Chapter 10:

Fear and Vodka

William leaned heavily on Valerie’s shoulder. They used each other as much for balance as camaraderie: two leaves in a gale, two twigs twisting in white water. They were both slightly intoxicated, William allowed, and since he’d admit to that much, he steadfastly refused to admit that he was out and out drunk. He veered heavily, and almost pulled Valerie to the ground. The two managed to keep their balance, staying on their feet with the assistance of a convenient Porsche Boxster.

William peered around the parking level of the Fifth Season, craning his neck, looking for his green Saturn Vue in the poor lighting. Unable to find it, he turned to Valerie as she scraped a dot of frosting from her sleeve.

William pulled her into another line of cars. “Next row,” he insisted, gazing about, his head threatening to throw his body off balance as he leered at the various cars of the garage.

“Is there another level?” Valerie asked, the dot of frosting had spread and flaked white dust across her blouse. She licked her finger and rubbed moisture over the stain. The frosting disappeared—at least temporarily.

William turned, sure he had parked on the first level—had he not?—and there it was, hiding among several bulky SUVs, his slight Saturn Vue with the off green color—almost a pukey green—but don’t think of the word puke, he told himself as he stifled a gag. “Told you,” William stated, with churlish authority.

“Just get me home,” Valerie said, her tone defeated. But the two were not mad at each other. In fact, the two had nothing left except for each other.

William pulled her to the car. She hopped around to the passenger side and lifted the handle several times, to no avail.

William checked his pockets. He had no keys! He had nothing but his wallet and a mint. He ate the mint and checked his pockets again. This time, he found only his wallet.

“I lost my keys?” he said to himself, rather astonished. He cupped his eyes against the window of his car and searched the interior, thinking perhaps he left them in his car—but there was nothing.

Did he leave them at the party? That was a distressing thought. Maybe he’d set them down as he picked at a cheese plate, or placed them on the bar. But why would he have done that? He couldn’t remember setting them down, but then, thinking of the party made something as mundane as keys—well—vanish.

Just thinking of the party made his breathing ragged. There was no way he was going back to get them. He pressed his eyes against the window yet again and took a second to think it over. Sneaking back into the party seemed like an impossiblity. He thought about calling his wife instead. She could bring him the second set—but that meant that he’d have to involve her, and he wasn’t willing to do that.

If William could remember exactly where he’d set his keys, it might be worth the risk to return to the party. If not, he’d have to search, and then somebody would undoubtedly see him and he’d end up talking, which would negate the whole point of running out of the party in the first place. He could feel his flesh creep, his pulse quickened as he thought of the party, as he thought of all the small people in attendance—small people with vast amounts of power.

The party wasn't so bad at first. People asked a few questions about astronomy in general, or asked about the feasibility of a manned mission to Mars. Mars was not William’s specialty, as his head was in the formation of stars and galaxies. Yet, William gave concise answers in favor of exploration of any sort, keeping his reasons specific and economical. He joked about the existence of Planet X, and talked about the unfortunate state of planetary classification, which ousted Pluto from the list of planets. Several individuals, chairs of different companies or organizations, pledged money to the Science Academy—which wasn’t surprising since the party doubled as a fundraiser. This was, after all, how Harridge Wilborn had persuaded William and Valerie to attend in the first place—although ‘persuaded’ was certainly a kind way of putting it. Mayor Wilborn made it sound like the scientists had no choice. Bullied, intimidated, browbeat were far more accurate ways of describing it.

Initially, the party wasn’t that bad. With all the alcohol, it was actually enjoyable. Several people hinted that they knew more than they should, suggesting shades of knowledge none of them were supposed to have. But these people invariably kept any knowledge of Lucifer 6 to themselves.

The asteroid also haunted Valerie. She hid it as she could, excusing herself to get another glass of wine, perhaps a scotch, feigning she hadn’t heard what was said whenever anyone hinted at the rock, at their superior knowledge.

It wasn’t until they met Bianca Bracknell that anyone was actually willing to spill some beans. She had all sorts of superior knowledge. She stood perhaps 5’5” in heels, curvy and decadent. She wore a canary yellow dress, with black and white trim, showing her arms and just enough of her legs. She talked to a gentleman and some other girl, and it appeared that the words were not kind. She had an edge about her, a hostility, as she moved through the crowd. Her stride was resolute, purposeful, determined as she walked away from her companions and angled straight at the scientists. Watching her approach, William felt chills. Obviously, this woman could not be trusted.

Bianca caught William’s eye. Immediately, her expression relaxed and she gave William a winning smile. William was bowled over by her sudden transformation, her face now soft and enticing. She was a ray of light; all strength, beauty, and goodness. She seemed like a different person than the one he’d just seen arguing with some unknown man and woman. Good company, he should think, if only he hadn’t seen her conversing with that other couple.

Now standing before William, and with a smile upon her face, Bianca Bracknell was absolutely stunning. All other thoughts were gone; all discomfort disappeared in the face of this beauty. “Hi.” she said, offering a hand, “You must be William and doctor Williams.”

“Yes, we are,” said William with a smile. He took her hand. Her grip was strong, comfortable, and warm. She smelled of ginger and apricots, her blonde hair was stick straight, with a slight taper at the tip. For the first time all night, William was happy to be known.

Her stance was strong, her presence willful. She's in business. One of the boys, William figured. He glanced down at her hand and noted a ring. Did her husband bring her here, or did she bring the husband? William wondered if it was one of the old men about, a good twenty years her senior. Was this a trophy? And what an exquisite trophy she would be…

“Bracknell? Are you related to Joel Bracknell?” Valerie asked.

“So you know my husband,” Bianca stated, her smile tinged with venom.

Valerie did not know her husband. She only knew about him. She was about to note this point, but Bianca waved away her reply.

“I apologize it has taken me so long to make your acquaintance, but you are the stars of the show, and it has been difficult to get you alone.”

“I don’t know anything about us being stars,” William began—but was quickly interrupted.

“It’s all very hush hush, of course,” Bianca began. “It’s under the surface, so to speak,” she snorted. “Can’t go around announcing your secret in public, but everybody knows about your discovery. What good would the mayor be if he kept such gossip to himself?”

“Funny,” replied Valerie. “He seems to be able to keep secrets from us.”

“Yes, well, Harridge is a business man. He has no use for science, the arts, or much of anything else—unless it’ll help him cultivate power and money. You, well, you make him look good, and so he treats you like pets,” she grinned. “‘Come along, little doggies. Look good for me at my party,’ that is, if you don’t mind me being crass.” Bianca gave a cynical smile and shrugged as if to say, What are you gonna do? We all use each other. She must be used to such casual dehumanization. Still, her smile was sympathetic. William had to give her that.

Valerie turned to look at Harridge as he stood at the far end of the room. The mayor was chatting up a fine dressed gentleman with short black hair, a winning smile, and dark intelligent eyes. It was the man they’d seen arguing with Bianca… “He seems to be pretty chummy with your husband,” Valerie noted.

“He panders so,” Bianca rolled her eyes.

“Even your insults are boasting,” interjected a tall fellow. He had a sickly cast about his face, as if he didn’t get enough sun, or suffered from a bit of jaundice. He gave a quick smile unlike any William had seen all night, as it was surprisingly genuine. “You see the Bracknells are controlling partners in Venture Steel and Chemical, not to mention a few other, smaller endeavors,” noted the sickly man. “They are the Rockefellers of our small town, the Carnegies of our pathetic village.”

Valerie and William gave a knowing nod. Venture Steel and Chemical was a behemoth in mining and extraction technologies. Even two unassuming astronomers knew of Venture’s richness. It was one of the biggest companies in the entire state, and one of the biggest employers.

Bianca ignored the man as she locked eyes on Valerie. “So you do know my husband?” It was less of a question and more of an accusation.

Valerie shrugged. “We met some years ago at another one of these tedious functions. Isn’t that your daughter with him?”

Bianca scowled. “That’s his assistant, Sophie.”

“He only gave us her first name,” Valerie noted, also turning a bit prickly.

The sickly man grinned and beamed over Bianca’s shoulder, quite entertained by the exchange.

Perplexed, William turned to the tall fellow and offered a hand, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The sickly man took William’s hand in a tight grip, “My apologies. I get a little wrapped up when I eavesdrop. I’m Sebastian Sinclair.”

“Sinclair,” said William, “I know that name. Why do I know that name?”

“He’s a writer,” Bianca Bracknell noted with a roll of her eyes. “A notorious sycophant and self aggrandizing boob.”

“OhMyGawd! Sebastian Sinclair!” William beamed. “My wife loves your work!”

Sinclair turned to Valerie. “Do you now?” he smiled. “I’m glad to hear you know of it, and so much more, that you like it. Which is your favorite?”

Valerie smiled and corrected him, “He’s speaking of his wife, Emily. I’m his associate, Dr. Valerie Williams,” she said as she offered her hand.

“Oh,” Sebastian leaned back to get a better look at Valerie and William. “His loss,” Sinclair smiled. He took Valerie’s hand and kissed it.

“Seems nobody can get relationships right tonight,” Bianca stated. “Well, it was a pleasure. Sorry about your rock. I suppose I should be more sorry about Italy—but I never really cared for the place,” Bianca trailed off, leaving the three to their own devices.

William turned to Valerie to see the same look of alarm on her face, “Why is she sorry?!”

Sinclair shrugged, “Something about a rock.”

“What do you think she knows?” asked Valerie, ignoring Sinclair’s comment.

“What could she know?” replied William. “And why would she say so much, then simply walk off?”

“That, my friends, is a bit of revenge,” Sinclair grinned at the two.

Valerie turned on Sinclair, her heels set, her hands open, and her grey eyes on fire. “Revenge? Revenge for what?”

“She’s paying you back for her husband’s infidelity. It’s something she struggles with,” noted Sebastian Sinclair as he jostled his empty glass with a frown. He turned back to the astronomers with a long-suffering shrug. “It's always mind games with these people. Silly, insignificant mind games," he told them. "Let's adjourn to the bar."

Curious to know what more Sinclair might tell them, William and Valerie followed.

“What did she mean, ‘Sorry about the rock’?” William asked. The bartender handed Sinclair a gin and tonic. Sinclair ordered two more, passed the first to Valerie and the second to William.

“First, you should know that Bianca’s been watching you all night and asking all sorts of questions. She knows you’re out of the loop, and although this really is your party, it’s not really about you or your rock at all. Nobody feels obliged to let you in on what’s occurring as you have absolutely no money at stake,” Sinclair stated. “They find your interest in these goings-on to be, shall we say, meddlesome?”

“Meddlesome?!” William asked, rather insulted. “We discovered the damn thing!”

Sebastian shrugged.

“Why did she say ‘Sorry’?” Valerie asked. She did not care about money or personal vendettas. She wanted to know about the damned rock! “What has happened? What went wrong?!”

Sinclair turned to the two, “It seems our hero, Nathan Marvelous, went red about four hours ago, which is another way of saying he’s dead.”

“Dead!?” Valerie snapped. William was equally shocked.

“That’s the rumor… Still, nobody knows how far he got with the explosives because of several communication malfunctions. They believe he set all charges before he perished. Some people think a remote detonation is still possible and will quite likely destroy the rock, but there’s no way to be certain until they get visual confirmation…” Sinclair stated. “How quick would you presume to see physical evidence through one of your telescopes?”

“Evidence?” William repeated, then began to shake his head. “We can’t get time with the telescope this close to impact, and our next viewing session is...” he turned to Valerie.

She shook her head. “Thursday,” she answered. “Next Thursday.”

William shook his head. It would all be over long before next Thursday. “So, they’re just trying to break it into smaller pieces?” he asked.

“Don’t you think that’s the most practical approach?” Sinclair replied.

William shrugged. “Sounds reasonable, honestly, you’re the first person to ask us.”

“That’s a damned shame—though not entirely surprising,” Sinclair noted.

“As it gets closer, we might be able to see it dispersing with my home scope,” Valerie stated. “Of course, once the sun comes up...”

“Anyone else want to move this function to your house?” Sinclair beamed at Valerie. “I can’t remember the last time I glanced through a telescope!”

William pulled back from Sinclair, spilling a bit of his drink. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. What’s all this about Marvelous going red? What are they actually doing up there?!” William asked as he wiped spilled drink on his pants.

“How much do you know about Operation Little Bang?” Sinclair asked.

“Operation what?”

“That’s not much…” Sinclair noted. “Operation Little Bang is what they are doing about your rock. They want to obliterate it and let the little pieces fall through the atmosphere. It’s supposed to be one hell of a meteor shower if everything goes right.”

“Yes, you let on about that. But how?” William asked.

“With experimental explosives originally designed for strip mining,” Sinclair stared at the two astronomers, “Making any connections with this lot you see?” Sinclair pointed out at the various members of the party.

William and Valerie gave each other blank looks. Sinclair spun his glass in his hand, refusing to look at either of the astronomers, giving them a moment to figure it out on their own.

Finally, Valerie rolled her eyes. “Venture Steel and Chemical,” she stated, and with a look of disgust, finished off the drink in her hand. She signaled for another.

“Now you’re getting it!” Sinclair beamed “Venture manufactured the explosives for the government, and as a partner in this endeavor, needed operational knowledge. They all know exactly what’s occurring, as far as the effort to destroy this rock, especially since they plan to make the whole thing public knowledge if the asteroid is successfully deterred. Of course, Harridge is only talking about all the goodness that’ll come out of a successful operation, because if the asteroid hits, the political fallout will also be catastrophic. He’s not talking about any hiccups—mostly because it’ll all fall on Mayor Wilborn and his deputy. Why do you think NASA let the local government run the show? So they could point the finger it all goes tits up.”

“It’ll kill a hundred million people!” Valerie yelled.

Several nearby people stared at her, but she ignored them.

“I’m not saying it’s a noble point of view, but it’s how these people see things. At this point, what can they do if things go horribly wrong? Put out a proclamation that the asteroid cease and desist?” Sinclair asked. “There’s a lot of different ways to see this. One of the prevailing attitudes is that a little catastrophe is very good for business; war and profit and all that sort of nonsense. A few are simply curious and/or mildly disappointed that Europe is going to sink into the ocean before California. But what do you want them to do? Which one of them actually has the power to stop this thing? What sort of power does anyone truly have? Hell, everyone here is wondering if there are any backup plans in place. If not, we’re privy to the biggest disaster of all time before it happens, and that’s pretty cool.”

“Pretty cool? You find that cool?!” Valerie glared at Sinclair.

“It’s far better than not knowing,” He shrugged. “Besides, this could easily go either way. Nathan Marvelous may be dead, but it appears he set all the charges properly, so…” he shrugged. “Looks like a good gamble to me.”

“Do they have a backup plan?” William asked, more curious about any contingencies. Surely, the government would have a backup plan. If government is good for anything, it’s redundancy, right?

“Before all is said and done, there’s a lot of speculation that our nuclear arsenal could come into play, but nobody’s sure. Surprisingly, government officials can keep a few secrets.”

“They can’t use nukes!” William insisted. “Even if they manage to destroy the asteroid, you’d get radioactive fallout around the world, and if it falls in great enough concentrations, and in the wrong areas, you could see untold cases of radiation poisoning.”

“How many nukes would it take to destroy Lucifer 6?” Sinclair asked.

William scratched his head, “That depends on the true density of the asteroid and the size of the warheads. But even if you launch only a single missile, you’ll get a good amount of fallout. Besides, anyone worth their salt would send too many nukes, to make sure the asteroid is destroyed.”

“The warheads we have today are far more destructive than those of our grandfather’s. We could smash Lucifer 6 with a handful of missiles,” Valerie assessed. “But if we’re going to use nukes, we should have done it days ago, when most of the radiation would have drifted past us. If we hammer it with nukes now, the radiation will fall with the debris all around the globe… Most would fall in unpopulated areas, (the ocean and so on). We’ll ignore the ecological effects for convenience sake. But if you get a large enough concentration in a major city, or in a highly populated area, such as Europe, Southeast Asia, or the Eastern Seaboard, you’re talking about a lot of unhappiness,” Valerie surmised.

“How many deaths would you say?” Sinclair asked.

William answered, “High end? Twenty, thirty million. Conservatively? If all goes as well as possible? Half a million? Three hundred thousand?” He scratched his head, thinking it through a bit… “This is all off the cuff, of course. We could run some scenarios…”

“I’m not running any more God damn scenarios!” Valerie snapped as she jostled her drink. “I don’t work for FEMA and I’m sick of running their fucking scenarios!”

“A couple hundred thousand is much better than a hundred million,” noted Sinclair. He was about to add something, but he could see how much it bothered the two astronomers. Instead, he allowed them to be distracted by their drinks and decided to leave well enough—well—well enough.

“So what was all that about revenge?” William asked, bringing Bianca back into the conversation.

“Oh. That,” Sinclair smirked. “Well, that has to do with Joel Bracknell and the way he’s been looking at your good friend here. You see, Joel’s been sleeping with his assistant, Sophie, to get back at Bianca for having an affair with Baine Jones—which has nothing to do with you, I know. But Joel has been looking this way all night long, pretty Valerie. I know because Bianca won’t stop mentioning it. She isn’t sure if he’s already slept with you, or if he simply wants to, and your dodgy answers did nothing to clear the water, I might add,” he noted with a wicked grin.

Valerie’s mouth hung open in astonishment.

“Now, Bianca’s been trying to sleep with me, to get back at Joel for Sophie, but I’m a little coy, especially for an artist. So if Joel sleeps with you first, that puts him one up; and if you know Bianca at all, that just won’t do, which is another reason she isn’t happy with me,” Sebastian shrugged.

“And why should I want to sleep with her husband?” Valerie asked.

“Who wouldn’t? He’s rich, he’s handsome. What is there not to like?”

“He’s married, for one; and I dispute the claim that he’s handsome. Besides, I don’t go for filthy rich—because their filthy,” Valerie shook her head. “No, I like depth to my men.”

“Yes, well, he is quite the charmer. And everybody suffers a little slip in standards from time to time,” Sebastian suggested with a shrug. “All it takes is one night with your guard down…”

Valerie shook her head in disgust, staring at the glass in front her. She downed it, stood, grabbed William by the arm and stated, “I have to pee.”

Sebastian grabbed her arm as she moved to step past. For the first time since they met him, he wasn’t smiling. “Before you go, let me say that I am sorry you had to hear it all from me. I do not want to be the bearer of bad news.”

Valerie gave Sebastian an easy smile, “Thank you for telling us at all. That was very kind of you.”

“Yes,” Sinclair returned her smile. “I thought so myself,” he said as he turned and walked away.

Valerie stepped from the bar with William in tow. Sebastian watched as they swerved through the crowd—and ran right smack into Harridge.

Harridge Wilborn smiled his snake oil smile. “William! Valerie! I was just looking for you! I have some friends I want you to…”

“I have to pee,” Valerie issued, cutting through the mayor’s introduction. She pulled William along after her before the mayor could protest.

William smiled and gave a bit of a wave as Valerie dragged him out. There was no way he was sticking around.

“Okay,” said Harridge, rocking back on his feet. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared after the two with a disappointed expression.

William and Valerie stepped out of the Grand Ballroom. Valerie didn’t let William go as she passed the men’s room.

“What are you doing?” asked William. He had expected her to let go as he veered for the men’s room door.

Valerie stopped. “I’m going pee, and then you’re taking me home, because I hate it here.”

“Yes, but I have to pee too,” stated William. He looked from the door of the men’s room to Valerie’s face. William had never seen Valerie this upset. The stress fractures in her façade were deep and telling, though he imagined most people wouldn’t even notice. There was a tremor in her lips, a gloss of tear in her eye. He’d seen her ruin two weeks of research with one bad calculation. He’d seen her after the breakup with Derrek, but he had not seen her this distressed. Still, William did not relent. She was trying to drag him into the women’s room for God’s sake! “I can’t go in there with you!”

She turned on him, exasperated. “Why not! There are half a dozen stalls!” Valerie took a long breath, “Please. I really have to pee,” she begged. “And I don’t want to do it alone.”

William sighed, not entertained by the notion of using the woman’s room—but he allowed Valerie to pull him in anyway.

*****

After that, they went to the garage, only to find that William had lost his keys. More and more it looked like they’d have to go back to the party to get them. William checked his pockets one last time.

“I’m cold,” Valerie complained as she hugged her purse against the chill of the garage. She hopped from one foot to the other, her shoes still in her hand.

“I must have left my keys upstairs,” William confessed.

Valerie immediately started shaking her head, “I’m not going back in there. You go get them.”

William threw up his hands, “I’m not going up there alone!”

Valerie looked about the garage. There were cars everywhere, if only for the lack of keys. “We could take my car,” stated Valerie. She stepped toward the elevators. “I parked in a lot out on Thirty-sixth.”

“But I need my keys,” William protested.

“Come back tomorrow. Whoever finds them will undoubtedly leave them at the front desk. None of that lot would be caught dead in a Saturn,” she said as she aimed for the elevator. “Come on. We’ll go out the front.”

William followed, although he was having his doubts.

*****

The ceilings in the lobby must have been thirty feet high. The entire place was done up in beige and rich burgundy. Two fireplaces on either side of the room dominated the lobby. There were several couches, love seats, recliners; some hidden in nooks to accommodate any recluses or voyeurs who might be staying at the hotel. The front desk was so far back on the main floor that it was hardly visible from the front doors.

Valerie and William stepped out of the bank of elevators and crisscrossed their way through the couches, taking the shortest and thereby, theoretically, the fastest route out of the Fifth Season. At the door, they stopped short. They could make out police lights at the entrance to the Fifth Season’s parking lots. There were perhaps four, five cars blocking the way.

“For the love of mother!” an exasperated Valerie snapped. “What’s going on here?!” The Fifth Season was situated on top of a hill, which was a very nice thing for the view, but access could be something of a bother. Valerie had parked at the bottom of the hill, in a parking lot that serviced not only the Fifth Season, but several restaurants, upscale boutiques, and the Cityopolis Theatre and Arts Center. Valerie paused at the door and turned to the doorman, “What’s going on out there?!”

The doorman turned from the cop cars to glance at Valerie, then glanced again, as she was almost as pretty as the flashing lights. The lights were inching their way through the parking lot. “It’s a chase. A drunk by the way he was driving. I think he parked at the far end of the lot. The cops took their time coming up the hill. They know they got him cornered, so they’re being cautious. With any luck, we’ll get to see a foot chase.” The doorman smiled.

“Really!” Valerie said. “Well, this doesn’t concern us,” she continued as she tried to push open the door. William walked forward, expecting the door to swing wide open. He was wobbly, thanks to all the drink. Indeed, he was quite off balance.

The door refused to budge. William’s hand slipped off the smooth glass as he continued forward and smashed face first into the polished door. “Oh,” he said as he crumbled back, light bursting in his head. He reeled, then fell back on his butt, as blood drained from his nose.

“Dear god!” Valerie issued as she realized what had happened.

“What’d you do?!” asked the doorman, even though he’d watched the entire incident.

“I hit my fafe,” announced William as he sat on the floor with his hands full of blood. “Why ith the door wocked?”

“I’m sorry but I can’t let you out,” the doorman insisted. “They gotta stay locked until the police give an all clear.”

“Christ! What happened to him?” A familiar voice asked. William and Valerie turned to see Mayor Harridge Wilborn.

“He crushed his face on the door. Bit shaky on his feet, he is,” stated the doorman. “Maybe he’s had a little too much to drink—and if that’s the case, we certainly can’t let him out among the cops.”

“We’ve got to get him washed up,” said the mayor, who kept his distance from the bloody scientist.

“This way,” said the doorman, pulling William toward a side hall just off the bank of elevators.

“No. That won’t do at all. We can’t have him wash up where the public can gawk,” Mayor Wilborn called to the concierge. “Would you get us a room key please?”

The concierge stepped back behind the front desk and after a quick conversation with the receptionist, stepped back to the group with a keycard in hand.

“This way,” the concierge said as he led the way, “Philip, bring the injured.” He said to a nearby bellhop.

The concierge pressed the up button. He turned to William. “You okay, sir? Would you like me to call the paramedics?”

William shook his head. “It’s juth my nothe, thank you,” he said. He still feel the blood dripping down his lips, off his chin, and trickling down his neck. He glanced down just a bit. There was blood all over his shirt.

“Pinch the bridge,” Valerie suggested.

William tilted his head back, closed his eyes against the light and pinched his nose. He heard a ding and let Philip and Valerie lead him into the elevator. “That’s a lot of blood,” the bellhop noted. The only thing anyone said for twelve floors.

The elevator dinged again, and the group stepped out of the elevator. They moved down a hallway, until they came to room 1317. The concierge slipped the keycard into a lock. The bolt popped. The concierge opened the door and the whole party shuffled into the room.

“Thank you, Philip,” The concierge stated once they were all inside.

The bellhop stepped out of the room, “Hope you feel better,” he said before he ran off, all too happy to return to the drama playing out in the parking lot.

“Thankth, Phil,” William called, relieved to have one less person in the room.

“The washroom is just down the hall,” the concierge told William.

“Listen,” the mayor began, as Valerie helped William into the washroom. “If you can make it back down to the party, the silent auction ends in twenty minutes.”

“I have blood on my thirt,” William said.

“Not a problem,” the concierge noted, “I’ll have one sent up from the shops, compliments of the Fifth Season, of course.”

“Shouldn’t take us too long, I should think,” the mayor nodded. “We just need to clean him up…”

“Mayor,” Valerie said as she put a hand on his chest and pushed him toward the door. “Thank you for all that you’ve done for us—but if you’d be so kind, we’ll be that much quicker if it’s just the two of us,” she said.

“Perhaps I best get back,” the mayor agreed. “After all, a host’s duties are never done.” He held his hand out to Valerie. “If you’d be so kind to join me, I think William can take care of himself.”

Valerie shook her head. “I really must stay with my friend,” she insisted—then closed the door unceremoniously before the mayor could protest any further. The mayor said something more, something about seeing them shortly at the party—but the petite scientist ignored it as she returned to the restroom where William washed his face. “How’s your nose?” She asked as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Ith fine,” William said as it continued to rain blood. In truth, it throbbed. I have nothing to complain about, he thought, thinking about the mass of unassuming Italians (and northern Africans): the potential victims of Lucifer 6. For several minutes he flushed the blood from his face as Valerie massaged his neck.

Eventually, William quit bleeding. He took a towel with him into the other room, just in case. He dropped onto the bed and rolled onto his back, ignoring the shirt the concierge had sent up. The bed was comfortable, cool, and reassuring—though it seemed to be spinning. He could feel the tiredness in his bones. Sleep would be good, he thought, if he should ever get home. Perhaps he could nap here for a bit.

The chain on the door slid into place with the sound of metal on metal. William looked up, curious.

Valerie walked into the main room and climbed onto the bed next to him. “Poor William,” She repeated as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I was likely to get one anyway with all the drinking we did, but this headache came on in a flash,” he said as he closed his eyes against the light.

“I bet I can find some Advil around here,” Valerie said, then climbed off the bed. She rummaged about While William held the towel to his face, which was nice, since it also blocked out the light. “Bingo!” she called.

William looked up, expecting a bottle of Tylenol to come flying through the air, but instead, Valerie hoisted several small shot bottles. She didn’t find any medicine, but had stumbled onto the mini-bar.

“No pills,” she noted with disappointment.

“I shall fortify myself as I can,” said William in what he considered a mock-serious tone. He took a bottle of Jack from Valerie and downed it. As he coughed at the bottle, Valerie called room service.

“Yes, send up a bottle of Ibuprofen, and some sandwiches, please: turkey, ham, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, mayo, and shaved carrots on sourdough if you please.”

“No carrots on mine,” William said.

“Yes sir,” Valerie confirmed.

“This is the longest night ever,” William noted. “We’re not going back to the party, right?”

“So we can worry about who is or isn’t fucking who?” Valerie snapped. “Hundreds, thousands, no, millions are going to die—and all they care about are their profits and sex with strangers!”

“How did we ever get tangled in all this mess?” William asked.

“You spotted a rock,” Valerie shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s almost over,” she noted as she crawled back on to the bed and rested her head on William’s chest once more.

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