The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do
- Steve Jobs
By the time Jared returned home, his stomach was churning uncontrollably. He'd screwed up. He'd screwed up big time. Cornering Leah on a cliff hadn't been a foolproof plan, but he hadn't thought she'd jump to her death. She was crazier than he'd expected. Braver too. And now he was going to pay for it.
Tremors ran up his arm as he knocked on his father's study door, his fist clenching in response to the physical sign of his anxiety. He needed to be emotionless around here. Weakness had never been an option. Not for him.
"Come in."
He slipped inside the dim room, glancing back at the empty corridor before shutting the door.
"Jared. What took you so long?" His father sat behind a large wooden desk, his tone disapproving.
As Jared's eyes adjusted, his father's form became clear. His hands were clenched on the table, blue eyes hard. A strange mix of resentment and relief rose in Jared's chest. He'd accepted a long time ago that his father had more important issues than looking after him, but he thought that being absent for seven days warranted something more than a 'what took you so long?'. But his father was here, and that was what mattered.
"I ran into some complications," Jared said. "Leah isn't the easiest person to deal with."
"That's not surprising. Have you found anything out? Are her memories coming back?"
"No," Jared said slowly, trying to think of a positive spin for the bomb he was about to drop. None came. "She died."
His father flinched. "What?"
Jared licked his lips. "She jumped off the edge of a cliff."
A dark purple rose in his father's face. "WHY DID YOU LET HER JUMP OFF A CLIFF?"
"I didn't think it was at the top of her bucket list."
"You — you—" Jared waited for a rant, but almost as quickly as his father's anger came, it left again, and he sat back, fingers tapping against lips as he thought.
"Did you retrieve her body?"
Jared swallowed. "Yes."
Unbidden images of the trip down the cliff came to mind. He'd seen a lot of things, but only the most awful stayed fresh. He knew that would be one.
"Good. I want you to go back and watch her. She has to start remembering soon, we're running out of time. We can't hold the S.I.S. off forever."
Jared nodded. "How am I supposed to make her remember? I tried intimidating her and she killed herself."
His father's eyes flashed. "I imagine just being around you will be the most effective. How could she forget what you did? Surely it's there somewhere subconsciously."
Jared's thoughts flickered back to a year ago, to the knife in his hand and the man at his feet, green eyes glittering the way Leah's did.
"I have a question," Jared stated.
An eyebrow was raised in response. "Only one?"
"Why does Leah's adoptive father look like you? Why does he have your name?"
His father stilled, and then he sighed. "I was wondering when you would run into him."
Jared tried to bite down the anger as his father, Brenton Caldwell, stared at him calmly. The nonchalant response didn't sit well. He'd spent the last few days fighting bouts of dread and the urge to sprint home, rationalising over and over again that his fears were baseless. Brenton couldn't have been there with Leah. If he had been that would mean he'd –
"Well?" Jared asked. "Who is he? Do you have a twin I don't know about?"
"He is me," Brenton said.
Jared glared. "That's impossible."
"Why?" Brenton asked, leaning forward. "Stranger things have happened."
"He attacked me. He defended Leah."
A frown appeared on Brenton's face. "I see. I'll get someone to talk to him about that. I told him not to let anyone take her, and he hasn't seen you in years. He probably didn't recognise you."
"What?" Jared hadn't known what to expect from this conversation, but this definitely wasn't it. "What do you mean you need to talk to him? That's impossible, he's –"
"Jared," Brenton snapped, "stop. It's not impossible. Unusual, yes, but not impossible. Death will always allow deals to occur."
Jared massaged his temples in frustration. "Why didn't you tell me about him?" His voice was quieter than he expected. "When I saw him I thought... I thought that you'd –"
"I didn't tell you because you didn't need to know," Brenton said dismissively. "Now stop acting like a child and get back to Leah."
...
Patrick Azemar stood still as he stared out the window of the Henderson building's conference room. He was high above Sydney's streets, higher then humanity had any right to be. From here, he could see Darling Harbour, the Opera House, the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Always expanding, he thought, always going up and out, even to places beyond this world.
There was soft chatter as people entered the room, scraping chairs and scattering pens. He didn't turn, and no one thought to question him. There were some perks to being in charge of the Department of Secret Intelligence and Surveillance, or the S.I.S., after all, even if the cons had eaten up his year and family with a deadly consistency and precision. He flashed back eighteen months, to the day his oldest son died, and his daughter disappeared.
Tears had deformed his wife's face as she bent over the limp body of their son, mouth opened in a scream that hollowed out the room until he wanted to rip his heart out. A day later a note had appeared on their doorstep:
"If you ever want to see your daughter again, you will give me the Mors Mortis Device."
The cruelty behind that letter was extreme. Because there wasn't a choice, not really. He couldn't trade the device the S.I.S. was built to protect. It was only a taunt, a ploy to unhinge him. And it worked. That note put his daughter's death on his shoulders. Until today. Today he'd gotten a message that changed everything.
"Patrick," Andrew Jackman, Patrick's closest friend in the unit, spoke over the chatter. "Would you like to begin?"
Patrick turned and regarded the crowded room, clearing his throat.
"As many of you know, we've had various security issues within the last year involving the Mors Mortis Device. Brenton Caldwell and his rebels are getting closer each day to finding its whereabouts, and the identities of some S.I.S. members have been revealed."
Murmurs raced around the room. No one liked discussing the breach. Just over two years ago, one of their colleagues had been taken by Brenton. She'd been setting up smoke screens and false leads to the Mors Mortis Device, but the rebels had caught up with her. It'd cost Patrick and the S.I.S. dearly.
Not only was she tortured and killed, key members of the S.I.S. had been revealed, leading to mass relocation and the death of several family members that weren't warned in time, Patrick's son included.
"I am aware that all of you have accepted the dangers of this job, however there has been a further complication." Patrick paused, clearing his throat. "The rebels have been attempting to build a machine similar to the Mors Mortis Device, one which transports a person's soul, but not their body and consciousness, to the world of the dead. This device would leave the person alive, yet mentally absent."
Every face in the room clouded in anticipation of his next words.
"I believe the rebels activated and tested this device some months ago now. As far as I've been informed, it can only affect individual people, unlike the Mors Mortis Device."
Patrick glanced at Andrew and saw his own worry reflected in Andrew's eyes. The Mors Mortis Device was meant to be a unique invention, the process behind its creation lost centuries ago. The revival of its basic scientific principles was not one the S.I.S. wanted or expected.
"Where did you get this information from?" Eliza, one of the recent recruits, asked.
"I received an email yesterday from Brenton Caldwell. There were pictures and an explanation of what those pictures showed. The email was sent from a hacked email account on a public computer, here in Sydney."
Andrew rubbed his jaw. "He's trying to scare us."
"Yes."
"Who did they test the device on?" Eliza asked.
Patrick sucked in a breath. This was the question he'd been dreading.
"My daughter," he said, knowing his voice betrayed every emotion he wished to remain unknown. "They tested it on my daughter."
The silence was deafening.
"I thought they killed her when she was taken," Andrew said softly.
"So did I."
Patrick's jaw was ticking against the building emotions. They were harder to deal with when their cause was said out loud.
"Well did it work? Is she –"
"Yes," Patrick said. "Leah is in the world of the dead."