by Rysa Walker
When I look up, Aaron is at the foot of the stairs. His hair is standing up on one side and he appears a little worn out. “You made coffee.”
And then he smiles . . . the same smile that made Molly all weak at the knees. It’s having a very similar effect on me right now.
“It’s almost finished brewing,” I say, wishing I could control the blood rushing to my face.
There’s a mischievous glint in Taylor’s eye, as though she’s thinking something snarky. But she decides to keep it to herself. “I e-mailed you what I have so far on Deo’s location,” she tells Aaron as she grabs a box of something out of the pantry. “I don’t think you’ll have any luck with it. I’m seeing a really old building . . . more like ruins, in fact. Near the water, but that could be almost anyplace around here. I need to get back to it . . . Anna can fill you in on the rest.”
Then she’s gone, leaving us alone. And alone feels very different today than it did yesterday. It’s charged with a subtle energy when he passes me on the way to the coffeepot, probably because I can still remember the heat of his arm beneath me when I woke up.
Aaron pours two mugs of coffee and hands me one. “Fill me in on what?”
I show him the website with the picture of Cregg, with Dacia and the bodyguard guy in the background. Then I relay Taylor’s theory on why they’re keeping me on hold.
“If so, that’s at least a bit of good news, right? I mean, the less time he’s been with Deo . . .” He trails off, uncomfortable that he’s pulled my mind to all of the things that could have been happening over the past thirty-six hours.
“Yes. Better than the alternative.”
He opens the e-mail from Taylor and we examine her drawing. The building is intact, but there’s a fire escape on one side that’s barely attached. Four columns are sketched onto a small porch-like area in the front. It’s four stories, with odd scalloped dormer windows that you might see on a castle or a fort, and rustic-looking stonework around the first floor.
“Beaux Arts,” I say absently, pulling the reference from a file in my tenant archives.
“What?”
“The architectural style. Probably built around the turn of the last century. And since that was a really common style for large buildings back then, it’s probably a useless bit of information.”
“Well, it’s more than I had. All I could say was that there’s ivy growing on it . . . and I wouldn’t even have recognized that if Taylor hadn’t used a green pencil.”
He takes the tablet back and his hand brushes against mine. I jump—and feel bad for jumping.
Relax, Anna! It’s not Molly. It’s me. But I’m thinking it in her voice and beginning to feel more than a little unhinged.
“Are you okay?”
Aaron touches my shoulder and I pull in a ragged breath. I need to get away for a few minutes. Get my head together.
“I’m fine. Do you have my phone?”
He hands it to me, and it’s still warm from being in his pocket. “No messages. I meant what I said. I would have woken you up.”
“I know.” My eye lands on the red scratch that runs from just below his ear to the hollow at the base of his neck. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s nothing. You were rougher on yourself than you were on me. I tried holding your hands down to keep you from hurting yourself, but that only made you more frantic. You were dreaming about when he was . . . controlling Molly, weren’t you?”
I nod. “Listen, I’m . . . I need to go upstairs. Check in with Kelsey. Get a shower.”
“Sure.” There’s a note of uncertainty in his voice.
I hear Taylor’s warning again—don’t hurt him—and I can’t get out of the room fast enough.
I’m combing the tangles out of my damp hair when my phone rings. I try not to get my hopes up. It’s probably just Kelsey calling back. Beating me to the punch, actually, since I was about to call her back and apologize for hanging up on her. The entire conversation before I got into the shower was strained, to say the least. Kelsey is worried and feeling responsible since she loaned me the car. She kept saying she should have come with us, but I’m not sure what difference that would have made. They’d almost certainly still have Deo, and it’s possible they’d have Kelsey, too.
By the end, she’d switched from supporting my decision not to bring in the police to saying that she can’t allow me to simply trade myself for Deo. And I told her I’m old enough to make my own damn decisions, and if a trade is what it takes to get Deo back, then that’s what will happen. We were both in tears, and I hung up before I said something I knew I’d regret.
My heart starts pounding when I pick up the phone. I don’t recognize the number. But then caller ID kicks in and an image pops up. It’s the logo for Quinn Investigative Services—QIS with the letter I replaced by a magnifying glass.
Must be Aaron. But why would he call rather than walking up the stairs?
“Hello?”
“Hi, Anna.” Okay, not Aaron.
“Um . . . hi, Sam. What’s up?”
His voice sounds a little hesitant. I sit on the edge of the bed, bracing myself for bad news. And I guess my voice sounds worried, because Sam quickly says, “Oh, no—there’s no news. Sorry. I just need to talk to you for a minute without Aaron and Taylor around.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“I just got off the phone with your doctor.” When he hears my exasperated sigh, he laughs softly. “I’ve heard that sound before, both as a father and a grandfather. Don’t get all huffy. She’s worried about you.”
Even though I should probably be annoyed with Kelsey for calling Sam, I can’t be. I hate worrying her, and I really hated fighting with her on the phone. And it’s nice to know that she cares enough to try and stop me from doing something that even I know is stupid. Doesn’t change my mind, since it’s my only option. But it’s still nice.
“I know she’s worried, Sam. But what choice do I have? I’m responsible for Deo. Maybe not on paper, maybe not legally, but I am. And I’m the one who picked up Molly. I won’t let Deo be hurt. Not if I can prevent it. Kelsey knows that.”
“She does. And I’m not arguing that point. If the Creggs had the Metro PD jumping through hoops to give Badea access, I don’t know how far their reach may be. And I think Dr. Kelsey understands that, too. Probably why she called me instead of the police. I reassured her as best I could. Told her we’ve got backup plans. Aaron will have advance warning if they come after you. If we can get one of them first, maybe we’ll have some leverage.”
I keep quiet, since I don’t intend to let that happen. In my opinion, there’s an even better chance that grabbing Badea or whoever they send to fetch me will be very bad news for Deo.
“And I told her that even if that falls through, we’ll find you. We’ll get you out of there.”
“Hope so.”
“Taylor knows what she’s doing. She’ll find Deo, and if worst comes to worst, she’ll find you. If Taylor says Molly’s purse is under the pool, it’s under the pool. If I had any doubts about that, I wouldn’t have just leveraged every bit of credibility I have in this state by getting the police up in Harford County to request a search warrant for that property in Havre de Grace on the basis of an anonymous tip.”
“Wait . . . you called the police?”
“Sweetie, that’s how it works. Private investigators can’t get a warrant. I took every precaution I could, though. The cop I contacted is a friend. Harford’s four counties north of the District, and we’re keeping the whole thing quiet . . . well, as quiet as you can when it involves ripping up someone’s swimming pool. My contact said I could be there when they rip it up—probably Tuesday or Wednesday—but he also said I might want to bring my checkbook just in case they don’t find evidence.” He laughs, although I get the feeling he’s not actually joking.
“Like I told your doctor,” he continues, “we’ll get you out of there if all else fails. But it may take a little time
. And I’m . . . concerned about what’s going to happen if Badea starts digging around in your mind. I know you blocked her before, but I’m pretty sure the whole agreeing to cooperate thing is going to include the expectation that you don’t keep blocking her. Won’t matter whether there’s a leak in the police department if you’re giving up information voluntarily—not just on everything we’ve learned about Molly’s case but also what Molly knew and what you now know about Aaron’s and Taylor’s abilities.”
“I wouldn’t . . .” I stop. No, I wouldn’t do it on purpose. And I don’t think I’d do it to save myself. But if the choice was between saving Deo and protecting Aaron and Taylor?
“I’m not saying you’d do it willingly. But the two of them have no idea how hard we’ve worked to keep them off Cregg’s radar. And they haven’t made things easy since Molly died. I know they want to help, but . . . I guess what I’m asking is whether it’s all or nothing? I mean, is there any way you can—I don’t know—compartmentalize, maybe? Give them some information, enough to make them think you’re cooperating, without putting anyone else in danger?”
The wall marked Myron flashes into my mind. Kelsey and I built it to protect me from his memories—all of his memories—and I never pull it down. For a long time, some bits would sneak out when I was asleep, but they no longer have any real power, even when I dream. Could I do the same thing to protect some of my own memories from Badea’s probe?
“Maybe,” I tell him. “I’ve done something before that’s similar. I can’t say for certain that it will work, but I’ll try my best. I don’t want to jeopardize the investigation, and I definitely don’t want to put Aaron or Taylor in danger.”
After we hang up, I call Kelsey back. We both apologize, both wind up nearly in tears again, and she ends by simply telling me to be careful. And to call her as soon as I know anything else.
I erase all of the voice and text messages from Taylor and Aaron, just in case there’s something that might “out” them. Then I close my eyes and focus on building a second wall, like the one I built when Dacia was burrowing her way into my head at the police station. Like the one that surrounds Myron. I’m glad I don’t have to lock away everything that was Molly. That would feel . . . disrespectful, I guess. She was a good person. She didn’t hurt people like Myron did.
Once the wall is up, I begin sorting through my mental files. The memories from Emily, Arlene, Bruno, Lydia, Abner, Josephine, and Didier all remain in front. Myron stays in his isolation chamber, but I move it back behind the second wall, since it would give away the fact that I can (hopefully) hide things from her probe.
Next, I let my mind drift through the assorted Molly memories that I’ve barely begun to process. It’s usually a slow, gradual incorporation, but I don’t have time to let things take their natural course. I leave most of her memories, including many of Taylor and Aaron, in front of the wall. The three of them playing on a Slip’N Slide. The fort they built in the woods behind the house. A trip to the beach with Porter, Molly’s mom, and her grandmother. Other memories—the Christmas Molly and Taylor got the pink purses, Aaron rescuing Molly from that kid with the baseball bat, the search for a neighbor’s lost cat that started with Taylor and a sketch pad—go behind the second wall.
Then I build a space for my own recent memories. I start with my conversation with Aaron right after Porter was shot. Our discussion at the townhouse. Taylor sketching the house at Havre de Grace. I slide those memories and others like them behind the second wall, along with everything I’ve learned about Delphi and Graham Cregg.
I’ve never done anything like this with my own memories. I don’t like the feeling. It’s similar to the frustration of having a word on the tip of your tongue, but not quite being able to reach it. I think there’s a very real possibility that I could lose memories this way. That I could forget where I put them entirely and end up with gaping, Swiss-cheese holes in my mind.
I’m going to need a fully functional brain to get through this. But I want to be ready in case I have no other choice. So while Molly’s dangerous memories stay behind the wall, I bundle my own memories of Aaron, Taylor, Cregg, and the whole Delphi insanity into a mental folder, and put it behind the wall. Then I pull it out again. And then I practice moving it back and forth, back and forth, until I can do it with relative ease.
A tentative knock pulls me out of my meditation. When I open the door, Aaron is standing in the hallway, hands in his jeans pockets. Looking worried. Awkward. A little sad.
“You’ve been up here a really long time. What did Taylor say to you?”
“Nothing!” I tell him. “Why do you think—”
“She’s Taylor. Of course she said something.” He glances down the hall toward the bedroom where she’s working. “Can I come in? Or if you’d rather come down . . .”
“No . . . I mean, yes. Sure.” I step back into the room and sit on the bed again.
Aaron seems to consider the spot next to me briefly but opts for the rocking chair. “So, what did Taylor say?”
I’m about to deny it again, but what’s the point? Might as well clear the air now, rather than have this hanging over us.
“She said not to hurt you. And I told her she was jumping to the wrong conclusion.”
He’s quiet for a very long time, just staring at his feet. When he finally looks up, he says, “You’ve got so much on your mind right now and I don’t want to add to that. I don’t want things to be weird for you or for you to think that I’m pressuring you in any way. But I don’t want to lie to you, either. I’ve only known you for, what? Two days? But I like being around you. It’s nice to be open with somebody about . . .” He shrugs. “Who I am, I guess? I know these past two days have been some of the worst in your life and you probably wish you’d never laid eyes on me—”
“No. I don’t wish that. But I do wish the circumstances were different. And I think we both need a bit of time to sort out Molly’s role in all of this. She had such an enormous crush on you, and . . .”
I stop after seeing his face. He looks absolutely gobsmacked.
“You didn’t know?”
“Molly? No. I mean, she was just a kid. She was like . . . fourteen.”
That makes me smile. “You don’t think fourteen-year-old girls get crushes on seventeen-year-old guys? Or vice versa?”
“Well, yeah. They do. But . . . Molly was Taylor’s alter ego. I never thought of her that way. Did you . . . or did she . . . think I was . . . I mean, did I do anything to make her think that I—”
“No. But it didn’t stop her from going on about how gorgeous you are.”
I instantly regret the way I phrased that. Now we’re both uncomfortable. I could at least have said were.
I’m tempted to comb through my memory banks for something suave to say, something that won’t make me sound like an idiot, something that maybe worked for somebody else as she tried to extract her foot from her mouth.
But I know better. It’s like saving up that perfect comeback you read in a book or heard on TV—it always sounds good in your head, but it never quite fits in real life.
Fortunately, Aaron seems to be too preoccupied to notice that I’m at a loss for words. “Molly was like a second sister to me. At least, that’s how I thought of her.”
He looks miserable, and I realize he’s probably thinking through the various things he said to Molly, especially near the end. Worried that he unintentionally led her on or said something that might have hurt her feelings. I feel bad for even mentioning it.
“Fourteen-year-olds are . . . really fickle, you know. If Molly had made it to fifteen, she’d probably have gone back to thinking of you as Taylor’s jerky older brother. No, I guess Daniel had that title locked down . . . so, Taylor’s not-so-jerky older brother. She’d have been crushing on someone from 5 Seconds of Summer or from her algebra class or whatever. You’d have been yesterday’s news. She’d have looked back and said, oh my God, what did I ever see in him?”
Aaron laughs, which is exactly what I was hoping for. “You really think that, or are you just saying it to make me feel better?”
“Maybe a little of both?”
“I’ll take that.” He comes over and sits next to me on the bed. “What I was trying to say before you distracted me with that bit of news is . . . just let me know what you need from me. You need someone to be here if that bastard visits your dreams, then you’ve got it. You need space, then . . . you’ve got that, too. Okay?”
I nod. “Thanks. Molly was definitely right about one thing, you know.”
A grin inches across his face. “That I’m gorgeous?”
Yes, I think.
“No,” I say. “I meant that you’re a really nice guy, but now it looks like you’re developing this huge ego problem . . .” I swat at him playfully and he catches my hand.
“One more thing. When Deo is back safe and sound . . .” He stops and his shoulders slump.
“What?”
“Well . . . I was about to ask if you’d want to go to a movie or get dinner. But we’d probably have to worry about you picking up a ghost or me realizing the guy at the next table is about to punch his waiter. Maybe we could just watch Netflix and . . .” He stops again and closes his eyes. “I truly suck at this. I was not going to say chill, I swear to God. I was going to say watch Netflix and order takeout.”
I lean forward and kiss him. It’s a quick kiss, just a featherlight brush of my lips against his.
He looks surprised. I probably do too, because that wasn’t at all planned. It just seemed right.
“I’d like that, Aaron. When all of this is over, I think I’d like that a lot.”
We spend the rest of the day waiting.
Taylor emerges to eat and drink pretty much everything left in the house (other than the coffee) and spends maybe twenty minutes on the deck to get some fresh air. Then back into her cave.
We play Scrabble and rummy. We search online for more info about the Creggs. We search for Beaux Arts buildings in the area and find far too many to wade through, but spend an hour doing just that anyway.
