Endgame: The Calling by James Frey & Nils Johnson-Shelton

Author:James Frey & Nils Johnson-Shelton
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Maraya21, Survival Stories, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, General, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780062332585
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-10-07T00:00:00+00:00

Green Pyramid of the plains, from far-ebbed Timelxi

AN LIU

Liu Residence, Unregistered Belowground Property, Tongyuanzhen, Gaoling County, Xi’an, China

An rolls over and his arm moves across his bed. The side of the bed she is on.

He opens his eyes.

The side of the bed she was on.

Blink.

He sits up quickly. He can smell her on the pillow, but the bed is cold. She’s not in the bathroom.

Blink.

What time is it? 1:45. 1:45 p.m.! Since he was a small child, An has never slept more than four hours in a row. But last night, this morning, this afternoon, he slept for over 15.

Blink.

Did she drug him?

Blinkblink.

He jumps out of bed and runs through the house. Not in the kitchen. Not in the workroom. Not in the spare bedroom. Not in the storage room. Not in the living room. Not in not in not in not in.

Blink.

He runs to the basement, to the epileptic room of computers and televisions and keyboards and servers and web-bots and programs and aggregators and script managers and boxes and flash drives.

She is blink she is blink she is blink not in there either.

SHIVER.

He’s crushed. An drops into his chair and stares at his bare knees, which are starting to shake. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a folded piece of paper lying across a keyboard. On top of this, at an angle, is a plain business envelope with tiny lumps poking up from within.

Blink. SHIVER. Blink.

He reaches out, opens the envelope. He looks inside.

A clean, thick, neat coil of her hair. He takes it out and holds it, brings it up to his nose and smells it.

He misses her already. And though he appreciates the gesture, this makes it almost worse. To smell her, but not to be able to see her or touch her.

There is more in the envelope. He peers into the crease and sees the small crescent moons of fingernails. An entire toenail, ripped free of the skin and cuticle. A splotch of dried blood.

He holds the hair to his cheek. It is so soft, so soft. He closes the envelope and picks up the paper, unfolds it, stares at the graceful Chinese handwriting.

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