The moment she picked up the receiver, Olivia leaned over the lip of the window and let the lasso drop down out of her sleeve.
Fully unrolled, the loop dangled just a quarter of an inch from the bottle top. Olivia was afraid that maybe she’d misjudged the distance, but if she stretched up on her tiptoes and reached her arm all the way over the lip, she could close that final quarter inch between the loop and the bottle.
Just a little more...
“What are you doing?”
Olivia jumped and spun to face Annie. The girl was standing there with a smug smile that said she knew perfectly well what Olivia was doing. She folded her arms across her chest and arched a dark eyebrow.
“Oh...” Olivia said, fumbling with her lasso, bunching it up in her fist. “Well... I...”
Mrs. Andrada had finished her call and come back to sit at the desk. She looked up through the window at the two of them.
“Can I help you, girls?” she asked, her chilly tone anything but helpful.
“We’re good,” Annie said with a wink.
Olivia was silently furious. Annie had blown her best shot. There was no way to know how long it would be before the nurse’s attention was distracted again.
Oblivious to her anger, Annie hooked her arm through Olivia’s and dragged her over to the other side of the lounge.
“Spill,” she whispered. “No wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess. You want to steal the correction fluid so you can drink it and off yourself, right?” She shook her head, pulling an overdramatic sad-clown face. “Sorry, sweetie. It won’t work. It just makes you sick. Trust me, I’ve tried it all.”
“I don’t want to off myself,” Olivia said. “I want to get out of here!”
“And stealing the liquid paper will help you do that?” Annie shot her a skeptical smirk. “You really are crazy.”
Olivia looked over at the nurses’ station, and then back at Annie. She didn’t trust the girl, but Annie had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want Olivia spending so much time with her beloved Doctor Lansen. So maybe she’d help—not out of charity, but out of the desire to get her rival out of the picture.
It was a risk, but having a partner in this particular crime would make it so much easier.
“Okay, look,” Olivia said, leaning in to Annie as if she was sharing a special confidence. “I’m trying to send a letter to my boyfriend.” She hit the word boyfriend with extra emphasis. Subtext: See, I already have a boyfriend, and have no interest whatsoever in stealing Doctor Lansen away from you.
“I miss him like crazy,” she continued, “and I want him to come bust me out of here. I need the correction fluid to cover up the address on a stamped letter I swiped from Doctor Lansen, so I can write in a different address.”
Annie looked skeptical. She seemed to be sizing Olivia up, to figure out if she was trying to pull a fast one. But it was the truth, and it seemed like Annie could tell.
“Will you help me?” Olivia asked.
At first, Annie didn’t answer. She just held Olivia’s gaze, her dark eyes slitted and challenging, that smirk still lazing around the corners of her lips. Then, she turned slowly away and strolled over to the open doorway that led into the nurses’ station.
“Hey, Ratchet!” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Come here, I want to tell you something.”
Olivia’s breath caught, and her heart was in her throat. Was Annie going to rat her out? If the nurses searched Olivia, and took away the envelope she’d stolen, she might never have an opportunity to get another one, and all her hard work would be for nothing. Had she made a terrible mistake trusting Annie?
Mrs. Andrada got up from behind the desk and stepped over to the door to talk to Annie.
“What do you want, Miss Pagliuca?” she asked coldly.
Annie looked back over at Olivia for a second and winked. Then she turned toward the nurse and slammed her own head as hard as she could against the doorframe.
The nurse swore and hit the button to summon help.
Larry arrived almost instantly with another orderly, a big, fat Samoan guy with lots of tribal tattoos. The two of them grabbed Annie by the arms and hauled her away from the doorframe, but not before she got in two more solid knocks to her own head. Blood was running down between her eyes as she stood up on her tiptoes and licked Larry’s face.
He flinched away from her with his face screwed up like a little boy who’d just been kissed by his aunt. If he’d had a free hand, he probably would have wiped his face on his sleeve to rid himself of cooties.
“Hold her, dammit,” the nurse said, filling a syringe.
This was Olivia’s chance.
She walked as casually as she could manage back to the station window. No one paid her any mind.
Annie was screeching and kicking while the nurse was trying to find a place to stick her with the needle. Olivia slung her little lasso over the lip of the window one more time, stretching as far as she could. The loop brushed softly against the bottle a few times before finally sliding down around the cap. She held her breath, lower lip clenched between her teeth, and flicked her wrist.
It worked. The noose tightened perfectly, and she was able to quickly pull the little bottle upward. There was a scary moment when it hit the lip and wobbled, threatening to slip free, but the noose held and she was able to pull the bottle the rest of the way up and over.
Once she had it, she used the string to flip it up into her good hand and palm it.
Behind her, Annie had knocked over a chair with her kicking legs, startling her and nearly making her drop the bottle. She edged cautiously around the melee, clutching her hard-won correctional fluid so tightly the little cap dug painfully into her skin. She paused, hesitating by the sofa and trying to calculate if she should wait until the orderlies dragged Annie away before leaving or try to slip past them into the hall.
An unfamiliar blond nurse grabbed Olivia’s good arm.
Her whole body went rigid with panic, ready to fight for her prize. Her skittering mind was racing, desperate and clutching at the disintegrating fragments of her precious plan.
“Go back to your room,” the blond nurse said, shoving Olivia toward the lounge door. “And stay there until this situation is under control.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Olivia said, weak with relief.
She did what the nurse instructed.
Once she got her prize back to her room, she ducked into the bathroom and pulled the letter out from its hiding place inside her cast. She set the envelope on the lip of the sink, and then used her teeth to unscrew the bottle cap. Once it was loose enough for her to open it with her good hand, she set it down on the other corner of the sink, pulled the tiny brush out, and wiped the excess fluid against the neck of the bottle.
The commotion from the lounge increased again, and she froze with the brush poised above the letter. She held her breath as she heard the Doppler effect of Annie, shrieking and swearing, as she was dragged past Olivia’s cell and down the hall to the quiet room. She still didn’t move for a beat or two after the screaming stopped, waiting to see if the orderlies would come charging into her room and rip the hard-earned brush out of her shaking hand.
When that didn’t happen she went to work, carefully covering up the old address. She plastered a thick layer of the chalky white fluid over the front of the envelope and waved it in the air, blowing on it and wrinkling her nose at the smell.
Once the fluid had fully dried, she took her pen and wrote Kieran’s address over the rough white patch. As soon as she was sure it wouldn’t smudge, she slipped the envelope back into her cast, address facing away from her moist skin.
This had to work.
* * *
Olivia sat in Doctor Lansen’s office, staring at the modest stack of outgoing mail like it was the Holy Grail. She’d already slipped the envelope out of its hiding place and tucked it under one thigh, ready to grab it as soon as an opportunity presented itself.
Th
e session was almost over, and she was running out of time. She had to do something and quickly.
As she stood to leave, she staggered, swung her cast, and knocked the outbox off the edge of his desk and onto the floor.
“Sorry,” she said. While he picked up the box, she bent down to help pick up the fallen mail. There were several envelopes, and she slipped her own into the middle of the small stack.
“Here,” she said, handing them over.
“Thanks,” he said absentmindedly, slipping the envelopes under the rubber band and setting the box back on the desk.
40
Kieran trudged through the melting slush along the path that led to the rec hall, lost in thought, gloveless hands stuffed deep in his pockets. The day was gloomy, and there was a threat of rain or snow. This time of year, it was a toss up which it would be.
Just inside the front door was the campus post office, such as it was. It was really just a wall of individual mailboxes for all the students, along with a letter drop slot and a coin-operated stamp machine. His box was number 331.
He opened the box with a tiny brass key and pulled out a hastily scrawled postcard from his mother, who was vacationing in Costa Rica. There was a slip of paper that let him know he had a larger package waiting for him up at the front office—probably also from his mother, and undoubtedly full of questionable herbal supplements and protein shakes specially formulated for “hard gainers.” Instead of actually caring about him, she was constantly sending him junk he didn’t need.
Also wedged into the narrow box was the latest issue of Video Watchdog and a padded envelope from his Hong Kong tape trader. It had to contain his long-awaited VHS copy of Heroic Trio with Michelle Yeoh, Maggie Cheung, and Anita Mui. Last and definitely least, there was a white, letter-sized envelope from some doctor.
Probably junk mail or some kind of alternative medicine scam. Thanks to his mother, he was on a lot of strange, health-and-wellness-related mailing lists.
He carried the mail over to one of the study tables and tore open the padded envelope from the tape trader. Sure enough, it was Heroic Trio. The tape was in a plain black sleeve with a Chinese label on the spine, and the English title had been handwritten with a black sharpie over the red characters. He had to restrain himself from kissing the cassette. He’d have to make sure to put his name down on the VCR sign-up sheet ASAP, so he didn’t get tape-blocked by some girl who wanted to watch Sleepless in Seattle for the fifty-billionth time.
He put the empty padded envelope and the junk mail off to one side, to toss in the trash on the way out. Then he put the precious tape into his backpack. He was about to put the magazine in there, too, but hesitated. He just couldn’t resist flipping through it for a few minutes.
He read through the Oliver Stone interview and an article about one of his favorite action movies, The Crow, but decided to save the rest for later. He always read each new issue of Video Watchdog way too fast, and was trying to stretch them out, to make them last.
He tucked the magazine away in an outside pocket of his backpack, and then grabbed the stuff he was going to throw away. When he picked up the junk mail from that doctor, he noticed something odd about it. The texture of the front of the envelope was rough and chalky in the center, where his address had been written.
Looking at the envelope more closely, he realized that the original address had been covered with a thick layer of correction fluid. He scratched at it with his thumbnail and revealed a few letters of a different, typed address beneath.
That seemed odd. If whoever sent the letter wanted to correct the address, why not just retype it? Why would they have handwritten his address?
He used his mailbox key to scrape off the rest of the correction fluid, creating a dandruffy flurry of white flakes all over his lap. The address that appeared beneath was some kind of scientific instrument wholesaler.
Seriously curious now, he ripped the envelope open, and sure enough, inside was a letter from a doctor to a scientific instrument wholesaler, complaining about a faulty part. He couldn’t imagine why on earth anyone would want this letter to go to him, instead of the intended recipient.
Then he turned the letter over and saw the handwritten message on the back.
* * *
Kieran waited in the hallway outside of Rachel’s math class, feeling like he was going to lose it. He forced himself to breathe slowly and stay calm.
The second he’d seen the message from Olivia, he’d almost run right to the parking lot and driven away, but he couldn’t leave without telling Rachel first. She was so fragile these days, and had only agreed to start going to class again this morning.
He couldn’t just disappear on her.
So he waited. It felt like forever, but eventually the bell rang and she and a chattering flock of junior high kids came tumbling out the classroom door. He noticed she wasn’t participating in any of the chatter, though.
“Kieran,” Rachel said, her worried eyes going right to him. “What is it? Did you find her?”
“I got a message...”
Before he could say anything more, she flung herself against him, squeezing him around his waist so tightly that he could barely breathe.
“Easy, kid,” he said. “Let me finish, will you?”
“Is she okay?” Rachel asked, breathless and flushed. “When is she coming back?”
This was the tricky part. Olivia’s note had begged him not to tell Rachel that she was in danger, but he didn’t want her to be scared if he just took off without any explanation.
“Listen to me,” he said, gripping her arms. “Listen, okay? I got a message from the hospital where Olivia has been recovering. They said she’s all healed up and ready to be discharged, so I’m going to go pick her up and bring her back to Deerborn.”
“That’s fantastic!” Rachel said. “But why didn’t she call me?”
“I don’t know,” Kieran said. “But...”
“Whatever,” Rachel said, cutting him off and grabbing his hand. “Let’s go!”
“Whoa, wait a minute,” Kieran said. “You’re not going anywhere. You have classes.”
“Screw my stupid classes!” she said. “I’m going with you.”
“Come on, Rachel,” Kieran said, fumbling for some kind of answer that she would accept. “You’ve missed so many days already this semester, and you’re getting seriously behind on your coursework. You know Olivia would be pissed if you skipped any more, just to pick her up. Especially when she’ll be back here before you know it.”
Rachel stopped, and looked as if she wanted to cry. But she just sniffed and nodded, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, but you bring her straight back. Seriously, don’t even stop to pee.”
Kieran smiled and put a hand to his heart.
“Deal,” he said.
41
As Kieran drove down the long, winding road to the town of Westley, a rough plan started to form.
He thought about the package his mother had just sent him, via SpeedyShip. She always used SpeedyShip.
Kieran remembered a time when she’d sent him a huge, utterly ridiculous celebrity exercise machine that he couldn’t have used even if he wanted to, because of his heart. She’d gotten it as a free gift from some kind of television endorsement deal, and decided to ship it to him “for his little friends at the school to use.”
Of course, if she ever actually spoke to him, she would have known that he didn’t have any friends, big or little. Not to mention the fact that Deerborn already had a full, state-of-the-art gym facility for the athletically inclined, and didn’t need a MegaFit Thigh-Blaster 2000.
He’d had to convince one of the custodians to give him a ride in his pick-up truck, so he could go get the damn thing from the SpeedyShip warehouse over in Waltham. They took it straight to the nearest thrift shop and donated it without even bothering to open the box.
But thanks to that particular misadventure, he knew
where the SpeedyShip warehouse was, and remembered the fleet of distinctive red trucks parked out back. He also remembered the motley crew of slackers and befuddled bimbos who worked there.
It was a pretty industrial area, with minimal foot traffic and no sidewalks. There was an electrician, a metal shop, and a motorcycle dealer on the same street. He parked down the block from the unremarkable cinderblock building that housed the SpeedyShip office and warehouse. Got out of the new car his mother had bought for him, and glanced up and down the street. There was a guy messing with a vintage Indian motorcycle out in front of the dealership, but he was paying way more attention to his bike than to Kieran.
Gnawing anxiety about Olivia made it difficult to concentrate, but he needed to stay sharp if he was going to pull this off. He arranged his face and body into what he hoped might be a relaxed but businesslike demeanor, trying to give off the impression that he was just an ordinary working stiff doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing.
These are not the droids you’re looking for.
There was a driveway down the right side of the SpeedyShip building that led to the parking lot in the back. On the left was a chainlink fence that separated the driveway from the lot for the metal shop. Standing in the metal shop lot, beside a beat-up old Chevy Nova, was a lone man in a dark suit and fedora-style hat. He didn’t look like the sort of person who would work at a metal shop. He seemed to be watching Kieran from under the shadow cast by the brim of his hat.
That made Kieran nervous, so he tucked his chin down into the collar of his jacket and kept on walking like he had every right to be there. Like maybe he was late for work, and didn’t have time to worry about some weird guy staring at him. He thought he did a pretty good job, but still felt much better once he turned the corner into the SpeedyShip parking lot.
Out back, there was a wide-open loading dock stacked high with packages of all different shapes and sizes. A girl in an unflattering red polyester uniform was sitting on the edge of the dock smoking a cigarette. She had a curly, strawberry-blond bob haircut and big hoop earrings, and was flirting with one of the drivers, a burly guy with a shaved head and a goatee. He was also smoking.
The Burning Man Page 19
