Schwartz's theory was right, and the trauma of the voices caused a reaction that shut down the telepathy permanently.”

So why aren't you upset?
Briddey wondered. Yesterday he'd been practically suicidal over the prospect of having to tell Hamilton the telepathy was gone. But now, not only wasn't he upset, but he was excited, just like Charla'd said. Why? Had Dr. Verrick somehow gotten enough telepathy data from the scans they'd done to make the electronic circuitry after all?

“I'm going to need your help,” Trent was saying. “I need you to get the word out that we had the EED done.”

The word out?
“But you said you wanted it kept secret—”

“That was before it shut down. Now we
need
to tell people.”

“Why?”

“Tell them we had it done last week,” he said, ignoring her question, “but we didn't want to tell anyone till after we'd connected. And hint that the connection is even better than you'd imagined.”

“But I don't understand. Why would you want anyone to know—?”

“It's all part of the plan I've come up with. We say we secretly had the EED, and we hint that the reason we had it done has something to do with the Hermes Project and we can't say what, but it'll revolutionize the communications industry. And
then
we hint that the something we found is telepathy.”

Oh, God, they
had
been able to get enough data.
I have to warn C.B.,
she thought.

“We drop all these hints about how we can communicate telepathically and how we've found a way to duplicate that communication in a phone.”

“But none of that's true,” she said.
I hope
.

“No, but they won't know that. Or that we've gone to Management and told them the whole thing's a ruse.”

“A ruse?” Briddey said, completely lost.

“Yes, we tell Management it was all a trick, that we came up with it because we were convinced Apple had planted a spy here at Commspan to find out what our new phone has, and that the entire thing—having the EEDs, the telepathy, the scans—was a diversion we came up with to catch the spy. And to keep Apple from finding out what we were really working on,” he finished triumphantly. “Clever, huh?”

Yes
, Briddey thought. The story would no doubt save his job. And if there was a spy, and the spy reported the telepathy back to Apple and they fell for it, Commspan would have proof of their corporate spying, and Trent would be a company hero and probably end up getting that executive suite he wanted.

If his plan worked. But for the EEDs and the telepathy to have been a diversion, there had to be some other project it was diverting attention from. Which they didn't have. She pointed that out.

“Yes, we do,” Trent said. He showed her a schematic. “Behold, Commspan's new phone, the Refuge. Designed to protect you from the daily bombardment of unwelcome phone calls and messages. It screens out people you don't want to talk to by putting them on a permanent ‘call on hold' list. Or, if you just don't want to talk to them right then, by sending a ‘call cannot be completed at this time' message. And if you've already connected with the person and you want out of the call, you hit a key, and it'll automatically cause the sound of your voice to break up.”

Those are C.B.'s ideas,
Briddey thought.
That's his Sanctuary phone.

“I got the idea when that swarm of voices hit me,” Trent was saying. “We need to be protected from unwanted intrusions. We need a refuge from all the people and information bombarding us. What do you think?”

I think you stole it from C.B. and you don't even intend to give him credit, you snake
. “But if you just thought of it, how will it be ready in time to beat Apple's rollout?” she asked.

“We don't have to have it ready. Don't you see? We
want
Apple's phone to come out first. That way they announce that their phone offers enhanced communication, and we say, ‘But don't worry. We're going to protect you from it.' ”

And who's here to protect us from you?
she thought bitterly. It was bad enough that she'd destroyed C.B.'s telepathic ability. Now Trent intended to steal his phone design and, worse, possibly put Apple on the trail of the telepathy. And even though the deluge had destroyed it, they might be able to find someone somewhere who hadn't been affected—or there might be enough data on the scans Dr. Verrick had done to re-create it electronically. And Apple had unlimited resources…

I have to warn C.B.,
she thought.
Now
.

But Trent had no intention of letting her go till he'd told her all the details. “My phone can also fake an incoming call, so you can say, ‘I've got to take this.' I call the function ‘TrapDoor.' What do you think?”

I think it's C.B.'s SOS app, and you stole that, too
. “It's an intriguing idea. Look, Trent, I need to go—”

“No, you can't go yet,” he said. “I haven't told you the rest.” He caught up her hands. “To make all this work, we're going to need to tell Management our seeing each other was part of the plan. That because the EED only works with emotionally bonded couples, you volunteered to date me to lend credibility to the ruse.”

“Credibility?” she asked absently, trying to think of an excuse that could get her out of here so she could go tell C.B. what Trent was up to. A TrapDoor app would be nice. Or an actual trapdoor to drop Trent down.

“Of course
we
know the emotional-bonding thing has nothing to do with it, or you'd never have connected with Schwartz,” Trent said, “but they don't know that. And if people think we were involved, they may not believe the EED was just a cover story.”

He's dumping me,
she realized belatedly, and supposed she should try to act a little upset. “Does this mean we have to stop seeing each other?” she asked.

“I'm afraid so, honey. They've got to believe it was nothing but a setup, or they might start checking hospital records and asking Dr. Verrick questions, and our whole plan could fall apart. So you can see why it's vital that everyone believe—”

“That it was all for the sake of the project, and you weren't really in love with me. Yes, I see that very clearly.”

“Oh, good,” Trent said. “It kills me that we have to do this, sweetheart, but there's too much at stake here for us to be worried about our personal feelings.”

You're right, there is,
Briddey thought.
Which is why I've got to get out of here and go find C.B.

“Of course, for the next couple of days it'll still have to look like we're a couple,” Trent said. “You need to start dropping a few subtle hints about the EED, maybe some comment about ‘when I was in the hospital,' or something, and tomorrow morning I'll send you flowers and call your office. Will Charla be there?”

“Yes,” Briddey said, thinking,
If the telepathy still existed, I could tell Maeve to call me right now and give me an excuse to leave
.

“I'll text you asking you if you've felt any connection yet, and—”

Her phone rang.
Thank goodness,
Briddey thought, pulling it out of her pocket.

“—you can make sure your assistant sees it, and—”

“Sorry, I need to take this. It's Art Sampson,” Briddey said at random, and put the phone up to her ear.

Trent nodded. “Drop some hints to him, too,” he said. “The sooner the news gets around Commspan, the better.”

“I will,” Briddey said, walking rapidly out of his office and down the hall, ending the call as she walked. She hurried to the elevator and was halfway down to the sub-basement before it occurred to her that C.B. might not be there. He could be anywhere—in the copy room photocopying his résumé or off flirting with Suki.

But thankfully he was in the lab, squatting next to the portable heater, which was apparently still broken, if the temperature in the lab was any indication, though C.B. wasn't wearing a parka, just a flannel shirt over his Doctor Who T-shirt. He had the back of the heater off again and was doing something to the wiring. “What are you doing here?” he asked, looking up briefly.

“I have to talk to you.”

“Can you hand me those pliers?” He pointed over at the littered lab table.

“Yes. No. This is important.”

“So's this,” he said. “We could both freeze to death if I don't get this fixed.”

He was right. It was even colder down here than usual. “Which ones?” she asked, looking through the mess of tools, circuit boards, meters, and wires on the lab table.

“The needle-nose pliers on the end there.”

She handed them to him, and he gave something inside the heater a twist and then stood up, wiping his hands on the tail of his shirt. “So what's so urgent? What's this all about?”