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Sam had seen the effects of her anorexia and bulimia. But he hadn’t realized what was happening to her, or hadn’t wanted to.
He’d heard nervous gossip that Mary was grabbing whatever meds she could find, anything she thought would ease her depression.
He hadn’t wanted to know about that, either.
Most of all he should have seen what Nerezza was up to, should have questioned, should have pushed.
Should have.
Should have.
Should have . . .
Another deep swallow of liquid fire. The burning made him laugh. He laughed down at the beach where Orsay, the false prophet, had died.
“Good-bye, Mary.” He slurred, raising his bottle in a mock toast. “Least you got outta here.”
For a split second on the day that Mary poofed, the barrier had been clear. They had seen the world outside: the observation platform, the TV satellite truck, the construction underway on fast food places and cheap hotels.
It had seemed very, very real.
But had it been? Astrid said no: just another illusion. But Astrid was not exactly addicted to the truth.
Sam swayed at the edge of the cliff. He ached for Astrid, the booze had not dulled that. He ached for the sound of her voice, the warmth of her breath on his neck, her lips. She was all that had kept him from going crazy. But now she was the source of the crazy because his body was demanding what she wouldn’t give. Now being with her was just pain and hollowness and need.
The barrier was there, just a few feet away. Impenetrable. Opaque. Painful to touch. The faintly shimmering gray dome that enclosed twenty miles of Southern California coastline in a giant terrarium. Or zoo. Or universe.
Or prison.
Sam tried to focus on it, but his eyes weren’t working very well.
With the exaggerated care of a drunk he set his bottle down.
He straightened up. He looked at the palms of his hands. Then he stretched out his arms, palms facing the barrier.
“I really hate you,” he said to the barrier.
Twin beams of searing green light shot from his palms. A torrent of focused light.
“Aaaaahhhh!” Sam shouted as he aimed and fired.
He shouted a loud curse. And again, as he fired again and still fired.
The light hit the barrier and did nothing. Nothing burned. Nothing smoked or charred.
“Burn!” Sam howled. “Burn!”
He played the beams upward, tracing the curve of the barrier. He raged and howled and blazed.
To no effect.
Sam sat down suddenly. The bright fire went out. He fumbled clumsily for the bottle.
“I have it,” a voice said.
Sam twisted sideways, looking for the source. He couldn’t find her. It was a her, he was pretty sure of that, a female voice.
She stepped around to where he could see her. Taylor.
