There was a moment of hesitation, but then Grant handed the envelope over. The longer it stayed in his pocket, the harder it was to think about the fact that he would never see Lucy again. Resigned, it was the perfect way to describe how he felt. Scott reiterated every day: There was only one way this could end. Kicking, screaming, yelling, may not even prolong his life, and it may make things harder for Lucy and for her family. He rationalized his lack of fight as martyrdom.

“I promise. I’ll keep it safe and I will give it to her to read when the time comes.” Scott tucked the letter into his lab coat and patted his pocket once. Then he reached for Grant’s arm and Grant obeyed by extending it fully. Scott drew four vials of blood and pulled the needle from his arm—with a sad smile, he shuffled off to the counter.

Grant watched as Scott worked. Organizing. Pulling. Pouring. Sorting. A quiet sort of work, mechanical and automated. Occasionally Scott would mutter something under his breath or make a strange sort of clicking noise, but the work was silent.

“So, what are your requests?” Scott asked after a few minutes.

“What?” Grant’s mind went to last requests, but then he realized Scott must have been back at their beginning conversation. Books. He was back to the books. Scott’s mind often worked in large circles, crawling back to a conversation from hours ago without missing a beat. Grant rarely kept up. “Oh, um, maybe…just some classics.”

“You got it,” Scott replied. He pulled over a rolling chair and sat down. Then he popped up, walked over to a refrigerator in the corner and pulled out some additional glass beakers. “The work is lonely, that’s for sure,” Scott said out of nowhere, and Grant looked around, confused.

“In the lab?”

“I used to have a team.”

“Don’t tell me…” Grant grimaced. “You killed them?”

Scott laughed and pointed a finger in jest at Grant. “Funny,” was all he said, but Grant hadn’t been kidding.

“Here. Let’s try this.” Scott walked over to Grant holding a collection of test tubes. “A virus with the same properties as my virus.”

His virus. “Did you name it?”

“The virus? No. Should I have?”

“Something catchy. Like S1K1.”

“Nice. And here comes the pinch.”

He jabbed the needle in Grant’s other arm.

Grant could see the letter to Lucy sticking out of Scott’s pocket. The hot air balloon drawing visible—and the curl of the y. He regretted handing it over to him. Maybe he should get a new envelope. Write her name with a distinct ‘y’. It was a mistake—he realized that now. It was a mistake writing the letter at all. Maybe he should have demanded to see her one last time.

That should have been his last request.

They wouldn’t have honored it, but at least he could have asked. So then Scott could tell her, “Yes. He asked for you.” Maybe then she would know the truth. Why had he wasted an entire letter without telling her the truth?

His head began to pound.

“I’m getting a headache,” Grant mumbled. His chest felt tight. He took in a deep breath of air and felt nauseated.

“Huh,” was all Scott said and he put his hand against Grant’s forehead. With speed and efficiency he drew some blood, as Grant started to feel clammy and weak.

Salem. His last kiss had been Salem. He closed his eyes. And he thought of Lucy. What she would say if she had known about that kiss?

Salem’s lips touched his and he kissed her back, it was true. But it had always been about Lucy.

“I don’t—” Grant started and then he leaned back, reeling. Jagged lightning flashes danced before his eyes. Blues and yellows—pops of stars in his line of vision. “I need to lie down.”

“I didn’t think it would…it’s from the same family…okay, easy now.” Scott placed his hands behind Grant and assisted him down onto the hospital bed. He whispered to himself and even as Grant slipped into sickness, he could hear the worry in his voice.

“I’m co-co-cold,” Grant mumbled. It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Is that how everyone else felt? In the moments before they passed on? That thought caused his heart to tighten more. He wondered what the victims experienced as they walked toward death. He realized now that it wasn’t the peaceful march he’d imagined for himself. No, he was sad and afraid. He felt panicky.

He thought he’d have more time.

“My letter,” Grant said. He reached up and grabbed the first thing he could—the edge of Mr. King’s lab coat. Scott King stumbled away from him. Yanking the fabric and pulling the cloth toward him, Grant repeated his final wishes. “My letter…when I’m gone…my letter…”

“I know, son. I know. You’re not going to die. Hang on.” His words were comforting, but his face was afraid. For the first time Grant could tell that Scott King didn’t sound confident in his assertion that he would live.

“My letter…” Grant said again and then he tumbled into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Her father looked exhausted when he came through their automated apartment door. His eyes were droopy and bloodshot; he hadn’t shaved in over a day and already the whiskers on his chin were thick, casting a dark shadow over his features. Despite his evident exhaustion, Scott smiled when he saw Lucy. She was lying flat against the floor, her arms and legs stretched out away from her body—her eyes still, examining the intricacies of the ceiling.

“What are you up to?” Scott asked.

“Thinking,” was Lucy’s reply.

“Everyone else?”

“Out.”

He shed his white lab coat and draped it over the back of a chair. Then with one hand on the chair and the other shoved into his pocket, he stood without speaking, staring at her outline on the floor.

“You not feeling communicative today?” Scott asked her, but he didn’t glance in her direction.

Lucy rolled her body over and then sat up, crossing her legs in front of her body and placing her hands to her side. She didn’t answer. When her father was away, she knew he was down in the lab working with Grant. His list of betrayals against her was starting to stack up. No variables, her mother had told her in the Sky Room. Every time she looked at him she saw the blood on his hands. She had nothing to say to him.

“Well,” her father continued without waiting for an answer. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Then…you want to take a walk? Get out of this space?”