murder of Michael Gabriel.
‘… twenty-five… twenty-six… twenty-seven…’
Borgia has been a model prisoner. He has helped tutor inmates in a literacy program. He has led prayer groups on Sundays.
‘… twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty…’
Daily video-mail has kept him apprized of his family’s efforts to reduce his sentence. He knows parole is just around the corner.
‘… thirty-one… thirty-two… thirty-three…’
Exercise has helped keep Borgia’s blood pressure in check. Daily meditation has preserved his sanity.
The thought of revenge keeps him alive.
‘… thirty-four… thirty-five… thirty-six…’
Borgia’s anger had once been directed solely at the son of his arch rival-a man who had assaulted him onstage three decades earlier, costing him his right eye.
With Michael Gabriel dead, Borgia’s anger has been redirected at someone else.
‘… thirty-seven… thirty… eight… thirty… nine… forty!’
Borgia lies back on the cold linoleum floor of his four-by-seven-foot cell. He gazes at the projection of a tropical shoreline on his wall as he catches his breath.
‘Computer… activate CNN.’
The holographic ocean disappears, replaced by cinder block. The news broadcast begins a moment later.
‘… in the wake of Jordan Ann Katras’s death late last week, former U.S. president Ennis Chaney was nominated earlier today as Secretary General of the United Nations Security Council.’
‘Ahhhh!’ Borgia kicks the wall, Chaney’s face distorting on his shoe.
‘In other news, the World Basketball Association has added two new European teams to its Eastern Conference…’
‘Computer, cease broadcast!’
The transmission ends.
Borgia’s pulse races, his blood pressure soaring. He wheezes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. Repeats the exercise until his pulse stops pounding in his ears, then gets on his hands and knees, resuming his workout.
‘One… two… three… four…’
There is one person Borgia despises more than any other human being, one person whose very name causes his blood to boil, his ulcer to bleed…
‘… five… six… seven… eight…’
Parole is coming.
Pierre Borgia counts the days.
Longboat Key, Florida 2:35 p.m.
‘Come on, Manny. Apply the formula, then figure out the answer!’
Immanuel Gabriel stares at his Vision-Station, a high-resolution curved computer monitor, five feet tall and six feet wide, that encompasses his entire forward field of vision. ‘I told you, Mr. Hopper, I can’t do it.’
‘Sure you can,’ the tutor insists. ‘Watch and learn.’ Scott Hopper leans over the teen and types in an equation designed to calculate G forces and the speed of light. ‘There, I plugged in the values, now you do the math.’
‘Who cares about this stuff? I’m not interested in being an astronaut, I’m gonna play pro ball.’
‘Sure you are. Now just apply the damn formula so we can end the lesson.’
‘I’m ending it now.’
‘Sit down, please-’
‘No. I want to shoot hoops before dinner.’
‘Not until you finish the rest of these problems. Your brother finished an hour ago, and he’s doing quantum physics.’
‘Whoop-dee-do.’
‘Sit down!’
‘Drop dead.’
Hopper swallows his retort as Jacob enters the classroom. ‘Jacob, see if you can talk some sense into your brother; he won’t listen to a damn thing I have to say.’
The instructor walks out.
Immanuel kisses his middle finger, then flips it at Scott Hopper’s back.
‘I need to talk with you, Manny. I spoke with our father again.’
‘And I spoke with the Easter Bunny. He says they need you back at the Funny Farm-’
In a lightning maneuver, Jacob grabs his brother by his hips and hoists him clear off his feet.
‘Let me go-’
‘I’ve had it with you, Manny. You’re way behind in your training and-’
Immanuel kicks his brother in the chest, the blow powerful enough to send both boys tumbling to the floor.
The dark-haired twin leaps to his feet. ‘I’ve had it with you, too, asshole. I’ve had it with your stupid delusions, and you always bossing me around. Most of all, I’m sick of living in this prison camp.’
‘It’s for our own good. There are crazy people out there-’
‘There’s crazy people in here!’ Immanuel picks up his chair in frustration and smashes it through the computer screen, sending shattered fragments flying in all directions.
‘Stop! Do you have any idea how much that costs?’
‘Doesn’t cost me a damn thing.’ Immanuel reaches for another chair.
Jacob intercepts, grabbing him in a powerful wrestling hold. ‘Knock it off, Manny. I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Hurt me?’ Tears of frustration flow from Immanuel’s ebony eyes. ‘You’re killing me.’
‘How am I killing you? Answer me!’
‘Get off-’
Jacob releases him. ‘We live in paradise. You have everything you could ever want or need.’
‘Bullshit, What I need is freedom. I need friends my age. I’m tired of playing pick-up games with the guards. I want to compete on teams. And I want to meet some girls. Girls, Jake, as in the opposite sex, or did that Hunahpu gene take away your balls?’
‘I have sexual desires, I even have a girlfriend.’
‘Yeah? Who? Rosie palm and her five sisters?’
‘Her name’s Lilith. We talk on… on the Internet. She wants to get together, but I can’t.’
‘See, that’s what I’m talking about. Go see her! Screw your brains out.’
‘It’s not like that. I love her, which is why I have to break it off.’
‘Huh?’
‘She’s becoming a distraction.’
‘A distraction? From what?’
‘You still don’t get it, do you? You still refuse to acknowledge who we are, or what’s at stake.’
‘Oh, God, here we go again-’
‘Time’s running out, Manny, we only have six more years.’
Immanuel’s eyes widen. ‘What happens in six years?’
Jacob shakes his head. Turns for the door.
‘Hey, asshole, I said what happens in six years?’
‘Just train, Manny. Train like your life depended upon it.’
The azure-blue specks blaze at him from beyond the white mist of the nexus.
Jacob, I did it, I finally did it! Quenton tried to rape me, but this time, I slipped inside the nexus… I beat the crap out of him!
I’m glad.
