Gwendy’s Final Task

“Maybe we could go back to the beginning?” Bern Stapleton suggests. “I for one would like to hear how one of the richest men on earth ended up a puddle of goo with ants crawling on what remains of his face.”

“A very good idea,” Kathy says. “Let’s hear it, Senator. From the beginning.”

While I still can, Gwendy thinks, because Adesh is mistaken—there’s plenty wrong with her memory. It has begun to fog over again. She knows where she is, she knows these people are the crew she came up here with … but she can’t remember any of their names except for Adesh Patel and Kathy London. Is it London? No matter. She leans across the table, pulls the lever on the right side of the button box, and pops a chocolate koala bear into her mouth. The fog rolls away. But of course it will be back, and soon the chocolates will disappear into deep space.

“The beginning was when I was twelve,” she says. “That’s when I saw the button box for the first time and took possession of it …”

She talks for forty-five minutes, pausing for sips of water. No one interrupts, including Charlotte Morgan, who is hearing the whole story for the first time.

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.