Foreteller Read online

  “I didn’t know my mother very well,” Zoey said, “but I’d like to think that her reward was seeing your sister get well.”

  “I hope so.” Mr. Schmidt reached into a drawer to his right and took out a padded envelope. “To business, then. As stated in my letter, I have a key for you from your mother. It opens a safe deposit box. I have no idea of the box’s contents but the bank is open today until 5:00 p.m.—part of their new effort toward superior customer service. It’s only two blocks from here, so you have ample time to retrieve the contents.”

  Mr. Schmidt reached into the envelope and extracted a key and a sheet of paper. “Simply show this key and this letter to a teller. The letter legally certifies your name change from Kyra Collette to Zoey Kincaid, because they will require that you show identification.” He stuffed the letter and key back into the envelope and held it out to Zoey.

  Zoey swallowed hard and accepted the envelope. It all felt so official, at odds with the personal nature of the transaction.

  “Mr. Schmidt,” Zoey said, “may I ask how you tracked me down under my current name and address?”

  “Certainly. As I stated earlier, I never met your mother. This entire legal transaction—our holding of the key and keeping track of you—was handled for your mother by a woman who worked for her, a Mrs. Dora Santorini. Your mother had had the stroke so she was unable to come to the office herself.”

  “In what capacity did Dora Santorini work for my mother?”

  “I believe as a nanny for you. She warned us that your name might not be the same in 25 years if, for example, you married young or changed your last name. One thing that did stick with me all these years was Mrs. Santorini’s adamancy that you receive this key on time. Honestly, I remember thinking the little woman would curse me from beyond the grave if anything happened to this key, although I think she’s still alive.”

  Mr. Schmidt spoke with a lightness in his voice, but Zoey gleaned only the cold, heavy aspects of his words. The mention of changing her last name had stung. She wondered bitterly if this Dora Santorini had known about the rape and had thought Zoey might eventually take the rapist’s last name. And as for marrying young? Well, Zoey might have blown that, too. Her exasperation showed and Jake took the lead since they hadn’t yet received an adequate answer to the original question. “So how did you track Zoey’s name change?”

  “It’s not as hard as you might think,” Mr. Schmidt said. “Ever since she was three, we put the highest degree of legal, civic, financial, and internet traces on her social security number. Also on her birth certificate, her driver’s license—once she got it—and her name. Whenever that information surfaced anywhere in the world in the last 25 years or so, we received notice. We probably have records of any traffic ticket she ever got or any internet search done on her name.”

  “You can do that?” Zoey asked, pulling back in her chair, feeling more than a touch of violation—and she had her mother to thank for it?

  “We can do it,” Mr. Schmidt said. “As a law firm. And I’m sure expert hackers and the government certainly can, but it’s not easily done.”

  At Mr. Schmidt’s mention of hackers, an unwelcome memory came pounding back to Zoey. Of Cesar Descutner, her college stalker. He had been a computer genius with ethical boundaries sketchy enough to qualify him as a hacker. She had once done an internet search on her former name, and she’d found a chat room in which Cesar had stated that he was looking for her. He hadn’t even bothered to disguise his identity. The message said he didn’t intend to hurt her or have any kind of relationship with her, but that he wanted to know what name she was currently using and in which city she resided. He’d promised not to visit or call unless absolutely necessary. Since Zoey hadn’t been able to imagine any circumstance in which it would be absolutely necessary for a stalker to reunite with his victim, she had quickly closed the web page and tried to forget about it.

  The whole situation with Cesar had arisen from a friendship. He’d been a great confidante and study partner who could be counted on for comic relief day and night. They’d hung out during freshman year and part of sophomore year, but then his interest in her had taken a twisted turn. He’d grown protective to the point of obsession, trying to isolate her from other guys by researching them on the internet and revealing their dark sides to her. When Zoey insisted he stop, he confided that he received messages in his head. Persistent messages. About her. He didn’t invite the messages in, but he couldn’t shut them out either. Zoey knew he needed help, but her attempts to get him psychiatric counseling had failed.

  “Zoey, you okay?” Jake asked.

  She looked up from the padded envelope at which she’d been staring. “Yes, sorry. This is a lot to take in.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Schmidt said. He removed a business card from the small marble holder on his desk and held it out to her. “Please, Ms. Kincaid. Since my sister was unable to repay her debt to your mother, I would be pleased to make up for it with the next generation. If there’s anything I can do for you or Jake during your visit, please don’t hesitate to call.”

  Zoey smiled at his sincere offer. “Thank you, Mr. Schmidt. You’ve been more than kind.”

  Jake stood and shook the man’s hand. Zoey did the same. But as they reached the mahogany double doors to exit the office, she turned around. “Mr. Schmidt, you said you had a record of all the times my name was accessed or involved in a legal proceeding.”

  “That’s right. Ever since you were three.”

  “May I get a copy of that report?”

  Mr. Schmidt tilted his head, a thin clump of his white hair falling to the side. “I don’t think it’s normally done, in case your name has ever come up in some covert investigation. The government certainly wouldn’t want you to know about it, would they?”

  Jake jumped in. “I don’t see how it could hurt, Mr. Schmidt. You’ve been spying on the poor woman her whole life. And you do owe her, as you just said.”

  Mr. Schmidt acquiesced. “Certainly. But let’s keep it between us, shall we?”

  Fifteen minutes later, Zoey and Jake descended 30 floors in a high-speed elevator that made the contraption in Zoey’s building feel like a dumbwaiter. In her hands, Zoey held a thick report with over a hundred printed pages. She flipped through it, spotting records of mundane items like credit checks, along with applications for student loans, jobs, and even library cards.

  “Talk about Big Brother,” she said. “This is more like Big Brother, Big Sister, and all their aunts and uncles.”

  Jake grinned. Of course he would, Zoey thought. To him, this was all a grand, investigative hunt. “They have anything in there about that night we spent on the beach in Ocean City?” he asked.

  “You’d better hope not,” Zoey said with a mischievous shake of her head.

  She flipped ahead in the file and saw recent dates, from as little as a month ago. She scanned that page and the next one, her breath coming in shorter bursts as she read. “This is creepy,” she said. “Someone’s been searching for me recently. Look at this.”

  She held out a page for Jake to see a record of internet searches on multiple search engines. They included searches on Kyra Collette, Magda, Aunt Eva, and even her parents, Susan and Matthew Collette. In related sub-searches done just two days ago, the report showed 573 matches—for Zoey K.

  “Oh my God, look!” Zoey said, pointing. “Someone has connected Kyra Collette with Zoey K. It’s all in the same search period.” She looked like a child too petrified to open the closet door. “Whoever it is, they’re closing in.”

  Chapter 12

  Silicon Valley, California

  Cesar Descutner tapped his keyboard with blunt, thick fingers. His cadence never slowed, even when he sipped his lukewarm latte or verbally commanded his wafer-thin laptop to answer an incoming call.

  “Mr. Descutner, your wife is here with lunch,” came the rough voice of Ella, his assistant, via the speaker on his laptop. “Shall I—”


  The opening of his office door cut short Ella’s announcement. Ella no doubt realized the futility of continuing since Aviva Descutner, Cesar’s wife, had already pranced into the boss’s office. The elderly Ella was surely shooting disapproving looks at Aviva’s choice of a hot-pink silk top, a flouncy black skirt, and four-inch platform shoes.

  Cesar, on the other hand, shot lustful glances at his wife’s outfit as it flitted in, encompassing the petite form of the Greek heiress he’d happily married four years ago. She approached his desk with a bounce in her step normally reserved for pogo sticks and trampolines, then she reached into the canvas bag suspended from her toned arm and pulled out a neatly wrapped sandwich for him—cucumbers, tomatoes, and Gouda on honey sesame bread—and, as always, a Greek salad for her. Never one to bother with trivialities, she set herself down on the minimalist black leather chair across from his desk and launched into today’s topic.

  “You must have started with those dreams again.”

  Cesar, accustomed to playing mental catch-up with Aviva, started in with the questions that would eventually get them on the same page.

  “What dreams are those, Viv?” he asked, pronouncing it Veev.

  Aviva deftly pitted an olive in her salad with an elongated utensil resembling a serpent’s tongue. “Remember when we first got married, and my mother told me to leave you immediately because of the voices in your head?”

  She had Cesar’s full attention now. “Yes.”

  “Same sort of thing last night,” she said, popping the olive into her mouth. “You cried out, ‘Keeks,’ and then your leg kicked. You bruised my calf.” She offered proof by extending a sinewy, tanned leg.

  “Sorry,” he said robotically, his thoughts racing laps around the actual response.

  “Then you yelled out ‘Keeks’ again and started thrashing all over the bed.”

  “Thrashing?” Cesar put down the sandwich he’d been holding in mid-air, en route to his mouth ever since Aviva began the story.

  “All arms and legs and panting,” she said. “Like you were on a mad dash through the jungle or something.”

  Cesar forced his voice to be calm. “Did I say anything else?”

  “Not that I could understand, what with all the wild motions.” She leveled her brilliant brown eyes at him like a rattlesnake challenging its prey to move. “If I find out you’ve got a porno Second Life or some hot avatar named Keeks, let alone a flesh-and-blood whore, consider yourself warned, Cesar.” She waved her black fingernails at him in a flagellating motion that, despite its flowing smoothness, sent the appropriate threat.

  “Mr. Descutner!” Ella’s voice exploded from the speaker, clearly relishing the chance to interrupt Aviva’s visit. “I’ve finished downloading the final script changes for the UltraVenus game. You’ll find it on our shared directory.”

  “Thanks, Ella.”

  Aviva stood to go, packing up her half-eaten salad in one swift motion. “UltraVenus?” she said. “Good name. Will it be the newest billion-dollar craze?”

  “Let’s hope so. The last one made us filthy rich.” Cesar spoke with a forced joy that he hoped covered his apprehension over the report of his wild dream.

  Aviva raised a skeptical brow, prompting Cesar to clarify. “Okay, okay. It made us filthy rich in regard to earned riches,” he said. “Believe me, I’m well aware of the initial boost your inheritance provided.”

  Aviva looked at him playfully. “I hope you’re not implying I didn’t earn my inheritance,” she said. “Twenty-seven years of playing the violin for Daddy’s wealthy friends. Doing ballet at his parties so he could show me off. I was a trained pet and a cheap source of entertainment. So please, I deserved every million.”

  Cesar got up and came around his desk, displaying his full 6’3” frame. He grabbed Aviva’s strong but narrow shoulders and pulled her closer. Despite the height she gained from her footwear, Cesar still had to lean down half a foot to plant an affectionate kiss on the top of her head. “You earned every penny,” he said, “and I’ll be expecting a few ballet moves when I get home this evening.”

  “Actually coming home?” she said without sarcasm.

  “Not for dinner, but before one a.m., definitely. We’re officially in UltraVenus launch mode, so it’s crazy here, but that’s not to say I can’t make time for the ladies—and the avatars—in my life.”

  “Let’s just hope this new game doesn’t drive you crazy,” she said. “If I remember correctly, you went from dreams to voices to agonizing pain last time, and then to some serious anti-hallucinogens.”

  Cesar hid his anxiety from her. “We don’t need to worry about all that.” He kissed her again, but on the lips this time. A quick peck, but enough for him to be tempted to forget UltraVenus for a couple hours and experience the real goddess of love. Anything to occupy his mind and block out the voice.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” Aviva said abruptly, putting an end to Cesar’s daytime fantasies.

  He watched her exit the office. As she passed Ella’s desk, she deposited two of the old woman’s favorite raspberry-chocolate truffles on her desk, without missing a bounce.

  The small smile on Ella’s face told Cesar that all was well in the outer office. He wished the same could be said for his mind. All had not been well for three weeks now. He hadn’t dared mention anything to Aviva for the very reason she’d just stated—he didn’t want to repeat the horrible cycle of events from their first year of marriage. And God forbid Aviva’s crazy Greek mother found out about the true capabilities of his mind. Had he known four years ago what it meant to marry into a traditional Greek family, he might have thought twice.

  Since childhood, Cesar had heard voices he didn’t understand. Messages from people in his head. Distinctly different from fantasies or daydreams. Most came through with a weak signal that he could ignore as he filled his mind with knowledge, computer code, and a manic drive to succeed. Over the years, though, one voice had broken through the clutter and persisted. It first spoke to him in college, nearly driving him to madness. By his third year of school, it had subsided, but at the beginning of his marriage, it had returned. He’d repressed it with drugs and therapy, but now it was back with a vengeance, like the world’s most articulate form of tinnitus.

  “Go to her,” it said. “Find her now.” Through a primitive brain-gut connection that he trusted implicitly, Cesar knew who the voice wanted him to find: his old friend, Kyra Collette, the one he affectionately called Keeks.

  At any random moment in his day, the voice came. Genderless and ageless, it sometimes resembled his own voice, sometimes the whisper of a desperate woman. He had tried and failed to rationalize it as some remote part of his brain reminiscing about Kyra, but the reaction from his body and mind implied more than a simple memory. It overtook him, infiltrating his being to the point of possession.

  Now that the voice had manifested itself during his sleep, he needed to take action. No one but he knew of the violent nature hidden within him like a small seedling he refused to nurture. Although he never displayed that aspect of himself around Aviva or their twin daughters, its presence never felt completely absent.

  Over the years, he’d perfected methods for converting the annoyance of the simmering voices into frenzied action, mostly to further his company. Ultraquest had developed three top-selling series of videogames and his company’s stock price had sextupled since its inception. As long as he could channel his energy appropriately, he felt certain that everyone around him would be safe. But in idle moments, of which there were few, he felt like a dormant volcano around which a village had sprung up. Its surrounding settlers—family, friends, employees, and his fawning peers in the gaming industry—viewed the volcano with respect and awe, but never with fear. Cesar knew, however, that in nature, catastrophes occurred in cycles and that eventually, volcanoes erupted again. What he didn’t know was when or how his personal eruption would express itself. And it scared him to death.

  He reached down
to the lowest drawer on the right-hand side of his desk and entered a keyless code to unlock the drawer: 6001TFIN, his October 6th birth date in reverse and the acronym for his favorite song, The Future Is Now. The drawer glided open, displaying an aluminum gun case. Cesar blew his stockpiled tension out through his nostrils as he stared at his fuzzy reflection in the case. Relief washed over him at the sight of it and he felt calmer. A gentle tap to the top of the drawer made it slide shut.

  He turned back to his computer and, able to direct his energy once again, he opened the file displaying the complicated code for the UltraVenus game. He felt a sudden urge to create a new battle scene for the game. Perhaps one on an interplanetary river in the middle of a large city.

  Chapter 13

  Richmond, Virginia

  Zoey and Jake walked the two blocks to Alston Bank. The haze of the morning had given way to a beautiful spring day. The courtyards hidden in the spaces between buildings gave them glimpses of unexpected crepe myrtles, pear trees, and cherry blossoms, providing a preview of what Philly could expect in the next few weeks. Normally, the treat of an early spring would thrill Zoey, but not today. She walked in heavy silence, unlike Jake who seemed to bounce along, absorbing details of the city as if he and Zoey were Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn gallivanting about town.

  Of course he’s feeling lighthearted, Zoey thought. He has no face to put with Cesar Descutner—no concept of that encroaching feeling as a trusted friend turns into an enemy. And no idea of Cesar’s awesome brain power. She pressed the thick report from Mr. Schmidt against her chest. “It’s got to be Cesar, right?” she said, determined to draw Jake into her mood of despair. “He must still be searching for me.”

  Jake seemed surprised that the topic was still weighing her down. “Well, it’s not like we thought he’d never find you again.”