The Seal of Solomon (Alfred Kropp #2)(50)

I whipped the 3XD in an arc, like I’d seen on a hundred cop shows and movies, my left hand gripping my right wrist.

I was standing in a hospital room. The room was empty, the bed neatly made, and the only sound was the TV on its wall mount opposite the bed. The Price Is Right was on. I had been in this room before, and my first thought was, It’s a lie. Don’t panic. It’s another lie. I didn’t know what the deal was with this room, but I didn’t have time to puzzle over it. I had to find Op Nine. I turned, and when I turned she called out to me.

“Alfred.”

I froze. I knew that voice. It had been a long time since I had heard it, but since it was the first voice I had ever heard, I recognized it immediately.

It was a trick. I knew it was a trick and I knew Op Nine was still somewhere in the house and his only hope of survival lay in Alfred Kropp keeping his focus, but something made me turn back. I guess it was hope that made me turn back. I was about to find out they could use that against you too.

The bed wasn’t empty anymore.

“Ah, come on,” I said to the person in the bed. “This isn’t fair.”

“Sit down, Alfred,” Mom said. “We need to talk.”

“I’m not going to sit down,” I said. “I need to find Op Nine.”

“There is no such person. Now stop being silly and sit down.”

“If there’s no such person,” I said, “then how’d I get this?” I showed her the 3XD. My hand was shaking.

“Alfred, you know how.”

I lowered the weapon. I knew the smart thing to do at that point. And the longer I let her talk, the harder the smart thing to do would be, but how does anyone in his right mind blow away his own mother?

I swallowed hard. “You’re going to tell me I’m dreaming.”

“You are dreaming.”

“It’s all been just a horrible dream.”

“Well, of course it has. You fell asleep, Alfred, sitting right in that chair.”

“And I’m really twelve years old and you’re still alive.”

“Of course, my darling.”

Tears shone in her eyes and I looked away. I always looked away when she cried. I couldn’t take it.

“That’s mean,” I whispered. “That’s really mean. That’s stepping over the line.”

I sank into the chair beside her bed and leaned over, my elbows on my knees, the 3XD now hanging loosely in my hand.

“Alfred, I’m all you have.”

“Stop it,” I said.

“All you have in the world. Of course you would dream of being a hero, a brave knight riding to my rescue. But you know such things don’t really exist, don’t you, baby? Holy swords and demonic yard gnomes, Alfred? You know it can’t be real.”

I nodded.

“Alfred, your father wasn’t a business tycoon or the last son of Lancelot. He was a big-headed, long-haul truck driver named Herman.”

“My dad . . . my dad was a trucker?”

“Watermelons. Doesn’t that make more sense than what you’ve been dreaming?”

I nodded. “You bet it does.”

“And isn’t that what you want most of all, Alfred? For everything to make sense?”

I lifted my head and looked at her. The same skeletal face, the same deep-set, black-ringed eyes, the same yellowish skin and thin gray lips pulled back from her teeth. Just like four years ago (if it really was four years ago), it was Mom and it wasn’t Mom.

“So what do I do now?” I asked.

“Wake up, honey. That’s all. Just . . . wake up.”

She smiled at me, and it was her smile, my mom’s smile.

“It isn’t right,” I mumbled. “It’s not fair. You’re all that I had—why did you leave me alone? I’m so sick of being alone—I don’t want to be alone anymore!”

“Alfred, I know, I know,” she cried. “But you have to be strong for me, baby. I need you now. All we have is each other, and I need you to be strong for me now.”

I nodded. “Okay. Okay, Mom. I can . . . I can be strong . . .”

“Then you have to wake up, Alfred.”

“How—how do I do that? How do I wake up?”

“Look.”

She pointed toward the door. I had kicked it off its hinges—I distinctly remembered kicking it off its hinges—but now it was whole again and closed, and sprawled on the floor with his back against it was Op Nine, his chin against his chest so I couldn’t see his face.

“These are the dreams we dream,” Mom whispered.

“The worst that come before waking.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. But I did understand. I stood up and walked over to him. I saw his chest rise and fall. He was alive.

“You must choose now, Alfred,” she said behind me. Her voice was sad and soft and sounded very far away. “Between the waking and the dream. I know you don’t want to wake up. Waking up means you have to face the fact I might die— but I need you now. Please don’t abandon me, Alfred, my baby. Please wake up and take care of me.”

I raised the 3XD that didn’t exist and pointed it at the top of the head of the OIPEP operative, the Superseding Protocol Agent, who also didn’t exist. It wasn’t murder. How could it be? He didn’t exist. None of it did. I was just a twelve-year-old kid who couldn’t face the fact that his mother was dying. Enough fooling around. I needed to wake up.