first name but had a false last name on his driver's license. Although he carried two cell phones, one for personal business and one for work, they were both billed to his brother's real estate company.
Gabriel's only connection to the Grid was on a desk in the living room. A year ago, Michael had given him a home computer and arranged for a hookup to a DSL line. Going on the Internet enabled Gabriel to download trance musik from Germany, hypnotic loops of sound produced by DJs affiliated with a mysterious group called Die Neunen Primitiven. The music helped him go to sleep when he returned to the house for the night. As he closed his eyes, he heard a woman singing: Lotus eaters lost in New Babylon. Lonely pilgrim find your way home.
***
CAPTIVE I N HIS dream, he fell through darkness, fell through clouds and snow and rain. He hit the roof of a house and passed through the cedar shingles, the tar paper, and the wooden frame. Now he was a child again, standing in the hallway on the second floor of the farmhouse in South Dakota. And the house was burning, his parents' bed, the dresser, and the rocking chair in their room smoking and smoldering and bursting into flame. Get out, he told himself. Find Michael. Hide. But his child self, the small figure walking down the hallway, didn't seem to hear his adult warning.
Something exploded behind a wall, and there was a dull thumping sound. Then the fire roared up the stairway, flowing around the banisters and railing. Terrified, Gabriel stood in the hallway as fire rushed toward him in a wave of heat and pain.
***
THE CELL PHONE lying near the futon mattress started ringing. Gabriel pulled his head away from the pillow. It was six o'clock in the morning and sunlight pushed through a crack in the curtains. No fire, he told himself. Another day.
He answered the phone and heard his brother's voice. Michael sounded worried, but that was normal. Since childhood, Michael had played the role of the responsible older brother. Whenever he heard about a motorcycle accident on the radio, Michael called Gabriel on the cell phone just to make sure he was all right.
"Where are you?" Michael asked.
"Home. In bed."
"I called you five times yesterday. Why didn't you call me back?" "It was Sunday. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. I left the cell phones here and rode down to Hemet for a jump."
"Do whatever you want, Gabe, but tell me where you're going. I start to worry when I don't know where you are."
"Okay. I'll try to remember." Gabriel rolled onto his side and saw his steel-toed boots and riding leathers scattered across the floor. "How was your weekend?"
"The usual. I paid some bills and played golf with two real estate developers. Did you see Mom?"
"Yeah. I dropped by the hospice on Saturday."
"Is everything okay at this new place?"
"She's comfortable."
"It's got to be more than comfortable."
Two years ago, their mother had gone into the hospital for routine bladder surgery and the doctors had discovered a malignant tumor on her abdominal wall. Although she had gone through chemotherapy, the cancer had metastasized and spread throughout her body. Now she was living at a hospice in Tarzana, a suburb in the southwest San Fernando Valley.
The Corrigan brothers had divided up the responsibilities for their mother's care. Gabriel saw her every other day and talked to the hospice workers. His older brother dropped by once a week and paid for everything. Michael was always suspicious of doctors and nurses. Whenever he perceived a lack of diligence, he had their mother transferred to a new facility.
"She doesn't want to leave this place, Michael."
"No one is talking about leaving. I just want the doctors to do their job."
"The doctors aren't important now that she's stopped chemotherapy. It's the nurses and the aides who take care of her."
"If there's the slightest problem, you let me know immediately. And take care of yourself. Are you working today?"
"Yeah. I guess
Gabriel's only connection to the Grid was on a desk in the living room. A year ago, Michael had given him a home computer and arranged for a hookup to a DSL line. Going on the Internet enabled Gabriel to download trance musik from Germany, hypnotic loops of sound produced by DJs affiliated with a mysterious group called Die Neunen Primitiven. The music helped him go to sleep when he returned to the house for the night. As he closed his eyes, he heard a woman singing: Lotus eaters lost in New Babylon. Lonely pilgrim find your way home.
***
CAPTIVE I N HIS dream, he fell through darkness, fell through clouds and snow and rain. He hit the roof of a house and passed through the cedar shingles, the tar paper, and the wooden frame. Now he was a child again, standing in the hallway on the second floor of the farmhouse in South Dakota. And the house was burning, his parents' bed, the dresser, and the rocking chair in their room smoking and smoldering and bursting into flame. Get out, he told himself. Find Michael. Hide. But his child self, the small figure walking down the hallway, didn't seem to hear his adult warning.
Something exploded behind a wall, and there was a dull thumping sound. Then the fire roared up the stairway, flowing around the banisters and railing. Terrified, Gabriel stood in the hallway as fire rushed toward him in a wave of heat and pain.
***
THE CELL PHONE lying near the futon mattress started ringing. Gabriel pulled his head away from the pillow. It was six o'clock in the morning and sunlight pushed through a crack in the curtains. No fire, he told himself. Another day.
He answered the phone and heard his brother's voice. Michael sounded worried, but that was normal. Since childhood, Michael had played the role of the responsible older brother. Whenever he heard about a motorcycle accident on the radio, Michael called Gabriel on the cell phone just to make sure he was all right.
"Where are you?" Michael asked.
"Home. In bed."
"I called you five times yesterday. Why didn't you call me back?" "It was Sunday. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. I left the cell phones here and rode down to Hemet for a jump."
"Do whatever you want, Gabe, but tell me where you're going. I start to worry when I don't know where you are."
"Okay. I'll try to remember." Gabriel rolled onto his side and saw his steel-toed boots and riding leathers scattered across the floor. "How was your weekend?"
"The usual. I paid some bills and played golf with two real estate developers. Did you see Mom?"
"Yeah. I dropped by the hospice on Saturday."
"Is everything okay at this new place?"
"She's comfortable."
"It's got to be more than comfortable."
Two years ago, their mother had gone into the hospital for routine bladder surgery and the doctors had discovered a malignant tumor on her abdominal wall. Although she had gone through chemotherapy, the cancer had metastasized and spread throughout her body. Now she was living at a hospice in Tarzana, a suburb in the southwest San Fernando Valley.
The Corrigan brothers had divided up the responsibilities for their mother's care. Gabriel saw her every other day and talked to the hospice workers. His older brother dropped by once a week and paid for everything. Michael was always suspicious of doctors and nurses. Whenever he perceived a lack of diligence, he had their mother transferred to a new facility.
"She doesn't want to leave this place, Michael."
"No one is talking about leaving. I just want the doctors to do their job."
"The doctors aren't important now that she's stopped chemotherapy. It's the nurses and the aides who take care of her."
"If there's the slightest problem, you let me know immediately. And take care of yourself. Are you working today?"
"Yeah. I guess
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