Page 39 of The Paradox Club

“Because I’d think you’d be happy to know that we might be able to help you. With the proper treatment, we can help you manage your condition, maybe turn down the volume on those voices you’ve been hearing.”

“Yeah, I guess I should be. Happy, I mean.”

“But you’re not?”

“It just that the voices are…they’re like a part of who I am. I don’t want to lose who I am.”

“You won’t lose who you are, I promise.”

“It’s kind of like they’re my friends.”

“But they harm you, Tess. They get in the way of your leading a full life.”

“Yeah, but haven’t you ever had a friend you knew was bad for you? Even though they kept you from, what did you call it, leading a full life, you didn’t want to lose them as a friend.”

“You just described about half a dozen of my ex-boyfriends.”

“So, you know what I mean.”

“But they’re ex-boyfriends, Tess. Even though it was hard, I got rid of them, and I’m happier because of it.”

“I’m not sure I know what happy feels like.”

“That’s something else we should talk about. I think you may be suffering from depression.”

“Don’t you think I’ve earned that after everything that’s happened?”

“Depression is not something you earn, Tess. It’s an illness and we can treat it. If you had a broken leg you’d treat it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So, let’s try out some medication and see if we can’t get you to a better place.”

“Okay.”

“And, Tess?”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t say you’d be happy. I said you could be happier. I don’t like to define terms like happy because they can become unattainable. I don’t want you to think in terms of any goal other than feeling better tomorrow than you did today. Do you think you can do that for me? Just focus on feeling a little better each day?”

“I suppose.”

“I think this is an important day for you, Tess. We have a lot of work to do, but I think this was an important day. It took a lot of courage to come to me. Do you think you can keep being brave?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will you try?”

“Okay.”

MESSAGE FROM THE MOP CLOSET

Valentine 6 had a habit of imagining worst-case scenarios. She would lie in bed at night planning what she’d do when the city was hit with six feet of snow or a chemical weapons attack. Walking down the street she’d pick out a fellow pedestrian, decide he was an assassin on her trail, and figure out how to evade him. In any restaurant or public place, she silently noticed the fire doors and the places where she might hide from an active shooter. To her it never felt like paranoia—it was simply a mental exercise, like solving the crossword puzzle.

When she left the Paradox Club at seven thirty that morning and headed west toward Central Park, she had a better reason than ever to exercise her mind in this way. She had delayed calling in the alert on the big board and then Lidenbrock 2 had informed her that her shift would be ending early. Did they know she had lied about falling asleep? Did Pilgrim 3 plan to discipline her in some way? If so, Valentine 6 would be ready. She checked the reflection in every angled shop-front window and was not surprised to see Lidenbrock 2 about fifty feet behind her. Too close to outrun, but close enough to keep an eye on.

She was less worried about being harmed by Lidenbrock 2 than she was about his preventing her from contacting the president. She had memorized the numbers on the big board, which she finally recognized as a latitude and longitude, but she needed to call or text Calvin 4. Even though she didn’t understand what was going on, she knew enough of intrigue to understand that the moment she had been waiting for all this time had finally arrived. Would she be a successful mole, funneling important information to the president of the club at a critical time, or would Lidenbrock 2 stymie her attempts to contact Calvin 4? Glancing in the next window, she reflected that Lidenbrock 2 didn’t seem up to the job. Had Montag 5, another of Pilgrim 3’s stooges, been following her, she might have feared for both her ability to contact the president and her own safety. Lidenbrock 2, doing such an abysmal job of staying inconspicuous, hardly seemed a threat to either.