I pull back so I can see her eyes. “Even now, knowing what you know about me? What’s beneath my skin…”
Her eyes grow impossibly deeper and warmer. “Especially now, with everything I know about you.” She reaches up, smoothing back hair that’s fallen in front of my eyes. “We’ve both had something taken from us,” she says. “Lives we never got to live. I want to start living mine now—with you.” Her lips part and a worried sigh escapes. “But I’m not going to deny I’m terrified. I don’t know what will happen—”
I pull her close, staring over her shoulder at the nave of the church below us. “I don’t know either.” No one knows better than I do that it’s impossible to predict the future. I squeeze her tighter, closing my eyes. “I never could have predicted this, that I’d be standing here holding you right now.” I lower my head, whispering into her ear, my lips brushing her earlobe. “We’ll be okay. We have each other.” Her heart pounds against my chest. She’s giving up far more than I am—the only life she’s ever known. And like the Secretary said, if she stays with me, she’ll be a hunted criminal. I pull away and tilt her head up to mine. “Are you sure about this?”
She nods and even manages an impish grin. “No question. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even want it. It was the worst possible thing that could happen, but it did happen. I fell in love. With you.” I smile as I listen to her mock my words from last night, complete with eye-rolling, but at the same time, a warm rush fills me.
Her grin fades and she grows serious again. “Just like you, I’m not perfect, Locke, but I’m not stupid either. I’m not going to ruin the best chance I ever had of being happy—because these last weeks with you are the happiest ones I’ve ever known.”
She steps away, looking over the balcony. “And there are other risks I want to take. Ones that matter. I need to know the truth, not just about myself but about other people, like those Non-pact children I met, the ones leading lives that I might have led.” She spins to face me. “I know after everything that’s happened this is crazy to say but I think in some warped way he did love me. Maybe just for my mother’s sake, I don’t know. But I could never be exactly the daughter he wanted me to be because I had Non-pact blood running through me. That was the one thing even he couldn’t change.”
“You’re still a Citizen,” I say. “You could go back. He can’t take that away from you.”
“There’s no going back. Ever. It shouldn’t matter what’s running through my veins—or what’s beneath your skin,” she says, and steps closer. “No going back, Locke. Get that straight right now.” She pulls my face close, our lips touching, breathing each other’s breaths, nothing between us anymore, no lies or secrets. I ache inside in a way I never have before, in a way that makes me feel hopeful, in a way that makes being part of someone else’s dusty forgotten inheritance part of another lifetime. Not this one. Not the life I’m living now.
* * *
It turns out we have to spend the next few days in the organ gallery above the church. Father Emelio keeps us updated. The whole city is thrown into a Stage 10 Alert because of a security threat. The public is never told what the threat is but we know it’s us. All highways out of the city are in lockdown, which means extensive searches of every vehicle leaving the city. City streets aren’t much better, but because Boston is still billed as the home of a revolution that birthed two nations, tourism refuses to be shut down. But IDs are being checked and double-checked and no Non-pact in his right mind is leaving his home.
I don’t mind this time being holed up in the gallery with Raine. There are worse places to be. Much worse. I know, I’ve been there. In fact, in some ways I wish this time would never end. It’s surreal, day turning to night, night to day, the world outside almost ceasing to exist, the colored light of stained glass creating a new world for us, our world, Raine and me lying on blankets the father has brought us, our arms wrapped around each other, dozing, sleeping, touching, waiting to leave, but in so many ways not wanting to. A small piece of heaven. Our heaven.
Raine sleeps in my arms now. I look at the large round stained glass window above us. The exact same window I looked at so long ago when I was an altar boy and I should have had my eyes closed in prayer. Maybe even then I didn’t like the black world inside my head.
The world changes. It stays the same.
I ease my arm from beneath Raine’s head, replacing it with a folded blanket, and slip through the velvet curtain to the steps leading to the nave of the church.
As I walk down the center aisle, I feel the timeless power of it, a world that moves forward but stays the same too. My bare feet are cold against the marble floor. I’m all alone except for flickering candles, dancing shadows, and soft lights illuminating the altar. I stop midway, in the center of a world that refuses to stop spinning and it carries me along with it. I swallow. The immensity presses down on me.
It’s a journey, Locke. A long one.
Even my father never would have guessed that a journey could be this long, but all those years are a part of who I am now—even those 260 spent in a voiceless vacuum. If not for them, my life would never have intersected with Raine’s.
I saw and heard, and knew at last / The How and Why of all things, past. My past echoes around me. Glimpses. Ghosts. A world gone by, but still kept alive in this new one by me. My throat swells and I lower my head and bend my right knee the way my parents taught me before entering a pew, my right hand brushing my forehead, my heart, each shoulder in turn, and finally my lips. I see my mother nodding approval, my father touching my shoulder, and I step into the pew and sit, my hands resting on the seat in front of me, hands unlike any kind this church has ever known before. Just below them, cradled on the back of the pew, are a hymnal and a Bible. Real books. I pull the Bible from its slot, trying to recall something from my catechism days, and I flip through the pages until I find it. A Psalm. I linger on the words that seem to be written just for me.
O Lord, you have searched me and known me.
You know my sitting down and my rising up;
You understand my thought afar off.
You comprehend my path and my lying down,
And are acquainted with all my ways.
For there is not a word on my tongue,
But behold, O Lord, You know it altogether.
I touch my fingers to the paper, feeling the words somewhere inside me.
My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.
My fingers slowly trace one line.
I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Fearfully and wonderfully made. I stand and exit the pew, repeating the practiced liturgy, and return to Raine. She smiles as I pull an extra blanket up over us and put my arm around her waist. There are all kinds of definitions for life. I have my own now. And that’s all that matters.
* * *
I’m startled awake with another blast of sirens in the streets outside the church. Raine’s eyes flutter open. We wait for them to pass and they do. We know this is only a brief respite, and not even a safe one. They’re still searching. How long before they search here?
I closed down my iScroll before I came here, not knowing if the Secretary had learned my code when Raine called me, so our outside communication has been limited. I use the phone tab if I have to talk to anyone. I briefly spoke with Miesha, telling her to stay put until I call her.
When I finished the call Raine repeated the name with wonder, Mee-sha, and asked me about her birth mother. I told her as much as I could, especially about our time running across the country with Dot. Oddly, I smile remembering those times, even though I wasn’t smiling then. I remember fuming in the back of the land pirates’ truck when Miesha wouldn’t tell me about her past, eating a disgusting oily tuna sandwich beneath a smelly tarp. Time has already softened so many memories. I tell her about the two of us pulling Dot from
the cab, neither of us willing to leave her behind, because Miesha knew as well as I did that there was something different about Dot. I tell her how Miesha struggled to tell me about Rebecca’s and Karden’s deaths, how she felt like she had lost everything and there was no point to life.
“And then she found you?”
“Small consolation, huh?”
I tell her she saved me, driving off with me in Gatsbro’s limo while he banged on the windows for her to stop. “She’s a brave and strong woman, but I’m not sure what she’ll do when she finds out about you.”
Because of the lockdown, I haven’t told Miesha yet. I’m afraid she’ll leave her apartment and head straight for us without any regard to safety, or even confront the Secretary herself, ready to tear him to shreds with her bare hands. I remember how crazy Jenna got when Kayla went missing. There’s something about a parent that you just don’t want to mess with.
With only twenty minutes on the phone tab, I’ve had to keep my calls short but I’ve also stayed in touch with Xavier. The account is secure. Eighty billion duros are now safely transferred into the hands of the Resistance, but the Secretary has no way of knowing that yet and is probably still trying to beat the deadline. He also says Karden is recovering. The broken bones, ribs and ankle, have been attended to and are healing. But the damage from malnutrition will take longer to mend. He knows about Miesha and wants to see her but is willing to wait until it’s safe. I guess after waiting this long, a few more days is tolerable.
Raine stirs, nestling closer to my side for warmth. We kicked the blankets aside during the night. I’m just about to pull the blanket back over us when the phone tab vibrates. It’s Xavier. The lockdown is lifted. It’s presumed that the “dangerous suspects” escaped before the lockdown was in place. But we know the real reason for the lift—today was the deadline. It’s over. I picture the Secretary, crazed with defeat, still trying to track us down, still believing we are the key to his lost billions. It’s gone. He’ll never get it back now. But that won’t stop him from trying. Or exacting some sort of revenge. Some of that has already begun.
Xavier tells me that every CabBot involved in the traffic jam has been recycled. Every single one. Gone. And a few who weren’t even there were recycled just for good measure, CabBots like Dot who had become something more but were willing to risk what they had for Escape. There’s still no sign or word from Hap. I fear he’s met the same fate.
“It’s time for you to go, Locke, while you can, before someone spots you. It’s a small city. At least now it is. Everyone knows who you are,” Xavier says. We discuss what our options are and I tell him I need to run them past Raine first, and finally we make plans to meet up tomorrow.
Everyone knows. Does that include Shane, Vina, and Ian? I imagine each of their responses was different, Vina probably enjoying a vicarious thrill by the revelation, Shane mimicking his father’s rage, sputtering at his failure to be Raine’s perfect match, but it’s Ian’s response that interests me the most. It was his idea to help the Non-pacts. He thinks differently than many Citizens do. Maybe one day soon he’ll be in a position to help even more.
I roll over and kiss Raine’s forehead. “Time to wake up,” I whisper. “I’m going to make you another protein cake for breakfast.”
She smiles and stretches, her eyes still shut. “Hmm, yummy, I was hoping we’d have another one of those tasty morsels.”
“Plain or plain this time?”
“Extra plain,” she says. “With you on the side.”
Liberty
I frightened Miesha, showing up at the basement apartment with no notice, but that was the plan.
“Get your things,” I tell her. “You won’t be coming back.”
At least I hope she won’t be coming back. None of us know for sure how this will play out. Miesha does her usual balking. I’m mesmerized watching her. The way she waves her hands, the way her lips purse with annoyance, the subtle rumble of certain words. I’m seeing the smallest details of Miesha with new eyes.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I answer, but my heart pounds in my chest.
She’s still using her cane for stability. I take it and offer my arm instead. It’s midmorning and the streets are busy. Crowds are an asset, but I pull the hood up on my coat before we exit the building just in case.
I planned to tell her in the cab, to prepare her, but she keeps rattling on, filling the silence the way Miesha has always been prone to do. I keep waiting for the right pause but it never seems to come.
“Miesha, I need to tell you something!” I finally blurt out awkwardly, interrupting her midsentence. She stops. She sees the magnitude of what I need to say in my face; I see the painful expectation in hers. I never thought telling her something like this would be so hard. Now time is running short. We’re already driving down the alley.
“Miesha, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you this before, but I just didn’t know how things would play out. I didn’t want you to be hurt all over again.”
Her chest rises in slow careful breaths. “What are you saying, Locke?”
The cab stops in the courtyard. Xavier and a small crowd are waiting, standing close to the bonfire in the middle for warmth. Miesha looks out the window, and then her eyes dart back to me, suspicious. “Why are we here?”
“This is what I was trying to tell you—”
The cab doors swing open. Miesha steps out and I run around to the other side to help her. I hold her arm as she walks slowly toward the group. “Miesha, the Favor they brought me here for was about saving someone. Someone that you—”
The crowd parts. Miesha stops walking. There’s nothing left for me to say.
Karden stands there staring at her.
I feel Miesha lean harder against me, like her joints have gone slack. “What kind of trick is this?” she says, her voice a shaky whisper, but Karden hears it just the same.
“No trick, Miesha,” he says and steps closer, hobbling on a crutch. “I’ve been a prisoner. Your friend rescued me.”
Hearing his voice, her knees buckle. I grab her around the waist and she straightens her legs. Her whole body stiffens like she’s forcing strength back into it. She steps away from me and walks silently toward Karden until they’re face-to-face. They stare at each other for the longest time, a space of time that makes the rest of us grow uncomfortable, like they’re both taking in the lines and toll sixteen hard years apart has brought. Finally, they whisper words to each other that none of us can hear. My fear that there would be nothing left between them vanishes. He reaches up, touching her face, and she melts into him.
The rest of us step away to the other side of the bonfire, giving them space, the moment too intimate even if it’s in the middle of a courtyard, but even through the crackle and hiss of the fire I hear Miesha’s sobs, something I’ve never heard from her before. And just that quick, suddenly the Favor is not about me trying to find a life, not about justice or a resistance, or anything large and global, it’s about something as basic as air and gravity, something as basic as the love between two people.
I look up and see Raine’s face in the window of Xavier’s home. Waiting. I see the fear in her eyes. Meeting Miesha is different from meeting Karden. She loved her adoptive mother and for her entire life had been told that her birth mother was an animal. I can’t make Raine wait through this any longer.
I walk back over to where Miesha and Karden are standing and I tug on her arm, turning her to face me. “There’s someone else you need to meet,” I say softly.
I intend to walk her inside the building but when we turn, Raine is already standing in the doorway. Miesha spots her. I hold her tight, waiting for her to breathe again, fearful that this final shock might make her collapse completely, but something else happens instead. She takes a deep breath, visibly becomes stronger right before my eyes, her chin lifting, pulling away from me, seeing the utter terror in Raine’s eyes just as I do, and for h
er child’s sake she keeps it together, becoming the steel-strong mother who plunged her arms through a window and into a burning building trying to save her baby so long ago.
“Her name is Raine now,” I say.
Miesha nods. “Raine,” she whispers to herself. She swallows. “Let’s go inside and meet, Raine.”
* * *
The four of us, me, Raine, Karden, and Miesha, sit in Xavier’s modest living room for an hour. At first I talk, telling Miesha about the Favor, then Karden talks about his time in prison, the Secretary taunting him with stories of his wife and child that nearly broke him. Miesha keeps it together, the only clue that a storm rages within her is whenever the Secretary’s name is mentioned and the knuckles of her fist whiten. Finally Miesha asks Raine if she remembers anything about her and Karden.
Raine shakes her head.
“No, of course you wouldn’t,” Miesha says apologetically. “You were too young.” For the first time her voice cracks. She takes a shallow clattering breath. “And your adoptive mother? She was good to you?”
“Yes,” Raine whispers.
The creases fanning out from the corners of Miesha’s eyes deepen and her lower lip trembles. I watch the sixteen years that she missed with her own child race through her eyes, precious years that she can never get back and for the first time I think it’s possible for her sixteen lost years to be far more than the 260 that were lost to me.
Miesha bites her lip to stop its trembling, and her head tilts to the side slightly. “May I—” She blinks, trying to force back tears, but one trickles from the corner of her eye anyway. “May I hold you?” she asks.
Raine nods, and Miesha leans forward, holding her daughter for the first time since she was a baby cradled in her arms, her shoulders shaking, her eyes squeezing shut. Raine’s eyes close too, her lashes wet. I watch her fingers curl into Miesha’s sweater, at last gripping the mother she searched for in her late-night walks.
Fox Forever (Jenna Fox Chronicles #3) Page 24
