MirrorWorld

“It’s just hard to believe I’m who Maya married. Who Lyons let her marry.” Who would let their daughter marry someone who killed for a living?

She smiles. “First, it’s the twenty-first century. She did what she wanted. Second, that’s the part that confuses you? Really?” She shakes her head, still finding the humor in it. When I don’t reply, she continues. “Well, I can’t speak for Lyons. He knew who you were. What you did. Honestly, my best guess is that he saw you as the best man to protect his daughter. He knew you loved her. Everyone did. A lack of fear can be disastrous, but it can also be romantic. You were never afraid of telling the world, or Maya, how you felt about her.” She smiles, remembering something. “You were good friends for a time, through Lyons. And then one day, at a party, you approached her, said with your usual boldness, ‘You’d make a good wife. Want to get married?’”

“That worked? Sounds a little old-fashioned.”

She laughs and wipes a tear from her eye. “She thought you were joking. Said yes, not knowing you were serious. But that boldness of yours is something she came to love. Working backwards, you then asked her out on the most nonromantic date imaginable. Really, who takes a girl bowling on the first date? But … it worked. And you got her a ring. And gave her a son.

“As for why Maya married an assassin, your lack of fear also meant you had no qualms about hiding the details about what you did. She knew you worked for the CIA, like her father, and understood that secrecy was part of the job. She didn’t ask. You didn’t tell, and you never had a problem with it, or the work, until you had a son.”

“And then?”

“Neuro. Lyons had been at Neuro’s helm from the beginning, some twenty years before you were brought on board, but the discoveries made with your help turned the once-small operation into what you’ve seen. Your job shifted from ending lives to being the point man for Neuro’s … explorations. What you saw out there, it was our world. The Earth. But it wasn’t the Earth as we know it. Another world, but not. What’s important to know is that it’s real. They’re real. They might sometimes appear as a shadow, a hint of something in the dark, or a feeling of something near and impending, but they are physical beings. They’re simply beyond our perception. And they’re the source of all this fear that’s eating up the world.”

“But not me.”

“Not you,” she says. “And that’s why Lyons wants you here. Why he always wanted you here. He eventually brought both sides of the family into the fold. Said it would be safer that way.”

“And all this is funded by the U.S. government?”

“Once you and Lyons had physical evidence for the existence of other realities sharing this world, he received all the funding he asked for. Off the record. If something went wrong, the government wanted deniability. It was real, but it was still fringe science. But the possibilities for energy, environmental, industrial, and military applications are vast. That said, most employees here have no idea who they’re really working for, or what the true scope of Neuro’s research is. Our only true oversight is Winters, who reports to the director of the CIA. Whether or not information gets passed on to the president, I have no idea, but I’d guess that he’s happily in the dark.”

I tap my fingers on the tabletop, weighing what to ask next, and realize that Allenby hasn’t asked me a question in a while. Her job probably ended when she confirmed I could see whatever that was outside the window. Her last statement about the dark reminds me of my mother’s supposed last words. “What is it? The darkness. The shadows.”

“We call them the Dread,” she says with no hesitation, looking up at me. Apparently, this is information she’s been cleared to give. “Capital D. You’re immune to the fear they can instill in people, and the resulting influence on our actions, but the rest of us…”

“I’m officially confused.”

“You should be,” she says. “Showing you might be easier than telling you. Do I have your word that you won’t punch, kick, or otherwise maim anyone you might encounter outside of this room?”

“As long as no one tries to kill me again and you keep telling the truth, we won’t have a problem.”

“Good enough for me,” Allenby says, and then shouts, “Katzman, it’s okay. We’re green. Pack it up.”

The doors to the second bedroom, bathroom, and several closets open at once. Men dressed in riot gear and armed with an array of nonlethal weapons file into the apartment and out the front door.

The last man to emerge is Katzman. His eyes linger on me for a moment and then swivel to Allenby. “You sure about this? We’ve got a handful of men in the infirmary already.”

“You need better men,” I say.

Katzman stops behind me. I can hear the barely controlled anger in his every breath. But he doesn’t act, or even address my comment. I have to give him credit for self-control. I would have punched me.

“It will be different this time,” Allenby says.