The Becoming of Noah Shaw Read online

  Mara blinks, once. “She didn’t—”

  “No. Not yet. But she was talking to us. In the . . . film . . . she made.”

  “Did she name me?”

  I’d used the word “us.” Mara wanted to know if Stella named her.

  “If she’s going to, she hasn’t yet,” I say, standing up. It could mean something or nothing, and maybe Daniel will know. I grab my mobile. Indeed, there are over twenty missed calls. Most recently from Ms. Gao, one from Ruth, none from Katie. Maybe she doesn’t know, hasn’t heard.

  Or doesn’t care.

  Stella hasn’t called or texted either. “Come,” I say to Mara, reaching for her hand. “You can watch the whole thing downstairs. Jamie’s recorded it.”

  “She went viral,” Mara says, shaking her head, still sitting on the floor. “Everyone will be looking for her. And she has more time, Felicity didn’t die until—”

  “Stella doesn’t want more time,” I say, and the words spark something. “She’s resentful, of all of us. But you the most. She thinks you’re pulling her strings, and she’d rather cut them herself.”

  I know the words are true because I understand what’s behind them. Stella’s fought, hard, to change who she is, what she can do. She tried to use her ability for good, to channel it, but it brought her nothing but the sounds of misery and destruction. I understand wanting silence, after that.

  But you don’t go public if you want silence. You go public if you want to make noise.

  39

  OF MOTIVES

  I WALK INTO THE MIDDLE OF an argument downstairs. The news at high volume in the background, Goose glued to it. Sophie’s face is tearstained; Daniel looks nauseated. Jamie is circling the flat, trying to disguise his pacing. “Who is doing this though?” he asks.

  “It doesn’t matter who,” Daniel says. “We should be trying to work out why.”

  Sophie’s eyes are drawn to mine, mid-stair. “Well, whatever motive’s behind this, it’s the same one that apparently aligned with destroying Noah’s dad’s research.”

  “It wasn’t his father’s research,” Daniel says. “It was research his father paid for, to save Noah’s life.”

  “That makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “That was how he justified it to himself, and you weren’t there, Sophie.”

  “And as I understand it, you were unconscious.”

  “Stop it,” Mara says, standing at the foot of the stairs. It’s not just Sophie and Daniel who are silenced—it’s everyone.

  “My brother’s right,” she says. “It doesn’t matter who’s doing this to Stella, at this point—she knows she isn’t dead yet, but she thinks she’s in the slaughtering pen.”

  “And that you’re the butcher,” Leo says to her.

  “That’s what she thinks,” Mara acknowledges. “I’m not. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is why she’s doing it. She doesn’t want to die, right?” Mara looks at me first and then at Leo.

  “Not that she’s ever said.” He looks surprised to have even been asked. “I don’t understand why she’s doing this.”

  “Because she wants some control back,” Mara says, looking to me for affirmation. “She knows it’s just a matter of time before whoever is doing this makes her kill herself. You heard her in the video.”

  “She thinks it’s inevitable,” Jamie cuts in. “Like telling someone they’ve got a degenerative brain disease so they might as well sacrifice themselves to a volcano to save a nation of people.”

  Goose looks at him, then at me. “And here I thought I had no idea what was going on before.”

  “Never mind,” Jamie says. “I’m just saying Mara’s right. Stella’s still in control right now—to some extent. Something made her drive to Vermont to buy a gun and put it in her mouth,” Jamie says. “I don’t think she’d do that, even as a joke.”

  “The police, everyone’s going to be looking for the same things we are,” Mara says. “Anything that identifies . . . anything . . . from where that video was taken. It looked like a cell phone—that’s probably where they’ll start?”

  “We’ve been over that already, while you were doing whatever. This is New York,” Leo says. “And she has an iPhone. Can cell towers place you that specifically? Enough to find where she took the video?”

  “She left her phone there,” I speak up, and everyone looks to me. “That’s what I’d do, if I wanted to lead people in the wrong direction.”

  “But why the wrong direction?” Leo asks, his voice nearly pleading. “She said—you said—that you knew they didn’t want to die.”

  I try and edit myself before I speak. Take a leaf from his book. “Because for her, she’s made a decision. She intends to honour it.”

  “What if no one’s looking for her?” Sophie asks. “What if they think she’s just some crazy girl on the Internet—”

  “They’re questioning her mental health and trying to identify her, definitely,” Daniel says. “Find out who she is and whether she’s still alive.”

  “Not just that,” I say. “She mentioned Felicity by name in her video. And the number of missed calls on my mobile about confirms that people know about the fire—”

  “Explosion,” Goose corrects. “They called it an explosion on the news.”

  “Right, the journos’ve picked it up. She’s now a person of interest in whatever investigation’ll go on about that.”

  “By that right, so are you, mate.”

  That was what Daniel had been trying to say, before, why he’d thought of my phone.

  Jamie’s the one who speaks up, though. “We should get out of here before they come looking for you, Noah. I mean, I can hand-wave a lot, but it’ll be easier if—”

  “They’re not going to arrest me,” I say.

  “They can hold you for less than twenty-four hours for whatever they want,” Mara says. “Without arresting you.”

  “ ’Murica,” Jamie mutters.

  “Felicity was murdered in a property you own,” Daniel says.

  “She committed suicide,” I say. “And with my father’s lawyers—they wouldn’t dare.” I glance at Mara, only just beginning to fully grasp the extent and reach of the privilege I’ve enjoyed.

  “They won’t send a SWAT team here,” she says. “Probably just a couple of detectives.”

  “Are you actually worried about yourself when Stella just announced to the world that she’s going to commit suicide imminently?” Leo asks me. Rage simmers beneath his placid, amphibious expression. Where was all this feeling when she went missing?

  “I’m concerned that if I’m detained, I won’t be able to help in any way.” I don’t even give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. Instead, I pocket my mobile and my keys, one of which belongs to a car I’ve never driven and didn’t ask for but was bought for me anyway, by the assistant. No time like the present. “Shall we drive?”

  “Drive . . . where?” Sophie asks.

  “Anywhere but here, until we figure out where she is,” I say.

  Daniel meets my steps to the door. “Works for me,” he says. Then, lower, “I was the last one in the archives. The police are going to want to talk to me.”

  “No, they won’t. We left together.”

  “I went back.”

  It takes effort to appear as though he hasn’t said anything.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say quickly. “You had my permission. And as Jamie said, he can hand-wave any questions—”

  “Where do you think she is?” Mara asks me. She’s slipping into a jacket just as Sophie and Leo join us.

  “We have to try to think the way she’s thinking.”

  “But she’s not thinking, is the point,” Leo cuts in. “If she were thinking, she wouldn’t be doing this.”

  “She is thinking,” I insist. “She’s just thinking the way—the way someone who’s given up hope would think.” A pattern I’m familiar with.

  “How can we predict that?” Sophie turns to me, then L
eo. “How am I supposed to find her before . . .” Her voice trails off before she finishes her sentence, but she doesn’t have to.

  “People who think about dying think about what they’ll miss about this world, if they’re to leave it. So what does Stella love most?” I ask Leo.

  “Um, I thought . . . I mean . . . I think . . . she loves me?” he finally says.

  Nice try, mate. “No, what does she love?”

  “Her friends, family,” Sophie says.

  I avoid looking at Jamie and Mara—seeing their scepticism won’t help.

  “You’re not listening. Other than the standard shit people say on dating profiles,” I say to Leo.

  “How would you know what people say on dating profiles?” Goose asks.

  Mara twists around. “Really?”

  “Just asking.”

  “If you were to take away something from Stella,” I say, searching for the right words, “what thing that if you took it away, you’d be taking part of her away too?”

  Leo and Sophie look at each other. The silence is worse than uncomfortable. No one in this room seems to have known Stella at all.

  “She loved the water,” Jamie says suddenly. “Loves,” he corrects himself. “She loves the water.”

  “She was on the swim team in high school,” Mara says to me. “I remember her saying something about that at . . .”

  Horizons.

  “What did she say in her video?” I ask Jamie. “Let me see your phone; play it back.”

  “The whole thing?”

  “Just the last bit.” He hands me his phone. It’s especially eerie now, hearing her voice, knowing what she’s planning to do.

  I want all of you to see me do it . . . .

  I want your own eyes looking at my eyes when she kills me . . . .

  “It’ll be public, like the others,” I say. “Though not exactly the same.” Not a hanging, not jumping in front of the train. Whatever part of Stella still has autonomy is aware of the others. She wants her choice to stand out.

  “The river?” Jamie looks at Mara, then Daniel.

  “Which one?”

  “Mates,” Goose says, “I think it might be too late for us to get out of here. I just saw two helicopters . . . .”

  But I’m already moving through the flat toward the east clock face, to the glass that separates us from the Manhattan Bridge. It rises out of the East River like a prehistoric beast, its pylons rusty with age, almost appearing to ripple with muscle. The main span is like a spine, the suspension cables, ribs. It stands between islands, stretching its neck, its tail, carrying thousands of people, even now. And I know that Stella is one of them.

  . . . your own eyes looking at my eyes when she kills me

  She doesn’t just want an audience; she wants our audience. My audience. She wants me to witness. She would choose to end her life in a way I can’t help but see, from almost every direction.

  I press my palm to the glass. “She’s on the bridge.”

  40

  I WILL BREATHE

  WE WALK SILENTLY AND A bit scattered—Jamie’s first in our little queue; I follow with Daniel, Leo, and Sophie. Mara and Goose are behind us. We approach at Jay and Sands streets and we’re not stopped. The police might not know what’s happening, if she’s even here. She’s picked a good hour for it.

  “She might not even be here.” Daniel gives voice to my thoughts. Having him beside me is steadying, stops me from thinking about Mara in the study—or office, rather. My father had a study.

  I blink in the soft, dusty light. Below us, somewhere, is the carousel, encased in glass like a jewel box. Around us is graffiti, harsh and livid. The sun is trying to rise, like a chick trying to break free from its egg. But it’s not dawn yet.

  It feels as though we’ve been walking for ages when I spot the first officer. He’s turned to the side, hands in his pockets, staring at something but I can’t tell what, from this angle. He’s still—unnaturally still—as we approach him. He doesn’t turn his head, his eyes don’t move at all, not even to blink.

  Jamie looks back at us. “What new devilry is this?”

  “Not devilry,” Leo says. He and Sophie exchange a look. “I’m trying something.”

  Goose shouts from behind us. “Has it got anything to do with why I feel ill all of a sudden?”

  Leo stops. “I’m working on something. An illusion. For the cops and us.”

  “Might’ve been nice to have a warning,” Goose says, looking peaked.

  “I didn’t know if it would work,” he says. “I still don’t know.”

  “Sophie, how many people are here?”

  “I’m only seeing us.”

  I hang back, to let Goose catch up. “What’re you feeling, mate?”

  “Bloody awful.”

  “More specifically?”

  “Like I’ve just given ten pints of blood . . . from my brain.”

  Daniel tenses. “If Leo’s using you to create whatever . . . illusion . . . he’s creating, on however many people . . . there’s not going to be much Goose can do for anyone else.”

  Still, next to him, the percussive sound of thousands of heartbeats batters my skull. The bridge trembles as the trains run, but I don’t hear any cars. Maybe the police have caught on to what’s happening and stopped traffic?

  Ahead of us, Jamie’s stopped. When we reach him, I see why.

  Stella’s climbed the fence. She’s clinging to it, facing the walkway, not the water. She’s been waiting for us.

  She’s not the only one here. There are police above, paramedics as well, and one of them’s suspended between the upper level of the bridge and this one. But like that first officer, they too are frozen.

  “I’m glad you came,” Stella says, drawing my eyes. “Wasn’t sure you’d bother to find me.”

  Jamie’s nostrils flare. “Of course we—”

  “I’m talking to Noah,” Stella says. “I knew you’d find me, if you could. But you don’t have his Gifts.” She spits out the word. “What a bullshit word.”

  “Are you doing this because of me?” I ask, point-blank.

  She laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She looks at Leo, then, and her eyes tear up. “Neat trick,” she says.

  “I wanted us to be able to talk without them getting in the way.”

  “If they were in the way, maybe they could actually help . . .” Daniel mumbles.

  I shake my head, knowing that Stella heard him—his thoughts, if not his actual words. “If they were in the way, Stella would jump. Isn’t that right?”

  She smiles. “I like the water.” She twists her head to the left, as much as she can while she’s gripping on to the fence. “I kind of always wondered what it would be like to jump.”

  “Like breaking your neck,” Mara says. Her cheeks are flushed; I can feel the anger coming off her like fire. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m not doing this,” Stella says. Her rage is cold. “You are.”

  “That’s bullshit, and somewhere in there, you know it.”

  “Stop,” Leo tells Mara, holding out his hand. He walks toward Stella. “Let me pull you back. All of us, together, we can make it go away—”

  Stella’s eyes frost over. “I made a video to make sure it wouldn’t go away. Now everyone will know what we are, that we exist, and they’ll stop what’s happening to us.”

  “Or stop us,” Mara says, without pointing out that Stella didn’t actually name anyone to stop.

  A twisted smile forms on Stella’s lips. “Yeah. Maybe they will. I hope they do.”

  It doesn’t matter. Reality doesn’t even matter—only what’s in Stella’s mind, and I don’t know that any of us have the right words to change it.

  If we could get more time, though . . .

  “Stella, don’t,” Sophie calls out, interrupting my thoughts. “We can fix this.”

  “No, we can’t. Maybe they can,” Stella says, indicating Mara, me. “But we can’t. They’re the Or
iginals. We’re just copies.”

  Mara starts to say, “That doesn’t mean what you think—”

  “You’re not helping,” I tell her.

  “What’s she talking about?” Sophie asks me. “Originals, copies?”

  “Just a little something I heard Felicity think before she died,” Stella says. She takes one hand off the fence, the muscles flexing in her arms, her core, as she wipes her hand on her shirt. Her muscles must be on fire. She’s stronger than she looks.

  Or something’s making her stronger.

  “Noah knows, I bet. Jamie, too.” She pauses. “And Mara, of course.”

  I’m wary of latching on to anything she says for fear that she’s already so far gone I can’t trust it, but my conversation with Daniel surfaces regardless. He was the one to first bring up Stella’s type—“suspected original.” Stella just called herself a copy. What does she know now that she didn’t know before?

  I wonder if Daniel’s caught it. There’s movement in the corner of my eye. It’s him, backing up.

  “Stella,” I say, feeling every second as it’s lost, grasping for more. “You weren’t there when my father said the things he said.”

  “I didn’t have to be there. It’s in your head. I can see it.”

  “You can see his memory of it,” Mara says. “Memories are tainted. Unreliable. If you bothered to look at my memory, I bet it would be different.”

  Stella smiles again, coy. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

  I look reflexively at Mara. Her face reveals nothing, her expression almost as still as the paused officers’.

  “That’s why I made the video,” Stella goes on. “So everyone can see who you are, what you do. Obviously, memories can’t be trusted. I mean, look where I am right now.”

  “You don’t have to be here,” Mara says.

  “No, I don’t have to be here. I could be in some basement with a gun in my mouth—it probably would’ve taken people a while to find me. A quieter death would’ve been a lot more convenient for you.”

  Leo looks at me, his hands balled into fists. “Why aren’t you stopping her?”