Robert Ferrigno - The wake-up

"If I didn't know better, I'd believe you."

"Be nice. I've sent you several e-mails. What's it been… a couple weeks since the Engineer and his bodyguard were pulled out of the water? I looked at Warren when the news came on, told him that no matter what the police determined, it was no accident. Congratulations, Frank. You must feel very gratified."

"I know it was you, Billy."

Billy traced the embroidered monogram on the pocket of his pajama top, reading it like braille in the darkness. The room smelled faintly of his cologne, some exotic blend he had personally prepared for him in Paris. "It all comes down to body chemistry, Frank," he had said when Thorpe had asked about it the first time.

"A couple days ago, I had lunch with Nell Cooper, Meachum's former assistant at the gallery," said Thorpe. "She is working at the Guggenheim, just like she wanted… but it's in the gift shop. She says it's just temporary, and I believe her."

"I've never met the woman, but I trust your judgment."

"Nell didn't feed the information about the fake Mayan art to Betty B. You did that, Billy."

"I saw an opportunity." Billy yawned. "I'd used Betty B in the past to float stories. The old shrew was very reliable. I had no idea she was going to get herself killed."

"No, I think you knew just what you were doing. I didn't know who Clark and Missy were when I flashed my fake ID, but you did. I have to give you credit: You did your research. It was just a wake-up, Billy. You made it something bigger. Something worse."

Billy hesitated, put off by the self-control in Thorpe's voice. He functioned best when the other party was off balance, angry or upset, but a soft voice was reason to worry. "Your wake-up was small and petty, no challenge at all for a man of your gifts."

"Yes, but it wasn't your wake-up. It was mine."

"Well, Frank, you could hardly expect me to put you back to work without first finding out if you were ready for the task. I had to put you through your paces. After what happened at the safe house… well, better men than you have lost their edge. I had to be certain."

"I was never going to work for you. I told you that at the bowling alley."

"People like us, Frank… we can't change who we are. We couldn't stop even if we wanted to."

"You should have believed me."

Billy reached toward the lamp on his nightstand.

"Leave the light off. I can see you just fine."

Billy complied, pulled the covers up, fuming.

"Hey, what's going on?" Warren stood in the doorway. Thorpe had heard him approaching down the hallway, trying to be quiet. "The hallway light's not working."

"Go away, Warren," said Billy. "We're quite all right."

"I heard voices… I got worried about you."

"Warren… thank you for your concern, but I'm in no danger."

"That's not your decision," said Thorpe. "You should go back to bed, Warren."

"Frank? Is that you?" Warren peered into the darkness. "What are you doing here?" He took a step into the bedroom, stepped back out. "How did you get in? I got a gun."

"Go back to your room, Warren," said Thorpe. "Go back to your room, close the door, and put the gun back in the Tibetan nightstand."

"Say thank you to the nice man and leave, Warren," said Billy. "Now."

Warren hovered in the doorway, then gave up and walked quickly away.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Frank?"

"Not yet," said Thorpe.

"You should thank me for slipping Betty B the information." Billy was uneasy now, his pajamas rustling. "This pathetic crusade of yours, just to gain an apology to an injured child… it was beneath you. I upped the stakes. You should be grateful. I saved you."

"You didn't save Betty B. You didn't save Ray Bishop. They're dead." Thorpe still hadn't raised his voice.

"I don't even know who Ray Bishop is."

"Your loss, Billy."

A car horn blared in the distance, the sound mournful, echoing off the other buildings around them. Billy stirred in his bed. Thorpe seemed closer now. "Don't expect me to feel guilty. Some people pull the strings; the rest of the world have their strings pulled. You and I, Frank, we're the lucky ones. It didn't used to bother you."

"It bothers me now."

"You'll get over it."

"We're not saving the world anymore," Thorpe said gently. "We're not keeping nukes from terrorists, or separating racists from their bank accounts. We're just showing off."

Billy shivered, and he thought for a moment that Thorpe had opened a window, which was impossible, because the windows in the bedroom were sealed. "This is all quite irrelevant. You're back; that's all that matters. I rescued you from your doldrums and self-doubts. Perhaps it's asking too much for you to be grateful, but-"

"I can always tell when you're scared, Billy-you use the word quite, trying to maintain your reserve. You told Warren we were 'quite all right.' Now you tell me it's 'all quite irrelevant.' "

"Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I'll have to watch that in the future."

"Did you tell the Engineer where I lived?"

"Why would I help the Engineer? Granted, I was curious to see how the contest between the two of you played out, but if he needed my help to find you… well, what value would he be then?" Billy flinched. It felt like Thorpe was right beside him, sitting on the bed. "Sink or swim, that's the only choice any of us have."

"Oh, it's a little more complicated than that." Thorpe's voice seemed to come from a distant point in the room.

"What made you go looking for Nell Cooper? What made you suspect she wasn't the one who called Betty B?"

"Afraid you might have slipped up, Billy? Worried about any other of your loose ends?"

"My interest is purely academic. So… what was it?"

"You changed your brand of toothpaste. A special toothpaste for sensitive teeth. Your gums are receding and you never told me."

Billy glanced toward his bathroom before he could stop himself.

"Nearly a full tube. I hope you don't feel like you have to throw it away now."

Billy didn't move a muscle. "No need for that."

"I'll see you around."

"What does that mean? Frank?" Billy flipped on the light beside his bed, but he was alone. Quite alone.

Claire spotted him sitting in the back of the amphitheater about ten minutes before the end of her Intro to Psychology class and temporarily lost her place. She had been teaching this course for three years, could probably recite the syllabus from memory, but she stumbled over a description of Jung's collective unconscious. Maybe there was hope for Thorpe.

The last ten minutes, Claire was on autopilot, looking over, around, and through him. Then she passed out a study guide and dismissed the class. She rearranged her papers on the lectern as the hundred or so students closed their notebooks, chairs scraping as they filed out.

Thorpe got up, started toward her in the now-empty auditorium, nervous. He had rehearsed this moment for the last month, knowing that he was going to see her again, certain of it, but now he was standing there before her, and he didn't know what to say. "Claire… I know what you must be thinking-"

She slapped him across the face. "What was I thinking?"

He could feel her fingerprints on his cheek.

"You could have said good-bye," said Claire, still fuming. "I didn't even know you had moved out until a Salvation Army van started loading up your furniture."

"I didn't want to say good-bye. I just wanted to get away."

Her eyes were hot. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I was wrong. I've been wrong about almost everything lately…"

"But showing up today is right? Now you've come to your senses?"

Thorpe nodded.

"Am I supposed to be grateful?"

Thorpe started to smile, but her expression changed his mind. "I just want you to give me a chance. Give us a chance."