Triggers (31 page)

“Jan…?” Eric’s voice, not much above a whisper—the kind of tentative uttering of a name one uses when testing if someone is asleep.

She opened her eyes. He was silhouetted in the doorway, a thin, bald man, leaning against the jamb. “Hmmm?” she said.

“Dr. Griffin called. There’s going to be a press conference about Jerrison’s condition at 4:00
P.M.
He wants me to be part of it.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Do you want to come?”

“How long will it take?”

“Could be a couple of hours. He wants us all to go over what we’re going to say first, before we face the reporters.”

She hadn’t been part of the surgery. “Can I stay here?”

“Of course,” and although he didn’t say it, she heard in his tone and was grateful for it, “For as long as you like.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“I’m going to head out. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. You like Chinese.” She’d never told him that, but he knew. “There’s some leftover kung pao chicken.”

“Thanks.”

Jan soon heard him leave the apartment. She lay there a while longer, hugging her knees, but at last she got up, left Quentin’s bedroom, and headed into the living room.

The furniture was nicer than any she’d ever owned; everything in her place had been named for some damn Swedish lake or river and had been assembled with an Allen key. But this stuff—the coffee table, the bookcases, the cabinets, all in what she guessed was cherrywood—was
expensive.

Besides numerous hardcover books—a luxury Tony had never let her buy—there were objects on the bookshelves: an Eskimo soapstone carving of a bird, a quill pen, a bronze medallion with the word “Champ” engraved into it, a white marble chess piece. Each of them doubtless had a story behind it—they were keepsakes, mementos—but they meant nothing to her.

But there
was
someone beside Eric who could tell the story behind each one: Nikki Van Hausen.

It was a distinctive-enough name, Jan thought, although, if she were married, it might be her husband’s first name that was in the phone book.

Jan exhaled noisily.
If she were married.
This Nikki woman knew everything about Eric, but Jan didn’t know even the most basic facts about Nikki.

She went into Eric’s office. He had a MacBook Air sitting on a glass-topped workstation, with a Safari browser window open. She typed “Nicky Van Hausen” into Google, but that produced too many hits to be useful. But adding “real estate” to the string quickly turned up pay dirt, thanks to Google’s offering the correct spelling of the first name: her website, but also, Jan was surprised to see, an article from this morning’s
Washington Post.
Upon getting word of the memory linkages that had occurred at LT, a clever reporter had interviewed Nikki, since
she
remembered the operation as clearly as Eric himself did.

Her website—which offered “2% commissions” and “free home appraisals”—gave her phone number. Jan picked up the handset in this room, then set it back down; she didn’t want the Caller ID to show Eric’s name. She went to the marble entryway, got her purse, dug out her cell—and saw that she had four voice messages from Tony. She shuddered, ignored them, and placed the call.

“Nikki Van Hausen Realty,” said a perky voice.

“Is this—” Christ, she still didn’t know if it was Miss or Mrs. “Um, is this Nikki?”

“Speaking.”

“Nikki, this is Janis Falconi.”

There was silence for three or four seconds. “Oh.”

“I need to talk to you,” Jan said.

“What about?”

Jan’s turn to hesitate. “Sharing Eric’s memories.”

“Look, about that article, I didn’t—”

“No, no. I don’t care about the article; I don’t care that you know
that
stuff. It’s just—I just…I don’t know, I thought maybe I’d be more comfortable with all this if I met you.”

“Umm. Okay. Maybe.”

“Could we get together this afternoon?”

“Um, where?”

“Well, I’m sure you know I’m staying at Eric’s place, and I don’t have a car or a key. Could you—could you come by his home?”

“Ah, will he be there?”

“No. No.”

Nikki sounded relieved. “Yeah, I guess I could do that.” A pause. “He’s in the Potomac Palace, right?” she said, naming his condo development. “Penthouse two?”

Jan shivered slightly. “Yes.”

“I’m showing a place near there this afternoon. About 4:30, okay?”

“Fine,” said Jan. “Thanks.” They ended the call, and she held her cell phone in her trembling hand.

BESSIE
hadn’t had much to do with the military since her husband had come back from Korea all those years ago. She was amazed at how high-tech everything had become: here at the base there were all sorts of computers, complex screen displays, and sundry gadgets that she couldn’t begin to identify, and—

And, well, no, that wasn’t right. She
did
know what a bunch of them were, now that she thought about it: she knew because Seth Jerrison knew, having learned about them since coming to office—although a lot
of them still didn’t really make sense to him, either, what with being a history professor and all. As she and Darryl walked toward the plane, they passed soldier after soldier, and out on the airfield, near the jet that was going to take them, she saw what had to be a bomber, and…

And the word
Counterpunch
popped into her head.

And as they continued on into the plane and were shown to their seats, details about it came to her—horrible, horrific details. Her hands were shaking so much that she had to ask Darryl to do up her seat belt for her.

Yes, the US had been pushed too far by terrorists; there was no doubt about that. But this—this was…

Of course, a response was necessary; yes, leaders had to lead.

But
this!

The plane started rolling down the runway. She had four hours until they’d land.

Four hours to decide what she was going to do.

AT
4:54
P.M.
, Eric’s phone emitted a strange double tone. Jan had heard his phone ring earlier, when Dr. Griffin had called, and it had made a normal sound, but—

Ah! It must be one of those Enterphone things, like at Rodger’s place; Rodger was Tony’s best friend. She picked up the handset. “Hello?”

“It’s Nikki Van Hausen. I’m downstairs.”

“Ah, okay. Um, damn, I don’t know what to do to let you in.”

“Press six,” said Nikki—like she’d been here a million times before, like she fucking
lived
here.

Jan did so. She heard an electric whine through the handset and then that connection, at least, broke. She straightened her hair in the mirrored door to the entryway closet, then looked through the peephole in Eric’s front door, and saw—

It was like the tunnel vision she’d had when Josh Latimer was dying. She saw a woman, impossibly small, impossibly far away, coming toward her, closer and closer and—

And Jan opened the door. There’d been a picture of Nikki on her
website. In it, Nikki had reddish hair, but now she had light brown hair with blonde streaks—and she was a few years older; she looked to be in her mid-thirties.

“Sorry I’m late,” Nikki said. “Weather’s getting hairy out there.” But then she stopped and just stared at Janis. “Wow,” she said softly.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s strange seeing you. Eric’s memories of you are flashes, you know? Your smile, your teeth, you tossing your head a certain way, the tattoo—he loves the tattoo. But to see it all brought together is…”

“What?”

“He remembers you as being beautiful, of course. But, well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and…” She shrugged a little. “And, well, it’s interesting to see, that’s all.”

“Oh?” said Janis, a little defensively.

Nikki lifted a hand. “Sorry, I’m not saying this right. What I mean is, you are absolutely lovely. I can see why Eric fell for you so hard.”

Jan’s heart skipped a beat. “Fell for me?”

“He’s crazy about you,” Nikki said. “But he knows you’re vulnerable, and he doesn’t want to take advantage. Plus, there’s the age thing.”

“Who cares about that?” Jan said.

“He
does. It really bothers him.”

“It shouldn’t.”

They were still standing in the entryway. Jan took Nikki’s coat and motioned for her to go into the apartment proper. As Nikki walked ahead, Jan said, “Can I offer you a drink? Coffee?”

“I’m fine,” Nikki said, entering the living room—but she came to a stop so suddenly that Jan actually bumped into her from behind.

“Sorry!” Nikki said. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…”

Jan moved to stand beside her and saw the wonder on Nikki’s face. “Yes?”

“It’s like I know this place,” Nikki said. “Like I’ve been here before.” She began walking again, looking around the living room. When she
came to the bookshelf with the “Champ” medallion on it, she gently picked it up.

“What’s it for?” Jan asked.

“Hmmm?” said Nikki. “Oh. He got it at the hospital, five years ago. He brought in the most donations for the Christmas charity drive.”

Jan half smiled. That was Eric, all right: forever trying to help those in need. But the smile quickly faded. This woman would always know him better than Jan ever could. “It’s cruel,” she said.

“What?”

“This—this
thing
that’s happened to us. Why couldn’t it have been reciprocal? Why couldn’t you be linked to the same person that’s linked to you?”

“I don’t know,” Nikki said. “It is what it is.”

“Yeah,” said Jan, very softly.

“Why did you want to see me?”

Jan looked at her, then looked away. “I’m sorry, it was stupid. I just didn’t know what to do. I, um, you—you know everything Eric knows, and, well…”

“He really does care about you, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

Jan did manage to meet her eyes. “Actually, no. I don’t have any doubts about that.”

“But you keep asking yourself, how can he like me when he knows
this
about me, or
that
about my past, or that I did
whatever,
right?”

Jan nodded.

“Different people react differently, I guess,” said Nikki. “I know comparable stuff about Eric. But he and I didn’t know each other before the linkages, so, um, like…okay, you ever read
People?”

“What?”

“People,
the magazine. Or
Us.
Or any of those. The magazines that tell you all about the private lives of celebrities.”

“Sometimes in my dentist’s waiting room, I guess,” said Jan.

“Well, Eric is like that to me. He’s like Angelina Jolie or Johnny Depp or some other celebrity that I don’t know personally, but I know everything
about. Yes, I know his dirty secrets—minor though they are—including all kinds of stuff I’m sure he wishes really was private. But so what? It doesn’t affect me, and it’s not like I’m going to do anything with the information.”

“I know, but…” Jan blew out air. “Sorry. I have no idea how to deal with this.”

“But surely you must be going through the same thing, no?” asked Nikki. “You must be linked to somebody else, right?”

“I was,” said Jan, softly. “He died.”

“Oh!” said Nikki, and Jan saw her eyes flicking left and right rapidly as she assimilated Eric’s memories related to that. “Oh my God—just this afternoon. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

“Sure, of course. Sorry. But, Jan, it’s like that with me and Eric. I don’t like to dwell on my
own
past, let alone anyone else’s.”

Jan.
Every little thing Nikki did reminded Jan of just how much Nikki did know about her private life. “I know, but it’s like he’s gossiping about us, like he’s talking about me behind my back.”

“He
isn’t.
And I don’t know your details, you know. I know what he remembers, not what
you
remember. But I do know he really does like you. And, yeah, there is the age difference, obviously. And, sure, people are going to gossip about that. They’re going to say he’s having a midlife crisis—but you know what? He already
did,
five years ago. Ask him about it; it’s no big deal, and he’s
over
that; it’s in the past. He’s not attracted to you because of your age; he’s attracted to you
despite
your age, and—”

Nikki fell silent.

“Yes?” said Jan.

“He wants to have sex with you.”

Jan looked away. “Oh.”

“But it’s not because he’s horny—although he
is.
It’s because he’s scared. You’re thirty-two; he’s fifty. He’s afraid you’re going to be turned off by his half-century-old body.”

“What? That’s silly.”

“Maybe. But that’s what he thinks.”

“How do you know? I thought all you could do is read his memories, not his thoughts?”

“That’s all I
can
do. But he told someone that, and I can recall the conversation.”

“He was gossiping about me?”

“More like seeking advice. He’s at Luther Terry now, right? He ran into—well, I know him, too; I met him earlier and went a little nuts, I have to say. He’s been talking with Jurgen Sturgess, another doctor there.” Nikki shook her head then went on. “It’s funny; I shouldn’t even
care.
All of this is really none of my business.”

“So what did Dr. Sturgess say?”

“He wasn’t one to give advice. He mostly just listened. But, well, I guess
I
have a vested interest in seeing Eric be happy. No point in my having to share a bunch of unhappy memories, after all. So let me give you some advice: don’t let me stand in the way of you being happy with Eric. He’s a good guy. Believe me—I
know.”

AT
Seth Jerrison’s insistence, they’d set up a computer for him in his hospital room. A forty-two-inch LCD monitor had been mounted on a small table at the foot of his bed, and he’d been given a Bluetooth ergonomic keyboard with a little trackpad attached. Despite lying on his back with his chest only propped up slightly, it was actually pretty comfortable to use, although he had to slide his bifocals way down his hooked nose to get the screen in focus.