by Ellery Kane
“He seems … official,” Max whispered.
“Good morning.” Xander addressed the crowd. Like Quin, he wore a black suit, his demeanor just as dispassionate. When he spoke again, his face softened, but his eyes were steel. “I’m grateful to see so many of you here today. In fact, I’m grateful just to be here. As all of you know by now, early this morning, there was an attempt on my life just outside of this building. In the past few hours, Zenigenic has learned the suspect, Peter Radley, suffers from serious mental health issues, which we believe may have motivated his actions. We also suspect he may have been under the influence of Onyx at the time of the attack. Zenigenic has graciously agreed to fund his psychiatric treatment in lieu of criminal proceedings.”
I watched Quin as I listened. His gaze shifted, subtle but deliberate, scanning the room row by row.
“I also want to publicly acknowledge Quin McAllister, a true hero.” Xander gestured toward Quin with a buoyant grin. Quin stopped scanning the room—his search ended. He looked right at me, then away. “It’s no secret we haven’t always been on the same side, but I’m hopeful that’s about to change. This young man is the reason I’m standing here today. Thank you, Quin.” Cameras flashed as Quin gave a cursory nod to the crowd. His smile never reached his eyes.
“While I have you all gathered here today, I want to take this opportunity to share my vision of a revitalized Zenigenic. This great company has lived in the shadow of Emovere for far too long. In the coming days, we plan to release a new emotion-altering drug, just as powerful as its predecessors with absolutely no side effects. It goes without saying that we will continue to support the ban on Emovere, Agitor, Euphoractamine, and Onyx. We have also started a charitable fund for all those recently impacted by EAM-related violence in our community.”
I glanced sidelong at my father. His eyes were wide. “A new drug,” he mouthed. I couldn’t help but think of Dr. Donnelly. A few weeks after the trial ended, his body was discovered in Muir Woods, his death ruled a suicide. By that time, Stanford already had appointed a replacement professor. Not that it mattered now—classes were on permanent hiatus per government orders.
“I’ll allow a few questions,” Xander announced. There was a startled silence made awkward by the muted chanting of the New Resistance. The old Xander never took questions. Then a barrage of voices pounded the stage.
“Tell us about the new drug, Mr. Steele.”
“Did you know Peter Radley?”
“What is Zenigenic doing to help get Onyx off the streets?”
“No side effects?”
“Was Radley working alone?”
Xander smirked, biting at the last question. “Well that’s an easy one. I’m not a betting man, but I’d stake a small fortune on the fact that our disgraced drug czar was involved. There was a reported sighting of him in the area last week. Rest assured, the authorities are looking into it.” The mere mention of Augustus unnerved me. What if he was involved? As haggard and dejected as Augustus appeared, my dream-self tugged at me, reminding me that he was still the same old snake underneath.
“Quin, what does your father think of your heroics? And Zenigenic’s new drug?”
“Do you still believe Zenigenic framed him for murder?”
Quin offered no response. That was expected. His wall—stone or matchsticks—was always as strong as he needed it to be.
Xander raised his hand to quiet the crowd. “Mr. McAllister will not be providing a statement today. This will conclude my remarks. I look forward to seeing you all again soon.”
Signaling to Gina, Xander descended the stage. Following him was a swarm of black suits, his security detail. I found the tattooed man, Clive Valkov, strutting at the back of the group. Thanks to the investigative efforts of Mr. Van Sant and my father, he was no longer nameless. A step behind him was Quin.
As they passed us, Max called out to him, but the lobby was so loud that his voice fell away, swallowed by all the others. And yet, Quin turned toward the sound. There was no sign of recognition—his feet never stopped moving—only a look, a look that seemed to say something (but what?) and nothing at the same time.
CHAPTER TEN
THE UNBEARABLE PARTS
“YOU’RE AWFULLY QUIET,” my father observed. Max chattered nonstop—a welcome distraction—until we dropped him off at home. In his absence, the silence sat like a ghost between my dad and me. “Are you thinking about Quin?” he asked.
“A little.” The truth was that seeing Quin had left me with far more questions than answers. “But mostly about Mom.”
My father patted my knee. “Do you want to talk about it?” I did, and I didn’t. Talking about her kept her memory latched to me, a comforting shadow. But along with it came everything else … the unbearable parts. It was a hopeless contradiction.
“Why did she wait so long to leave Zenigenic—until they forced her out? She was obviously unhappy.”
My father offered an understanding smile. “Your mother wasn’t a quitter. And Emovere was her life’s work. She wanted to see it through. As infuriating as it was then, I get it now.”
“But, Dad, she knew.” I let myself be mad at her. Of everything I felt for my mother, anger was the simplest. “She knew Emovere was dangerous. She knew about the side effects. She even knew Zenigenic never destroyed that initial formula. Why did it take her so long to confront them?”
He sighed. “Honey, I wish I had the answers for you. What can I say? Your mother was a complex woman. She was a riddle I never solved.”
I hadn’t cried in months, but I felt the tears coming. “It’s so unfair. She created all of this. It was her fault you left …” I knew I was irrational, but I didn’t care. “Her fault Quin’s dad murdered his mom, her fault she died. She just left us here to pick up the pieces.” I turned away from my father, toward the window. My hot, ragged breath fogged the glass. “Sometimes, I just … ”
“Lex.” My father’s voice was gentle, intended to calm whatever was brewing. Even so, I had to say it. Somehow the words escaped from a locked box deep inside me—and once released, they wouldn’t be denied.
“Sometimes, I hate her.”
Pulling the car to a slow stop on the side of the freeway, my father reached for me. He was tentative at first, but when I felt his arms around me, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.” He repeated those words again and again until I realized they were meant for both of us.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A STRAY
XANDER’S PRESS CONFERENCE was the featured story on SFTV that night and the next morning, the attempt on his life nearly overshadowed by the speculation surrounding Quin’s heroics and the announcement of a forthcoming new drug.
“Maybe it’ll cure arrogance,” my father suggested. He looked up from his computer, a faint smile toying at the corners of his mouth. “A humility pill.”
I played along. We both needed to laugh. “Humbleoxotine, perhaps? At least we know he’s not sampling that product.”
Chuckling with me, my father said, “It was pretty bold of him to blame all of this on Augustus. The guy could be dead for all we know, right?”
“Right.” This lying thing was getting easier—too easy. My father’s words left me with an overwhelming need to see Augustus. “I think I’ll take Artos for a run,” I suggested. “It’s been a long time.” Since our near brush with death in December, Artos and I hadn’t ventured past our block.
My father frowned. “Is it safe?” We both knew the answer. “Just keep your eyes open. And take your cell phone.” Within a few minutes, Artos was leashed, and we were out the door.
Sparked by a mishmash of emotions, I set a fast, Quin-like pace. It felt good to run—to pump my arms fast, feel my legs burn, suck in the cold air. Whoever said you can’t outrun your problems was right, but you can tire them out a little. By the time we reached the marina, my head was mostly quiet, blown clear by the needful pull and push of my breath.
> I slowed to a purposeful stride, tightening the slack on Artos’ leash until we were walking side by side. Artos’ nose was fixed to the ground, leading the way. When we neared the boat, his sniffing grew frantic, desperate. Thinking of their first and last encounter—Augustus’ pant leg in a vise grip between Artos’ canines—I whispered to him. “Artos, stay.” His eyes reluctant, Artos lowered his haunches to the ground and watched me as I climbed aboard.
Every time I came here it was always the same. Memories. Anticipation. Dread. A curious mixture that turned my stomach with every step. I took a breath and opened the cabin door.
“Augustus?”
Inside it smelled of shaving cream and pimento. My father’s borrowed shirts, usually folded near the bed, were missing.
“Are you … here?” The only answer came from the boat’s steady creaking as it rocked on the waves. Outside, Artos whined.
The cabinets were emptied. Antibiotics, food, water—all gone. I peered inside the small bathroom. On the side of the sink was a half-emptied bottle of water and a razor. A few hairs from Augustus’ beard lined the drain like a scattered trail of ants.
“Don’t play games with me,” I threatened. The sound of my own small voice—pretending to be brave—frightened me. I flung open the corner closet and pawed my way through a curtain of musty clothing until I could see the wall inside. The space was barely big enough for a few blankets, much less a man Augustus’ size. Still, I half expected him to be there, coiled in wait, blinking up at me with his dead eyes.
Artos barked and I jumped, hitting my elbow against the wall. “Ow!” I started to laugh at myself until I heard voices approaching, faint at first, then louder.
A man spoke. “Hey, it’s a dog.”
“Looks friendly enough,” another man answered. “Seems to like you.”
“He’s just a stray. Leave him alone.” There was no mistaking the third voice. Quin. It was so familiar—like a song I couldn’t stop singing—yet, different too.
“Doesn’t seem like a stray. He’s got a leash.” The voices were close now, too close. And my thoughts were racing. I crouched down low, peeking up through one of the cabin’s windows. I couldn’t see anything. I crawled toward the far window, hoping for a clearer view.
“I thought you wanted me to show you where I saw him last.” Quin again. Was he talking about Augustus? “You’re wasting time with that stupid dog.” My own head a muddled muck, I could only imagine what Quin must be thinking.
“Fine,” the first man answered. “Didn’t you say it was this boat?” As he spoke, the man came into my view. Two things made me shudder. He was pointing at my houseboat—and he was Clive Valkov.
I tried not to panic. Tried. I scurried back to the closet. There were no other options. I pushed my back to the bare wall and pulled the door shut. Tucking my knees in close against my chest, I concealed myself behind the clothing inside. I was a ghost, an invisible person. I made my breathing quiet.
“Not that one,” Quin protested from outside. “The next one over.”
Valkov answered. “Yeah? Well you said this one—this boat when we got here.”
“Well, I changed my mind.” Really, Quin? That’s the best you can come up with? “Have it your way then. You guys get that one, and I’ll take a look in here.” Now you’re thinking.
“Nah.” Valkov was on the deck, right outside the boat. His voice was gravelly, nearly a growl. “Mr. Steele may trust you, but I don’t.” As he spoke, I heard Artos scratching at the door. “Our furry friend seems awfully interested in this one. Don’t cha, boy? We’ll check both. Together.”
It was inevitable now. Fear sat heavy on my chest, its hand at my throat, squeezing. Footsteps surrounded me, their echoes impossible to locate. Next came the methodical open and shut, open and shut of the cabinet doors. Then—even worse—silence. I imagined Valkov squinting, beady-eyed … considering the bathroom sink with disgust … stalking toward my hiding place with dark intention. “Someone’s been here,” he said.
Horrified, I watched the slow turn of the closet’s knob. The whoosh of my own heartbeat in my ears drowned all other sounds. I was as still as a rabbit hidden in tall grass.
“Got something in there?”
“Nothing.” Quin seemed to look through me. “Just a bunch of old clothes.” Maybe I was invisible. But then he reached his hand toward me, finding my knee in the pitch black and giving it a gentle squeeze. That secret touch, tough and tender, was everything I loved about Quin. His fingertips electric, my skin tingled even in their absence. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel so alone.
After concealing me in darkness again, Quin told the others, “Whoever was here is gone now.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
JUST A SQUIRREL
WITH THE SHUTTING of the cabin door, the pall of fear lifted a little, and I breathed deep—as deep as I could in that airless tomb. I wriggled from underneath a raincoat, repositioned myself, and stretched my legs. The closet was too small to straighten them.
“Mr. Steele will want to know about all this.” Valkov’s voice—faint, but forceful—startled me. I pressed my ear to the wall, listening. “And the dog? Should we take him? Maybe he belongs to Augustus.” No! I didn’t move, but I was screaming inside. The thought of him leading Artos away was unbearable.
“Augustus never had a dog,” Quin reasoned.
“McAllister’s right about that,” the second man agreed. “That guy was opposed to most living things—including me. I can’t believe I worked for him as long as I did.”
He worked for Augustus? Surprisingly, Augustus had spoken the truth for once. He’d said that most of his men were poached by Xander shortly after he fled. “Loyalty only runs as deep as your boss’s pocketbook,” he’d advised between bites of pimento. At the time, I thought it was a ploy for sympathy. But his stealthy escape from the boat left me wondering if Augustus was truly on his own.
From outside, Valkov spoke again. This time his voice was patronizing, sickeningly sweet. “C’mon, doggie. Here, doggie. Valkie won’t hurt you.” Judging by the bite in Artos’ bark, I wasn’t the only one not buying it.
“Get out of here, dog!” Quin shouted. Any trace of guilt, he covered with sheer power. “Go on! Go home!” Artos’ yelp—knowing he couldn’t possibly understand—wrenched my heart.
I heard nothing else for a long time. Finally, I closed my eyes and started counting. At five hundred, I put my hand on the knob and turned, half expecting Valkov’s severed snake tattoo to greet me on the other side. There was no one.
I stood—my knees cricking and cracking from being cramped for so long—and took a look around me. The razor and the half-empty water bottle were gone. And a quick glance out the window made me realize, so was Artos. Over two hours had passed since I left home. I dialed my father’s number.
“Lex! Where are you? Are you okay?” To lie or not to lie. It wasn’t even a question. Once you start keeping secrets, they grow like moss in the dark space inside of you, taking on a separate life and multiplying without meaning to. It became hard—impossible—to stop. I wondered if my mom felt that way too, keeping my dad’s letters from me for so long.
“I’m fine, Dad. But Artos got away from me. I think he might’ve run home.” I blurted the story out with no effort.
“Where are you?” he asked again.
“On my way.” I started jogging. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay. I’ll keep an eye out for Artos. It’s not like him to run off. Did something happen?”
I increased my pace. “No.” The houseboat, Augustus, Quin, Valkov, the closet—the entire scene replayed in an instant. “Just a squirrel.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EXCLUSIVE
I WAS COMFORTED by the sight of Artos’ leash hanging on its hook in the entryway. Just like Quin told him to, he went home.
“Dad?” At the sound of my voice, Artos padded into the hallway, offering a canine grin. I bent down toward him
and rubbed his head. “Our secret, okay?” I whispered. My father’s voice traveled from his office.
“Yes, I understand … exclusive.” His tone was equal parts excitement and confusion.
“I know what it means. And I want to do it—but are you sure he requested me?” He paused for a moment, then said, “Okay, I’ll be there.”
“Lex?” My father opened the door. “There you are,” he said, relieved. He gestured toward Artos, trailing a nose-length behind me. “I found this guy out on the porch, leash still on. No squirrel, of course.” We both smiled, and for a moment, I almost believed my own lie.
“I have news,” he said.
“Good or bad?” His voice hinted at both.
“I’m not sure yet. That was Langley on the phone. I’ve been assigned an exclusive interview, a special request by Xander Steele.”
“To interview him?”
My father shook his head. “No. Quin.”
His answer knocked the wind from me. “Quin?” I put a hand against the doorframe to steady myself. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“Where?”
“In the courtyard outside Zenigenic. They want the piece to look conversational.”
“Why you?” I asked, finally. That was the real question. What was Xander plotting? I waited for my father’s clever comeback, a corny joke, a sarcastic quip. Instead he answered, “I have absolutely no idea.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
B-LIST
I WATCHED FROM THE BACK of the Eyes on the Bay news van as my father’s face was puffed, powdered, and prodded into camera-ready submission. A permissible stowaway, I promised Langley I would sit quietly and stay out of the way. Translation—don’t talk to Quin.
I could tell my father was nervous. He fidgeted with his hair until it was combed and spritzed back into place. He fidgeted again, another spray. Just like my father, the scene was being carefully prepared. Two metallic benches appeared near the oversized Z with lush plants strategically interspersed between them. A rope and stanchions secured the perimeter—with plenty of Zenigenic security on hand to enforce its boundaries. Outside the ropes, a small crowd began to assemble, clamoring for a better look.
