Vicarious (25 page)

I try to work on my homework again, but it all seems so pointless right now. I end up taking a sedative and then going through all of my text messages, looking for any hint Rose might have been in trouble. There's nothing—just a bunch of “I'm fine” or “I'll see you soon” messages. She never was much for answering her phone. I check the news websites for St. Louis, Festus, and Ste. Genevieve again, just to make sure no bodies were pulled out of the Mississippi.

Jesse wakes up about an hour before we take off. “You hungry?” he asks. “You didn't eat breakfast, did you?”

“I'm fine,” I say, even though my stomach is growling.

He goes off in search of food and comes back several minutes later with coffee, tea for me, potato chips, a sandwich, and something called donut holes that I have managed to live six years in the United States and never try.

“So these are really the middle parts from donuts?” I ask.

Jesse balances his coffee between his legs while he wrestles with the seal on his bag of potato chips. “Um, I think places make them separately now.”

“But why eat four or five of these instead of eating one whole donut?”

“Because they're good?” Jesse's bag opens with an explosive pop, sending sour cream and onion potato chips flying all over his lap and the floor. “Shit,” he says.

My shoulders twitch as I try to swallow back a laugh, but when the two kids sitting across from us start pointing at him, I can't help it. My giggles turn into full-blown laughter as Jesse fishes a couple of soggy potato chips out of his coffee. The sensation almost feels foreign. I can't remember how long it's been since the last time I laughed this hard.

“I'm glad you're finding this amusing,” Jesse says with a grin. He gestures at the tea and donut holes. “Better eat up before I destroy your food too.”

The donut holes are surprisingly good. I take a second one and chew it slowly, thinking my way through each ViSE of Rose's that I've played, trying to remember if there was anything unusual going on in the background.

An announcement crackles through a speaker above our heads. Our flight is finally boarding. Jesse hops to his feet, stretching his legs.

We get in line behind a young couple decked out in matching resort T-shirts. I wish Jesse and I were going to Florida on vacation. I've never gone anywhere on vacation. The gate attendant scans our tickets without even glancing up at us. “Welcome aboard,” she says robotically.

Amazingly, Jesse falls asleep
again
once we get settled into our seats. We haven't even lifted off and I can already hear him snoring. The flight attendant comes by to make sure our seat backs and tray tables are in the proper position and smiles down at him like he's a newborn baby. “He looks so peaceful,” she coos. “You take good care of him, all right?”

All I can do is smile tightly. Clearly Jesse isn't my brother, so whenever we go places together people generally assume we're boyfriend and girlfriend. I try to envision that life: Jesse and I returning to college after our winter break instead of going to record a ViSE. Days filled with lectures and library dates instead of exercise and martial arts training. Nights spent cooking for each other and then curling up together on the sofa to watch movies. Gideon has told me more than once that I should talk to Dr. Abrams about the possibility of going to college, but I can't seem to reconcile such normalcy with the person I am.

I look over. Jesse's eyelashes are feathered shut, his face muscles relaxed. I don't think I've ever slept so soundly in my whole life. I creep just a little bit closer to him, resting the side of my forearm against his, as if mere proximity will make some of that peace rub off on me.

The plane pushes back from the gate. I pay careful attention to the safety demonstration even though I've flown several times before. Our takeoff is smooth and uneventful, and the pilot quickly climbs to our cruising altitude.

Jesse stirs slightly as the flight attendant comes by with her drink cart. I ask for ginger ale and accept the little plastic cup filled mostly with ice. I sip it absent-mindedly as I try to piece together the seemingly unrelated clues and events of the past few days. It just all feels so disconnected. Pulling a pen from my backpack, I make a list of possible suspects on the back of the beverage napkin.

—Baz. He was following Rose.

—Andy. He was dating Rose.

—Kyung. Somehow found us?

—Phantasm. Retaliation? One-eyed man?

—Paranoid customer? Thinks we caught him on a recording?

I consider the list, hoping something will jump out at me, but nothing feels quite right. Baz seems too loyal to Gideon to be involved. After spending time with Andy in person and on Rose's recordings, it's hard to believe he would ever hurt her. I see no reason why Kyung or his people would want to kill Rose. The other two … I just don't know.

I crumple the napkin and tuck it into my pocket. Slouching down in my seat, I hide my headset under a knitted hat and work my way through three more recordings, numbers 11, 12, and 13. There's another clip of Rose and Andy gambling, one of Rose being picked out of the audience to be a magician's assistant, and finally another switch party. I debate saving it for Jesse but then decide to just go ahead and play it.

I'm leaning against the wall at Inferno, my eyes scanning the crowd. Suddenly the music cuts out, replaced by the recording of a gong. It rings eleven times.

A redheaded woman I recognize as a DJ for a local radio station steps up to the microphone. “You know what that means,” she says. “Time to start switching. As always, the rules are simple. We'll turn the lights down and the music up. You find someone to get to know, and when the song ends you leave that person and find a new someone. Oh, and don't do anything I wouldn't do … so basically do anything you want.” She laughs.

I cringe as the lights dim and a hard rock song starts playing.

I move toward a tall guy who is leaning against the wall. He hesitates a moment and then lets me pull him toward the center of the room. He wraps his arms around me and we start dancing. Even in the faint light, he can't bring himself to make eye contact.

“First switch party?” I ask.

The guy nods without speaking.

“Relax. Just have fun,” I say.

“I'll try.” He chuckles awkwardly, but some of the tension leaves his body.

I can't make out specific features, but I can see that he's Asian, with spiked-up hair and glasses. He reminds me of the way Gideon looked in Los Angeles. At least my sister picked a shy guy. Maybe this won't be as horrible as I think.

We dance close together until the song fades. I give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. He disappears back to the periphery and a strong hand clamps down on my wrist. The hand belongs to a broad, muscular guy with a shaved head.

“What's your name?” the guy asks.

“Lily,” I say.

“That's almost as hot as you are.” The guy brushes strands of hair back from my face and kisses me on the neck, his teeth nipping gently at my skin. A rush of heat moves through me.

I pause the recording for a second and look over at Jesse. His eyelashes flutter but he's still asleep.

“I'm Mark,” the guy says.

I start to reply, but he crushes his lips against mine without warning. I try to step back, but his arms are tight around my waist. One hand drops to the curve of my hip as he thrusts his tongue into my mouth.

My stomach lurches and I have to hit
PAUSE
again. I flail for the airsickness bag in the seat pocket in front of me. My hands shake as I peel it open and hold it beneath my chin. Slowly, I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth until the urge to vomit fades. I don't recognize the song that's playing in the ViSE, but I hope it's a short one.

I put my hand on Mark's chest and push him back a little. “Easy there,” I say. I bite down gently on his lower lip. He groans. I run my fingernails over his shaved head. We kiss repeatedly as we dance close together.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” he asks.

I laugh lightly. “I'm fine where I am.”

Luckily the song ends and Mark goes in search of his next victim. I play bits of the next two guys, neither of whom are familiar, fast-forwarding when things get uncomfortable. And then I end up in the arms of someone I recognize.

“Hey.” Isaiah looks down at me, the braids of his wig falling forward to obscure his face. “You work for Gideon too, right?”

I rest my hands on his waist. “Who?” I ask innocently. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

“Riiight.” He strokes the back of my neck, his fingers crawling up under my wig to graze the lowest prong of my headset. “I've seen you at Escape before. You stand out even in the dark.”

“Do I?” I press my chin to Isaiah's chest and flutter my eyelashes as I look up at him.

“Yep.” He laughs lightly. “You don't actually have to kiss me or anything. I just came by to say hi.”

“So you're saying you don't want to kiss me?” I ask in a little-girl voice.

“Pretty sure no guy would ever say that.” Isaiah brushes his lips against mine, softly, and then when I don't pull away, a little harder.

His kiss is warm without being threatening. I blink hard. Somehow I've gone from being nauseated to blushing in five minutes. I glance over at Jesse again. His mouth is open slightly. I can see the tiny grooves in his lips. I suddenly wish I had let him kiss me in the kitchen the other night. My head starts to pound from the dual realities. I let my eyes fall shut.

“You know who I saw here?” Isaiah says as we break apart.

“Who?”

“Baz.”

“Gideon's Baz?”

“The one and only.” Isaiah kisses me again. “He's a little old for this crowd, don't you think?”

I shrug. “I don't judge, as long as he stays away from me.”

Isaiah laughs. “You doing anything fun for Thanksgiving?”

I toss my hair back from my face. “I don't know. I don't really like big meals and football games.”

Isaiah laughs. “You should check out the parade. It's a good time.”

“Maybe,” I say coyly.

“I'll look for you.” He spins me around once as the music fades and then disappears into the mass of bodies. I pull another guy into my arms.

I go through five more men before the clock strikes midnight at Inferno and the switch party is officially over. Unfortunately it's all downhill after Isaiah. The guys seem more drunk and more aggressive. Rose does a good job of controlling each encounter, but I still struggle to stay engaged and have to pause the recording repeatedly to let my nausea subside. At one point I see Baz leaning against the wall, but it doesn't look like he's hooking up with anyone.

By the end of the recording I'm clutching the airsickness bag again. I put my headset away and ask the flight attendant for more ginger ale. I manage to get a little sleep, waking up only once to move Jesse's head off my shoulder. He doesn't wake until the plane touches down, wheels bouncing roughly as they transfer from the air to the runway.

When the plane arrives at the gate, Jesse and I take the escalator down to the exit level, where we grab our checked bags and then wait for a taxi. It's only five o'clock in Miami, but I'm exhausted from the long day in the airport after waking up so early. I toy with my headset, extending and collapsing it repeatedly as we make our way to the head of the line.

“At least we get away from the cold for a few days,” Jesse says.

“Two days,” I say. “I'm back on a plane the day after tomorrow at the latest.”

*   *   *

The
South Florida traffic is brutal. It takes us half an hour to go a couple of miles. Our cabdriver drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand flipping the pages of a foreign newspaper. At one point we veer into the adjacent lane and almost get hit by an SUV. Eventually, the traffic thins out, the driver abandons his paper, and my life seems slightly less at risk. I lean my head against the vinyl seat and let my eyes fall closed. When I wake up, this time it's my head on Jesse's shoulder.

“Your hair smells good, but your head weighs a ton,” he informs me.

“Funny, on the plane I found yours to be rather weightless,” I reply.

Jesse smiles. “I know you don't want to be here, but if you have to be, I'm glad I got to go with you.”

“Me too,” I say, relaxing as he gives my leg a gentle squeeze.

“How's your knee?”

“All better.” I rub a hand across the front of my neck. “My throat too.”

After a handful of swear words in a language that sounds like Russian and one more close encounter with a car in the next lane, the cabdriver turns off the highway. The taxi slows to a stop at a large four-story hotel just a few blocks off the water.

Of course our room isn't ready, even though it's almost six p.m. Jesse and I leave our bags with the bellhop and eat dinner at the hotel restaurant, making small talk about tomorrow's shark dive over chicken enchiladas and a heaping basket of nacho chips.

“You're a horrible influence on my diet,” I tell him. “I never eat unhealthy American food unless I'm with you.”

Jesse inhales sharply, like he's offended. “This is
not
unhealthy American food. It's Mexican.” He dips a chip into a steaming bowl of queso, frowning at the cheese's bright orange color. “Sort of.”