I board the city bus and get off at Navy Pier. I pass the Dock Street entrance and pace the walkway, stalking tourists, until I find one I’m looking for.
Sitting on a wooden bench across from the giant Ferris wheel, I pull the sleeves of my sweater over my palms before tucking them beneath my thighs. I watch the ride, studying its mechanics. Each blue gondola takes thirteen minutes to complete one trip, three rotations around the wheel. Thirteen minutes should be all the time I need.
The wheel stops. Double doors open on the bottom six gondolas. A family of four enters one of the cars and begins their trip around. Evil Twin Family.
I pull the rim of my knit hat lower over my brow.
The kids—twins from the look of it—had been screaming and crying over who stood in front while waiting in line. Their parents, tourists, didn’t know what to do. They looked exhausted and, more importantly, distracted.
The high-pitched screech of iron twisting and bending worms its way into my consciousness and yanks my attention upward. A surge of wind rocks the gondola at the wheel’s peak. It’s reckless and fast. Brackets pop. Hinges snap. The gondola plunges downward, ricocheting off metal spokes like a Ping-Pong ball in an arcade game. The wind smacks it, vaulting it in an arc through the air until it crashes against the cement, smattering into millions of pieces.
I squeeze my eyes. Not real.
I tick off each sense as I focus on it—a breeze brushing against my face, the smell of lake water and funnel cake, the carousel’s muffled recording of an organ playing carnival music.
When I look again, Evil Twin Family is ascending the Chicago skyline, the Ferris wheel completely unharmed.
I push my aviators tight against my face and walk toward stroller parking.
The key is to keep moving. Look like I belong. Thirty-eight paces to the stroller, I grab the woman’s cell from the cup holder and make my way to the line for the Ferris wheel. I don’t look around. I don’t speed up. My heartbeat rings in my ears as I slide the phone inside my bag. I glance up, pretending to be awed by the Ferris wheel’s height. Evil Twin Family, in car eleven, has completed their first rotation.
It’s ten o’clock on a weekday. The line is short. I wave off the camera guy taking commemorative pictures. He nods without protest. It’s weird I’m here by myself. If he doesn’t take a picture of me standing in front of the green screen alone, he doesn’t have to feel sorry for me.
I snake my way through the ropes. The attendant points to a number. I walk across the aluminum platform and wait, trying to ignore the restless energy flowing through my arms.
When the doors open, I freeze. Evil Twin Family sits in the gondola I’m about to climb into. The kids scream—they don’t want to get off. Sweat dampens my forehead beneath my hat, matting my hair against my head. My aviators slide down my nose, but I refuse to push them back.
An attendant wearing a fleece jacket directs me in. Evil Twin Family still hasn’t exited. The dad scoops his daughter, who dangles boneless in his arms. The mom tugs on the son’s arm. He pulls back, trying to stay seated. The mom, with fiery-red hair and a Louis Vuitton tote sliding down her arm, looks at the attendant as if to ask if they can just stay.
I swallow hard. What if her phone rings? What if she has a distinct ringtone? She’ll hear. She’ll know I stole it.
“You need to exit, ma’am,” Gray Fleece Attendant says with a drawn-out Wisconsin accent.
I could kiss him.
The parents drag their kids out of the car just as the exit door closes. I rush to sit as Gray Fleece Attendant waves the couple behind me into the same car. The paunchy pair waddles in. My shoulders stiffen. The automated doors close. The air conditioning whirls on, and the wheel carries us upward.
“Oh, that was fast,” the woman says in a slow, shrill voice. She fans herself as if she’s overexerted herself.
I glance at Evil Twin Family below. They drop the girl, kicking her legs in circular motions, into the stroller and hurry away. They don’t seem to notice the missing cell.
Shoving my hat inside my bag, I grab the phone, plastered with the twins’ pictures on the case. They’d snapped so many shots along the pier, I was able to glimpse her password—a phishing technique I learned from Adam.
I picture his smile, the way he lifted his left eyebrow every time he said something clever and wanted me to praise him for it. If he were here, he would chastise me for the risks I’m taking, while crouching in the seat beside me, directing me on what to do next. Thinking about him is enough to drain me. I clench every muscle to keep from slumping against the plastic and giving in to my grief.
“Is that your brother and sister?” I look up to see the woman smiling at me, waiting for my response. A limp felt hat dips awkwardly in front of her face.
I shift in my seat and fan my hands over the case, concealing the pictures, wondering if she realizes this phone isn’t mine. But her eyebrows lift in curiosity. Her face is all lit up like her intrusive chitchat is interesting.
“No.” I turn sideways to face the window. I type in the code, 102877, and set the alarm for eleven minutes. For the first time in weeks, I access the Internet without worrying about who might be monitoring my activity.
Adam discovered the date of the next flash attack, but if I’m going to record it, if I’m going to expose Lip Spikes and make him pay for everything he’s stolen from me, I need the time and location.
“Look at this view,” the man says to his wife. They point out buildings like they’ve never seen skyscrapers before.
Tourists.
I access Twitter, wondering if the Swarm is stupid enough to use it again. It takes twenty-six seconds to find what Adam found. #14.10.20.1930.
My breath hitches. It’s missing numbers. It has the time, 7:30, but latitude and longitude aren’t there. I fumble through my bag for a pen and write it down in the corner of my book. Flipping to the back, I record the tweet’s time stamp and username—a random series of numbers and letters.
The car releases a tiny whine as it glides across the wheel’s climax. I throw my book back into my bag and lean my head against the gondola’s glass encasement. How will the Swarm know where to attack without a location? More importantly, how will I record it?
“Maybe she knows.” The woman speaks up. “Where can we find the best deep-dish pizza? We want something authentic,” she says in her cheery voice, overarticulating her words.
“I hate deep-dish,” I say, trying to shut her up.
“Really? I thought all Chicagoans—”
“Gluten allergy.” I have no such thing.
“Oh, bless your heart.” She isn’t deterred. “Which one do city people like the most?”
We begin our second rotation—seven minutes left. I bend over the phone, deepening my concentration. “They all taste the same.”
Without pausing, she turns to her husband. “I wouldn’t have thought that. How about that one place we passed in the cab . . .”
I don’t listen to the rest. I scour Twitter for any hint of the location. I search every social media site I can think of. Drowning out the ridiculousness of their conversation, I scan through pictures, posts, gifs, videos, but before I know it, the seven minutes have passed and the alarm is going off and I haven’t found the slightest hint of where the attack will take place.
I erase my search history and set the phone on the corner of the bench, careful not to let the couple see what I’ve done. As we near the platform, they scoot to the edge of their seats. The doors open. The attendant with bushy sideburns and a Blackhawks hat holds his hand out for them. I make sure the phone is tucked into the corner before stepping off, but the attendant blocks my path, signaling for me to stop. He smiles. “I thought I recognized you,” he says. The doors close.
I bang on the glass. “Open up.”
I turn to exit out the other side, but Gray Fleece Attendant leans in. “Your next ride’s been taken care of.”
I don’t want another ride. I want off.
I’m about to shove my way past him when Cullen Henking steps inside. My eyes dart to the phone lying on the bench. Instead of barreling out, I back into the corner seat, concealing the phone behind my leg, and pray it doesn’t ring.
Cullen enters carrying a large bouquet of flowers wrapped in patterned tissue. If I weren’t trying to avoid a panic attack, I’d be disgusted by how much he spent on them.
Gray Fleece Attendant holds out his cell. “Can I snap a quick pic of you guys?”
Cullen puts his arm around me. Before I know it, Gray Fleece Attendant’s taken a picture of Cullen smiling, me gaping. The doors close, the air kicks in, and the car begins to move.
I’m wondering how long I have before Gray Fleece Attendant posts the picture online when a tiny flat screen flickers on, talking about Navy Pier attractions.
Cullen flashes a sympathetic smile and holds out the bouquet. “Hydrangeas and orchids—they’re my mother’s favorites.” He wears a button-down shirt, a sweater, dress pants.
Cullen never talks about his mom, which makes the whole scenario even stranger. From what I hear, she spends half her year in Arizona—without the mayor.
I refuse the flowers. Cullen sets them on the seat.
The back of my throat burns. I reach into my bag for my inhaler. Cullen looks away like I’m doing something obscene as I shake it and take in a blast of medicine. I hold the breath in my mouth until I cough.
“Why are you here?” I ask between coughs. He must have skipped school to follow me here. What exactly did he see me do? I shift my purse so it covers my lap.
“I’m sorry. About Adam.”
A burning sensation ignites behind my nose. I look away. He doesn’t get to be sorry about Adam. He hated Adam. His father murdered him.
I slide my right hand down the side of my leg and tuck the phone beneath my thigh. “I bet you are.”
“We might not have gotten along, but I wouldn’t exactly wish death by hate crime on anyone.”
“Hate crime?” My voice shakes. “Who’s calling it that?” I didn’t even think of how authorities would brush this aside. Dismiss it like typical city violence.
Cullen props his elbows on the blue ledge of the car and looks south along Lake Shore Drive. His house stands out like a gaudy beacon. He shrugs as he says, “Everyone,” like my question is ludicrous. “For the record, I don’t have anything against gay people.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “My dad’s left-wing on all LGBTQ issues. Gender-neutral public restrooms are his latest crusade.”
“It had nothing to do with Adam’s sexuality,” I say through clenched teeth. The shaking spreads throughout my body. “The Swarm murdered him.”
Our car whines again as it nears the top of the Ferris wheel. Cullen looks down over his shoulder at something below. A nervous, surreptitious glance.
“Who’s down there?” I squint at the pier and am hit with a wave of nausea as I realize how high we are.
Cullen clears his throat. “The Save the Parks Gala is next week. I’d like you to be my date.”
At first, I’m sure I’ve misheard him. My neck bends forward, waiting for him to clarify.
When he doesn’t, I snort. “You can’t be serious.”
Cullen narrows his eyes toward Lake Michigan. “You’ve had a couple rough weeks—might be nice to go out.” His voice is flat, irritated even.
“Your social media status needs another boost?”
Cullen lowers his voice, “Don’t be difficult, Lia.” He glances out the window as we make our first pass of the platform.
“Is your dad out there?” I grip the phone beneath my leg. I wiped the search history, but the mayor could still figure out what I’d been hunting for.
Looking at the courtyard below, I scan the carousel, the swings, the remote-control boats, the outdoor bar. People are gathering, milling. Dozens of them. I close my eyes, steady myself.
It’s not the Swarm. There’s no attack.
Sweat beads on my lip. I push my sunglasses back onto my face.
I take a deep breath, focus on the technicalities of breathing. Air in. Lungs expand. Air out. I force my eyes open. When I look again, I see families, not teenagers. And no sign of the mayor.
“Say yes.”
“What?” I turn back, momentarily forgetting what he’s talking about. Everything about Cullen—his expression, his posture, the way he rakes his hand through his hair—looks restrained.
“The gala—just say yes.” He won’t make eye contact. His chin points down. His nostrils flare. His lips press together to form a slight grimace.
The car whines again as we hit the crest and make the final turn approaching the platform.
“Find another date.”
Cullen watches the city like his ego’s been hurt.
I press the phone against the side of the car, hoping it will stay undetected when we get off—as long as it doesn’t ring. Slinging the strap of my bag around my torso, I wipe my palms against my jeans.
Cullen scoots toward the door, ready to jump out. Thankfully, I don’t need to worry about him acting chivalrous, insisting I get off first, and finding the phone.
We near the platform where Richard stands next to Bushy Sideburns. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his suit pants as if he’s enjoying the blustery day.
The doors open, and Bushy Sideburns gives us a wry smile like we just spent the last thirteen minutes making out on the Ferris wheel.
Cullen steps out looking annoyed by Richard’s presence.
I exit next, leaving the phone concealed from view. It will take another ride around the Ferris wheel until someone turns it in or steals it. Either way, it’s not linked to me.
Richard wears designer aviators. Like he’s trying too hard. “On behalf of the mayor and myself, I’d like to extend our condolences about the atrocity that happened to your friend.”
During the few times Richard and I have interacted, he’s seemed genuine in his concern. This time, there’s no sincerity behind his words.
Chills zip down my arms and legs. Richard’s hand grazes the small of my back, making me cringe as he escorts me off the platform. Cullen follows behind. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through it, the Ferris wheel turning in the background.
“We’re all hoping you can join Cullen next week. The event is certain to alleviate the stress you’ve been under.”
I look at Cullen absorbed in his cell and realize for the first time where this is coming from. This is the mayor’s idea, not Cullen’s.
I didn’t expect this coming from Richard, though I’m not sure why. He is, after all, the mayor’s henchman.
Anger begins to gurgle deep in the recesses of my gut. Is this the mayor’s way of torturing me? “I’m surprised the mayor is going. I thought he was against the Save the Parks campaign.”
Richard smiles. His tie flaps in the wind. He smooths it down with his lanky fingers. “You more than anyone else can probably understand and appreciate the need to unite our city right now. The mayor loves Chicago’s parks as much as anyone else.”
There’s a smoothness to Richard I’ve never seen before.
“He bulldozes them to put up million-dollar mansions. Like his.”
Richard’s hand drops from my back. He stands in front of me. For once, he’s not hunched over. He stands tall on his skinny frog legs, revealing his height. “Selling off a few lakefront properties created revenue for the city, which has allowed him to improve neighborhood parks. He created government-funded scholarships for kids to attend the Park District’s summer camps for free. The mayor fully supports park preservation.”
I straighten my shoulders, extending my small frame. “When it doesn’t cost him millions preserving it.”
Richard chuckles. His laugh slides under my skin.
“Your presence with Cullen could help revive this city. Our unified stand of support will show the city that we’re all on the same team.”
“And what team is that?” They can’t actuall
y expect me to stand beside the mayor after what he did to my father, to Adam. They’re deranged.
Richard’s phone buzzes. He checks the screen and tucks it back into his pocket. “We all want the same thing, Lia. To rally around our new Chicago. To watch our city thrive. The people of this city need something to rally around right now.” He talks with such ease. It surprises me.
“Why are you doing this?”
“This city has taken a liking to you.” Richard takes a step closer. I swear he does it to intimidate me. “They would love to stand behind you.”
“Which is why you want me to stand next to the mayor.” At an event that’s controversial for him to attend.
Richard smiles. “We’ll let you stand next to Cullen.”
My fists ball at my sides. “You’re going to have to find yourself someone else.”
Richard checks his phone again. He dismisses it, puts it back into his pocket, regards the Chicago skyline. “As you already know, this city is dangerous, Lia. The mayor is willing to protect you in any way he can if you’re willing to help him.” Richard lowers his chin, creating thick folds in his puffy neck. “I would hate for you or your mom or anyone else you care about to find themselves in another unfortunate situation. They seem to happen so readily these days.”
My head grows light. Black spots crowd my vision, and I blink them away. Richard’s threat is clear. If I don’t play along, they will continue to kill off the people I love. This is about tormenting me. Controlling me. Making me do their bidding.
“This is in the city’s best interest, but it’s also in your best interest. It’s a good opportunity for everyone.” Richard looks down at his phone. “I’ve got to take this one.” He holds up his finger, signaling for me to wait.
I stand in a tiny courtyard at the bottom of the Ferris wheel, between groups of people milling about. Kids scream and laugh on the carousel and the swing ride as my thoughts whirl. As angry as I want to be at what he’s forcing me to do, I keep getting hung up on the word opportunity. Hundreds of people who already hate the mayor will be at the gala. Cameras will be there. Could I somehow use this to my advantage? Make it my opportunity to expose him?
Every Stolen Breath Page 21
