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And even as the first thousand take their selfies, there are still more and more kids coming into Central Park, by the hundred, each holding a phone aloft.
More flashes.
More clicks.
Jessica falls to her knees.
She was too late. She couldn’t stop it. It’s happened.
She gazes around at a thousand young people all staring at one another’s faces in awe. It works. The app works. They all look the same: perfect generic plastic faces. A girl’s hair that was a glorious orange color a few seconds ago is now a creamy blond. Another young man who was small in stature is tall and broad. They all have the same full lips, wide-apart eyes, dewy skin.
And if all these children are now perfect, then what is happening under Sebastian Randall’s house right now, to those two poor girls? To Amina and Audrey?
As she thinks this, the sky fills with spinning blue lights, the screech of tires against tarmac, the boom of an NYPD officer with a loud hailer shouting, “This gathering is in direct violation of code 7-4.2 of New York State Law. Please dissolve this gathering in an orderly manner. There are officers available to lead you to a safe exit. Please follow their instructions. Please move slowly. Please do not push. I repeat. Please follow instructions.”
Jessica watches as the thousands of children do as they are told. The frenetic energy of a few minutes ago has dissipated. Polly stands proud on the stage even as she is approached by a dozen uniformed cops.
And as Polly is marched away, her arms firmly held behind her back, Jessica sees a look of total and utter triumph on her face.
“Miranda loves you!” she calls out as she is removed. “Miranda loves you!”
Jessica calls Malcolm as she walks away from the park, blending in as best she can with the freakish-looking crowds. She jumps at the sight of a young girl who has somehow developed a unicorn horn, another who now has legs so long that her jeans sit halfway up her calves. A young boy sports improbably bulging biceps that strain at his clothes and a girl who looks like she is only about eight years old has a full set of fluorescent white teeth that glow like tombstones under the streetlights.
Is this what Polly had in mind? she wonders. Is that what she has striven for all her life? For young girls to be able to grow unicorn horns? For young boys to look like steroid-busting gym-worn bodybuilders? Did she not realize that most people’s idea of “perfect” is completely wrong? Did she have any idea in fact about what her market wants?
“Malcolm,” she yells into her phone when he picks up. “I got here too late. It happened. The app has launched. What’s happening with the girls in the cellar? Can you still see them?”
“Yeah,” Malcolm calls back. “I see them.”
“How do they look?”
“Hard to tell. Just get back here, will you?”
“I’m on my way. And tell Arthur—they’ve got his girl. They’ve got Polly. She’s been taken by the cops. So whatever hold he thinks she’s got over him, it’s done. It’s finished.”
She jumps into a cab and heads back to the Airbnb. It’s all as she left it. Lark and Fox are huddled together on the sofa. Arthur is tied to the chair, with Luke standing over him, his arms folded across his chest, and Malcolm sits in front of the monitors, his upended bleached hair glowing like a beacon in the middle of the room.
“Look,” he says, moving aside a little so that Jessica can see what he’s looking at. It takes a moment for her to work it out; it’s some kind of CCTV footage of another, different dark room, but suddenly the room is brightly lit and she sees that the camera has changed and it’s Sebastian’s cellar, and, there, is—is it?—yes, it’s Elliot from the pharmacy wearing pajamas and a big puffer coat, and standing gingerly behind him is Sebastian in boxers and a T-shirt, swinging a flashlight around, looking absolutely terrified.
“Where’s this taken from?” she asks.
“Hidden camera in the cellar,” says Malcolm, nodding toward Arthur. “I managed to gain access to it.”
“What are they doing with her?” Arthur beseeches in a reedy voice. “What are they doing with Polly?”
“They’ve arrested her for a public misdemeanor. I’m sure she thinks her plan is foolproof, that she’ll get off with a fine and consider it part of a ‘marketing campaign.’ But once the cops know what I know, they’ll keep her, and it’s only a matter of time before she cracks and tells them all about you.”
She turns her attention back to the screen, just as Elliot turns to the camera behind him and says into his phone, “What should I do now, Malcolm?”
“There’s a code, apparently,” Malcolm replies. “It’s on the wall, that panel, just there, behind that dude.”
“What panel?” says Sebastian in a pinched voice via speakerphone, his eyes wide and staring. And then his flashlight hits it: a small glass plaque attached to the wall by the foot of the steps.
Jessica hisses at herself under her breath. How did she miss that?
“Touch it,” says Malcolm.
Elliot touches it and the panel lights up, revealing a keypad.
