(Updated every Sunday by 6pm EST)
I wait a couple of minutes after Marcus leaves before following him into the house. Instead of heading into the rest of the house, I step out through the patio's sliding doors and take a side path that wraps around to the front of the manor. It's late in the afternoon now, almost close to sundown. My mind's playing Marcus's final words on a continuous loop. Thanks to you, I've got Saige now. He said it with that sneer playing across his lips, and it was clear the words were meant to hurt me more than they were to show gratitude.
I can't picture him lying to hurt me. It's not like him. For better or worse, Marcus really does believe I'm responsible for his relationship with Saige. But in what way? Did I have something to do with Saige joining us? Did I help the team locate her, and thereby throw her into Marcus's path? But it's not like they had never met before: I might not remember Saige, but she was with the rest of us at the facility. Marcus had to have run into her before.
So why would he thank me now?
And then there's the whole business about what happened between Marcus and me in the four months we were supposedly together. That's a long time to be with someone in my book. A long time to become close to someone, physically and emotionally. What was it like? My chest aches when I think of him now, but how was it when we were together? Were we good together? Did we fight more than we got along? And how long before we slept together the first time? The last question makes me both squirm and flush with heat.
Dammit. I can't figure out the steps in between that bonding moment in the hospital and his sheer hostility now, and it's driving me crazy.
I store the thoughts away for now and stop behind a tree that gives me a direct view of the driveway. The garage door is open and the team is clustered around the driveway. Pablo is backing the second van into the garage. I'm guessing they don't want anyone dropping by all of a sudden and spotting strange cars parked at the couple's home.
One of the three cars that were in the garage, a black late model SUV, is parked on the driveway now. Marcus steps out of the house and picks out a few people to ride with him: Pablo, Lisa, Saige, and Rochelle. "You sure you don't want us to take the Aston Martin?" Pablo asks, looking back longingly at the expensive-looking silver car.
On cue, the Aston Martin in the garage revs, and I catch Janie in the driver's seat, grinning out tauntingly at Pablo. He gives her the middle finger and lumbers over to the SUV.
I have no idea what I'm doing out here, except I don't want to lounge all day while the rest of the team makes things happen. So when Marcus pulls out of the driveway first, I run across the paved road toward the other car.
Jones catches me coming and steps into my path with a frown. Recognition floods my mind. I remember him. Well, not from the past eight months, but from before. Back at the facility. He's the same kid who blocked my way into the kitchen that first day.
"Were you a bouncer in another life?" I mutter.
"You can't be out here," he says. "Marcus made it clear you're not allowed."
"Am I your prisoner?"
His bushy eyebrows quirk in confusion, and he looks at another kid for support. "No, but you can't go anywhere."
"Well, that's the definition of a prisoner."
The Aston Martin pulls up beside us and Janie rolls down the window. Next to her is Adam. There's no sight of Willow, which means she must still be in the house. It makes sense. Willow needs to be around to make sure the owners don't snap out of it and call the cops on us.
"Jones, get out of her way," Janie says.
"But Marcus told me to keep an eye on her."
I'm severely annoyed at Marcus for thinking I need a chaperone. Granted, I am trying to break out of the manor without his awareness or consent, but that's just it. I don't need his consent. This isn't the facility, where he ran the show. This is the real world.
I shove my way past Jones as Janie warns, "Jones, I swear if you don't get back in the house, you're going to be eating peanut butter sandwiches and canned soup for a month straight. We're supposed to be keeping a low profile."
"Driving an Aston Martin is not keeping a low profile!" he yells as I crawl into the backseat from the passenger side.
Janie guns the car right as Adam slams the passenger door, and I brace my hand on the seat as we speed across the long driveway. "Maybe not," she says, excitement in her voice, "but it sure feels good. Holy shit. It's like riding a ten-foot wave while you're on the back of a bucking bronco. You sure you don't want a turn, Adam?"
"Yeah, can I drive right now?" he says-or rather, chokes out.
The tires squeal as we practically tear out of the driveway and onto an empty back road. It's a beautiful and isolated area, lots of scraggly trees and shrubbery with hints of early spring snow covering their backs. I might've enjoyed the scenery if I wasn't so terrified.
"I don't think so," Janie says to him over the roar of the engine as she presses down on the gas pedal. "You drive like an old lady. You need to live a little and stop being so protective of your life, Mr. Shield. Am I right or what, April?"
Or what, I think and squeeze my eyes shut when we almost fly into a ditch. "Um, maybe we shouldn't wreck the car."
That makes her slow down to a more tolerable speed. "You're right. It would be a shame to damage something so beautiful."
I was thinking more along the lines of how we should try not to die and also be more considerate of the owners, considering they never agreed to lend us their house or cars, but this works, too. "So, what's the plan here? What did Lisa find out?"
"The flipper lives in Durham, which is a low-income neighborhood in the western side of Denver. The whole area around his residential building has been closed off," Adam answers, his voice returning back to normal. "The police aren't letting anyone get close. The death count is in the twenties, with about twice that number unaccounted for, and there are still a dozen Blanks on the loose."
"Wow," I murmur, my mind reeling at the degree of catastrophe. "What happened to the missing people?"
"Where Blanks go, people end up dead or missing," Janie explains. "In any case, the Blanks won't rest until they find the flipper or get killed."
"And there's no way to change them back?"
Janie confirms what I already know when she shakes her head. Carson is proof that the Blank condition is permanent. So am I, for that matter. The only thing that saved me was the doses of the metamorphosis inhibitor serum that I've been getting for months since I exhibited symptoms that night at the bridge. It allowed me to retain my sanity, at least long enough until Willow could do something about it.
I hate that she took my memories, but if they were stressing me out to the point that I was constantly blanking . . . maybe I should be thanking her instead.
"How are we going to find the flipper?" I ask, discouraged.
"That's where Rochelle comes in," Janie answers.
"She's a Mod, too?" I ask, surprised. Last I knew, Rochelle didn't have an ability. "What can she do?"
Adam starts to talk, but Janie cuts in, "Where's the fun in telling you now? You'll just have to wait and see."
"You realize this isn't supposed to be fun," he says curtly.
She pats his arm. "It won't be if you keep being such a Debbie Downer, darling."
Adam falls silent, but I can see his tight expression in his sideview mirror. I wonder what's got him upset: that Janie is making light of the situation, which is pretty standard for her, or that she's making fun of him. How is it possible she has no idea he likes her?
Or maybe she does. I understand why she hasn't reciprocated his interest. He's a quiet, even shy, guy who only talks when he has something relevant to say and takes everything seriously. And while he's cute in a military-kid kind of way, he's nowhere near as magnetic as Marcus. I doubt she's ever even thought of him that way.
I shake my head at my stupidity. We're driving into a Blank-infested town and I'm wondering about stupid things like romantic compatibility.
We catch up with the SUV about five minutes later and follow it to the packed parking lot of a shopping mall. Marcus looks furious when I emerge from the car. "What are you doing here?"
"You suggested that I stay behind," I say, meeting his gaze boldly, trying to ignore the way his girlfriend is eyeing me with a disgusted curl to her lips, as though she has any right to judge me. "I disregarded your suggestion."
He grips the bridge of his nose and takes a deep, calming breath. I brace myself for an angry outburst, but it doesn't come. Instead, he looks at Janie and says, "She's your responsibility. If she loses it or starts to remember things she's not supposed to, it's on you."
"I'm not anyone's responsibility," I argue, starting to feel royally pissed off.
Marcus gives me a look that feels more than a little patronizing, but I guess he's done talking to me because he turns to his girlfriend. His expression becomes gentle as he rests his hands on her shoulders. "You doing okay?"
"Not really," she whimpers. "I don't think I can do this. Maybe we shouldn't-"
His hand moves to brush dirty-blonde hair from the shoulder of her coat. "Yes, you can, baby. We've practiced a hundred times, and you get better each time."
"What if they see through it?"
This must be about her illusion ability. Marcus is petting her like she's a skittish horse, and his voice drops until I can't hear what he's telling her. But it must be helping because she smiles at something he says and then throws herself into his arms.
It's a sharp kick to my stomach when he kisses her tenderly, lovingly. We're in love, she said before, and the truth is right there in front of me.
The rest of us stand around awkwardly until they're done. Marcus grabs his backpack from the SUV and locks it up, and then we start heading for Durham. At this point I'm thinking about what Janie told me in the car, about how dangerous the situation has gotten, and it's resonating with what I know from Sam's email.
If we are walking into a Blank-infested town, I'd hate for us to be blindsided because I kept something important from the rest of the team.
"Marcus," I say, shoving aside my pride. I hurry to catch up to him on the sidewalk. "I need to tell you something."
He glances back. "What?"
"I don't know if you already know this, but I got an email from Sam months ago. He said something about the Shroud and seeds of evil or some-"
Marcus pivots abruptly, surprise on his face. "You still have the email?"
"You know about it?"
"Well, obviously we do, April," Janie answers from behind me. "Why else would we be traipsing all across the country and building an army?"
I blink in surprise. "An army?"
"Yeah. Well, an army of sorts, if you can call those idiots soldiers. That's one of the reasons we're locating the rest of the taken. Not just to save them from Blanks, but to strengthen our numbers when it all goes to hell."
I feel like I just walked into an intense chess game and I have no idea where all my pieces are. Marcus exhales sharply. "Janie, you remember what we talked about with Willow? You can't tell her things that'll trigger her memories, and that includes revealing one of the biggest parts of our lives the past eight months."
Janie rolls her eyes. "Anything could be a potential trigger. She could see vomit and remember the time Jones overstuffed himself on cheese sticks and wings and puked all over the front seat of the van when we made that pit stop in Nevada."
"Where did you find the email?" Marcus asks me.
I look at him skeptically. "In my email folder, obviously."
"Willow," he growls. "Dammit. Why would she lie about deleting it?"
"Maybe because she realizes how important it is for April to know about this," Janie answers, sounding tired as if they've had similar arguments before. "You're overreacting, Marcus."
"Overreacting?" His face twists with deep, unfiltered aggravation. Then he relaxes. "Okay. You know what, April? You do whatever the hell you want and dig around as much as you want, and I won't try to stop you anymore. You're a big girl. If you can't understand your actions put you and everyone around you at risk, that's on you."
When he put it like that, it made me sound irresponsible and selfish. I started walking after him again, wondering if I should try to explain. That this isn't about my curiosity to know more, but about a deep-seated feeling that I need to be able to see the full picture again. I have an itch to finish what I started. Maybe it has to do with what Davey said about my mission. Something tells me it was bigger than just saving the flippers. Bigger than saving Carson.
And what could be more important than that?
The moment of truth for Saige's ability comes thirty minutes later, when we reach the first police roadblock. There's yellow police tape everywhere and a few police cars blocking off major streets. Saige, at Marcus's encouragement, squares her shoulders and digs her fingernails into her palms. Her steps falter, but Marcus keeps walking down the street, straight toward a couple of police officers having a conversation on the side of the road.
The rest of us follow after him. I know Saige's ability is probably like Lisa's, except on a grander scale since it conceals all of us. It must be limited in duration, because we're practically running now to get out of line of sight of the officers.
As we reach a cluster of residential buildings and shops, Saige gasps and relaxes, making it clear that the illusion has dropped. We're completely exposed now, and I'm grateful that the sun is hanging lower on the horizon and the burgeoning darkness will hide us from eyes.
It'll also hide the Blanks.
I shiver and hurry after the others, wishing I had brought a weapon. Marcus solves that by reaching into his backpack and handing me a sheathed knife. "You'll need to practice using a gun again. Wouldn't want you to shoot yourself."
He's all business, but I prefer his brusque tone over his hostile one.
"Keep your eyes open," he continues in a low voice. "Watch for any sudden movement. Blanks are usually still unless they have a reason to move. And when they move, they'll be on you before you know it. So make sure you see them before they attack."
I gulp. "I thought Blanks aren't supposed to attack me." Because of the whole Blanks-don't-attach-each-other thing.
"I guess they figured out you're not on their side."
Great news for me.
We keep to the shadows to avoid anyone, cops or Blanks, from spotting us. Saige shields us through the tougher spots, until we get to the building where the flipper lived. Rochelle fills me in on the way: Matthew Hill was friends with Lisa and her. His parents were relocated here to get away from the media frenzy after we made it out.
"They let his parents take him wherever they wanted?" I ask. Last I remember, we were going to tell the cops about the Blank condition. I can't imagine they let us go free after that.
Her face turns grim. "We didn't tell them."
"But . . ." We never agreed not to say anything.
"I should rephrase. We couldn't tell them about us or the Blanks or anything related to what was done to us by the Shroud."
"You mean . . ."
She nods. "There's a safety measure in place that prevents us from outing the Shroud to the world. We might not be under their control, but we're not completely free of them. As far as the world knows, we were taken by a group of wackos who put us through weird psychological games. And once Blanks started popping up everywhere, we became old news fast."
My body feels cold and clammy. Is there no getting away from the Shroud? It's like they're deeply embedded inside us, laser-burned into our molecules. "But I did tell someone about it. I told Davey."
"Might be because of the metamorphosis inhibitor serum your stepdad gave you. It allowed you to break free of their spell many times."
We arrive at the residential building soon after, putting an end to our conversation. There are three police officers here, and we slip by them with almost no disturbance. One of them looks right at me at some point, and I almost stop. But Janie nudges me forward without saying anything. It's then that I realize he's deep in thought, staring blankly where I was walking.
The stairwell reeks of pee and damp carpet. We get to the fourteenth floor and find Matthew's apartment door unlocked. The interior is almost empty, just a musty tan couch, a dining table with a couple of chairs, and an old TV on a small table. The kitchen is old, but clean. So is the rest of the house. Matthew and his mom didn't have much, but they clearly cherished their cramped home.
"Are we expecting to find Matthew here?" I ask as I watch the others loiter around the sleeping and living quarters.
"Not us," Adam says. "Rochelle will find him."
"How?"
He holds a finger to his lips and then points at her. "Watch."
Perplexed, I stand near the wall and observe as Rochelle moves around the living room. She looks eager, like she's starving and ready to dive into a delicious buffet. Humming slightly under her breath, she runs her fingers along the coffee table and tilts her head slightly.
"Yep, it's definitely him," she murmurs.
I'm pretty sure she doesn't mean that the coffee table is Matthew, but since everyone else is quietly watching, I decide not to break her concentration. She picks up the TV remote and holds it to her ear, her eyes closed. "Science Channel. He likes the shows about deep space exploration and engineering stuff. None of the pop culture shows. They're too gimmicky and treat their audiences like they're brainless zombies."
Whoa. She got all of that from listening to a TV remote?
Rochelle makes her way over to a women's health magazine and picks it up, then discards it. Her eyes scope the length of the living room before settling on a desk in a corner. On it are stacks of textbooks, stationary, and a fancy calculator. She picks up the calculator, and the expression on her face can only be described as rapture. I can practically feel her sucking intangible information out of the object, her mind furiously processing it.
"He loves math," she continues in a faraway voice. "It's his favorite subject. Solving equations, calculating measurements, watching numbers come together in an orderly, static way. He loves the reliability. His live has been so unstable. Moving from one place to the next, each one worse because his mom couldn't hold down a job. Math gives him the stability his life doesn't have."
The way she brings him to life, I'm starting to feel like I really know Matthew. We listen avidly, even Saige and Marcus, following her into the kitchen as she describes his favorite foods-waffles for breakfast when his mom isn't locked in her room, nursing a hangover, and the brisket she brings home every Friday when she gets her paycheck-and then talks about his daily routine based on some hidden conversation with the faucet and the kitchen island.
Those don't turn anything important up, so we head into his tiny bedroom. The bed is rumpled, and there are a few items on his nightstand. Rochelle heads for the bottle of lotion when Adam calls, "Rochelle, wait. You don't want to touch that."
Too late. Marcus and Pablo burst out laughing when her mouth drops and her face contorts into a pained expression. She drops the lotion hastily. "Oh, no. No, no, no, I did not need to see that part of Matt's life. I think I need to scrub my brains now."
"You're not going to overshare about Matt's bedroom life, too?" Marcus says with a grin.
Pablo guffaws. "There's no point. It's safe to say the only action Matt's ever gotten are from his hand and that bottle of lotion."
"You sound like such a hotshot, Pablo," Janie retorts, her delicate eyebrow cocked. "Weren't you the one literally crying for my attention just a little while ago?"
His face flushes. "I wasn't crying for anything, you bitch. You used your ability on me."
"What was it you said?" she taunts. "'I just need a little love, baby'? Sorry to break it to you, honey, but I can't make you say things against your will."
All this talk is reminding me of my dream and my ensuing conversation with Marcus. I'm surprised to see his eyes are already on me when I turn to face him, and a slow heat sparks in my belly, flushing through my chest and to the back of my neck. He cocks his head to one side in a silent question that I can't figure out. Then a slight, satisfied smile curls the corners of his lips, and my mouth goes dry. It feels like he knows what I'm thinking about. Like he's reacting to how . . . intrigued I am by our past relationship.
The moment is over when Saige follows his gaze to me and deliberately steps between us, almost rubbing her body against his like a cat. Marcus blinks out of it and looks away from me, and I'm left wondering what the heck this all means.
"Break it up, you too," Marcus says. "You can do something about all this sexual tension later, but for now, we have a mission to finish. Rochelle, keep going."
I don't think anyone else notices the dejected look on Adam's face as Janie winks and smiles coyly at Pablo. Rochelle resumes her exploration of the room, and it's not until she reaches his bed that her curiosity turns to a darker emotion.
She picks up the pillow and hugs it, and fear and sorrow floods her face. "He was sleeping in bed when it happened to him. The next thing he knew, his mom was trying to choke him with this pillow. Her beautiful green eyes were gone. He managed to escape, and judging by the rest of the home, I don't think he ever came back since that night."
"Which was what, the night before last night?" Marcus asks. "There's nothing else in the apartment that could tell us where he ran off to?"
Rochelle drops the pillow as the dreamy expression clears from her face. "I don't think he was planning to go anywhere. He just wanted to get out."
"Friends?" I ask, my mind working like rusty machinery to solve the riddle. I feel sluggish, tired from last night's misadventures and whatever else my body's been through the past few days. But it feels so good to use my brain. Euphoric.
"He's a loner. There's no point in making friends when you don't live anywhere for more than six months at a time."
"You mentioned he likes to skate," I say. She picked up on this when she went through the clothes in his hamper. "There could be a place somewhere that he likes to go to when he's not at home. A skate park?"
I ignore the surprised look Adam and Lisa give me, and Pablo's and Saige's narrow-eyed stare. Seriously? Do I usually bark like a dog around these guys, or am I paranoid for thinking they're not used to seeing me contribute to team discussions?
"Good point," Janie agrees. "Where do you think he keeps his skateboard? You might be able to pick up more details from it."
We ransack his bedroom, but the skateboard is nowhere to be found. Lisa, who was quiet in the background the whole time, suddenly brightens up. "I spotted a closet near the front door."
Ten seconds later, Marcus pulls a skateboard from under a pile of shoes and gives it to Rochelle. She frowns. "Hmm. It seems Matthew hasn't been skating in the past couple of months. He hasn't felt like doing much except locking himself in his bedroom and crying. He's been feeling homesick."
"What a freaking wuss," Pablo says.
"Um, anyway," Rochelle continues, "There is somewhere he liked to go to skate. There's a place a mile from here. A huge hill surrounded by a lot of foreclosed homes so no one ever calls the cops when kids skate through the neighborhood."
"Foreclosed homes, huh?" Janie says with a satisfied smile.
Marcus is already walking to the door. "Let's hold off on celebrations until we find the kid. And, who knows, maybe he'll have a useful ability for us."
I take a step after him when the waning light from the windows suddenly dims. I blink and look around at the others. No one else seems to have noticed. And that's when I see the shadows again. Two dark silhouettes in front of Matt's bedroom, huge shadows with elongated bodies and heads that almost touch the ceiling. They're watching us.
I jump when I see them, barely swallowing the scream rising in my throat. My body is suddenly rubber as I'm flooded by primal, crippling fear. Don't make a sound, it's just Saige, she's messing with you again.
Like me, she's one of the last to leave the apartment and her hands are fisted like they were earlier whenever she used her ability. She's doing this. I knew it. I'm so pissed off that I want to shove her against the wall and let her have it.
I fight my wild instincts and settle for giving her a look, but she pretends she doesn't even see me. What's her problem? It isn't enough that she has Marcus. Now she's trying to make me look crazy, too. And for what? To convince the others that I can't be saved and should be put down like a feral dog? Well, I'm not going to give her the satisfaction.
I'm going to do whatever it takes to prove to the others that I'm stable, normal.
Even if it freaking kills me.