Rewriting the Apocalypse novel · Chapter 24 of 24

Chapter 24: Rewritten

The county prosecutor met Jo at the Corwin Institute's front doors, now wrapped in yellow tape and a state seal.

"Faulk took a plea this morning," she said. "She'll serve thirty years, and she asked to see you first."

"No."

"That's what I told her."

"And Kessling?"

"Trial in March. His own buyers are testifying." The prosecutor almost smiled. "He asked for a lawyer, and his lawyer asked for a different client."

They went up the steps together.

The orchids in the lobby had died, and the fountain had been shut off, and the silence inside the glass walls was complete.

"The state doesn't want it," the prosecutor said. "The donors have pulled out."

"So it sits empty?"

"Until somebody decides what it is for. You came nearer to that than anyone."

Jo looked at the stairs down to Sublevel 3.

"I have conditions," she said.

"I expected you would."

"The chair room goes. Today. I'll do it myself."

"And then?"

"Then it's a clinic. Free. For people whose nerves were hurt by somebody, or by an accident, or by something no one can name."

"Nobody gets counted," she added.

The prosecutor held out her hand.

Jo shook it.

By afternoon, the white room in Sublevel 3 was full of people.

Sam stood in the middle of it in goggles and a leather apron, holding a cutting torch.

The heavy chair with the high back sat on the tiles, its straps hanging open.

"Stand back," he said cheerfully. "This part is mine."

Bess sat on an upturned crate with her arms folded.

Along the wall stood the nine from Sublevel Four, in borrowed coats, wearing their own faces again.

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