Gwendy’s Final Task

“Some, but not enough. I’m counting on you to fill me in on the rest.”

“Never,” she says.

He smiles. “Spoken like a true movie heroine, but I think you will.”

“Let’s cut to the chase, Winston, okay? We sit and wait for your little gadget to do its thing, you take possession of the box, and then what?”

“Then you have an unfortunate accident. If the box can’t provide it, I have something that can.”

She bares her teeth in a humorless grin. “They’ll all know, Winston. My God, you have to see that. And you’ll go to prison—federal prison, not some state dump—for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t think so,” he says, shaking his head so rapidly the flesh on his cheeks jiggles back and forth like Jell-O. “Several on board suspect you’re … how shall I say this? Mentally challenged.”

“The cognitive test—”

“Sam Drinkwater and Dave Graves think you cheated somehow—that nobody could score as high as you did.”

“I’m losing my mind, but I’m still smart enough to cheat?”

Gareth snickers. “I believe you just described most of your colleagues in the House and Senate, not to mention the President himself: just smart enough to cheat. But let’s not talk politics. Let’s get back to you instead. A fatal accident would be mourned, of course—you’d be a national hero, maybe get your face on a postage stamp, not to mention a million tee-shirts—but no one would be that surprised. Not really. Cognitive issues so blatant you were forced to take a test? I wouldn’t even be surprised if some of the bigwigs at TetCorp lost their jobs as a result of it. The media will say your unsound mind should have shown up sooner, that somebody missed it. Doctor Glen will undoubtedly come in for his share of the blame.”

“I’ve sent emails,” Gwendy says, gesturing to her laptop on the coffee table. “Friends in high places back in the States know all about you, Winnie. They know you stole the combination to the security case, for one thing.”

The lizard smile disappears from Winston’s face. It’s a possibility he hasn’t considered. “Suspicion is one thing, but providing proof is quite another. And that would be nearly impossible without any witnesses.”

He pulls a small object from his pocket and holds it up for her to see. It looks like a tube of lipstick, and it’s the same weirdly vibrant green as the Chrysler from the Derry video. A cartoon green. It hurts Gwendy’s eyes to look at it.

“A good friend of mine gave this to me. No idea what it’s made of but I can tell you this: it’s virtually undetectable by modern security systems. And it’s lethal. All you have to do is point, then twist the little metal loop in the base. One spray and it turns your insides into jelly. There’s plenty of juice inside this canister to take care of the entire crew if necessary.”

“How would you get back? You gonna fly the ship home yourself?” And then before she can stop herself: “Your little blond friend teach you how to do that, too?”

Before Gwendy can react, Winston has her pinned against the back of the sofa, his meaty forearm pressing down on her throat. There’s a thunderstorm in Winston’s eyes, and for a terrifying moment Gwendy is certain he’s going to kill her right now. “How do you know about Bobby?”

“I … saw it in a dream,” she manages to get out. “You were sitting inside a car with him. A green car.”

For the first time, Winston looks unsure. And scared, that too. “Then you know enough not to fuck around with these people.” He removes his arm from her throat. “I don’t think Bobby’s his real name and I don’t think he’s human. He and his friends mean business, and so do I.” He pauses. “He’s beautiful, though. Like an angel. Except sometimes it looks like there’s something inside him, his real self, and that’s not so beautiful.” He lowers his voice. “His real self has fur.”

Sudden tears spill from Gwendy’s eyes, and she silently scolds herself for showing weakness. She lifts a trembling hand to her neck and rubs the already sore muscles. It feels like something inside of her is broken.

“If you were to kill me and the rest of the crew, you’d be stranded here. You’d die here, Winston.”

The ugly grin resurfaces on Winston’s overfed face. “Let’s just say I could hitch a ride back with my Chinese friends.”

“They would never allow …” She stops as the reality of his words hit home. “They … you … you son of a bitch, you bribed them.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it a bribe.” He chuckles into his fist. “Bribes are for pikers, dear. This was an investment in their future.”

“Why are you doing this? Is it money?” Keep him talking, keep him talking.

“Don’t be foolish. I have more money than I could spend in a thousand lifetimes.”

“Then why?” Almost pleading now. “Why do you want it so badly?”