A Vault of Sins

by Sarah Harian

  I nod.

  “I’m a hypocrite. I’ve been judging you for the past week for leaving Casey when I did the same thing. I left.” She pauses, and I let her words sink in. She’s serious and sad and so very unlike Valerie. She’s not smirking or sarcastic and I realize that this moment is very important for her. “Hiding defeats the purpose of everything that happened to us. I made a promise I wouldn’t hide, and despite what happens to me, I must keep it. For Jace.”

  I sniff. “Okay.”

  “And fuck whatever image we’re supposed to keep up of pretending we don’t care about one another. Everyone knows we’re liars now anyway.”

  “Then call me, goddamnit.”

  She smiles and pats me on the shoulder, pulling away. “You call me. Let me know what you decide to do about that boyfriend and life of yours. And the next time we meet up, you better have another tattoo designed for me.”

  I nod, and we walk out to the porch where a black car waits. Government issue.

  On her way to the car, she swings toward me and walks backward. “Stay off the Internet.”

  “No promises. I need that kinky fan-fiction to get me through the long days without you.”

  When she laughs, her face is bright and completely weightless. I hope she finds what she’s looking for back at home.

  She’s right. Hiding here is an insult to everything that has happened.

  ***

  At three o’clock in the afternoon, my bracelet turns red—the whole thing, as though it is pressed against flame, but it’s as cool as it’s always been.

  I wish I didn’t drink so much. All I want to do is sit on the floor and cry.

  My tablet pings.

  Evalyn Ibarra, stay where you are. Federal agents are on their way.

  Federal agents?

  Another message.

  Evalyn Ibarra, stay where you are. Probation has been locked down. Moving from your location would be a violation.

  “Oh God.” I breathe. “Oh God. Oh God.”

  There are two reasons why I’m wearing his bracelet. One, so they know where I am if I don’t show up to court. Two, if there is a warrant out for my arrest.

  I rush to the window overlooking the porch, expecting a swarm of police cars in the driveway. Instead, a woman stands by a beat-up truck. She must be in her late fifties. Her long gray hair is wound into a braid that cascades down her shoulder, her skin tan and weathered. From here, I can tell that her eyes are kind. Or at least, they appear to be.

  She holds up a notebook. On a page written in black ink are the words I’m here to help.

  I open the door.

  She’s dressed in clothes that remind me of the woods. Not Compass Room woods, but real woods. Flannel and leather and fur. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “You needed out. That’s why I came for you. Do you have your things? We need to hurry.”

  I look over her shoulder. She’s alone as far as I can tell.

  “Were you the one who contacted me?”

  She shakes her head. “One of my men.”

  Panic grows in the pit of my stomach. This is all happening too fast. “Who do you work for?”

  “Reprise.” The hackers.

  I hold up my hand with the bracelet. “I can’t leave. They’re coming to get me—to throw me back in jail, most likely. They told me not to move.”

  “That’s one of the reasons why I’m here. Once they arrive, they’ll find nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “No one will be able to track you, or follow you. You’ll be free.”

  Free. “What about my mom? What about Todd?”

  She cocks her head, her face remaining eerily calm. “Last I was aware, you were worried about your safety, and the negative influence you had on their lives.”

  Dammit, she’s right, but how the hell does she know?

  “Hurry. Pack for the cold.”

  “Where are we—”

  “No questions. There’s no time.”

  I race back into the house and through the hallway. In the bedroom, I tear open my old duffel and begin stuffing it with anything I think I’ll need. I pile into my bag sweaters and jeans and all the underwear I own.

  I sweep my meager set of toiletries and packs of birth control into the bag, and then I tug on my boots and jacket.

  I wish I wasn’t drunk. This decision is too hasty.

  “How can I trust you?” I close my eyes and rub at my forehead, as if that will help me conjure the right thing to say.

  “We have Casey.”

  The words are like a fist to my stomach, and I take a step back.

  “We’re protecting him. That’s why they’re coming to retrieve you. They don’t want you disappearing too before they can pin you with charges. Now hurry, before it’s too late.”

  We rush out the front door and I lock it behind me. I’m about to pick up my phone from the ground when the woman aggressively grabs my hand, stopping me. “Leave it.” She shakes her head slowly, her eyes dangerous.

  “I can’t even say good-bye?”

  “You are as unaware of your departure as they are. Get in the truck.” She ushers me in, and I scoot to the middle. She hops in the other side, and I suddenly sober up.

  Three months ago, I was sure I wanted to tear Gemma to pieces or die trying. I haven’t done either of those yet.

  I keep running away.

  “Here.” She pulls from her leather jacket a flask and uncaps it, handing it to me. I take a large swig. It’s not what I expected. There’s a burn for sure, but it’s sweet and tangy.

  My head grows heavy—too heavy for my neck to hold up. I let it fall back onto the seat. My vision blurs, and suddenly holding my eyes open becomes the hardest thing in the damn world.

  “Tell me I’m not going to die,” I slur. “Tell me you didn’t poison me.”

  I never hear her response.

  From the RNC News Blog:

  A warrant has been sent out for the arrests of Valerie Crane, Casey Hargrove, and Evalyn Ibarra, the three Compass Room survivors recently involved in The People vs. The Division of Judicial Technology.

  Due to the malfunction of Compass Room C, the surviving candidates must be retried for their original crimes.

  While Crane, Ibarra, and Hargrove are each equipped with a probation tracker, it is unclear if any of them have yet been taken into custody.

  TOP COMMENTER: Sylvia (1,882 upvotes)

  So they’re going to arrest them right when a leaked feed proves their testimonies were true?

  This is just another example of a big government cover-up, folks. Disgusting.

  9

  I must be dead.

  Death feels like sinking into the softest pillow, completely relaxed, maybe even a little drunk. I’m not hungry, I’m not thirsty, I’m not tired, I’m not anything.

  I don’t even feel guilty.

  I could get used to this. How silly I was to be so afraid of death before. I’m right beneath perfection; all I need now is a margarita and the hot sun. Maybe heaven offers complimentary drinks.

  Heaven? Who am I kidding?

  My eyes flutter open to white, clean light and soft blobs of color.

  “Evalyn.”

  The voice is unfamiliar.

  “Focus now.” Light and musical and happy. My vision sharpens. The groan escaping me belongs to some disgruntled prehistoric monster.

  “Shh, shh, you’re fine!” she coos. She’s young and pale with big eyes and freckles. But her hair. Maybe she’s an angel or a demon, a gatekeeper to the afterlife. That has to be it.

  “What the hell happened to your head?” I slur.

  A deep chuckling rumbles from across the room.

  “I said you couldn’t be the first thing she saw. Why didn’t you wear a hat or something, Piper?”

  Piper?

  The girl with the cotton-candy blue French braid rolls her eyes. She wears rubber gloves and fiddles with the IV stuffed into my ar
m.

  Lucidity slams down on me like a cold bucket of water. I’m definitely not dead. I regain enough composure over my body to roll my head toward the guy sitting in the windowsill of a wonderfully white-washed bedroom. Maybe in his thirties—he’s slouchy and skinny with narrow eyes and a long nose. He’s half-distracted by the sleek, black tablet in his hand.

  “Do something useful for once instead of sitting around and mocking me,” Piper says.

  “At your service, milady,” he drawls without looking up.

  “Check on the tracking devices and make sure that the firewall’s still active.”

  “Maliyah’s already on it. Gotta think deeper, Piper.”

  Piper groans like a thirteen-year-old being teased. “Wes!”

  “You rang?”

  “Just get out!”

  I can’t help but snort. The conversation is way funnier than it probably should be. I blame the drugs.

  “See, she likes me.”

  “Out, Wes!”

  Wes makes to go, but before he leaves the room, he swivels toward me. “You’re much cuter than your online personality.”

  I feel my eyes widen. Piper frowns, and when Wes leaves the room, she mutters, “Pig.”

  “That’s Rebel_W?” The words feel funny spilling from my mouth, but at least I can finally form them.

  Piper rolls her huge doll eyes. “If that’s what you want to call him. Such a dramatic username for such an obnoxious twat.” She crosses her legs and settles back in to taking my vitals, swaying back and forth in an antique rocking chair that matches the dresser against the wall. My eyes flit to the window, and I see the one thing that has the power to drive fear right back through me.

  “Oh balls.”

  “What’s the matter?” Piper asks, but before I can say anything, someone else slips into the room.

  The throbbing headache returns with full-force, nearly blinding me. After the cotton-candy hair and Rebel_W appearing, I know it has to be a dream, considering Casey makes an appearance in almost all of my dreams, but it doesn’t matter. My heart pumps rapidly at the sight of him, refueling my body with oxygen-filled blood. I could soar out of this bed.

  “Maliyah wants an update.”

  Piper smiles brightly and motions toward me. “Well, as you can see for yourself, we’re right on schedule.”

  Even with Piper’s hand gestures, Casey doesn’t glance at me. “Is that what you want me to tell her?”

  I try to ignore the pulse in my ears and stretch out my legs, but a hot, grinding fire shoots through my entire body.

  This isn’t a dream. Casey’s real. The disgust written all over his face is real too.

  Piper sighs. “Tell Maliyah she woke up literally three minutes ago, her vitals are fine so far, and she’ll probably be able to make it down the stairs in about thirty minutes.”

  After Casey leaves, my brain finally kicks into gear, thoughts unraveling like a loose thread was tugged somewhere in my head. I remember passing out in the truck and the few minutes before that. The woman coming to my door.

  I return to the window, my eyes stinging with tears. The forest is thick and endless, just like inside the Compass Room. I can’t get away from the woods.

  “Where the hell am I?” Overwhelmed with uneasiness, I try to squirm out of the mountains of plush white covers surrounding me. I sit up and immediately understand why I’m being given a half-hour to wake up.

  “Ohh ohh, don’t do that!” Piper’s hands are like fluttery insects as she waves them in front of me. “The anesthetics won’t fully wear off for another twenty-four hours.”

  I relax against the fluffy pillows. “How long have I been out?”

  “Mmmm . . .” She checks her tablet on the nightstand. “Approximately forty-nine and a quarter hours.”

  “Jesus.” I press my hand to my forehead. “That was some swig.”

  “It’ll getcha, alright.” She straps a band around my arm to check my blood pressure. “Looks like you’re doing a-okay though. Hmm . . . a little high. You stressed out at all?” She elbows me in the shoulder like she’s trying to be funny. I wipe the drool from my chin and shut my eyes, ignoring her.

  Piper, my overseer, doesn’t let me budge for another hour, so I use the time to ask her questions. We’re in Northern Canada, about two hundred miles away from the nearest town. The thought makes me want to puke.

  I’m so sick of nature.

  She confirms my suspicion that she, and everyone else here, are hackers from Reprise. She’s a med and psych student, recruited by the hacktivists a year ago. “This is one of our many bases!” she tells me excitedly. She’s excited about everything.

  “A base in the middle of the Canadian wilderness? In the middle of a place that looks exactly like the Compass Room?”

  “Sorry about that. Unintentional, I assure you.”

  I think about Mom and how she’s taking my disappearance—if she’s freaking out. She’ll be heckled by authorities if she hasn’t already. I’m lucky I left her when I did; she’ll be able to be completely honest with the police. She hasn’t seen me in two months and won’t have to lie for me. I wonder if I’ll be able to send her a message while I’m up here to let her know I’m okay, but I don’t think that’s likely, since I wasn’t even allowed to take my phone.

  Finally, Piper lets me stand.

  It’s a slow process—first, the removal of the down comforter. I shift to the edge of the bed. Piper’s hovering like I’m a nine-month-old taking my first steps.

  I lift myself up and fall flat on my face.

  I try again and again, my legs bending like jelly with every attempt. It’s the first time I notice what I’m wearing because I’m floundering in it—an extra-large white t-shirt and black leggings. Someone changed me.

  Piper notices that I’m studying my clothes. “Don’t worry. It was just me who dressed you.”

  I scoff, attempting to heave myself up again. “It doesn’t matter. The whole world has seen me naked.” My body crumples. “Alright, Piper, I give up.”

  “She knows my name!” Piper shouts to no one. “I have to let you know, Evalyn, I am such a massive fan of yours.”

  I flail on the floor until I’m facing her. “You know, being a fan of a murderer is enough of a warrant for a psych evaluation.”

  She scoffs. “I’ll have you know, psychologists usually are fans of murderers. We’re fascinated by them.”

  “You one of those weirdos who writes fan-fiction?”

  “No! No, goodness no. But I read it. Of course I read it. I had to, you know. Part of my job.” I watch her upside-down as she studies me with a frown, twirling the end of her powder blue braid. “I could try picking you up. . . .”

  I moan and go limp. “Just leave me.”

  Her eyes brighten. “I have an idea. Casey!”

  Shit. This isn’t exactly how I pictured our reunion. I need to be suave and apologetic and articulate, so he’d understand my reasons for leaving him. Not drugged and a tangle of limbs on the floor.

  “Oh no. Don’t grab Casey. That’s not . . .” I try to scramble up on all fours and end up sprawled across the carpet like a baby deer on a frozen lake. “Necessary.”

  “Casey!”

  “Shut up!” I hiss.

  It’s too late. He pushes open the door and sticks head in, his eyes darting from Piper to me. His face is flat, just like earlier. Flat, flat, flat. He’s a robot and not really Casey. I’m with hackers, right? I mean, it doesn’t even faze him that I’m a fish out of water flopping on the floor.

  “Could you be a dear and help me move Evalyn downstairs?”

  Casey sneers and tilts his head toward me. “Her?”

  “Yes, please,” Piper says, totally unaware of the huge ball of tension in the room. “If it’s not too much of a problem.”

  Casey’s shoulders rise as he inhales deeply, and then his eyes finally rest on me.

  “You’re going to make him pick me up and carry me?” I squeak. As if I
hadn’t already stomped him into the ground enough.

  “Well, I’m not going to make him . . .” But by the time she’s half-way through her sentence, Casey has strode across the room and stooped down next to me. He doesn’t leave me any time to hate myself more.

  “Shit,” I breathe as he grabs me by the waist and hauls me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I grunt as my stomach connects with his shoulder, and he spins me swiftly so when I lift my head, I’m staring at a horrified Piper.

  “Oh dear!” she squeals. “You shouldn’t . . . don’t . . . the anesthetics . . . she’ll throw up all over you.”

  I’m too mortified to throw up. I go limp, because that way Piper won’t see the burning in my cheeks. I wonder how much she knows of our relationship. I mean, she knows a lot more than I want her to. Everyone does.

  Casey doesn’t even acknowledge she’s said anything. I leave the room over his shoulder, lacking the energy or dignity to fight against him. Apparently his hip has healed all of the way, which I thought wasn’t supposed to happen ever, because he carries me fluidly down the stairs like I weigh nothing.

  Casey dumps me on a couch, and I moan at the impact. He turns away quickly and makes his way toward what I assume is the kitchen.

  “Morning, Sunshine.” Wes’s voice is playful, and the familiarity makes me shudder. My Rebel_W. He grins behind a cup of something steamy.

  I admire my surroundings. The couches are as plush as my bed. The living room is decked out like a modern cabin with a hefty, stone-crusted fireplace and huge floor length windows that allow a liberal amount of natural light to filter in. I take note of the wrap-around deck and infinite pine outside.

  “They didn’t throw me in another Compass Room while I was out, did they?” This lodge is unearthing all kinds of traumatic memories. Piper tried convincing me the similarities are unintentional, but I think she’s full of it.

  “You know, Casey said the same damn thing.” Wes sets down his mug on a coffee table covered with strange gadgets, most of which I’ve never seen before in my life. He picks up a spherical object to fiddle with it.

  Piper has to be full of it, because Wes is holding . . . “A Bot,” I breathe.

  He smiles deviantly. “Having flashbacks?” When my expression doesn’t ease up, he frowns. “Sorry. I’m not a very sensitive person. These babies are my pride and joy and sometimes I forget how people have been emotionally tortured by them.”