He had to settle for dying in her arms, her tears on his face as he choked on his blood.
Times Square was so, so bright until it dimmed and dimmed . . .
“Stay with me, babe,” Christi had said. “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay!”
No one needed Death-Cast to know this wouldn’t be okay.
But Death-Cast should’ve called nonetheless.
Joaquin Rosa
3:03 a.m.
Joaquin fears he will soon be calling everyone at Death-Cast to let them know the company is dead.
It’s unclear whether this unnotified Decker’s death is an isolated incident, but either way, Joaquin must get down to the bottom of it to protect his legacy, as well as make sure no other registered users die without warning.
Back in his office suite, Joaquin rolls up his sleeves and grabs his laptop.
“Make sure no one speaks to the press,” Joaquin says. “We don’t want to cause a panic.”
“Well, we don’t want the public to panic,” Naya says.
It’s as if she knows good and well that there’s a riot of nerves roaring in Joaquin’s chest.
Alano looks up from his notebook, where he’s been drawing a dress, unable to fall back asleep. “How long will you be gone, Papa?”
“I’m not sure, mi hijo. As long as it takes to get everything back on track.”
There’s a part of Joaquin that knows, deep down, that if he can’t resolve the issue, he may not want to return to face the music. But he always does, and he always will. Even when life feels impossible.
“What are you going to do?” Alano asks.
“You know I can’t talk about that,” Joaquin says.
Alano whines. “I’ll keep it a secret.”
“When you’re older,” Joaquin says.
“It’s taking too long to be older.”
It’s amusing how much Alano believes he’s ready to know how Death-Cast works when he still believes in Santa Claus. There are many conversations to have first, such as who actually puts presents under the Christmas tree. Not to mention everything about the birds and the bees, and, to be frank, Joaquin suspects it will be more of a bees-and-bees talk, which he will embrace willingly should he discover he’s right. Regardless, Joaquin is protecting both Alano’s childhood and security by not giving him the tell-all about Death-Cast. Perhaps when he’s thirty, they can discuss it over a beer.
Joaquin kisses the top of his son’s head and scratches the puppy behind his big brown ears before walking into his wife’s arms.
“I’m going to be out of touch for a while,” he says.
“I’ll see you when I see you,” Naya says.
The two part with a kiss.
Then Joaquin is out the door, on his way to a vault where no one can follow.
Valentino
3:04 a.m.
I will live my End Day, however long it lasts.
I brace myself before Orion and I leave the hospital. There are millions of ways I can die in the city. I’ve been thinking about them all night, but everything feels so much more possible now that I’m out in the open. Shot, strangled, stabbed. Or run over by a car or bus or taxi or motorcycle or even a train if I fall onto the tracks. Maybe something will fall out of the sky and crush me, like scaffolding, since every other block I’ve passed tonight appears to be under construction. I could have a heart attack of my own, which would be a cruel twist of fate, though better for Orion to know sooner rather than later that I actually won’t be the one who will save his life.