Waking Gods (Themis Files #2)(65)

—Seems like a lot of trouble to go through to save a distant cousin. I think you guys may be wrong on this whole alien thing.

—Maybe. I wish I had a better explanation. We keep talking about me, but how are you holding up?

—I’m … I don’t know how I feel. I’m still … numb.

—If anyone could cheat death, I thought it would be Kara.

—I know, right? Spit in its face. Kick it in the teeth. It’s my fault she’s dead, you know?

—Vincent, there’s—

—No, no. It’s true. If I’d climbed the ladder a tiny bit faster, if I hadn’t been scared of heights, if I’d reached the hatch on the first try … There are so many things I could have done. I just had to get up there—what?—two, three seconds faster. Kara would still be alive. I’d have a wife. Eva would have … someone to call Mom. But I didn’t, and she fell. She’s dead. She doesn’t exist anymore. She was a person. Now she’s not.

I’m smart enough to know I haven’t quite come to terms with what happened yet. I can say it, I can explain it, you know. Kara’s dead. My wife’s dead. But it’s not real yet. I can’t believe I’m telling you this—I feel like an asshole for thinking it—but what bothers me most, now, is not knowing what she was thinking when she fell. Did she blame me? I don’t want her last thoughts to have been how her husband killed her. Awful, isn’t it? How selfish is that? Moi, moi, moi!

When I killed you ten years ago—

—Vincent, don’t.

—Please, let me finish. I’ve killed you, so some of this feels familiar, but with you, it hit me right away. I felt it. The pain, the guilt. The realization that you’ll never feel any of what you felt with that person ever again. Might be because it’s the end of the world, but it all feels like a movie now. It’s … muffled.

I see her fall over and over again in my head, so I’m sure it’ll sink in at some point. The hatch was closed, but I can see her. I don’t think the image would be any clearer if I’d been watching. She’s falling backwards into the void, her arms spread. She fades into a sea of white smoke. Then she’s gone. Repeat. She’s falling backwards into the void, her arms spread. She fades into a sea of white smoke. Repeat.

—Did you cry?

—Did I cry? I cried when it happened, inside Themis. I cried for a long time. But no, I haven’t cried since. Why do you ask?

—I haven’t cried either. Kara’s really the closest thing I had to a best friend. I could try and explain how much she meant to me, but it doesn’t matter. I know. But I haven’t cried. Yesterday, I watched a man die, right in front of me, thought I was next. How many people died in New York? Two, three million? Kara died. Today I’m here setting up the lab. All in a day’s work. Don’t torture yourself, Vincent. Nothing feels real anymore. Nothing.

What are you smiling about?

—I was thinking about Kara. It’s just … never mind. Stupid memories.

—No, I wanna know.

—Did I ever tell you about our wedding night?

—Tell me. Well, not everything.

—Oh, I can tell you the whole thing. I spent the night with a traveling salesman. Bob. No really, that was his name. There was a reception at the hotel after the ceremony, but as soon as people started leaving, Kara dragged me and some of her childhood friends to this bar where they used to hang out. Shitty place, but we had a good time. I danced with her friends.

—Kara doesn’t dance.

—No she doesn’t. But she beat everyone at the pool table. Kara can … Kara could play. She loved playing pool. Her friends were buying her drinks, lots of drinks. Never the same one. That’s what happens when you take a bunch of grown-up people with jobs and families and you let them pretend they’re twenty years younger for a few hours. They get stupid real fast. Kara threw up on the pool table after a shot of … I don’t remember what it was. Something nasty. We got kicked out, of course. I had to use the conspiracy puker to talk the staff into letting us back in.

—I’m sorry. The “conspiracy puker”?

—Oh, you don’t know that one.

—I’ve never been kicked out of a bar.

—I told them we were having a good time, minding our own business, when this kid with a White Sox baseball cap bumped into us and threw up on my feet. Right on my shoes. I went to the bathroom to clean it up, but Kara was so grossed out she threw up herself. You know. What kind of establishment are you guys running? People throwing up on other people’s shoes! This is my wedding night!

—Did they let you back in?

—Of course. Twenty minutes later, Kara got into a fight with two guys who were harassing a girl. She didn’t even know the girl, they just pissed her off. They took it outside, so we didn’t get thrown out again.

—Did Kara win?

—What do you think? Kara can’t handle her liquor, but she can take two assholes anytime. Could. But she fell on a piece of broken glass, cut her hand pretty bad.

We took a cab to the hotel. We were both done for. Kara could barely walk. She was bleeding. We must have been pretty loud because we woke up Bob in the next room trying to get our door to open with that stupid plastic card. He was pissed at first but then he saw Kara’s hand. It was a pretty nasty cut. He said we had to disinfect that thing and put a proper bandage on it—she’d Scotch-taped a few napkins on her hand at the bar before we left. We sat in the corridor while Bob went to the lobby to get a first-aid kit. They didn’t have anything, so we put Kara on the couch in Bob’s room and he drove me around town looking for a CVS or anything else that was open. By the time we got back, Kara was sound asleep. I tried to wake her up, but she was just gone. We cleaned her hand and put a nice white bandage on it—well, Bob did—and we let her sleep. I stayed up with Bob. He didn’t know who we were, so we emptied the minibar talking about what it’s like to sell plumbing supplies across the Midwest. Fun night.