by Pam Eaton
I look back up at my grandma and with a fake smile ask, “What now?”
Her expression matches mine, but her eyes give her away and I wonder if mine do too. This has been a rough day for her too. She’s probably still thinking about my dad. I don’t know the last time she’s been to his grave before today. This visit just made it worse.
“Hmm, how about we get dinner ready?” she asks, thankfully dropping anything to do with my mom’s wallet.
I nod and walk into the kitchen with her. Sitting on the table are potatoes she’s already washed. I start peeling them. After thirty minutes of painful silence, Grandpa finally makes an appearance. Our eyes focus on him. “Well, Joe, what did you find out?”
He pulls out the chair next to mine and drops into it. His hair looks as if he’s been pulling on it. His eyes show his age, and his normally strong shoulders slump forward with an unseen weight. “Everything they told us is true. One of my friends at the Capitol confirmed they’re from the FBI.”
Grandpa used to be an important lawyer for the federal government. After Dad died, they took me in and Grandpa took an early retirement. I don’t know if he regrets it. He does a great job keeping that secret. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve had a feeling that he only retired because my grandma couldn’t raise me. I look a lot like my father. I have the same shade of dishwater blonde hair, the single dimple in my left cheek, and the same stubborn set of my jaw when I’m angry. I truly believe the sight of me causes her pain. The older I get, though, the better she does, but not well enough for me not to notice the occasional sad looks.
Even though he’s retired, Grandpa goes back to Washington D.C. every now and then as a consultant. He still stays in contact with some of his high-power friends, but that’s about it. None of his friends know about Mom’s and my secret. They still must wonder why I live with him. I asked him once what he told people. He told me that he didn’t lie, just told them that their daughter-in-law was an unfit mother.
“What do you think, Becca?” he asks, breaking the running monologue in my head.
I tried to think about it earlier while peeling potatoes for dinner, but now fear keeps creeping up on me. “Would it be a smart idea? Should we trust them?” I grimace at the frightened sound of my voice.
“Well, it couldn’t hurt to look into it. Maybe they could help you understand your powers or you could be an asset to them. I think they would be able to help you more than I could ever dream to.
“Your grandmother and I just don’t know how to help you.” He pauses and drops his gaze from my eyes and continues. “Also, it might be a good idea if you actually withdraw from school for a while. We really have no idea what this means or what…or what could happen. We’re out of our element here.”
I inhale sharply from the blow those words just landed. I can’t leave school. I still have so much to look forward to. I’m supposed to go to homecoming at the end of the month. What about the senior trip to New York? What about my friends? I have plans, and none of them involve staying here, holed up in my grandparents’ house. “Leave school? But…I’m in my senior year. What about graduating? What about college? You can’t expect me to give up my entire life and go join the FBI.” And I know I’m whining like a five-year-old, but I don’t know what else to do.
Regret fills his eyes, and my grandma won’t even attempt to look directly at me. “We understand, Becca, but there’s a lot more at risk here. Let’s just play it by ear and see how things go. You already have enough credits to graduate, and college will always be there. You never know, it could turn into something good. Just take some time to think about it. You don’t have to make any decisions yet.”
A part of me—a large part, to be honest, wants to throw a toddler-like tantrum. Really embrace it. But I know Grandpa, and it’ll just make things worse. They’re already super stressed. I can’t imagine making it worse.
But that doesn’t stop me from stomping up the stairs to my room.
No door slamming at least, but I fall into bed without even bothering to get out of my clothes.
I fall into a deep slumber.
Almost instantly, the dream begins.
Wind whips past my face. Its embrace is warm and inviting. Miles below me are specks of green and brown.
I’m flying.
The sky is a spotted canvas of crystal blue, and it feels effortless up here in the clouds. Wisps of white and grey clouds part before me in a fluid motion. A hint of moisture clings to my skin as I gracefully dive up and down, spiraling through the air.
Suddenly, my beautiful flight is stopped as I feel a slight tug at my ankle. I kick, releasing whatever is there. Lightning flashes in the distance and the sky turns black as a storm quickly approaches. The blood in my body turns to ice and my eyes widen at the impossible speed of the storm heading for me. Lightning strikes all around me. I falter in the air with violent gusts of wind rocking me. I gulp for air, but it’s so heavy and dense. Something pulls hard at my ankle again. My eyes shoot down, but there’s nothing there. I can’t kick off this invisible force! It feels like multiple hands are dragging me down. Stop! Please let me go! I can’t scream. I can’t move. Oh please, someone help me! Please! I keep fighting, but the harder I fight, the harder they pull me down.
Down into the dark.
“Becca, wake up. It’s just a dream. Come on, you can wake up now,” Grandpa’s voice penetrates the all-consuming void.
I gasp. “Grandpa?” Unshed tears fill my eyes.
He pulls me into his arms. “It’s okay, Becca, it was just a dream. You’re safe here. It was just a dream.”
I find his loving eyes with the small amount of moonlight shining through the blinds. They take the weight of the dream away. My body slowly relaxes. He strokes my hair until I fall back into a dreamless sleep.
Seven
Through the front window I notice the gold sedan parked across the street again. Our neighbors, the Miles, don’t own a sedan. The windows are way too tinted to even see if anyone is inside of it. As soon as I see their van pull into the driveway, the car leaves. I need to get a picture of that car. First the dark shadow at the cemetery, and now that strange car parked outside. My nightmare from the other night still haunts me. I might be overreacting, but the sight of that car doesn’t sit well with me. My fingers rub the coin from my mom’s wallet. I don’t know why I’m carrying this thing in my pocket, but I’ve got more questions than answers now.
“What are you looking at?” Grandpa asks from beside me. My free hand grabs at chest, completely startled.
“Sorry,” he says.
“Uh, did the Miles get a new car?” I ask.
He looks out the window, but the car is probably already a mile away. “I don’t believe so,” he says.
“Huh.”
He puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I just got off the phone.”
His hand moves to my arm, slowly turning me. I look into his resolute eyes. “I spoke with the secretary for Mr. Smith. He’s the director of the division you’ll be interviewing with,” he says.
“Mr. Smith? That’s seriously his name? Grandpa, that kind of a name sounds like a lame cover. And what’s the name of division?” Grandma makes a very un-lady-like snort at my comment, and Grandpa raises an eyebrow at his wife and turns back toward me.
He waves away my comment. “No one said its name. The government and its agencies like to keep everything secret and done in person. Anyway, they want you to come in immediately for an interview and physical. You’d better get an overnight bag packed. We’re leaving in an hour.”
Grandpa and I make the long trip down to a suburb near D.C. for my Tuesday morning interview. He wants to stay at a friend’s house instead of a hotel.
My stomach is tight with apprehension about tomorrow. “Isn’t is kind of weird that we didn’t ask more questions about this?”
“Well, it is the FBI, and I don’t think they’re allowed to disclose what this all requires without first meeting with you
. I’m sure when you go through the interview and they lay out the parameters of what they’re offering, you’ll still have the option of whether to stay or not.”
I exhale heavily. “Grandpa, this is like Conspiracy Theory 101. I highly doubt there are going to be any ‘options’ for me.”
“Don’t worry. Everything will work out. And I trust the friend I verified everything with.”
Such a typical reassurance, but he has a lot more knowledge of these things than I do. I don’t think he would ever intentionally steer me wrong. He’s always been the one person I can count on to be in my corner as my biggest advocate.
When I first presented the idea of going away for high school, Grandma protested. She hated when I was in the spotlight, which I was a lot because of sports. She was always afraid people would start digging into our past and ask questions about my parents. They never really did, but I kind of wish they had, because then maybe I would have more answers about my dad. Grandpa was the one to have the final say about me going to Rosemary Academy. He knew it would be the best thing for me, so I have to believe now that going and doing this is something that he believes is good for me as well.
As we approach the home, all the windows are dark and only the front light is on. No one’s there, just as Grandpa said he expected.
We exit the car and grab our bags. He pulls an envelope from his coat pocket, opens it, and produces a key for the door. “The guest rooms are on the second floor. Xander said we should find them all ready for us.”
Xander is another lawyer from some foreign embassy. That’s all Grandpa told me, and I didn’t bother prying. If he wanted me to know more, he would have told me. I follow him up the stairs and he ushers me into the room I assume is mine. I take the hint that he’s weary from the drive. Four hours in a car would do that to anyone. “I’m just going to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning. Night, sweets,” he says and then kisses me on the forehead.
I lie in the dark for a while with my mind going a mile a minute. The wind blows outside, causing tree branches to lightly scrape the side of the house. I creep out of bed. The window offers an unobstructed view of the stars above and the lawn below. I hear a faint sound, barely a whisper. It could be the trees. Please let it be the freaking trees.
Down below, shadows move. All I can hear now is the sound of my heart beating wildly in my chest. I duck down by the sill and pray that the darkness conceals me. I do my best to still my heart and breath. Slowly, getting to my knees, I look out the window to the street near the house. Everything below my nose is hidden by the windowsill, but I swear I can feel eyes watching me. As my own eyes adjust, I can make out two shapes standing below on the sidewalk. One leaves and heads farther down the street. I wish I could see their faces or hear what they said to one another. A sedan is parked on the street, but it’s too dark to determine the make or color. Maybe the FBI is watching us, but I don’t know why they would bother.
If I take a picture with my phone, they’re going to discover me.
It’s probably just the neighbors. That’s what I’ll keep telling myself.
I crawl back to my bed, too afraid to get back up because what if they see me? Whether friend or foe, I don’t want whoever it is to be aware that I have seen them. I lie back in bed. My hands grip the blanket. The door is locked, my window is locked, but that doesn’t drive away my fear. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here when exhaustion finally wins. A dreamless sleep occupies my night, and for that I am grateful.
The sun peeks into my room. I move slowly to the window, making sure I am somewhat obscured by the curtains. I finally chance a look out the window, but the shadows from last night are gone, along with the car. Could I have dreamed that? I scoot down the wall, plopping onto the floor. I rub my palm against my forehead. I can’t keep driving myself crazy with these shadows and possible cars. Today is a big day and I need to get ready.
Multiple jets spray a warm mist all over my body when I step into the shower, causing my muscles to relax. It would be so nice if time could just stop in this moment, but I finish quickly and hop back out.
A few minutes later, a knock at the door makes me jump. “Becca, are you almost ready? I’ve got breakfast downstairs waiting. I may not be Grandma, but I can still make a mean pancake.”
I take a deep breath and try to calm my racing heart. It’s just Grandpa. I’m still on edge. I’m going to have a freaking heart attack if I don’t get myself under control. “Just doing the final touches. I’ll be down in a second.”
His footsteps fade as he walks away. I turn back toward the mirror and stare at my wet dirty-blonde hair falling close to the middle of my back. I quickly throw it into a fishtail braid. Should I even bother with makeup? My hazel eyes do look a little bland. I wonder if Gregory will be there. He probably will.
Decision made.
I whip out my mascara and apply it, liberally. It makes my eyes pop.
I brush my hands down the green blouse Grandma made me pack, along with the black pants. At least she let me pack flats instead of heels. I’m tall enough as it is at 5’9”, and heels make me feel like I tower over everyone.
The smell of breakfast cooking lures me down the stairs quickly. I can’t hide my excitement for his legendary pancakes. I follow the smell into the kitchen. “Good thing you’re cooking, otherwise I never would have found you in this monster of a place.”
He laughs and hands me a plate of pancakes.
I devour them.
After taking his last few bites, Grandpa brushes the crumbs from his mouth. “You about ready to take off? We should get an early start.”
What I really want to tell him is no, I want to go home, but I know that answer will not suffice. “Yeah, let’s get going. I have a feeling this is going to be a long day.”
He offers a small smile. “Probably. That’s why I set up some consultation appointments to fill my time while you’re in the interview. No offense, my dear, but I have no desire to sit in the waiting room all day.”
My lips curve into a strained smile. “That’s okay, Grandpa. I don’t blame you.”
The drive to FBI headquarters is short, but I notice a gold sedan behind us. And cue mini panic attack. It’s just another car, I tell myself. But there’s something that I need to ask him.
“Grandpa, did you hear anything outside last night?”
He mulls over my question longer than necessary. “Hmm, not that I recall. Why?”
Should I even bother him with what I think I saw? I go for it. “I just thought I heard people outside last night. Maybe I was dreaming it.”
He brushes off my comment with a humming noise, looking at the road and not acknowledging my statement.
We continue making turns down streets I’ve never been on. We pull up in front of a large 70’s style concrete building with lots of squares. I turn around to look for the gold sedan, but it’s disappeared.
The building looms over us, casting a shadow that swallows us whole. A burly-looking guard approaches the car as soon as we enter the garage. He leans over the driver’s side window and his shirt strains against his broad shoulders. “Name and purpose, please.”
“Rebecca Hunter. I have an interview with a Mr. Smith.”
He checks the clipboard in his hand. His face shows no emotion at the mention of Mr. Smith. “Yes, here you are. Proceed to the third level of the parking garage. At the north end of the garage you’ll find a set of double doors. Continue in and inform the attendant at the desk who you are. Your companion will only be able to drop you off, not accompany you inside the building. Have a good day now.”
Continuing into the garage, Grandpa places his large hand over mine. “Don’t worry, Becca. It’ll be all right. It’s better that I just drop you off anyway so I can make it to my appointments.”
I know he doesn’t want to sit and wait for me, but I really wish he could. I pull my shoulders back and tilt my chin up a notch. “Thanks. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but I’m
sure it’ll pass.”
He stops at the double doors. I give him a lingering hug and slowly exit the car, wonder how long I can actually prolong this. As I walk inside, I’m immediately greeted by a middle-aged woman sitting behind a desk. I’m expecting a stern look, but she takes me off guard with a smile when she looks up at me. “How can I help you, dear?”
I kind of thought that since we were at the FBI everyone would be like a drill sergeant. “My name is Rebecca Hunter. I have an appointment with a Mr. Smith. The guard downstairs told me to come here.”
She checks a paper on her desk. “Right you are. Have a seat and I’ll call your escort.”
I sit on the edge of a padded chair. They really need to invest in magazines to pass the time, or something to do with my hands to help stop the shaking. The lobby itself is pleasant enough, with paintings and soft music playing in the background.
Suddenly, the elevator doors behind the desk open. That was a lot quicker than I expected. I figured it would be like waiting for the doctor, which always takes forever.
When the doors fully open, I am met by a very unexpected but pleasant surprise.
Eight
I give my sweaty hands one more good wipe on my pants and stand. “Coming to get me?” I ask.
Gregory strides toward me, his body moving with purpose. His shirt is pulled so tight across his shoulders, one wrong move and he’s going to be tearing some seams. I wouldn’t normally call a guy beautiful, but man, he totally is. His arm stretches out toward me as I stay in the same exact spot. Time freezes, just like in those corny romance movies. “Didn’t know I’d be seeing you again so soon,” he says as he takes my hand and shakes it.
The familiar electric warmth rushes through my skin at his touch, like a contact high. Is he happy he’s seeing me? Just surprised? Indifferent? And now my own questions are sounding pathetic to even me.
