Out of Control

by Sarah Alderson

  ‘Why didn’t you get into the car with her?’ Jaime asks. ‘Why’d you hesitate?’

  ‘She pulled a gun on me.’

  Jaime’s eyes go wide. ‘She what?’

  I shrug at him. ‘It didn’t feel right. She said she was an agent, but there are no federal agents on my dad’s team. I didn’t want to get in the car.’

  ‘So she pulled a gun on you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I nod.

  ‘OK,’ he says slowly. He seems calm but I note his fingers are back to gripping the wheel as though he’s considering tearing it from the steering block. ‘So, this woman shows up claiming to work for your father, but she pulls a gun on you and tries to force you into a car, and then the next thing you know the cop with the gun and the trigger-happy hard-on turns up. Outta the blue. Just like that. What’s the connection?’ He stares at me, checking that I’m following his thought process. But I’m not just following him. I’m way ahead. He’s only just joining the dots but I joined them even as the guy was striding towards me on the sidewalk, even as I was contemplating the psycho smile on his face my synapses were firing, making the connection.

  I’m the connection.

  We stare at each other as the traffic rumbles on and on over our heads. I’m grateful for the noise as it fills up the car, interrupting the graveyard silence.

  ‘Why were you at the police station earlier tonight?’ Jaime suddenly demands.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were a witness right? To something?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘No. I mean – I didn’t see anything. The people I was staying with. They were . . .’ I can’t finish the sentence because I just joined another dot. A light bulb pings in my head. Maybe in fact Jaime is ahead of me after all.

  ‘Killed?’ Jaime asks.

  I nod.

  ‘Were they shot?’ he asks.

  I nod again.

  ‘And then the police station gets hit.’ He raises his eyebrows at me to emphasise the point he’s trying to make. ‘Then the same gunman comes after you on a crowded street.’

  I just keep staring at him.

  ‘Don’t tell me that’s a coincidence.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to,’ I say. Coldness saturates me, has soaked through my muscles, through my bones, like alcohol has been rubbed on my skin.

  ‘The odds of a single person mistakenly being caught up in a gunfight three times in one night are pretty—’

  ‘Slim,’ I finish for him. ‘I know.’

  He waits a beat. ‘I was going to say non-existent. This side of Basra at least.’

  There is nothing but screams filling my head. It is me. It is me. It is my fault all those people are dead. I’m the cause, the reason. It’s bigger than me – the knowledge is a pressure so huge, squeezing me from all sides, that all of a sudden I feel like if I don’t escape it, if I don’t get out of the car, I’m going to die. Simple as that. My lungs are going to be crushed, my skull is going to implode. I scratch for the door handle and then I’m tumbling out on to the ground, my bloody knees scraping concrete, my forehead pressed to the dirt.

  I try to suck air into my lungs, to draw it down, but the world is closing in, the sky darkening, the roar of traffic vibrating in my bones. Arms come around me, lift me to my feet, hold me upright.

  ‘Olivia.’

  I open my eyes. Jaime has me by the tops of my arms. My head is lolling backwards and he’s staring down at me.

  ‘Why?’ Jaime asks. ‘Why is someone trying to kill you?’

  I laugh then. A horrific sound but I can’t stop it. I feel as though I’m cracking open.

  His hands tighten and he shakes me. ‘Olivia!’

  I can’t answer that. I might have joined the dots but I don’t know what the hell the picture is of.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, almost spit.

  We stare at each other, both of us breathing hard, both of us angry and scared too. He glances over his shoulder, at the road, as though looking for an escape, and tears start slipping silently down my cheeks. He looks back at me, then, sighing, he pulls me against his chest.

  10

  It should feel weird being held like this, by a near stranger. It should feel wrong to have my lips pressed against his neck, to feel his arms wrapped around me and his chin resting on top of my head. But it doesn’t. It feels like there’s no other place for me to be while these waves of panic and terror wash over me. So I just hold on tight, feeling as though if I let go I’m going to be swept away.

  After a few seconds I press my face against his shoulder and take several deep breaths, forcing myself to stop crying. Tears aren’t going to get me anywhere. They’re a pointless waste of energy. I need to lock everything down, reel every stray emotion back in, and keep a clear head.

  I hardly ever cry. The last time was when Felix died. My dad has no time for tears or tantrums and I learned as a kid that if I wanted to get something, or was angry about something, crying wasn’t going to help my case. Crying didn’t bring back Felix either.

  I pull out of Jaime’s arms and walk a few steps away from him. Straightaway my body tries to turn towards him, as though acting on a reflex. I want to be back in his arms. There’s no thought to it. It’s just an urge. I shake off the feeling, the sharp stab that goes with it, and wrap my own arms around my body, but it’s much smaller comfort. I stub my toe into the ground. These people are chasing after me, someone wants to kill me, someone else who may or may not be a government agent is also trying to kidnap me. I need to stay focussed if I’m going to get out of this alive and in one piece. And another truth is becoming apparent. I can’t drag another innocent person into this.

  After I think I have pulled myself together I turn to face Jaime. He has walked off a few paces in the other direction and has stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. He’s watching me with a mixture of wariness and worry, as though I’m an unexploded landmine.

  ‘You shouldn’t stay with me,’ I say. ‘If I’m the one they’re after then you’re not safe.’ I tail off, staring at the ground, angry that my voice cracked.

  Jaime doesn’t say anything so I glance up. He’s staring at me fiercely, his jaw clenching and unclenching as though he’s trying to dislodge a tooth. ‘I’m not about to leave you here on the street,’ he says, gesturing at the empty lot.

  ‘Someone’s trying to kill me,’ I point out. ‘And someone who may or may not work for my father is also trying to kidnap me.’

  His head is bowed and he looks up at me through his lashes. ‘Looks that way,’ he says.

  ‘And you want to hang around and wait to get shot at again?’

  That ghost of a half-smile again. ‘Call me old-fashioned.’

  He doesn’t want to take the out that I’m offering. Relief makes my pulse leap through the stratosphere and I struggle to contain it.

  Suddenly Jaime stalks towards me.

  ‘You said you didn’t see anything. Last night. You said you didn’t witness the murder, but what if he doesn’t know that? What if the killer thinks you did?’

  I blink at him. I’d dismissed that thought because I didn’t witness anything. But could he be right? I think it through some more, then shake my head. ‘So, what? To cover your tracks you kill a dozen more people, in a police station of all places, and then walk down a crowded street firing a gun?’

  Jaime chews on that one, his eyebrows drawing together in a scowl. ‘And if he’s a cop, he would know from your statement you didn’t witness anything,’ he adds.

  ‘You think he even is a cop?’ I ask.

  Jaime shrugs. ‘Who knows? Maybe he just borrowed a uniform.’

  Both of us pause as a truck thunders overhead. The ground rumbles beneath the soles of my feet and for a moment it feels as though the earth is about to crack open and swallow me whole. And for a moment I wish it would.

  ‘If he wanted you dead, why’d he not take the shot?’ Jaime shouts over the noise. ‘He had a clear shot at you. I saw him. He didn’t shoot you, not i
n the basement. He shot at the car. At me. And he didn’t shoot you on the street either. He shoots everybody else, no questions. Explain that.’

  He’s stopped a foot in front of me, squaring up to me, the energy bursting off him like infrared rays.

  ‘I don’t know what they want,’ I say, but lights are flashing in my head, images dancing just out of reach.

  His head snaps up immediately, his eyes widening. ‘They?’

  I lose the thought I was trying to snatch at. ‘There was someone else in the car. I saw him.’

  Jaime takes that bit of knowledge and absorbs it silently. He rubs a hand over his shorn hair, then he places both hands on the roof of the car and rests there with his head bowed.

  ‘Jaime,’ I say quietly after a minute has passed and he still hasn’t moved or said anything. I shift from foot to foot, glancing over my shoulder. We need to be moving again. We can’t stay here. But where are we going to go? And should I really let him come with me? Is that even fair? He could go home, hide, pretend this never happened. I could . . . I falter. I could what? If he takes the car, where exactly am I going to go? And how am I going to get there? I have no money, I’m wearing an NYPD sweater and a tiny pair of shorts. And I look like I’ve just been mugged. Out the corner of my eye I spy the pile of cardboard boxes and the thought actually crosses my mind that I could just crawl beneath them and attempt to hide out right here. But then I imagine what the homeless person who lives there would say when he or she came back to find me cowering in their spot.

  ‘Jaime,’ I say again, taking a crunching step towards him.

  He looks at me over his shoulder, a crease running between his eyes but his lips pulling upward into that curious smile he uses a lot. ‘How’d you know my name?’ he asks.

  ‘I heard you telling the cop,’ I shrug.

  The smile widens, showing a brief flash of dimple. ‘It’s Jay,’ he says finally, taking a step towards me and holding out his hand. ‘Jay to my friends. Jaime to the cops and my mother.’

  It’s my turn to shoot him the quizzical look. Is he classifying us as friends? Or is it simply that I don’t qualify in the cop/mother bracket? I stare at his hand for a while before I take it. His wrist has a raised, bloodied band all the way around it from where the handcuff bit into his skin, but he seems oblivious. His fingers grip mine, firm and sure. Same way he drives, I think before I can stop myself.

  ‘Liva,’ I say, shaking his hand. ‘It’s Olivia to the cops and my mother.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Liva,’ he says, the smile now reaching his eyes.

  11

  ‘Come on,’ Jay says. He starts striding across the abandoned lot.

  I jog after him. ‘Hold up. Where are we going?’ I ask. Out of the shade it’s hot, at least ninety degrees already. I’m sweating in my NYPD sweater but I’m not wearing a bra under my camisole top so I keep the sweater on. ‘Why aren’t we taking the car?’ I ask.

  ‘We have to ditch it. The cops will put an APB out soon, once they figure out it’s missing. It might even be tagged. We gotta move.’ He ups his pace, checking to make sure I’m keeping up. I match his stride. He’s heading away from the expressway.

  ‘Do you still have the gun?’ I ask quietly.

  Jay pats the small of his back. I see a bulge under his T-shirt and frown. I hope for his sake he knows how to check the safety is on, otherwise he’s going to blow a hole in not just the seat of his pants.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I ask. I think it would be a good idea to figure out a destination before we start walking, otherwise we’re wasting energy.

  ‘Away from here,’ Jay says though, ‘then we’ll figure it out.’ He marches off again.

  Reluctantly I follow him. It’s not like I have any suggestions either. We walk in silence for a few minutes until the thunder from the traffic fades and the street starts to become less war zone and more green zone. Clapboard houses are coming into view. We hurry past a woman pushing her toddler on a scooter. She double-takes when Jay walks by, her eyelashes fluttering, but my bloodied cheek, pyjama shorts and cut-up legs don’t register on her radar at all. Maybe I don’t need to worry about calling attention to myself after all.

  ‘Why didn’t your dad come and get you?’ Jay asks as we walk. ‘Why’d he say he was going to send someone instead?’

  ‘He’s in Nigeria.’

  ‘Nigeria?’ He shakes his head as though this piece of news just added immeasurably to the bad day he is having. Hell, it’s not making my day much better either, I feel like telling him.

  ‘He’s not going to be back until tomorrow morning at the earliest.’

  His eyes roll slightly, his jaw tensing in that giveaway tell. He’d be hopeless at poker. ‘So we have twenty-four hours to keep out of trouble,’ he says to me.

  I slide a glance in his direction. Judging from the way he’s now grimacing at the sidewalk and the fact that I met him in a police station where he was being booked for stealing a car, I’m guessing that staying out of trouble is not his forte.

  We walk a few more paces, both of us deep in thought. I’m the opposite of Jay. I’ve been in trouble twice in my life. The first time was when Felix was killed five years ago, and the second time was when I was expelled from school, which was just over a month ago. Both were a direct result of disobeying rules. After Felix’s death I thought I had learned. I became obsessed with never stepping a toe out of line, of always obeying authority, even if I silently questioned it. The expulsion was an aberration, a mistake. Up until then I had been trouble free for five years. Not a blemish, not a mark, not a grade less than an A. I slow my pace trying to piece it all together. Is this all happening to me because I broke some kind of rule or because I did something wrong? It can’t be. But then again, if they’re coming after me, I must have done something. Or maybe they think I’m somebody else? Maybe that’s it. Maybe they have the wrong person.

  I come to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. ‘How did they find me?’

  Jay turns back. ‘What?’

  ‘How did they know I was going to be there? At the pick-up point?’

  He thinks about that for just a instant, which makes me wonder if he’d already been considering the same question himself. ‘They must be tracing calls to your dad’s phone,’ he says. ‘Or maybe they have access to his team’s phones. Who knows?’

  I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste the tang of blood on my tongue. He’s right. It’s not a case of mistaken identity. Not if they are tracing calls. They want me. And if I can work out why, if I can work out the connection – the final dot – I might be able to figure out why.

  ‘But no more phones,’ Jay says. ‘No more communication with your dad. No more communication with anyone. Deal?’

  ‘Deal,’ I say and we both start walking again. I don’t add that there’s no one else I could call anyway. There’s my mum, but what use would calling her be? What could she do from the other side of the world? She must be worried, but then again, she might not even know what’s happening. In a way, I hope she doesn’t. She’d only start raving hysterically and then find a way to blame it all on my dad.

  The only person I wish I could call is Felix, but that would require a line to the beyond. His voice still rings clear in my head though. I thought I’d lost it – that it had faded, just like the memory of his face has – but when I needed him back in the police station when I let panic overcome me, he was there, strong and loud in my mind, barking instructions at me. I miss him. My stomach clenches even as I walk. If he was here, what would he tell me to do? I try to listen, to see if he’s still there. I even offer a silent, tentative Hello? And then I shake off the idea that I’ve got my very own Obi-Wan giving me advice from beyond the grave. Even Felix would laugh at that one.

  We’re heading towards an intersection; it’s busy with traffic and people. I slow my pace. The thought of going anywhere near people puts me on edge.

  ‘Here are the options,’ Jay says, noticing I’m slow
ing and coming to a stop himself. ‘We could go to a motel. But we don’t have any money.’

  ‘How is that an option then?’ I ask.

  He glowers at me. ‘I’m not done. We could go to Queens.’

  I glower back at him. ‘Queens?’

  ‘To my place. But getting there is going to involve walking through the part of town we just came from.’ He jerks his head at the street up ahead of us.

  I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest. ‘No way.’

  He gives a one-shouldered shrug. ‘We don’t have to walk.’

  I narrow my eyes at him. What’s he suggesting? And then I get it. ‘NO! No way!’ I yell. ‘I thought you didn’t want to do anything that might get us noticed. Stealing a car is going to get us noticed.’

  He holds up both his hands. ‘Woah, chill. I wasn’t talking about stealing a car.’

  ‘Then what were you talking about?’ I ask.

  His lips purse and his annoyance is barely contained when he speaks. ‘Calling a friend. I don’t make a habit of stealing cars. Just so you know. It was a one-time thing.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, toeing the cracks in the sidewalk with my shoe.

  ‘Whatever,’ he says, shaking his head as he walks away.

  Panic, which I thought I’d managed to put down, rears up again, gripping hold of my insides with talon-claws. ‘I don’t think calling a friend is a good idea,’ I stutter. ‘No communication. You said it yourself. Let’s not bring anyone else into this.’

  Jay turns back to me, his eyes tentatively meeting mine. My muscles relax a fraction.

  ‘We could walk over the bridge and lose ourselves in the city,’ he says but then tails off, wincing at my legs. ‘But in those clothes you’re going to get noticed. And in this city, that’s saying something.’

  I feel indignant, even thought he’s right. ‘It was the middle of the night. I was dragged out the house by an army of police. If I’d have known what today was going to bring I would have dressed for the occasion.’ I’d have worn a bulletproof vest.