by Rysa Walker
He jerks his hand back.
I want to scream. I want to tell him I didn’t mean it. Even though I did. Even though he knows I did.
And I still kind of want to hurt him. To startle him, push him away, and run, run, run.
But I don’t. We both remain there, frozen in our separate thoughts, for what feels like an eternity.
Aaron finds words before I do, but his voice is shaky. “Would you just look at me, Anna? Please?”
Several deep breaths later, I turn to face him, still fuming and determined to tell him to back off. To go home and leave me the hell alone. But the instant I meet his eyes, the hard ball of anger inside me disintegrates. I can almost see it splintering, shattering, crumbling into the sand between us.
Again, I dig my nails into my palms, but this time it’s to hold back tears. Crying will only make Aaron feel guilty. I’d have been perfectly okay with that a moment ago, because he might have given me some space if he felt guilty. But my anger is gone now. I just want to fix this. Make it right.
Except I don’t know how to do that without lying. Telling him the truth—that I have no memory of the past three hours, I did indeed pass out again, and my emotions ricochet from one extreme to another—would lead to questions I can’t answer. I don’t want everyone, and especially not him, treating me like I’m this breakable thing that must be sheltered.
Or worse, locked away.
I’ve been in psychiatric hospitals before. I know beyond any shadow of doubt Kelsey wouldn’t let that happen if she could prevent it. Not in the current social climate where they run tests for evidence of Delphi “contamination” in the public schools. Not when there are angry hordes who think all Delphi adepts should be eliminated.
But even if Kelsey wouldn’t allow me to be sent away, there are kids at Sandalford who are on lockdown. Kids like Caleb, a toddler who has to be kept sedated and secluded because he’s—well, I don’t really know what he is, but everyone who has seen his psychic ability in action agrees he’s too dangerous, too volatile, to socialize with others. Too dangerous to even be in the same house with the rest of the adepts.
Magda’s own daughters, Clara and Chloe, are shut away next door. Kelsey visits them, but she’s the only one, and she won’t breach doctor-patient confidentiality by discussing those visits. We haven’t been able to tease even the slightest hint out of her about the nature of the Bell sisters’ ability.
If Magda is willing to lock her own daughters away, she’d have zero hesitation about forcing me to wear an ankle monitor and confining me to Sandalford. And would it really be all that different from a psychiatric hospital? A luxurious beachfront cage is still a cage.
Fighting another wave of panic, I rub my temples and instantly wish I hadn’t because Aaron asks if my head is hurting again. And yes, it is hurting again, but not in the way he means. It’s more that this constant emotional whiplash is exhausting.
“I’m okay. And . . . I’m sorry I didn’t leave a note. I woke up early and thought a run might relax me. You were all asleep. I didn’t want to wake you. And let’s be honest . . . none of you really like to run on the beach.”
“That’s not true,” he begins, but then stops when I arch an eyebrow at him. “Okay. I like walking on the beach with you.”
“Exactly. Deo’s even worse, and we both know Taylor wouldn’t run if an army of zombies was hot on her heels. So . . . I didn’t want to bother you. I ran the loop twice, walked a bit, then stopped here. I guess I lost track of time.”
Aaron sighs. “In the future, if you really need to get away from everybody, at least bring your phone. And maybe Ein? He loves to run on the beach.”
I don’t argue the point, because it’s true. But Ein’s not old enough to run more than a mile or two. He weighed over sixty pounds the last time we checked, so it’s easy to forget he’s still a puppy and has limits.
Aaron starts to say something else, hesitates, then finally blurts out, “Did you faint again?”
I follow his gaze toward the spot in the sand where I was lying when he approached, just a few feet away from a set of tire tracks. An alert driver would have seen me in time to swerve, given that traffic is light this early in the year, but this is the main thoroughfare for Carova Beach. In fact, if I’d been lying in that spot about twenty minutes from now, it’s likely that I’d have been an unexpected stop for a tour jeep carrying visitors to more remote sections of the island, in search of wild horses. Two or three of them drive past Sandalford around ten most mornings.
“No,” I tell him. “I didn’t pass out. That hasn’t happened in weeks. I was just . . . resting. Looking out at the water.”
He looks unconvinced. As he should. I’m a much better liar than I was four months ago, but I still kind of suck at it.
I reach over and take his hand between mine. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch, even though he knows that, only a few minutes ago, I’d happily have bitten a chunk out of it. He can sense that the black rage has passed.
“I’m sorry.” And while I feel like I’ve said the words so many times lately that they’ve begun to lose all meaning, I repeat them. With emphasis. “I’m really, really sorry. Everything is just so . . . scattered . . . since we got back. I’ll think I’ve done something—left a note, or whatever—then find out later that I haven’t. Kelsey tells me this sort of thing is common after a head trauma, but . . . it’s been so long. I was really hoping that the injection Kelsey prescribed would make a difference, but . . .”
For a brief second, the rage surges again. Needles. I hate needles, but I was willing to let Kelsey poke me if there was any chance of getting my head back to normal. But she said it hadn’t helped. That there was no point in continuing.
Aaron’s face clouds over. It’s like he’s weighing what to say or do. After a few seconds, he sighs and pulls me closer. “I know it’s tough, but we need to be patient. That was a bad concussion, babe. The son of a bitch whacked you twice in the exact same spot.”
His voice is soft, but I can tell he’s holding something back.
“It wasn’t Jasper’s fault,” I say. “Graham Cregg was controlling him. And . . .”
I trail off, unwilling to finish the sentence. While the blunt-force trauma I suffered last December may have been the main trigger of my psychological problems, the physical and mental effort I’d expended a few days later to reconnect Daniel’s spirit with his body didn’t help matters. If I mention this, however, Aaron will undoubtedly add it to his list of grievances against his brother. And it couldn’t be helped. Couldn’t even be postponed. Daniel was only a faint presence in my mind by the time we made it to the hospital.
“Cregg was actually the bastard I meant. And he can’t hurt anyone anymore,” Aaron adds, thankfully interpreting my hesitance in a different way. “Well, at least that Cregg can’t hurt anyone.”
“One down, one to go. But . . . all in good time.” I mimic Magda’s mostly British accent. Magda doesn’t want us to make any moves against Senator Cregg until her science team tells her whether it’s possible to reverse, or at least mitigate, the effects of the serum, both on the first generation of Delphi subjects and their offspring. She thinks having a cure in hand will give us additional bargaining power, and she could be right. But again, it doesn’t really matter whether she’s right, because Sandalford is not run as a democracy. Magda pays the bills, Magda makes the rules.
“She’s probably right about us waiting,” Aaron says.
“I’d be more likely to believe that if there was any evidence they’ve made progress.”
None of us has a real sense of how the research is going, aside from the fact that we’ve all been poked for blood samples—well, all but one. Peyton Hawkins has a serious needle phobia, and given the little girl’s telekinetic ability, no one has been willing to push her on this matter. As the resident psychiatrist at Sandalford, Kelsey is nominally part of the science team. She told us that they’ve made some progress, but I know her well enough to
infer from her tone of voice that by some she means very little. Her role has been confined mostly to observer, however, and occasionally advocate for the well-being of her patients, some of whom don’t really have anyone to defend their rights. Kelsey’s had plenty of experience in that area. I’m not sure where Deo and I would be today if not for her tenacity.
In Deo’s case, he might be better off if he’d never met me or Kelsey. It was probably inevitable that I’d get drawn into all of this insanity. Both of my parents, as I’ve recently discovered, were part of the Delphi Project. My dad even developed the stupid serum. But Deo? He’d still be in the foster system, but he would never have encountered Graham Cregg, never have been given the Delphi drug. He wouldn’t have to avoid physical contact with me and pretty much everyone else at Sandalford, for fear of amplifying their powers. He wouldn’t have to get an injection three times a week to keep his brain from swelling. To keep from dying.
On the one occasion that I actually got Deo to talk about all of this, he was adamant that he prefers the needles to his old life—and yes, he does have a family here, people who love him and accept him for who he is. But I suspect that any objective observer would say he was better off as a ward of the state.
“What’s wrong?” Aaron asks.
I don’t want to walk him through my convoluted train of thought, so I summarize. “Just . . . thinking that everything is complicated enough without me adding fuel to the flames. I’m sorry.”
He smiles and presses a kiss to my temple. “You already said that. Just wake me up next time, okay? If you want to run on your own . . .” He shrugs. “I won’t stop you, but at least someone will know where you are. You’re going to give Kelsey a heart attack. She was terrified that one of the Senator’s people had grabbed you. When I called the house just now to say I’d found you, she already had Taylor trying to pick up your location. But Deo was still out looking for you, and without his boost, Taylor wasn’t getting anything but sand, water, and trees.”
I’m not surprised. Aaron’s sister has an amazing talent for remote viewing, but this is one of the more deserted sections of the island. Beach to the left and beach to the right. The ocean is all you can see in front, and behind us, the wildlife reserve takes up the entire half-mile distance from the surf to the sound. Sand, water, and trees is pretty much all there is.
“We should go,” I say, even though I’d rather get a root canal—without anesthesia—than face everyone right now.
Aaron rises and reaches down to give me a hand up. As I stand, something drops to the ground—a blank white business card. He stoops to retrieve it, and panic rises in my chest again. I don’t know why, because I have no earthly idea where the card came from.
He flips it over to reveal a scrawled number. 202-555-1083.
“Yours?” he asks.
“No,” I answer, but I have to fight back the urge to snatch it out of his hand.
“Weird that it’s a DC number.”
“Not really. Miranda told me most of the tourists who rent these houses are from up there.”
“I know,” Aaron says. “I just meant it was a weird coincidence, what with me and Taylor leaving for DC this afternoon.”
“Leaving?” The question is out before I can stop it, even though I’m certain this is something I should know.
“Yes,” he says. “To talk to Daniel about coming down here? Magda agreed before she and Miller left the other day. That was like . . . a full-fledged negotiation. Did you forget that we—”
“No, no. I remembered you were going. I’d just forgotten that you were leaving today.”
His skeptical look gradually fades. “Oh. Sorry.” He folds the card with the phone number and sticks it into his pocket.
“Why are you keeping that?”
He gives me an odd look. “Um . . . because there’s no trash can here? What do you want me to do—drop it back on the beach?”
Part of me wants him to do precisely that. But I know that’s utterly ridiculous, so I force a laugh. “Guess we can’t have you being a litterbug, can we?”
“Nope. That Woodsy Owl coloring book in kindergarten came with a solemn oath to give a hoot and not pollute.” He brushes the sand off his jeans and then looks down the beach toward Sandalford. “Do you want to run back? Or maybe you’re too tired?”
I snort at the hopeful note in his voice. “Yes, actually, I am too tired. I can tell you’re soooo disappointed.”
He grins. “Absolutely crushed.”
Aaron and I walk back arm in arm, and the last remnants of the crazy brain fog that has been hovering at the back of my head dissipates. I actually manage to relax and enjoy the gentle rhythm of the waves lapping at the shore and the cry of the seagulls as they swoop and dive. Then I see Magda’s house up ahead and Sandalford beyond, and the peaceful feeling withers into a tight ball of dread. Even if I’m good with Aaron, I’ve still got some major explaining to do with everyone else.
As we pass Bell Isle, I get the sensation we’re being watched. No one is in the yard or out on the deck, and I’m about to chalk it up to simply being closer to Sandalford. But then I glance upward and see someone at the window. Two someones, actually—Magda’s twin daughters. I can’t tell if they’re identical from this distance, but they could be. One stands near the middle of the picture window that spans the top floor, overlooking the ocean. Her sister is seated next to her in what appears to be a wheelchair, her head lolled to one side as though she’s sleeping.
I nudge Aaron, then take a few steps toward the house.
Aaron’s eyebrows go up when he sees the girls at the window. “Wow. When the mama cat’s away . . .”
The girl who is awake raises her hand and waves at us. I wave back, and it’s as though my movement summons a nurse, who tugs on the girl’s arm, then pushes the wheelchair away from the window. One last wiggle of the fingers from the sister who is standing, and the vertical blinds snap shut, obscuring her from view.
For some reason, I’m reminded of a movie that Deo and I watched a few years back, We Have Always Lived in the Castle. It wasn’t as good as the book, and neither of the sisters were in a wheelchair, so maybe it’s just the overall mood it evoked.
“How very . . . gothic,” Aaron says. “Two sisters trapped in a castle.”
“Exactly.” I smile and slip my hand into his. It’s almost as though he plucked the idea out of my head. Not in the way that some of the kids here at Sandalford do, but in the more basic way that two people in love sometimes finish each other’s sentences.
We walk on in companionable silence until we’re almost to the gate of the tall wooden fence that now surrounds Sandalford. “What are we going to tell the guard?” I whisper.
“Nothing,” Aaron says. “Maria already took care of it.”
And sure enough, the guard opens the gate without comment. This is a new, strictly-by-the-book guy, and yet he doesn’t ask where I’ve been and why I didn’t sign out. In fact, he doesn’t even meet our eyes. He just looks down at his boots, red-faced.
“O . . . kay,” I say once we’re out of earshot. “That was bizarre. I wonder what Maria has on him.”
“She wouldn’t tell me. But she did say you owe her a favor.”
If there’s anyone the guards like less than me, it’s Maria . . . and I can’t entirely blame them. She’s never even tried to hide the fact that she can read their thoughts, and the scope of her ability is unnerving, to put it mildly. And while she exercises some restraint with her fellow adepts, every day is psychic open season on the guards as far as Maria is concerned. I usually don’t have much sympathy for them, especially the ones who call us freaks and mutants when they think no one is within earshot, but the new guy looked mortified as we walked past. I can’t help but wonder what he’s so determined to keep secret that he’d risk lying to his boss.
But I guess everyone has secrets they don’t want people to know. I’m one of the few in this house who doesn’t have to worry about constant surv
eillance from Maria. Most of the time, I can block her out, but that’s only because I’ve spent years building up mental walls to keep my hitchers and their various memories at bay. The other residents of Sandalford have a much tougher time. Kelsey has been working with Maria and the three younger telepaths—none of whom is anywhere close to as powerful as Maria—trying to make them more respectful of personal boundaries. But they slip up from time to time, and when they do, things can get nasty really quick. No one likes having their privacy violated. Fights broke out at the foster homes where I lived because some kids liked to rummage through everyone else’s stuff. It’s the same here, except The Peepers, as they’re known by the other adepts, are rummaging through everyone else’s thoughts, which is an even greater violation.
Fortunately, and sometimes unfortunately, all the adepts have their own abilities and they can retaliate. If a Peeper spills a secret that embarrasses one of the pyrokinetic kids—aka Zippos—the little snoop might wake up one morning to find that his or her favorite (or in the case of many of these kids, only) pair of sneakers is now a smoldering pile of ashes.
It took a few months, and there were several times where it seemed like the situation was escalating out of control, but the adepts seem to have arrived at a complex but relatively stable balance of power. And the fulcrum of that balance is Maria. Maybe it’s because she’s one of the older adepts, but I think it’s more that she’s got something on absolutely everyone. And given her firm conviction that this group is going to have to fight as a team against Cregg’s people at some point in the future, she runs a tight ship. If someone isn’t acting as a team player, she’s willing to use a little psychic blackmail to coax the miscreant into line.