by Clara Kensie
“This way,” Kellan said, and we followed him into one of the offices lining the perimeter of the Lab. The sign on the door read Technokinetics. I’d been in this office before too, when Tristan asked an elderly large-nosed man to recharge my cell phone.
“I already tried with the Techno guys, Kellan,” Tristan said. “I had Craig Schultz hack into the Amtrak computers.”
“I know,” Kellan said, opening the door. “That’s what gave me the idea. Craig can hack, but I found you someone even better. Miss Carson, meet your new, dedicated, full-time investigator. Aaron Jacobs.”
Surrounded by piles of circuit boards, cords, and various electronics, a scrawny guy sat at the back of the room. He faced three computer monitors, the images on them flashing as his fingers clickety-clacked over a keyboard. Without stopping, he stole a glance at us over his shoulder. Young, no more than three years older than me, wide mouth and chapped lips, black hair parted down the middle and sorely in need of a trim, and dark brown eyes behind glasses that were much too big for his face. He turned bright red at our scrutiny and returned to the monitors.
“Hey, Aaron,” Tristan greeted him, then flashed to me, Super-smart guy. Graduated from Lilybrook High when he was twelve and from Heron University when he was fifteen. But he knows nothing about investigations. I can do better on my own than he can here.
Then why would Kellan pick him?
Aaron’s mom is the executive director. I bet Kellan’s doing this to suck up to her after messing up so badly in Nebraska.
Dennis rubbed his chin. “Why Aaron?” he asked Kellan. “He doesn’t have the necessary training to be an investigator.”
“He doesn’t need it,” Kellan said. “Aaron is a cyber-mind. He’s basically a computer in human form. He’ll scan webcams and security cameras to find the targets. Like facial-recognition software, but a thousand times faster and more accurate.”
Dennis nodded approvingly, but Tristan crossed his arms. “Jillian and Logan are purposely avoiding places with cameras. Aaron will never find them that way.”
Aaron’s fingers hesitated on the keyboard, then stopped, his shoulders sagging.
“They can’t avoid all cameras,” Kellan said. “And Aaron’s all we got. Unless you want me to assign Nathan Gallagher to the case.” He smirked at me, knowing full well that I wouldn’t want that.
Kellan handed Aaron a file. “That’s everything you need to know about your targets. We took pictures of them a few weeks ago, so the photos are recent. Just do your computer magic to look for their faces. They’re on the road, so start with traffic cams, gas stations, drive-throughs.”
Keeping his head ducked so low his glasses almost slipped off, Aaron opened the file. I went to stand next to him so I could look over his shoulder.
A photo of Logan was the top picture. Carrying his sax on the driveway of our house in Twelve Lakes. His face was serious, his brown eyes looking cautiously down the street, making sure it was safe.
Jillian’s photo was next. Also taken in Twelve Lakes, this photo was a close-up of her looking out our upstairs window, one hand holding back the curtain, her gray eyes staring into the distance, blond hair falling over her shoulders.
“She’s dyed her hair brown since then,” I told Aaron, remembering my vision of her brown hair in Tennessee. “And they both might be wearing baseball caps.” He didn’t respond, just looked at Jillian’s photo. I held out the ballet shoe and sheet music. “Do you need these?”
He shook his head.
I tried giving him Brinda’s drawings next. “Would these help at all?”
Another shake.
Tucking the items back in my bag, I gave him more direction. “Try truck stops,” I said. “We used to eat in truck stops a lot. And twenty-four-hour diners. Try convenience stores, too.”
The number of truck stops, drive-throughs, convenience stores, and gas stations in this country had to number in the millions. No wonder Aaron was shocked into frozen muteness. Kellan had assigned him an impossible task.
“Jillian likes warm places,” I said. “Maybe you should start with the Southern states. And don’t bother looking in the states we’ve already lived. They won’t return. Tennessee is out too, and probably Louisiana. That narrows it down for you a little, right?”
Aaron still said nothing.
I found a piece of paper and a pen. “This is my phone number,” I said, jotting it down. “Call me the second you find something. Any time, day or night. I’ll answer on the first ring.” I slid a sideways glance to Kellan. “Don’t bring Kellan with you to get them. He’ll just hurt them. I’ll go with you instead.”
Kellan snorted. Tristan fisted his hands. Dennis frowned at both of them.
But Aaron didn’t respond.
Finally I gave up. I went to Tristan, seeking comfort under his arm. We didn’t have to say anything, telepathically or out loud. We both knew it would be almost impossible for Aaron to find them.
Even Dennis failed to suppress a disappointed sigh. He mouthed to me, I’ll talk to the board of directors.
“Thanks, Aaron,” I said. “Good luck.” Disheartened, we turned to leave.
“She’s beautiful.”
The choked words came from Aaron.
I paused in my steps and looked back.
“Your sister,” he said. “She’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” I said. “She is.”
He traced his finger down Jillian’s photo.
I glanced up at Tristan, and smiling, I broadcast my next thought loudly, so he would hear it, and Dennis would hear it, and Kellan would hear it too.
Aaron Jacobs is going to find my brother and sister.
“Make sure your getaway bag is packed,” I said to Tristan as we entered the kitchen the next morning, hand in hand. I held Marmalade in my other arm, and Mac plodded along at our feet. Tristan nodded with a huge yawn. Poor thing was exhausted. I had actually fallen asleep a little early last night, convinced that with Aaron’s additional help on the case, I would soon find my brother and sister. But Tristan was up most of the night writing a report for his criminal justice class and doubling his efforts to contact the psychics in his database. “As soon as we get a lead, we need to leave.”
“Oh no, you won’t.” The protest came from Deirdre, who was leaning against the kitchen table, still in her flowered robe. Her skin seemed extra pale against her messy copper hair, making her freckles stand out even more. Dennis stood next to her, one arm around her shoulders, his expression grim.
“I’m sorry, Tessa,” he said. “But you can’t leave Lilybrook.”
“Why, because Tristan and I skipped school to go to Tennessee?” I asked. “We’ll make up the work we missed.”
“It’s not about school,” Deirdre said.
Tristan tightened his hold on my hand. “You had a dream, didn’t you, Mom?”
She bit her lips and gripped the back of the chair, then gave a quick nod. “Last night.”
“A precognitive dream? About me?” I’d been hoping Deirdre would have another dream about me—specifically, a dream about me finding Jillian and Logan. But she was so tight, so tense, so terrified.
“Tell me exactly what you dreamed,” Tristan said, “so I can stop it from happening.”
She kept her grip on the chair. “In the dream, Tessa, you left Lilybrook for your brother and sister. But you ended up inside a little house. The walls were silver. Silver walls. So bright it was blinding.”
“Silver?” On the counter near the sink, a steak knife glimmered.
“Silver, and then...” She let out a huge exhale. “Red. The entire room filled with blood. A flood of blood.”
The knife glimmered and glowed, and my pulse quickened, sending my tainted blood through my veins with every beat of my heart.
Brinda Lakhani drew the same exact thing, Tristan flashed to me, then aloud he asked his mother, “When is this supposed to happen?”
“I don’t know when, I don’t know where, I don’t k
now how.” Shaking, Deirdre stumbled over and clutched my shoulders. And when she looked down at me, the agony in her eyes made my heart stop beating. “The only thing I know, Tessa, is that if you leave Lilybrook,” she said, “you are going to die.”
I was going to die.
Inside a little house with silver walls, I was going to bleed to death.
Because Deirdre had a dream.
“How will it happen?” An anxious dread settled in my stomach like a rock. From the counter, the knife flashed again.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just know that it will.”
“What kind of house has silver walls?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Dennis said solemnly, “because you’ll never be in a house like that. Deirdre’s dreams always happen, Tessa. The only way to keep them from happening is to change the course of events. She dreamed that you left Lilybrook because of your brother and sister. So, to change the course of events, you won’t leave. You’ll stay in Lilybrook.”
“Tristan changes the course of events with his warning premonitions all the time,” I said. “So if he has one about me while we’re away, I’ll listen. I won’t ignore him anymore. I’ll do what he says. Immediately. I promise.”
“That’s not good enough,” Tristan said. He put his hands on either side of my face and caressed my cheeks with his thumbs. “You almost got hit by that ambulance in Tennessee because you had lifted the fog so high that you were lost in the visions. You walked right in front of it, even though I was yelling for you to stop. It wasn’t that you ignored me—you didn’t hear me. Or what if…” He grimaced, guilt shadowing his face. “What if something like Twelve Lakes happens again?”
My shame was my parents; Tristan’s shame was his failure to keep me safe from Kellan in Twelve Lakes.
“But what about Jillian and Logan?” I asked. “I can’t let a dream stop me from finding them.”
“Aaron Jacobs is looking for them,” Dennis said.
“I’m looking for them too,” said Tristan. “I may not be a human computer like Aaron is, but I’m still searching for matches for Brinda’s drawings, and I’m still contacting psychics around the country. I’ll find them for you, like I promised I would. I’ll bring them to you, here, in Lilybrook.”
“No. No!” How could they not understand? “They won’t trust anyone but me. I have to go to them. It has to be me. I have to be able to leave town.”
The tightness in Deirdre’s face turned from worry to anger. “Dennis spent eight years looking for you,” she said. “Tristan moved away his senior year and delayed college for you. They risked their lives to bring you to safety. That you would even consider ignoring my dream—”
Dennis took her hand. “You can’t be with your brother and sister if you’re dead, Tessa.”
From atop the fridge, Marmalade mewed.
I stared at the Connellys, and they stared back at me. Deirdre: hurt and resentful. Dennis: decisive and stern. Tristan: distressed and determined.
Tristan and Dennis were almost killed because of me. I owed it to them to stay alive.
And despite the shame that crawled around inside me like a disease, despite my tainted blood, despite being Killers’ Spawn… I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live to see my brother and sister again. I wanted to give them happy, stable, peaceful lives.
I couldn’t give Jillian and Logan happy, stable, peaceful lives if I bled to death inside a little house with silver walls. I needed to live.
For the past eight years, I’d fled from town to town to stay alive. And now, to stay alive, I needed to stay put. I could not change my past, but I could change my future.
“Fine,” I mumbled. “I’ll stay in Lilybrook.”
❀
As I stood at the mirror in the guest bedroom and brushed my hair for school, Tristan came up behind me. He put his hands on my hips and drew me back against him. “I have to leave for class, but I want to let you know that you don’t have to worry about a thing,” he said. “Nothing’s changed except you can’t leave Lilybrook. You’ll still get Jillian and Logan back.”
“What do you think it means, though?” I asked. “A silver room?”
“My mom’s dreams can be symbolic. She dreamed that you had wildflower eyes, remember? You do have wildflower eyes, but not literally. The silver room can be anything. I think the silver is your fog. Maybe it means that instead of lifting it too high, you bring it down too low and pass out again, like you did in the Underground.”
“Hmm. That could be. But the red? The blood?” I asked.
“I don’t know. You’ll hit your head on something when you pass out? You’ll get hit by a car?” He shuddered.
“What if it means someone’s going to kill me?”
“Don’t even talk that way. Who would want to kill you?”
I met his gaze in the mirror. “Nathan.”
A muscle pulsed angrily in his jaw. “I told him to leave you alone. Has he threatened you?”
“No. He hasn’t even spoken to me. But he still hates me. He’s in my nightmares. His eyes become part of the Nightmare Eyes.”
Tristan considered it, then shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on with Nathan, but he wouldn’t hurt you. He’s a safeguard, Tessa. He protects people. I’ll call him on my way to class this morning and talk to him again. Besides, my mom’s dream will only happen if you leave Lilybrook. And you’re not going to do that. You are going to stay here, where it’s safe. I will bring Jillian and Logan to you.”
Before I could protest, he added, “I’ll find a way to show them that they can trust me. I promise, Tessa.”
I studied Tristan’s face in the mirror. He looked tired, but his jaw was set. He failed to keep me safe in Twelve Lakes, and he was determined to make up for that in Lilybrook.
His phone dinged and he swiped the screen. “It’s another psychic responding to my email,” he said. “He owns a metaphysical shop in New Mexico. He even has a crystal ball, just like in Brinda’s drawing. He said he’ll keep an eye out for Jillian and Logan and call me right away if they show up.”
He wrapped his arms around me. “See, Clockwise? I’m getting lots of responses like this. Everything will be fine.”
I turned so I faced him and brought him in close, inhaling his scent of soap and strength and masculinity. The tighter he held me, the more my lungs opened up. Even the Nightmare Eyes dimmed a bit. I needed to stay here, in Lilybrook, in Tristan’s arms.
I couldn’t leave Lilybrook to look for my siblings, so Lilybrook would have to be my headquarters. Command Central. The mission: Find Jillian and Logan. Tristan and Aaron were my soldiers. From my post as Commander-in-Chief, I would oversee their investigations and help in every way I could.
Miss Bennett, the enthusiastic geometry teacher, jabbered away while scribbling angles and formulas on the whiteboard. The dry-erase markers squeaked, their acerbic scent permeating the room and making me slightly nauseated. The colorful triangles, squares, and circles reminded me of Brinda’s crayon drawings. Chin propped in hand, I pretended to be copying the shapes and formulas into my notebook, but actually, I was writing a message.
Jillian, this is Tessa. I’m alive. I’m safe.
The Connellys believed that I was contentedly going about my life while imprisoned in Lilybrook because Deirdre dreamed of a little silver-walled house that filled up with my blood, and had left the responsibility of finding my siblings to Tristan and Aaron. But I wasn’t contentedly going about my life. For the past three days, I’d been trying to contact my sister. Psionically.
I knew I couldn’t contact her telepathically—I could only do that with Tristan, and only when we were close. But when my family lived in Twelve Lakes, Jillian had been trying to develop remote vision, the same psionic ability our father had. Or at least, the psionic ability our dad used to have, before the APR neutralized him. Jillian made some progress before her terrible headaches and bloody noses had driven her to quit—headaches and blood
y noses that were manufactured by our mother so Jillian wouldn’t discover our parents’ murderous secrets.
Maybe now that our imprisoned, neutralized mother could no longer give her those headaches, Jillian could develop her remote vision again.
Jillian thought I was dead, so she wouldn’t purposely send out her mobile eye to find me. But maybe if she thought of me, she would see me in Lilybrook. Alive. Safe.
Chances were slim. Almost zero. But I had to try.
As Miss Bennett scrawled formulas on the whiteboard, I continued my letter to Jillian.
I’m in Lilybrook, Wisconsin. Come to Lilybrook. It’s safe here. You don’t have to run anymore. I have so much to tell you and Logan.…
I’d filled almost a page, willing Jillian to see it through my eyes, when the sound of my name brought me back to the classroom. I looked up from the notebook to see Miss Bennett, marker in hand, looking at me expectantly.
“Oh. Um… could you repeat the question, please?” I stammered.
“What is the formula for the surface area of a pyramid?” she repeated, not patiently.
I turned to my notebook to find the page with that formula, and saw that I hadn’t written a long letter to Jillian after all. After a few lines I’d stopped writing words, and instead had drawn a pair of circles, filled in solid black.
My Nightmare Eyes.
“You should know that formula by now, Tessa,” Miss Bennett said.
“I…” I sputtered, staring at the Nightmare Eyes on my paper. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
Miss Bennett shook her head. “Can anyone help her out?”
In the seat in front of mine, Winter shot her hand up and quite cheerfully provided the formula.
“Very good, Winter.” With a disappointed look at me, Miss Bennett continued her lesson.