by Marissa Lete
“Go! Get out of here before they wake up,” he calls to me. His tone is urgent but isn’t mean. It’s cautious, desperate. But he doesn’t move, and neither do I.
Finally, I work up enough courage to part my lips. All that comes out is one barely audible word: “Maverick.” The name rolls off my tongue as if I’ve said it a thousand times already.
I don’t think he hears me, because he starts to turn, stepping away from me and toward where the Suburban is parked. I watch him moving, knowing that I can’t let him leave. I need to know who he is. I clear my throat.
“Maverick?” I say again, loud enough that I know he can hear me even though my voice is shaking.
The outline of him freezes, rigid in the dark.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?” I add, watching his movements carefully.
He turns to face me, pauses, then steps in my direction. This time, I don’t back away. He stops about ten feet in front of me and I strain to see his face, but it’s still too dark.
I open my mouth, unsure of what I’m going to say, and just as I do Maverick’s figure flinches, then turns in the direction of the Suburban. I follow his movements, noticing that the figure that had been lying motionless on the ground earlier is sitting up, holding something in his hands.
“No,” Maverick—or whoever he is—says, turning back to me. “Go—” he chokes out, then falls, hitting the ground with a thud before going completely still. My gaze snaps up to the figure by the car, and time seems to slow down around me as he raises something into the air. Something that looks like a gun.
I turn on my heel, but just as I do I feel a tiny pinch in my thigh. I look down and notice a little dart sticking through my jeans. Reaching down, I pull it out and hold it in front of me to look at.
And then the world starts to spin. I put my hands out in front of me, feeling my palms colliding with the cement just before the world turns black.
Chapter 18
When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the silence. No noise—not from today, not from the past. Nothing.
The second thing I notice is my pounding headache. It gets worse when I open my eyes and a bright light is shining above me.
Squinting, I take in my surroundings. I’m in a white room with tile floors, lying on a plain green cot on the floor. Long fluorescent lights hang from the ceiling above me, and a dark-stained wood desk sits against the wall across from me. There’s a window to my left with bright sunlight shining through and a door to my right, but other than that the room is empty.
After looking around, the panic sets in. I touch my thigh, remembering the dart that had hit me. I’ve been drugged, and I don’t know who has done it or where I am. Maverick—if that’s who he is—has too, I remember, an image of him falling to the ground coming to my mind.
Then the panic turns into urgency. I need to escape.
I try to stand, but a spell of dizziness hits me, so I have to use the wall for balance as I scramble toward the door. It’s locked, of course, and my next destination is the window.
Outside it’s bright, so I have to squint when I look through. Trees. Lots and lots of trees. The building is in the middle of a forest. The window itself is barred, letting me know I have no chance of escape that way, either.
My next thought is that I need a weapon, but right as I think it, I hear a click from the door—the lock sliding out of place.
I drop to the floor as soon as I realize what it is, but I’m not quick enough.
“Good morning, sweetie. Sounds like you’ve finally woken up.” It’s a woman’s voice, filled with empty warmth.
Shoes click on the floor toward where I lay facing the wall, frozen. Then a fist grabs a handful of my hair and yanks me up. I try to resist, but pain shoots across my scalp, so I give in. She turns me around and I meet her gaze.
The woman’s eyes are a bright, innocent blue, and despite her face looking fairly young, her hair is silver, cut short right beneath her ears. She sighs.
“I’m sorry you had to get caught up in this mess, honey, but there’s not much else I can do.” She sounds everything but apologetic. “Dave, bring Laura up to meet with us for me, will you?” She lets go of my hair, turning on her heel and clicking out the door. How does she know my name?
A middle-aged man appears in the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on me and his mouth set in a thin line. He isn’t much bigger than me, so I contemplate whether I can take him in a fight, but decide against it. The drugs are still wearing off, so it’s hard to move with any kind of speed.
Dave grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet without saying a word. He puts handcuffs around my wrists, then takes me through the door. He’s much more gentle than the woman, but he’s still got a firm grip on my arm, something I’m not sure I can get out of easily.
I’m led down the hallway, then up a flight of stairs. The building reminds me of the office building my mom works at, with sleek marble floors and pristine wooden doors on each side of the hallway. All of them are closed, and the entire place has a strange smell, almost like a hospital.
Eventually, Dave reaches out and pulls on one of the door handles, swinging it open. He jerks my arm, shoving me through the doorway first, then follows, closing the door behind us. Inside, I see a conference table with three swivel chairs evenly spaced around it. In one of them is the silver-haired lady, and in the other is a guy, his hands cuffed behind his back like mine and his head down, a gag tied around his mouth. This room, like the rest of the building, is strangely quiet, and completely devoid of echoes.
The woman smiles as I walk in, a pinched, almost creepy expression, then gestures to the empty chair.
“Please, have a seat,” she says. I don’t move, looking between her, the guy, and Dave, who’s closed the door behind us and is moving toward the woman. He stops a few feet to her left, folding his arms and tilting his chin up like he’s some kind of bodyguard. Except, even if he were to switch out his jeans and polo for a suit and tie, he wouldn’t look very threatening. He’s too thin, his features too washed out to be scary.
After a few seconds pass, the woman purses her lips. “I guess I should explain something to you. You can do this willingly, or you can do it unwillingly. But I promise that you’re going to do it.” Her voice is silvery, but her words slice like knives. This is probably not someone I want to mess with, so reluctantly, I take two steps and sit down on the edge of the seat. The woman nods, pleased I’ve made the right decision.
“Thank you. Now. We’ve got some things to discuss here, don’t we? Dave, go ahead and let him talk to us,” she says, a smile playing on her lips like this is all some kind of game to her. Dave walks up behind the guy in the other chair and loosens the gag around his mouth. He lets out a breath, his head still hanging down.
“Let her go,” he says, voice low and taut. All at once, I remember all of the echoes I’d been hearing, and I realize that the guy sitting on the other side of the table isn’t just some random guy. It’s Maverick. Or at least, he has the same voice as the Maverick I’d heard in the echoes. I still don’t know what to think.
The woman pulls something out of her pocket and tosses it onto the table. It skids toward Maverick and stops a few feet from him. He looks up, and for the first time, I get a good look at his face. Thick, almost black eyebrows, the same color as his shaggy hair. Amber eyes. They flick over to me, meeting mine for a split second before focusing back on the woman. Does he know me? Does he remember the things I don’t? “The key’s right there,” she says—as if it’s that easy.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks, glaring at her.
“I’m glad you asked,” she says, but glad isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe her expression. Maybe amused is a better fit. She lifts her hand, pointing a remote at the wall across from me. A section of the wall opens up, revealing a massive black screen behind it. It flashes on, displaying a still shot of a news reporter standing in front of a small townhouse. “There’s something I want
you to see.” She clicks a button on the remote, and the image comes to life.
“Police have found a possible lead on the case of Eddie Davis from Shorewick, who went missing a couple of weeks ago,” the reporter says, and a picture of a young boy, maybe in his early teens, flashes across the screen. “An anonymous witness has come forward, saying that they saw someone entering Davis’s house from the front window around three in the morning the night he was reported missing. They saw the person exit holding a large object, then leave in a black 2018 Chevrolet Suburban. The witness wasn’t able to get a license plate number, but this report brings us one step closer to finding answers for Davis’s family, who are devastated by his disappearance. Anyone who may have any information about this possible kidnapping should contact the Shorewick Police Department immediately.”
The screen goes black and I watch as the silver-haired woman glares across the table at Maverick, who won’t meet her eyes. The black Suburban from the news story must have been the same one that chased me, meaning that this woman must be responsible for the boy’s kidnapping. And now mine.
“Now, you might see how this could be a problem,” the woman finally says. She pauses, waiting for some kind of reply, but none comes. Then she sighs. Purses her lips. “I didn’t want it to come down to this, but you’ve given me no other choice.”
“You blame me for that, is that what this is about?” Maverick finally speaks, his voice calm but his eyes angry.
The woman slaps both of her hands on the table, hard, making me jump in surprise. “You should have been more careful,” she snarls.
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Maverick fires back, and a chill runs down my spine. He might have the same voice as the boy in the echoes, but this angry, cold tone is not the same as the kind, flirty one I’d gotten used to hearing. It’s darker. Scarier.
The woman takes a deep breath before she speaks. “You, of all people, should know the good in my work.”
Maverick drops his head, his jaw twitching.
“It seems like lately, you’ve forgotten that. So I’ve brought someone along as a sort of… insurance. That your priorities are in the right place.” The woman glances over at me, smiling as if she’s proud of herself. I look over at Maverick, desperately trying to understand what’s going on, but he just stares at the table, unmoving.
“I don’t know what you’re hoping for me to accomplish,” he finally says.
“I want you to make it go away,” she says the last four words through her teeth, and I watch her hand on the table clench into a fist.
“It’s all over the news already. There’s not much I can do now, you know that,” he replies.
“Then I want you to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“And what makes you think I’m going to do what you say? Because you’re holding some stranger hostage? You think I’m some hero who’ll do anything you ask just to save an innocent life?”
“Nice try, but you’re not fooling anyone. Except, maybe—”
“I’ll do what you want,” he cuts her off, his voice growing somehow louder and darker at the same time. I’m not sure who I should be more scared of, the woman or Maverick. “But you’d better start thinking about the consequences of your actions. I can only cover your crimes up for so long, and as soon as I can’t anymore, it’s going to be over for you.”
The woman seems to be getting more and more uncomfortable with each word he says, but finally, she crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “She stays here until you’ve finished the job.”
Maverick glances at me for a brief second and I think I almost see a hint of emotion there, but as soon as he looks away it’s gone. He glares at the woman from across the table but doesn’t reply.
“Dave, why don’t you take Laura to the third floor. I think there’s some space for her up there,” the woman says without breaking her stare at Maverick.
Dave moves towards me. “Wait!” I cry, unsure of what else I can say. I feel like I’ve just been dropped into the middle of some crazy story, and I have no idea what’s going on. I want answers.
Dave doesn’t stop, and no one acknowledges my cry of desperation. He comes over and grabs my arm, jerking me out of the chair.
“Who are you?” I shout as Dave tugs me along. I try to resist, but I’m too weak, my head too fuzzy. “What is going on?!” I try again, but neither Maverick nor the silver-haired lady makes eye contact with me. Dave opens the door, pushing me through it. “What do you want from me?” I demand, but it’s hopeless. Dave shoves me into the hallway, and the door swings shut behind him. And once again I’m left standing there, even more confused than I was before.
Chapter 19
I’m swimming in thoughts as Dave leads me down the hallway. The building is L-shaped with a hallway that runs along the center, adjoining rooms on both sides. The woman had mentioned something about a third floor, but Dave is taking me down, not up. We reach the first floor where I’d woken up, then stop in front of a door at the bottom of the stairwell. Dave pulls out a card, holds it up to a little gray square on the wall, and a green light flashes, followed by a beep. A lock clicks open and he tugs open the door, pushing me through.
Inside is another staircase that leads us down into a basement. This part, like the rest of the building, is strangely quiet. It’s colder down here, and the hospital-like scent is stronger, too. I shiver as we walk down a long, pristine hallway. Everything is white—the walls, the metal doors, the shiny linoleum floors.
Eventually, we come to a stop in front of a door marked with a blocky “3” and Dave has to use his card to open it as well. Inside is a small room that looks like a strange cross between a prison cell and a doctor’s office. There’s a security camera hanging in the upper corner, a medical examination chair, a cot with a stack of folded blankets sitting on the edge, and a toilet in the back corner. I really hope I’m not trapped in here long enough to have to use it.
I pause in the doorway, trying to think quickly and figure out some way to get out of this. Dave is quicker, though, and he puts a hand on my back and gives me a hard shove into the room. I try to keep my balance as I stumble inside.
“Please don’t do this,” I cry out, turning to face him. He gives me a long, pitiful look, then slams the door shut. I rush toward it, but my hands are still cuffed behind my back, and there is no door handle on the inside anyway.
I’m stuck here.
I pace back and forth for a few minutes, bang on the door with my foot for a little bit, and scream for help, but nothing happens. I think, trying to process everything.
I saw him. The real-life, in the present Maverick. I’d finally heard his voice, not just the echo of his voice. So that means he exists. He’s not just some crazy hallucination of my brain. He’s a real person. So does that mean the echoes really happened and I’d somehow forgotten?
I replay the conversation again in my head.
“And so I’ve brought someone along as a sort of… insurance,” the woman said.
Insurance? Am I the insurance? Is she using me to get Maverick to do what she wants? Me, because we had once known each other? Because we were in love? So why don’t I remember any of it? I struggle, trying to remember the rest of the conversation. I hear Maverick’s voice replying to the woman in my mind.
“And what makes you think I’m going to do what you say? Because you’re holding some stranger hostage?”
Stranger?
Does Maverick not remember me, either? Am I just as much of a stranger to him as he is to me? But why would he have been there in the alley, attempting to rescue me hours ago? And if he was the person in the sport’s car the night of the dance, why would he have been saving me then if he didn’t remember me?
I don’t know what to think.
I sigh. I need everything to make sense, maybe, but right now I have a bigger problem: I need to escape. I glance around the room, trying to think of a plan. I can’t open th
e door, but someone will have to come back eventually to give me food and water. At least I hope they will.
There aren’t any windows, and the only thing that could potentially be used as a weapon is the stack of blankets. But I’m still handcuffed, so even a knife won’t do any good.
Before I can come up with a solid plan, the door swings open. I quickly back as far into the corner of the room as I can get. The silver-haired woman steps in and Dave follows suit rolling a stainless steel cart. On it are various medical supplies—syringes, gauze, needles. My stomach drops.
“Well, Laura, I’m so glad we’ve finally made your acquaintance,” the woman says as she steps forward. She pulls a pair of latex gloves off the cart, then starts slapping them on.
“Who are you?” I demand.
“I know you’re probably very, very confused right now,” she says. Dave stops the cart at the side of the room, then closes the door.
“What do you want from me?” I try to sound brave even though I’m shaking. Dave steps in my direction, his mouth set in a thin, almost bored line.
The woman keeps talking as Dave reaches for me. “Though it’s not my fault that you’re so lost right now,” she says. I duck, throwing all of my weight toward Dave’s knees. “The situation definitely could have been handled better. It was some poor, hasty decision making that caused this whole mess if you ask me.” I collide with Dave’s legs, but he doesn’t even move a muscle. Instead, he catches my arm, yanking me up with ease. I struggle, but with my hands still cuffed, there isn’t much I can do.
“Anyway, I know you don’t understand, but I’m excited to have you here. You might actually play a huge role in solving this issue,” the woman continues as Dave drags me over to the exam chair, forcing me onto it. I struggle futilely while he straps my feet to the legs of the chair, uncuffs my hands, and does the same with my arms. “Now it’s just going to be a little pinch, at first,” the woman says, and I watch as she grabs a syringe off the cart, connects a needle to it, then taps the air bubbles out.
