Redemption Prep - Samuel Miller Page 0,102

Andrews. All that matters is this moment, right now.”

The camera stayed focused on her, circling her unconscious face. She looked peaceful, as though she’d moved on from whatever was behind her.

He tried to picture her awake, behind the chess table on the TV dinner stand, awake, on Rye Beach describing the movement of the ships, awake, on the hospital bed, but the images weren’t there, and now they never would be. Every time he would come home, from now until forever, the chair in the living room would be empty, the chess pieces would only move on one side, the TV would be off.

This was the real mission, and he’d failed it. The empty seat next to her in the video was the place he was supposed to be holding. He was her cure, and her salvation, and when the moment came for her to face God, he wasn’t there. And now he’d never be forgiven.

“Now we’re getting somewhere!” The machine whirred louder.

Evan could feel himself dying, as though organs were shutting down, refusing the additional pain. But he wasn’t going to face his judgment without first facing her. I’m sorry, he apologized to her in his head, his eyes watering as he stared into her face. I’m sorry. I wasn’t there for you. He could feel himself moving closer to her, closing the distance he’d built. I’m sorry.

On the screen, it was as though his mother heard him. Her eyes fluttered open, she noticed the camera below her, and she smiled.

I’m sorry, he thought again, closing the open electron environment between them. She mumbled something, and Evan leaned forward, everything in his body rushing toward her, pouring out in front of her. The machine set off a shock wave of light and sound, but he didn’t back down. When his mother came back, her lips were moving again, mouthing something that he could only hear in the deepest corner of his brain.

“It’s okay,” she told him. “I’m okay.”

“Yes!” Dr. Richardson was screaming. “This is it!”

This world was never big enough, but you still tried to make a place for me. He could hear the words in her voice. We all deserve forgiveness. So go now, you’re forgiven.

Her eyes closed once, and she drifted off. The mission was complete.

Evan took a deep breath, all that his chest could find, and exhaled every bit of it. He closed his eyes, cutting the images from his brain and ignoring the increasing intensity of shocks around him.

This wasn’t happening right now. This was a year ago. He controlled his proximity.

The video of Emma wasn’t happening now either. Now she was in an escape vehicle, rumbling away from the school. Mom was safe. Emma was safe. The mission was complete.

“What the fuck,” Dr. Richardson shouted back at him. “What the fuck is that, what happened?” She began to slam the side of the computer.

Squeezing his cells together, focusing in exactly the way he’d always been able to focus, Evan’s brain shot back to chess. The King’s Gambit, the Bobby Fischer cop-out, to load up all your pieces on the strong side to give the impression of a strategy, and then to reverse that strategy and attack the weak side. He remembered his last game against his mom, her rook-to-D4 move that had ultimately handed him the victory, the way she apologized for being so wrong, the way he apologized for always beating her.

Dr. Richardson spun on him. “No!” She slammed her hand on the glass screen behind her, nearly breaking it. “No, what happened to it? What are you doing?”

Evan glared back at her, simple pieces of the chessboard and their specific functions in his mind. He could hear the machine behind him slowing down.

“You did that on purpose?” Dr. Richardson asked. “You created that, then you took it away?”

Evan took several gasping breaths, refocusing on the simple pain in his head, and none throughout the rest of his body. Slowing, he inched his swelling eyes open, swallowing as he found Dr. Richardson’s figure in front of him.

“That was a real reading.” Her voice felt like it was being shouted across the back lawn at him. “Legitimate activity. We were so close, and then . . .” She grabbed him by the face. Forcing his eyes open. “Evan, answer me. The empathy you felt, right there? Was that a performance? Was that a controlled emotional reaction?”

He didn’t answer her, and she let his head fall back. She began moving around the room, out of