by Kat Zhang
“We might be able to bargain for his return,” I said over her. “Or kick up such a fuss that they won’t be able to hurt him—”
“Eva,” she snapped. Her eyes strayed heavenward. Her voice wavered. “Give me a moment before you start on another one of your harebrained ideas.”
“Please,” I said. “I want to help.”
Dr. Lyanne looked back at us. The momentary vulnerability in her eyes had disappeared. “Peter had other plans.” She laughed at the look on our face. “You think he didn’t have contingency plans for if something happened to him?”
“I—I thought we were supposed to just call the closest contact.”
Dr. Lyanne rubbed her fingers over her forehead. Lowered them over her eyes. “Not with the way things are headed. Things are getting worse here, Eva. If anything happened to Peter . . .” She took a sharp breath. Sighed. “He wanted us all on the next flight out.”
“Out?” I echoed.
“Overseas.”
Addie’s shock jolted through me, as well. Combined forces with my own. I stumbled over my thoughts. “All of us?”
“You, Jaime, the Mullans, Kitty, Emalia . . . me. Henri would use his contacts.”
“Henri’s—”
“He left you his phone, didn’t he?” Dr. Lyanne said. Automatically, our hands went to our purse. Held it protectively. We’d told her how it had broken in the crash. “Although, God knows if he’s okay himself right now. We’ll have to wait until we get the thing fixed, then call and hope.”
Dr. Lyanne pushed away from the truck. She’d gathered herself, a regality seeping back into the set of her shoulders. “I know this sitting around, this hiding, is driving you crazy, Eva. But—”
I interrupted her. “Back at your house . . . back in Anchoit. You told me to clean up my mess. Those were your exact words. I can’t leave before I do that.”
We stared at each other a long, long time.
“Let Addie and me do this,” I whispered. “We’d never be able to live with ourself otherwise. You know that.”
We—I—had to make amends. By taking Darcie Grey’s place in an institution, we would free Jackson and Vince. We might aid in Emalia and Sophie’s rescue as well. Might help Jaime.
And Addie—Addie wanted to do this.
Dr. Lyanne sighed. “You’re too trusting, Eva Tamsyn. It’ll hurt you one day.”
I hesitated. I didn’t know how to reply to that.
The horizon gulped up the last dredges of sunlight, leaving us in darkness. Dr. Lyanne shook her head. “My God, Eva. The things you get yourself into.”
EIGHT
The others were eating sandwiches and apples on the motel-room beds when Dr. Lyanne opened the door. Ryan set aside his food, grabbed his jacket, and joined me outside without my needing to say a word.
We drifted toward the edge of the motel property, then stopped at the side of a grassy embankment. Other than the sound of far-off traffic, the world was silent and lonely.
I knew what Ryan wanted, but I wasn’t sure if he would ask. In the end, he didn’t have to. Addie knew him—and us—well enough now.
She meant going under. That was what we’d come to call the act of temporarily disappearing from our body. It was a way of losing consciousness, like sleeping. But a sleep filled with intense, dreamlike memories. Or sometimes intense, memorylike dreams.
Whether they were memories or dreams, happy or sad, they held a strange sort of peace. And they robbed you of reality. Sometimes it was a price. Sometimes, a gift.
“She’s gone,” I said, to Ryan and to the night.
He drew me down with him. We lay on our backs, staring at the thick, dark-underbellied clouds. “You’re thinking about going along with Marion’s plan,” he said.
I didn’t ask how he knew. Maybe I was an easy read. Maybe he just knew me well enough now to be able to guess where my mind wandered.
Ryan rolled over to face me. Waited until I turned to look at him. There was a bit of grass stuck in his dark hair. “You’re not going to help anyone by getting caught yourself. This isn’t even maybe I might get caught. This is walking into prison and praying for a prison break.”
“It might help,” I said. “Not just directly, with Jackson. What Marion is saying about the footage. It could really make a difference.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.”
“The bombing of Powatt was different,” I whispered. “This wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Except you,” Ryan said. “And Addie.”
I sat up. “That’s our risk to take. They’ve taken Jaime. They’ve . . . they’ve killed Peter. God knows where Henri and Emalia are—”
“Exactly.” Ryan sat up, too, his voice rising. “We’ve already lost so many people. We can’t lose you.”
My voice softened. “I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ll be fine,” I repeated. Then again. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to fix this.”
“It’s not your job to fix this,” Ryan said, and there was a roughness in his voice born of frustration. Or maybe fear.
But it was. Deep down, I knew it was. I’d been the one who first fell into Sabine’s plans. Who never told Peter, and convinced Hally and Lissa to keep quiet. I was the one who insisted on going back to the attic after Lankster Square. The chaos at Lankster Square should have been a warning. I hadn’t listened.
Once upon a time, I’d been nothing more than a ghost. No will of my own. No responsibility. No actions, and so no consequences. I’d thought I’d known who I was: the one who reminded Addie not to forget things, the one who noticed things she missed, the one who took care of things when she was too flustered to do so. But then I’d regained the ability to make my own decisions, not just influence hers. And that had changed me.
Little by little, bit by bit. I’d become someone who could be tricked into murder.
And that realization had left me cold.
I could not be that person.
I reached into my purse. I was looking for Henri’s phone, but when I drew it out, the photograph of Darcie Grey came with it. Ryan picked it up before I could. Glanced at the photo, too, then at my face. “She doesn’t even look that much like you.” His voice was edged. Bitter.
“She does,” I said gently. “Look, we have the same—”
The sudden, urgent force of his kiss blew out every other sensation, like a photograph taken under too much light. He pulled me to him. The picture crumpled in his hand. The edges of it pressed against my flushed skin.
I sank into the warmth of his body. The drift of his lips to the hollow just under my jaw, where my heartbeat fluttered.
“Don’t do it, Eva,” Ryan said. And I didn’t want to, but I pulled away. The moonlight caught those ridiculous, long eyelashes of his. “Don’t go in there alone.”
Alone.
Ryan had always followed me. He’d followed me back up the stairs our last night at Nornand, when I’d insisted on checking on the other kids. He’d followed me to our first meeting with Sabine and the others in their attic, had followed me back when we returned after the fireworks at Lankster Square. He’d followed me to Powatt, despite my best efforts. Now I was going somewhere he couldn’t follow, no matter how stubborn he was about it. So he was asking me to stay. To not take that step.
But I couldn’t.
“I have to, Ryan,” I said.
Ryan and I stayed outside a little longer after that, but there was a new coldness between us that had nothing to do with the night air. Finally, he stood. Said, �
��Come on. You look like you’re going to freeze.”
Once we were back in the motel room, he joined his sister in the corner of the room. I headed for Marion. She stood by the trash can, paring an apple in one long, continuous peel.
“How will you get me out?” I said. “After we have the footage?”
Marion gave no indication of surprise, answering as easily as if we’d been talking about her plans the entire time. “I’ve been a reporter for a long while now. I have government credentials, and contacts in all the right places. I can’t promise it’ll be the world’s neatest rescue, but if you have the right kind of ID, know the right people, it makes it easier to go where you want to go.” She set down her pocketknife. “I’ve already figured out a way for you to send a signal. The security breach the institution suffered last summer means they’re strict about the caretakers they hire, but they’re a lot more lax about people who don’t have contact with the patients: their manual laborers and—”
I went cold. “Wait. The institution—it isn’t—”
“Hahns,” Marion said.
Hahns was an institution in the mountains, far up in the north. The one Peter had tried to break into with the help of a woman named Diane, who’d been seeded as a caretaker. Things had fallen apart. The rescue attempt had failed, costing the woman, along with two children, their lives.
The breakout had been planned for summer due to the harsh conditions around the institution when it grew colder. And now, Addie and I were scheduled to go in right as winter approached.
Marion must have seen the look on my face. “As soon as you get enough footage, I’ll get you out of there,” she promised. “It won’t be more than a few weeks.”
Addie and I had only been in Nornand for a single week. It had been long enough.
“You’ll make sure Jackson’s freed,” I said.
“I will. And once we have the footage—”
“We might be able to use it as a bargaining chip for Jaime,” I said. “I know.”
“Jaime’s thirteen years old,” Marion said. “And he’s their proof of the possibility of a cure. They won’t mistreat him.”
My laughter was a stark, dry thing. Like a thunderclap. “You and I have very different ideas of what it means to mistreat someone.”
She looked away, back to the half-peeled apple in her hands. The peel spiraled down, a red coil.
“I’ll do it,” I said quietly.
NINE
Ryan didn’t kiss me when we said good-bye the next morning. He didn’t kiss me because he knew Addie was there, and I wanted her there. He didn’t kiss me because his sister was in the room, and so was Dr. Lyanne, and Wendy, and Marion, and Kitty, all watching.
He didn’t kiss me, maybe, because he was still angry about the choice I’d made.
But he didn’t ask again for me to stay. Just stared at us, jaw tight and unhappy. Last night, he’d written down the number for Henri’s satphone for us to memorize. Had made me swear I wouldn’t forget it, no matter what, so I could call if I ever needed to. If ever I was lost, or alone. He, in turn, promised he’d fix the phone as quickly as he could.
I’d memorized the number to make him happy, and because it made sense to have whatever backup plans we could. But however much I trusted in Ryan and Devon’s skills, I knew the phone was technology beyond anything they’d ever seen. It wouldn’t be as simple to fix as Kitty’s old camcorder.
I repeated the digits in my mind now. A string of comfort. I couldn’t take our chip with us—the one that flashed red when its partner was near, that had given me comfort at Nornand, and afterward. There was too much chance of it being discovered. So the numbers were all I had.
Hally threw her arms around us. I thought she might cry and prayed she wouldn’t and then felt horribly selfish. She didn’t cry. Just said, “Stay safe, okay?” and squeezed us so tight I could barely manage a response.
“I’m going to come back,” I told Nina, and she nodded like she believed me. Or maybe just wanted to.
Then Marion and I and Addie left, and that was that.
It was a bit shocking, how quickly it happened.
“To be completely honest,” Marion said after we’d sat in silence for too many miles, “I’m a little surprised you managed to convince Rebecca to let you go.” She pulled a conspiring smile. “She’s a bit frightening, don’t you think?”
“That’s why I like her,” I said.
Marion gave a small, breathless laugh and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was a nervous habit Addie and I had picked up on. “I can’t believe you’re fifteen.”
A few weeks ago, I might have been irritated. Now the words hardly touched me. “What do you mean?”
Marion shrugged. “You seem older. That’s all.”
I turned away, staring out the window. “I always thought it was the opposite. I’ve always felt too young.”
“Well,” Marion said. “Maybe you’ve changed.”
Marion filled the hours on the road explaining everything Addie and I needed to know. She slipped a ring onto our finger, a tiny camera and microphone hidden inside the plastic gemstone. Pressing the gemstone set it deeper into the band and started the camera recording. Pressing it again shut everything off. When the light on the underside of the band glowed red, it meant the memory was full.
Once, we would have laughed at the idea that this kind of technology existed. But Henri had shown us otherwise, and it didn’t seem impossible that Marion, with her government connections, might be able to get her hands on something like this.
“The children are organized into wards,” Marion said. “They call them classes. And every few weeks, they rotate them around.” She hesitated. “It’s to keep the girls from getting too close to one another, I think. But for you, it’ll be a good way to mark the time. One rotation should be enough for you to gather sufficient footage.”
One rotation. A few weeks. That was all the time we needed to remain within Hahns’s walls.
Marion told us how we could signal for rescue. She gave us Hahns’s blueprint, which Addie and I spread over the car’s dashboard and memorized. She taught us, too, about Darcie herself, this girl we were supposed to become. She was an only child. She’d been born with a heart defect—one that had never been successfully fixed, but had nonetheless failed to prevent her from starting soccer at a young age. I wondered if she would still play after this. Wherever they were sending her.
We’d have to lighten our hair to match hers. Darcie tended to wear her hair shorter, too—above her shoulders. Darker, longer hair could be explained away by less time outdoors and fewer visits to the hairdresser. But if bleaching and cutting our hair made it easier to swallow the lie that Addie and I were Darcie, then it would be done.
“Probably, the officials won’t even be suspicious,” Marion assured us. “They won’t be expecting something like this at all.”
We’d hide right under their noses, with another girl’s name. The last place they’d look.
We never actually met Darcie Grey. She was gone by the time we arrived, whisked away under the cover of darkness. Addie and I slipped into the empty space she left behind, like the understudy in some horrific play.
I wondered now, as we stood before Darcie’s mother and father, how much they knew about Marion’s plans. How much they cared. Their daughter was escaping institutionalization.
Perhaps everything else was inconsequential.
“Are you sure they won’t be able to tell?” Mr. Grey stood by his kitchen counter, a thin man with thinner salt-and-pepper hair. He seemed
too old to be the father of a girl our age. He hadn’t said a word directly to us since we’d arrived, speaking only to Marion or his wife.
“They won’t be able to tell,” Marion promised. She glanced around the kitchen. “You’ve gotten rid of all the recent pictures, though, like I asked?” There was a photograph stuck to the refrigerator, but the girl in it was only six or seven. She could have been us. Perhaps.
“We have,” Mrs. Grey hurried to assure her. Her eyes wandered over to us. When they found us already looking at her, they darted away again. “And I can bleach and cut her hair.”
“Good,” Marion said. She asked for a moment alone with Addie and me. Darcie’s parents obliged all too willingly, hurrying from the kitchen like they couldn’t wait to have us out of their sight.
Marion’s smile was fabulously fake, but she tried. I found my thoughts wandering back to Ryan and the others. Marion had paid for several more nights at the motel. What were they doing now? Were they thinking of us, too?
Marion reached out and awkwardly patted us on the shoulder. “You’re going to be fine.”
Addie took pity on her and didn’t move away. I hoped Marion wouldn’t try any more platitudes. She looked like she was considering it.
“You remember everything I told you?” she asked instead. Addie nodded. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The kitchen clock tick-tick-ticked above the refrigerator. “Well—”
“Keep your promises.” Our voice was low. Grim. Addie pinned Marion under the force of our eyes. “You’re in this now. You can’t back out.”
After Marion left, Mrs. Grey and a sharp pair of scissors quickly took about six inches off our hair. She swept the wisps of curls off the laminate floor as Addie fingered the cut’s newly blunt ends.
The bleaching took longer, Addie and I sitting at the edge of the bathtub, trying not to flinch under Mrs. Grey’s touch. Finally, it was done.
“It looks nice,” Mrs. Grey said faintly once she’d stripped off her gloves and put everything away.
The real question, of course, was Do we look like her? But Addie didn’t ask it.