Vortex

by Julie Cross

  “I’m not letting you run off again. Look at you. You still haven’t changed your clothes, and … and…”

  “And I’m wearing him, right? He exploded into bits and I’m just leaving him here … splattered all over me.” Her voice cracked and a single tear ran down her cheek, washing away some of the dirt.

  I stared at her face, shocked by her tears, hating that I had to be caught up in someone else’s grief. But it was almost easier to have this moment with Stewart than with anyone else because she didn’t expect me to say something wise or brilliant. She wouldn’t want me to say sorry or that everything would be okay … We could bypass all of that bullshit.

  I grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug before she could run off. Her face pressed against my shoulder and I could feel her whole body shaking. She went from pulling away from me to clinging to me like I was a lifeline. After a couple minutes she mumbled into my shoulder, “If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

  “I won’t,” I promised. “In fact, I’ve already forgotten.”

  She let go of me and sat down on the couch, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. “I wish I were a fucking idiot so I could believe good things happen to people after they die.”

  No one had ever said more accurate and truthful words than those. It was the reason I sucked at dealing with death. I could never get past the still, cold bodies … being locked in a coffin … trapped … buried underground alone. Why couldn’t I have been brainwashed by some religious cult? Forced into a belief system that included a happy afterlife?

  “I know what you mean. I’d gladly welcome a dose of blind faith right now.” I reached down and grabbed Stewart’s hands, pulling her up so she was standing. “Come on. I’ll turn on the shower for you. You can’t go back to your place looking like this.”

  Or anywhere in public.

  She nodded, and I watched her carefully as she moved toward Mason’s bag and started riffling through it, removing a Snow Patrol T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. Just by the way she walked toward the bathroom I got the impression that Stewart must have been up all night. And she took quite a few hard hits during yesterday’s fight.

  I steered her by the shoulders and turned on the water, waiting for it to heat up. Stewart leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.

  “I remembered something else, too,” she mumbled sleepily. “Something about me and you … and a jail cell.”

  More 007 memories.

  I kept my face as calm as possible in case her eyes opened again. “Huh … maybe we got in a bar fight and the CIA didn’t want us to remember.”

  She laughed. “If we did, I bet we kicked everybody’s ass.”

  I lifted her shirt over her head and tossed it onto the floor. My eyes stayed focused on the wall behind her. Even though I’d seen Stewart nearly naked the other night and the following morning, it just didn’t feel right to look now. Maybe that meant we didn’t hate each other anymore … like we’d formed some kind of friendship.

  She left the rest of her clothes on the floor and I opened the shower door for her and waited in the bathroom to make sure she didn’t fall over.

  “Hey, Stewart?” I asked after a few minutes.

  “Yeah?”

  “My dad was giving me information … about Holly … in France. That’s why we snuck out sometimes.”

  She fumbled with the knob, so I reached in to turn off the water and handed her a towel. “So, he was keeping it from everyone … not just the trainees?”

  “No one else knew about Holly … until now, anyway,” I answered, the nerves leaking into my voice.

  Stewart threw on Mason’s clothes in silence and then stumbled out of the bathroom. “I’m not gonna tell anyone about you and Blondie, if that’s what you’re wondering. Kendrick won’t, either.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, don’t believe me, Junior. But the way I see it, you don’t have anything to lose trusting me, trusting Kendrick. Either do it, or don’t. Quit being such an indecisive girl.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Is she home? Kendrick? I gotta get her help with something.”

  “Yeah, I think so.” I grabbed the pink notebook and Stewart headed out the door in front of me.

  The second Kendrick let us in, Stewart said, “Sleep … I need to sleep. Give me whatever you got.”

  Kendrick glanced over Stewart’s shoulder at me as if asking for my approval. I just shrugged, not really seeing a problem with this plan. Stewart did need to rest if she’d been up all night. Kendrick provided her with some little white pills and a bed much more comfortable than mine.

  Kendrick gestured toward the patio, asking if I wanted to sit outside. I sat in one of the two chairs and Kendrick set some kind of pink dip and crackers on the table along with a bottle of wine and some glasses. “It’s salmon dip. Michael made it.”

  I took advantage of the moment alone to follow Stewart’s advice. “You know that girl you tried to hook me up with last night…”

  “Yes…”

  The pink notebook rested beside my elbow and I carefully slid it across the table toward Kendrick. “This is hers. Well, not exactly hers … a different version of her, actually.”

  Kendrick’s hand froze on top of the journal and she lifted her eyes to meet mine. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

  I reached for a couple crackers and ate them slowly while Kendrick poured two glasses of wine. “I’m really hesitant to tell you the details—”

  “Whatever shit you’ve got going on, that’s your business. I’m not going to investigate, analyze, spy on you. Nothing. Tell me whatever you want to tell me … or don’t.”

  I kept my eyes on the street out in front of us. “Fine. And I’ll do the same for you. I won’t start digging for your secrets.”

  She shot a glance at me, lifting one eyebrow. “Oh, really? Then what was poker night about a couple days ago? You weren’t trying to get information out of Michael?”

  She was right. I had tried to worm information out of Michael the other night after agreeing to play poker with some of his friends.

  My stomach twisted with guilt. “Well—”

  “That’s exactly how you become one of them,” she interrupted.

  “One of who?”

  “Stewart, Freeman, Parker, Marshall.” She waved her hand as if to say, The list goes on. “They’ve all adopted the CIA’s favorite rule: It’s not personal, it’s business, and they live it twenty-four/seven.”

  I set my wineglass on the table and sighed. “I’m sorry about Michael. Seriously.”

  She turned her whole body around to face me and stared hard, looking more intimidating than ever. “You can screw with my head all you want, I’m trained to deal with that … to expect it … but don’t ever mess with Michael. Don’t pretend to be his friend or any of that shit. Understood?”

  Kendrick was right, I really did have trouble trusting her, even more than I thought. But seriously, what other choice did I have except to “trust no one,” as 007 Adam had once told me? This noble speech of Kendrick’s could all be an act. But if it wasn’t, then she might understand why I needed to keep Holly a secret. Michael might be enough for her to get how important this information was to me.

  I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “Do you swear on your life … and on his life … that Michael isn’t just some cover Chief Marshall gave you?”

  The anger dropped from her face and she looked completely appalled. “No … no, he’s not. How could you even think that?”

  “How could I not think that?” I said. “You’re keeping secrets from him, why not me, too?”

  She let out a breath and nodded. “Okay … you’re right. There’s a lot of red flags with us.”

  Even though we were supposed to be turning off our inner agents right now to establish trust or whatever this talk was, suddenly I had a strong urge to hear her story … her secret. Like we could just blackmail each other for information.

 
And I thought she wanted to tell me.

  “My life is a lot more exposed than any other agent’s … and I’m not totally ignorant on the subject of dead family members, you know,” I said, throwing a sharp look in her direction.

  Pink crept up to her cheeks. “Right … I know … I mean, yes … that’s true, but…”

  “But what?” I asked, lifting one eyebrow, challenging her to tell me it was different. It might be, but she’d never use that as an excuse.

  Kendrick finished her glass of wine and poured another, like maybe she was getting up the nerve to tell me. She knew exactly what I wanted to know. Her family … what happened to them…? “Remember what you said the other day? About Michael not knowing me.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” I said.

  “You’re right … but you’re also wrong. I am the girl that he knows. The one who loves to look at baby furniture just for fun and cries at stupid romantic comedies. I’m other things, too, the person you know, but that’s because I can do stuff most people can’t. Not by choice. But none of it’s fake … Does that make sense?”

  “I think so.” Both of us were completely silent, and I knew it was coming … She was about to tell me.

  Then I could tell her about Holly … at least the Displacement theory Stewart already knew about.

  “My parents and my brother were murdered almost three years ago … by EOTs.”

  I held my breath, waiting for her to say more, watching her chug wine like water.

  “I came home from a friend’s house and … walked in the living room.” Her voice started to shake and a single tear trickled down her cheek. “The TV was on and my parents were stretched out on the couch asleep … I always told them when I got home so they wouldn’t worry. I shook my mom first and she didn’t respond … That’s when I realized she wasn’t breathing. Neither was my dad. But they looked … totally fine.”

  “Damn,” I muttered, but Kendrick didn’t hear me. Her eyes were fixated on something over my shoulder.

  “I called an ambulance right away and then I just stood there, not knowing what to do. I mean, I knew CPR and all that, but I couldn’t move … until I remembered Carson.” She paused to take a breath and wiped her eyes on her sleeve again. “He was tucked into his bed, the TV off, his school bag hanging on the door. And for a second I thought he was okay.”

  She stopped talking and just sat there, staring down at the table. Already I wanted her to shut up, to not tell me the rest. But I focused on the goal of gaining information because I knew if I stayed in agent mode it wouldn’t hurt as much. “Do you know what happened?”

  She nodded. “The autopsy said carbon monoxide … but Chief Marshall changed it. He said it was an untraceable poison.”

  “Marshall?” I asked, trying to figure out when he entered the story.

  “He showed up while I was in Carson’s room. He dragged me out of there and into a car. I woke up in a place that looked like someone’s house. Marshall was there … said I could never go back home or … or the EOTs would kill me, too.”

  “Don’t you have other family?” I asked. “An aunt or a grandparent?”

  “They think I’m dead,” she whispered. “Everything about me was changed. My birthday changed from November fifth to the seventh. My hair used to be a much lighter brown. My Social Security number, school records … all of it changed, but I wouldn’t change my name. Your dad said it didn’t matter. He was there, too … the night they died.”

  I swallowed hard. The connection between her family and mine made agent mode more difficult. It’s not personal, it’s business. “He was?”

  “Yeah. He brought me my mother’s necklace. It was her mom’s … one of those family heirlooms. He took my dad’s pocketknife, too, and a picture that Carson made for me. It was hanging in my room … right above my dresser.” She drew in a deep shaky breath and let it out slowly. “God, it’s just so fucked-up. My brother wasn’t even halfway through third grade. Why would anyone want to kill him?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, but my brain reeled with theories.

  “It’s because of me,” she said with a flat tone. “They know something about me … the EOTs … in the future. Maybe I kill off a whole swarm of them or something.” She smiled just a little. A pathetic attempt to lighten the mood.

  “Do you ever wish you could go back to your house or … see some of your other family?” I asked.

  “I’m not really close with anyone else. Half live in Canada and the other half northern California … I’d love to have my mother’s wedding ring … Maybe if she was here I wouldn’t be as interested in something used, but now I kinda love that idea.”

  No wonder Michael had said she had a lot of shit to deal with. Maybe even worse than me. Kendrick, Stewart, Mason—all of them had crazy tragic events that led to them being here. Maybe that was a prerequisite for Tempest agents. Most of us didn’t have anything left to lose. Except Kendrick had Michael …

  “All right,” Kendrick said, more businesslike. “I told you … Now it’s your turn.”

  “Yeah … okay.” And just like that, I spilled everything about Holly … me and Holly. For the first time in months, I felt a little bit lighter, like maybe I had someone to share this great big burden with. Someone to tell me I did the right thing.

  * * *

  “Damn … how long was I out?” Stewart came stumbling into the living room six hours after crashing in Kendrick’s bed. We had moved from the patio to the living room and Michael was here, hanging out with us, which meant we’d had to change our conversation to normal topics.

  “A while,” Kendrick said, eyeing Stewart’s crazy hair. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just totally starving.”

  It was decided that Michael would cook and I would run to the store to retrieve missing ingredients.

  When I returned to the apartment building, lugging several sacks of groceries, about halfway up the stairs I heard a sound coming from my borrowed apartment. Very quiet movements an amateur wouldn’t take notice of. Instead of heading to Kendrick’s place and possibly getting my partner and Stewart to use as backup, I put the groceries on the landing and crept toward my front door. My heart thudded as I leaned against the wall beside the door, listening.

  My gun was now at the ready and my free hand texted a 911 to Stewart and Kendrick, since they were just down the hall … even though I might be taking the risk of creating a scene in front of Michael for nothing.

  I took a deep breath and unlocked the dead bolt, then turned the doorknob quickly.

  The first thing that came into view was the glow of a tiny flashlight, then the quick intake of breath from its owner. The light clicked off immediately.

  “Drop the flashlight and put your hands up!” I shouted, pointing my pistol into the dark.

  Nothing. No one. No sound.

  I flipped the main light on and scanned the room. There were very few hiding places in this tiny apartment.

  I nearly dropped my gun when I spotted a petite figure hiding under the table.

  “Holly?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  JUNE 17, 2009, 8:45 P.M.

  She didn’t answer me, but she did crawl out of her hiding spot now that I’d seen her.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. Her eyes followed my hands as I lowered the gun and set it on the kitchen counter. “Sorry if I scared you. I heard something from outside…”

  She rolled the tiny flashlight between her fingers, eyes darting around the room. I could tell she was holding her breath. Her silence worried me and I started to walk closer, and when only three feet separated us, she reached one hand behind her back and quickly drew a pistol, pointing it right at me.

  My hands shot up in the air. “Hey! What the hell are you doing with a gun?”

  A lock of hair fell over her eyes but she left it there, focusing on my face. “I really didn’t think it was you … I was so sure you weren’t the one … just a quick look around, and then…�
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  “Then what, Hol? What’s going on? And when did you start carrying a weapon besides pepper spray?”

  Sweat formed on her forehead and when I glanced at the barrel of her gun, I could see her hands trembling. Her voice shook as she spoke. “Your fingerprints … they’re all over Adam’s car. You were in there … I know you were. But why Adam? What did he ever do to you?”

  My heart beat at race-car pace and my stomach turned over and over, fighting the urge to vomit. I could barely spit out the words, “What happened to Adam?”

  “Like you don’t know. How do you do it … pretend like that … all the time?”

  The fear in me took over and I needed answers, fast. In one quick motion, I snatched the gun from her hand and turned her around, wrapping my arms around her from behind, restricting her movement. “Tell me what happened to Adam. And when … when did it happen?”

  She jabbed me with an elbow and attempted to throw me over her shoulder, but the size difference was too much for her to fight. “Tell me the date!”

  “Stop acting like you don’t know!” Her nails dug into my arm, every muscle in her body straining to break free. “I was so ready to defend you … so ready … You’ve even got his stuff … his CD.”

  The rage building up in me was too much to control. She had information I needed and I had to get it. The gun pressed into her back, causing her to gasp. “Holly!”

  “May nineteenth.”

  “What time?” I demanded.

  “Afternoon … three … no, four.” Her body relaxed and a couple tears dropped onto my arm. “I should have brought another agent with me and … God, this sucks.”

  Agent? Oh, no. No fucking way. “What kind of agent? Do the police know you’re here?”

  She laughed darkly, but I could feel her shaking. “Yeah, right, the police? Seriously? Why don’t you tell me who you work for, and I’ll do the same?”

  I felt the wind whoosh right out of my lungs. What the fuck was going on? Adam’s dead and Holly’s some kind of secret agent? “So the whole story about the bet … at Senator Healy’s ball … that was just you spying on me?”

  “Like you weren’t there to spy on me,” she snapped, then she tilted her head up, looking right at me for the first time since I’d snatched her gun. “You’re going to kill me, too, aren’t you?”