by Rysa Walker
Skolnick’s comment makes me grit my teeth, because I truly want to smack him. Yeah, it sounds like some of the kids were using their so-called gifts in ways that weren’t exactly ethical, but having been in a similar situation, I can’t help but think about the hell they’ve been going through trying to pass as normal. Did this Nicki Clary go looking for the answers, or do they just pop into her head? Did the Lentz boy launch those pencils on purpose, or does he struggle like Aaron did just to keep from going crazy in a school setting? And yeah, the Bieler kid crossed a line at the arcade, but at least he shared the plastic-spider rings, miniature footballs, and cheap candy. He didn’t hoard the loot for himself, and it’s not like those places aren’t already ripping kids off.
Maybe my expression telegraphs my thoughts to Skolnick, because he backs off a bit. “Not saying it’s the kids’ fault, of course. This is obviously connected to something that happened with their parents. I don’t know exactly what, but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with that program they claim to have shut down back in 1995 where they were trying to create these psychic supersoldiers who could spy remotely, walk through walls. Clooney even did a movie about it a few years back.”
Skolnick goes on to say that when he submitted his story to his boss in late August, he hit a brick wall. “The e-mail came back so fast I thought I’d accidentally sent the damn thing to myself. But no, he got it. Just didn’t bother reading past the first sentence or two. Said we were running a newspaper, not a science-fiction magazine. Two weeks later, I’m the victim of ‘budget cuts.’ Three weeks after that, the Bieler kid disappears. The count is now up to six. Well, seven, if you count the Bieler kid’s sister, but that happened last year, back before his little arcade heist, and police are pretty sure it was a custody thing.”
He chews at his lip again. “I decided to visit some friends up in Maine a few weeks after I got fired. Old college buddy and his wife. We went camping. Hit some sporting events. She posted half a dozen pictures on Facebook during the ten days I was there. Good thing, too, because as soon as the Bieler kid went missing, my editor called to tell me he was handing my research over to the police. If I hadn’t had an ironclad alibi, I’d probably be awaiting trial right now. So, as much as I hate what happened, and as much as I know their parents are worried, I can’t be the one to submit this to the police. Especially not after what happened to Tamara.”
It takes me a moment to place the name. “The school counselor you mentioned? What happened?”
He snorts. “Robbery gone wrong, they’re saying. Yesterday up near Charlottesville, where she moved earlier this year. Last time we spoke, the psychic kid who was her main source on all this had disappeared, too. Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s dead, along with her mom. I was an idiot to go check this out for her, but like I told her, and like I told your boss, my involvement ends here.” Skolnick shoves the file folder toward us. “The pictures are in there. It’s the Clary girl, I’m positive. Just give me my money and let me get the hell out of here. I don’t want to be responsible for any more bodies, and I sure as hell don’t want to become one.”
My hand shakes as I remove the contents of the folder. Magda didn’t say anything about having to look at pictures of dead kids, and I suck in a sharp breath when I see the first one.
“It’s her,” Skolnick repeats. “She’s even wearing the same clothes as when she was reported missing. I’ve got a printout of the AMBER Alert.”
The other pictures are more graphic. I can’t make it beyond the first two. It’s definitely the Clary girl. Even close up, it’s hard to tell the cause of death. Her clothes are ripped, and most of the flesh is missing from one of her arms.
“Animals,” Skolnick says, and I nod before I even realize that he means actual animals, not the two-legged kind. “The place has been abandoned for a few decades. Coyotes get in. Raccoons. Stray dogs, too—there are a lot of them around here. People get transferred overseas, can’t afford to take them, too lazy to find them a new home.” I shiver. It’s partly from revulsion at the idea of someone’s former pet mauling this poor girl’s body and partly from the slow drizzle that’s starting to fall.
Aaron shields the photos from the rain with the file folder as he looks through them. “Where were these taken?”
“A few miles north, just off Highway 24. There’s a bunch of federal land up that way, donated by the Rockefeller family. Used to be some sort of resort—golf course, horse stables, and so on. Now it’s all rotted and falling apart. People go up to Overhills Lake to hunt and fish these days, and there’ve always been a few who would ignore the posted warnings and go exploring in the ruins. Teenage kids looking for a place to drink or screw. I’m surprised someone hasn’t stumbled on her body before now, although it was in one of the smaller cabins. And trespassing on federal lands has gotten a bit riskier under the current administration, so maybe they’re steering clear. I wasn’t exactly happy about scaling that fence, myself, but Tamara was freaking out about this kid’s visions and . . . Anyway, I’m out. Wish I’d told Tamara no the first time. Might be better for the Clarys just to keep hoping than to know their kid ended up like that.”
Aaron finishes with the photos and gives me a nod. I tuck them, along with the rest of Skolnick’s papers, into the folder and then give Skolnick the envelope with his name on it.
He thumbs through the bills inside, then stands, stuffing the envelope into the pocket of his jeans. For a couple of seconds, he just looks at us. “This wasn’t part of the bargain, but . . . I got something else Tamara Blake sent me. The last interview she did, just before they found her. Give me your number, and once I’m out of town, I’ll send it to you.”
Skolnick enters Aaron’s number into his phone. “One more thing, and I’m telling you this as a favor. You two look like you’re maybe a year out of high school. This Magda Bell person needs her ass kicked for sending you into the middle of this. I don’t know how things work over in Great Britain, but if she thinks your fake business creds will get you into any schools in the US of A, she’s crazy. They’ll want a government-issued ID. The parents of the kids on that list you keep glancing down at? They’re scared, and they have reason to be. They’re not going to talk to you, because they want to stay alive. They want their freaky kids to stay alive, too.”
Skolnick turns back just before he reaches the sidewalk. “The smartest thing you could do is get back into your car and get the hell out of here. A person who lines little kids up and executes them gangland style is someone you do not want to cross.”
CHAPTER SIX
Fayetteville, North Carolina
November 2, 2019, 4:33 p.m.
Aaron and I exchange a confused look. The Clary girl’s body was gruesome, but there’s nothing to suggest a gangland-style execution. I didn’t even see a bullet wound.
“Should I go after him?” Aaron asks as Skolnick jogs down the sidewalk.
“Do you think he actually knows anything else?”
“Probably not. I’m guessing that last comment was based on the information from Blake that he promised to send later.”
Back at the car, I text Magda, promising to send the contents of Skolnick’s thumb drive when we get back to the main computer. Her reply is almost instantaneous.
Next interview is B. Pruitt. Offer $3K reward for info about missing kids. Also inquire re: twins.
“Have you checked the list for twins?” Aaron asks.
“I skimmed through. No duplicate last names on the list. Do you know what exactly Magda’s twins . . . do?”
“Nope. Mom doesn’t know either. She told me she tried to politely steer the conversation in that direction when she and Magda were discussing my abilities and Taylor’s, but—”
Aaron cuts himself off abruptly, and I can tell from the set of his jaw that he’s angry. Which I’ve learned almost certainly means he’s thinking about Daniel. And since I don’t want to talk about Daniel, I pretend to be absorbed in the list.
He d
rives in silence for several minutes, and I can feel the tension, like he’s trying really hard not to go there. But eventually he blurts out, “Does my mom know? About Daniel, I mean? That he can alter people’s thoughts. Memories.”
I feel Daniel stirring in the background, but I already know the answer. “No. He never told her.”
“But how does a kid hide something like that? You’d think she’d have caught on at some point.” When I don’t respond, he says, “I know you said you didn’t want to get in the middle of this, but—”
I cut him off with a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m already in the middle, Aaron. I don’t have any choice. But I do not want to argue with you. Even indirectly. You Quinns seem to be all about arguing. You squabble one minute, and then you’re fine the next. But I’m not good with conflict. It ties my stomach in a knot. Same with Deo. When you grow up in foster care, arguments frequently end with someone getting hurt. And all too often, that someone is you.”
He doesn’t speak again until we pull up next to the RV. Taylor’s parking skills leave much to be desired—at least a foot of camper hangs out onto the drive.
I start to get out of the car, but Aaron pulls me back.
“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want you in the middle of this either. And I’m not angry at you. It’s just . . . really, really awkward talking to you, knowing he can hear everything I say. This is the brother who would rat me out for the slightest infraction of house rules, the one who always ruined everything. Who gave me endless grief about using my abilities—abilities I can’t exactly turn off—and here I find out he’s been a hypocrite all along.”
I was trying to keep him and Taylor safe. Why can’t he get that?
I don’t answer Daniel. I just push him back behind the wall. Bullheadedness seems to be as much a Quinn family trait as arguing.
“But worst of all,” Aaron says, “I finally find a girl that I really care about, and Daniel is closer to her than I am. That’s so messed up.”
I blink and stare at him. He’s jealous? That’s what this is all about? A tiny part of me is flattered, but mostly I’m just pissed.
“Daniel and I are not close! He’s just . . . I’m stuck with him, so don’t—” I take a deep breath to calm myself. “You know what? I’m not doing this. You and me . . . we do not discuss Daniel. We do not discuss your feelings about Daniel, your history with Daniel, or the many reasons you want to smack Daniel. I’m not going to facilitate your stupid sibling rivalry.”
I slam the door for emphasis and head for the camper. But Aaron hurries around the front of the car to head me off.
“Anna, wait.” His eyes are pleading. Sad hazel puppy-dog eyes. My anger melts away quickly, so maybe the whole flattered vs. pissed thing was a closer call than I thought.
“You’re right. I just keep making things worse. I don’t mean to, it’s just . . . I’m sorry.” He wraps his arms around me, and even though I feel like I should resist, I can’t. The tension floats away as I breathe him in. He always smells a bit like a pine forest to me. Or maybe a pine candle is a better description, since it’s like I’m wrapped in this warm, safe glow that kindles a tiny flame at my core.
“I’ll try harder. Promise.” He tips my face up to meet his eyes. “Are we good?”
“We’re good.”
He stares into my eyes for a long time. I’m certain he’s going to kiss me, so I reinforce my walls to make sure Daniel doesn’t disrupt us. I close my eyes, open my mouth slightly . . . and then I feel his lips against my forehead.
I stand there, feeling stupid, as he pulls down the stairs for the RV. Yes, I know why he didn’t kiss me. I even kind of get it. We both know we’re not really alone. But it still feels a lot like I’ve just been friend-zoned.
The ozone smell hits my nose as soon as Taylor opens the camper door, before I even see Deo. He’s leaning against the wall, like he doesn’t entirely trust his legs to support him, as he rummages through the RV’s tiny pantry. Even though he looks weak, relief floods through me. Deo is up. He’s dressed. He’s on the prowl in search of food.
And for the first time since we left The Warren, his clothes match. He ditched the ratty sweatpants and T-shirt and is now wearing his green ensemble. It’s not his favorite, and the dark-green pants are slightly wrinkled from being stashed in his duffel, but even his socks match. He looks like he might have run a comb through his black hair as well.
I know that this could be only a temporary reprieve, based on what Jaden and Daniel told me about the drug. But, hey, I’ll take what I can get.
Aaron is right behind me on the steps. He goes rigid and then backs up, his expression strained and nervous.
“I’m . . . um . . . I’m going to check on some . . . things. Out in the truck.”
I’m torn between wanting to follow him and wanting to talk to Deo.
“Taylor? Maybe you could go help Aaron?”
Deo heads toward the table with the box of Cheerios. Taylor grabs an elbow to steady him. He gives her an odd look but doesn’t pull away.
“Yeah. Sure,” Taylor says. “Just let me get Deo settled first. And grab some shoes.” Once Deo is at the table, she heads back to where she stores her things, adding over her shoulder, “He already ate the soup. And your leftovers. Bottomless freakin’ pit.”
I carry a bowl, a spoon, and the milk over to where Deo is sitting, being careful to keep my distance.
“So you’re feeling better?”
“Yeah.”
“You had me worried there, turning down pizza. And bacon.”
“You’re making that up. I’d never turn down bacon.”
“How’s your arm?”
“Better,” he says around a mouthful of cereal. “Still sore, but it’s not throbbing like it was last night.”
“Um . . . you probably mean night before last. You sort of skipped last night. What about the fever?”
“Down about three degrees, so . . . about where I told you it was last time you asked me.” He gives a weak version of his usual grin.
Taylor comes back in, now wearing shoes and a sweater. “I’ll stay close. In case you need me.”
Deo’s eyebrow quirks up, and once she’s gone he asks, “So . . . what did I miss? Last thing I remember, Taylor was giving me dagger eyes. When I wake up, you’re nowhere to be found, and she’s dishing out the fever meds and . . .” He colors slightly, more noticeable now that his brown skin is so pale, and then shakes it off. “Helping me to the bathroom. What made her go all Night Nurse?”
“Well, for one thing, she knows about Daniel.”
“How?”
“She and Aaron sort of overheard me talking. Yes,” I continue, in response to his look, “out loud. To Daniel. Something surprised me, and . . . anyway, Taylor seems to be handling her brother being in my head better than him being in a coma.”
“Okay.” Deo gives me a little gimme-more gesture with his free hand. “That explains Taylor, but it doesn’t explain you. You don’t just ask about my fever . . . you do that mom thing where you put the inside of your wrist against my forehead or my neck. Plus, right now, you’re looking at me like I might break. What do you know that I don’t?”
No sense putting it off. Deo is way beyond tenacious when it comes to ferreting out secrets. “It’s the injection,” I begin, and then kind of stall out.
“Yes. I kind of figured that part out by myself.”
I sigh. “There’s this weird side effect, D.” I explain what Daniel and Jaden told me about the amplifying serum, how he seems to be operating as a signal booster for me and Aaron. But when I get to the part about Sonia, the girl who died, I stop. Jaden picks up on my hesitation.
Deo needs to know, Anna. His body, his mind.
It will scare him.
Jaden gives a mental shrug and then continues.
Fifteen ain’t a little kid. Would you have wanted to know?
And yes, of course I would have, so I take a deep breath and spill the rest.
He shovels in more Cheerios as I talk, clearly going for nonchalant. But his hand shakes slightly on the third bite, and then he puts the spoon down.
“It’s going to be okay, though. Magda Bell has the vial I took from Cregg’s lab. She knows someone who is going to examine it. We’ll find a cure . . . an antidote. I promise.”
Deo huffs something between a sigh and a chuckle. We both know I’m making promises I have no real power to keep.
“So, Daniel and Jaden only know of that one other . . . amp?”
“Yes. And this might not even be the same formula. That was months ago.”
“And you just get a bit of one of those visions when you touch me? That’s it—no other ill effects?”
I nod. “Just the vision.”
He reaches across the table, his hand hovering a few inches over my arm. “Not that I don’t believe you. I just want to see if I feel anything when it happens. You okay with that?”
“Yeah.” I lean back against the padded bench so I don’t smack my head on the table. “Go for it.”
The high-pitched hum begins before Deo’s hand even connects. I make it to the part of the vision where I realize I’m holding a piece of paper in my palm, and then I’m once again looking at Deo, who is yanking his hand back to his side of the table so fast it’s like he received a static shock.
“You okay, D?”
“Yeah. I felt . . . kind of a tingle. And, do you smell anything odd? It’s almost like . . .” He sniffs the air, then makes a face, trying to pin down the odor.
“Like the Metro, right?”
“A little. Although, in some ways, it’s more of a feeling than a smell. You know the way the inside of your nose feels when you come inside after being out in the cold?”
“We’ve all noticed it. I think it’s a little stronger now, actually. Whatever it is, it’s coming from you. Deo and Jaden said it’s a side effect of the injections.”
