Fake (2 page)

Gaia switched off the power, feeling more distressed than ever. Two hundred channels and all of it unsettling. Why had she never noticed how terrible TV was?

“Don't feel like watching anything?” Skyler asked. His eyes were wide and wary, as if he feared any moment she might start bouncing around his apartment like a crazed Looney Tunes character. And what
made it worse was she couldn't promise she wouldn't.

“Not really,” she said, handing him back the remote. “If you don't mind, I think I'll just go lie down.” She stood and stretched out her arms for effect.

Actually she wasn't sleepy, but she did feel wrung out, like a ragged dishrag that had scrubbed too many pots. She could almost hear the commercial:
Gaia Moore, human SOS pad—use her to scour scum off the city streets, then discard her in the nearest ditch!

“No problem. I'm sure you're tired.” He stood and placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “You've been through a lot.”

Gaia closed her throat tightly and stared down at her threadbare athletic socks. “Thanks,” she mumbled, pondering the hole over her right big toe. She didn't want to meet his eyes. As it was, his consoling touch had sent a fresh fountain of self-pity surging through her. Any more niceness and she'd be all blubber.

“Here,” he said, steering her toward the bedroom. “Let me show you the—”

“No,” she interrupted, sliding out from under his hand. She didn't want him to come with her. She was too close to breaking down, too close to revealing how raw and weak she really was. She might not be fearless anymore, but she still had that loner instinct against letting people see her vulnerable. And Skyler had already seen too much.

“Don't worry. I'll be okay,” she said, lifting her head
but not quite meeting Skyler's gaze. “Thanks for everything. Good night.”

She trudged around the corner to the darkened bedroom. The light from the living area revealed a king-size bed, a workout bench, and a tall oak dresser covered with gadgets and papers. Leaving her clothes on, Gaia slipped under the thick denim comforter and curled into a fetal position.

But she couldn't sleep. She couldn't relax or disconnect her mind. With nothing to see or hear, her thoughts veered inward, each one slowly deforming into a paralyzing fear. She thought of her dad, then wondered where he was, then panicked that he might be in danger. She thought of Ed, then pictured him palling around with Kai, then fell into an agonizing nostalgia for him. She thought of her brother, D., then almost suffocated on her bitterness toward those who'd snatched him away.
Dad? Ed? Sam? Jake?
Everything warped grotesquely. Everything led to misery.

And amid all the disturbing thoughts was another: vague dread. It was as if she could feel the evil of the city seeping in through the cracks in the building, surrounding her, collecting under the bed like a gigantic dust bunny from hell. Having grown up fearless, she'd never entertained childlike terrors of monsters under the bed or getting sucked down the bathtub drain. But now, with the creeping panic overtaking her mind, she could understand such fears.
Lying there, curled up and alone in a chilly bedroom, it seemed quite possible—even likely—that this amorphous wickedness could reach up from beneath the bed, encircle her with its cold, clammy arms, and pull her down, down into a choking black abyss. If she stayed still and silent, maybe it wouldn't notice her. Maybe it would just go away.

Gaia's hand gripped the top of the mattress, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. How did people do this? How did they live with their fears? The real world was such a nightmare—she knew it before, but now she could
feel
it. Everywhere there was danger, hatred, malice. She could see why people turned to drugs and alcohol or formed gangs and mafias—the better to fight corruption with corruption.

But what did she have? How could she cope? Was there absolutely nothing that could give her comfort and let her sleep at night? She closed her eyes and performed a quick mental Google search until she finally hit upon a face . . . the most beautiful face in the world. Her mother. That's what she wanted right now. Her mom's lilting voice and soft, cool touch. Only . . . she couldn't have that. She could never have that again.

Hot tears gathered behind her closed lids and a jagged lump rose in her throat. Just then Gaia heard a shuffling sound and felt the bed quake slightly. A hand touched her forehead.
Mom?
No. It was Skyler. She felt
him slide under the covers and contour his body around hers, his chest against her back, his knees folding into the angle of her legs. He was still dressed. She debated opening her eyes and looking at him, but she continued to feign sleep, wondering where this was leading.

Then suddenly she felt a warm weight on her. Skyler's left arm circled around her middle, his elbow nestled in the crook between her hip and rib cage. Gaia felt strangely reassured by the gesture. It was as if his arm was mooring her down, preventing her from spiraling off into the nightmare void. Gradually her panic subsided and her thoughts became less and less tormenting, until they took on the fuzzy, garbled quality of presleep.

Gaia reached up and placed her right hand on Skyler's forearm before finally, peacefully drifting off.

Gaia Fatigue Syndrome

A SMATTERING OF RAINDROPS SMEARED
the ink on the battered computer printout in Jake's hand.
Great,
he thought.
Just what I need.

He'd already wasted two vital hours walking Broadway and Amsterdam, checking each of the Columbia University dorms for one Skyler Rodke—rich pretty
boy and possible kidnapper. Too bad he hadn't hit the 114th Street student housing first. Just his luck to find the guy in the last-possible place.

He headed down the block, checking the addresses against the list in his hand. Eventually he stopped and stared at a somber redbrick building.
This is the last one,
he thought, crumpling up the paper and tossing it into a nearby wrought iron trash can.
Skyler has to be here.

Skyler Rodke. Even his name sounded like a soap opera scandal waiting to happen. Jake's fingers opened and closed into fists, eager for the chance to collide with Skyler's salon-product-enhanced skin and reshape his Prince William nose.

“Easy,” Jake whispered to himself, digging the blunt points of his right knuckles against his left palm. He had to be cool about this. He was there as an operative, not a boyfriend. Going Jet Li on the guy would only screw up the mission.

He could only hope Rodke picked a fight first.

He had this friend once, a karate buddy. The guy dropped out of classes at the dojo because he came down with some sort of chronic fatigue virus. He said it was a disease he would never get rid of. It just dawdled around in his system, waiting for his body to get the slightest bit weak. Then it would spring into action, making his joints ache and his muscles floppy, until the guy just had to go to bed for a couple of days or weeks, waiting for it to pass.

At the time Jake didn't buy it. It sounded like some cockamamie cover story. The guy was probably too lazy or chicken to put in the required effort for black belt status and just didn't want to face the truth.

Now Jake believed him. He too felt like he was also carrying around a pernicious little germ that liked to kick him when he was down. He was infected with Gaia Moore. And it wasn't a onetime thing either. He was a Gaia carrier, a victim of Gaia fatigue syndrome.

Once Gaia had come into his life, nothing had been the same. It was as if some small scrap of her was inhabiting his body, had set up shop, and rewritten his chemical code. His priorities did a complete Chinese fire drill, recataloging themselves into a basic, fixed list: Gaia, Gaia, eat, sleep, Gaia.

It wasn't just that he was in love with her. That was way too crude a term. This was more sweeping and uncompromising, more . . . diseaselike. At times he felt giddy and feverish with devotion to her. Other times he felt pulled down by her, wearied by all the turmoil in her life that was now seeping into his own. Lately she'd even started acting clingy and needy—not at all like the headstrong, independent girl he fell in love with.

But even that wouldn't push him away. There was no escaping it, no purging Gaia from his system. She was part of him now. To cut her out, he'd have to destroy himself. Besides, he didn't want to be free of her. He loved the messy, aching, maddening ride that
was Gaia. He'd never felt more alive in his entire life. Gaia had given him a purpose, a calling, a brand-new realm to exist in. He couldn't help feeling that everything that had ever happened to him had led him to this—to her.

If only something would lead him to her now.

A group of students came scurrying up the sidewalk, holding bags and jackets over their heads to protect against the rain. Jake fell into step behind them, matching their hurried pace. By now he knew the drill. He followed them up the concrete steps underneath the arched stone entrance. One of the girls at the head of the group pulled out her key card and swiped it through a black box on the exterior wall. With an irritable buzz, the front door opened and the group filed into the yellow-lighted lobby.

Jake grinned. No one gave him a passing glance as they shook water off their jackets and headed toward the elevators. He was proud he'd developed this little infiltration system on his own. It was so much easier than shouting through the outside intercom, as he'd had to do at the first couple of dorms. Plus it made him feel like a real agent—using his wits, blending in with the crowd.

At the other side of the foyer, a man in a security guard's uniform was sitting behind a gray laminate counter. He barely glanced up as Jake approached.

“Can I help you?” the guard asked.

“Yes,” Jake said, leaning against the counter. “I'm looking for a girl.”

The man frowned.

Great, Jake. Brilliant opening. Now he thinks you're the world's lamest playboy.
“I mean . . . I'm looking for a
particular
girl—a friend of mine,” he tried again. He took a breath and launched into his rehearsed explanation. “You see, there's been an emergency in her family and I need to find her, but she isn't answering her cell phone. All I know is that she's out with a Columbia student named Skyler Rodke. Would he happened to be listed at this dorm?”

The guard nodded slightly for a few seconds, as if he needed extra time to process the information. Then he sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Hang on. Let me check the registry.”

Jake drummed his fingertips against the gray laminate as the guard sluggishly typed commands into the computer.
Come on, come on. All sorts of things could be happening to Gaia.
He resisted the urge to leap over the counter, shove the guard out of the way, and search the log himself.

Eventually the man pushed back his chair and turned toward Jake. “Sorry. There's no one by that name listed.”

“What?” Jake leaned forward and gaped at the monitor. “No way!”

Jake realized he must have been screaming, because
a group of students paused in their conversation to stare at him. The guard held up a warning hand. “Back away from the computer, sir,” he said with sudden authority.

“I'm sorry,” Jake said, lowering his voice. “It's just . . . I've got to find her, and I've already tried all the other dorms. Are you sure you got the name right? Rodke?
R-o-d-k-e
?”

“I'm positive,” the man replied. “There's no Rodke and no Skyler anything listed. Now if you'll excuse me,” he added with a nod toward the exit, “I have some work to do.”

Jake took a few aimless steps away from the desk, shaking his head in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. He'd tried everywhere. All that work, all that effort, and he was no closer to finding Gaia than he had been three hours ago.

What now? What the hell was he going to tell Oliver?

“Excuse me?”

Jake looked up. A pretty redhead with stick-straight Avril Lavigne hair was leaning toward him somewhat cautiously.

“I couldn't help overhearing,” she said, meeting his bewildered gaze. “Are you looking for Skyler Rodke?”

“Yes!” Jake rounded on her. “Do you know him? Do you know where he is?”

The girl swayed backward slightly, her eyes widening in alarm. “I . . . I know who he is, but I don't know him. He goes to Columbia, but he lives off campus.”

Off campus?
The thought washed through Jake's mind, scrubbing it clear.
Of course! Why didn't I realize that before? A guy like Skyler would have his own place. He'd never stoop as low as dorm life.

“Where? Where does he live?” His restlessness was back, tightening his fists and amplifying his voice.

The girl kept her gaze on him but turned her body away, clearly sorry she'd ever approached him. “I don't know. I've just heard he has a fancy apartment somewhere. It's just talk. You know? People talk about him.”

“Right,” Jake said, nodding distractedly. Then he placed his palms together in a prayerlike gesture. “Thank you! You saved me!”

“No problem,” the girl muttered before hurrying back to her friends by the elevator.

Jake bounded back to the front counter. “Excuse me?” he asked the guard. “Could I borrow your white pages?”

The man gave a frustrated huff and slid the giant book toward Jake, who immediately began leafing through it.

“Roddenberry . . . Roddick . . . Roditi . . . ,” he mumbled as his finger slid slowly down the page. “Yes! Rodke.” There was a John out in Queens, a Sarah with a Chelsea exchange, and then a bunch of “Rodkey” spellings. No Skyler. Not even a half-anonymous S. Rodke with a Manhattan listing. Nothing.

Jake slammed the book shut and returned it to the
guard with a mumbled “thanks.” Then he walked back out the front door into the rain.