Perfect Lies
Page 2
I take a step back. "How am I supposed to know? It's not my fault if my shadows can't stay attached to me. Call Wendy Darling. Maybe she can sew them to the bottoms of my feet."
He swears, pulling out his phone. "They're there to protect you."
"Do I look like I need protection?" I hold out my hands, one with streaks of blood on it, and give him my best crazy crazy crazy crazy grin. "You know, I like Dmitri. I crippled him, but I like him."
Whoever he's calling picks up and he starts yelling about doing a job and consequences and cleaning up messes. I wonder if the Russian guy is the mess or if I am. There's a smear of blood on James's suit jacket from where I hugged him, and I think it looks nice there, like it belongs.
I leave him and make my way to Ms. Robertson's office. She's already got a massive medical kit out on her desk and I sit, peeling off my shirt. It's hot in here, stuffy, the heater in the corner working too hard, drying out the air and making everything feel small and scratchy.
"What did you do this time?" she asks through gritted teeth, fingers surprisingly gentle as she cleans the wound on my shoulder.
"Someone took my parking space."
"You don't have a car."
"That doesn't mean I should let someone take my parking space now, does it?"
She tears off strips of medical tape, lining them up to pull the edges of the cut closed. "Why don't you tell me who did this?"
Do you really want to get into my head? I think. It's not a friendly place. You'll regret it.
She sneers. "Are you going to kill me?"
I twist away from her, ripping open a package of gauze and slapping it over my arm. "Is there a reason I should?"
"I don't know. Was there a reason you killed Eden?"
I tap tap tap tap against the table, then use my teeth to tear off enough tape to keep the gauze in place. I hated Eden. I hated her. I can't think about it, can't think about what happened, won't think about what happened. "She deserved it." I look at Ms. Robertson with the full force of my baby-blue eyes. "Do you deserve it?" They'll let me, I think at her. They'll let me do whatever I want, and we both know it.
"And your sister? She deserved it, too?"
I explode out of my chair, inches away from Ms. Robertson's face, which is no longer sneering. "She was in my way." Ms. Robertson is standing between me and the door, and I look pointedly at it. "You are in my way."
She moves.
As I walk past, her voice shakes with anger or fear (I can't tell, I'm not Eden, Eden Eden why'd she bring up Eden?) as she says, "And Clarice?"
I pause, my hand on the doorway. "I just didn't like her." Letting my mind go blank, not thinking anything at all, I turn and smile pleasantly at Ms. Robertson.
In the hall I nearly bump into a girl. She does a double take. "Fia? What happened? Where's your shirt?"
I glance down, my black bra in stark contrast to my pale torso, then laugh. "I knew I was forgetting something!" I try so hard not to remember their names, so very very hard, but I can't sleep because I see their faces. Mandy. Twelve. From New Orleans.
I wash myself clean of guilt, of pain, of fear, of emotion. I am the ocean. I am empty. I am nothing. Mandy lets out a little sigh of relief. She loves being around me. Silly Mandy.
"I cut my shoulder and there was blood on my shirt. I was going to find another one."
"You can borrow one of mine!" She holds out her hand, smiling shyly. I take it and let her lead me to her room, and I do not feel anything, not a thing, not a thing about this life or this girl or working in the school that I will burn to the ground.
When it gets to be too much, I picture the flames, imagine their heat. The noise they'll make as they devour everything Phillip Keane has built. It's better than the ocean for calming, and if any Readers look at me funny, I add marshmallows to my thoughts and am just a girl in want of a campfire.
I am a girl in want of complete destruction. But I am patient.
James finds me thirty minutes later, lying on my stomach on the floor of the main dorm common room, looking at fashion magazines with a gaggle of twelve- and thirteen-year-olds around me. They all jockeyed for position, each trying to slide in next to me, be close to me, be near me, because these girls know nothing.
They know nothing.
I think happy thoughts and feel happy things and I do not let myself near the swirling black edges of the hole that is my soul when I look at them.
I try not to spin. In third grade we did an experiment where we rubbed a needle on a magnet, then dropped it onto water. The surface tension let it rest on top of the water, and the magnet sent the needle spinning.
I used to be a compass, trained on the true north of protecting Annie. Without her I lost my north.
But James is my north now. The flames are my north now. Our dark secrets are my north now.
I tap tap tap tap on the magazine. Annie. Annie. Annie. Annie.
Don't think about Annie.
James holds out his hand to help me up and I take it, squeezing harder than I need to, willing it to be my anchor. This is what I chose, and I always choose right. James saved me. He'll always save me.
"Are you leaving already?" Mandy asks, a whine creeping into her voice. "You never stay!"
"That's my fault," James says, giving the girls his winningest lie of a smile. "I've got to take Fia to New York."
"New York?" I ask.
His smile goes deeper, sharper. "My father wants us working there. With him."
I don't know what to do with this sudden flood of uncontrolled emotion. Finally. Finally. All the things I've done, all this blood and betrayal and wrong will be made right. We have a plan (don't think about the plan, never think about the plan). It will happen now.
It is happening.
James pulls me close, his arm around my waist holding me up. I am dizzy with anticipation. The beginning of the end.
"Will you come visit us?" Mandy asks. "You said the school will always be your home."
I try to smile, but my eyes dart around the room, tracing the contours of the walls, my finger tap tap tap tapping on my leg. Always.
"Take me away," I whisper to James, and he obliges.
Chapter Three
ANNIE
Three and a Half Months Before
I PULL THE PHONE OUT OF MY POCKET, TAP IT ON THE table. The noise reminds me of Fia. Who hasn't called. It's been two weeks.
Two.
A throat clears. "Hey, Annie." Adam always announces himself when he enters the room. I appreciate it.
"Can I sit?"
I nod and feel the motel couch give under his weight. Without a word I hand the phone to him. He's been as anxious about getting word from Fia as I have; he's the one who tracked down a charger so the cell wouldn't die.
"No missed calls or texts," he says, stating the obvious.
"Who's ready for some lunch?" Sarah chirps, bringing with her the scent of grease. My stomach turns uneasily. I hate myself as soon as I think it, but I really miss the Keane school chefs. I also miss my own cell phone, with raised buttons so I could use it without help. And my white cane that folded neatly into a purse. And my braille display for my laptop.
And . . . I miss knowing where I am. Being stuck in the school for so many years has turned me into an unwilling agoraphobe. I spent all that time either knowing the exact confines of my space or out with someone I trusted completely. Being untethered is kind of terrifying.
I miss Eden.
"Where to today?" I ask, needing distraction. We're all staying in a suite in some motel outside Denver. Our travel pattern deliberately makes no sense. Cole decides on the spot where we're going, and we never stay anywhere for long or plan more than a few hours in advance. Sarah says it's the best way to avoid anyone on the lookout for us, though she seems confident no Seer is going to have an eye out for me.
I'm dead, after all. So is Adam.
"Do you want me to cut your food for you?" Adam offers, and I shake my head. He's constantly trying to help me. I wondered at first if maybe he had a crush on me, but it doesn't feel like that.
Then again, how would I know? This is the most I've been around guys close to my age since I went to the school.
"I have good news," Sarah says. "I haven't seen anything. I think we're safe to go to home base."
"Finally," Adam says, his voice desperate with relief. I bite my lip guiltily. He lost his parents, his schooling, his apparently brilliant future. And it's my fault. I put him on Keane's radar.
Cole surprises me by talking. Once again I didn't realize he was in the room. "Settles that, then. We'll go to the California house and make reintegration plans for our two corpses."
"Actually, we're headed to Georgia."
Cole's voice is suddenly cold. "Why Georgia? I don't see any reason to involve them further."
"We need help, Cole. We can't do this on our own."
"We've been doing fine."
"Did you even hear what Annie was telling us? He has women in the White House! This is so much bigger than we can fight, and if working with Rafael is what we need, then-"
"You don't know enough about him."
"I haven't seen anything that makes me worried."
"You don't see everything."
A door slams. Judging by Sarah's sigh, I assume Cole is gone. "What was that about?" I ask.
Sarah sounds falsely bright. "Nothing. Cole likes being independent. Lerner has always been a really loosely connected network, to keep us safer. But we're starting to organize and get funding, and it makes him nervous. I'll go pack your things and we'll head out!"
"I'm already packed," Adam says. Sarah leaves, but he stays on the couch next to me. "So much research data all around me, and I can't do a thing to study it. I need to work before I go crazy."
"You can't!" I blush, embarrassed at my outburst. "I mean, you can't keep pursuing it, right? That's how they found you." I'm how they found him, but the vision still swirls in my head, unsettling me.
He sounds thoughtful. "Sarah thinks we can manage it. And she feels like it's really important, like it might finally give us an advantage against Keane."
My thoughts are scattered, my nerves frayed. What if it did? What if that's what my vision meant? That we'd find the women and then help them disappear? Maybe I'm interpreting it wrong. It wouldn't be the first vision I was wrong about.
Probably won't be the last, either.
The car slams to a stop, my seat belt digging into my collarbone. "What is he doing here?" Cole snaps.
"Who?" Sarah asks. "Oh. I didn't know he was coming."
The car eases forward and then stops again. I hear doors open, so I unbuckle my seat belt and climb out, kicking my foot to find the curb.
"Cole," a man calls from nearby. He sounds older than Cole and Adam. "We've been waiting for you."
"Nathan," Cole says, his voice icy. "Why are you here?"
"Permanent security detail with the boss."
"Right." Cole's voice is edged with tension and anger. He must have a headache all the time if he carries as much tension in his neck as he does in his voice. "The boss. Great."
Sarah takes my arm. "Don't worry," she whispers in my ear. "Cole's just PMSing."
I snort, instantly more at ease. I don't think Cole will stick around any longer than he has to, which is a bit of a relief. He stresses me out.
"Come on in," Nathan says as we walk up three steps. "And who is this?"
I don't like the shift in tone of Nathan's voice that indicates he's talking about me. It's as though he's no longer addressing an equal but a child or a plaything.
He swears, pulling out his phone. "They're there to protect you."
"Do I look like I need protection?" I hold out my hands, one with streaks of blood on it, and give him my best crazy crazy crazy crazy grin. "You know, I like Dmitri. I crippled him, but I like him."
Whoever he's calling picks up and he starts yelling about doing a job and consequences and cleaning up messes. I wonder if the Russian guy is the mess or if I am. There's a smear of blood on James's suit jacket from where I hugged him, and I think it looks nice there, like it belongs.
I leave him and make my way to Ms. Robertson's office. She's already got a massive medical kit out on her desk and I sit, peeling off my shirt. It's hot in here, stuffy, the heater in the corner working too hard, drying out the air and making everything feel small and scratchy.
"What did you do this time?" she asks through gritted teeth, fingers surprisingly gentle as she cleans the wound on my shoulder.
"Someone took my parking space."
"You don't have a car."
"That doesn't mean I should let someone take my parking space now, does it?"
She tears off strips of medical tape, lining them up to pull the edges of the cut closed. "Why don't you tell me who did this?"
Do you really want to get into my head? I think. It's not a friendly place. You'll regret it.
She sneers. "Are you going to kill me?"
I twist away from her, ripping open a package of gauze and slapping it over my arm. "Is there a reason I should?"
"I don't know. Was there a reason you killed Eden?"
I tap tap tap tap against the table, then use my teeth to tear off enough tape to keep the gauze in place. I hated Eden. I hated her. I can't think about it, can't think about what happened, won't think about what happened. "She deserved it." I look at Ms. Robertson with the full force of my baby-blue eyes. "Do you deserve it?" They'll let me, I think at her. They'll let me do whatever I want, and we both know it.
"And your sister? She deserved it, too?"
I explode out of my chair, inches away from Ms. Robertson's face, which is no longer sneering. "She was in my way." Ms. Robertson is standing between me and the door, and I look pointedly at it. "You are in my way."
She moves.
As I walk past, her voice shakes with anger or fear (I can't tell, I'm not Eden, Eden Eden why'd she bring up Eden?) as she says, "And Clarice?"
I pause, my hand on the doorway. "I just didn't like her." Letting my mind go blank, not thinking anything at all, I turn and smile pleasantly at Ms. Robertson.
In the hall I nearly bump into a girl. She does a double take. "Fia? What happened? Where's your shirt?"
I glance down, my black bra in stark contrast to my pale torso, then laugh. "I knew I was forgetting something!" I try so hard not to remember their names, so very very hard, but I can't sleep because I see their faces. Mandy. Twelve. From New Orleans.
I wash myself clean of guilt, of pain, of fear, of emotion. I am the ocean. I am empty. I am nothing. Mandy lets out a little sigh of relief. She loves being around me. Silly Mandy.
"I cut my shoulder and there was blood on my shirt. I was going to find another one."
"You can borrow one of mine!" She holds out her hand, smiling shyly. I take it and let her lead me to her room, and I do not feel anything, not a thing, not a thing about this life or this girl or working in the school that I will burn to the ground.
When it gets to be too much, I picture the flames, imagine their heat. The noise they'll make as they devour everything Phillip Keane has built. It's better than the ocean for calming, and if any Readers look at me funny, I add marshmallows to my thoughts and am just a girl in want of a campfire.
I am a girl in want of complete destruction. But I am patient.
James finds me thirty minutes later, lying on my stomach on the floor of the main dorm common room, looking at fashion magazines with a gaggle of twelve- and thirteen-year-olds around me. They all jockeyed for position, each trying to slide in next to me, be close to me, be near me, because these girls know nothing.
They know nothing.
I think happy thoughts and feel happy things and I do not let myself near the swirling black edges of the hole that is my soul when I look at them.
I try not to spin. In third grade we did an experiment where we rubbed a needle on a magnet, then dropped it onto water. The surface tension let it rest on top of the water, and the magnet sent the needle spinning.
I used to be a compass, trained on the true north of protecting Annie. Without her I lost my north.
But James is my north now. The flames are my north now. Our dark secrets are my north now.
I tap tap tap tap on the magazine. Annie. Annie. Annie. Annie.
Don't think about Annie.
James holds out his hand to help me up and I take it, squeezing harder than I need to, willing it to be my anchor. This is what I chose, and I always choose right. James saved me. He'll always save me.
"Are you leaving already?" Mandy asks, a whine creeping into her voice. "You never stay!"
"That's my fault," James says, giving the girls his winningest lie of a smile. "I've got to take Fia to New York."
"New York?" I ask.
His smile goes deeper, sharper. "My father wants us working there. With him."
I don't know what to do with this sudden flood of uncontrolled emotion. Finally. Finally. All the things I've done, all this blood and betrayal and wrong will be made right. We have a plan (don't think about the plan, never think about the plan). It will happen now.
It is happening.
James pulls me close, his arm around my waist holding me up. I am dizzy with anticipation. The beginning of the end.
"Will you come visit us?" Mandy asks. "You said the school will always be your home."
I try to smile, but my eyes dart around the room, tracing the contours of the walls, my finger tap tap tap tapping on my leg. Always.
"Take me away," I whisper to James, and he obliges.
Chapter Three
ANNIE
Three and a Half Months Before
I PULL THE PHONE OUT OF MY POCKET, TAP IT ON THE table. The noise reminds me of Fia. Who hasn't called. It's been two weeks.
Two.
A throat clears. "Hey, Annie." Adam always announces himself when he enters the room. I appreciate it.
"Can I sit?"
I nod and feel the motel couch give under his weight. Without a word I hand the phone to him. He's been as anxious about getting word from Fia as I have; he's the one who tracked down a charger so the cell wouldn't die.
"No missed calls or texts," he says, stating the obvious.
"Who's ready for some lunch?" Sarah chirps, bringing with her the scent of grease. My stomach turns uneasily. I hate myself as soon as I think it, but I really miss the Keane school chefs. I also miss my own cell phone, with raised buttons so I could use it without help. And my white cane that folded neatly into a purse. And my braille display for my laptop.
And . . . I miss knowing where I am. Being stuck in the school for so many years has turned me into an unwilling agoraphobe. I spent all that time either knowing the exact confines of my space or out with someone I trusted completely. Being untethered is kind of terrifying.
I miss Eden.
"Where to today?" I ask, needing distraction. We're all staying in a suite in some motel outside Denver. Our travel pattern deliberately makes no sense. Cole decides on the spot where we're going, and we never stay anywhere for long or plan more than a few hours in advance. Sarah says it's the best way to avoid anyone on the lookout for us, though she seems confident no Seer is going to have an eye out for me.
I'm dead, after all. So is Adam.
"Do you want me to cut your food for you?" Adam offers, and I shake my head. He's constantly trying to help me. I wondered at first if maybe he had a crush on me, but it doesn't feel like that.
Then again, how would I know? This is the most I've been around guys close to my age since I went to the school.
"I have good news," Sarah says. "I haven't seen anything. I think we're safe to go to home base."
"Finally," Adam says, his voice desperate with relief. I bite my lip guiltily. He lost his parents, his schooling, his apparently brilliant future. And it's my fault. I put him on Keane's radar.
Cole surprises me by talking. Once again I didn't realize he was in the room. "Settles that, then. We'll go to the California house and make reintegration plans for our two corpses."
"Actually, we're headed to Georgia."
Cole's voice is suddenly cold. "Why Georgia? I don't see any reason to involve them further."
"We need help, Cole. We can't do this on our own."
"We've been doing fine."
"Did you even hear what Annie was telling us? He has women in the White House! This is so much bigger than we can fight, and if working with Rafael is what we need, then-"
"You don't know enough about him."
"I haven't seen anything that makes me worried."
"You don't see everything."
A door slams. Judging by Sarah's sigh, I assume Cole is gone. "What was that about?" I ask.
Sarah sounds falsely bright. "Nothing. Cole likes being independent. Lerner has always been a really loosely connected network, to keep us safer. But we're starting to organize and get funding, and it makes him nervous. I'll go pack your things and we'll head out!"
"I'm already packed," Adam says. Sarah leaves, but he stays on the couch next to me. "So much research data all around me, and I can't do a thing to study it. I need to work before I go crazy."
"You can't!" I blush, embarrassed at my outburst. "I mean, you can't keep pursuing it, right? That's how they found you." I'm how they found him, but the vision still swirls in my head, unsettling me.
He sounds thoughtful. "Sarah thinks we can manage it. And she feels like it's really important, like it might finally give us an advantage against Keane."
My thoughts are scattered, my nerves frayed. What if it did? What if that's what my vision meant? That we'd find the women and then help them disappear? Maybe I'm interpreting it wrong. It wouldn't be the first vision I was wrong about.
Probably won't be the last, either.
The car slams to a stop, my seat belt digging into my collarbone. "What is he doing here?" Cole snaps.
"Who?" Sarah asks. "Oh. I didn't know he was coming."
The car eases forward and then stops again. I hear doors open, so I unbuckle my seat belt and climb out, kicking my foot to find the curb.
"Cole," a man calls from nearby. He sounds older than Cole and Adam. "We've been waiting for you."
"Nathan," Cole says, his voice icy. "Why are you here?"
"Permanent security detail with the boss."
"Right." Cole's voice is edged with tension and anger. He must have a headache all the time if he carries as much tension in his neck as he does in his voice. "The boss. Great."
Sarah takes my arm. "Don't worry," she whispers in my ear. "Cole's just PMSing."
I snort, instantly more at ease. I don't think Cole will stick around any longer than he has to, which is a bit of a relief. He stresses me out.
"Come on in," Nathan says as we walk up three steps. "And who is this?"
I don't like the shift in tone of Nathan's voice that indicates he's talking about me. It's as though he's no longer addressing an equal but a child or a plaything.
