Vicarious (33 page)

My phone buzzes. And then again. I pull it out to silence the call and see that it's Gideon, not Jesse.

“Are you home?” he asks.

“Not yet,” I say.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“Perhaps. Though I suspect going home will ruin that.”

He pauses. “I forgot to tell you yesterday. I heard your diving footage is excellent.”

I see the shark ramming the cage, feel my heart threatening to erupt through my wet suit. “You could say that.”

Gideon chuckles. “That's going to be a big money ViSE for us. Hopefully we'll be up and running again soon.”

“Speaking of big money,” I start. “You know Andy Lynch? The football player?”

“Golden Boy turns Mr. Fumble?”

“That's him. It turns out he wants to make a football ViSE.”

Gideon whistles. “Why? Is he worried about not getting a contract because of one rookie mistake? Pretty sure someone will pick him up in the draft.”

“He said he just thinks it would be a cool experience to share. Like a helmet camera, only way more intense.”

“How do you know Andy Lynch?”

“He and Rose were kind of dating, and he knew about her being a recorder. Yesterday I told him she was dead. I know he didn't have anything to do with it. I could see how upset he was.”

“Okay. Give him my number and we can work out the details.” Gideon pauses. “I'm glad you were able to share that with someone else.”

Touchdown finishes his business and looks at me, tail wagging. My grip tightens on his leash. “Right.” My voice wavers. “Are you back in town yet?”

“I'm getting ready to get on a plane. I'll be home in a few hours.”

“Where are you? You've never stayed away this long before.”

“California.”

I cringe at the thought of him anywhere near where we used to live. “Why are you there?”

“Meeting with some people about the ViSE tech. Like I said, I'll be home this afternoon. I'd prefer if you go home too, so I know you're safe.”

Maybe I
should
go home. I forgot when Andy said his parents are returning, but I've already made things weird for him with his agent. No need to cause problems with his family too.

“All right,” I say. “If you promise you won't send Jesse up to keep an eye on me.”

“I promise,” Gideon says.

I say good-bye and slip my phone back in my pocket. I take Touchdown back to the house and release him from the chain around his neck. He lies down on the hallway floor as if the excitement of getting outside and visiting his poodle friend has been more than he can take. He lifts his head to watch me as I start getting my things together. I grab my phone and send Andy a text.

I had to leave. Call 555-2769 and ask for Gideon if you're serious about the ViSE. Thanks for everything.—W

*   *   *

When
I arrive home, Baz is pacing in the hallway outside the penthouse. I can almost envision the multiple weapons strapped to his body. Better than Jesse, I guess.

“Do you want to come in?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I've got this hallway and the roof of the building on security feeds in the office at Escape. I'm going to head back down there. Gid just wanted me to let him know when you got home.” He pauses. “And to remind you that you can call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” I say.

Baz nods at me and then turns toward the elevator.

As the penthouse door closes behind me, it hits me how alone I am. I decide to call Natalie to check on Miso. I'll feel better once I can get him.

She picks up right away. “Your kitty misses you.”

“I miss him too,” I say. “Are you home? I could come down and get him.”

“I'm actually working. Hang on a second.”

There's some rustling and background chatter and then things go quiet again.

“Okay,” she says. “Now I can talk. Are you doing all right?”

“As good as can be expected, I guess.”

“Did Gideon figure out who … hurt Rose?” Natalie asks.

The image of my sister in that hotel bed flashes before me, burning itself into my retinas. I close my eyes for a second. “If he did, he's not sharing,” I say. “Speaking of which, did you learn anything interesting about Phantasm while you were digging for Gideon?”

“Not really,” she says. “Phantasm is owned by a larger Korean corporation called Usu. It seems like they own a lot of different companies—clothing, electronics, medical stuff.”

Jesse and I figured that out when we were searching for the identity of the one-eyed man. “Did you hear anything about a man with one eye?”

Natalie pauses for a moment. “Say what?”

“I'm looking for a man who lost an eye, though I guess he might have a glass prosthetic now. I saw him in a picture at Phantasm. One of the Usu gatherings.”

“Um, no. Nothing like that, but Usu employs boatloads of people, so maybe he works for one of their other companies.” She pauses again. “Did Gideon used to work for them?”

“What? Why would you think that?”

“I saw one of the Phantasm executives reading that story about ViSEs when I was bringing him coffee. There was a photo on his desk—an employee ID badge from UsuMed. I think that's a drug company? Anyway, the name was different—a Korean name—I can't remember it exactly. But it was Gideon, I'm sure of it.”

All I know about Gideon's work in L.A. is that he did some kind of medical research consulting. He definitely could've worked for UsuMed. “Thanks. That could be helpful.” A twinge of dread moves through me as I try to connect the dots.

“Okay, but you didn't hear it from me. And Winter, I'm really sorry about your sister…” Natalie trails off, clearly uncomfortable.

“Thanks,” I say again. Sometimes I wish people would realize that their awkward condolences only amplify the pain of losing someone. It's like you're bleeding, and as soon as the wound begins to clot, someone comes along and starts picking at the scab. “And thanks again for the information. Call me when you get home and I'll get Miso. I appreciate you taking care of him.” I hang up and toss my phone on the coffee table.

So Usu owns Phantasm and Gideon used to work for UsuMed. Coincidence? Probably not. Maybe Gideon stole something besides Rose and me three years ago. Maybe he took something from his job and now Usu has sent people from Phantasm to collect.

I sit cross-legged on the sofa and stare into the Kandinsky print. I feel like I have all the pieces needed to see the whole picture, and if I can just adjust my perspective, then everything will become clear.

I decide to call Detective Ehlers myself to see if there's been any news. I look up the number for the local police station. When the operator answers, I ask to speak to him.

“I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?” she asks.

“I need Detective Ehlers,” I say. I start to spell his last name for her.

“We don't have anyone here by that name.”

“But I talked to him just the other day,” I start. “He works in—”

She cuts me off. “This happens a lot. You probably want the county police department, not the city.”

“Oh. I guess it's possible,” I say. “Thanks for your time.”

I hang up the phone, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I do an Internet search for the city and county police departments. Neither one of them has a detective named Ehlers listed on their web page. Next I do an Internet search for Detective Ehlers. There are about thirty results, all of which seem to point to pages based out of Vermont. I click through them until I can find a picture, just in case. Eventually I find a picture of him receiving a commendation from the department last year. It's not the same man.

I tell myself there's a reasonable explanation. Maybe I'm remembering the detective's name wrong.

Or maybe Gideon has been lying to me about everything.

No. That can't be true. Why would he do that? Gideon loved Rose. He would never have hurt her.

But then I think back to the overdose recording. The man who didn't speak was the same size as me … and Gideon.

I have to know for certain. I pull the ViSE of Rose's overdose from the music box and slip it into my headset. Flopping down on the sofa, I slip the headset on and adjust it. I press
PLAY
.

I'm in the masked figure's body. Across the room, Rose lies tied to the bed.

I fast-forward.

The smaller figure bends over me with the syringe.

It's just a shapeless black blob. It could be anyone. And then the smell of clove cigarette smoke tickles my throat. I remember smelling it the first time I played this ViSE and thinking it was because Gideon was smoking in the ViSE room.

My heart starts thrumming in my chest. I tell myself it's just a coincidence, that plenty of people smoke clove cigarettes. But then I rewind and watch the masked figure inject her with the drug again, and it seems so obvious. Gideon has done medical research; he knows how to give injections. His size, the way he tilts his head, even the angle his shoulders make with his neck—it's all Gideon. I don't know how I didn't see it before.
Because you couldn't. You didn't want to.

The masked figure leans over me, gently reaching out to touch my face.

Trembling, I rip off the headset without even stopping the recording. A slight shock moves through me. I keep seeing the masked figure reaching out for Rose, touching her almost … affectionately. I can no longer deny it. Everything about the man with the hypodermic needle screams Gideon.

 

CHAPTER 37

Shuddering
and nauseated, I race for the bathroom. I kneel on the cold tiles and try to make sense of things. Why would Gideon hurt Rose?
Well, she was sleeping with Jesse …
Maybe she turned in that recording for Gideon to sell. Could he have become jealous? Rose never told me exactly how or why they broke up. I was still kind of unstable when it happened and she probably didn't want to add to my stress.

I can't wrap my head around it. Gideon fell in love with my sister when she was working for Kyung. He knew she was a prostitute and didn't care. She used to tell me stories of their dates—how he brought her food and presents. He even brought gifts for me—books, usually. Stories to help me escape. She never told the other girls because she didn't want them to be jealous. While the rest of us were being used up and discarded, Rose was being cherished.

Gideon loved her so much that he left his whole life behind for her. He risked his freedom by getting us all fake documents. He risked his life by stealing us from the very hotel where we were working. Gideon's love for Rose never wavered, even though she slept with other men while he was planning our escape. Her sleeping with Jesse might have hurt him, but it couldn't have destroyed him. It couldn't have made her seem so worthless that she didn't deserve to live.

Unless perhaps he grew to resent her. He gave up everything to save us, and Rose's first action once we were free was to break up with him, almost as if she'd never loved him at all.

Locking away the flood of emotions, I force myself to consider the possibility. If Gideon overdosed Rose, that means the whole Escape burglary was as fake as the hotel room break-in. And just like with the hotel room, there's probably proof somewhere. Not at the club, where Adebayo or someone else might discover it. Somewhere Gideon knows no one will find it. Maybe somewhere here, in the penthouse.

I check the clock. It's only twelve thirty. Gideon won't be home for hours. Passing through the living room and dining room, I head to the study and flip on the lights. Half the room resembles a normal study, with a desk and chair, a file cabinet, and several bookshelves. A long stainless-steel table and lab equipment take up the other side of it. A stack of cages sits empty in the corner, remnants from experiments Gideon used to do with mice.

I start with the desk drawers. The top one is full of office supplies. The bottom two are full of mail and papers. I rifle through them but nothing catches my eye. I move to the file cabinet, but all the drawers are locked.

No problem. I've picked locks before. I find a paper clip in the top desk drawer and unbend it. I slip the ends of the paper clip into the lock and start feeling around for the release mechanism. Some people manage to pick locks just by flailing around and poking every which way. I learned how to do it properly on the Internet.

The locking mechanism disengages and the top drawer slides open. There's just more papers inside. Files in file folders labeled A to J. Dropping to a squat, I pick the lock on the middle drawer. I pull out the folder marked K and see my fake surname, Kim, on some of the documents. What kind of paperwork would Gideon feel like he had to lock up? I peek down into it. It looks like mostly business and identification documents. I don't have time to go through everything here. I shove the folder under my arm and pop the bottom drawer open. I rifle through the S folder looking for anything with my real last name, Song. There's nothing there. It's all of Gideon's documents with his pretend surname, Seung. It occurs to me I don't even know his real last name. Turning away from the file cabinet, I keep looking. There's more to find—I can feel it.

Dropping the K folder on the desk, I go to the bookshelf against the back wall. I quickly yank out the books in sections, feeling for anything hidden. Nothing. A pair of Jackson Pollock prints hangs on the wall behind the desk. I peek behind each of them looking for a safe but don't find one.

I grab the folder and leave the study, pausing outside the door to Gideon's bedroom. I can't even remember the last time I set foot in his room. We're both very respectful of each other's personal space.

But not today.