10:23 A.M.
Breathe. In, out. And count again.
One. Two. Three. As another minute begins to slip away on the analog clock across the room, black clouds creep over the sky. I tilt my head on my pillow to watch—
Twenty-three. Twenty-four.
—them smother the sun. The Bay's glimmer fades and dies. The walls, carpet, and comforter pulled over me char and darken to ash gray. I'm dragged into a black and white film, with only the sounds of the clock chiseling off seconds and my heart beating in my ears.
Seventy-five, seventy-six—twisting the edge of the Egyptian cotton sheet around and around my finger—seventy-seven, seventy-eight.
10:24 A.M. Seventy-eight beats per minute.
Taking in a deep, frazzled breath through my nose, I inhale lavender fabric softener. The scent didn't bother me before, but it's starting to turn my stomach now. Each nagging thought that gets through my mental barricade causes my heart rate to spike and adds a little more weight to my chest, anchoring me in place.
For the hundredth time, I look at the clock and count the heavy thuds in my chest.
One. Two. Th—
The door opens behind me. I stop twirling the sheet. Footsteps, entering the room, followed by a soft click—the door closing. A pause. Like the gutless child I am, I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep.
The footsteps start again. I shrink as they draw closer. And someone falls beside me, hard. The bed springs bounce and screech.
I jerk around.
"Good morning."
"Dax, you idiot."
Sprawled on his stomach, Dax snorts into the comforter, trying to contain his laughter. Facing him now, I drop back down into the sheets with a heavy huff, yanking the comforter to my ears.
"I couldn't resist. I had to, Eve, I'm sorry." He stuffs an arm under a pillow, nestles into the bed, gives a drawn-out sigh. He lies smiling under my glare for what feels like a full minute before he finally asks, "Are you getting out of bed today?"
"Maybe."
"You know, it's"—checking his digital watch—"almost half past ten."
"I didn't sleep well last night."
"You're talking to the idiot who conked out on the desk and woke up around four o'clock this morning with a gigantic crick in his neck." Eyebrows raised, he pauses for comment. But I'm not in the mood. "Well," he continues, "at least I didn't conk out on my keyboard and wake up to a bunch of crazy letters or something on my screen. I've done that before."
"Hm," is all I can say. I drag a hand over my face. "The house is quiet. Where is everyone?"
"They went to church. It's Sunday. Did you know that?"
"No."
"I didn't either. I think days have been running together for me."
"Yeah." It's my turn to pause, to wait and see if Dax will go on. Obviously, he's not. He's watching clouds. Now I'm just hesitating. I pull at an unraveled seam in my pillowcase. "Where's Trip?"
"He didn't go to church, even though that would be interesting." With another snort, Dax nods towards the wall adorned with family photos. "He's in the living room watching the news."
"Oh."
"Speaking of which, I made the news." Concern immediately furrows my brow, but Dax only smiles and stretches out his arms and legs. "It's okay, really. You and Triple were getting all the attention for a while, I was kinda starting to feel left out. Now, I'm a wanted terrorist, too. No, wait"—he raises his index finger—"a skilled and dangerous cyber-terrorist. That is what they called me."
"They called you dangerous?"
Dax catches the clear skepticism in my tone and gives me a tired look. I can't keep my mouth from quirking at the corners.
"I think the word they were really looking for," Dax says, "was bloodthirsty."
I crack up.
Smiling that golden smile of his, Dax props his chin up on his pillow, eyes big and bright behind his lenses. "Hey, now you're awake."
The end trills of my snickering melt into a comfortable silence. The wind-chimes clamor outside. Clouds continue to rove over the sky, each new wave growing darker. We both watch them for a moment. If I could set the day on pause here, I would.
But Dax ruins the moment. "So, ready to get out of bed?"
I crinkle my nose at him.
"There's coffee. Of course. Triple is in the house."
My smile, whatever remnants I had lingering on my face, falters, and I hide it by chewing the inside of my cheek. "What kind of mood is he in today?"
"You know, the usual." Dax shrugs. "He's not in a bad mood or anything. I don't think he slept well last night either."
I'm ruining this pillowcase's seam. "Okay, I'll get up. Just let me get dressed."
The springs cave as Dax hoists himself up and crawls backwards off the bed. "I'll go make you a cup of coffee."
"Thanks." I watch him cross the room to the door, step out the office, and flash me another smile, which I do my best to return. He shuts the door softly behind him.
I close my eyes.
Don't be a wuss. Get up. Get dressed.
Shoving the covers off, I climb out of bed, into the chilly air, and I go to the door and lock it. I pause here to listen. There are voices, but I can't tell if they are coming from the TV or not. Pulling my tank top off, I stumble over to my suitcase, slip out of my pajamas bottoms—shiver—and exchange them for a pair of jeans and a sweater. Once clothed, I rake my fingers through my tangled hair a couple of times. I don't even want to know what my heart rate is right now.
Don't be a wuss.
I walk, a little too briskly, to the door, and grab the handle. It won't turn. It jams and freezes. I forgot I locked it.
Off to a great start, Eve.
With a deep breath, I twist the lock and open the door.
The hallway is dim and, like the bedroom, gray. I step out and pad past the entryway table and picture frames, which are visible now, although not much more than they were last night.
"... did, but then I thought I'd go wake Eve up." Dax is in the kitchen, at the coffee pot, pouring two steaming cups-in the background of my vision. Because the moment I round the corner of the living room archway, I lock eyes with Trip. He's standing on the other side of the bar, leaning in, hands gripping the edge of the counter top. His expression is empty, and his eyes are cold.
"There you are." Dax turns to carry over a mug, and my attention snaps to him. He holds the coffee out to me.
I mumble a thank you and take it.
"You want some breakfast?" Dax jerks a thumb towards the cabinets. "There's cereal. I think there's some yogurt or something in the fridge. I can look."
"No, thanks. I'm fine."
"You sure? If you feel weird about going through Aubrey's food, don't worry. She said we could help ourselves."
"I'm fine."
"Okay." Dax gives a slight nod and retreats to the coffee pot where his own mug waits him.
I can't turn back now. My legs are moving slowly, slogging me towards the bar. I slide onto a stool—not the one directly in front of Trip, the one at the end of the bar. I study the backyard through the dinning room doors, the waves rippling furiously over the Bay. I pretend not to be aware of Trip sipping his coffee in my periphery.
I sip mine.
"Did you just wake up?" he asks.
I swivel towards him, shocked he's actually speaking, let alone speaking first. "Yes." Then, after a quick scrambling of thoughts, "How did you sleep?" Stupid question. The moment I hear the words tumble out of my mouth I know they're stupid. I mean after the whole ordeal last night. But I don't mean to bring the ordeal up.
He takes another sip of his coffee and lowers his mug. "Fine."
"You were up before me, and I was up at four," Dax calls from the other side of the kitchen. "You know, Triple, sleep deprivation can kill. Ask the nurse—am I right, Eve?"
All three of us wait for my answer.
Finally, Trip answers for me. "Indirectly, Dax, yes." He shifts around to glare at him. "Get back to work."
"I'm going, I'm going." Dax trudges towards the living room. "I'm being worked to death," he says to me, and a wide smile breaks across his face. "But I guess it's the price I've got to pay for being a skilled and dangerous cyber-terrorist."
I roll my eyes.
Dax's goofy snicker bounces around the hall as he disappears through the archway, and after a second, I hear the living room door close behind him. The refrigerator hums. The coffee smells good, tastes pretty strong.
I glance up at Trip as he turns to face me again, and he glances at the counter space in front of me.
"They're running his description on the news," he says.
"I know. He told me."
"He won't shut up about it."
"Well, maybe that's his way of dealing with the stress, by joking around." I set my coffee down on the bar. "Would you rather him be hysterical like I was?"
"Like you always are?" Like I was last night.
I walked right into that one, and it feels like walking face-first into a metal pole—dumb and out of sorts. When his eyes flash towards me, scanning me, I quickly focus on the nail I'm picking and try to think of a way to escape this conversation.
"Unfortunately," Trip says, "not everyone can be as hysterical as you."
Is that blatant sarcasm in his voice? I look up at him narrowly. "I can't tell if you're being a jerk or if you're trying your hand at being humorous."
"Government didn't teach me anything about humor."
It was stupid for me to think there was a possibility he would take my approach and act like nothing ever happened. With an airy huff, I snatch my coffee mug again, just to clutch onto something. "Is there something about last night you want to talk about?"
"No."
"Then don't bring it up."
And Trip's eyes ignite with sudden dark amusement, the look of deviltry. Always unexpected. Back again, from the depths of hell. "Or what?" he asks.
It takes a moment for me to think. "I'll tell Dax about your nightmare."
Trip cocks his head to the side, in that bird-like way. I've surprised him. No, I've done more than just that. When he doesn't say a word for a while, only stares at me, I realize I stumped him, and a smirk starts to creep up my lips.
"That's low, Ashford."
"I know."
Before I am able to fully bask in my victory, a door opens down the hall and voices spill into the house.
"—nice, Leah, if you could hold the door for me." Aubrey.
Without any hesitation, Trip is already moving around the bar, breezing past me, heading towards the dinning room archway. Coffee in hand, I slip off the stool and follow after him, but he hasn't planned this out, apparently. He stops just short of the hallway. Both the backdoor and the door to the office are in plain view from the front door. He doesn't even want to be seen.
I step around him, casually, and look down the hall.
Aubrey clamors into the house with Noah on her hip, a brown paper grocery bag in the other arm, and a diaper bag hanging low on her shoulder. She disappears into the kitchen. Leah, who is holding the door for Malcolm as he carries in armfuls of grocery bags, sees me and waves. "Hey," she says, "good morning."
I wave back and start down the hall, towards them. Trip wavers, and follows.
Malcolm nods at us, then he, too, disappears into the kitchen. As soon as Leah has the front door closed, she whirls back around. Realizing we're drawing nearer, quickly, she smooths out her knee-high floral dress. "Hey, good morning," she says again.
"Good morning."
"I heard you guys are staying again tonight. Dad is cooking steaks for dinner. Hey, maybe you guys can convince Mom to let me have a glass of wine."
As I slow to a stop in front of the living room's double doors, Trip heads straight in. Leah's wide-eyed stare chases after Trip. She leans to the side to get a peek around me and smiles. "Hi, David."
Dax is sitting on the couch, laptop sitting on his lap. The TV is off. "Morning, Leah." He sets the remote control down beside him.
"What are you guys doing?"
"Just relaxing."
"I wish it wasn't going to rain today." Leah turns to me again. "Then we could all go down to the dock. You've seen it, right? It's pretty cool."
I nod, inching into the doorway.
"Or the gazebo? You've seen the gazebo down by the water."
"Yeah."
"Are you staying tomorrow too? I don't think it will rain tomorrow. I'm home-schooled, so if Mom lets me take the day off, I could show you the gazebo and the path through the woods." Leah suddenly bristles with an idea, eyes nearly popping out of her head. "And maybe tonight we can watch a movie? We can pop some popcorn."
"Leah." Aubrey appears in the archway, still holding a squirming Noah in her arms. "Go help your father put away the groceries."
"Mom, can I take tomorrow off?"
"No, ma'am."
"Can you at least think about it? I want to show them around."
"Please, go help your father."
Reluctantly, Leah drags her one inch heels to the kitchen, shoulders fallen.
Aubrey smiles, and I'm still struck by how much she brightens up a room. The cream-colored walls seem to lighten, just a little. With a flick of her free hand she sweeps a chunk of blonde hair out of her face. I recognize her perfume, but I can't put my finger on what it is. "How'd you guys sleep?" she asks.
"Very well," I lie through my teeth. "We were very comfortable. Thank you."
"Did you find something to eat?"
"I'm not really hungry."
"That's okay. Save some room. We're going to have a nice dinner tonight." She peers into the living room. "David told me you're staying another night."
I look at Trip. He's tense, like a cornered animal who has decided to stay put, for the time being. "We're leaving tomorrow," he says.
I blink.
This is news to Dax, too. He can't keep his mouth from pulling into the shape an O, but somehow he does manage to keep himself from blurting, What?
"So soon? Are you sure?" Aubrey asks, seemingly concerned. She studies Dax's reaction, switching Noah, whose tiny mouth is pulling into a flustered frown, to her other hip.
Trip gives a nod.
Noah starts to whine, and Aubrey's inquisitive eyes flicker to me for a moment, trying to gauge my reaction. I just give a tight-lipped smile. When she turns back to Trip, she looks sad, almost disappointed. "Well, if you change your mind, you know you can stay as long as you need, honey."
He nods again.
"Alright." She nods back, and starts down the hall towards the stairs as Noah brays angry nonsense. "Let me or Malcolm know if you guys need anything, okay?"
"Thank you," I say, quickly stepping into the living room.
By the time I shut the door, blocking out the noise, Dax is having a conniption.
"Tomorrow?" he whispers, sitting forward so fast his laptop nearly topples off his lap. "You didn't say anything about leaving tomorrow. I thought we'd at least be staying another day. I can't finish this program by tomorrow. Do you even have a plan? Where are we going to go? Why do we have to leave by tomorrow?"
"Because I said we're leaving tomorrow."
"Do you have a plan?"
Trip shifts, sticking a hand in his pocket. "Maybe."
"You're being rash." Dax twitches towards me. "Eve, tell him he's being rash. He'll listen to you."
Trip glances my way, otherwise he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor, waiting for me to speak up. He knows he's being rash. And I can think of several reasons why he wants to leave. I can't argue with any of them. "We can't stay here forever," I hear myself say. "Every minute we stay here, we're putting everyone in more and more danger."
Dax looks stunned that I'm not taking his side. "They won't find us," he says, shaking his hands for emphasis. "I wouldn't have suggested this place if I thought they would be able to trace us here. There's no way."
"We can't know that for sure." I shake my head. "I doubt Government is taking any breaks. The longer we stay, the longer they search, the more of a chance they'll stumble on something that will lead them here."
"I'm telling you, Eve, they would have to dig so far into my—"
"We're leaving, Dax." Trip cuts in, tired of this discussion. "Tomorrow."
Dax moans, rubbing his face. "But where are we going to go? What about the program?"
"You'll have more time to finish the program. I need a password," Trip says. "I may have an idea. We'll see."
"What's your idea?"
Trip looks towards the window overlooking the porch and front yard and takes in a breath as if he's going to explain. But at the last minute, he backs out. "I have to think about it."
"I don't like the sound of that idea already, Triple."