We had to find them.
In the evening, Kalif closed his door. "Look," he said, "you aren't going to like this."
I drew a deep breath. "Just tell me," I said. "Whatever it is, I can take it."
Kalif looked down at the floor. "Megaware is clean. Or at least, there's no digital evidence they're involved."
The floor seemed to drop out underneath me. Anything but that. "They have to be," I said. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I heard my own desperation. Black vans weren't proof. Likelihood wasn't a guarantee.
But if Megaware wasn't involved, then we had nothing. My voice was weak. "Can you check again?"
Kalif shrugged helplessly. "I've been through everything twice—emails, digital phone records, security footage. I checked their property holdings and their expense accounts. I found all the information I expected to about the correspondence with your parents. There's nothing suggesting that Megaware followed your parents, or that they have the facilities to hold people, or that they're hiding anything at all, besides their very legitimate software development. If someone inside did it, they did it without company correspondence, so I'm not going to find it here."
Kalif's voice seemed to grow quieter as he spoke, like someone was turning down the volume. All the sounds—the humming of the computer, the footsteps of his parents upstairs—faded as my mind emptied. "So we've got nothing."
Kalif took my hand, but I could barely feel it. "We'll keep looking."
But I couldn't think of anywhere to look that would help. "You need sleep," I said.
"We both do," Kalif said. "We'll think better in the morning."
The morning. Past the seventy-two hour mark. By then, my parents would certainly have fallen asleep. And if they hadn't been sold or dissected or tortured by then, after that they certainly would be.
My stomach turned. What if their captors decided to cut on them? Torture could leave marks, couldn't it? Then, even if they did escape, they wouldn't be able to shift to hide. We couldn't disguise open wounds or thick scar tissue.
It would be enough to bring new meaning to the phrase scarred for life.
Kalif touched my arm and I turned away instinctively. He quickly withdrew his hand, and I hated myself for acting like I blamed him. I wanted him to kiss me, but he still sounded so far away, I wasn't sure how I'd bridge the gap. So instead I just climbed up the stairs. I was dimly aware of him standing at the bottom of the staircase behind me. He must have felt so useless. I should have thanked him for looking. I should have assured him this wasn't his fault.
But I didn't have the strength to turn around.
Eleven
That night, while tossing and turning on the squeaking air mattress Aida had wedged into their office, I dreamed of searching through the Eravision building for my parents. The fluorescent ceiling lights glowed so brightly that I couldn't fully open my eyes, and I crawled from the elevator on my hands and knees, struggling to look up. I couldn't walk. I couldn't see.
I couldn't find them.
My fingers brushed cold flesh, and I pried my eyes open, catching barely a glimpse of the hall in front of me. Shriveled, blank faces lay before me, and I tried to scream, but couldn't make a sound.
I woke to cold sweat and a howling void in my chest. I rolled over, and bumped my elbow on Aida's desk, barely an inch from my mattress. My fingers creaked as I unclenched my hands, and my jaw and teeth ached equally. I sat up, fighting for breath.
My parents might be dead. We had no leads, so even if they weren't, we'd probably never find them. Even if the blank faces were a hoax, I still wouldn't recognize their bodies. Once their minds were gone, their subconscious selves would fade, like they never existed.
And I'd never know the truth about what happened.
I hugged my knees, shivering. I was all alone in the world.
Kalif, I thought. I needed Kalif.
I climbed out of bed, itching to pace, but the mattress filled the floor between Aida and Mel's desks, leaving me no space. I opened my door as softly as I could, and listened. Silence came from the direction of Aida and Mel's bedroom, so I tiptoed out into the hall, testing each of the floorboards before shifting my full weight on it. One of the stairs creaked a little, so I skipped it, stepping down to the next one. All this sneaking wasn't my usual way—my impulses told me to use a persona. But Mel would appreciate finding a stranger in his home even less than he'd like finding me sneaking down the stairs.
I half expected Kalif's room to be alarmed, but nothing happened as I pushed the door open. Streetlight shifted through his blinds, casting slats of blue light across him in his sleep. He had one arm tossed across him, and the other stretched toward the edge of the bed. A blanket covered his chest, but his bare shoulders were exposed. I stood there in the doorway, listening, but except for the hum of the refrigerator, the house was perfectly quiet. I stood there, frozen, watching Kalif sleep. His jaw wouldn't hurt in the morning.
I should just leave him alone. He'd been through enough of my drama, and he'd barely slept, helping me search.
But as I turned to go, the howling in my ears grew louder. I couldn't go back to that room alone, and I couldn't go home. If I told Kalif tomorrow that I'd stood here, needing him, and then let him sleep, he'd be disappointed in me.
So I stepped into his room and closed the door behind me. At the edge of the bed, I took his hand, pressing our palms together. He shifted to the side and opened his eyes, squinting up at me. Then he tightened his grip on my hand, and we each adjusted our temperature; me warm, him cold, then him warm, me cold.
Suddenly I felt like I needed a reason to be there, and I didn't have words to explain the emptiness that threatened to swallow me. "I had a bad dream," I whispered. Kalif nodded and moved over. I sat down on his bed and shifted his covers over me, filling the warm spot where he'd been. He was only wearing boxers underneath, but he didn't seem embarrassed. He propped himself up on his elbow and I lay down beside him with my head on his pillow.
He looked down at me, his face still wrinkled from the pillow. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I shivered. "Not really."
Kalif shifted the blankets out of the way, so that I could curl up to him. His foot hooked over my ankle, pulling me closer. My hands slid over his bare skin, and his mouth lingered gently on mine.
Kalif's body was warm in all the ways mine was cold. As our mouths moved together we rolled into each other, breathing as one. Kalif's hands worked up under my t-shirt, scratching gently over my hips. They hung there for a moment like a question. So I slipped my shirt off over my head.
Warmth hummed over me, rising to a fever pitch where Kalif's body touched mine. Our stomachs pressed together, and I could feel my body stretching and molding, fitting itself into the hollow of his. We reacted to each other instinctively, as if our bodies were made to fit with each other's. As if they already knew how. I closed my eyes, letting the song of him fill my ears, shutting out the pain.
Kalif kissed me softly under my ear, and traveled down to my jaw. He paused at my chin, whispering into my neck. "If my mother catches us, she's going to kill us." But he drew his body closer to mine, his teeth grazing my shoulder.
I couldn't breathe; I didn't want to. I stretched out on the mattress, letting his hands work up my back as his mouth worked down my neck. Our bodies arched, our hips moving together. I could feel my body shifting with him, becoming leaner, not to impress him, but to match him.
My heart raced. This wasn't what I meant to do when I came down here, was it? I kissed the sweat away from his chin and upper lip, but my toes stuck out the bottom of the blanket, tingling from the chill. And this thought pushed its way in: Kalif could be gone tomorrow. He could just shift away without warning, twist into something else and disappear forever. The cold seeped into my bones. I pushed my body up against Kalif's, trying to get warm again, but it was too late. The storm in my chest ripped free, howling in my ears. By the time Kalif's mouth hit my collar bone,
I was choking on my own tears.
Kalif looked up at me and froze. I wanted to wrap back into him, to draw all his heat into me, but instead my body crumpled in on itself, drawing up into a ball.
"I'm sorry," Kalif said. He lay aside, regret stretching over his face. "I'm so sorry."
I sniffled against the sobs. "It's not you," I managed to say. A hundred times over, it wasn't him.
Kalif hovered near me, as if he wasn't sure if touching me would help or hurt. I pushed my face into the pillow, trying to stop the tears, but my chest kept heaving, and my breath wouldn't slow.
He put a hand lightly on my shoulder, turning me away from the mattress, trying to uncoil me. "Hey, it's okay," he said. "Can you talk about it?"
I sniffled between words. "I'm sorry,"
Kalif shook his head. "No, don't be. I shouldn't have—I didn't mean to take advantage."
I laughed, though my nose was running like a faucet from the tears, so I probably looked like a complete maniac. "I didn't mean to throw myself at you. That wasn't the plan."
He squeezed his eyes shut and cringed. "I wasn't exactly complaining. But I know you're a mess over your parents. I've been there. I know better."
Everyone's posture changes when they feel guilty. Shoulders slump, foreheads draw back, arms cross protectively over chests. But Kalif's whole face shifted, his mouth widening, his eyes rounding out. The changes were subtle, but millimeters of difference can have a profound influence on a face.
He looked so much more like his father.
I must have been staring, because Kalif rubbed his cheek self-consciously. "What?" he asked.
I tried not to smile. Laughing at him would only make him feel worse. "Your face is shifting. You look like your dad."
Kalif buried his head in his pillow. "I," he said, "am a bastard."
I smacked his shoulder. "Shut up," I said. "You are not. I'm the one who came down here and attacked you and then started crying."
Kalif sounded miserable. "Yeah, and I knew you were vulnerable, and I didn't care."
If he didn't care, he wouldn't be so upset about it now. I laid a hand on his bare shoulder. "Relax," I said. "I'm pretty sure I was the one trying to take advantage of you."
His face was normalizing now, whether by instinct or by force. "I still feel like a jerk."
Now I did smile. "And when you feel like a jerk you look like your father?"
Kalif looked disgusted, at himself and his dad. "Yeah, well. The shoe fits."
I sighed. "Look, don't blame yourself. I shouldn't have started any of this."
He looked like I'd slapped him.
"No," I said. "I didn't mean any of it. I just meant I should have let you sleep."
Kalif shut his eyes, his cheek squished into his pillow. "Am I a total asshole if I say that I'm glad you're here?"
I couldn't help but smile. His self-loathing was kind of adorable. I lay down next to him and kissed him on the forehead.
"Thank you," I said.
He opened his eyes, looking at me. "For what?"
I pressed my face against his so our foreheads rested together. "For being here."
He smiled and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight against him. "For that," he said, "you are very welcome."
And we lay there like that, just holding each other, and for that one moment, I allowed myself to believe that I'd never have to let him go.
An hour later I felt warm from head to toe. Kalif had fallen asleep lying behind me with his head next to mine on the pillow, his chest pressed against my back. The clock on his desk showed four AM.
I rolled onto my back, and Kalif opened his eyes.
"Hey," I said. "I should probably go back upstairs."
Kalif reached for me, his arm settling across my stomach. "Do you have to?"
I groaned. "Only if we want to live to see morning."
Kalif sat up. "Are you going to be okay alone?"
"I'll be fine." Climbing out of bed, I felt like a scrap of metal fighting against a giant magnet. But I did it anyway, and shuffled through the sheets to find my lost shirt, and pulled it on.
Kalif reached out and took my hand. "We'll keep looking for your parents, okay? We still have all the records of their old operations, and their lists of enemies. We'll find something."
I sighed. We couldn't be sure that we would, but he was right. We needed to keep looking. If I were the one missing, my parents wouldn't give up. "Okay," I said. "Thank you." And though everything in me wanted to stay there with him, I dragged myself out of his warm room and into the drafty stairwell.
As I walked up the stairs to the main level, I heard a click up by the bedrooms. I walked over to the sink and turned it on, filling a glass of water. That step at the top of the stairs creaked, and Aida looked down at me.
Aida squinted at me. "I heard something."
I flailed a hand at the sink. "I'm just getting a drink. I couldn't sleep."
She nodded, but she also waited to close her door until I was safely shut back up in my room with my glass.
Twelve
In the morning, I stayed in my new room, waiting to be called down for breakfast. I buried myself under my borrowed blankets, letting my cheeks burn, as if doing so would evaporate my embarrassment.
What had I been thinking? Crawling into bed with a guy I'd been kissing for a couple of days? When the only chance I had of staying near him was if my parents were dead?
I jumped when Aida knocked on my door.
"Breakfast," she said, as I pulled it open. She slid her hand in, and checked my signal before she went on. "Mel's already gone for today. He's following a woman who works at Megaware. Hopefully when he returns, he'll have news."
My stomach sank. I wondered if he was following this woman by his usual methods.
But it shouldn't matter. There was still a chance that Mel would find something Kalif hadn't, and any news at this point was good news. "Is there anything else we can do?"
"No," Aida said. "I'm going to make some phone calls. It's possible I'll turn something up before he does."
I looked at the floor. She wasn't even going to let me make calls for her. I was better off proceeding on my own. "Thanks for looking," I said.
"Of course," Aida said. She traveled down the stairs, and I heard a muffled knock as she called Kalif to breakfast as well.
He was probably exhausted.
I heard Kalif's door open as I came down the stairs. I was still wearing my t-shirt and sweats, but Kalif came upstairs fully dressed for the day, which meant he'd been up even before his mom knocked.
I met Kalif at the top of his stairs, just as he was reaching the kitchen. He took my hand and gave me our signal, the corners of his mouth turning up in a suppressed smile. Again he held on a moment longer than he needed to, only this time I was sure that he meant to. I squeezed his hand back. He turned his face away from the kitchen, so his mother wouldn't see his mouth slip into a full grin.
Aida looked at us sideways from the oven, where she pulled out a pan full of muffins. I dropped his hand, but it was too late. She'd seen.
If Kalif was worried about it, he didn't show it. He recovered his composure, and we both sat down at the table. Our plates were already overflowing with hash browns, and Aida topped them off with a blueberry muffin apiece.
"Thanks," I said.
"You're welcome." Aida watched us both eat. I wondered if she was regretting offering me a place to sleep here, or if she was starting to put together that I'd been down in Kalif's room last night.
After breakfast, Kalif turned to me. "Give me some more help with voices?" he asked.
I nodded. It was the perfect opportunity to spend some hours downstairs, figuring out what we were going to do next.
Aida narrowed her eyes. "Why don't you go on down," she said to me. "I need to talk to Kalif for a moment."
I gave him a sidelong look as I stood up from the table, but Kalif didn't look nervous. "Sure," I said.
When I got downstairs I closed Kalif's door behind me, leaving a crack between it and the doorframe. From upstairs it would seem I did that to give them privacy, when really I just wanted to stand in the doorway with my ear to the kitchen without looking obvious.
From here I couldn't hear every word, but I did catch Aida saying "respect" and "appropriate." I leaned against the wall, wishing I could shift into it and disappear.
Kalif said something in a reassuring tone, and then I heard Aida say, clear as day, "you stay downstairs, and she stays upstairs," which meant she'd raised her voice a little to say it. I swallowed. She knew I was listening.
Message delivered.
The stairs creaked, and I stepped away from the door and sat down at Kalif's computer. Kalif moved into the room, and I checked his hand again, just in case.
When we finished, I hugged my arms and whispered at him. "She knows?"
Kalif shook his head no. He closed the door, leaving it open a crack, just like I had.
My shoulders sank. "She told you not to close it?"
He smiled. "Yes. And you're not allowed in my room at night."
I put a hand over my eyes, mostly so I wouldn't have to watch him laugh at me. "So she does know."
"No," he said. "She was speaking hypothetically. If she knew, she'd still be yelling at me."
I groaned. "I'm sorry."
Kalif folded me into his arms. "Don't apologize," he said in my ear. "It's okay. Really."
I could feel tears burning in the corners of my eyes—more from embarrassment than relief. I buried my face in his shoulder. "I'm sure that'll be a comfort after I die of humiliation."
Kalif laughed. He probably would have been laughing with me if I could just join in. "Let's get some work done, before my mom decides she needs to forbid you from coming down here at all."
I winced. "Is she that uptight?"
Kalif shrugged. "I think she's mostly concerned that I show respect for you. That's always been really important to her."
I wondered what she'd say if she knew that I was the one crawling into his bed. "Is that because of your father?"
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