“Ugh,” Alexis groaned as she revealed her face from underneath the gigantic heap of blankets. “What?”
“I need your help. There’s so much I need to catch you up on.” It was hard to see in the dim lighting from the lamp at her bedside table, but Emery could have sworn her sister looked different . . . paler. She turned on the overhead light to be sure. Her sister was indeed drained of her natural color, and, although her face wasn’t discolored, she certainly looked ill. “How are you feeling?”
Alexis sighed. “I’m really tired. I think I just need more rest.” She rolled onto her side. “Can we catch up tomorrow? If we talk tonight, I won’t be able to focus.” The words came out as a mumble.
Emery chewed on her lower lip. “Yeah, okay. Get some rest.” She closed the door gently behind her as feelings of panic began to surface.
Alexis is getting worse. We’re running out of time.
Just as she’d started pacing up and down the corridor, on the brink of having a full-blown anxiety attack, the doorbell rang. She teleported downstairs and opened the door to find none other than Torin, standing on her doorstep.
“Got your holomail,” he said with a smile. “It made me laugh.” With one look at her face, his jovial expression turned serious. “What’s wrong?”
She ran a hand through her hair, feeling flustered and exhausted simultaneously. “It’s Alexis. I think she’s getting worse, but she won’t admit to it.”
“Has the grey spread?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Great, so there’s a name for it now. And that’s what we’re calling it? The grey?”
He shrugged. “It’s just a term I’ve heard thrown around loosely at headquarters.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, whatever. To answer your question, no, the grey hasn’t spread.”
“And what about yours?” he asked as he looked at her hands.
“Only slightly,” she confessed.
“How far?”
“To my wrists . . . but that’s beside the point,” she said as she quickly changed the subject. “We need to focus on what’s important. Torin, my mother kept journals. About Alpha One. There might be information in her entries about sanaré, about the formulation.”
His eyes lit up. “Well, that’s great news! Where are they?”
She knit her brows in confusion. “Where are what?”
“The journals,” he clarified, looking at her like she was some crazed lunatic.
“Oh, well . . . I haven’t exactly found them yet.” A coy grin tugged at the corners of her lips.
He gave her a knowing look. “You brought me here to help you search, didn’t you?” He sighed, then threw his hands into the air. “This is last year all over again.”
She frowned. “You don’t have to help. I just thought that . . . I don’t know, that you might want to be a part of this.”
His cheeks turned a dark shade of pink. “No, it’s fine. You’re right. I do want to be a part of this.” He paused. “I’m just really hoping you have a plan this time. No aimless wandering.”
“I don’t have a solid plan, per se, but I do have some ideas.”
“Meaning we’re going to tear apart your house again?”
She looked at him with a devious twinkle in her eye. “You betcha, Mr. Porter. It’s time to roll your sleeves up. Things are about to get dirty.”
20
Three days had passed, and Torin and Emery were no closer to finding Sandra’s journals. After Torin had re-inspected the game room to be sure she hadn’t missed anything, they’d wandered into the living room—that had turned out to be yet another dead-end.
Feeling wildly uncomfortable, they’d hit Sandra’s bedroom next. Even though he’d spent the majority of his life hacking into systems, he didn’t like the thought of rummaging through anyone’s personal belongings, especially when that person was no longer living. Wasn’t that in poor taste? At the very least, it’d likely bring him some bad karma, and he certainly wasn’t in the market for that.
He sat on a pile of boxes in the attic, watching as Emery tore through another collection of photo albums and old music records. Something seemed to catch her eye for a brief moment, but then she threw her head back, hands flying into the air out of frustration.
“I didn’t even know houses still had attics,” he joked in an effort to lighten the mood.
She glared at him in disdain. “Not now, Torin.” She sighed as she surveyed the dusty floorboards. “I don’t get it. We’ve looked everywhere.”
It was true. The attic was one of the last places on their list, apart from the backyard and the exterior of the house. He’d suggested that they check them out anyway, but she’d refused, saying that her mother wouldn’t have hidden her journals outdoors. “That’s just asking for someone—anyone—to find them and read them,” she’d said. The look on her face then matched the one on her face now.
“Well, maybe we’re just not looking in the right place,” he pointed out.
“Possibly,” she murmured. “Where else but here? This is,” she paused, correcting herself, “was her home. It’s the most logical place for her to keep the journals.”
“Unless . . .” He ran his index finger over his lips, deep in thought, as he gazed up at the ceiling.
She crossed her arms impatiently. “Unless what?”
He shifted his gaze back in her direction. “Oh,” he said quickly, feeling his cheeks warm, “I don’t know. I was hoping that my saying ‘unless’ would trigger something for you.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Again, not helping.”
“Sorry.” He pushed himself up from the pile of boxes and began pacing back and forth. Clouds of dust floated overheard with each step he took.
“This is hopeless,” she muttered. “It was a stupid idea. Those journals are probably locked away somewhere or better yet, were probably destroyed by Chief Novak. Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake?”
“You can’t think like that. They’ve got to be somewhere, and we’re going to find them.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He gave her a knowing smile. “Because I know you. And you’re not one to give up. You’re certainly not going to give up now. We just need to . . .”
+ +
His voice trailed off as Emery blew on an old photo album, dust particles enveloping the space around her. The pages crinkled as she turned them. There they were on Easter morning, she and her sister just little girls, adorned in identical outfits with matching bows. Their mother had loved to dress them up for the holidays.
She flipped the page. There they were on the fourth of July, decked out in red, white, and blue spandex with oversized sunglasses, their mouths discolored from the many popsicles they’d consumed at a family friend’s barbecue. She smiled at the thought.
She turned to the next page, laughing at their Power Rangers costumes. She’d insisted on being the pink one, while Alexis had gotten stuck with yellow. And on the next page were multiple photos of them in Northern Arizona at their cabin, where they’d spent many Christmases playing in the snow and sledding down bunny-sized hills. She traced her finger over one of the photos, outlining the shape of the cabin. A startling realization dawned on her.
Torin was still babbling on about something, but she hadn’t been listening. “Hey . . .”
“ . . . And I’m just not sure it was the right decision, you know?” His brows furrowed as finished his thought, still pacing across the room. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she hadn’t been listening and had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
“Torin!”
At the sound of his name, he stopped pacing, then looked at her with an alarmed expression. He raised an eyebrow. “You have my attention.”
Emery stood up, photo album in hand, as she gave him a wide grin. “I know where the journals are.”
21
“What do you have for me?” B
yron asked as Naia entered the room, her eyes intently focused on her holopad. “Please tell me it’s something good.”
“Still no luck, sir,” she confessed. “Although it’s an uphill battle, we are getting closer. The process is incredibly complex, like you mentioned. I guess I underestimated just how complex it would be.”
He pressed his mouth into a firm line. Ever since Emery had optioned for a wild goose chase in search of Sandra’s journals, he’d worked harder and harder to recreate sanaré from scratch. They’d started from the ground up, with absolutely nothing to work with—but no matter how close they felt they were, there always seemed to be an indiscernible, yet critical piece missing. With every alteration came a new set of problems, causing more issues than the last.
He sighed. He had to give credit to his late wife. She’d certainly encrypted the crap out of the formulation so that no one, but her, could figure it out. He now wished that he’d taken a little more interest in Alpha One in its primary stages. Had he done so, he could have learned more about the formulation. Any knowledge of the sort would be invaluable right about now. They were in dire straits for a breakthrough.
“Sir?” Naia asked.
Clearly, she’d been speaking to him, but he’d been so caught up in his own thoughts that he’d missed every word. “My apologies, Naia. Can you repeat that?”
“Do you want us to incorporate the next ingredient on the list, or remove one of the others? What is our next step moving forward?”
A loud sigh escaped his lips. Making decisions day in and day out was cumbersome and exhausting. If he could have just one day—one day where no one asked him questions, scheduled a meeting, or left him a holomail—he’d be the happiest man alive.
“Please forgive me if this is out of line, but you look like you could use some rest,” she suggested. “Perhaps a fresh perspective is exactly what we need.”
He tilted his head. “Meaning what exactly?”
“Meaning that, well,” she fumbled for words, “you may see this whole thing through a new pair of lenses after getting some rest.”
Her honest response immediately made him feel guilty for snapping at her, and he wished, right then and there, that he could take his harsh tone back. “I suppose you’re right.” He shut down his holomonitor, then stood up from his desk, heading in the direction of his bed chambers. “But only if you and the rest of the laboratory technicians get some sleep as well. And that’s an order.”
She nodded, then bowed her head as she made her way toward the exit. “I’ll see to it that it’s done.”
“Thank you, Naia. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, sir.”
The door shut quietly behind her, leaving him alone in his office. He pushed open the door to his chambers and strode into the bathroom. He turned the faucet on and splashed some water onto his face. As he reached for a towel, his eyes caught his reflection. Deep purple bags sat underneath his eyes, his hair was greasy and unkempt, and the wrinkles lining his forehead were more prominent than ever. As his gaze lowered, he was drawn to the scar on his left cheek. He turned away from the mirror, trying to keep the demons from that night at bay; but no matter how hard he tried, the demons always seemed to win.
At the beginning of his tenure in the military, Byron hadn’t been working for the Seventh Sanctum, but for the very people who had put his family into Dormance: the Federal Commonwealth. Not knowing what they were capable of back then, he’d been deployed overseas to China for an undisclosed mission. President Novak had been waiting for him upon his arrival.
He’d ordered Byron to set up camp right outside Beijing, where they would initiate the first wave of their strategy. He’d quickly learned that the “strategy” was to put the entire population under control of Dormance. With this knowledge, he’d immediately approached President Novak to resign, but of course, he wasn’t going to get off that easy. As he’d tried to leave, he’d heard the sound of a blade unsheathing. He’d turned just in time to see Novak aiming a dagger straight at his head. He almost hadn’t moved in time, but did just enough so that the blade had sliced across his left cheek and barely nipped the top of his ear.
Thinking back on it now, he should have killed President Novak right then and there, had he known what the man was capable of. But he’d fled the scene and went searching for an organization with as much power, if not more, as the Federal Commonwealth. When he found that one didn’t exist, he decided to create it.
And that’s how the Seventh Sanctum was born.
As ugly as the scar was, it served as a reminder—a reminder that if it hadn’t been for President Novak, he never would have pursued building the Seventh Sanctum from the ground up. It was a symbol of his strength and courage; of his determination to overcome evil with good. And that’s why the scar remained. To cover it up or have it removed would mean hiding the very essence of who he was. He wouldn’t stand for that.
Byron traced over the indentation with his index finger, then tossed the towel onto the edge of the sink. He strode over to his armoire and changed into his pajamas, making sure the bulletproof vest was secure beneath his shirt. It was habit at this point. Even though Novak was long gone, one could never be too careful.
As he settled into bed, he said a quick prayer for his late wife, for Emery, for Alexis, and for himself. The latter was a simple prayer—all he asked was that his demons be kept at bay—but he knew his efforts were futile because it wouldn’t work. It never did.
The nightmares came easy that night.
22
The wind howled as Emery stood in front of her family’s cabin in Northern Arizona. Torin was surveying the perimeter, checking to make sure there were no unwanted guests in the shrubbery. “All clear!” he called out from behind the wooden structure.
She tried to take a step forward, but her feet felt as though they were stuck in blocks of cement.
He seemed to notice this slight struggle. “Is everything alright?”
She hung her head. “Being here . . . it makes me sad.”
He trudged over to her, kicking thick piles of snow behind him as he propelled himself forward. It took him a minute, but eventually he positioned his body right in front of hers. She gazed up at his flushed cheeks and frozen eyelashes. She hadn’t realized how tall he was until now. He didn’t say anything, just extended his hand for her to take. She hesitated for a moment, then obliged. They lumbered through the dense snow together, heaving unexaggerated breaths when they made it to the front stoop.
“Please tell me your family keeps firewood here,” he said as he rubbed his hands together for warmth.
“There should be some in the shed.” She gazed at the giant evergreen-colored door. “I guess I’ll go inside and see if I can get the heat to kick on.”
As Torin made his way around back, she stepped inside the cabin, pulling off her boots so as to not track in any icy water. She plodded into the living room, the plush bearskin rug soft and warm between her toes. Delving further into the cabin, she switched on the lamp sitting atop the coffee table. Everything was just as they’d left it.
Moose antlers hung over the antique stone fireplace. Framed family pictures lined the hearth. The leather couches were worn in, and she could still see the indent of her mom’s hourglass shape on the far right end. A tear slid down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away, dispelling the image from her mind.
She jumped as Torin appeared at the front door carrying a bundle of logs. He ambled over to the fireplace and threw the logs in. “Do you have a lighter? Or matches?”
“I’m surprised you want real flames instead of a holofire,” she teased.
He gave her a sideways grin, his shaggy hair covering one of his eyes. “No way. Holofires are cool, but there’s nothing like the real thing.”
She nodded in agreement. Cozying up by the fire with a heavy fleece blanket and mug of hot cocoa was one of her favorite pastimes. She tried not to think too much about the man
y memories that had taken place in front of that very fireplace with her mother and sister.
Easier said than done.
“I guess we should get started,” she said as she walked behind the couch, tossing him a lighter along the way. “I’ll cover the upstairs. Why don’t you look around down here?”
“You know how much I loathe going through personal belongings . . .”
She crossed her arms. “You said you would help.”
“Well, maybe we can do it together,” he suggested. “We can both look upstairs, and then come down here.”
She shook her head. “We’ll cover more ground if we split up.”
“But the cabin’s not even that big! I don’t see why we can’t just stick together.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Torin, as much as I appreciate your help and support, I need you to understand something. I love being here, at this cabin—but I loved being here with my mom and my sister.” She swallowed. “Given recent events, I really just want to get in and get out. Okay?”
He looked down at his hands, his crimson cheeks darker than she’d ever seen them. “I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking.” He looked back up at her. “Let’s make this fast then.”
She nodded in appreciation. “Thank you,” she said as she began to climb the spiral staircase. “Like I said before, I’ll tackle the upstairs and you stay here.”
“Roger that.”
An hour and a half later, the cabin was completely torn apart. As Torin went through the final chest near the front door, Emery decided to order them two cups of steaming hot cocoa with marshmallows from SmartMeal. She watched as he put the miscellaneous items back into the chest and closed the lid, then trudged over to one of the oversized leather couches. She joined him shortly after, handing him one of the mugs.
“Mmm,” he murmured as he took a sip. “The little marshmallows are my favorite.”
Restitution (The Alpha Drive Book 3) Page 7
