The Delphi Resistance (The Delphi Trilogy Book 2)

by Rysa Walker

  “Come on, man.” Aaron sighs. “You were about to hit her. And you probably wouldn’t have stopped at a single punch once you got rolling. But you pulled your shit together at the last second. That took a lot of control, I know it did, because I could feel the rage, the same way I felt my dad’s growing up. We kept seven punching bags—the big, heavy-duty kind—in our three-bedroom split-level, so he’d have a place to vent when his blood started boiling.”

  “So it’s revenge.” There’s no judgment in Jasper’s words, just a simple statement.

  “Partly,” Aaron admits. “But I’ve got people to protect, too. My family. Anna. I also feel some responsibility toward the kids Cregg’s still holding. Assuming he hasn’t gone on a full-blown killing spree, I’d like to help them, too.”

  Jasper asks questions for the next several minutes—questions about Aaron’s dad, about this family that I’ve never met, about the Delphi Project in general. But it’s clear that he’s just poking our story for holes at this point. Without the anger animating his face, the circles under his eyes are much more apparent, and a lot of the energy has drained out of him. He looks like a windup toy that’s down to the last few clicks of the key.

  “How is Peyton doing?” I ask when there’s a slight pause in his interrogation. Maybe I can shift the conversation back to the reason we’re here. “Is she still upset?”

  “Comes and goes,” he says. “She slept a lot that first day, partly thanks to Ambien. And yes, I checked the dosage online.”

  Jasper scans my expression, clearly expecting me to judge him. And while part of me is indeed troubled that he drugged a preschooler with prescription sleep meds, Peyton isn’t a normal four-year-old. So I just nod and give him a weak smile.

  “I thought it was a good sign that she asked about her mama and TJ last night. We did a video call, and Randa joked with her a little. But nights are always the worst. She must’ve had a nightmare about the whole thing and woke up angry at herself again. Camping gear was floating around the tent when her crying woke me up. I just sat there and rocked her back and forth until she fell asleep. She’s still sleeping . . . not sure how she’ll take it if she wakes up and sees Miranda there, but we’re going to have to risk it at some point.”

  I’m surprised to see tears coursing down Jasper’s cheeks. That makes me a little nervous, because I suspect he’s not a man who likes people seeing him cry. But he just wipes his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

  “They told us to wait six months after we got out of the program before having kids. I waited more than six years. Even then I was worried, and if it’d been entirely up to me . . .” He sighs, shaking his head. “But then I met Miranda, and she didn’t want TJ to grow up an only child, so I gave in. Don’t get me wrong. I love Peyton. I’d do absolutely anything to protect her. But what kind of life is she going to have with that thing in her head? Sometimes I think we’d be better off if we’d all just died.”

  I assume he means his family, but then he adds, “We thought we dodged the bullet, but I’m thinking now that the ones who went crazy, the ones who removed themselves from the equation before they had others to worry about—they were the lucky ones.”

  Jasper remains quiet for a very long time. He’s clearly weighing his concern about trusting anyone else with his daughter’s safety against his hope for her future. It’s not an easy silence, and Aaron opens his mouth once, clearly needing to fill it. But I squeeze his arm to stop him. If twelve years of being in psychotherapy have taught me nothing else, it’s that the biggest breakthroughs usually follow this type of uncomfortable silence.

  Eventually, Jasper huffs out a long breath. His expression is one of disgust, and I’m positive he’s going to tell us to keep away from him and his family. But he surprises me.

  “If you think you can help Peyton, have at it. But Miranda and I will be there. We’ll be watching. I will be watching to be sure that you are in no way connected to either Scott Pfeifer or Graham Cregg. And if I find out you are, you’ll both answer to me.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Carova Beach, North Carolina

  November 6, 2019, 2:34 p.m.

  “What game are you playing?”

  Peyton Hawkins glances up at my question, but only for a second, and then her eyes drift back to the phone in her hand. “The one wif the flierfries. It’s hard.”

  Carl Peck’s assessment of her as a cute little bug pretty much sums her up. She has Miranda’s dark eyes, but otherwise looks like a slightly darker version of her father, especially now with her brow furrowed in concentration over her game.

  “Can I watch you play?” I ask.

  She nods, still not looking away. I sit on the love seat next to her and watch as she taps little blips of light dancing through a forest. Okay, she meant fireflies. That makes more sense now.

  After extended deliberation this morning, Miranda and Jasper decided Peyton was probably ready to leave the island. Jasper said he’d bring her across the bay after she’d had time to wake up a bit, and if she was willing, I could talk to her then.

  On the boat ride across the Sound, Miranda kept shooting me angry looks—no, I think hurt might be a better word. Based on her husband’s first reaction to seeing me, I’m guessing she’s had to listen to Jasper talking about this Leah person quite a bit over the years.

  So, in an effort to build goodwill, I volunteered to help Miranda with the house they were scheduled to clean, since Jasper wouldn’t be around until later. When we pulled up in front of the place, I understood instantly what Miranda meant when she called it a beast. It’s enormous—more like a hotel, really. There’s a wonderfully gaudy sign hanging from the deck that reads, Isle of View, with the words painted over a kissing couple wearing old-timey bathing suits. The place itself is shaped like an inverted Y, with two wings facing the beach and the third pointing back toward the Sound. Miranda tells me that there are twenty-four bedrooms and an equal number of baths, two elevators, a commercial kitchen, a movie room, and a huge pool. There’s a smaller guesthouse at the back, and a storage building. It sits on over ten acres of land, with a large, undeveloped lot to the north and another lot with a vacant house to the south.

  Large. Isolated. Sunshine. Fresh Air.

  The place fits all of Magda’s criteria. And it’s for sale.

  I sent a text, with a photo of the exterior and the beach, before we even got out of the truck. Magda didn’t respond, but she definitely got the message. The property management company called about twenty minutes after Miranda and I started cleaning, telling her not to bother winterizing—and no, I still don’t know what that means—because a European family had called to book the estate through the end of the year.

  Things move wicked fast when you have money.

  Luckily for us, only about a third of the house’s bedrooms and baths were used for the last event. Despite that, it still took nearly four hours to clean. Aaron offered to stay and help, but I reminded him that checkout time at the hotel was noon, and someone needed to fetch Taylor, Deo, and their little fur baby. There was a clear look of relief on his face as he pulled away in the truck. Maybe that was due to this awkwardness that seems to have settled into our relationship when we’re between life-threatening crises. Or maybe he just hates housecleaning.

  Personally, I was happy for the physical labor. I’m used to scouring the floor at the deli when I’m on night shift, and I’ve done pretty much every other housekeeping chore imaginable at the various group and foster homes where I’ve lived. The bed linens weren’t as soft in the foster homes, and any view was usually obscured by bars on the windows, but if you’ve scrubbed one toilet, you’ve scrubbed them all.

  The physical activity also kept me from obsessing over everything Jasper said this morning. Miranda blasted hip-hop and dance music through the house’s sound system, and I let the music flow through me and cleaned to the beat. There were a number of chores, like changing the sheets, that were simply a lot easier with two sets of h
ands. By the time we marked the last item off the cleaning checklist, Miranda seemed much more at ease around me.

  Jasper pulled in about five minutes later, conveniently avoiding any work. He stayed just long enough to bark a few orders at Miranda—don’t leave me alone with Peyton, keep an eye on us at all times, and be ready to leave by four. Then he took off to pick up TJ from school.

  Miranda spent a long time talking with Peyton outside by the pool before introducing us. When they finally joined me in the great room, Miranda cast a nervous glance at the shelves, which are lined with fragile, expensive-looking curios. Several dozen wineglasses are suspended in neat rows from the cabinets above the bar. And then, of course, there are the large plate-glass windows that face the ocean. Peyton seems pretty relaxed right now, but I still hope Magda sprang for renter’s insurance.

  After Miranda introduced us, we snagged three of the ice-cream bars left behind in the freezer. Then, once Peyton seemed comfortable with me, Miranda stretched out one of the sofas, saying she was going to take a nap. I’m certain she had no intention of sleeping. It was just a way to give me and Peyton the semblance of privacy and still tell Jasper that she didn’t leave me alone with their daughter.

  Peyton now peeks up from tapping the fireflies and sneaks a look at me. I smile but don’t push it. It would be best for her to relax, to get used to me, before I try to talk to her about being an adept. So I alternate between watching her play and sitting silently next to her, looking out at the wide expanse of ocean. The motion of the waves is hypnotic, and between the physical exertion and my lack of sleep, I could almost drift off.

  “Whoops,” Peyton says as I stifle a yawn. “I always miss that one ’cause he flies so fast.”

  “You’re doing a really good job, though.”

  “Not as good as TJ,” she says. “Do you know TJ?”

  “I do. We dropped him off at school this morning.”

  “He likes school,” she says, her lip jutting out petulantly. “But I can’t go yet. Mama says maybe one day, but only if I learn to keep my monkey in the box.”

  “Monkey?”

  “Mmhmm. The one in here.” She presses four chubby fingers to her right temple and then goes back to the game.

  “Ohhhh. That monkey. Did your mom tell you I have a monkey, too?”

  That finally pulls her attention away from the game. “Does it throw stuff like mine does?”

  I laugh. “Not exactly. But it does cause me all sorts of trouble . . . or at least it did before I taught it to behave.”

  It’s hard to decipher the look she gives me, but there seems to be a hint of guilt in there, so I quickly add, “That’s not something you can do on your own, though. I had a teacher to show me how. When I was just a little bit older than you, she taught me to build a sort of cage.”

  She considers that for a moment. “Does your monkey have to stay in the cage all the time? Or can you take him out and play?”

  “Well, he comes out sometimes. I just have to be careful. Do you like to play with . . . your monkey?”

  A muffled snort comes from the couch. Miranda is definitely awake, and yes, the monkey metaphor is starting to get a little twisted. I’m not the one who came up with it, however.

  Peyton nods. “It makes TJ laugh when I float things. He wishes he could do it too.”

  Ah-ha. Not surprising that a little sister wouldn’t want to entirely let go of the one thing she can do that her big brother can’t. That raises a question that has been nagging at me every time Magda or one of the others talks about a drug to reverse the effects of the serum. How many kids would want to take it if doing so meant losing something that’s part of them? Even if they don’t want to take it, will they have a choice? What if their parents want them to take it, but they’d prefer not to?

  All of those questions are completely hypothetical until we actually have a cure, however. So I push them aside and focus on reassuring her.

  “You need to learn to control it, but keeping it caged all of the time can be tough. The friend who helped me made sure I had a safe space. A place where I could be myself without worrying. But when I was around other people—people who might not understand, people who might . . .”

  Who might want to hurt her? Use her? Probably not the best approach when talking to a four-year-old, especially when she’s already upset.

  While I’m fumbling for the right words, Peyton steps in. “You mean people who might want to steal me because of the monkey? Mama ’splained about that when those men scared us at the piggy store. That’s why we had to leave our old house and TJ had to go to a new school. And why we have to share a room and we can’t see Nana and Papa like we used to. And it’s my fault.”

  Peyton states all of this in a very matter-of-fact fashion, but her mouth is trembling slightly by the end. She’s only a year older than I was when I was abandoned, and I wonder how much she’ll remember in a few years. Hopefully she’ll have happier memories to overwrite all of this.

  “No, Peyton,” I tell her firmly. “It’s not your fault. But you can make it better by training that monkey in your head. My friend, the lady who helped me build that cage I mentioned, might be coming to visit in a few days. Would you like to talk to her? Her name is Dr. Kelsey—”

  Peyton squinches up her nose. “I don’t like doctors. Or nurses. They use needles.”

  “Not this doctor. I’m scared of needles, too. But I’ve known Kelsey since I was only a little older than you, and she’s never given me a shot. Never ever. We just talk and sometimes play games to help my brain get stronger. No shots. Pinky promise.”

  I hold out my pinky. As Peyton curls her finger around mine, I remember the needles in the blood-collection kit that Magda sent. Something in my expression must change, because Peyton frowns.

  “No needles. My monkey does not like needles.” She holds my gaze, and it’s impossible to miss her implicit warning.

  A tiny chill travels up my spine at this glimpse into what Miranda and Jasper Hawkins must face every day. Unlike most preschoolers, who at their worst might pitch a temper tantrum or hurl their broccoli onto the floor, Peyton is a loaded weapon.

  “No needles.” I hold her gaze until she’s satisfied that I mean it.

  And I do mean it. Mostly because I don’t want to lose the girl’s trust, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there’s a bit of fear in the mix. If Magda wants a blood sample from Miss Peyton, she’ll have to get it herself.

  I’m watching Jasper’s truck retreat down the beach toward their fishing cabin when my phone buzzes with a text from Deo.

  About an hour away. Stopping in Corolla for groceries and Chinese. Veggie lo mein?

  I tell him yes, and he tells me I’m too predictable.

  While I wait, I’m tempted to go for a run on the beach, but I’m in Taylor’s fur-lined boots, which aren’t exactly suited for running. Instead, I take a shower, then walk around on the upper deck taking in the fresh air and the view. Afterward, I stretch out on one of the lounge chairs, watching the seagulls swoop along the shoreline. A lone pelican circles above them, dive-bombing the waves every few minutes in search of dinner.

  The view and salt air are a nice change of pace after nearly a week cooped up in the RV. Once the sun sets, however, I realize exactly how deserted this section of beach is this time of year. There’s only one house with lights on, and it’s at least a mile away.

  I’ve never in my entire life been this far from another living, breathing human being.

  This sense of absolute solitude is so eerie that I turn inward to check on my hitchers. What better way to remind myself that I’m never really alone? Hunter is no longer curled up in an unresponsive heap, but he doesn’t seem ready for interaction with me yet. Any time he senses that I’m poking around in the corners of my mind, he retreats behind Molly’s cabinet and tries to make himself as tiny, dim, and inconspicuous as possible. That’s pretty normal—even with my adult hitchers, it takes a while to adjust to the fact
that your body is gone and you’ve taken up residence in someone else’s head. Jaden and Daniel have been unusually quiet today. I guess they didn’t have any helpful tips on cleaning a giant beach house.

  Jaden snorts softly.

  That’s part of it. But personally, I figured there’s been enough noise in here today without me adding to it. You got so many thoughts and questions about Jasper’s little revelation that it’s like bein’ in a damn subway station.

  But . . . I haven’t been thinking about any of that. I’ve been working.

  The front of your head may not have been thinking about it, but back here in the cheap seats? Girl, you’ve been in full freak-out mode all damn day.

  Daniel is clearly in agreement, and before Hunter can chime in to make it unanimous, I promise them I’ll call Kelsey tonight.

  The breeze coming in off the ocean is too chilly now that the sun is gone, so I retreat into the house and start the fireplace. I turn the music back on as well, because no matter how noisy it may be inside my head, it’s way too quiet for my liking on the outside.

  A flash of headlights catches my eye a little while later. I go to the window, expecting to see the truck. To my surprise, however, it’s Michele Quinn’s lavender Jeep. Deo and Taylor exit from the passenger side, and my jaw literally drops when Kelsey slides out from behind the wheel. I guess I won’t have to call her after all.

  When the elevator door opens, Deo looks around and gives a long appreciative whistle. “I approve the new digs,” he says, dropping two grocery bags on the counter.

  I take the bags Kelsey is holding and give her a one-armed hug. “I thought it would be at least a few days from what you said on the phone.”

  She shrugs. “My two remaining clients are adults, and I’ve worked with them for years. Phone or video sessions will suffice until we find another therapist they like. I don’t think that would work so well with a four-year-old, however, and Magda Bell has—temporarily, at least—added me to your team.”