Elusion(64)

TabTalk Message

From: Welch, Regan

To: Heywood, Josh

11:29 p.m.

Haven’t made up my mind. Until then, just let me be.


“Hey, is that David Welch’s daughter?” says one of the hundred reporters who are perched outside the entrance of Erebus Tower, a steel hotel and apartment complex so tall it rises above the oil-filled clouds, practically disappearing into the sky.

“No, I don’t think so,” replies another reporter. “That girl is way too old to be her.”

I duck my head and fight my way through the huge mob, which is at least twice the size of the one at Orexis. I pull up the hood of my jacket, thankful my O2 shield seems to be obscuring my identity. In the past few months, the media has left me alone and the sudden attention makes me feel vulnerable. I remember how Patrick was right by my side after my dad died, when the media scrutiny was at its worst, protecting me from all the interrogating questions and judgments. Making sure I was safe.

Now that Patrick himself is the target of the press’s latest scandal cycle, there’s nothing anyone can do to make these bloodhounds lose his scent. In fact, he can officially count me as one of the angry pack, especially after seeing my dad again and the horrifying vanishing act I just experienced in Elusion. Patrick has a lot to answer for, and tonight he’s going to tell me everything.

Or else there are going to be major consequences.

As I continue to push through the throng, I glance up at the building. At almost two hundred stories, it’s high enough that glass windows are allowed on the top five floors. Now that it’s stopped raining, the peak of the tower appears to glow with a beautiful gauzy light. Only the wealthiest tycoons in the area actually live at Erebus, and Patrick bought one of the units just a few weeks ago.

In a million years, I never would have thought that the first time I came here would be to take my best friend down.

The media have surrounded the building, and there’s a huge police presence. Stuck in the middle of the frenzy, I stand on my tiptoes and peek through the crowd enough to see that the officers are wearing protective helmets with built-in O2 shields, as if they’re afraid the mob might turn violent. They are hastily trying to construct a small path so that the wealthy clientele of Erebus Tower are able to enter and leave without being mauled.

I have to make it through there somehow.

I tug the strap of my bag away from my shoulder and shimmy it down my arm, which isn’t easy, since I’m pressed up against people at every turn. Then I move it to a small space in front of my knees and blindly feel through the stuff inside with my right hand. Once I locate my passcard, I wiggle enough so that I can reach my arm up and wave it around in the air, praying this hunch of mine will work.

“Let me in! I’m a resident!” I shout, hoping that one of the cops will hear me through my O2 speaker and let me through. “Please! I need to get inside!”

Luckily, someone does hear my squawking. A policeman waves a beer-bellied security guard forward, who blows a shrill whistle that makes everyone cover their ears.

“Step aside and let the young lady through!” the guard orders with a rather intimidating, deep voice.

There’s a slight shift within the group, and I’m able to slip through tiny gaps here and there until I reach the path the cops are clearing out. Once I manage to make it past them, the guard takes my card and holds it up against his handheld reader. After a short beat, the words ACCESS GRANTED, PENTHOUSE SUITE 1950AB appear on the screen, so he nods and says, “You’re good.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I was hoping Patrick had given me a courtesy code for his apartment, but I wasn’t sure.

As the guard opens the electronic gate with the remote that’s built into his code reader, a young, clean-shaven bellman motions for me, his arm outstretched. I grasp on to his gloved hand and he pulls me inside. The backlit onyx ceiling soars above me, casting a glow on the marble pillars that line the room. Even though it’s nearly midnight, impeccably dressed hotel guests are still milling about, strolling through the area with colorful cocktails in their hands or reclining on the black and ivory French provincial–style sofas that are arranged around the fireplace.

I take off my O2 shield and wander around the lobby, looking for the right elevator. None of the chatter really registers until I find my way to the private, cordoned-off elevator bank reserved for residents and their guests. I walk into an empty one with a middle-aged couple and I press the button for the top floor.

“It’s a shame,” the woman says, continuing her conversation. “They found two more of those unidentified comatose kids in Miami.”

Two more victims?

My fingers tighten ever so slightly around the strap of my bag.

“And a girl in Detroit, too.”

I blink as a chill runs down my spine. Three more victims.

“Really? Where?”

“Merch Sector, I think. She had the same circular marks on her head.”

I was just in the Merch Sector. Could it have been one of the people who were with me in the café? Did they experience the same thing that happened to Josh and me in Elusion? Did their Escapes erase with them in it? As my stomach free-falls, I keep my eyes glued to the doors, trying not to appear like I’m eavesdropping.

“Do you believe what they’re saying? That Elusion is causing this somehow?”