Gwendy’s Final Task

45

WHEN SHE’S FINISHED, THERE’S thirty seconds of silence while the eight of them digest what she’s told them. Then Reggie Black clears his throat and says, “Let me be sure I understand you. You claim to be responsible for Jonestown, where 900 people died. This woman in Canada was responsible for the coronavirus, which killed four million and counting—”

“Her name was Patricia Vachon,” Gwendy says. Nothing wrong with her memory now. “And it wasn’t her fault. In the end, she just couldn’t resist the pull of the box. Which is exactly what makes it so dangerous.”

Reggie makes a seesawing gesture with his hand—maybe si, maybe no. “And you also destroyed the Great Pyramid in an earthquake, killing six more.”

Charlotte speaks up for the first time. The speaker is so good she could almost have been in the room with them. “Not an earthquake, sir. No cause has been attributed.”

“I didn’t want anyone to die,” Gwendy says. She can’t keep the tremble out of her voice. She is thinking about her old friend Olive Kepnes, who died on the Suicide Stairs between Castle Rock and Castle View. “Not ever. I thought the part of Guyana I was concentrating on was deserted. The Pyramid was supposed to be locked down, totally empty, because of a fresh COVID outbreak.” She leans forward, scanning them with her eyes. “But those young people were there, on a lark. This is what makes the button box so dangerous, don’t you see? Even the red button is dangerous. It does what you’re thinking of … but it does more, and my experience has been that the more is never good. I don’t think the button box could be destroyed even in a nuclear furnace, and it works on the possessors’ minds. Which is why Farris kept passing it on to new owners.”

“But always coming back to you,” Jafari said.

“Tell me,” Reggie says, smiling. “Was the box also responsible for 9/11?”

Gwendy suddenly feels very tired. “I don’t know. Probably not. People don’t need a button box to do horrible things. There’s plenty of evil fuckery in the human spirit.”

Sam Drinkwater says flatly: “I’m sorry, but I can’t believe this. It’s a fairy tale.”

From the speaker, Charlotte says, “Is that Ops Drinkwater?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All right, Mr. Drinkwater, listen up. I have seen the interrogation with Detective Mitchell. Everything Gwendy has told you about the death of her husband is true. The cell phone footage is very disturbing, but our techs tell us none of it has been rigged or spiced up with special effects. As for the Great Pyramid, I was there when Gwendy named it and pushed that red button hours before it fell to pieces for reasons the science guys still can’t figure out. I’m lifetime CIA, I don’t believe anything unless I can prove it, and I believe this. I don’t think the man who bribed the detective was human … or not precisely human. And I believe that box you’re looking at is more dangerous than all the nuclear weapons on earth put together.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Charlotte said briskly. “Unless you think a hard-headed businessman like Gareth Winston died for a fantasy.” She pauses. “Which reminds me, we have to come up with a cover story to explain his death. Whatever it is, it’s going to shock the markets.”

“Need to think about it carefully,” Kathy says. “Maybe … Gwendy? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Gwendy says. “Little bit of a headache.” Actually an idea.

Doc Glen says gloomily, “We’ll have to shovel him up, you know. And that gadget he had is enough to convince me that something beyond our understanding is at work here. That gadget goes with him.”

“Absolutely,” Kathy says.

Reggie Black—who, Gwendy believes, would have sided with Doubting Thomas in the Bible—shakes his head. “I’m willing to accept that it’s all very strange. I’m not willing to accept that pushing that black button could destroy the whole world.” Gwendy almost expects him to add, Let’s try it and see, shall we? But he doesn’t. Which is good. If he even made a move toward the button box, Gwendy would have leaped across the table to stop him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Adesh says. “Surely you all see that?”

They turn puzzled looks on him, Gwendy included.

“We send the box away in the device we call the Pocket Rocket. Whether it’s a thing of supernatural evil or just a box that gives out chocolates and silver dollars …” He shrugs and smiles. It’s a very sweet smile. “Either way, it’s gone. The Pocket Rocket won’t even be orbiting the earth with the rest of the space junk we have been charting.” The smile becomes dreamy. “It will be off to the stars, never to come back.”

This logic is irrefutable.

Kathy Lundgren turns to Gwendy. “We’ll do it tomorrow. You and me. My ninth spacewalk, your first. The one that’s televised back home to your constituents will be your second, but no one has to know that, do they?”

“No,” Gwendy says.

Kathy nods. “We’ll watch the Pocket Rocket heading out toward the moon, and Mars, and the great beyond. With its cargo on board.”

“It sounds fine. What about Winston?”

“For the time being, until we can decide how he died, Mr. Winston is okay. Just suffering a touch of zero-g space sickness and holed up in his cabin. Not feeling well enough to communicate with the down-below. Or do you disagree?”

“No,” Gwendy says. “That’s fine for now.”

She’s still sorry about what happened in Jonestown, even though she guesses much of it was the fault of the Reverend Jim Jones. She’s sorry about the destruction of the Great Pyramid, and sorrier about the lives lost when it disassembled. But she’s not sorry about Gareth Winston.

“Which one of the levers dispenses the chocolates?” Reggie Black asks.

“That one.” Gwendy points.

“May I?”

Gwendy doesn’t want him to touch the box, but she nods.

Reggie pulls the lever. The slot opens and the shelf comes out. It’s empty.

Gwendy turns to Adesh. “You try.”

The tiny shelf has gone back in. Adesh hooks his pinky around the lever and pulls gently. Out comes the shelf, this time bearing a small chocolate weasel. He looks at it, but gives it to Bern. The biologist examines it, then puts it in his mouth, fingers ready to take it out if it’s nasty. Instead, his eyes half-close in an expression of ecstasy.

“Oh my God! Delicious!”

Reggie Black looks put out. “Why didn’t it work for me?”

“Maybe,” Gwendy says, “the box doesn’t like physicists.”