Chapter 21: The Star

In the van, the banter that Liv has gotten used to having with Nick is strangely absent. Nick keeps his eyes on the road, his mind divided in two. On one hand, the investigation and its immediate structure weigh on him. Holbrook is dead. Xhetani is dead. Naomi is in the wind. Time is running out. And yet if this entire investigation goes up in flames and he, along with Anton, gets buried under the PNCD building for the rest of time, that would mean Liv is free, to his understanding at least. Nick is of two minds because as soon as he reaches his goal, the one person he cares most about besides his brother will hate him for the rest of her life.

“Crazy, huh?” Liv says, snapping Nick out of it.

“Huh? Yeah… That it is.”

“Killed in her own office. Just like that. Surrounded by all that security.”

“Why does it smell like food in the car?” Nick turns to Liv.

“Beats me.” Liv crosses her arms and leans back.

They are headed for the nearest PNCD access point in Harlem, the one above an old laundromat, overlooking a bakery. This one is special for being the one Nick always took to work during his SI days. Nick wishes he could say it brings up bad memories, but they’re all bad.

“If the killer resorted to something so desperate as this, it means we made him nervous.” Liv points out, rather accurately, Nick thinks.

“True. But now all that’s separating more leads from a dead end is their execution. If they were sloppy, then we’re back to square one.” Nick says. “And by then it will be too late,” He thinks. The world swirls around him, funneling every analog signal, bit of static, and sewer steam down on his head. Nick can feel the fork in the proverbial road coming. Their kiss outside the hotel, their dinner afterwards, the night they ate at the Persian place, and every unnamed little moment that has brought them closer together, all choke Nick like a saccharine noose.

He hates to admit it, but Liv is the last thing on his mind most mornings as his head hits the pillow. As with all good things Nick has, he will find a way to ruin it. Better yet, he was given the way to ruin it and is now simply following a preordained structure like a good dog. Perhaps he is a better follower than he thought.

“Hey, you ok?”

Nick nods and forces a smile. Liv angles towards him with one knee on the seat, something Nick hated when they just started working together.

“Listen, Nick, I know this may not be the perfect moment, but I have some ideas where we can take this after we’re done with this whole Tanzer thing.”

“After the Tanzer thing…” Nick repeats.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot, especially since the hotel. You’ve taught me a lot, and I still have a lot to learn, sure. But you and I make quite the team. When we helped those people that the wax-guy had trapped, that meant something.” As she speaks, all Nick can think of is how warm her skin felt against his. Liv was right, this is far from the perfect moment, and it will keep getting farther from perfect. “Those people would have died without us. I don’t know about you, but the PNCD weren’t exactly itching to help; they arrived once the action was done.”

“And your point is…” Nick takes a left.

“My point is that we can help people by ourselves. It’s not that different from what we’ve already been doing. Only now, you won’t have them breathing down your neck. You’ll be free.” A caustic shiver sprints down Nick’s neck. He will indeed be free. “We can help people. Isn’t that what this is all about at the end of the day?”

Nick, mustering all his strength, pushes out the best lie he can. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yes!” Liv pats his shoulder. “I knew you’d be on board. I even thought of a few names we can use—“

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Liv, but why don’t we stay focused ok?” Nick says in a stern tone.

“Right…” Liv says, studying Nick. “I just want you to know how special this is for me. In med school, I felt like I was wasting my life.” Nick swallows hard, feeling guilt driving all sweat from his body. He adjusts his shirt collar. “Ever since I found out about all this stuff and we started working together, I feel strangely at peace. If that makes sense. Being your partner, I just wanted to share that I look forward to our work continuing.” Liv sees Nick’s strange state. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Nick says, parking the car in front of the laundromat.

“Are you sure? You’re all sweaty—“ Liv reaches out a hand to Nick’s forehead, only for him to pull away and stop her hand.

Nick offers a polite smile. “I said I’m fine. Let’s get this done.”

“Sure,” Liv says, her voice now smaller.

Liv expects him to light a cigarette on the sidewalk before going in, but he doesn’t. He goes in, leaving her to catch up. Nick takes quick strides up the stairs and down the dusty corridor. She follows him into an old apartment, condemned by the PNCD. She enters and closes the door behind her. Nick is already standing over the red dial phone, entering a long sequence of numbers.

“Step further from the door,” Nick says calmly.

As he enters the full combination, the lights flicker. The air stills around them, now dense and synthetic. Breathing becomes a manual effort and never quite returns to normal. Liv looks at Nick’s back as he exits the room and steps into PNCD Central Dispatch. Liv chases him through crowds of agents, all dressed to blend in. She feels like Alice, chasing her white rabbit. She fixes her eyes on the white diamond on Nick’s back. The one-sided game of tag continues all the way through to the entrance of The Premonitions Department. Liv remembers the way, and she remembers their uneventful interview with Holbrook.

Concrete as far as the eye can see. Of what Liv has seen of this seemingly endless, impossible office space, cold concrete seems to be the staple of the PNCD. It is some lifeless entity, Liv thinks, unfeeling and unflinching at human existence, dressing its hostile interior in wood and wool. Like an angler fish, it lulls us with its bright light, evoking some abstract sense of ‘the good old days’ with its imitation of an office space. It’s almost Rockwellian in nature. Good old Americana, keeping you safe from the unspeakable madness, whether you like it or not. The flood of visual information has become bearable since the last time. Things she has since understood about the PNCD have become less jarring, like the teleporting phone rooms and the hundreds of agents pouring in and out of the rooms. She looks up to see the seal of the PNCD, something she realizes she had not seen before this. Looking down at all of them, perched above the split-flap screen, is a seal much like the FBI or CIA or what-have you. White background instead of blue, though. In the center is a simple black rendering of an owl. Two white circles for eyes, watching those below. It has its wings spread, as if we caught it in the instant before the kill. Around the perimeter of the seal are three words: REGERE, DUCERE SCIRE.

While Central Dispatch is a marriage of lacquered wood paneling, green carpeting, and smooth concrete construction, the Premonition Department abandons all pretense of comfort or conformity to style. It is pure concrete. Liv’s last visit here made her skin crawl for a reason she was not sure of. It is all concrete, the construction more angular, with a lot more black metal, tungsten supports for top-heavy constructs. The great concrete doors slide apart soundlessly, leading into the Premonitions department.

After a series of dark corridors, leading to a general reception area, followed by a ride through the Department elevator, they finally arrive at the Department Head’s Office and personal laboratory. Anton waits on the phone, craned over Holbrook’s desk, which is covered in stacks of paperwork as per usual. The only difference is that it will never be done. Anton notices Nick and Liv and gives it to a passing subordinate. The two walk into a rush of suits and clip-on ties, moving boxes, photographing, and ziplock bagging things for evidence.

“About time,” Anton says. His five o’clock shadow now looks closer to midnight, with sleepless eyes and overcombed hair completing the look. These two finally look like brothers

“So what happened?” Nick and Liv walk past, sidestepping the Division agents darting in and out of the door like pillagers. “Any news from Dex?”

Anton shushes, “Will you keep your voice down? The body’s on ice, they’re doing their own autopsy, I got a guy in internal, owes me a favor.” Anton leans in after looking to check for any agents in their orbit. “Says there’s no definitive way to tell, but all signs point to TCS.” Anton looks at Liv. “Temporal-Cognitive Collapse,” He clarifies.

Nick shakes his head. “She’s the Department Head, what the hell would she even be doing in a Seer tank?” Nick whispers back.

“All the coroner said was that her brain was mulch. Guy said they found signs of edema, coupled with the existing cortical lesions she had from years as a Seer, all telltale signs.” Anton says, checking over his shoulder once again.

“So how?”

“You’re the detective, figure it out. I need to prepare to present my findings to the Board.” Anton hands Nick five pieces of paper folded into small squares. “Autopsy notes.” Anton’s blackbox rings, and Nick sees an unknown incoming number on the small screen. “One sec,” Anton answers, but pauses and places his hand on the microphone. He gives Nick a flat look, saying, “Find what you need to know and report to me,” before walking away with the blackbox held to his ear.

Back in Harlem, Nick turns the key and lets Liv step into his apartment. The smell of leftovers and dust wafts out.

“Gave the maid the day off.” Nick jokes, gauging Liv’s reaction.

“Ok,” Liv says, taking her coat off. “Let me see that autopsy report.”

Nick hands it over. “Nothing jumped out at me, no sign of any poison or toxin.”

“You a doctor now?” Liv says, scaring herself with how much she sounded like Nick. He says nothing, and the two sit at opposite ends of the room.

“Hope you don’t mind, I’m gonna grab some shut eye.” He says. Liv turns around to see Nick with his shirt halfway off his body. He roots around in his unmade bedsheets to look for his home clothes. Liv has never seen him like this. His lean figure is covered in scarring of all sorts. He is like some beautiful work of art, each element its own story of bravery or Nick’s complete disregard for his own life. As he changes into a different pair of pants, Liv turns around.

“Cool,” Liv says, studying the paper. Nick lies down, barely conscious. With one eye open, he studies the back of Liv’s neck and how she scratches his head while focused. A silent focus in the way she studies the autopsy notes. Nick notes this is the first time Liv has been to his apartment. He wonders what she thinks of it. He wonders at what point this girl realized he isn’t all she imagined him to be.

Sleep takes him, down below, into a deep, damp place. The place feels like the bottom of a lake, with the silt and kelp embracing and keeping him like a crashed car. Dreams come in tatters, five short ones. The first is him sitting at a table, somewhere dark and cold. With him is Anton, who says nothing. All his brother does is shake his head and sob occasionally. Before he can make any sense of it, he is pulled onto the surface of the moon. The scarred pale surface of the moon contrasts with the endless darkness all around him. He feels he is being watched by something out of sight. There is no Planet Earth in sight, only the emptiness of space. Somehow, he then finds himself in a strange apartment. He does not know why or how, but this is the apartment in Lisbon, the one Anton would not shut up about. This is how he would remember it if he had any recollection of it. Standing in the kitchen with him is Sandu the Fortuneteller. She is as beautiful as ever. She has an expression like she just asked him a question, like the answer she expects from Nick will determine the rest of both of their lives. He opens his mouth to speak to her, but no words come out. They stretch out with a dry pain. She sees this and clearly does not understand. She turns around and walks away.

The fourth and fifth dreams bleed into each other, like two films that an amateur has spliced. His father, he, and Anton are at the movies, something they never did. All the while, they are watching some strange western, all starring Nick and John Gartz. In the film, Nick and Gartz are deep in the country, looking for something. They go around in circles, kicking up dust in a Lincoln or Pontiac. They stand around in ditches and quarries, their search never amounting to much. Throughout the movie, his father makes remarks, all the same cruel things he used to say when they were boys, but in a strangely distant tone, like he no longer believes them.

There might be a meaning behind all of these, some strange red thread connecting all of them and subsequently to Nick’s life as a whole. That is what movies taught Nick at an early age: that dreams have meaning. It is too bad then that this is no movie. His dreams among the silt and seaweed offered him little insight into his life, and very little rest from this nightmare he finds himself in. He floats back up to the surface, no longer in space or the movie theater. A voice calls out to him.

“Nick, wake up.” Liv jolts him awake; he gasps and shoots a look at her, wide awake.

“Sorry… How long was I out?”

“Holbrook couldn’t have had TSC.”

“How do you figure?”

Liv holds up the report, pointing to percentages and numbers that might as well be a foreign language to Nick. “The human body cannot produce this many NMDA agonists.” Liv proceeds to break things down for Nick as best as she can. She explains the science of it, gleaming a not insignificant amount of joy from being back in her own element and lecturing him for a change. “Holbrook didn’t die from an average Seer overload; it was induced. Her brain was flooded with glutamate, a level way above what her body would produce naturally. That kind usually happens when a Seer’s brain processes too many possible futures at once, but she hadn’t done active premonition work in years. The toxicology shows trace metabolites from a fast-metabolizing nitrogen compound, which suggests someone introduced a synthetic NMDA agonist.” As Liv speaks, Nick does his best to keep up, his anatomy being a bit rusty. “It would mimic glutamate activity in the brain and force the same kind of neural overload as a full Seer session. In other words, someone chemically triggered it. She was nearly over the edge, and this was the last push.”

The pieces all begin to fall into place. Nick remembers seeing them so far apart and disparate before. Now, he can almost see the outline of the killer when he closes his eyes. He can sense it. He also remembers the deadline. After the dream, Nick feels himself in a fugue state, like he is both pig and butcher, the lion and the hunter. A small part of him wants to fail this investigation. But he remembers Anton, he remembers all the suffering he has been through. He thinks, as if more thinking will finally solve his problems. He thinks and thinks until the scuffed dance floor of his mind is fully covered in black shoe marks.

“It was Xhetani,” Nick says. He feels like a Buddhist bell has been rung in his head.

“But she died,” Liv says.

“No, not Elvira. Henry, the widower. He’s the reason I went after Dex; he told me about Dex texting his wife, but Dex didn’t know who she was. I didn’t believe him at first. Henry is the only one whom any of these powerful people would all go to when they were grieving and unable to do their jobs. Tanzer’s notes mentioned his shrink multiple times but never mentioned a name.”

“You got all of that from what I said?”

“Henry is also medically trained, with access to the Medical Wing in the PNCD building.” Nick thinks further, realizing Henry is not as smart as he thinks he is. “He’s clever, but with all of his actions, he eliminated someone else from our suspect list.”

“Why Holbrook then?”

“She helped him, Liv. She supplied him with knowledge of the future.”

Liv stops Nick. “Hold on, you’re forgetting a giant hole in your theory: his wife died in a car bomb. We were at the funeral. Someone murdered his wife.”

Nick had thought of that too, and he was stumped. “I don’t have an answer for that now. But it could have been Dex. We can ask him, after we take Henry into custody.” Nick goes for the door, but Liv gets in his way.

“You’re just going to go and tell Anton that. This is a grieving man who lost his only family.”

“Liv, we don’t have time-“ Nick says.

“Nick, I urge you to consider what you’re about to do. This could ruin him.” Nick thinks of the deadline. Less than 48 hours, and they are nowhere near the end. He feels that if he sprints to the finish line, reads to the last page of the book, and slams the door shut behind him he will somehow feel less guilty. Liv’s almond-shaped eyes look up at him. They beg for clarity in his erratic actions. ‘She can tell,’ thinks Nick, ‘Sweet Jesus Christ, somehow she can read me like a book.’ Nick cannot articulate a lie fast and well enough to move Liv from his path. He cannot say that he wants to get this over with. Would he feel bad about imprisoning a possibly innocent man? Yes. But Henry cannot be innocent, Nick can tell; he cannot prove it. His mind goes in circles, like the car in the dream, kicking up dust and getting nowhere.

“Liv, get out of the way. We are going to get Henry, and the Division will question him. It’ll be out of our hands.” Nick moves, but Liv puts both hands on his shoulders.

“But what if they believe you. You would be ok with an innocent man bearing the weight of that crime?”

“But he’s not innocent.” Nick shrugs her hands away.

Liv has seen the man in front of her slowly degrade over time. Nick is being used as the rag to clean up the Division’s messes. She loves him for it. She has always loved how much he cared, even if he did his best to hide it. Men always think they hide their emotions well. This, however, she could not abide. Nick is acting in bad faith, and it is truly:

“Wrong,” Liv says out loud. “Nick, this is not how you do things. It’s not how we do things.”

Frustration boils over, Nick houses a volatile mix of shame, urgency, fear, and fatigue. “How the fuck would you know how I do things?” Nick asks, silencing the room more than he’d hope. He doubles down. “We’ve worked together for less than a year. You’ve been my ‘partner’ for less than two weeks. You don’t get to tell me—“

“Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“‘Partner’. You stressed it like it’s not true. Like it’s some joke.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Even today, when I brought up working together after this, you got all weird. I thought it was weird, but now you said ‘partner’ in this weird way, I’m starting to wonder what the hell you have on your mind, Nick.”

Nick sucks his teeth. He wonders if he can just push Liv out of the way. “Move.”

“Am I not your partner? Have you just been making an idiot out of me?”

Nick is silent for a few seconds too long. “No, I wasn’t, I was just…“

“Yes?”

“Liv just…” Nick scratches his head. What beauty she saw in him slips somewhere that second. He is feral in her eyes. A strange and unknowable man. “Stop. Ok? Stop all of this? I get this is important to you, but it’s over. This whole thing is done. So just stop pretending to care.”

Liv feels something crack in her. Two tectonic plates slide against each other in her chest. She smiles. “You enormous fucking douchebag.”

“Name-calling? Really?”

“You honestly think that when I care, it’s all an act. I’m some lying, manipulative bitch who cares only when she gets something out of it.”

“Oh, get out of here with that.”

“If that is how you see me, then I don’t even know what to tell you. If this is how you see me, then maybe it is over.”

“Stop being so dramatic. I want to put an end to this investigation.”

“By rushing into danger? Like you always do? This time, you’re not putting yourself in danger; it’s someone else. How are you going to feel if you find out it’s the wrong guy?”

“I won’t give a shit.” Nick lies.

“Right! Of course. Nick Romeo, folks. Doesn’t care about anyone or anything anymore.” Liv crosses her arms. “You know the whole Philip Marlowe act worked a few months ago, but it’s too late for that. I know you want people to believe you’re heartless. But I know you—“

“Stop!” Nick’s voice rings off the walls. “Stop thinking that you know me!” Nick feels it. He feels the words of Johan Rhyner leaking from him, like some long-dormant venom finally being activated. He wants to stop, but he cannot. “You know precisely NOTHING about me. I am not your friend. We were never friends. So I suggest we move past this and do our fucking jobs, ok?”

“God, you’re so exhausting sometimes.” Liv puts her hands in the air. “I get it, Nick. You don’t trust people. You don’t trust me. Fine. But if that’s the case, why the hell did you even bother keeping me around?” She moves away from the door and pivots around Nick as if they are two boxers in a ring.

“You don’t think I see it? The way you look at me like I’m just some stupid kid, with rainbows and butterflies in my head? As your partner and as someone with some skin in the game, I don’t agree with what you’re doing right now. I can tell you’re trying your best to spare us both from more work, and I get it, I’m fucking exhausted, but we need to do this right.”

Nick exhales, remembering how much he cares for Liv. “I want what’s best for you. You don’t understand the weight of what is happening. You’re in way over your head, and I’m the one who’s going to have to live with it if something happens to you.”

Liv scoffs, a sharp heat in her chest. “You want to protect me? That’s not being my partner, that’s being my babysitter. How can I understand anything if the one person I trust the most can’t even tell me what’s going on? Shutting me out every time I try to get close? You’re not protecting me, Nick, you’re pushing me away because you’re scared. Because it’s easier than admitting you need someone.”

Nick flinches, the words landing too close to home. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about.” Liv steps closer, her voice trembling with fury. “You play at being the meanest and the hardest. But it’s people like that who are the most shit-scared. You think opting out is somehow the same as winning. You think you’re the only one who’s lost something? Who’s had to make shitty choices? Well, guess what, Nick? You’re not.

“You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve been through—”

“And whose fault is that?!” Liv snaps, cutting him off. “You don’t tell anyone anything. You just sit there in your little fort of misery, acting like it’s some badge of honor. Like the rest of us should be grateful for whatever scraps you decide to throw our way.”

“Hey, I was doing just fine until you crash landed in my life.” Nick thinks of the kiss they shared. His mind swings like a pendulum. “I was content living the rest of my life being useful. I made my bed, and I’ll gladly lie in it. There would be some dignity in recognizing when it’s over. It was over for me before you even showed up, and I sure as shit don’t need your pity now.”

Liv takes a moment and a sharp breath of air. She holds a palm to her chest, not recognizing her mother’s signature move as she leans forward to argue. “You think I PITY you? That’s what you think I’ve been doing this whole time?” She pulls her hair from her face. You idiot. A guy who can’t even recognize when someone cares for him. Your…” Liv considers her words. “Your own brother-“

“Don’t bring my family into this-“

“Your own brother can’t even check in on you when he clearly knows how much you’re suffering. And it’s not like you’d ever let him.”

Nick approaches. “You’re on really thin ice right now.”

Liv says, fighting tears. “Nick, I’m telling you this because I don’t think anyone’s ever going to; you do not have a monopoly on pain. My dad got murdered in front of me. And you—” Her voice breaks off. “Working with you is the first time in my life I feel some shred of control over my life, as depressing as it sounds. Every night I see your sour mug screwing with the dials on the radio and drinking your disgusting black coffee, I think, ‘What the hell is he even doing?’ I ask myself that every night. I see you’re hurting, and all I ever want to do is be there for you. You don’t just push people away because you’re so brave and care for their feelings, you’re just afraid of being alone.”

Nick sneers, “I’m not the one looking for a surrogate father.”

Liv hands strikes Nick across the cheek, leaving red skin and a light sting. “You’re such a dick.” She wipes a tear. “Your life wasn’t easy, but what do you get out of it by making it harder?” Liv’s voice softens into the question.

Her voice shifts Nick’s perspective, from her scrunched up nose and frown, to her tears and trembling hands. The lines of his face smooth over slightly. “Liv, I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry-“

“Forget it. You’re missing the point.” Liv walks away. A dull banging comes from the other side of the wall.

“Hey, shut the hell up in there!” A male voice shouts. Nick looks back at Liv, who’s already gone.