“It was supposed to turn King’s End into more of a bedroom community. We’re close enough to the Twin Cities. It would be a long commute, but…”
“No worse than the gridlock in Seattle. Better, perhaps.”
“Not in the winter.”
Henry manages another laugh, but already, the serious field agent persona is locking in place. Pansy adjusts the strap of her umbrella as if she, too, feels this resolve.
“My mother never wanted me to come here after dark,” she says, and her voice cracks as if it hurts to break this most important rule.
“It’s the only way to get out in front of the task force. They’re waiting on Botten’s command, but they can be here and operational in a mere eight hours.”
“Botten’s command? Does that mean?—?”
“This has been in the works for a while? I believe so. Botten’s been waiting for the right moment, and we seem to have triggered that.” He pulls a small electronic device from the pocket of his cargo trousers. “I hope to scramble the readings they’ll initially collect. Battery operated, but it should buy us a little time.”
“Time for what?”
“For one, reinforcing the fissure?—”
“Under the showcase home,” Pansy finishes.
“Yes, that exactly. I believe King’s End sits on top of a juncture, one your mother discovered when she was assigned here as a permanent post agent. I believe she confided this knowledge to both my father and Reginald Botten.”
Pansy gapes, her eyes huge in the dark and with these revelations. “My mother…?”
“I also believe this is no ordinary juncture, but a gateway. A gateway needs three points, three holes in the fabric between dimensions, if you will, to be activated. This is the epicenter.” Henry points toward the showcase home. “Then there’s the silo.” He gestures down the road toward that uncanny stretch of abandoned farmland. “And the covered bridge.”
“So, all those years ago?”
“Yes. All those years ago. Something happened, perhaps with the gateway.”
“Was it something our parents started?”
Henry’s sigh is heavy, full of doubt. “I don’t know.”
“There aren’t any photographs of the covered bridge.”
“I suspect your mother may have kept that location a secret, even from my father.” Henry pauses. “Although, perhaps not. But certainly Botten. The scans he’s had Agent Connolly run indicate that no one is certain where all three points are, exactly.”
“Trust no one from the Enclave,” Pansy whispers.
Henry nods. “But someone on the task force will be sharp enough to figure it out, eventually. After all, your mother did with the bare minimum of equipment and support, as did I with what I brought with me for your examination.” Henry pauses, a frown clouding his brow. “Your father mentioned a stopgap measure. This leads me to believe all they need to proceed is the precise location of the epicenter.”
“Jack,” Pansy says. “Jack Ling. Mort said he put in a by-name request because Jack knows so much about King’s End.”
“As does Agent Connolly himself.”
Pansy’s expression crumples. A moment later, the full realization hits Ophelia, a sharp stab in the solar plexus. She steps away from Pansy, not that it lessens the anguish rolling through her. The air is heavy with betrayal and the unspoken, heartrending refrain: Were they ever my friends?
Ophelia wishes she were solid, that she could wrap her arms around Pansy, hold her close, and let her cry. She’d be the fierce protector and announce to the world: Who needs them, anyway?
“Botten’s been playing a long game,” Henry says, his words as gentle as possible. “I don’t think either one of them has consciously deceived you.”
Pansy swallows hard, pushes her palms against her eyes, collecting tears and sorrow.
“Do either Jack or Mortimer know about the covered bridge?”
Pansy shakes her head. “It was one of those unspoken rules. It was bad enough that they knew about my Sight, but that couldn’t be helped. I needed friends at the Academy.”
