Vessel, Book I: The Advent

by Tominda Adkins

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  I'll tell you now that I did, in fact, drive from Nashville to Manhattan, and that I did it in thirteen hours flat. That I ate only Pop-Tarts and gas station burritos on the way, that I only dozed off once, on a particularly lulling stretch somewhere in Pennsylvania―and that the resulting panic of being honked awake by a neon pink semi-truck was enough to keep me alert for the next eight hours.

  But before you think for one second, one second, that I bought Jesse's "do me a favor as a friend" bullshit, think again.

  Before I walked out of that hospital room, I had my final paycheck in hand, in advance, and it had been doubled. I also had a choice severance agreement, hammered out and signed on a piece of hospital stationary.

  Do I feel ashamed now, for working that money out of Jesse in his hour of need, instead of accepting his mission out of goodwill?

  Do I feel guilty that he probably didn't know what the word "severance" meant?

  Hell no, I don't.

  Didn't I consider myself his friend? Of course I did. But a complete idiot I was not. Or at least I didn't think I was at the time.

  I arranged a rental car on his tab, a little purple Honda, and left the hospital within the hour, eager for the solitude and quite pleased with my compensation. Everything was set. Jesse had been discharged and was safely on his way to Chicago aboard his beloved tour bus. And even though I was technically still doing his bidding, even though he called me at least twice an hour during that long drive, he was nowhere near me. I was free of him, finally free, and once this bizarre detour was over, that freedom would be complete.

  I neglected to put together an overnight bag, which was pretty stupid. It was also pretty stupid that I’d worn only a sweatshirt for a November journey to New York. All I had on me was a wallet full of credit cards, a cell phone, and the envelope that I was supposed to give to the other "Vessel", as Jesse had called them. That was all he'd asked me to do: spot these guys, give them the letter, and split.

  Sure, Jesse. Sure.

  I hit the early Jersey traffic in darkness and sat in the 24/7 gridlock that surrounds New York City, skipping through the radio and grinding my teeth every time I heard a Jesse Cannon song. Finally, in that bleak part of morning before dawn, after the madness of downtown traffic and the unbelievable quest to simply find the correct parking lot, I boarded the morning's first ferry to Liberty Island.

  The New York skyline glittered in the gritty dawn, and I stared at it without feeling. I had seen it all before, from every angle, coming and going. Everything suddenly seemed so ridiculous, there on that boat with the envelope folded stiffly in my pocket. I honestly couldn't decide whether I'd been paid enough or not, to drive all this way just to stand up on that platform like an idiot all morning. It was hardly the worst thing Jesse had ever asked me to do, but I couldn't get over the purpose of the trip. I wondered if Jesse was going to start wearing a mask in public, or join some cult and start waiting for the mothership and become that kind of celebrity. Wouldn't have surprised me, honestly. It was definitely best that I'd jumped ship before it came to that, at any rate.

  I bought a cheap cup of coffee on the island and marched up the steps of the famed, eleven-point platform. Liberty's back was turned to me. More out of necessity than duty (my legs were greatly in need of a good stretch), I did a quick lap around the entire platform, feeling conspicuously silly in front of the twenty or so people milling around. Assured that no one out of the ordinary was there, I took up a post near the main steps and stood there, freezing in the bitter harbor wind, tasting the rank, horrible coffee and wondering how long I should stand there to be fair.

  And that was when I saw Jackson.

  Jesse had described―in more detail than I'd cared to hear―the people I should be looking for. This guy just so happened to meet one of the descriptions, that was all. I couldn't help but take a good hard look.

  The first thing I noticed about Jackson was that he was square. As in the shape. His shoulders, his face, his jawline, even his neatly trimmed sideburns were broad and cornered off at the edges, though he wasn't particularly what I'd call angular. He was definitely more on the beefy side, and he was well-equipped with a thick canvas coat and utility gloves. Casual, worn jeans. Muddy boots.

  Jesse had also described him as "delicious."

  I positioned myself for a better look, feeling like a moron but unable to tame my curiosity. This guy definitely fit the bill of fare, for Jesse anyway. I'm not partial to bodybuilder types myself, but this one was certainly attractive in his own right. His face, I could see from where I stood, was handsome and somehow endearing. It neared the border of rugged, even, except for one notable quality: his mouth.

  Cute, I guess, is the word. His mouth was too cute to call rugged. Pinioned between dimples, it stretched as wide as the square face it sat on, existing in this perpetual, irresistible smirk. Not like a weaselly smirk. Like the smirk of a kid, an ornery little boy who was hiding something. His eyes, I would see later, added to the effect. They were a dewy green, big and full of expression―also like a little kid’s. A kid with the body and sideburns of a Friday Night Lights character.

  I watched him for a few minutes, and not just because he matched up with Jesse's description so perfectly. I've seen a few square-shaped people in my lifetime, and believe me: many, many are the men whom Jesse Cannon would label delicious. What made me linger were Jackson's actions, or his lack thereof. He stood with his feet apart and his arms crossed, watching the main steps like Lady Liberty's big, stocky bouncer, as still as a statue himself.

  He wasn't there to sight-see.

  He was waiting for someone.

  And so I drank the rest of my coffee and watched Jackson watch the steps. He didn't even notice me, he was so interested in those steps. I told myself a number of things. He works here. Works for Homeland Security, I'll bet. No, he's waiting on some girl.

  Eventually, I got mad at myself for even wondering about him at all. My time was up, I decided. I was finished with this final act of employment. Scolding myself, I walked to the top of the steps.

  And then I stopped cold.

  Jackson and I both saw who he was waiting for. He stood up straight.

  There were two. I'd come so close to walking into them that I had to turn on my heel―back toward Jackson―to avoid doing so. They came up the steps together, separating only to walk around me while I stood there in the way, dumb and unmoving, staring at the ground. My face went hot and my ears hummed as they passed, very close. One of them accidentally brushed my arm with his elbow, and I looked up.

  "Sorry," he said over his shoulder with a sincere smile, crazy black hair moving in the relentless wind like a living thing.

  Ghi.

  He and Corin didn't look around for anyone else. They walked straight to Jackson and began introducing themselves, all three of them awkward but immediately friendly. I realized that I was staring and turned away, wavering near the top of the steps.

  I couldn't leave.

  I couldn't believe this.

  This had to be a coincidence. Had to be.

  I flicked a few fast glances. They were exactly as described: Corin with his reddish hair, dressed like a GQ cover. Ghi's shrugged shoulders and copper skin, his disheveled spirals.

  I looked away, realizing that I'd stopped breathing and was staring again. There had to be some kind of explanation. I looked all around. Was I on a reality show? Who would prank an assistant, a simple drink mixer? What else could it be? Too much imagination on my part?

  Or was Jesse absolutely right?

  I wasn't about to go down that road. I wanted out of there, plain and simple. The letter was stuck in my front pocket. Hand it over and walk away, hand it over and walk away ... Ridiculous! This cannot be happening! I pulled it out and flipped it over in my hands, took a deep breath, and turned around.

  The three of them were huddled over a bunch of printouts in Jackson's hands, nodding and talking over one anot
her. They seemed to be debating something, though not loudly enough for anyone else to hear.

  I thought fast. There were supposed to be four other Vessel. Did I have to wait until they were all here? Did they know who Jesse was? Would they be upset that I knew about them? Would I have to stick around for a message from them?

  Oh, for god's sake.

  "Excuse me!" I called over the wind, louder than I'd meant to.

  They stopped talking and looked at me, all of them. My mouth stopped working. It gaped open a couple of times and I held the letter up, gripping it tightly. I moved forward by some miracle and stopped in front of them.

  "Hi," I said, as normally as I could. I'm pretty sure I sounded like a robot or a very old woman .

  The three men stared at me. Corin was the picture of composed caution. Ghi appeared to be utterly petrified. And Jackson just looked slightly impatient.

  "I think I'm supposed to give this to you," I choked, holding the letter out.

  And that could have been the end of it.

  Jackson and Corin both reached for the envelope, but a strong gale blew it right out of my hand. Swooping, it slapped Ghi between the eyes and then fluttered onward. Before we could so much as lunge for it, Jesse's letter blew right over the platform's edge and out across the park.

  "I got it!" Ghi volunteered and darted for the steps, hurtling down them in a jumble of far-flung limbs. I moved with Corin and Jackson to the side railing. Unacquainted and awkward, we watched Ghi sprint across the lawn, chasing the envelope halfway around the platform. When it cornered itself against the high walls, he jogged in and managed to snatch it up before it could blow away again. With a triumphant motion, Ghi stuffed the letter between his sweaters and started coming back around the jutting corners of the platform walls, back to us.

  But then Ghi turned a very significant corner of that wall. He stepped around it and came face to face with Stella Rosin. He saw her face register shock, and then ferocious outrage.

  And then he saw the concrete.

  C H A P T E R 8