by Danah Logan
After we disconnect, George has me learn the phone numbers backward and forward. When he's satisfied that I finally have them etched into my brain, he provides me with coffee and granola bars. That he doesn't bust out MREs from one of his green trunks surprises me a bit. We have several storage bins in the basement that contain Meals Ready-to-Eat. As Dad always says, "You never know when you can use them." So far, we haven’t needed them, and I'm sure some date back to a Pre-Rhys or Lilly time.
The wait for Lilly to wake up is excruciating. I need to find something to pass the time.
"So…" I tentatively probe, "were you in the military or what?"
George, who is head deep in one of the fireproof cabinets yet again, turns to me. "I was."
"Is that where you got that, uh…scar?" I don’t know if I’m brave or utterly stupid.
"Yes."
I shouldn’t, but I ask anyway. "What happened?"
Staring past me, he remains quiet for several moments, and I assume that means he won't tell me shit. His eyes swivel back to me. "I haven't spoken about that in over twenty-five years."
"Why?"
"Most people are not as intrusive as you, Rhys." He might as well have said suicidal.
"Most people are scared shitless by you."
Fuck my stupid mouth.
"And you are not?" Eyebrows raised, he means to look intimidating, but he can’t hide the smirk.
No one probably ever challenges him, looking like the child of Kylo Ren and Matt Addison before he fully turned Nemesis. As obsessed as Lilly is about all the Blade movies, I’m the same way with the Star Wars and Resident Evil franchises—movies, video games, you name it.
George seems to enjoy me having no control over my trap. I'm also pretty good at reading people, and he has shown, on many occasions since yesterday, that he cares about Lilly, and even her psycho brother. He won't hurt me—much.
"Not really. Not anymore, at least," I admit. "You care about Lilly in a way I don’t fully get yet, but you do care. You protect her, and that tells me you're not all that bad." I shrug and grin at the man.
"I was on a mission—the details of what or where are not important. I was distracted, and the enemy used that to their advantage. They overpowered me—six to one." I lean forward in my seat as George keeps talking in a detached voice. "I was able to incapacitate three, but my strength was dwindling fast. I had been on recon all night. One was able to get close and sliced a knife across my stomach, stabbed my right kidney." He lifts his shirt and reveals a just as gruesome scar as on his face. Before I can exclaim how fucked up that is, he continues. "His mistake was coming close, and I returned the favor." The diabolical grin spreading across his face makes my blood run cold. Maybe I should be scared for myself. "I was losing blood fast, and the last two managed to pin me down. They told me they would use me to set an example; they planned to cut my face off, return me to my unit, and use it as a warning." Bile starts to rise in my throat, but George is oblivious. "One was sitting on my legs, the other on the chest. He had just started cutting when a bomb somewhere nearby went off. That was my chance. They jumped from the explosion and gave me the leverage on my body to kick them off. Unfortunately, the knife was still close to my face." He traces his scare almost subconsciously. "I was told that I overpowered both and stabbed them a combined eighty-three times. The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital."
"HO-LY FUCK!" My mouth hangs open, and I'm not sure what the appropriate response here is.
I squeeze as much information out of George as I can—once you get past the scary exterior, the guy is like a wet dream for badass war stories. Don't ask me why, but he answers every question I throw at him. We already established that I'm nosy as fuck, so I guess he has resigned himself to my intrusive personality. Most of his replies are completely expressionless, though, as if he detaches himself from recalling the memories. He’s just shown me the new scope he got for the AR-15 at this location—he wouldn’t divulge how many others he has—when we are interrupted by Nate's voice.
It probably wasn't the most genius idea to provoke Psycho with my bonding with his head of security, but I couldn't stop myself. It made me feel like shoving both middle fingers in his face and doing a whole na-na, na-na, na dance. He deserves so much more after what he has put my family and me through.
George leaves my favorite accessory in his secret lair. I look at him curiously as he drops the black cloth on one of the cots on the way out, but he ignores me. When he leads me to the backseat, he says I need to lie down until we're out of city limits. I stare at him, and he deadpans, "Traffic cameras." The duh afterward was not spoken out loud but written all over his face. That makes four facial expressions total, and I want to pat my own back. We've totally bonded over the last twenty-four hours.
Occasionally, he quizzes me on the phone numbers; I'm proud to say that I can rattle them off like they've been part of me for years.
I replay the conversation I had with Lilly before it was time to leave. She told me that Nate has to go to LA for the weekend, and that's one of the reasons it'll be another week before she can come home. The alarm bells in my head immediately start to shrill when she mentions the word alibi. Yes, her reason makes sense, but I can’t shake the feeling that she’s hiding something from me. Of course, my brain goes to the worst-case scenarios, like she's not coming home, or he won't take responsibility after all. What happened to these poor girls will never be rectified. Lastly, even though I know deep down it’s bullshit, my mind goes down the rabbit hole of Nate not being her biological brother, and this is all a big fat lie. She is with him and will never come home. I keep shaking my head several times at that thought. I. Trust. Lilly.
Eventually, George asks me if I'm having some sort of seizure. I guess I'm still shaking my head, and after a deep breath, I ask flat out, "Is Nate really Lilly's brother?"
George's eyebrows knit together as he looks at me, puzzled, through the rearview mirror. I push further. "I mean, how do we know? After all, he kidnaps little girls for fun."
With squealing tires, George brings the car to a standstill on the side of the deserted road. We're in the middle of nowhere in the state of New Jersey. I curse myself once again for my stupid mouth. He may be my new BFF, but I'm pretty sure his loyalty lies with Nate first.
George turns in his seat and pins me down with a glare. "I want you to listen to me very carefully, Rhys. Nate has his faults, but he is Miss Lilly’s biological brother. I made sure of that as soon as Nate informed me that he had found her. I have known of Miss Lilly for years, but neither of us was able to locate her. Once I had the DNA proof, I did most of the work. I followed Miss Lilly, not Nate. You can say what you want about him and his past, but he loves his sister. He would do anything for her. If she'd ask him to turn himself over tomorrow, he would. However, both of them need closure. There are a lot more questions to be answered. And Nate needs to make sure Miss Lilly is taken care of. I worked for Mr. Altman for years before his death. I kept in the background after that, but when Miss Payton died, I made myself available to Nate. Someone had to look after him. His mother and sister's death broke him. After everything Mr. Altman had done for me, that was the least I could do. You need to trust your girlfriend to do the right thing. This past week has not been easy for her, either. If she keeps something from you, she has her reasons."
My mouth hangs open, and I stare at George wide-eyed. This is the first time he has spoken like this about Nate, and it makes it clear that he cares about him in a way that goes beyond employer and head of security. I simply jerk my head up and down.
We're quiet for the rest of the drive, and eventually, I lie back down in the seat, not even caring to see the route.
Chapter Twenty-One
It’s past seven in the evening when we arrive back in Westbridge. When the car comes to a halt, I don't bother getting up. I know the drill and wait for George to bark the next order at me.
Through the gap between the front sea
ts, I see him typing on his phone before he lifts it to his ear. "We're here." Pause. "Nine minutes. Send the message. I will text you when it's time." Another pause. "Yes, understood."
When he places the phone on the armrest in the middle, I can't contain my curiosity. "Time for what?"
George turns around for the first time since giving me the lecture about Nate and trusting Lilly. "To cut the power."
That does make me sit up. "What?"
"I have to get you back in the house unseen. Furthermore, into the guest room that everyone believes you’ve been in for the past twenty-four hours."
Oh.
"What’s the plan?" I’m genuinely curious.
"We can’t cut the security feed unnoticed; therefore, your friend will flip the breakers from inside the house. The only cameras with night-vision capability are the ones outside and at the main entrances."
"Uh, and how do we get in if they will still see us?"
George flashes me a wide, toothy grin that makes alarm bells shrill in my ears fire-engine-siren style.
I. AM. SO. FUCKED.
Yup, fucked indeed. After, once again, stomping through the shrubbery of Denielle's parents' backyard property for God knows how long, we emerge at the southeast end of the house near the kitchen. I can see the freaking SUV on the other side of the fence from where we're sitting ducked between two massive planters. George pulls out his phone, set to the dimmest brightness; I have no idea what he is doing even though I am right next to him. He types several words and pockets the device again. I try to catch his eye, but he stares at something along the wall I can't identify.
Suddenly, the entire house goes dark, and a few seconds later, something hits me on the head from above.
Mother—
I look up and wait for my eyes to adjust to the complete darkness. The "something" is a free-climbing rope Oliver must've left behind when he went to college. I remember this was one of his hobbies growing up. It's hanging down from the third story window, and a head peeks out from above. I glance over, and George's Pennywise grin is back.
Just. Great.
He gestures at me, then at the window, and I mouth, "What?"
He points again, and I get what he expects me to do. "You're not fucking serious?" I keep my voice low, but I might as well have shouted; it's that silent.
Pennywise turns his usual self again. "Get your ass up that rope and into the house. You have three minutes before the backup generator kicks in, and then you can kiss the phone in your pocket goodbye. Nate was very clear about what to do when you don't follow the plan. And this is the plan."
My inner five-year-old comes out, and I mumble, "Nate can kiss my ass!"
George starts reaching for the pocket I stashed the phone in, and I jump backward. "Jeez, dude. Chill out. I’m going!" He seriously would’ve taken the phone back. Fucker.
The grin is back on George's face. He is enjoying himself immensely, and for the first time, I have the urge to clock my new friend. Scary or not.
I wrap the rope around my calf and ankle and grasp it with both hands. One more look to the side and I'm off. Thankfully, this is something we do regularly during practice, and I reach the window's ledge in no time. Wes grabs me by the belt loop and hauls me into the room. We land ungracefully on the floor, and before I can say anything, Wes has the rest of the rope pulled into the house, the window shut, and is dragging me across the hallway into another room. The door closes behind us, and when I turn, I see Denielle leaning against it. She scans every inch of me—probably for injuries—while both her hands cover her mouth.
"You're back," she breathes out.
Without another word, she launches herself at me. My arms instinctively wrap around her. Wes’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I glance over at my best friend of ten years. Standing here, the last day seems unreal.
I'm sitting at the foot of the bed in the guest room I supposedly have occupied since arriving here last night. Denielle and Wes take the floor, sitting oddly close together—shoulders, hips, and knees touching. I cock my head and examine them closer. There is nothing romantic going on, but everyone's relationships are shifting. Denielle and Wes are growing closer while I'm drifting apart from my friends—and girlfriend. A sharp pain shoots through my jaw, and I realize I’ve been grinding my teeth.
"So…?" Denielle looks at me expectantly.
Guilt travels upward, coating my throat. I want to tell them that Lilly will be home soon, but I am not allowed to reveal anything but the agreed-upon story. All I can do is channel my mask—the façade I've perfected over the years. Don't show your true feelings and most importantly, lie your ass off. I pray my friends will forgive me.
"This cannot leave this room. This has to stay between the three of us." I level both with the George-face—stoic and serious. "I am telling you as much as I can—am allowed to."
Before I can continue, Wes interjects, "Allowed to? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
And it’s already starting.
I have difficulty swallowing. I want to blurt everything out, but one, it wouldn't be fair to Lilly—it's her life, past, and future. And two, if I'm honest, Nate still scares the crap out of me, despite what I said to George earlier. He’s a genius with the computer, and I'm a little worried about what he could do to me on a cyber level.
I sigh. "Please just let me get it all out."
Wes opens his mouth again, but Denielle places a hand on his knee, and some silent communication passes between them.
Fucking perfect.
I lean forward with my elbows on my thighs, hands clasped, and start talking toward the floor, making sure I stick to the script. "As I said, I am telling you everything I'm allowed to. In the end, this is Lilly's story; she needs to tell it to you, not me." I lift my head and make sure both my friends see how serious I am. "She is safe. She is not harmed in any way—besides the injuries she sustained from the car accident. She is healthy." Denielle's eyebrows rise, and I amend, "Lilly crashed the Jeep because she was avoiding a fox that ran across the road. He did not run her off as the feds suspected. She has a cut on her forehead, and her shoulder was injured. But both are healing."
"Did she tell you who the psycho is when you talked to her?" I don’t think I have ever seen Wes this angry. Unsettled. He is the goofy one, always a joke or sarcastic remark ready.
Here comes lie number one. "No." I pause to collect my thoughts. "I video-chatted with her—saw her. She is telling the truth. Her…"—I can’t bring myself to use the word kidnapping anymore—"disappearance, then and now, has something to do with her past. With her…family. She is trying to get the answers she needs to be able to move on. She wants to come home, but other things have to fall into place first."
I don’t think I could be more vague if I tried.
"Do you know when she’s coming home?" Denielle asks fervently.
Lie number two. "No. She didn't say, and I'm not sure she knows."
"Where is she? Why can’t she figure all this stuff out from here? Why would she stay with this…person? WHO. IS. THIS. GUY?" Denielle is starting to work herself up. She’s worried about her best friend, and I can't fault her.
"I didn’t get to talk to her for long." Lie number three.
"THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT!" Wes jumps up and storms out of the room, slamming the door so hard that the picture on the wall crashes to the floor.
My head swivels from the door to Denielle, who is slowly getting up. I have to peer up at her from my position.
Lilly’s best friend inhales deeply before she opens her mouth. "Wes is... He’s been fighting with his parents to cover for you, lying to your parents. That psycho has been blowing up our phones with instructions. Wes hasn't slept. He was worried sick that crazy-scar-dude was going to kill you. And you just lied to our faces like it's nothing. I hope you have some pretty good reasons for that, because I'm not sure Wes will forgive you otherwise."
With those parting words, she turns and follows my best fr
iend.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I don’t know if I can do this.
I stare at Rhys’s text. Nate and I are sitting at the kitchen table, ready to eat dinner, when my phone lights up. I haven't let it out of my sight since my brother informed me that they're on their way to Westbridge. I’ve forced myself not to message Rhys, even though that's all I want to do. He seemed as okay as he could be when we disconnected, but I can only assume what's going on in his head. He's forced to lie to everyone. Again. The more I think about it, the less appealing the homemade pizza in front of me looks.
George dropped him off about an hour ago and has stayed in the vicinity of Den's house in case he's needed. I could tell he was worried about Rhys when he called in for the status update. Nate made a scoffing sound at George's suggestion to stick around, and I elbowed him in the ribs. As weird as it is that he and George connected, it's a huge relief for me. It was no surprise that Rhys has issues with my brother—who wouldn't?
"What does Loverboy have to say?" Nate mumbles while shoving almost an entire slice into his mouth.
"Has no one ever taught you to not speak with a full mouth?" It was meant as a joke but came out much harsher as I glance at the screen again. My chest tightens, and I force myself to inhale and exhale to the count of five.
Nate looks at me for an indefinable amount of time. "He can’t handle it, can he?"
I flip the phone over so my brother sees the text.
"Fucking great. I knew it," he curses under his breath.
