Page 32

Off-Label

It’s breakfast time the next morning, and sunlight is streaming in through the huge windows over Marsh’s sink. From their ultra-high-rise penthouse apartment—in a towering spire that looks more like a glass sculpture than something hundreds of people can live in—she can see across the peninsula, over Victoria Harbour and to the entire Hong Kong island. The world is quiet at such an early hour, but there are still a few traditional Chinese wooden junk boats out on the calm water, their signature red sails glowing warmly in the dawn light as they slowly sail toward the open sea.

The kitchen was already incredible, but Marsh has made a few upgrades overnight, and is positively overjoyed at the result. It looks like a room in a designer catalogue. Better, even. The ceilings are now at a perfect height, and all the hardware has become warm brass instead of chrome. Even the marble on the counters is infinitesimally whiter.

She can’t wait to fine-tune the rest of the apartment.

Marsh looks up from rinsing off some berries at the sink as Harper comes into the kitchen. She’s trying as hard as she can to act normal—to not think about Chrysalis, or Ren’s article, or her firm’s bid—but Harper still picks up on the unease bubbling beneath her calm exterior.

“You okay there, Mom?” she asks as she pours herself some granola from a container.

“Absolutely,” Marsh says. “Big day at work is all.” She holds out her hands, each with a different kind of berry in them. “Bilberries or crowberries today?”

Harper stares at her. “What?”

Marsh jerks her hands back, shocked.

Bilberries and crowberries are native to Iceland!

“Blueberries!” she cries. “I meant blueberries!”

She looks down at her hands again. Now each one is holding a small pile of blueberries.

“... sure,” Harper finally says, giving her mom a strange look. “Next time, let’s just do bananas.”

Marsh manages a weak chuckle and dumps one cluster into Harper’s bowl. On the floor next to her, Pickle stares up, his black tail wagging desperately, and she lets him have one, too.

It’s fine, she tells herself. Everything is fine.

It will be soon.

“Good morning, ladies,” Ren says as he glides into the kitchen, saving the conversation.

“Good morning,” Marsh replies as he gives her an energetic peck on the cheek. “You look like you slept well.”

“Fantastic!” he answers. He pours himself a huge glass of orange juice, ignoring the brewing coffee completely. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so rested. I don’t even need the caffeine!”

He does seem refreshed, Marsh thinks. His eyes are so bright and his skin is so dewy and smooth, he almost looks airbrushed. It’s quite the turnaround from his chronically exhausted appearance just one day ago.

She studies him intently.

It almost seems like...

“See you two later!” Harper shouts as she bolts for the door.

“You didn’t finish your breakfast!” Marsh yells.

“No time, I’m late,” she calls just before the door slams. “I’ll grab a boh loh yau from the corner bakery on the way!”

“I’m late, too,” Ren says, giving Marsh another kiss on her other cheek. “I have to hit this deadline!”

“Wait,” Marsh insists. “We need to talk.”

“Tonight,” Ren suggests, putting his orange juice glass in the sink and grabbing his satchel. “You’ve got to get to work, too. I have a feeling that today’s going to be a big day for us both!”

The instant Marsh walks into the firm, it becomes a celebration. Every paralegal, first-year, and senior lawyer she passes congratulates her or stops to shake her hand. They’re beaming at her like she’s some kind of personal savior.

After the eighth or ninth encounter, Marsh begins speed-walking toward her office, and dashes inside with a quick jerk of her chin at Adrian to follow her.

“The adoration all a bit much?” he says jokingly as he closes the door behind them.

“I’ll say,” she mutters. “I thought I was going to have to elbow my way here.”

“I mean, you did just set the firm up for life,” Adrian replies.

Marsh nods slowly, taking in this news.

So, my answer was right, she thinks with a chill.

But the rest of the day is nothing short of incredible. Between commercial breaks, the firm doubles in size due to Marsh’s victory, and Marsh herself earns even another promotion. At this point, her standing is higher than Jo’s—than Victor’s, even. She’s not just a partner now. She’s the top dog.

To think that she started this journey hoping just to become a lawyer. Now she runs the whole firm. Just a short while ago, she never would have imagined she could handle this amount of responsibility, but if anything, Marsh is already thinking what else she can do. What more to want, what more to pursue, what more to make hers.

The afternoon and evening rush by in a blur. She’s so busy accepting congratulations all day and outlining the firm’s new ten-year plan, it’s almost midnight before she gets home. As the doors to her private elevator open to her penthouse, Marsh is so giddy with exhaustion, she almost curls up right there on the antique Persian rug. She creeps into the kitchen for a snack, hoping not to wake Ren or Harper, who probably have been asleep for at least an hour by now.

But to her surprise, the kitchen isn’t empty. Ren is slumped over the table, pen still in his hand. He’s fallen asleep on top of his notes that he brought home from work.

Marsh watches him for a moment as he snores lightly.

He really does look like he’s sleeping well, she thinks. So deeply.

So deeply, in fact, that she could probably steal a glance at his research right now, and he’d never know.

Marsh’s smile fades as the idea occurs to her.

As quietly as she can, she creeps over and crouches beside Ren. Most of the papers are hidden beneath him, but there are a few pinned down by his elbow at just the corner. She grasps the one and pulls gently, holding her breath.

The paper doesn’t move at first.

She grits her teeth.

Come on. Easy does it.

Then it slides free.

Marsh sighs as Ren doesn’t stir, and then turns her attention to the page.

Time to see what he’s been working so hard to reveal.

His notes are a mess, but slowly, Marsh pieces it together. Chrysalis is in the final stages of approval, and will be available with a prescription within the next few weeks—around the time that Marsh’s finale should occur, coincidentally, she notes with an uneasy shiver. But his shorthand seems to indicate that he’s interested in a much earlier time period, all the way back to the very first volunteer trial the company conducted for the drug.

Even at that stage, there were no negative side effects for any of the volunteers, and they all reported falling asleep faster, enjoying their dreams, and feeling refreshed when they woke up, but something strange also happened.

Something even stranger than all of the patients having lucid dreams, rather.

The research supervisors realized that when they said things around the sleeping patients, they also could influence what happened in the dreams—without the patients knowing it.

The first time, it was an accident. While watching Patient A nap, the head doctor mentioned to one of the other researchers that Patient A should quit smoking, for his health. A few hours later, when that patient woke up, he reported that while in his lucid dream, he was smoking a cigarette, and chose to put it down. In fact, he resolved to quit smoking altogether, and happily threw out all his remaining cartons in his dream.

What made you decide to do that? the head doctor asked him, expecting the patient to remark that he’d heard the doctor say it, or that he’d felt suggested to, but Patient A didn’t. He said he decided to do it all on his own. In fact, he was so adamant it was his idea, he thought the researchers were lying when they tried to convince him that they’d accidentally suggested it to him.

Marsh stares nervously at the paper.

What has Ren gotten himself into?

SagwaGold: Omg, look!

Moms4Marsh: He’s gone!

Marsh jerks her head up—but her viewers are right. Ren isn’t at the table anymore.

“What?” she whispers, spinning around just as a sound comes from the living room.

She darts out into the main hall in time to see Ren set a couch cushion into the dark, cold fireplace, and then step back to admire his handiwork. He holds out a pencil over the imaginary flames.

“R—” she starts to say, but as soon as he turns around, she realizes that he won’t be able to hear her, even if she calls his name.

Because he’s still asleep.

Marsh watches him intensely. She knew something was off this morning.

Outside the show, Ren isn’t a sleepwalker. He just doesn’t have that tendency. He sleeps like a log, barely moving even to roll over or adjust his limbs—let alone stroll the apartment.

Something would have to make him do this.

She hopes she’s wrong.

But she doesn’t think so.

Ren’s eyes flutter, and his lips move clumsily.

“S’mores...”

“What? S’mores?” Marsh repeats. “Ren—”

“But I don’t want to,” he murmurs. “I want... to keep... kayaking...”

She gasps.

Is Ren...

Is Ren hallucinating her recap footage?

What’s going on here?

“Ren?” Marsh finally says, very softly. “Honey? Wake up, honey.”

Ren waits listlessly for another few seconds, and then instead of turning to Marsh, he moves forward and slouches in front of the fireplace. He paws the pillow away, now covered in old soot, and begins searching aimlessly through the thin layer of ash at the bottom of the pit.

“Where is it...?” he murmurs. “Where is it...?”

“Where’s what?” Marsh asks him, deciding to see if playing along helps.

“My notes,” he says.

“Your notes on Chrysalis?” Marsh asks.

“Yes,” he replies blankly. “I had to hide them... but there were too many.”

“They’re on the kitchen table,” Marsh adds.

“No,” Ren says. “No. Not those. The ones... from before...”

Marsh stiffens.

What notes from before? When did Ren ever take notes from before?

When was Ren ever taking notes on Chrysalis, other than here in the Hong Kong path?

“Ren,” Marsh asks, taking hold of his shoulders firmly. “What notes from before? When is before?”

Ren snorts suddenly, startling.

“What?” He’s awake but disoriented now, and he tips groggily over onto his haunches. “Marsh?”

Across the room, Pickle scrambles on the couch, awakened by the commotion, and trots happily over to sniff him.

“You were sleepwalking,” she says.

“What...”

He blinks slowly, and gently pushes Pickle away.

“Where am I?”

“The living room,” Marsh answers. “You were sleepwalking, honey.”

She coaxes him from the floor and up the stairs of their penthouse, Pickle now in tow. In their room, Ren crawls into bed and falls back asleep in seconds. Eventually, Pickle yawns and goes to his dog bed in the corner of the room, too, but Marsh stays by Ren’s side, perched on the edge of the mattress, watching him snore softly.

After a few minutes, she leans forward and opens his nightstand drawer. Inside, next to a pair of old reading glasses, is a small prescription bottle of pills. Slowly, Marsh picks it up, and in the light of the bedside lamp, studies the symbol on the front of the Sharp Purple label with dread.

A small, delicate butterfly stares back at her.

She knew it.

Ren’s devotion to this article is nearly as religious as his devotion to their relationship. There was no way he wasn’t going to do absolutely everything he could to make sure his article is perfect—including taking the Chrysalis pills himself as the ultimate guinea pig.

And he knew Marsh would never agree to it.

So he went behind her back and started taking them in secret.

Marsh is a wreck the next day at work. She still looks fabulous, of course, but she’s been at her desk for an hour, and has barely made any of the tweaks she wants to the decor at all, even though this would be a great time to have the Bubble fix the drapes and change the wood grain on the bookcases. She just keeps staring at the Chrysalis articles from yesterday on her laptop, until the words blur. Even her normally chatty commenters are quiet, perhaps too unsettled by this turn of events to be in the mood for chitchat.

What happens now? she wonders.

Should she confront Ren about this betrayal? Is it already too late, now that he’s started taking the pills?

Should she tell him what’s really going on—with the show, with his article?

With Chrysalis?

Her desk phone rings.

“Good morning. Your ten thirty is here,” Adrian says.

“My ten thirty?” Marsh repeats, quickly pulling up her calendar on her laptop, panicked. Is this it? Has Chrysalis come to meet her at last?

But she’s relieved to see the name waiting for her there in the little colorful rectangle.

Talia Cruz.

“Send her in, thank you,” Marsh says, and hangs up.

“Your view! Incredible,” Talia chirps as she sweeps into the room. Her elegant gait falters slightly as she catches sight of the briefcase beside Marsh’s desk, but she recovers. “I love what you’ve done with the place. And this new art on the wall! Gorgeous. When did you acquire those paintings?”

“I’ve been busy,” Marsh replies, and thanks Adrian on his way out.

As soon as he closes the door behind him, both of them spin toward each other.

“So!” Talia says brightly. “Hong Kong! How incredible. It looks like it’s really everything you imagined, and more!”

Marsh falters, surprised.

After everything she just found out about Chrysalis’s latest incarnation, can her host really be serious?

“I know we’re almost out of time, but I’m really worried about this path,” she says. “I don’t know if it can be salvaged now.”

“But, out of every life you’ve explored, isn’t this one the closest to what you want?” Talia asks, aghast. “Isn’t that why you chose to come to Hong Kong?”

It is, Marsh knows. She knows it so deeply that her heart aches to think about it.

“But what about Chrysalis?” she asks. “If Ren publishes this article in support of this strange medication...”

“Let’s set that aside for a moment.” Talia shrugs. “Everything here is basically a dream come true! Is it not? Harper is flourishing at Pallissard’s Hong Kong branch, Ren is working for the actual New York Times, and you’re crushing it here at the firm! I mean, it’s all yours now! Overall, things seem pretty close to perfect, don’t they?”

Talia punctuates the question with a twirl, so she can gesture to everything Marsh has achieved.

“Also, we should change that briefcase,” she adds, unable to stop herself. “It doesn’t match your wardrobe.”

“You know, I think I’ll keep it,” Marsh says curtly. “So, you’re really not worried about Ren’s article? About letting him publish a profile on Chrysalis, and make it an integral part of the Bubble’s world?”

“As your host, it’s my job to be supportive, but also honest with you,” Talia replies. “I know you’ve been concerned about this little Chrysalis thing, but I don’t think it’s something bad. I think it’s actually rather good.”

“What?” Marsh gasps.

Talia nods. “Think about it. It almost seems like it’s been trying to help you all along.”

Moms4Marsh: Ooooh, that’s an interesting point!

Notamackerel: I still don’t trust it

TopFan01: There’s no one with more All This and More experience than Talia, though!

“What do you mean?” Marsh shakes her head. “It’s been forcing me into things! Like the gala auction!”

“Where it paid millions and millions of dollars for your photograph, and would have set you up for life,” Talia counters.

“And Mexico? Creeping into my telenovela?” she asks.

“Where it helped you win a Nobel Prize, for crying out loud,” Talia says.

Marsh balls her fists, frustrated. “Well, what about now, then? In this life, it’s basically a mind control drug!” she rebuts.

Talia clicks her tongue at her dramatics. “Or it’s a way to make Ren an award-winning journalist, with an article about a miracle medication that’s going to change the world for the better.”

She motions for them both to sit, and clasps her hands calmly.

“I know you’re concerned, but I don’t think you need to be. If you look at it objectively, it really seems like, whatever Chrysalis is, it wants the same thing you do,” she says. “Why not just let it help?”

Over Marsh’s office’s private intercom, the show’s familiar jingle begins to play, this time like 1940s jazz elevator music, and both Talia and Marsh look up at the speaker for a moment, then back at each other.

“Actually, I have another idea,” Marsh replies.

She waits, but Talia doesn’t say anything at first. Gracefully, she rises and goes to the window again, to stare out at Marsh’s gorgeous view.

“Talia,” Marsh urges.

Talia continues to study the mountain for a moment longer. Almost like she doesn’t want to hear Marsh’s plan. Almost like she thinks it’s the wrong choice.

Finally, she sits down again and smooths her skirt.

“Tell me,” she says.

Marsh presses on, determined. “It came to me last night. How to fix everything wrong with this path, and make it perfect. A way to keep this life and make Chrysalis go away—for good.”

Despite her misgivings, Marsh’s host looks impressed with her certainty.

“Oh?” Talia asks.

“Well, as part of his research for this article, Ren started taking those Chrysalis sleeping pills at night, in secret,” Marsh starts.

“Because the pills can cause lucid dreams as a side effect?” Talia asks.

Marsh nods. “I think he wants to write the piece with firsthand experience,” she says. “But I found out that the pills don’t just cause lucid dreams. They cause a very special type of lucid dream. A suggestible lucid dream.”

A Chrysalis dream, she doesn’t say.

Talia doesn’t get it at first. But then her eyes snap wide as she understands what Marsh is getting at.

“I don’t know, Marsh,” she frets as the overhead tune draws to a close. “This is a very risky gamble.”

Marsh sets her jaw.

It is a risky gamble.

But it just might work.