Forget Me Not

by Stacey Nash

  After sliding into the back seat, I beckon for Will to follow.

  “I don’t like it, but you’re not going alone.” He glowers as he follows me into the pickup and slams the door.

  I slide into the middle seat so I can see out front, and my glance lands on the ancient dash, which is all exposed wires and cracked speedo. I hope to God this rusty truck doesn’t break down. My thumbnail finds its way to my mouth. Anxiousness roils inside me, much like the time I crashed Dad’s car. The loud bang, the white powder gushing into the air, making it difficult to breath. And the feeling of panic. So much panic. Breathe, Mae, breathe. Now, the strong burned chemical smell rushes back to me like it clings to my clothes once again.

  Will reaches across and places his hand over mine on the center seat. I jump and let out a small squeak. He squeezes my hand. “Mae, I won’t let anything bad happen.”

  Bertie pulls a ball of wool and knitting needles from the glove compartment and starts to knit, still muttering about agents.

  “What are you saying?” I ask her.

  Al’s eyes meet mine in the rear vision mirror, but it’s Bertie who speaks. “We know people who can help, but don’t use the cover-up again. It will make them come.”

  I bite down on my thumb so hard it hurts.

  Will squeezes my hand and draws my thumb away from my mouth. What I have got us into?

  Chapter Three

  I PEER OUT THE old pickup’s front window. My butt’s sore from sitting on the hard seat for hours, but I don’t complain. It seems so trivial. A cluster of buildings appear every few seconds from where they’re hidden amongst the trees which encircle the area. The truck bumps its way over the pitted track, jostling me. We come around a corner, pass through the trees, and a large stone homestead flanked by several smaller buildings comes into view. The old pickup shudders to a stop at a faded and worn picket fence. The whole place looks empty, perhaps even abandoned.

  A flash of yellow at the corner of my vision catches my attention. When I turn, the sun glints off it again, causing my eyes to squint against the glare. It comes from something in the hand of someone hanging upside down in a massive oak tree by the main homestead. His legs curl over a low branch, and in one fluid movement he flips out of the tree and lands surely on his feet, staring in our direction.

  He’s somehow familiar. Dressed all in black, his hair shines reddish brown in the sun, and an aura of fierceness surrounds him. Flexed muscles, intense gaze, alert stance. He looks like a tiger. He looks like danger.

  It’s him—the leather jacket guy from my room.

  I grab the handle, wind down the window, thrust my head through the open space, and yell, “Hey. Hey, you!” It’s too late; he’s gone.

  Will opens the door, and I shoot out of the cab. “Who was that?” he asks.

  Al’s not listening; his gaze follows a young kid darting around the side of the house with a black and white dog in pursuit. They fall and tumble across the lawn. “Where’s Beau?” Al calls.

  “Inside, watching,” the kid says with a wave.

  Will and I follow Al up onto a wide flowing veranda whose wooden boards creak under our feet. I trust Al, but concern makes my back tense. Something brushes my shoulder, and I flinch, but it’s just Will.

  Al pulls open the front door and ushers us inside, resting a comforting hand on my shoulder as I pass through. The monotone voice of the Channel 10 newsreader comes from a room on the right. We turn toward the sound of her carefully controlled voice.

  “I’ve got a couple of youngsters in need of your help,” Al says to the back of a tattered, old armchair. Light blue fabric peeks out between numerous patches.

  The chair spins on its base, and a man whose skin matches his milk chocolate eyes scans me. He wears long shorts which dangle over his bent knees and an oversized yellow, green, and red striped shirt. They’re paired with sandals and a knitted, striped beanie. He offers his hand in greeting. “Beau Fairsmith’s the name.”

  I wait a moment too long before shaking his hand. He’s such a contradictory ensemble, I’m lost for words. “Ah…,” I finally say. “Anamae Gilbert and William Avery.”

  The blond newsreader’s voice changes tone, and my attention darts to the ancient television in the corner. “A tragedy occurred today when a man in his early thirties plummeted from the top of an office building to his death. Details on hand are sketchy, but police have issued these surveillance pictures showing a young man and woman at the scene. Anyone with information regarding these two suspects should notify the police immediately. The suspects should not be approached, as they are considered armed and dangerous.”

  A pencil sketch of a moonlike face with round eyes and a small dimple just off-center of the left cheek pops up on the screen. Oh my God, it’s Will. There’s no mistaking it. A phone number flashes underneath, and an uncanny likeness of me follows.

  My mouth forms the shape to exclaim ‘what,’ but the word stalls on my lips. Someone’s dead, and they think we did it. The guy who attacked me, did they find his body? Surely they couldn’t link him to me, and Will wasn’t even there. It doesn’t make any sense.

  “Ya got him!” Al claps me on the shoulder, and I blink at him.

  Will’s brows knit together. The same look he gets when he’s put an engine back together and there’s a part left over.

  “We didn’t kill anyone. He came after me, he tried to hurt me. We weren’t even near an office building.” I can hear the crack in my voice and know I’m verging on hysterical. Breathe, Mae, breathe.

  Beau points a chunky remote at the television, and it fades to a black screen. “Ahh, I bet you two have something not quite normal. Perhaps odd things happen when you use it in a certain way. The sort of thing some people might call magic.” The end of his sentence raises like it’s a question. He looks at us with expectant, wide eyes.

  My hand darts to the pendant under my shirt and pins it to my chest. I exchange a troubled glance with Will.

  “Magic? Yeah, maybe,” he says.

  “They have a cover-up. Dimwits used it twice in broad daylight and brought themselves to the attention of The Collective.” Al rubs his brow.

  Beau pulls himself up out of the old armchair, suddenly more alert. “The Collective will sacrifice everything to ensure this type of knowledge is not in the hands of the public. You are incredibly lucky or clever to be unharmed.”

  The Collective. That’s what Al said too. I glance at Will sideways. His mouth hangs slightly open, his eyes wide. He looks as astonished as I feel. Beau’s gaze shifts beyond me, and his face lights up in a smile. When I look over my shoulder, I see Bertie standing in the doorway, waving. She smiles and continues past the room; obviously she and Al are well known around here.

  “When tech is used, an alarm is activated, alerting The Collective,” Beau continues. “If the use is unauthorized, they send a scout to appropriate the tech and contain any knowledge of its existence.”

  The man in the East Coast Gas uniform, he must have been a scout.

  “What do you mean?” Will asks.

  Beau rubs his forehead. “Technology, tools, machines—items which perform a specific function. Some tech is common, like cell phones, computers, and satellite tracking, but other tech is not known or used at all. The Collective works hard to keep its knowledge hidden from the general population.”

  I shake my head. “I should have known it wasn’t magic.”

  The blue flower on the pendant made me appear invisible. Not magic, but technology. My hand still clutches it protectively. How does it work? It has to be some trick with light. I’ve always hated science; I spend most of class daydreaming of being outside with Will and my camera, soaking up his contagious happiness.

  Beau’s voice breaks my thoughts. “We also have an alarm. We use it to intercept Collective agents and stop them from harming innocent people. The radar pinpoints the location of the use of tech.”

  The boy, the one in the leather jacket. My gaze darts
back to the window and the tree branches reaching over the lawn, but I can’t see him. He must have been sent to intercept the gas man.

  “This is a safe house. The Collective can’t reach it. You’ll have to stay here while we secure your safety,” Beau says.

  “A safe house?” Will asks.

  My mind spins again. It’s doing a lot of that this afternoon. There’s so much to take in. This morning we played a dumb game, and now we’re here in the middle of ‘great danger.’

  “There are several of them across the country, and each house has a number of people. We will give you assistance.”

  My mind whirls. Scouts, collective, safe houses. It’s too much to take in. I move toward an armchair identical to Beau’s, place my hands on its soft, well-worn arms, and sink into it.

  “I can’t stay here. My dad, I need to go home to him,” I say. “After Mom, he won’t cope if I disappear too. He—he needs me. He doesn’t even have his mother anymore.” I hang my head in my hands, twining my fingers into my hair. He’s balanced so close to the edge of despair, and I won’t push him over.

  “They’re relentless. They won’t give up until they find you,” Al says. He’s still here. I’d almost forgotten him. “It’s not safe. You can’t outrun them forever. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on your old man.”

  Will’s already rigid stance stiffens further. “What do you mean ‘not safe’?”

  “Mae is a threat to the secret knowledge of advanced technology,” Al says, “and The Collective eliminates their threats.”

  Will looks straight into my eyes. “We have to stay until this is sorted.”

  His complete turnaround brings a scowl to my face. “You weren’t there when we lost her. You don’t understand.”

  He raises his brows and gives me his ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ look.

  “Fine, we’ll stay until we can figure out how to go home. But I will let Dad know I’m safe.” My jaw tightens.

  Beau steps forward, closer to Will and me. “I’ll send one of our men. We’ll make sure your Dad knows you’re safe.”

  Al fidgets from foot to foot. “Mae, I’ll call him as soon as I get back, and I’ll follow it up with a visit soon after.” He beckons me with curling fingers, and I go to him. Al pulls me into his bony frame and pats my back with a warm hand. “It will be okay, sweetheart.”

  I nod and step back, fixing my gaze on Beau. “Thank you.”

  Something in the room changes, the air, the atmosphere, I’m not sure. But my back prickles like the sun warming it on a cold day, only it’s not comforting. The hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end, and uneasiness blooms in my stomach. Eyes are on me. I can feel them. Beau looks over my shoulder, and his brown eyes light up. “Ah, Jax, just the young man I need.”

  I twist around, peering over my shoulder. It’s him. The young guy from my room, the same one who swung down from the tree. He leans against the door, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black leather jacket. His unreadable green eyes hold my gaze, and his mouth turns up in a forced smile.

  The way he stands makes me think he doesn’t have a worry in the world, nor does he care what we think. But something about him oozes danger. It’s just below the surface, like a lion dozing in the sun. He doesn’t acknowledge we’ve met. Instead, his green eyes slip away from me, letting me really look at him. He’s taller than I am, but not as tall as Will. More like average height for a guy. Chestnut hair sweeps over his forehead in an unkempt mess like it’s never brushed. I can’t pull my gaze away from his chiseled features. He’s not slight or stocky, but somewhere between.

  “Anamae, William, meet Jax Belfry.” Beau points between us.

  Will holds out his hand.

  Jax Belfry looks at it with a sleepy expression and makes no move to shake. His blank gaze slides to the television instead. He’s rude.

  “Anamae and William are in trouble with The Collective. They’re in need of refuge. Show them around, make them feel at home, and when they’re a bit less tense, bring them to dinner. They must be hungry,” Beau says.

  Jax nods without looking away from the screen.

  “Oh, and stay close. Especially to her.” Beau moves his fingers across the air in a running motion.

  Jax nods again, then spins on his heel and stalks out of the room. I realize my head sways with his gait and force it to stop. The way he moves is almost hypnotic. Will and I exchange a quick glance as we follow him out of the room. Who does this guy think he is?

  “It was you,” I say to the back of Jax’s head.

  “Not now.”

  Seriously, he’s brushing me off? He’s not getting off easy. I need answers, and I want them now. “That man, what happened?”

  He turns and gives me a level look. “I said, not now.”

  “You owe me an answer.”

  “I owe you nothing.”

  “What?” The arrogant ass, he owes me an explanation. Just because he saved me from that agent, doesn’t give him the right to blow me off. I draw my brows together and shoot him a scowl.

  Will looks at me, his gaze full of unspoken questions, but I shake my head. I don’t know what to tell him just yet.

  We follow Jax down a hallway dotted with doors.

  “Do you know him?” Will asks.

  I hold my hand in front of my mouth as a barrier against unwanted ears. “He’s the one from the attack at my house.”

  Will nods, the corners of his mouth downturned. “The one who helped?”

  “You think they’d let a scout walk around like he owns the place?”

  He smiles. “True.”

  “Guess old Al isn’t so crazy after all.”

  Will looks at me with bulging eyes and juts his chin out in an impersonation of Crazy Al. “No refunds without magic.”

  We both chuckle, but it’s halfhearted. If only we’d known.

  Jax saunters down the hallway without looking back. Flat out ignoring us and sparking a growing irritation within me. We follow him through a wide, open doorway and into a large kitchen that smells of onions, fresh fruit, and cooking. A huge, heavy timber island marks the center of the room, and a robust woman stands at it dicing vegetables. She raises her head, and her round face splits into a smile. She wipes her pale, chubby hands on the lime apron fixed around her middle.

  “Two extras tonight, Martha.” Jax steals a carrot from the pile.

  She swipes the back of her hand across her creamy forehead. “Hey. That will come off your dinner plate.”

  “The kitchen.” Jax flourishes the carrot through the air. “Our mediocre meals are prepared right here.”

  “Get out of my kitchen, you ungrateful brat,” Martha says, a hint of jest in her motherly voice.

  “Gladly.” He bites down on the carrot, shoves his free hand back in his pocket, and strolls out the door.

  Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and her mouth turns up in a friendly smile as she looks at me, then Will. “Welcome.”

  Will looks over his shoulder as we leave. “Thanks.”

  “We’re not staying long,” I say.

  Jax uses the half-eaten carrot to point across the hall. “Dining room.” He points down the hall to a door on the left. “Library, next to that Beau’s office, and we started in the family room.” Several other closed doors don’t rate a mention.

  We walk through a door at the end of the hallway. We stand on a wooden porch made up of row upon row of wooden planks sweeping around the entire exterior of the building. A dog with long, shaggy hair as black as his nose and a white stripe right down the center of his face runs around Jax. It’s the same dog as earlier, but now there’s no sign of the kid. The dog butts his head against Jax’s legs, demanding attention.

  “Hi, Ace, how are you, boy?” Jax ruffles the dog’s ears, but he doesn’t hold Ace’s attention for long. His ears prick as his gaze falls on chickens pecking the ground near a huge vegetable garden. With a sharp yap, Ace runs off toward them.

  Will chuckles, and Jax
calls the dog back.

  The canine does as he’s bidden, almost bowling me over, but I sidestep out of his path just in time.

  Jax nods toward a tiny outbuilding. “Not much of interest out here. Laundry’s over there. It’s old fashioned, but it works.”

  “We only have what we’re wearing.” I have no clothes, no hairbrush, no camera, nothing.

  Will’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Guess you’ll start to smell pretty bad before long.” He chuckles.

  I roll my eyes, and Jax continues his stroll, too cool to even acknowledge us. The entire time he’s showed us around it’s like he couldn’t give a damn. I don’t care though. Why should I? He heads toward a large outbuilding, and we follow him inside. Drawers and shelves holding an assortment of items line one whole wall. Vespa style scooters and an odd looking motorbike lean propped up against the far wall. It reminds me of Will’s workshop.

  A tall, thin man with protective goggles over his eyes stands behind a bench, engrossed in what looks to be a leather armband with a deep red stone in its center. He presses the stone, and a bluish oval pops up in front of him. It has a transparent quality, almost like tinted torchlight.

  “Whoa, that is seriously cool,” Will says.

  The man looks up. His gaze flits over Will to me and settles on Jax. He slides his goggles up onto the top of his head, making his hair stand up in a spiked halo. “What’ve you got for me this time?”

  Jax leans against the counter. “What if I said nothing?”

  “I wouldn’t believe you.” The man’s gaze moves from me to Will. “Jax Belfry is the best young Resistance defender, and he always gets their tech.” He smiles like they’re friends.

  Jax looks at the ground and kicks a long, thick bolt. Ace yelps, chases after it, and runs back to drop it at Jax’s feet. “Whatever,” he says. “I picked this up today from the scout sent out for her tech.” He pulls the fake gas man’s yellow meter out of his pocket and tosses it to the man, who deftly catches it from the air.