Wildfires lit in me. Why did I let her make me feel bad? Uh, maybe because I wished I were her. Maybe because my whole life no one important socially ever noticed me and I wanted to change that somehow. The attention I was getting here was mostly better than at home, but what did Summer have against me? Maybe my mom was right, that wishes could be dangerous. I certainly didn’t want to act like Summer. I only wanted her popularity and her money. I would never be snotty or rude. Did money automatically make a person snotty and rude?
I didn’t say anything and just looked at her, wishing I could disappear.
“What’s the big deal?” Alex asked, his eyes narrowing at Summer. My heart stuttered. Was he sticking up for me?
Mrs. J. interrupted, giving us our ten minute warning to be on the bus, and my group hurried to get the coveted back rows. Just as I climbed onto the bus, I started to feel sick.
“Kira! Kira!” I called out. She was only a few feet in front of me, but it was always hard to hear on the bus.
“What?” she asked, turning to look at me.
“I’ve got to run to my room,” I said. “I’m not feeling so great, don’t let them leave without me.”
“’Kay!” she yelled back.
I turned around to find Marybeth right behind me.
“I won’t let them leave without you,” she said, her ultra long, light brown hair, curly and fragrant, made me feel queasy.
“Thanks.”
I felt really queasy in the elevator. Afraid I wouldn’t make it to my room, I ran as soon as the doors opened. I started heaving as I pushed on my door and barely made it to the bathroom. Some throw-up ended up on the tile floor. The thought of it made me even sicker. I couldn’t stop. Everything I’d eaten for breakfast was now in the toilet or on the floor. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t because I continued to puke. I puked until there was nothing left. The dry heaves were painful. Hot, sweaty and tired, my hands clutched the seat and my head rested on the front edge of the toilet.
Marybeth walked in on me. “Christy, are you …Ooooh, you really are sick. I’ll go tell Mrs. J., be right back.”
I wanted to tell her not to tell anyone but Mrs. J, but I was once again, heaving.
Please don’t let anyone else come…please don’t let anyone else come.
A bit later, I heard Mrs. J’s voice. I had finally stopped puking for more than a minute and was lying on the bathroom floor, exhausted.
“Oh, Christy,” Mrs. J. said. She flushed the toilet and got a wash cloth wet in the sink and wiped up everything that didn’t make it into the toilet. I was mortified, but unable to object.
I sat up dry heaving yet again. When would it end? This time it didn’t last long, or at least it didn’t seem like it did.
“Would you like someone to stay with you today, Christy?” Mrs. J. asked.
“No, please, no,” was all I could get out before lying on the floor.
I didn’t want anyone else to witness my embarrassment.
“I’ll get one of the other chaperones to stay here with you,” Mrs. J. said. “I can’t leave the group.”
“No,” I said with all the force I could muster. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need anyone to stay with me.”
“I shouldn’t have asked “if”, I should have asked, “who”. Tell you what, Christy. One chaperone will stay behind, just in case. She won’t come to your room unless you ask her to.”
I shook my head, no.
“You don’t have a choice. We can’t leave you here all alone when you’re sick. Do you have a cell phone?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Hmm,” she said.
“I have one she can use,” Marybeth offered. “It’s here in my suitcase.”
The phone. There it was again. The phone she didn’t carry with her.
“Okay. Let’s program my cell number into it,” Mrs. J. said.
“It’s already in there,” Marybeth said. Her parents must be ultra-over protective.
“Great. Marybeth, here’s Mrs. Dean’s cell number,” she held her phone out for Marybeth to see the number. “Could you put it into your phone for Christy? Thanks. Do you have water, or soda, or anything like that in here, Marybeth?”
“No.”
“Alex, would you please go get some water and drinks for Christy? She’s going to need to stay hydrated,” Mrs. J. said.
“Sure. Be right back,” he said.
Ugghh! Why? Why did he come? What had he seen? Heard?
I thought I couldn’t feel any worse than I had, being sick and all, but then my heart started aching, too, discovering that Alex was there, watching. I’m sure he was disgusted. Seriously, I always wanted to puke when others got sick around me. The smell must have been the worst in my little bathroom.
Mrs. J. laid down the law. I was to stay in the room, drink lots of fluids, and call Mrs. Dean with any troubles. At least she wouldn’t be in my room.
There was no way I was going to call her.
I started heaving again. It felt like my head was going to explode.
Mercifully, they left me to the toilet and bathroom floor.
After what seemed like only a few minutes, I felt a tap on my arm. With effort, I lifted my head from the floor, wondering what Mrs. J. could have forgotten. It wasn’t Mrs. J., though. Jeremy held a card, smiling. If I hadn’t felt so terrible, I might have laughed in his stupid smiling face. Couldn’t he see that I was totally sick and couldn’t help them any time soon?
The little card he held read, “FBI. Shhh!”
Then he put the Shh card behind more little cards that were in his hands.
“You will feel a prick,” the next card read.
A prick? Was he kidding me? I would have kicked him in the face if I’d been able at the time.
He moved toward me and sure enough, a prick. I wanted to scream, but could only moan.
“Moan,” the next sign said.
That, I could do, sick moaning sounds were natural for me at that moment. I noticed I was feeling a bit better of a sudden. What was that shot? How had they known to bring it? My mind still swam, but started to clear up.
“Stand up silently,” it read. I thought it was a great idea to use those cards to communicate with me. They were completely silent. The bugs wouldn’t hear a sound. The FBI was clever.
Jeremy helped me up. I felt a lot better. I saw movement behind Jeremy and jumped. Standing next to my bed, a woman, about my height, fair-skinned with blue eyes looked at me. I guess she was part of this whole thing. Jeremy looked at her and then held up the next card.
“Walk to your bed,” it read.
I did, eyeing the lady as I went, my muscles aching, and feeling light headed.
“She’ll help you dress and then while we’re gone, she’ll pretend to be you,” the sign said.
I nodded.
“Quietly, please,” the sign continued.
The lady pointed to some clothes laid out on the bed and I moved toward them, reluctant to look away from her. Realizing I would have to take the clothes off that I already had on, I turned to look at Jeremy. He gave me a knowing look and turned around to face the opposite direction.
Dressed in my new clothes, the woman walked toward me and put makeup on my face and then a wig over my hair. She smiled at me when she was done. It gave me a weird sensation, like she was my mom, sending me off to Sunday School all clean and pretty. Instead, I was headed for questioning. Without a sound, she tried to get Jeremy’s attention, but happily, he still faced away from us. I tapped him on the shoulder and gave a little sick moan. He turned and smiled at me, leading me to the door and pulling it open without a sound. He held up the last sign,
“Go with the man in the hall.”
I peeked out and saw a tall, massive, blond-headed guy looking at me, smiling, lips pressed together. What was up with all the smiling? I couldn’t make myself smile. Maybe they thought it would help put me at ease, but it didn’t. It was creepy. I looked back momentarily into the roo
m and saw my decoy climbing into my bed. The door shut behind me. The man in the hall reached his arm out and looped it through mine, pulling me in tight. I felt like I’d been pressed up against a brick wall. With his other hand, my new escort pulled an index card out of his pocket and handed it to me.
It read, “Stay very close to me. Respond to me when I speak to you. Act like you are enjoying yourself, but don’t overdo it. We are a couple who are on vacation in D.C. We’ll be getting into a car out front. Just relax. I’m Lance. You’re Susi.”
Was he kidding? I couldn’t help but stay close to him, his tight hold on me sure to leave bruises. Couldn’t he see I was just a kid? I plastered a smile on my face, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, and let my shoulders fall forward a bit to help me relax.
“Would you like to get something to eat?” Lance asked.
“Sure. I’m starving.” I tried not to let sarcasm fill my answer, but a bit seeped in. Of course I was starving, every last particle of food from my stomach was racing through the D.C. plumbing system. A thought raced through my mind—did they drug me? The FBI doesn’t drug people, not really, do they?
We got into the elevator with four other people inside. They stepped back and pressed their bodies against the walls to make room for the huge mass that was “Lance”.
Just like the other four people, we didn’t say a word in the elevator and then we all walked out, heading for the front doors of the hotel the second the elevator doors opened. Every step I took made me feel a bit more anxious. What would happen to me? What questions would they ask? Could I answer them? Better yet, would I even make it to the FBI building? Had they drugged me and if so, what else would they be willing to do to me?
As if he could feel my tension rising, Lance started talking to me. I tried to be amiable and answer the questions naturally, which was a stretch to say the least.
I felt a bit better when I sat in the taxi. It felt nicer, roomier than the one Rick, Kira, Marybeth and I had taken to and from Georgetown. We went to a café a few blocks away and got something to eat. We talked about touring D.C. and what we had seen so far. Making things up to answer his questions got easier as time passed.
I ordered a BLT and it truly was the best BLT I had ever had, quite possibly because my stomach was more than empty; since I wasn’t paying, I decided to try a crème brulee. It was so creamy smooth, that the anger I clung to from my morning date with the toilet seemed to lessen. Instead of murdering the man who most likely drugged me, I’d settle for a hardy punch in his gut and the chance to bawl him out. How had they drugged me? Then it hit me. I remembered the large arms that brought me my orange juice; they were Jeremy’s.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Brunch didn’t last long enough. I wasn’t sure I wanted to head for the FBI building, but I kinda felt excited about the adventure in it. When we walked out of the café, Lance walked over to a sleek, black limo, opened a door, and held it for me. Motioning with his other hand, he encouraged me to climb in. Heck yeah! A real limo sat in front of me! Wow. I was going for a ride in a limo! With a huge grin plastered on my face, I slid across the soft leather seat, taking in every last detail. No one would believe me back home—then again, who would I tell?
We rode in silence for a good half hour, which seemed crazy considering our destination was only a few blocks away. Most of the time, I played with things in the limo, pushing buttons, turning music on and off, eating the food and drinking the bottled water, but I did look out occasionally to see where we were. It was like we made a huge, jaggedy circle all around the FBI building and back. Maybe they were still worried about being tailed, which was strange because with Lance in the car, I felt safe.
Some of the time, my mind wandered to Iceman and I fought to depress it. I wanted to focus on the incredible ride instead. It turned out to be a great diversion from reality.
Forced to stop at a guard shack at the entrance of a parking garage, all four doors of the limo swung open almost simultaneously and four heads peered in. One nodded at Lance, who nodded back, and Lance handed them an ID badge. The one that took the badge, left and the others looked all around inside the car. Once Lance had his badge back, the doors were closed, and we drove into the semi-darkness of the parking garage.
I breathed a sigh of relief, but at the same time, I didn’t want my ride in the limo to end. I must have touched everything in it the few short minutes we drove round and round to park. The only thing missing was me sticking my head and body out the sunroof and screaming. I’d always fantasized about doing that.
I felt powerful just being inside this car; it made me sit up taller and feel like I could do anything or be anyone. I imagined I was on an adventure in a book. No one really gets hurt in books. The car stopped again, and I watched Lance get out. Jeremy opened my door from the outside.
A smile stretched across his face. I felt mixed emotions at the sight of him. His face was both familiar and friendly, but I suspected he was the one who had made me so sick. He offered his hand and helped me out. I wanted to crush it, but didn’t. I waited until I stood in front of him, then balled up my fist and slugged him in the gut as hard as I could.
“You better not ever drug me again!” I shouted.
Jeremy doubled over, catching his breath. I wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt my hand and pulled it back shaking it while opening and closing my fist. I took a step back, right into Lance’s bulky body. He grabbed my arms and jerked them behind my back.
“Now look here—,” Lance started to say.
“It’s okay agent Miller. I think I deserved that,” Jeremy said, still breathing hard. Lance relaxed his grip on my arms.
“You’ve got quite a punch young lady,” Jeremy said, standing up straight and massaging his gut. “I don’t intend to drug you again. I’m sorry I had to in the first place. I should’ve warned you, but I didn’t want you to worry about it all night. We needed this to look real. With the hotel being bugged, we couldn’t risk—”
“I could’ve faked it,” I insisted. He had drugged me. This was insane.
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s over now. Truce?” He held out his hand for me to shake.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted a truce. I wanted to be mad just a little longer, so I squinted my eyes, pushed out my lips and said nothing. My stomach still screamed every time I moved.
“Come on. I owe you one. A big one,” he said placating me. “What if I made sure you got another crème brulee? Would we be even then?”
I could almost taste the exquisite dessert at the sole mention of it. Could I sell out for something so little, but extraordinary? Apparently, I could, because I felt myself nodding.
“When do I get it?” I blurted out, opening my eyes wide and staring him down.
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll get it. Now, let’s shake on it. No more punching, okay?” There was a fatherly tone to his words and I once again wondered how old he was.
With some hesitation, I raised my hand to his, and we shook on it. The moment our hands touched, I regretted the deal. Maybe I should have upped the ante and not settled so quickly. It had been way too easy for him. I had suffered way more—especially since Alex had seen. It was too late, though. With my handshake, I had agreed; there was no turning back. Bummer.
“This way, Christy,” Jeremy said, pointing behind me with one hand and shutting the limo door with the other. “Follow Agent Miller. I’ll be right behind you.”
The echo of the limo door slamming was so loud, I jumped and followed Agent Miller like a scared rabbit. We walked toward a man who had one hand resting on a gun strapped to his waist. I shivered. This was it. I was going into FBI headquarters to be questioned. There would be no more pretending that I was going to prom or on a fancy date. I was about to face the hotel ballroom head on.
“Identification please,” he said, looking us over. The agents offered their badges again and he put them into a slot in the wall. He handed them back just a second later. “And th
is is?” he asked, staring at me.
“Christy Hadden. Here for questioning,” Jeremy answered, sounding very official all of a sudden. I supposed a place like this had to be pretty formal and precise. He handed Jeremy a new ID badge and he clipped it to my shirt.
Next to the guard and to his right, a green light came on. The wall opened up to reveal an elevator. We stepped inside, but nobody turned around to face the doors we had just walked through, like people usually do. Instead, we all stood with our backs to them. Weird. My insides jumped as we started our ascent, and my heart pounded faster and faster every level we climbed. When we stopped, the whole wall we’d been staring at, moved to its left, revealing a hallway. I’d never seen an elevator open like that before.
We walked down a narrow, non-descript hallway lined with closed doors, just like ones we’d seen on our tour. This time I got to go in one of those doors. It led to a small room with no window and no other door. In the center of the room was a table surrounded by chairs. It looked like a normal meeting room; not what I had imagined. I thought it would be like the ones I had seen so often on TV shows. I was, however, finding out that reality rarely mirrored TV.
“Have a seat, Christy,” Jeremy urged, his eyes looking toward the chairs.
They all looked the same, so I picked the one nearest me. It wasn’t hard, but soft and giving, with nice arm rests too. I saw no microphone, no tape recorder and no one-way mirror. This was definitely not an interrogation room—at least I tried to convince myself of that.
“I’ll be right back,” Jeremy said, shutting the door behind him.
I tried to think of nothing while he was gone by staring at the white wall in front of me. I couldn’t let myself start replaying the beheading just yet.
Jeremy returned with bottles of water, and a tall, military-looking man followed him.
“Christy, this is Special Agent Durrant,” Jeremy said, as they took seats opposite me. “I’ve read the letters you and your friends wrote. Yours was the most detailed; that is why you are the only one here. I know it will be difficult to relive it all again, but we need you to tell us what you saw. We will stop you and ask clarifying questions along the way. Tell us what you saw.”
Watched (The Watched Series) Page 8