How dare that little brat turn against him? Ross took her under his wing and showed her a whole wide world of possibilities, and she rejected it. Rejected him. Even if he finds her again, he will never be able to trust her. She isn’t loyal. She tried to steal his thunder by revealing Sikes’s identity. She betrayed him. Alex doesn’t deserve to be saved.
On the ground at his feet, Jack waves the knife again. Ross studies him with cold appraisal. Jack was his spinner before Alex. He’s good at the work, though less pliable and certainly far less interested in solving crimes in the name of justice. But maybe that doesn’t matter. A whisper of music rises up in the back of his head. Not the soothing strains of Vivaldi this time—no, this is something stronger, louder, and definitely more militant. The fates didn’t lead him astray; what they have done is point out the truth. A sympathetic partner means complications; a pragmatic assistant makes a stronger ally. Ross won’t have to play games with Jack. Jack is a realist, and he’ll understand the logic of what has to be done.
Ross lowers himself into a crouch, holding out his empty hands to underline his lack of defenses.
“It’s OK,” he says. “You have nothing to be afraid of. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”
The knife Jack is holding wobbles. His hand shakes, and his pupils are dilated with terror. Ross edges closer.
“The wipers are going to find you,” he says. “They will kill you, just like they are going to track down and kill Alex and Shannon and KJ. I can save you. I can make the fear go away. All I ask in return is your loyalty. Can you promise me that, Jack? Will you do everything I say in order to live?”
Jack stares at him for a long minute, and then, very slowly, he puts down the knife.
20
AT THREE O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON, KJ, SHANNON, and I stand in front of Room 217 at the Pegasus Motel. Plunked down between a Chinese restaurant and a place that sells discount tires, the Pegasus promises anonymity and not much else. Thirty rooms share a bunker-like concrete building that’s bent in an L shape around a potholed parking lot. Guessing by the number of cars, business isn’t booming. Our second-floor room is off an open-air hallway. I avoid touching the railing. Its aqua-blue paint is rippled with flakes, and the whole thing looks like it’s rickety enough that one good shove would knock it over.
KJ swipes the key card and pushes the door open. The room is dim, its sole window almost completely blocked by slumping, dust-colored curtains. Two double beds fill most of the space, facing a laminate dresser and a TV bolted to the wall. A second door in the back promises the first shower we’ve had in a week, a prospective pleasure that’s dimmed by the nasty smell permeating the air. Instead of the squat’s organic mold smell, this room reeks of old cigarettes mixed with a harsh chemical stink that, as Shannon points out, makes you wonder what kind of vile spill needed something that toxic to clean it up.
“They didn’t ask for ID,” I say, tossing my backpack on the bed closest to the door. The bedspread has a swirled orange print and feels like it’s made from woven plastic bags. I flop down anyway. I’m exhausted, my feet hurt, and my shoulders have bruises from carrying a pack all day.
KJ sits down on the other bed. He picks up a TV remote from the side table and starts clicking through channels, stopping when he finds a news station. All three of us watch the announcer for a few minutes as he drones on about forest fires in California. When the show cuts to commercials, KJ snaps it off.
“Guess there’s no breaking news about escaped spinners.” A yawn stretches the end of his sentence into near-nonsense. He shakes himself. “Who wants to shower first?”
“You go ahead,” Shannon says. She’s perched on the room’s single chair, her bag of belongings spilling out on the dresser top. Her prissy schoolteacher outfit has lost its freshness. Her blouse is wrinkled, the sweater blotted with a drip of ketchup from the burgers we ate for lunch.
“Take the stuff from the drugstore,” I remind KJ, sitting up so I can toss him the sack with the hair dyes and clippers we’d picked up earlier. KJ catches the bag, grabs his pack, and heads for the bathroom. Seconds later, I hear the hiss of running water. I lean against the headboard and study the ugly dresser. It’s unlikely we’ll stay here long enough to make it worth unpacking.
Shannon glances toward the bathroom door to make sure KJ isn’t around before asking, “Do you think we should call Jack?”
“Oh, yeah, right.” I drag myself off the bed and dig through my backpack. I canceled my old phone’s service right after we left the squat, but the replacement I bought is still sitting in its fancy box. I tear open the plastic seal and dump the contents in my lap—phone, charger, directions. I open the latter and skim the Get Started section.
“It’s probably better we didn’t spend the day together.” I turn the phone over and hold down the on button. “He needs time to cool off.”
“Do you think he’s all right?”
“Jack?” I rub my eyes, gritty with lack of sleep. “Knowing him, he’s probably all snuggled up in some fancy downtown hotel eating room service.”
The directions are frustratingly unclear. I flip the page and look for something that tells me how to program in my old phone number.
Shannon shifts in her chair. “Do you really think leaving Portland is the right decision?”
I sigh. Of course I think it’s the right decision. We’ve been talking about it all day.
“It’s not safe for us to stay here anymore,” I say, for the millionth time.
“Yeah, I know.” Shannon rubs at the stain on her sweater with her thumb. “It’s just…well, that assumes we don’t want to go back.”
Fatigue settles over me like a heavy blanket. I put down the confusing directions to tackle later.
“You’re still not convinced the Center is evil?”
Shannon scrubs at her stain more vigorously. “All we have to go on is what you’ve told us.”
“And that’s not enough? Shannon, when I was back there yesterday, Barnard said he was going to take me to the Central Office.”
“So?”
“So, he practically said he was going to kill me.”
“Practically said.” Shannon gives up on the sweater. “Why do you assume the Central Office is so terrible? It’s just the place they take people when they’re really, really sick.”
“And you think I’m sick?”
“You can’t tell me Jack was acting normally this morning. You’ve never been that bad, but sometimes you do seem—I don’t know—off. And you have to admit, your skills have mutated.”
“It’s not a mutation.” I stack up two of the flat motel pillows so they make a reasonably decent mound and lie down. I can’t believe after all that’s happened, I’m still having this same conversation with Shannon. “Look at KJ—he’s fine now. This is how we’re supposed to be.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just a late stage of the sickness. How can we know if we don’t see an expert?”
“If you want to see an expert, go ahead.” I close my eyes. “I’m staying here.”
There’s a long pause. I hear the water in the shower being turned off. A few minutes later, the whine of electric clippers slides through the closed door.
“I can’t go anywhere.” Shannon’s voice is so soft I barely hear it over the clippers. “I can’t leave KJ.”
An uncomfortable feeling crawls over my skin.
“You’ve only been together a couple weeks,” I say.
“I know.” Shannon sounds wistful. “When we were at the Center, I liked him for ages, but he always hung out with you and I thought…I mean, everybody said he liked you. And then things changed. He chose me. KJ made me feel like the things I did at the Center—helping the Youngers, working in the Clinic—made a difference.” She gives a small sniff. “I love him. I think I’d risk anything to stay together.”
&nbs
p; The uncomfortable feeling seeps down into my gut. I remember the way KJ hugged me when he rescued me from the Center. I also remember KJ saying how grateful he was to Shannon for staying with him while he was sick. The two memories pull at me. I lie very still and hope Shannon thinks I’m drifting off to sleep. Behind my closed lids, her words bounce around my brain: He chose me. Did he? Was his relief in my escaping the Center just a friend’s relief?
The bathroom door bangs open.
“Ta-da!” KJ says. “What do you think?”
I open my eyes. KJ has buzzed his long hair military short. Removing the sheltering strands exposes the sculpted lines of his face. His high cheekbones, extra prominent thanks to the weight he’s lost, give him a hint of the exotic. He has shaved, too, smoothing his cheeks but leaving the early growth of a mustache and a patch of hair on his chin. He looks older and unbearably handsome.
“Oh, my gosh,” Shannon squeals, jumping up from her chair. “You’re gorgeous!”
“Thanks.” KJ rubs the back of his head and shifts his gaze to me. I stare back. It’s like a new person stands before me. Someone I’m not sure I know.
Shannon dances across the room and wraps her arms around his neck.
“My guy.” She strokes his fuzzy hair, then draws his head down for a kiss.
I stand up. “I think I’ll take a shower.”
KJ lifts his head. Even under his dark skin, I can tell he’s blushing. “What do you think?” he asks me.
“It’s good,” I say. “You’ll be much harder to recognize.”
I slip past them to reach the bathroom. As soon as I close the door, I turn both the shower and the fan on full blast. The walls in this place are thin, and I don’t want to hear anything from the other side.
I stay in the shower a long time, letting the hot water run while I wait the twenty minutes it takes for the dye to set. By the time I get out, my skin shines with an unnatural pink. I grab a towel and wipe away the fog covering the mirror. My face stares back at me, familiar features now framed by startlingly red hair.
Digging through the bag KJ left on the sink, I pull out a pair of scissors. Wet strands drop to the floor, mingling with the black ones already littering the tiles. When I’m done, my hair hangs in a straight bob that ends at my chin. I look different, but unlike KJ, I haven’t transformed into a more beautiful version of myself. I just look tired, plus my new hair color washes out my skin.
I put the scissors down and leave the bathroom. KJ and Shannon are sleeping side by side on one of the beds, their hands joined in a loose clasp. They seem peaceful. I watch them for a minute. Twenty-four hours ago, I thought I was about to die. Now, I have another chance to make the right decisions and do some good, and I am determined not to blow it. KJ is my friend. That has to be enough. I lie down on the other bed and shut down the chaos in my mind, waiting for sleep to claim me.
* * *
The sky, when I wake up, hovers somewhere in that hazy divide between night and day, when nothing feels quite real. I peer at the digital clock on the night table: 5:30 a.m. We’ve slept for over twelve hours.
I roll over and knock something hard with my leg. I fumble around in the dark until my hand lands on the cell phone. Shoot. I never did program it. I turn on the bedside light. A night’s sleep has done wonders for my reading comprehension, and I figure out how to tie the new phone to my old number with only minimal frustration. The directions say it might take a few minutes to fully sync, so I turn off the light and grab my clothes, tiptoeing past Shannon and KJ, who are still sacked out on the other bed. The bathroom tiles chill my bare feet. The room’s air conditioner was cranked up all night and the room is freezing. I splash water on my face and finger-comb my red strands into submission.
The tiny beacon of a message light catches my attention when I reenter the main room. I snatch up my phone and thumb Jack’s message open. It’s date-stamped four yesterday afternoon.
Where are you?
Relief spreads through me like the warm rush of a gulp of hot coffee. Yes, what Jack did to Victor was wrong; yes, he can be a pain, but he’s one of us. Spinners are stronger when we stick together.
I hit the reply button.
A motel, I type. You?
The little icon whirls as the message shoots out into cyberspace. I hold the phone against my chest. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe luck is finally turning our way. I study the little screen, hoping for a reply, even though I know it’s unreasonable. Jack is surely sound asleep.
“Hey,” a voice says softly.
I turn around. KJ is sitting up in bed. The hazy motel light outlines the familiar shape of his shoulders and masks the changes he’s made to his face.
“Hey, yourself,” I whisper. I hold up the cell phone. “Jack texted.”
“That’s good.” KJ stands, careful not to disturb Shannon. “What’d he say?”
“Just asked where we were.”
KJ crosses the room and leans over my shoulder so he can see the phone.
“Did you answer him?”
“Yeah.” The flowery scent of shampoo fills the small space between us. I busy myself connecting the phone to the charger. The thing must not have come with a full charge because the battery is already down to less than 10%.
“I like the hair.” KJ reaches out and slides a loose strand behind my ear. “Very stylish.” The brush of his fingers wakes every nerve along my cheek.
He’s your friend, I remind myself, that’s it.
“It’s kind of crooked.” I cross over to the window and part the curtain a few inches. The parking lot outside is so quiet it could be frozen. The only thing moving is a blackbird, picking at a bag of chips lying next to a rusted Chevy.
“Alex,” KJ says, his voice barely more than a murmur. “Can we talk?”
I glance over at Shannon. In the pale light leaking through the parted curtains, I can see her blankets rising and falling rhythmically.
“Yeah.” I try to infuse my whisper with briskness. “Now that we’ve contacted Jack, we should meet up somewhere and head out of town. Did you and Shannon find any places we could stay?”
KJ sits down on the edge of my bed. Not having any place else to sit, I lower myself down beside him.
“That’s not what I meant,” KJ says. “I want to talk about…” He stops. I study my ragged nails. “Alex, I’ve been wrong, and I’m sorry. Being so close to dying messed me up. When I first recovered, I just wanted everything to be simple. I didn’t want to deal with all these new complications—the Center closing, the idea that we might get caught, my relationship with Shannon. But then you got trapped in the Center and I thought you might be gone for good.”
I shiver. I’ve been trying very hard not to think about how close I was to dying.
“Are you cold?” KJ pulls the rumpled sheets from my bed up around both our shoulders, enveloping us in a cocoon. The skin of the arm he leaves draped around me feels hot against my neck.
“You believe me, don’t you?” I ask. “That the Center is trying to kill us and that Barnard is a monster?”
“Of course I do.”
KJ’s side is touching mine. Every time he speaks, the rumble of his voice vibrates against me. I pick at the edge of the sheet.
“Shannon doesn’t,” I say. “She still thinks there might be a chance I’m making it up.” I’m afraid to stop talking. If I do, there will be silence, and then there will be nothing for my brain to do except think about how close he is and how much closer I want him to be. “She’s worried that we’ll all go crazy without Aclisote. The only reason she’s here at all is because of you. She told me…”
I can’t say it out loud. I can’t say that Shannon told me she loves him. Silence hangs between us, the quiet thick with unsaid words. My awareness of KJ’s body expands to fill all the parts of my brain capable of creating rational thought.
&
nbsp; The quality of the hush around us abruptly changes. It’s not the quiet of words not spoken, it’s the silence that comes with the absence of sound. It’s the silence of a freeze. KJ clears his throat.
“Shannon believes a lot of things that aren’t true.”
His hand tightens around my shoulder. Even through my sweater I can pinpoint the exact spots where each finger touches me.
“When I thought you were going to die,” KJ says. “I realized I couldn’t pretend anymore. I want…” His voice catches. “I mean, if you still want…?”
I lift my head. KJ is staring at me like he did the night before we left the Center. I think about Shannon saying she would do anything to stay with him, and I know I should say we have to wait. I don’t. Tenderness melts the planes of KJ’s face, or maybe it’s just my own vision gone fuzzy. I push aside guilt and responsibility and the pressure to do the right thing. Instead, I ask the only question that matters:
“You’re not in love with her?”
“I’ve only ever loved you.”
When I move my lips toward KJ’s, he meets me halfway.
Kissing KJ is even better than it was the first time. Familiarity tinges the newness with something precious. My mouth moves with its own rhythm, taking in his sweetness. Comfort and longing race side by side with the beating of my heart. KJ wraps both arms around me. I twist toward him. The sheets slip from my shoulders when he pulls me into his lap.
Minutes pass. KJ’s hands slide under my sweater, stroking my back with trails of heat. I kiss his lips, his cheeks, his newly bare forehead. KJ kisses my neck. I lift my chin to give him more room.
“Alex,” KJ murmurs.
My limbs feel like they’re made of syrup, heavy and liquid. I open my eyes so I can see KJ’s face. I want him to fill my vision the way the touch of his hands fills every one of my nerve endings.
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