by Jan Gangsei
But the familiar female voice had been replaced by an eerily robotic male one.
“Now departing Foggy Bottom,” it said as the train hurtled into the dark tunnel ahead. “There will be no next stop.”
“How are you doing this morning, Addie?”
Dr. Gregory Richards, behavioral psychologist, stroked his bearded chin and peered thoughtfully from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. A small tape recorder sat on the table next to his chair. Addie sat opposite him on the sofa. The First Family had returned to D.C. from Clifton first thing this morning. Addie had hoped she would just get to go home with them. Instead she’d been driven here, to Dr. Richards’s Georgetown University office, a small bookshelf-lined space cluttered with dusty journals and old books.
Behind the frosted glass of the closed door, Addie heard students chatting and laughing in the hallway, occasionally gliding past like dark shadows. Ghosts of a future Addie knew she would never have.
Addie shrugged. She still hadn’t figured out how much she could trust Dr. Richards. The last shrink type they’d sent to see her at the safe house was the one who’d given her that stupid test—and immediately reported the results right back to her mother and the president.
But Richards seemed different. Sure, he wore the clichéd tweed jacket and khaki pants of a rumpled professor. But the getup seemed perfectly natural on him: the frayed lapels, the slightly disheveled hair. Like he rolled straight out of bed every morning looking like Indiana Jones. Probably born with a pipe in his mouth and eyebrow arched, asking the delivery room staff how they were feeling.
“Okay,” Dr. Richards said. “Don’t really want to talk?”
Addie’s eyes flitted to the tape recorder. Dr. Richards followed her gaze.
“I see,” he said. “Does that thing make you nervous?”
Addie shrugged again. Dr. Richards picked up the recorder.
“Eh,” he said, “I don’t like it either. Can’t stand hearing the sound of my own voice.” He scratched the fuzz on his chin and rolled his eyes. “Actually, if you ask my daughter, she’d say there’s nothing I love more than the sound of my own voice. But that’s a different story.”
Addie knew she was supposed to laugh. She didn’t. Unfazed, Dr. Richards clicked off the recorder and stuffed it in a drawer.
“Better?” he said.
Addie nodded.
“Listen, Addie,” Dr. Richards said. “I want you to know this is a safe place, okay? I’m not here to investigate. I’m not here to judge. I don’t work for the FBI or the Secret Service. Or even your parents. I work for you. You can talk or not talk, okay?”
Addie nodded again.
“Just know that whatever you say in here stays between you and me…” Dr. Richards pointed to a shelf above his head, at a weird-looking striped stuffed animal with a zipper for a mouth. “…and of course, Sorgenfresser over there.”
“Sorgen-what?” Addie said, surprised by the sound of her own voice. “What’s that thing?”
“Sorgenfresser,” Dr. Richards said, pulling the bear down, “is a worry eater.” He unzipped the mouth. “See, you write down your worries and drop them in there, then Sorgenfresser eats them for you. My little clients love him. Well, come to think of it, lots of my grown-up ones do, too. He’s kind of cool, huh?”
“Maybe you should give him to my parents,” she muttered.
“Oh yeah? Do they worry a lot?”
“Yes.”
“About what?” Dr. Richards said. “I mean, I get your father has plenty to worry about as leader of the free world, what with the attack at the Reagan Center last week. But what is it that you think your parents need Sorgenfresser for?”
Addie went back to shrugging.
“You think they worry about you, is that it?” Dr. Richards said.
Addie nodded.
“Does that make you uncomfortable?” he asked.
Addie nodded again.
“I wonder why?”
“Because…” Addie’s back stiffened. “I can take care of myself.”
“I see,” Dr. Richards said. “You’ve had to take care of yourself a lot these last eight years, haven’t you?”
Addie looked away.
“It makes perfect sense that it’s difficult to have other people concerned about you now,” Dr. Richards said. “But it’s okay, you know, to let other people care for you. You aren’t alone.”
Addie began to pick at the sofa cushions, chewing her bottom lip.
She was alone, trapped in this bedroom for more days than she could count since her escape attempt. But her pillowcase was no longer damp with tears. She’d stopped crying for Mommy and Daddy in her sleep. It was clear they weren’t coming. They didn’t care. Nobody did. They’d never find her, anyway. She wasn’t even sure where she was. Somewhere far away, where the only sounds she’d heard had been her own sobs. Until she couldn’t cry anymore. But now the silence was worse, like a fist clenched around her chest, squeezing her tightly until even the will to scream was gone.
The door to her room opened, and he walked in holding a tray. He came three times a day bearing simple meals. Oatmeal in the morning; bread with some meat and cheese and a piece of fruit in the afternoon; a bowl of soup at night. She sat up. Even though she hated his dull food and still feared his presence, she’d grown to anticipate his visits. At least for a few minutes, she wasn’t alone.
“I have something special for you today, little one,” he said.
“Yes?”
He pointed at a large candy bar on the wooden tray, propped next to the steaming soup bowl. “Marabou dark chocolate,” he said. “My favorite as a child. I hope you enjoy it.” He smiled and set the tray on the small desk across from her bed.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” He held out something else. A thick book, pages dog-eared at the edges, cover faded with time. “You enjoy reading?” he said.
She nodded and accepted the book eagerly. Trapped with her own thoughts for so long, it would be a welcome distraction to experience someone else’s.
“Yes, I also loved to read as a child,” he said. “We are so much alike, you and I.” He gently stroked her hair. And for the first time since she’d arrived, she didn’t recoil. It had been so long since anyone had touched or held her in a normal way, like a parent or babysitter would. “This book was my favorite,” he said. “I hope you enjoy it.”
She looked up at him and met his cool blue eyes, this time without fear. “Thanks, Father,” she whispered. He nodded, and patted her head one more time before leaving. She felt a rush of disappointment as the door closed behind him. Then she remembered the hardbound volume in her hands—The Count of Monte Cristo. Ignoring her soup, she went straight for the chocolate bar, slipping smooth, rich squares into her mouth as she immersed herself in a tale of revenge.
Dr. Richards leaned forward, extending Sorgenfresser in his hand. “So how about it?” he said. “Want to give it a try?”
Addie jumped. “I’m sorry. Give what a try?”
“Sorgenfresser,” he said, handing Addie the bear and a piece of paper. “Let him have one of your worries.”
Addie tried not to roll her eyes. “I’m not eight years old anymore,” she said, wondering how much longer this session was going to last.
“No, you’re not,” Dr. Richards answered. “But you were, once.”
Addie sighed. “Okay. Fine.” She took the ridiculous bear, paper, and pencil, and looked around the room, thinking. Addie worried about plenty. Mikey. Her sisters. Innocent people that needed to be protected from evil. But she couldn’t stuff that into Sorgenfresser’s zippered mouth. For starters, it would never help. Also, she was sure Dr. Richards would read it as soon as she left.
She tried to think of something to write, but her mind wandered to Darrow and stuck there a moment, like it had been doing ever since she’d seen him the previous night. Over the years, she’d occasionally allowed herself to imagine what he had become, what
it would be like if she saw him again. Somehow her idea of Darrow had never changed much in these fantasies. He was just an older version of the lanky, nerdy little boy who had been her partner in crime for so long, the one person in the world she knew she could always count on. So the tall, deep-voiced guy she’d encountered last night had come as a pretty big shock. She couldn’t believe he’d found her like that. Of all the people…still, once she’d gotten herself together, Addie couldn’t help but notice the way his shirt stretched across his broad chest, the ripples of muscles beneath the fabric. He’d grown out his thick black hair so it fell to the nape of his neck in soft curls. The baby fat had disappeared from his face, and his cheekbones and strong jawline were more pronounced.
His eyes hadn’t changed, though—still deep brown flecked with gold, like they contained tiny shards of sunlight. Still thoughtful and kind. And he hadn’t looked at her the way everyone else had. That look of pity, concern, fear. Darrow simply looked at her like he wanted to understand.
But how could he, living here in his little bubble? It was impossible. He’d never know what it meant to be afraid. Like last night, when Addie realized the full implications of her failure; she had arrived in the woods too late for the handoff. Fear had taken over—she had been terrified that he was somehow going to come for her, punish her then and there. No one had come, but she knew that didn’t mean her mistake would be forgotten. Addie shifted uncomfortably. She cupped her hand around the paper on her lap and wrote, the sharp point of the pencil digging into her thigh.
As Dr. Richards watched with a smile, Addie folded the note and fed it to the bear. She handed it back to the psychologist, but he shook his head.
“Keep him, Addie,” Dr. Richards said. “Use him when you need to. And when you’re ready to talk, we’ll talk. I’m here to help you.”
“Okay,” Addie said.
But talking didn’t solve anything. Addie knew that now. Only action did.
And it was up to Addie to act.
She inhaled deeply and glanced out the window at the manicured campus that stretched between the brick buildings. Students crisscrossed along the paths, holding coffees and books. They stopped and chatted, perfectly content, their futures laid out before them like shiny prizes at a carnival. Addie hated them, in a way. For being what she could have been, if he had just left her alone. But she knew that wasn’t possible. And maybe she didn’t even care. Sometimes it was better to know the truth. Justice wasn’t blind. It was only achieved with eyes wide open.
Dr. Richards was gazing benignly at Addie, waiting for her to speak.
She let out a slow breath. “I want to be normal,” she finally said. “Like them,” she added, pointing out the window. “I don’t want to be ‘Addie Webster, kidnapping victim.’ I want to be a regular teenager. But I just don’t see how it’s possible, you know?”
“Anything is possible,” Dr. Richards said. “As long as you’re willing to put in the effort. Are you?”
Before Addie could answer, there was a knock on Dr. Richards’s door. The handle twisted and Addie drew back reflexively, curling into herself as the door flew open. Agent Alvarez stood on the other side, face serious.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But I need to take Miss Webster back to the White House.”
Addie glanced back and forth between Alvarez and Dr. Richards. “Don’t we still have a few minutes left?” she said, even though she’d been anxious to leave since the moment she’d arrived. She didn’t like the way Agent Alvarez was keeping her hand close to the weapon Addie knew was tucked into her waistband. She didn’t like that fierce look in the agent’s eyes.
Alvarez shook her head. “We have a situation,” she said. “And it’s critical we get you to a secure location. Now.”
“Okay.” Addie stood, trying to steady her shaking knees as she walked to the door.
“Thank you, sir.” Alvarez nodded at Dr. Richards. “I advise you to remain in your office.”
Alvarez left the bewildered psychologist behind and led Addie quickly down the hallway, one hand on her elbow, eyes darting from student to student as if any one of them might have explosives hidden in their backpacks. When they reached the motorcade, Alvarez practically shoved Addie into the backseat, then sat down next to her and slammed the door.
Addie swallowed hard. “What’s going on? What sort of situation?” she said, voice hitching. “Am I in danger?”
Alvarez took her eyes off the scene outside and trained them on Addie.
“Hijacking on the Blue Line,” she said, and went back to watching random people milling about on the nearby walkway. “We don’t know what’s going on yet, but we don’t take chances in situations like these.” She tapped the seat in front of her and motioned to the driver. “Let’s roll.” The limo lurched forward, sirens blaring.
The train barreled around a corner and screeched to a stop, sending the passengers in all six cars lurching forward. Some cried; some screamed in terror; others just sat, gripping their seats, immobilized by shock.
Several jumped to their feet, trying to pry open the locked doors, but the emergency exits had been disabled. People continued to punch hopelessly at their cell phones, but the signal had been jammed as soon as they’d departed Foggy Bottom. In desperation, a woman gave the train’s emergency call box another try, only to be greeted by dead silence on the other end.
The train’s loudspeaker crackled back to life and the passengers went silent, listening.
“We are Cerberus,” the robotic man’s voice said. “We have control of this train. Do not try to escape; do not attempt to move. Do as we say and you will not be harmed.” The speaker sputtered off and back on again. “Disobey and we will kill you.”
There was another moment of silent disbelief, punctuated by muted sobs and whimpering. Then a man in a gray business suit jumped to his feet, yelling, “No way! No way am I going to die on a damn train!” He took out a heavy black laptop from his bag and bashed it against the nearest window. More passengers began to scream and cry. Another man attempted to restrain him.
“We’ve got to stay calm!” he screeched.
“To hell with that!” the man answered. He shoved the other man away. “I’m getting out of here.” He pounded at the window again. Several other passengers got to their feet and began to help, smashing at the windows with anything they could find.
Suddenly the train lurched forward, slowly and deliberately. The man with the laptop fell sideways as the lights flickered off. The voice came over the loudspeaker, uttering just four words before cutting out again:
“You have been warned.”
The canister at the pregnant woman’s feet popped and hissed. She curled into herself, sobbing. So this was it. This was how she was going to die—at the hands of terrorists. All her life, twenty-six years, she’d lived in this city, and she’d never been afraid like she was right now. She rubbed her belly.
“I love you, baby,” she choked out as a sickly sweet gas filled the train’s compartment.
The motorcade raced through the streets of D.C. Outside, Addie could hear sirens wailing. The limousine’s tires screeched as they took a hard turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Addie desperately wanted to ask Alvarez for more details, but the agent was busy watching every passing motorist, every pedestrian that crossed their paths.
The White House loomed ahead. The gates swung open, swallowing Addie’s motorcade and slamming shut again. Addie’s limo pulled to a stop in the secure parking garage. She was quickly hustled from the car and led into the elevator, up to the residence. As the door opened into the vestibule, Alvarez spoke into her mouthpiece.
“Songbird is back in the nest,” she said.
Addie’s mother stood on the other side.
“Honey.” She rushed forward and folded Addie into an awkward embrace. Addie went limp. She wasn’t used to being hugged; not like this. Liz pulled away. The elevator door closed behind them, but instead of heading back downstairs like usua
l, the Secret Service followed Addie into the residence, spreading out and listening to instructions coming from their earpieces.
“What’s going on?” Addie said. “Agent Alvarez said a Metro train was hijacked?”
Her mother nodded. “Six-car train departing Foggy Bottom,” she said. “That’s all I know.”
Addie’s eyelids began to flutter. “Are we in danger? Why was I rushed back here?”
Liz rubbed Addie’s shoulder reassuringly. “The campus wasn’t secure. We’re in lockdown mode here. But we’re free to move around the residence,” she said, a little too earnestly. “You’re safe.”
More lies. She’d never be safe. Anywhere.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Situation Room with his advisors,” her mother said. She took Addie’s hand. “Why don’t you come with me? Mac and I are watching a movie in the playroom.”
Addie let her hand slip out of her mother’s grip. “No. Thanks,” she said. “I’d rather go to my room, if that’s okay. I have a headache.”
The corners of Liz’s mouth turned down. “Okay. If that’s what you’d like. Can I get you an Advil or anything?”
Addie shook her head and walked away, picking up the pace as she went. She had to find out what was going on.
She nodded curtly to the agent posted outside her room, pulled the door shut, and sat at the Louis XVI desk. A shiny silver laptop was waiting for her, the gift her mother had promised when they’d returned from Clifton. Addie opened it and tapped the trackpad. The screen glowed a welcoming blue. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. A line of code, another click, and she sailed right past the firewall her mother had set up to limit Addie’s Web browsing to certain sites.
Addie headed straight to the news. A live report was streaming in from the Arlington Cemetery Metro stop. Of course he’d picked the cemetery. Addie’s throat tightened. At least it wouldn’t be these people’s final resting place. Not this time. On-screen, several yards from the station, dozens of people were running toward the emergency vehicles parked nearby, hands clutched over their mouths, coughing and gagging.
