The Scattering

by Kimberly McCreight

  “And then what? What’s the endgame here?” Jasper asks. He has retreated to the wall, arms crossed again. “Think about how hard it was for you to get out before, Wylie, and that was alone. Now you think you’re going to be able to walk out with a bunch of other girls? Why don’t you send those emails to a newspaper or TV station or something? Get them on the case.”

  “Just an FYI,” Riel says. “It’s not like the press is always some avenging angel. Sometimes they care about the shit you want them to care about. And sometimes they don’t.”

  “They’re running out of time, Jasper.” I look away from him and back at the computer. “I have to try. Even if I can’t get them out, I can at least warn them about what’s going on. I have to do that much.”

  Riel waves Jasper and me away. “In the meantime, both of you back off and argue over there so I can get to work. I’ll tell you when I have something.”

  Leo comes to take our place, putting a protective hand on the back of Riel’s neck. I am surprised when she seems to soften instead of knocking it away.

  “I’M NOT TRYING to be negative,” Jasper says once we’ve drifted back over to the kitchen table and sat down. He won’t look me in the eye and he is clenching his jaw. “But there’s no point in doing something that puts you at risk and doesn’t help them.”

  I reach over, put my hand over Jasper’s and squeeze his fingers. It feels so much less awkward than I expect it to. Because what else is there? There is nothing I can say that is going to make him understand why I am going to do this. “I need to do it.”

  Jasper is about to argue with me anyway when there’s a loud knock at the front door, on the far side of the living room. We all freeze. Stare in the direction of the door. Even Riel’s hands hover above the keys. Her face is tight in the light from the computer screen.

  “Shit,” she whispers, looking toward the door.

  “I didn’t see any lights,” Leo whispers.

  “My grandfather’s office.” Riel motions for us to go. “I’ll get rid of them.”

  Even from the other side of the kitchen I can feel that she’s not so sure.

  “Coming! Hold on!” Riel shouts without moving, buying us time. “I’ll be right there!”

  WE FOLLOW LEO through a set of doors and into the back hallway. It is so totally pitch-black that we have to feel our way along the wall until we reach the first open doorway. It is brighter in the office, the moon reflecting off the water back there and in through the three windows. It gives everything in the room an eerie blue-gray glow—the dark wood bookshelves, the big mahogany desks, the walls of Riel’s grandfather’s framed awards and photographs, our faces. Leo waves Jasper off when he goes to close the door, then points to his ear. Leave it open so we can hear.

  I lean against a bare spot on the wall and try to get myself to take a breath. I do not have a good feeling. I have a very terrible one actually. I try to tell myself that it’s only my anxiety again—and it could be. Except, now that I can feel the difference that’s easier said than done.

  I try to focus instead on the framed certificate nearest me, with the curly cursive script and fancy shield in the middle. Hard to decipher in the dark. Finally, I see that it’s an honorary doctorate in political science from the University of Arizona, awarded to one Senator David Russo.

  Senator Russo. The senator my dad was meeting with? Has the monster that Riel described—the one who she is so sure won’t sit idly by and accept the gender disparity in my dad’s research—decided to stop the Outliers at the source: my dad?

  I have begun to tremble against the wall. In the distance, there is the sound of the front door opening.

  “Yeah?” Riel’s voice is trying to sound blasé, even a little annoyed. But whoever is at that door is not who she expected. “What do you want?”

  “Hi, ma’am.” A man’s voice, one that I have heard before. “I’m Agent Klute, and this is Agent Stevens. We’re with the Department of Homeland Security.”

  Jasper nudges me. He’s holding his phone out. And it is on, signal flush with all the bars.

  “I thought it was off,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m so sorry.”

  And what is there to say? One tap in the wrong place, or one too many. It’s easy enough to think you turned something off when you didn’t. I reach forward and put a hand on his arm to comfort him. To steady myself.

  “Did something happen to my grandfather?” Riel is talking loud. Playing dumb. Making sure we can hear. Buying us more time.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Agent Klute says, all smooth calm. I can imagine him smiling, too, with his big white teeth. “We’re here for Wylie Lang.”

  And all I can think of is my bag—or Rachel’s bag—out there in the kitchen with my mom’s photographs.

  “Wylie Lang?” Riel asks, her confusion reasonably convincing. Though it’s hard to know how Klute is taking it. “It’s just me and my boyfriend here.”

  “Well, we have reason to believe that she is here,” Agent Klute says.

  “And I have reason to believe you are wrong,” Riel shoots back, standing her ground. It can’t be easy. Agent Klute is intimidating.

  “How about we come in and take a quick look around to be sure?”

  “You have a warrant?” Riel asks.

  “A warrant?” Klute asks, like she has inquired instead whether he has a unicorn in his pocket. There is silence. I imagine Riel glaring at him. I imagine Agent Klute glaring back. “Wylie is in serious trouble. Criminal trouble. I don’t think your grandfather would be happy to hear that you’re mixed up in something like that. If I were you, I wouldn’t get in the way.”

  “So I’m going to take that as a no on the warrant,” Riel says. “And so I’m going to close this door now. You feel free to knock again when you’ve got that warrant. I’ll be right here, waiting. Bye-bye.”

  Agent Klute is still saying something when the door closes. The sound of the dead bolt thuds across the entire house. Then I hear Riel walking, calm and cool toward the back, surely for the benefit of Agent Klute, who might be watching through the front windows.

  She sprints, though, when she finally hits the dark hall out of sight.

  “Come on, let’s go,” she says when she turns into the office. She freezes when she eyes Jasper’s phone on the table. She points at it. “Fucking seriously?”

  “I thought it was off,” Jasper says, pained. And I am so grateful to be able to read him—otherwise I might be suspicious. But there is no doubt, leaving the phone on, allowing us to be tracked, really was an accident. “I don’t know what happened.”

  Riel takes a breath. She can also read him, of course. However dumb, she knows, too, that it was an honest mistake.

  “Come on, you can’t go out the front,” she says. “And leave the phone, might make them think you’re still in here. The way you’re going, you won’t be able to use it anyway.”

  WE RACE AFTER Riel down the hall to a set of French doors. My heart pounds as I get ready to run. I think about where the bridge is, how we will manage to keep out of sight on the expanse. What we will do when we get to Route 6. Hide in the woods? Try to hitchhike?

  When Riel opens the doors, a strong, salty breeze blows through. I am about to step out when I see the water down below. The back of the house is propped high on stilts. There is a narrow widow’s walk with a ladder at one end. Below is a thin stretch of black boulders. And then the water. More and more water.

  “It’s high tide,” Riel says as if this is not a great thing. “There’s a dock on the other side of the inlet. It’s far, but Kelsey used to do it, so it can be done.”

  “There’s an envelope in my bag in the kitchen. Will you keep it for me? It’s important.”

  Riel nods, then turns back to the water. “You can swim, right?”

  We hear men’s voices coming from the front of the house. Heading out that way is not an option. And we need to go now.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I can swim.”

&n
bsp; RIEL AND LEO disappear back inside as Jasper and I head down the ladder to the rocks. We kick off our shoes and toss them under the house, picking our way across the sharp stones and into the icy water. The shoreline is gooey, sucking our feet down with every step. But the dark bay in front of us is smooth. Like black glass.

  “There,” I whisper, pointing to a dock in the distance. It’s hard to guess how far away it is. Maybe better not to know.

  Trying to swim with clothes on is like trying to get through thousands of hungry, prying fish. I keep waiting for that moment when it will get easier, when my body will acclimate to the drag. But each stroke stays a struggle. Jasper is an even worse swimmer than I am. I find myself considering what I will do if he can’t make it all the way.

  But then I think of my mom. She had been right that day at Crater Lake. I am a decent swimmer—not half-bad endurance. And like Riel said: this swim can be done. Kelsey did it. I can too. And I will find a way to help Jasper if I need to. I will do what has to be done.

  IN THE END, the dock is both closer and farther away than I think. It takes much longer to swim there, but then, suddenly, we have arrived. I follow Jasper up the slimy, algae-covered ladder and out of the water. We stand, shoeless and soaking wet in the darkness, staring back at the divide that separates us from whoever it is that is after us this time.

  “You ready?” I ask, not really sure where it is I intend for us to go. But knowing that we must head somewhere.

  Jasper nods, doing his best to seem confident, though I can feel that he is not. “Yeah, lead the way.”

  WE DON’T HAVE to walk far along the dark, quiet country road before we spot lights up ahead.

  “Oh good, a gas station.” Jasper smiles when the sign finally comes into view. “Maybe there’ll be some nice couple with a baby who we can ask for a ride.”

  Luckily, when we finally step inside it’s nothing like the Freshmart at the gas station where we met Lexi and Doug. This little store has five full aisles of gourmet food and a whole elaborate setup for fancy cheese, which is empty with a curtain drawn over it at this late hour. Above it, a wooden sign reads Nibbles. We are lucky that the store is open. It is not the kind of place that ordinarily would be at this hour.

  “Do you still have the cash?” Jasper asks.

  Right, money. I had totally forgotten about that little detail. I left Rachel’s phone back at Riel’s house, but luckily I do still have her money. I dig into my soaking-wet jeans and pull out a wet fold of twenties. I peel through, counting. At least three hundred dollars.

  “Definitely enough for a cab and then the train back to Boston,” I say. “Maybe we should get some dry T-shirts, too.” I motion to a nearby stack of Cape Cod tees, then look down at my bare feet. “And some of those flip-flops.”

  I can feel the young, suntanned kid behind the counter staring at us as he fingers his summer necklace, beads on a leather cord, hoping we’ll go before he has to make us comply with the Shoes Required sign.

  “Are you sure?” Jasper asks.

  “Well, I didn’t count all of the money, but I think—”

  “I don’t mean the money,” he says. Then he looks over at the kid behind the counter, clearly listening. He puts a hand on my arm, then motions me outside.

  We stand alone in the dark, empty parking lot, the only sound the buzz of the cicadas.

  “Are you absolutely sure you want to go back to the hospital?” Jasper goes on. “You’re not obligated, you know. Leo was right: being an Outlier doesn’t mean that. You still have a choice. And I think you should choose looking out for yourself.”

  “This is me choosing, Jasper,” I say, and for the first time, it actually feels like the truth. And it is such a relief.

  Jasper nods and exhales—exhausted, scared. Resigned. And so loyal. “Okay then. It was worth a try.”

  “You don’t have to go with me, though,” I add. “I mean it. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done. But this—well, it’s a huge risk. I don’t want you to feel like you have to—”

  “You cannot fucking be serious,” he says, crossing his arms tight and glaring angrily at me. And yes, he is hurt. I can feel that, too. “After everything we’ve been through, you’re still going to try to pull that shit?”

  “What shit?” I ask, stung and stunned.

  “The whole ‘I’m going to let you go and that makes me a good person.’”

  “Well, I don’t want you to—”

  “To what? Feel obligated?” he snaps. “That’s such bullshit, Wylie. Stop pretending that you’re looking out for me when you’re really trying to protect yourself. People feel obligated to each other. That’s the whole point of life. What are you afraid of?”

  “Afraid?” I ask, like that’s absurd.

  But telling Jasper to go has become such a reflex, I’ve stopped considering why I’m doing it. And the truth is I’m not sure I want to know.

  “That’s not what—”

  “Does me being here put you on the hook?” Jasper goes on without letting me finish. Which is all for the best because I have no idea what to say. “Yep, absolutely. You will be on the hook, Wylie. So if you don’t give a shit about me, say the word and I’m gone. But don’t stand there and pretend that telling me to go is some act of generosity, when it’s the most selfish thing in the fucking world.”

  My face feels hot, and my ears are ringing. “You and I, or this, or whatever—it’s a terrible idea. I’m a mess, don’t you see that?”

  Jasper shakes his head. “And I tried to choke that kid. Not because I had to either. Because he pissed me off. I got mad. And sometimes when I get mad, I snap. Just like my dad. It’s not something I like about myself. I’m trying to be different. It doesn’t always work.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Everybody’s messed up, Wylie. It’s a question of degree. And intent. If you keep waiting until you’re fixed to live your life, you’re going to have wasted so much time.”

  For a second, anger still bubbles up inside me, but it lacks the necessary oxygen to catch. Jasper is right. I am trying to push him away. Not so I can avoid owing him anything. So he can’t decide that me and my issues aren’t worth the effort. After all, you can’t be cut loose if you’ve never attached yourself in the first place.

  But none of that actually has anything to do with how I truly feel. And I may finally be running out of time to come clean.

  “Please stay,” I say finally. “I’m not afraid to go back to the hospital alone. I still don’t need you. Not in that way. But I want you to stay.”

  And I wait for Jasper to say something more, for him to launch into some bigger, longer discussion, in that way he has of never shutting up. But instead, he steps forward, wraps a hand around the back of my neck. And then he is kissing me.

  When we finally part, I am not breathless and unmoored like I am afraid I might be. I am steady still. And I am free.

  “Okay,” Jasper says quietly. “Then let’s go.”

  24

  WHEN WE FINALLY GET BACK TO BOSTON, WE HAVE THE CAB LEAVE US A FEW blocks away from Boston General Hospital. It’s past four fifteen a.m., cutting it way closer to our four thirty a.m. deadline with Riel than I had expected. But still in time. If she sticks to the plan. If Agent Klute hasn’t made it so she can’t.

  The sidewalks inside the Boston General Hospital grounds are dead quiet, totally empty, and the trees on either side of the driveway so tall and imposing in the dark. None of it feels encouraging. But it isn’t long before we’re at the Dwyer Wing, near the door that I came out from at the bottom of the fire stairs. No one has stopped us. Nothing has gotten in our way.

  I wonder for a stupid second whether the door might somehow already be open. But, when I tug on it, it’s still locked tight. And the dread is rising so strong and fast around me, the current might sweep me away.

  “What’s wrong?” Jasper asks. It must show on my face.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. The last thing he needs is for me to be having
second thoughts. “I just want this to work.”

  He nods. “It will.” But he is only saying that because I need him to. “I’m going to go check the time on the bank clock,” Jasper says. Without our phones we have no way to know what time it is except the slowly rotating numbers on a building across the street—time, date, temperature. “I’ll raise my hand at 4:28, so you know we’re close. I’ll come back at 4:40.”

  It makes sense: a window to account for a difference in that clock and whatever one Riel might be relying on. If she is even keeping to the plan. If she has figured out how to open the doors. So many ifs. And will the door even make some kind of sound so that I’ll know when it unlocks? I’ll have no choice but to keep trying it in case it silently opens. I watch Jasper head out to almost the middle of the street in search of a clear view of the clock, drawing an unfortunate amount of attention to himself.

  And then I wait.

  Finally, up goes Jasper’s arm and I try the door. Still locked. I count one one thousand. And then try again. Two more tries. Nothing.

  “Hey, you!” a voice calls out from the darkness behind me. A security guard maybe, at least someone official—and officially unhappy—from the sound of it. Pretty far away still—far enough that he might not even be talking to me. Except that I know he is. “That’s a secure area, you can’t go in there!” I tug the door again. “Hey, get away from that door!”

  Definitely talking to me. Jasper has seen him too. Because he’s jogging back from the street over to me.

  Jasper reaches me before the guard, and just when there is finally a buzz. The sound of the lock opening. And when I tug, the door moves. I can hardly believe it.

  “Holy—” Jasper whispers.

  “You can’t go in there!” the guard shouts.

  “Come on!” I call to Jasper.

  We leap through and pull the door shut. Pray that it locks behind us. Sure enough, when the guard rattles the door a second later, he’s locked out like we were. Still, we have to move fast now. It won’t take him long to warn the right people. Soon they will know exactly where we are.