Once I’m back in the Motoko with Serge, I pull out the list and cross her off.
Jessa Scorpio
Now all that’s left is Rosie, of course, and one more: Emmett Cask.
I wait a week after Jessa.
The newspaper articles keep coming, and I’m afraid I’ll get caught, exposed in front of the whole city. Someone could easily take my picture and sell it to the Dilemma. And if that happens, my life as I know it will end. My parents will lock me in the house forever. They’d probably pull me out of school and bring in tutors to finish out my senior year. I’d become a recluse or leave the city altogether. Or worse—my chimeric heart could become the source of study at a lab somewhere.
But then Serge tells me he has a lead on the yellow LandPusher. I decide we should follow it, hoping tonight will be the night I find Rosie.
I find the LandPusher on the bank of the river, just to one side of the Bridge to Nowhere, and climb up into the decorative ironwork beneath the bridge to watch what happens. A black SUV eventually pulls up next to the LandPusher, and a man wearing sunglasses steps out. My stomach drops in anticipation of Rosie, but when the door to the LandPusher opens, it’s Emmett Cask, the skinny man with limp blond hair who was my captor just before Gavin was killed.
Emmett hands a suitcase to the man in sunglasses. The man hands him a paper bag in return.
The mural Gavin painted is sixty feet from where I’m hanging in the shadows of the bridge.
The minutes tick by with Emmett talking to his contact. I focus my hearing on what they’re saying.
“Tell the Boss we need the same order next week. The club kids love the new strain.” Finally, the other guy gets into his SUV and drives away. I’m preparing to confront him when my foot slips and a piece of the old fretwork clangs to the ground.
That’s when Emmett looks straight up at the shadow of the bridge, right at me.
“Having fun, princess?” And then he starts to run toward the entrance to the bridge.
I consider my options, my heart galloping. The slap-slap of the Midland feels like it’s almost surrounding me. I swing out of my hiding spot and climb back onto the bridge itself, which is mostly wooden, made up of rotting boards that look like they might not hold my weight. The freezing kerosene air of the Midland hits my face as I wait for him close to the bridge’s end, not far from where it drops off into the river.
He’s got his gun out, holding it with both hands. When he’s ten feet away from me, I leap toward him, my body moving faster and farther than the laws of gravity allow. He’s too surprised to shoot, and when I land, I knock the gun from his hands. But he’s strong. He manages to push me away, sending me staggering backward toward the edge of the bridge, where the boards have rotted away and it just stops, cut off in the middle of the water.
He comes at me fast, knocking me down so that half my body is suspended over the edge of the bridge. The boards cut into my back through my coat, and then I’m almost over the edge, grasping at the air. I scream, my mind careening back to the night on the bridge with Ford.
But before I fall, he grabs me by the arms and drags me back to safety, that same creepy smile on his reptilian lips. “You’re not going to get off that easy.”
I twist away from him and spot a loose board popping up from the severed bridge. I manage to wrench it most of the way free, pulling with everything I have and scrambling back onto steady footing, squirming out of his grasp.
Everything around him goes white, and the space of seconds ticking by seems to expand. It feels like I have all the time in the world to lift my arms over my head, to turn, to aim, before I smash the board over his skull. The board breaks in half on impact, but he’s still standing, and I grab him by his jacket, throwing him hard. He flies into the air and smashes head-on into the railing of the bridge. When I reach him, he is unconscious but breathing.
I pull a length of rope out from the inside of my jacket, and I spend about fifteen minutes wrapping him in it, tying knot after knot until I’m satisfied. Then I wrap the rest of it around a metal girder and send him flying so that he’s swinging, suspended from the bridge like an ornament.
After I call the tip line, I climb the scaffolding and hide in the crevasses of the bridge, watching when the police come and search him. They find the paper bag full of drug money he’d stuffed into his jacket pocket. They find his car keys. Then they shove him into a paddy wagon, and he’s gone.
When I finally climb down from the scaffolding and begin to jog back to Serge’s car, I hear people applauding. I turn to look, thinking there’s a fight going on, or a three-card monte game, but all I see are two filth-encrusted teenagers huddled by a fire blazing in a metal drum. They keep clapping, staring right at me. I wave, realizing they must have seen my fight with Emmett Cask. Then one of them crosses her fingers over her heart, standing there solemnly. The sign for the Hope.
Not knowing what to do, I make the sign back at her. We will rise, I think. Then I quickly turn around and start to jog away, not wanting them to see Serge’s plates. My body aches from the hits Emmett landed, from pulling the board up out of the bridge. My back is still bleeding. But somehow I feel it, too—a funny tingling in my stomach that must be something like hope.
CHAPTER 32
Serge pulls into the Fleet Tower parking garage at 2:10 in the morning. We nod a quick good-bye, and I get out of the car. I wave as he pulls away.
Inside the parking garage, the air is humid and still. I walk over to the elevator bank and press the service elevator button, the slow creep of a smile spreading across my lips. I’m getting closer to Rosie Thorne. The elevator car bounces slightly when it hits the subbasement level, and then the door dings open.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
My smile dissolves instantly. Will.
I step backward, my eyes locked on his smirking face. His blond curls are wild, frizzing out in all directions, his eyes so bloodshot the whites are solid red, and the skin under his eyes is swollen. He steps out of the elevator, his arms open, about to pull me toward him.
Disgusted, I dart out of his reach. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss.
“Anthem.” He looks at me sideways as if I’m an incorrigible student who’s forgotten my homework. “We both knew there’d come a time when you’d give me what you promised.”
“I’ve done everything I promised,” I breathe. “Every stupid thing. Zahra still isn’t speaking to me. I guess that makes you happy.”
He steps toward me again. I can smell the tang of his sweat, something mineral about it.
“Yes, actually,” he muses, reaching out a hand to stroke my cheek, his fingers hot. “It does. She’s such a bitch.”
“No she isn’t. You’re deranged,” I say, flinching from his touch. I make myself as tall as I can, but I’m still so much smaller than him. “Get out of here. I’ll call secu—”
“I don’t think you’ll call anyone,” he says. “Since that would mean waking Mum and Daddy, who might wonder why their dear daughter is in the parking garage at”—he pulls out his antique pocket watch, an affectation given to him by his father the district attorney—“two seventeen in the morning.”
I press my lips together, running through my options. He has no chance against me physically, but the last thing I want is for him to get so angry he posts the video.
“Speaking of, Anthem, why are you down here at this hour? I watched you leave through the garage hours ago. Of course, you’re too fast to keep up with, so I waited here for you to come back. And now you’re back.” Will laughs. “And you have blood on your blouse.”
I hurriedly button my coat. Emmett Cask put up a good fight. A few drops of blood must have gotten on my shirt when I was tying him to the cement column under the overpass.
“Will,” I whisper. “Leave now. If you don’t want me to hurt you—”
“You’re not going to hurt me, Anthem,” Will purrs, stepping close to me again. “Your new life as a freak is
too important to you. Now let’s go upstairs and lay down in your bed and do what we should have done months ag—”
Just then, the service entrance door clicks open. Will and I both whirl around, and I’m overjoyed to see Serge’s stern face.
“Anthem,” Serge says in his deep basso profundo. “You should be in bed. William, I will drive you home.”
“Hi, Mr. LaForge,” Will says, his voice cracking. “We were just—”
“It is very late,” Serge says, his eyes blazing. He puts a protective hand around me, inserting his enormous frame between me and Will. “Too late for you to be here. Anthem needs her rest.”
“Right, I just . . . um, okay.”
“I will drive you home.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I insist.” Serge takes Will by his arm and walks him to the Seraph. Over his shoulder, he calls out, “Your parents think you are asleep in your room. I suggest you make your way there quickly.”
As Serge pushes Will into the backseat of the car, his hand on his head like a cop escorting a criminal to lockup, my adrenaline starts to ebb and I take a deep, shaky breath. They pull away, and Will’s face in the car window is a portrait of fury.
CHAPTER 33
The next morning, my parents and I end up all leaving at the same time. “Catch a ride with us, kitten,” Harris says as we get into the elevator, me in my school uniform, my mother in a navy pantsuit with a periwinkle silk shirt, my father in his usual suit and tie, the Daily Dilemma tucked under his arm.
“Okay,” I say warily.
We pile into the car, which Serge has pulled up to the grand front entrance of Fleet Tower. When I’m seated in the middle seat between my father and mother, Serge nods hello in the front seat, wearing his chauffeur’s cap. His eyes meet mine in the rearview, then flick away. A hot blush creeps into my chest and up my neck. What must it be like for him, keeping my secret from my father and mother, his employers, and for so many years, his closest relations?
Next to me in the backseat, my father makes a funny sound in the back of his throat. “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath.
I turn to look at him, and he’s got the front page of the paper in his hands. I freeze when I see the headline, printed in huge letters:
RETURN OF THE HOPE?
Next to it is a picture of Emmett, his face bloodied, squinting in the glare of the flashbulb, tied to the bridge girder.
The article itself is small, and I strain to read it without my father noticing. All I see before we get to school is this:
For the sixth time in two weeks, a wanted member of the Syndicate has been caught in the act, tied up, and delivered to the Bedlam boys in blue through an anonymous tip. Ariel Siegel, interviewed at the scene, claimed to have seen the whole thing. She said, “What I saw tonight was incredible speed and strength. Beyond what a human being should be able to do. I always knew we’d have a second chance to turn the city around after the Hope disappeared. This is our chance.” Ms. Siegel declined to describe this “incredible” person’s looks, repeatedly saying “no comment” when pressed for a—
“Anthem.” My mother is shaking my arm, and I have to tear my eyes away from the paper. “We’re here.”
“Sorry.” I put my hand against my chest, where my heart is hammering at my rib cage. I hurry out of the car and head toward school, the cathedral tower looming gray and massive in the white morning sky. The headline burned into my retinas, floating in front of me everywhere I turn. I really should start wearing a mask.
“So now you have your father’s bodyguard watching out for you?” The sound of Will’s voice oozes around the edge of my locker door. I slide my physics and Latin books on top of the teetering pile and have to fight the urge to slam the locker door against his face. Instead, I close my locker and begin to walk away. Fast.
But he’s right there alongside me, matching my stride, pushing his way through the pre-homeroom throngs, his blond head held high.
“I don’t have time for this right now,” I say. All I want to do is go to the computer lab and check all the papers to make sure none of them have a picture or description of me. But I head in the direction of the library instead, because Will and the computer lab don’t mix. Not while he’s got the footage on his flash drive.
“I don’t really care what you have time for,” Will hisses. “That was bullshit last night. I’m going to need you to tell your dad’s lackey to back off.” His eyes bulge out, and he’s breathing fast, almost panting, as we head up to the second floor.
I push the library door open, wanting more than anything to head up to the Thesis Tower, alone, away from Will. He’s right behind me, though, and when I pause, his hand goes around my waist.
I twist away from him and move to put a study table stacked high with books that need to be reshelved between me and him. “He’s not a lackey. And he doesn’t answer to me.”
“Oh, please, Anthem.” Will laughs. “That guy would die for you. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in love with you.” Will keeps laughing, doubling over, convulsing with it. I’ve had enough.
“You’re even more demented than I thought,” I say, my voice rising.
“Oh my God, Anthem, did that hit a little close to home? Are you, like, having an affair with big man Serge?” Will is breathing shallow breaths, like he can’t get enough air.
The edges of my vision blackening with rage, I reach down and grab a thick hardback from the table in front of me and throw it at his head as hard as I can. It grazes his cheek and falls twenty feet behind him.
“Really?” Will yells, his face turning ten shades of pink.
Then a lot of things happen very quickly.
He grabs me by my shoulders, shoving me harder than he should be able to into the side of one of the library stacks. My body slams into the shelves, sending a few dozen books flying off onto the carpeted floor. I push him away, and he staggers, falling over a chair.
“It’s your funeral,” he says flatly. “Hope you enjoy all the exposure, you stupid little bitch.”
Frozen above him, my body shaking with adrenaline, I open my mouth to say Don’t do it, Will, but I never get the chance.
“From where I stand, there’s only one stupid little bitch in the room,” a familiar voice growls. Zahra steps out of the stacks on the far wall, the ones that lead to the Thesis Tower. Her CDS cardigan is threaded with hundreds of safety pins; her black hair is dyed an amazing hot orange at the roots. It takes me a second to notice that she’s holding a small black canister out in front of her with two hands. “And it’s the guy cowering on the floor.”
I have never loved anyone as much as I love Zahra right now.
Will backs away, using a chair to pull himself up. “You use that, you’ll be expelled,” he mutters.
“Do I look like I give a shit about being expelled?” Zahra says, walking closer to him, the pepper spray still held out in front of her. “I think it would be worth it, Willard. Just to hear you cry. You’ve had a good pepper spraying coming your way for a long, long time.”
“Don’t do it,” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion. “Zahra, I love you, and I can’t let you ruin your life for me.”
Zahra looks at me, and I see her eyes are glassy. “Who says I’m doing it for you?” She smiles feebly.
In the time it takes for us to have this exchange, Will is on his feet and running for the door. Zahra’s clear shot is ruined. “Leave her alone or we’ll finish this,” she calls just as Will hustles out the door.
“Z,” I start, running toward her. “You’re amazing. That was like a movie.”
“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” Zahra’s face lights up for a second, reliving the triumph, then darkens again. She goes and grabs her book bag from the stacks and puts the pepper spray in a zippered pocket.
“I’m so sorry about everything,” I start, moving in to give her a hug. But she steps away from me.
“I know you are. But Ant, things a
re still seriously messed up between you and me. This gross game Will’s playing with you? It needs to stop now.” She pauses and gives me a hard look. “We’re not remotely okay until it’s over with him.”
“I just—” I whisper, looking at the floor, desperately wishing I could spell it all out for her. I owe her the truth, now more than ever. “I need a little more time—”
“There is no more time!” Zahra yells, exasperated. “He’s a rage-aholic, and it’s only going to get worse. I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore.”
Just then, the ancient, nearly deaf school librarian, Mr. Deckle, walks in, and the morning bells start to clang. Zahra whirls around, not waiting for an answer.
Zahra moves out the door as quickly as Will did, leaving me in the musty library to explain to Mr. Deckle why there are fifty books on the floor.
I take my bag off my shoulder and start to pick them up while Mr. Deckle goes around opening shades and turning on lights, humming to himself.
Zahra’s right. Will is a rage-aholic. He’s a ticking time bomb, getting crazier, more and more reckless, more erratic.
I gather up piles and piles of books from the floor and line them up on a library cart in the hope that Mr. Deckle won’t make me stay and shelve them. My thoughts wander to Duffy Doolittle’s arrest a few weeks ago. I picture her sweating, screaming at Roderick, threatening him . . .
I grab the last book off the floor and roll the library cart between the stacks, realizing I finally have something on Will. Something every bit as damaging as what he’s got on me.
CHAPTER 34
The Hansens live in a townhouse near the lake, on a street with old-fashioned oil-burning lanterns spaced evenly at the corners of sumptuous lawns. The carved topiary sculptures are thick and green in spite of the cold winter.
It’s Wednesday at 7:30. Will is still at Cathedral, heading up a prom budget committee meeting. After ballet, I ran back to school to make sure, peeking into the lit auditorium windows, where Olive Ann was walking the committee through the proposed floor plan. Will stood in the corner of the small group, furiously crunching numbers on his phone. I smiled when I noticed the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
The Brokenhearted Page 20
