The Survivors: Point of Origin (book 2)

Human Contact, pt. 1

I'D LIKE TO SAY THE DECISION TO SEE COLE HARDWICK WAS ONE I could write off as impulsive. It was not.

I went back to the house to get my things. Thankful that Adelaide was not in it, I grabbed my traveling tote bag, threw in a bunch of books into it along with the usual contents I always traveled with — my Moleskine journal, Theogony, my passport, and the like — changed into nicer clothes, and grabbed my Fendi Spy bag. I left without a word to anyone. I called the airline on my car’s speakerphone on the way out of Bigfork and booked a flight to New York.

Just the fact that I flew to New York instead of running there was a clear sign of premeditation. This journey was not one that could be written off as a crime of passion.

But I felt like I had no choice. The cold air had begun to penetrate my skin, my soul, in ways I had never previously imagined. The cold used to be a refuge for me, and it used to be one of the solitary fond reminders of the place I came from. But now the cold was menacing, contorting and controlling the man — er, person,...no, thing? — I loved in ways I couldn’t understand and couldn’t forgive. All I wanted was to be standing in the Mississippi heat I’d felt before all of this began. And then Everett could stand by me without his attitude, his standoffish moments. “But who was I to judge?” he might say if he were here, since I would be standoffish in the Sahara desert, the Swiss alps, and everywhere in between.

It was mid afternoon when we landed. I took a cab to Union Square. I didn’t know where Cole lived, but I could sense his mind so easily, I knew he wouldn’t be hard to find. I traversed the sidewalks of Manhattan in four-inch platform-heeled suede and snakeskin Prada ankle boots, following my supernatural senses. It did not escape me how strange this was.

I was glad that it was a Saturday. I might find him home alone, wherever home may be. After being pulled south and west for a number of blocks, I found myself on Spring Street in front of a large building made entirely of glass and steel; it looked very much like a giant glass house.

I could read Cole’s mind clearly from the sidewalk. He was reading Harry Potter, which I found incredibly endearing for reasons I could not entirely explain. He was just starting the seventh book, and he was excited about it. He was sitting on a couch, wearing pajama pants even at this time of afternoon, feet propped up on a coffee table in front of him. Music was playing in the background and light cascaded in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the loft-like home. He was such a normal human. I understood why I’d come.

I walked into his building and was greeted by his doorman. “Who are you here to see?” he asked.

“Cole Hardwick,” I said. It was the first time I’d said his name aloud in months. It felt strange and velvety on my tongue.

“Is he expecting you, madam?”

I hesitated. “Er... no,” I said. I hated that I had to let his doorman call Cole to announce my arrival because it would give me away. But I supposed that, on the chance he wouldn’t want to see me, it would be easier for me to overhear that from a phone call with the doorman than from his beautiful face.

“Ah. Your name then?” the doorman asked.

“Sadie Matthau,” I said. I was exponentially more nervous than I expected to be.

“Very good,” the doorman said. He picked up the phone dialing Cole’s number.

It only took a moment for him to respond. “Hello?” he asked, his mind curious. He hadn’t been expecting anyone.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hardwick. There is a Ms. Matthau in the lobby to see you. May I send her up?”

Less than one second later: “Sadie Matthau?” I could hear him ask in disbelief. There was a strange smile in his voice — I could hear it at the same moment I felt it. “Yes! Send her right up,” he beamed. All the tension in my body released.