Sims by F. Paul Wilson Read Free Book Online Page B

back at him across those print-outs, realizing that Ellis was thinking what he was, seeing in his eyes the shared rapture of knowing what could be done, and that they could do it.
    Heady times, those. The joy of discovery, the sense of the pulse of the world throbbing under their fingertips, the near omnipotent feeling that anything was possible.
    And now, the hour-to-hour reality of managing one of the hottest new corporations in the world, of fighting day by day to catch up with the Microsofts and GEs of that world consumed him. He would not rest until SimGen was number one.
    But that was his dream, not his brother’s. At some point along the road of years he and Ellis had parted ways.
    Mercer knew the exact moment. He’d deceived Ellis. Just once. A crucial matter, true, but only that once. He’d hoped to carry the secret to his grave, but truth will out. Ellis had never forgiven him. Or himself.
    If I could go back, he wondered, would I do it all over again?
    Yes. In a New York minute. Because without that one deception, SimGen would be just another also-ran in the gen-mod field.
    â€œThe genie’s out of the bottle, Ellis. And now it’s grown too big to fit back in. I’ve accepted that. It’s about time you did too.”
    â€œNo!” He wheeled and headed for the door, yanked it open, and strode through. “Never!”

7
    WESTCHESTER COUNTY, NY
OCTOBER 4
    Pamela’s voice and her fist pounding on his back wrenched Patrick from slumber.
    â€œPatrick!” she was shouting. “Something’s burning outside!”
    â€œHuh?”
    And then a crash—breaking glass—an object smashing through the window only a few feet away, and he was awake, sitting up, his heart jackhammering in his chest as he looked around his dark bedroom. His alarm clock read 1:04. Outside he could hear a car burning rubber as it pulled away.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œLook!” Pamela said, her voice hushed with fear. “Out on the lawn!”
    Flickering light through broken glass . . . Patrick swung his legs toward the floor.
    â€œNo!” Pamela cried. “You’ll cut your feet!”
    Good thinking. He reached down, felt around till he found his loafers, then slipped them on. He hurried to the window, glass crunching under his soles, and looked out on his front yard.
    His lawn was on fire.
    â€œWhat the hell?”
    He blinked. Well, not the whole lawn, but a circle of it along with some of the grass inside the circle blazed in the night. He was reaching for the phone to dial 911 when he heard the sirens. Apparently one of his neighbors had called the cops or fire department or both. So he reached for the lamp switch instead.
    â€œOh, shit, what’s happening?” Pamela cried. “What’s happening?”
    He glanced at her. She crouched on the bed, blinking in the light like a fawn caught in the middle of the road. Pamela was his latest pseudo-live-in, meaning she owned her own place in New Bedford but had spent most ofthe last eight months at his place here in Katonah. Worked as a broker for Merrill Lynch; a few years younger than Patrick but her accumulated year-end bonuses put her far closer to early retirement. Dark hair, big blue eyes, and a dazzling bod that she was now shielding to the neck with the bed sheet.
    Pamela . . . terrified. In spite of the flames and the sirens and the broken glass, that was what gripped him. So out of character. The ultracompetent Pamela was even more driven than he; give her a goal and she became a heat-seeking missile. She’d never shown him the little girl who lived inside her, the one who could be frightened.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said, reaching across and giving her trembling shoulder a gentle squeeze. “But it’s all right. We’re okay.”
    He hoped.
    Patrick was dressed only in boxer shorts, and the cool fall air flowing through the window raised goosebumps. Maybe