Buy up pieces of land? He was a college student, virtually penniless. The voice didn't say how, but it implied that his future well-being depended on it.
And then, shortly after graduation, the book arrived. He found it on his bed in the apartment he was renting. No mailer, no note saying who it was from… just this weird, thick book. It looked ancient, but its title was in English: The Compendium of Srem. The text was in English as well. He began reading.
The voice stopped with the arrival of the book. Reading it changed his life.
Toward the end of all the strange and wondrous legends the Compendium recounted, he found an animated drawing of his vision globe. The text following the illustration explained Opus Omega.
And then he understood the dream and what he must do with his life.
So Luther went hunting for the locations. By then he had seen the globe so many times he could picture every detail in his mind. He found those places—some of them at least—and when he looked up the deed holders he discovered a startling trend: Many of the parcels were owned by a man named Cooper Blascoe.
A little more research revealed that Blascoe was the leader of a commune in northern California. Luther went out to check on him and what he found, what he learned there, changed his life forever.
For he realized then that the vision and the voice had come from the Hokano world. Cooper Blascoe had stumbled on a cosmic truth; he would provide the means for Luther to fulfill the prophecy of the voice.
Yes, the Hokano world was real, and maybe xeltons were too—who could say for sure?—but the Fusion concept and the ladder to achieve it were all products of Brady's imagination, all designed to aid him in completing Opus Omega.
And now, after decades of struggle, only a few more tasks remained before completion.
Luther stepped closer to the spinning globe and reached out to it. As the ridges of its mountains and flats of its plains and oceans brushed against his fingertips, he closed his eyes. Just a few more locations and his work would be done.
But the final steps were proving difficult. Some of the needed land was terribly expensive, some simply not for sale. But Luther was sure he could overcome all obstacles. All he needed was money.
It always seemed to come down to the same thing: never enough money.
But perhaps Jason Amurri could remedy that, at least in part.
And then the final white bulbs could be lit… and the Great Fusion—the only real fusion in the tapestry of lies he'd created—would begin, joining this world with Hokano.
And in that new, better world, Luther Brady would be rewarded above all others.
5
Gia felt moisture between her legs. She hurried to the bathroom and groaned with dismay when she saw the bright red blood on the pad she'd been wearing.
Bleeding again.
She calmed herself. It wasn't much and Dr. Eagleton had warned her to expect some intermittent spotting for a few days afterward. But this was a little more than spotting.
She'd been tired all morning but noticed an uptick in her ambition level. She'd been planning on trying some painting, but now…
The good news was she wasn't having any pain. Monday night she'd felt as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. Not even a cramp now.
She'd watch and wait. She didn't want to be an alarmist, jumping on the phone for every little thing.
She'd take it slow and easy. Put her feet up and put off painting till tomorrow or the next day. Another thing she'd put off was telling Jack. He'd have a squad of EMTs here in seconds.
She had to smile at the thought of him. He was so confident and competent in so many areas of life, but where this baby was concerned, he was as jumpy as a cat. He cared so much.
Now, if he'd just find a lifestyle that wouldn't cause Gia to wonder every time he walked out the door whether this might be the last time she'd see him alive, he'd make a great father.
6
Dressed in street clothes, Sister Maggie stepped into the dimness of Julio's. Jack had said he wanted to meet with her and she felt this Upper West Side bar would be the least likely place she'd be seen by a Lower East Side parishioner.
She spotted Jack waiting at the same table against the wall and rushed over to him.
"It's true?" she said, clutching the edge of the table in a death grip. "What you said on the phone—they're gone?"
Jack nodded. "Your worries are over. I wiped out his files."
Maggie felt her knees weaken. Blood thundered in her ears as she sagged into a chair.
"You're sure? Absolutely sure?"
"Nothing's absolute, but I'm as sure as I can be without strapping him to a chair and taping live wires to delicate parts of his anatomy."
"That's… that's wonderful. Not what you just said," she added quickly. "What you said before."
Jack laughed. "I gotcha."
She didn't know how to ask this, and felt her face turning crimson. Finally she blurted it out.
"Did you happen to see any of the…"
Jack opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "You know, I was going to say yes, and boy were they hot, but I know it's not a joking matter for you. So the truth: no. He didn't keep hard copies. Why risk leaving evidence around when he could point and click and get a fresh print anytime he needed it?"
"I'm so glad, so glad."
Maggie closed her eyes. She had her life back. She wanted to drop to her knees right here on the bar floor and cry out her gratitude to God, but that would attract too much attention.
"But listen," Jack said, his voice grave. "Here's why I wanted to meet in person. I want you to realize that even though I've wiped out his files, you're going to hear from him again."
The wonderful, airy lightness that had suffused her drained away.
"What do you mean?"
"If I did my job right—meaning he thinks this was all a terrible accumulation of accidents—he'll assume that none of his victims know they've been wiped out. Which means they'll all be thinking they're still on the hook. You can't let him know that you know you're not."
"Okay."
"I'm serious about this, Sister. And you can't let your other half know either."
"Other…?"
"Whoever else was in those pictures with you. Do not tell him."
"But he'll be forced to go on paying."
"That's his problem. Let him fix it. You fixed yours, so—"
"But—"
"No 'buts,' Sister. There's a saying that three can keep a secret if two are dead."
"But we two know."
"No. Only you. I don't exist. Trust me on this, please. This guy's an ex dirty cop, so no telling—".
"How did you learn so much about him so soon?"
"Past research from my first encounter with Mr. Slime."
"I…" She felt a sob build in her throat. "I can't believe it's over."
"It's not. Not yet. Like I told you, you've still got to deal with him, and very carefully. When he calls, tell him you're tapped out and will send him something as soon as you get it. Plead with him to be patient."
"But he wants me to… you know…" She lowered her voice. "The building fund…"
"Tell him you'll try, but it won't be easy. Because of the kind of neighborhood you're in, they watch it like hawks, yadda-yadda. But whatever you do, don't refuse to pay. You're not going to send him another damn cent, but you can't let him know that."
"But I am going to pay you. I promise. Every cent."