by Rysa Walker
“Once we’re on shore,” Miranda says, “I’ll go talk to Jasper. After I explain everything to him and see how Peyton is doing, I’ll come back and get you. If I just show up with two strangers in tow, it might upset Peyton. Might upset Jasper, too. Most of the time he’s easygoing, but he has a bit of a temper on occasion. Pretty sure that was a little gift from this Delphi program, too. Either way, we can’t stay long. There’s a midweek checkout at one of the event houses we clean, and I’ll need to winterize it, with the cold spell coming on. Unless Peyton’s doing well enough for Jasper to help, I’ll be solo on this one, and it’s a beast, so I gotta be there by ten at the latest.”
I have no idea what any of the stuff about the house means. Judging from his expression, neither does Aaron. But we both nod.
Miranda is wearing wading boots, so she steps out once we reach shallow water and pulls the boat to the edge of the beach. Once the prow hits dry land, Aaron and I climb across and help her tug the boat up onto the grass beside the smaller craft.
Given the temperature, I’d rather keep moving in order to warm up. This section of the island is covered with low-lying brush rather than sand, however, so there’s really not much clear space to walk without landing back in the water. I find a piece of driftwood that’s reasonably dry, and Aaron sits next to me, but I can’t help noticing that he’s returned to maintaining a few inches’ distance now that I’m no longer at major risk for hypothermia. It feels like second grade again. Eww, girl cooties.
I rub my hands vigorously between my thighs to thaw them out.
“Not exactly beach weather,” Aaron says.
“Definitely not. I’d gladly trade with Taylor and Deo, snug and warm in bed right now.”
“No kidding.” He glances down the beach at Miranda, who is unzipping the tent. “When you talked to Kelsey last night, did she give you any ideas about how to approach Peyton?”
“Very carefully. Those were her exact words, actually. I am so hopelessly underqualified for this. Peyton needs a professional. She needs Kelsey, or at least someone with Kelsey’s experience.”
“Sam’s talking to Magda about that today.”
“Hmph. Hope he can find a way to make Magda think hiring Kelsey is her own idea. Otherwise, I doubt she’ll agree.”
When Kelsey and I spoke last night, I was reluctant to even mention the idea of her working with us. After all of the drama over the past two weeks, I thought she might be ready to just head to her beach house and decompress. But Kelsey wasn’t just willing. She was eager. Which leads me to suspect that everything she said about being ready to retire was only talk. She just didn’t want me or Deo feeling guilty about the impact that all of this has had on her.
“Sam can be very convincing,” Aaron says. “And there’s no logical reason for Magda to object, anyway.”
“Maybe. I only wish Kelsey were here right now instead of me.”
“You’ll do fine. Miranda said Peyton doesn’t like losing control. She’ll almost certainly want help, she’ll want to listen, and she’s probably too young to think about whether we have ulterior motives. Her dad, on the other hand . . .”
“Are you picking anything up from him?”
“Not yet.” Aaron shrugs, coloring slightly. “But then I had my first ever false negative yesterday. Miranda pulling that gun caught me totally by surprise. If I’d had any idea that she was going to do that, you’d never have been anywhere near that door.”
“Um . . . I’m not entirely sure that you got a false negative. What if she wasn’t actually planning to use the gun?”
“Did she say that?”
“Not in so many words. It was just something . . . that she almost said. Does that make sense? Don’t get me wrong—if we’d threatened TJ in any way, she’d have found the nerve to use it. But I think she was mostly trying to scare us off.”
“Maybe. But you’re not taking any more chances like—” He stops and gives me a sideways grin. “Okay, that’s coming out all wrong. As Taylor is so fond of reminding me, I’m not the boss of her or this project. And I’m definitely not the boss of you. Obviously what I meant to say is that I’d be much happier if you didn’t take any more chances like that, but it is, of course, ultimately your decision.”
I smile. “Your mom and Taylor have trained you very well.”
“They try. Although, if I’m being totally honest . . .” He trails off, apparently having second thoughts about being totally honest.
A few days ago, I’d probably have just let it lie. But after several consecutive nights of this cold-shoulder stuff, I’m annoyed enough to push it. “What?”
“Nothing. Just ask Daniel to stay . . . on alert, or whatever. In case this Jasper guy goes off his nut.”
“I don’t know how much help Daniel will be. He seems kind of . . . I don’t know. Lethargic.”
Now that I think about it, I haven’t heard a peep from Daniel since his half-hearted attempt to intervene yesterday when Miranda pulled the gun. I’ve spent most of the past week wishing that he’d stop pacing around my head, but now that he is quiet, I feel like I need to check on him.
Daniel? You’re okay, right?
Yes. Just so you know, I could have convinced Miranda yesterday, and I absolutely would have if I’d thought she was serious with that gun. What you said to Aaron is right, though. She wasn’t going to shoot. I could see it in her eyes. But yes . . . I’ll admit I’m tired. Nudging people never drained me in my own body. I mean, like Taylor, I always needed food afterward, but otherwise I actually felt energized. When I do it through your body, it’s like getting hit with the flu. But like I said, if you need help, I’m here.
When I open my eyes, Aaron is watching me, eyebrows raised, and I tell him what Daniel said.
“Maybe you need to eat more afterward?”
“But I haven’t been hungrier than usual . . .” I trail off as Aaron’s eyes flash toward the tent. “What’s wrong?”
“Miranda just told him we’re here. I think she’s trying to reason with him, but . . .” He shakes his head. “Really wishing she hadn’t made us leave my gun behind.”
“Yeah. Listen, let me take the lead, okay?” Aaron gives me a reluctant look and starts to protest, but I cut him off. “Like Taylor said, I’m less intimidating. If Jasper sees this as a turf war, it could get nasty.”
After a moment, he nods. “Fine. Just . . . don’t get close to him. He’s near the boiling point.” His eyes glass over briefly, and then he adds, “Although proximity isn’t really going to matter. He’s armed.”
Miranda emerges from the tent, followed a moment later by her husband, who moves past her at a rapid clip. She calls out to him, but his eyes are fixed on us.
Jasper Hawkins doesn’t fit my mental image at all. I’d pictured him as Hispanic like Miranda and TJ, although I probably shouldn’t have assumed that. And based on the various comments about his temper and possibly abusive behavior, I’d pegged him as tall and beefy. Again, not necessarily warranted, but I’d imagined him looking like that Alberto Del Rio guy, or maybe The Rock.
But Jasper Hawkins is more like a middle-aged Daniel Radcliffe. Short and wiry, with dark hair, pale skin, and finely chiseled features. His jaw is clenched so tight that the cords stand out on his neck as he storms toward us, his right hand thrust inside his partially unzipped jacket.
I get to my feet slowly, not wanting to set the guy off further.
Jasper is maybe ten feet away from us when he stops cold. He squints at my face for a few seconds, and then his eyes grow large. “Leah?”
I instinctively glance behind me, even though I know Aaron is the only person there.
Miranda has caught up with him now. Her eyes narrow, moving back and forth between me and her husband, who is still staring at me, mouth open, arms now hanging loose at his sides like he’s in shock.
“You told me Leah was dead,” Miranda says. “And even if she wasn’t, she’d be what? Forty at least.”
Jasper
nods, but he still doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “Not Leah. But she sure as hell looks like her. Her name is Anna.”
Miranda is about to say something else, but she stops, confused. “I don’t remember telling you her—”
“Wow.” Jasper takes a couple of steps backward, shaking his head. After a moment he gives a stunned, bitter laugh, and adds, “You look just like your mother. Except . . . the nose. That’s more like Scott.”
Now it’s my turn to stand there with my mouth open. I can’t find words. I can’t even draw a full breath.
I gave up any hope of finding my parents years ago. The State of Maryland did a thorough search when I was abandoned. And Kelsey told me that she did a bit of digging on her own. I don’t know if she was hoping for answers as to why I can do what I do, if she thought the trait might run in the family, or what. Regardless of her reasons, the search was a complete and total dead end.
I’ve met a few other kids who were abandoned, who had no clue about their parents, during my time in the foster system. Most of them said that they didn’t care. That they didn’t want to know.
I said the same thing.
Of course, I was lying.
I suspect every single one of them was lying, too. Even when you give up hope, you still wonder. No matter how much you protest, you still want to know where you came from. Although I’m luckier than some. I never had to wonder why someone abandoned me. The reason was pinned to my dress, along with my name: This child is possessed.
Aaron’s on his feet now, apparently realizing that the connection between my brain and my body is kind of tenuous. “Are you okay?”
While I definitely appreciate the steadying arm around my waist, him standing up was a bad idea. It’s now obvious that Aaron has maybe six inches and forty pounds on Jasper, whose hand moves back inside his jacket.
“Why exactly are you here?” Jasper asks. “Did they let Scott out? Did he send you?”
I finally locate my voice, but it sounds high and reedy when I answer him. “I don’t know anyone named Scott.”
“We’re here to help your daughter,” Aaron says. “Or, rather . . . to help you help your daughter.”
“I don’t need your help,” Jasper says, glaring at him. “We’re doing just fine on our own.”
Miranda has been watching all of this in silence, but now she steps forward, tugging off the stocking cap that was covering the stitches above her eyebrow. “You call this doing just fine, Jasper? Peyton flinging a frypan at my head without even touching it is doing just fine? Having to camp out on this stupid island so she can’t hurt anyone else—that’s doing just fine?”
For a moment, I think Jasper is going to hit her. His hand is clenched nearly as tight as his jaw. Aaron must think so too, because his body goes rigid, and I can tell he’s one step from tackling Jasper, even knowing the guy is armed.
But Jasper reins it in. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Back off, Miranda. Please? Just. Back. Off.” His entire body is quivering.
She takes two steps away from him. Her eyes, still blazing, never leave his face. “This is bullshit,” she mutters as she pulls the stocking cap back on. “Bullshit. I’m gonna check on Peyton. Try not to kill anybody, okay, bucho?”
Jasper leans forward at that last dig, like a dog straining at the leash, but he keeps his feet planted in the sand as Miranda stomps off toward the tent. “Even if you’re right,” he says, turning back to Aaron, “even if we do need help, no way in hell am I taking anything from Scott Pfeifer.”
“Who is Scott Pfeifer?” My question is just short of a scream. I remind myself that yelling at the person with the gun is probably a bad idea and lower my voice before continuing. “I already told you I’ve never met anyone by that name. Have you, Aaron?”
“No,” Aaron says, but there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “I don’t personally know anyone named Scott Pfeifer. But the name does seem familiar. I might have seen it in some of my dad’s papers.”
“Your dad was with Delphi?” Jasper asks.
Aaron nods. “Cole Quinn. Did you know him?”
“I did,” Jasper says. “And the fact that you’re his kid isn’t exactly helping your case. Quinn left before the program ended, but he worked with Scott and Cregg. Admin stuff. He knew what they were doing and was apparently okay with it. So he’s as much to blame for my daughter’s condition as they are.”
That pisses Aaron off, judging from the set of his jaw, but he keeps his voice level. “My father died trying to keep Cregg from starting the program back up. So maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought.”
The two men lock stares, neither willing to look away.
Jasper is the first one to break, looking down at the sand and then up again. “Maybe I didn’t. But I knew Scott. There wouldn’t have even been a Delphi protocol if Scott Pfeifer wasn’t there with his test tubes and few dozen enlisted lab rats like me and Leah, helping Cregg play God. And since you’re standing there with your arm around his daughter, I think I’ve got good reason to be concerned.”
“Why do you assume she’s his daughter?” Aaron asks.
“Because she looks just like her mother! Because I blew up the damn balloons at her first birthday party. Watched Leah write Happy Birthday, Anna on the cake. Because I was this close to talking Leah into leaving that son of a bitch, just grabbing the baby and getting the hell out of there. With me. But no. She decided to give Pfeifer another chance, and he thanked her by blowing her brains out.”
I inhale sharply, the words hitting me like a gut punch. When Jasper sees my expression, he shakes his head in wonder or maybe disgust. “You’re telling me you didn’t know any of this? Any of it? Even if your grandparents kept you in their Holy Roller bubble, I figured Rowena would have told you something eventually.”
Feeling shaky, I stumble back to the driftwood and sit down, trying to pull myself together. It’s beyond stupid to be on the brink of tears over what Jasper just said. Even if this couple he’s talking about are my biological parents, they aren’t people I know, people I care about. They’re total strangers.
“She’s been in foster care since she was three,” Aaron says. “She doesn’t know anything about her family.”
“Who is Rowena?” I ask. “And what happened to Scott Pfeifer?”
“Rowena is Leah’s sister. She was still living with their parents last I heard, but . . . that would have been, what? Fifteen years ago, maybe. She wasn’t as smart as Leah, but she wasn’t stupid. Hopefully she’s gotten the hell out of there by now. And Scott? He confessed. Got off on an insanity plea, but there was never any doubt that he did it. There was security footage of the whole thing. Fingerprints on the gun. Witnesses who saw him . . .”
He trails off, rubbing his forehead. “Listen, the drug they gave us, it messes with your head. It messed with my head, and Scott . . . he was in the program a lot longer than I was. To be honest, he wasn’t a bad guy at the beginning. But it’s his fault that Peyton can’t have a normal life, his fault that Leah died, so you can understand my reaction, right?”
Jasper is clearly feeling bad about dumping all of this on my head at once, and yeah, I do understand his reaction, given what he’s told me. But I’m not going to admit that right now, not if I can use that bit of guilt to help Peyton.
“For now,” I tell him, “let’s put aside everything you’ve said about these people being my parents. I need to research this on my own. No offense, but it’s not something I’m inclined to simply take on faith. But I can promise you this. Regardless of whatever else this Scott Pfeifer may have done, if he was working with Graham Cregg, he and I will never be working together. Cregg kidnapped my brother and damn near killed both of us when I went in to rescue him.”
Jasper looks confused. “How do you have a brother? Leah’s dead . . .”
“My foster brother,” I clarify. “But the key point here is keeping Peyton safe, right? Cregg’s people may have been experimenting on adults
when you were in the program, but as I’m sure you’ve guessed, they’ve shifted their focus to the second generation now. When I got Deo out, Cregg had maybe fifty kids in his compound, and he wants to add more. He has money, and he has power. If we tracked Peyton down, you better believe he can, too. And when he does, that gun you’re carrying will not be enough to protect her. As noble as it might be to go out guns a-blazin’ in defense of your child, you will fail. If you want to keep your family safe, you need support. You need resources. You need a team.”
I push aside the nagging possibility that the team I’m offering him has been compromised. Snoop could be looking through my eyes, telling Graham Cregg our exact location. But I don’t believe that. I keep coming back to the words I won’t help them kill my own kind. While that could just mean humans, I’m pretty sure he was referring to his fellow adepts.
Jasper is staring down at his feet, silent. But I can tell my words hit their target. Even without the threat of Cregg grabbing his daughter, Jasper Hawkins walked in earlier this week to find his wife unconscious on the floor and his little girl in shock. Next time Peyton loses her temper, someone could end up dead. Jasper knows that. He just doesn’t want to admit it.
“The woman we’re working with,” Aaron says. “Her name is Magda Bell. I don’t think she has political connections like Cregg does, but she has money. She also has two daughters who were affected by the Delphi drug, and that gives her a pretty strong incentive to help these kids and try to find a cure.”
“So,” Jasper says, “that covers what’s in it for this Bell woman. What’s in it for you?”
“Cregg is the reason my dad is dead, the reason my sister’s best friend is dead, the reason my older brother is in a coma. The reason there are six dead kids in Fayetteville. His little science experiments are also the reason I heard every single thought running through your head both when you were storming out of the tent and again a few minutes ago when you were getting ready to slug Miranda.”
Jasper puffs up at the comment, his hand moving back toward the holster beneath his jacket.
