Gone (8 page)

“
Whoa, whoa, whoa,
there. Slow
down,
Jake. One question at a time.”

“Answer them
all,
Chris. Answer every goddamn question, or I swear to God—”

“You swear to God
what?
What will you do, Jake? Jesus, you sound just like my father.”

“Shut
up
and answer the question.”

“Jake, you're contradicting yourself. Do you want me to shut up or answer the question? I honestly can't do both.”

Jake wanted something to pound so bad. He wanted something to put his fist through—something to substitute for Chris Rodke's face. But he had to keep it together. He had no choice. “Listen to me, Chris. Just tell me where Gaia is. That's it. Because if you don't tell me where she is, then when I
do
find you, I swear to God I am going to pound your face in so freaking hard—”

“Jake… I'm sorry to interrupt, but does this macho crap work with the ladies? Because it's really not doing it for me.”

Jake was about to internally combust. “Is this funny to you?” he hollered. “Is it really funny to you to make me suffer? And Gaia and every other totally innocent kid that your IV-heads have maimed? Does your family just sit down to dinner and have a big laugh about all the lives you're destroying?”

“No, none of this is funny to me!” Chris shouted. “Not in the least. And if you could stop thumping your chest and howling like an ape long enough to
listen
to me, you might actually discover that we both feel pretty much the
same way.
”

“What are you talking about?”

“We both hate my brother. And we both hate my father. And we'd both like to see their entire plan get burned to the ground.” Chris paused for dramatic effect. “Do I have your attention now? Or would you rather keep spewing testosterone at me?”

Jake finally fell silent. His eyes met with Oliver's, and then he turned his attention back to the phone. This time he spoke at a much lower volume. “I'm listening,” he mumbled.

“Listening!” Chris celebrated. “What a novel idea. Let's stick with that plan, Jake.
You
listen and
I
talk. I think you'll far prefer the results. So, here's the deal. You and I will meet tonight at nine o'clock, in the empty lot on the corner of West Twelfth Street and the highway. And I will tell you absolutely everything I know. About Gaia, about the entire operation,
everything.
And then
we will go our separate ways. And that will be that Simple. Agreed?”

Jake was still trying to catch up. He couldn't even tell which side Chris was on now. But he knew he was in no position to bargain right now. “Fine,” he said. I'll be there.”

“
Just
you and me, Jake,” Chris stressed. “You will come alone, or you will most definitely
not
see or hear from me again. Understood?”

Jake could practically feel his tail tucked between his legs. It was infuriating. “Understood.”

“
Good.
Then goodbye.”

The call was dropped. Jake just stood there in a mild state of shock. He finally turned to Oliver. “He hung up.”

“
Damn it
!” Oliver shouted. “We couldn't finish the trace.”

“We don't need the trace,” Jake said. “He's meeting me. Tonight at nine. He says I have to come alone, or he won't show.”

Oliver finally looked half calm for a moment “Well, then we'll just have to make damn sure he believes that you're alone.”

Their voices started to meld into a hellish chorus of deafening noise.

OF COURSE, THEY WOULD HAVE TO BE here. Ed should have expected it. He'd been out on a long walk trying to keep his mind off the supreme anticlimax that would be the prom. But he'd apparently cleared his head of all common sense and made the foolish decision to duck into the Astor Place Starbucks for an evening hot chocolate.

The Astor Place Starbucks. A home away from home for the FOHs.

What were you thinking, Fargo? What the hell were you thinking?

Simple. He hadn't been thinking. And now he found himself right smack in the middle of a late-evening prom chat-a-thon of biblical proportions. Megan, Tammie, Laurie, Melanie, Trish—an entire gaggle of FOHs were sitting there holding forth on their favorite topic. And they weren't just holding forth: they were holding forth while tweaked out of their minds on God knew how many caramel Frappuccinos.

“Okay,” Megan said. “Not that it's a contest, but who do you think ended up with the best dress?”

“I'd say it's between you and Tammie,” Laurie said. “But only because of the shoes. I am totally willing to confess shoe envy.”

“Century 21,” Megan said, shrugging as if to say,
Who knew?

“I still can't believe that” Melanie chimed in.

“Neither could
I,”
Megan squeaked. “I never thought I'd match the color. It was like the prom gods had just put them there for me. I swear they were just sitting there on the shelf, glowing. I heard angels singing.”

Run, Ed. Run for your life.

Ed tried to duck and cover, but they'd already spotted him.

“
Ed,
” they howled in unison. He cringed.

“Come sit with us,” Tammie insisted.

“I really can't. I've got to—”

“
Sit,
” Melanie commanded, jumping up from her seat and tugging him over by the arm. “This is end-of-high-school
bonding,
Ed. This is the time of the year when we all realize just how much we actually loved each other, so you can't say no. It's a scientific imperative.”

Ed wasn't aware of this scientific imperative. And he certainly hadn't yet realized how much he loved the FOHs. But he was trapped. He opted to stand rather than sit, hoping he would find a polite exit within the next minute. But that didn't seem good enough for them.

Melanie put her hands on her hips and stared at Ed accusingly. “Ed. Come on. What's with the frown? Don't tell me you and Kai aren't super-psyched for prom.”

“Okay, I won't tell you.”

“Ed, come
on,
” Megan groaned. “It's all over! This is it. The end of our high school careers. The grand finale. So show me some love.” She spread her arms wide open for a hug.

Ed bowed his head. He was hoping he looked more embarrassed than annoyed, but it was no use. The whole group closed in on him, coaxing him along with shouts of, “Come on, Ed, show us some
love.
” They ultimately pushed him into the middle of a massive FOH group hug. The flood of conflicting designer fragrances nearly cut off his oxygen. Now he could only pray they wouldn't start singing that Celine Dion song from
Titanic.

They finally released him from the hug, but now he was surrounded. They'd left him with no escape route and immediately picked up their chat-a-thon right where they'd left off.

“Okay, okay,” Laurie announced excitedly. “We all agree, Megan wins best dress. But here's a better one…. Who's going to win
worst
dress?”

They all shared knowing glances as if the answer was so obvious, there was no need to ask it.

“Um, can you say ‘Gaia'?” Megan giggled. They all shared a hearty Frappuccino-induced laugh.

“
I can,
I just don't want to,” Tammie joked. “Okay, here's what I'm picturing….” She placed her hand over her eyes like a psychic medium. “I see a black
potato-sack-like funeral dress… very JC Penney…. I see a dirty gray sweatshirt zipped over the dress, and the shoes… the shoes will be…”

“Cleats,” Laurie said.

“
Yes,”
Tammie guffawed. “Yes. Those black cleats with the white stripes!”

“They were the only black shoes she had!” Megan announced, providing them all with their punch line.

Ed's head began to ache with a terrible case of catty bitch fever. It was time to go.

“Ladies,” he announced, “so sorry to cut this end-of-the-year ‘love fest' short, but I'm late for something or other.”

Ed turned around, but Melanie grabbed hold of his arm again.
“Okay,
Ed.” She sighed. “Sorry. We won't be mean anymore, okay? Promise.”

“No, I really do have to go—”

“Come
on.
We get it. Gaia's a sore topic for you. We weren't thinking.”

Ed resisted the strong impulse to pour scalding hot chocolate on Melanie. “What are you talking about?” he asked calmly. “Gaia's not a sore topic. Why would she be a sore topic?”

“Oh, come on,” Laurie said. “I mean, I know you're the world's most laid-back guy, but don't tell me you're not a little jealous of Jake. Or is it
Skyler…?
”

This question elicited a chorus of dark “ooh”s and “aah”s from the peanut gallery.

“I don't
knooow
….” Tammie's eyes were blazing with gossipy fervor. “Am I the only one who noticed that Gaia and Jake were
both
absent from school today? Perhaps they were up all night fighting on the phone about a certain society boy…?”

“Uch, I don't even
care
anymore,” Megan moaned. “How much do you want to bet she doesn't even show up to prom at all?”

“I'm praying for it,” Laurie said. “You know what? Honestly, I don't think anyone's even going to notice whether she's there or not.”

“Word,”
Megan said. “Ladies, at the risk of tooting our own horns, I think it's safe to say that the most noticeable thing about this prom… will be our collective fabulousness.”

They let out another excruciating group laugh, although as far as Ed could tell, Megan was barely even joking.

“Ed?” She giggled. “Do you concur?'

“Oh, absolutely,” Ed said in a monotone. “Fabulous. No doubt about it.”

“Wait, I'm having another vision!” Tammie announced. She placed her hand over her eyes again. “I see the five of us on prom night… stepping out of our limo with our gorgeous dates… decked out head to toe in stunning couture. … I see us stepping through the doors of the Supper Club like rock stars, doing our best supermodel struts…. I see all heads
turning our Way…. And then… I see us dancing our asses off. Because high school is
over
…. And
we,
dear ladies… are the
shiznit.
We rule the freakin'
school!
”

“Oh, that's fo' shizzle, my sizzle!”

The girls all broke into a caffeinated chorus of
TRL
-like “
woo-hoos,
” which dissolved into deafening waves of hearty laughter as they fell back in their chairs.

Ed could only stand and stare at this horrific display, thinking one thing:

That he yearned to reach the high school finish line.

And if the girls in college were anything like this… he was going straight to trade school.

People
really are dying for inspiration these days. Inspiration of any kind. They don't even seem to care if they're being inspired to do “good” or “bad,” just as long as they're being inspired. That's why all the pathetic nonentities of the world adore me so much. That's why they take all the pills I give them and do what I tell them to do. Because I give them these delicious doses of artificial pride where there was nothing but self-hatred. I fill their lives with meaning where there was nothing but emptiness. It's like an unspoken pact of sorts.

A covenant.

They worship me and they obey my commandments, and in exchange I show them glimpses of the promised land. A land where there will be no fear and no pain. Where they'll finally be invincible. Of course, they'll never actually get to that promised
land, but they don't really need to know that, do they? They don't even want to know that. It's the promise that keeps them coming back for more. It's the promise that keeps them following my commandments.

I suppose I have a bit of a Messiah complex. But what can I say? If it works for them, it works for me.

And besides, my father
has
forsaken me, right? There has to be some reason for that-some cosmic purpose. Otherwise what is the point of all of this?

I just came back from a meeting with my disciples. I handed each one of them a little orange glimpse of the promised land, and then I told them that if they followed my commandments for this evening, there would be much, much more where that came from. I offered them great rewards in exchange for one simple deed. It is most definitely an “evil deed,” but that didn't seem to make much difference to them-they
were quite happy to do it all the same. In fact, they seemed positively inspired to do it. Like I said, the “good” and “evil” part doesn't seem to make all that much difference to people. Just as long they're inspired.

It's funny, actually. Our little meeting got me to thinking about this country's rich history of religious cults and serial killers. So many of them have explained away their murders with the same old excuse:

God told me to do it. I was just obeying the word of God.

It seems like such a cop-out, doesn't it? It sounds like a lie. I mean, really, what are the odds that those psycho-killers got any real face time with the man upstairs? But in this one rare case, it will actually be the truth. They can blame the murder on God.

Because I
did
tell them to do it.

GAIA AND SKYLER HAD JUST FINISHED watching
On the Waterfront,
the last installment of their Brando film festival. She had, of course, paid no attention to the film whatsoever. She'd only sat there cuddled up with Skyler for two reasons: