There is, of course, a room waiting for me in this hotel, posh enough to have marble tiled floors and a waterfall in the lobby. A penthouse suite, even, because Wyatt Conley doesn’t do anything by halves. Theo and I ride up in the elevator together in stony silence. Once he offers a hand to take my duffel bag, but I only grip the handle more tightly. I don’t want this scum touching me or my stuff. I’ve had enough of his “help.”
Which, of course, is exactly why Conley made Theo accompany me. Given that I’m in a strange country, without much money, dizzy and nauseated, the chances of me running off are minimal. But he wants Theo there as a reminder of just how bad things can get. For all his promises of safety and cooperation, Conley still wants me to fear for my life.
The thing is, though—now that I’m forced to really look at Theo, I can see that guilt lies so heavily on him that his shoulders sag. His usual bantam swagger has been reduced to a shuffle, and still, more than an hour after landing, he has yet to meet my eyes.
Theo murdered me, and Theo hated it. I remember how much he cried, how he pleaded for me to jump out so he would at least only have to kill one of us. If Theo or Conley thought killing would be easier after that, they were wrong.
The mere idea of confronting him terrifies me. But it turns out I affect Theo even more profoundly than he affects me.
Theo taps the key card against the lock before stepping back to let me through. I shoulder the door open to walk into pure elegance. The living room has a panoramic view looking over the city and is set up with chic, modern leather chairs and sofas, even a glass dining table ringed by gilded cane chairs. A mirrored wet bar sits in one corner, in case I suddenly start preferring Scotch to seltzer. Lush rugs cover the marble floor, and the artwork hanging on the walls actually looks like art. I step in far enough to see into the bedroom, where a king-size canopy bed is draped with soft veils of netting. It’s not the Ritz, but still—this looks like the kind of hotel room J. Lo would get.
I drop my duffel bag on a carved teak bench and motion toward the wet bar. It’s hard, acting casual in front of my killer, but somehow I manage to keep my voice even. “I only drink on major holidays and at the apocalypse. But do you want something?”
“Better not.” Theo doesn’t know what to make of this. Good.
I make a show of checking the wet bar, which is basically a minibar without the mini. My back is to Theo, so he can’t see how my fingers shake in front of the rows of bottles and cans. Choosing a can of club soda, I sit down in one of the gilded chairs and try to pretend it’s a throne. “Tell me, Theo. What was it like, killing her?”
He stares at me, his face waxen.
I crack the tab of the club soda, acting casual, like my stomach isn’t heaving inside. “The other Marguerite couldn’t have had any idea why you were doing it. She thought you were this cute, dashing European, with your greasy pornstache and your bright little scarves. And she didn’t even remember being led into that tomb. She came to in the last couple seconds of her life.” I’m sorry, I think to her. I’m so sorry. But I bet she wouldn’t mind my using this memory to bludgeon her killer. “Did she try to speak to you? Did she have time to cry?”
“Please, Meg.” Theo’s voice breaks. “You know I hate this.”
“Yeah, well, obviously you love something more. Is it money or power? Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t actually care.”
Theo steps closer to me, and finally he takes off his glasses. Those puppy-dog eyes of his are filled with tears. “She died fast. Almost the moment after you left. And that didn’t make it one bit easier. I sat there beside her for—nearly an hour, I think, I don’t know—and when I crawled back out into the open air, I saw my rifle, and I thought, I should shoot myself. Just grab the rifle and sit down in the nearest camp chair and blow my damned head off.”
“Instead you escaped on a camel.” My lip trembles, but I manage to cover it by taking a sip of club soda. “Dignified. And proof that you didn’t actually feel that bad about it, no matter what you say now.”
“Don’t say that!” Theo insists. “You don’t know what it did to me, Meg. You don’t.”
Something inside me snaps. “What it did to you? You strangled me nearly to death, murdered another me in cold blood, and I’m supposed to be worried about how it affected you?”
“No—that’s not what I meant—”
“Yeah, Theo, I think it is. Whether you know it or not, that’s exactly what you meant. Because no matter how much you claim to care about me, you’re only looking out for yourself.” I want to throw the can at his head, but I don’t. The beatdown I need to give him is going to hurt worse than any bruise. “I bet it’s not just greed driving you, either. I bet it’s jealousy, too. All those worlds where Paul and I fall for each other while you lose out. So do you hate Paul for loving me, or me for loving him?”
Theo neither denies it nor agrees. He just shakes his head. “Seems like I’m always finishing second.”
I laugh out loud, in surprise I genuinely feel and contempt he deserves. “There are worlds where we’re together, Theo! Worlds where I love you so much. I’ve jumped into a universe to find us lying beside each other in bed. I’ve kissed you. I’ve felt you touch me. Paul was the only one I ever loved, but the other Marguerites? Some of them chose you. Some of those worlds are yours and hers to share. But Wyatt Conley is trying to destroy those worlds—and you’re helping him.”
I push back from the table. Theo edges back from me. But the disbelief and anger on his face is all too clear. Exhilarated by the rush of my own fury, I keep going.
“You’re killing a thousand mes and a thousand yous who could be happy. Every chance you and I ever had? It’s just one more log for you to throw on the fire. So that’s how I know you can’t possibly love me, Theo. If you did, you couldn’t destroy us over and over again.”
“It’s not over and over—not a thousand—Christ, Meg, it’s going to end, soon. It would end today if you’d just hear Conley out.”
“Oh, yeah?” As I walk him closer and closer to the door, I continue, “Did Conley tell you that, when you heard him out? That it would end soon? I wonder if he’ll still be telling you that after the tenth version of me you murder. Or the hundredth Paul. Or thousands of both of us. You’re the scientist, so why do I have to be the one to tell you the multiverse is infinite? Conley wants total control, and total control is impossible. The killing is never going to end. Which means you don’t ever get to stop.” I point to the door. “Now get out.”