by Rysa Walker
“Um. Don’t yell at me, okay, because I’m just as horrified as you are. That’s my baby sister in there. And . . . there’s less of an age gap between Taylor and Deo than between you and me.”
“But that’s different! Deo is just a kid.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. I had a very clear view, and I can promise you he’s not just a kid.”
His lip quivers, holding back a laugh. I stare at him for a moment, and then join him, even though there’s a part of me—and not just the part that is occupied by Daniel—that wants to storm back into the RV, yank her out of that room, and . . . and . . .
Ask her intentions?
“I don’t even know if Deo has protection. I mean, we’ve discussed it. And I’m sure he’s talked about sex with Kelsey, but . . .”
“Yeah. Probably not an issue. I don’t think it’s Taylor’s first time at the rodeo. She had a steady boyfriend last year. They dated for about eight months until she got bored with him. I made sure she was . . . safe. I’m thinking Mom did, too.”
That prompts another roar from behind the walls.
“Daniel seems to be saying that is not the decision he’d have made regarding Taylor’s sex life.”
“Yeah, well, I’m her brother, not her parent. Same goes for Daniel.”
And even though Aaron doesn’t add it, I know what he’s leaving unsaid. I’m not Deo’s parent, either.
We sit there for a moment, and then Aaron says, “Do you think they’re done?”
I lean back against the seat and take a few deep breaths. It’s partly to keep Daniel at bay but also to keep myself from erupting into nervous laughter again.
“Deo’s fifteen,” I say. “I think it’s a pretty safe bet that they’re done.”
“Good point. They’ve probably already started again.”
“No! Stop that!” I punch him on the shoulder, and we both laugh as he pulls me close. “It will be hard enough to erase that visual without you talking about sequels.”
“So . . . do we say anything to them?”
He’s shaking his head even as he asks the question, and I join him. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.
As it turns out, it’s a moot point. They’re both in the main room when we come in. It’s instantly clear from Deo’s slightly sheepish expression and Taylor’s totally defiant one that they know we know.
Taylor finds the pizza with anchovies and grabs a slice. “Hmm . . . it’s kind of cold. What took you guys so long? Did you stop and make out on the way back?”
Deo rolls his eyes. “Really, Taylor?”
“No. We were back early as I’m pretty sure you’re aware. But . . .”
I stop and take a long look at Deo. He’s probably six feet tall now, but in my mind’s eye, he will always be the eight-year-old boy who tried so hard to be tough, to take whatever life dished out. Who looked at me like I was a hero when I stood up for him, when I stopped someone older who should have been protecting him, not hurting him. That wasn’t something he expected from a stranger. It wasn’t even something he expected from his family.
“But that’s between you two. None of my business. And we have other things to worry about.”
We fill them in on what we learned about Jaden’s mother and Aaron’s concern that this might be part of a larger operation by the Creggs.
Taylor’s face falls. “God, that’s awful. If only we’d gotten here a few days earlier. But, hey . . . at least we have some good news. I found where they’re keeping Hunter’s sister and the others. That’s . . .” She stops and gives Deo a sly smile. “That’s what we were celebrating. Earlier.”
Deo blushes. Taylor obviously likes teasing him, which makes me kind of want to smack her again.
“Really?” I say through clenched teeth. “That’s great. Where is it?”
“Upstate New York. Way upstate. Close to the Canadian border. I’m positive I’ve got the right area, but there are four or five houses nearby. I’m still nailing down exactly which house is the one over the pit.”
“The pit?” Aaron says.
“Well, to be more accurate, it’s a silo. That’s why I kept seeing round walls. Some company renovated a bunch of old missile silos a few years back. Turned them into doomsday bunkers. There are rooms below, and that’s where they’re keeping the kids. But the house on top is pretty ordinary looking. And I still need to get a better sense of the layout inside the bunker.”
“I don’t like the sound of that word,” Aaron says. “Bunker. How the hell are the four of us supposed to break into a bunker?”
“No, kemosabe. Anna’s flash-forward showed the two”—Taylor forks two fingers at me and Aaron—“of you. Not the four of us.”
Aaron gives her an unamused look. “Taylor, as always, you are a ray of sunshine.”
We dive into the pizza. And when Taylor goes over to the fridge to grab a drink, I follow.
“Remember what you said to me about Aaron a few months back at Kelsey’s beach house?” I ask in a low whisper.
Her eyes narrow slightly, but she nods. I wait, raising my brows to indicate that I want her to actually say the words.
“I remember,” she hisses. “I said not to hurt him.”
“Exactly. That goes double for you with Deo. Understood?”
Waltham, Massachusetts
December 18, 2019, 6:49 p.m.
Jaden has control when we approach the coffin at the front of the funeral parlor. It’s closed, adorned with a single wreath of white roses. Small white candles flicker on the low tables in front of the coffin. The air is heavy with the scent of sandalwood. Soft music combined with the sound of birds and falling water plays in the background. Next to the casket, propped up on an easel, is a large family portrait. I’m guessing it was taken at least five years ago, since it shows a slightly younger Mr. Park and an awkward-looking adolescent version of Jaden, standing behind a small woman with neat dark hair and a round face. None of them look comfortable in their formal clothes, but they all smile dutifully for the camera.
We waited until the end of the visitation period, hoping that friends and colleagues would have come and gone. And for the most part, they have. Two women—Jaden’s aunts—continue to hover around Mr. Park, who looks like he’s very ready for this day to be over.
Although I wish we could give Jaden real privacy, that luxury isn’t exactly easy to come by inside my head. At least we’re quiet, though. Hunter picked up on Jaden’s mood and is subdued for the first time since Taylor announced that she’d located his sister. Daniel has calmed down, too, possibly realizing that there are more important things to worry about right now than his sister’s chastity. But this is also the first time in the past few weeks that I’ve spent more than a second or two back here in the peanut gallery with him, and I realize there’s something deeper going on.
Daniel has faded in the past few weeks. Not a lot, but he’s definitely diminished, less present now.
It’s a subtle change, but I pick up on it quickly simply because I’ve seen it happen with my other hitchers. I’m currently watching it happen with Jaden. In the past, though, it has been a good sign. A necessary sign. It means that they’ve made their peace with death and they’re moving on. But in Daniel’s case, it’s most definitely not a good sign. It’s avoidable, or at least I hope it is, and the timing truly sucks.
Daniel can clearly tell what I’m thinking, and I expect to see anger or denial on his face. What I see instead is fear, coupled as always with obstinance.
We wait, Anna. We wait until you get those kids back to Sandalford. After that . . . we’ll talk.
I want to argue with him that we still have a few days, that his body is only a six-hour drive to the south. But Jaden doesn’t need this argument running through the back channels of his mind when he’s saying his final good-bye to his mom. He deserves better.
Later, Daniel. We will discuss this later.
Jaden runs my finger across the woman’s face in the photograph. A tear slides down m
y cheek, and then I feel a large hand on my shoulder.
“It’s Anna, right?” Mr. Park says. “And let me guess. You were one of her Park Readers.”
I have no idea what he means, but Jaden must, because my lips curl up in a smile. “Yes, sir,” he says. “She pointed me toward some very good books when I was younger. They changed my life.”
“What was your favorite?”
“Oh, that’s a tough one. There were so many. She gave me this one called The Tao of Pooh. Some stuff by Neil Gaiman. And there was a book by Mark Twain that—” Jaden stops abruptly, aware that he’s probably said too much.
He probably has said too much, because a question flickers in his dad’s eyes. “Maybe you knew my son, Jaden, from school? Though he’d have been a few years older than you. I just wondered because . . . he liked some of those books, too.”
Air rushes into my lungs as Jaden pulls in a deep breath. Decision time. We came here not knowing if he would say anything to his dad, unsure if his dad could take a second blow so soon. Yes, there are some questions that it would be nice to have answered, but the main goal was to let Jaden say good-bye to his mom.
“Yes,” Jaden says. “I knew him. We had a couple of classes together. Not at Eastbrook, but later. Before he got so . . . sick. We talked about books, mostly. Books that Mom, I mean, his mom had recommended. I know he loved her a lot.” We turn then, and he looks directly at his father. “Loved both of you a lot.”
Mr. Park bites his lip and looks back over at the photograph. “I know. And she knew that, too. It’s the oddest thing . . . She held out hope for so long that we’d find Jaden. Or that he’d find his way back to us. We even hired a detective. But then a few months ago, Sookie sat across from me at breakfast and said Jaden was gone now. That we should stop looking. And she always had a way of knowing that kind of thing, so I accepted it. Made my peace with it. I don’t know what comes after this, but maybe they’ll find each other. And maybe I’ll find them too, eventually.”
He smiles then, and even though his eyes are still red-rimmed, he does look at peace. “Thank you again for coming. It means a lot to me, and it would have meant a lot to Sookie and Jaden, too. Maybe you could think of them occasionally when you curl up with a book. That would be a good way to remember them.”
“I’ll do that.”
Mr. Park pats me on the shoulder again and then goes back over to his sisters.
Jaden rests a hand one last time on the coffin. “Sorry,” he says softly. I’m not sure if he’s talking to his mother or to me. Then he slides back, and I feel the cold wood beneath my palm.
I couldn’t do it. Not now. We’ll call him later. Maybe when I—or at least you—can tell him that gaesaeki has paid for what he did. Not just to her but to everyone.
The tone is very unJaden. I’ve never heard him this bitter, this vengeful. Which is pretty amazing when you consider that I picked him up only minutes after he was murdered.
Aaron gives me a questioning look as I approach the back pew where he’s been waiting. I shake my head, signaling that this is not a good time to discuss the matter.
Jaden doesn’t ask, but I turn around when we reach the door, giving him one last look at his family. His aunts are talking to his dad, seemingly at the same time. But Mr. Park doesn’t appear to be paying attention. He looks confused, probably trying to remember whether his wife ever mentioned a girl with dark-blue hair who liked the same books as Jaden.
I close my eyes when we get back to the truck and focus inward. Daniel is gearing up for the argument we postponed earlier, but I’m ready for him.
It’s a six-hour drive to Baltimore, and we have at least a few days before this rescue happens. We need to get you back to the hospital.
No. Not yet. I’ve seen the sketches Taylor made of the place, and you need me. First off, I know how Cregg’s security people work. I was part of that team. They may be in a new location, but their patterns, their personalities, will be the same. And second, you’re going to need me to nudge them.
No way. I’ve seen how that drains you. How it drains me, for that matter. We have the weapons we snagged from the Vigilance guards. Plus the sedatives. Once we get closer, Hunter thinks he can contact Bree, and maybe she can give the others a heads-up.
You’re counting on a lot of things falling into place.
Yes. I am. But I already know that it works, somehow, because I saw us leaving. I’m going to talk to the others tonight. We’ll take a vote.
No. The only vote that counts on this is mine. But I will compromise. You’re right. I’m almost tapped out in terms of influencing anyone. I’ll stick to helping you with logistics only. And once you get the kids to safety, I won’t argue. We’ll head right back to Baltimore and see if you can shove me back into what’s left of my body.
They’ve been doing physical therapy, Daniel. Your mom says they have you on these machines—
What about my brain, Anna? Is there physical therapy for whatever damage it suffered?
Waiting doesn’t feel right, Daniel. It’s too risky.
Doesn’t matter. I can promise you that if you drive back to Baltimore now, I will fight you. I’ll refuse to leave. I’ll grab onto your cerebellum or one of these filing cabinets and you won’t be able to evict me.
I huff in annoyance, not realizing I’ve made the sound out loud until I see Aaron’s face from the corner of my eye.
“Something wrong?”
I shake my head. “Not really. Just tired. And ready for this to be over.”
We reach the RV park a few minutes later. The lights are on inside, and I see Taylor’s silhouette through one of the windows, so at least we don’t have to worry about interrupting another make-out session. That’s a relief.
Aaron laughs when he catches my expression. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Last year, when Taylor was dating that Seth guy, I came home early one day, and they walked out of her room together. He was still pulling on his shirt. It was hard for me to reconcile the image of my little sister playing with her Disney Princess dolls with the idea of her being . . . um . . . involved with him in that same room. See? I can’t even say the words.”
“I know. But . . . it’s really less the sex side of it for me and more that I’m worried about somebody getting hurt.”
I don’t add that the specific person I’m worried about getting hurt is Deo. Taylor is older. She’s been in a relationship before. Deo has kissed exactly three people prior to Taylor. And one of those was in a game of seven minutes in heaven, so he says it really didn’t count.
I also don’t add that it’s annoying that Taylor and Deo are getting more action than we are. They occasionally get time to themselves, without chaperones.
Waltham, Massachusetts
December 18, 2019, 9:49 p.m.
The sketches of the various layers of The Pit, as Taylor has dubbed it, are more detailed now, and Taylor has pinpointed where the house above it sits on a long private drive. Judging from the satellite map, it’s an average-sized ranch house. Taylor located some photos from a real estate company that had the place listed for sale until a few months ago, when it was pulled from the market abruptly. No record of a sale or rental, just no longer on the market.
Each of the five belowground levels is stacked on top of the other. There may be levels below that, as well, but Taylor doesn’t think they’re occupied. Some of her drawings of the occupied levels are just roughly sketched rooms within a circular frame, but the fourth level down is drawn in much more detail. Bree is in the third room to the right after you enter from the staircase.
“What’s in the center area?” Aaron asks.
“A guard, maybe?” Deo says. “Or at least a monitoring station.”
“Great,” I grumble. “Even if we take out the guards on the ground floor, we’ll still have to fight our way down five levels, each of which could have its own guard.”
Aaron pushes the pages aside. “It’s probably useless to plan this out until we get clo
ser tomorrow and see if Hunter can contact his sister. And then maybe she’ll be able to . . . somehow . . . get word to Ashley.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” I say. “I saw Maria in the vision, and she’s one of the group Jaden calls The Peepers. No secrets in a place like that. Daniel and Jaden both are certain that if we can get the message to Bree, Maria will know, and then so will anyone Maria chooses to tell.”
“If that’s true,” Taylor says, “then Maria must know what the guards think. And you said some of these kids can also start fires. So, why haven’t they jumped the guards by now? Why haven’t they escaped on their own?”
I don’t have an answer to that, but Jaden does.
Some of them are kids. Just kids. And the rest of them—they’ve got nowhere to go. Like I said before, I would have loved to get a message out to my mom and dad, but until things started going bad, and Cregg’s people started “disappearing” the few adult wabbits in the place, I was happier at The Warren than I’d been anywhere else. It was the only place I didn’t feel like a freak. And I was one of the lucky ones who could go back to my family if I’d gotten out. The kids they’ve pulled in from Eastern Europe . . . they don’t have a way to get back home. If their families had enough money for travel, they wouldn’t have signed up for those jobs in the first place.
As I’m conveying what Jaden told me, my phone buzzes with a news alert. The last one was another protest, this time in Washington by a group calling itself Mothers Against Psychic Predators, who are terrified that psychics could be peeking inside their children’s minds, or maybe planting thoughts. While I totally understand their concern, some of them also seem happy to have a scapegoat—anything you don’t like about your child can now be explained away. Johnny won’t do his homework? Must be those Delphi psychics. Suzie might be gay? Subliminal messages from the psychics, obviously.
This time, the headline is Massive Outage Leaves Millions in the Dark. I nearly click to close it, but then I see the subheading—WOCAN Splinter Group Claims Credit for Attack on Texas Power Grid.
