“You were supposed to be watching her,” Val said with some hostility.
“I was watching you!”
They were silent then, both knowing it was only the fear talking.
Robbie was the next person to speak. “It’s not good. We have to get her to a hospital.”
“Agreed.” Val sped up, ignoring the shrinking sound of police sirens.
The roads were cluttered with other cars, most of them stuck in traffic and each as keen as the other to get home before midnight. If they wanted to save Jackie, they both knew they would have to be a hell of a lot quicker than this.
“Do whatever you have to do,” Robbie told him.
Val drove onto the sidewalk, overtaking cars. People leapt out of the way, saving themselves. The illegal act made them stick out like a sore thumb, but they didn’t care. For once, they had their priorities in order.
How could we have been so careless?
Robbie looked at Jackie, holding her head up but not sure if that was the right thing to do. He’d been trained in first aid but had no idea what to do in the event of a gunshot wound. But he did have an idea. Something that might help. He took the Swiss Army knife from his pocket and flicked open the sharpest blade. He pulled her hair taut and began to hack through it, pulling back and forth like he was operating a handsaw. The hair thinned and then snapped as he sliced through, and it came off in his hand.
“What are you doing?” Val asked, looking over his shoulder instead of at the sidewalk.
The van bumped up the curb, and they all bounced as they came back down from it.
“What’s necessary.” Robbie rummaged through her pockets, searching for anything she might have on her person. All he found was her driver’s license, which he stashed into his own pocket. He remembered Val telling her to burn it in case she got herself captured and identified, but Jackie had demanded that she keep it as a reminder of the life she’d left behind. It looked like Val had been right.
“She’ll be harder to recognize this way,” Robbie told him.
“I see,” Val said. “Good idea.”
They stopped on a quieter street, parking on the side of the road. Only a few people passed, carrying shopping bags and minding their own business. It was just as well considering what they were about to do, which would be dangerous enough even on an empty street.
“This is the closest I can get. We don’t want to be caught on camera.”
Robbie agreed. “We’ll need to move quickly.”
Jackie groaned as Robbie climbed out of the van and scooped her into his arms. She was turning a paler shade of white, and she didn’t look like Jackie Lang anymore, more like a short-haired vampire who’d just fed. Blood covered her mouth in horrific smears.
Val jumped out to help.
“No,” Robbie said. “You keep the van running, and stay low.”
It was with immediate effect that Val went straight back into the van and started up the engine. The headlights, however, stayed off. Only the low grumble of the engine made their presence obvious.
His arms growing weak under her weight, Robbie carried Jackie round the corner, trying not to further open her wound. He didn’t want to agitate it any more than it already had been. He pictured the bullet grazing her innards.
“We need attention!” He shouted as he approached the front doors of the hospital. An ambulance was parked up, and two paramedics dressed in bright yellow turned with their mouths agape. They’d probably hoped to get home early for Christmas. “She’s been shot.”
One of the medics pulled out a gurney, and Robbie lowered her onto it. They rushed her toward the door without hesitation. “I’m so sorry,” Robbie whispered into her ear.
Jackie gave no sign that she heard it.
As they approached the automatic glass doors and people swarmed around them, Robbie sloped off until he was concealed among them. For a few moments, he watched his friend being wheeled into the hospital. His stomach was in a knot.
I should never have let them hurt you, Jackie.
But he couldn’t regret it now. There was no time. He was aware of the camera above him. It was a sacrifice he’d been prepared to make, and although he would probably be dead by the time anyone of authority would review the footage, he wanted to spend as little time under the lens as possible.
Robbie headed back to the van, sat next to Val and kept rubbing his eyes, unbelieving. “They took her in,” he said. “We did the right thing, didn’t we?”
“No,” Val said. “We should never have gotten her involved in the first place.”
He was right, of course, but they’d had little choice, if any. “So what do we do now?”
“We carry on as planned.”
Robbie’s heart almost stopped. “You know that’s suicide?”
“I don’t care anymore,” Val said, his teeth gritted as he turned the steering wheel. “I want to take these bastards down, and that’s what I’m going to do. Whether you help me or not.”
He didn’t have to give his approval—Robbie Parker had made it quite clear that he was in it until the end. All he could do was pray that Jackie would pull through, and that they would live long enough to see her again.
Chapter Nineteen
The drapes were drawn to a close. It was often like that, especially since Rachel had been allowed to live in the cabin with Twitch. She’d once asked him why he continued to keep the windows covered but had no problem letting her go for a walk in the woods. To this, he only shook his head and stormed off without answer.
They were together at the pin board, the TV blaring in the background to help keep them awake. Rachel was helping him put together his theories, agreeing that some were accurate and then dismissing the more absurd ones.
“If Val Salinger is kept so tightly under wraps, maybe there’s something significantly special about him,” Twitch said, hoping for Rachel to finish his sentence.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… is h-he… human?”
Rachel laughed at him like a mean little girl. She hadn’t meant to, but it fell in line with the implausible ideas that gave conspiracy theorists a bad name. “No,” she told him, struggling to breathe through fits of laughter.
It wore off over a course of minutes, and then Rachel returned to his side. “This is wrong,” she told him, pulling down a photograph of Jackie and trying to be serious.
“It is?” Twitch looked shaken. It was as though she’d told him that A wasn’t the first letter of the alphabet. “But the newspapers—”
“The newspapers are trying to sell good stories.” Rachel read it over. The article attached to it stated that Jackie Lang had been sent undercover to follow the group’s movements and report back any weak spots she’d found. It was a badly constructed lie, of course. Even if she had been undercover all this time, she would have found plenty of weaknesses by now. “She’s one of the good guys.”
“Oh.” He scrunched up the clipping and threw it to one side, then looked up at the board.
“Who’s that guy?” Rachel pointed to a small man, younger than thirty with a gruesome scar across his neck. He was climbing into a limousine while the chauffeur held open the door for him.
“I d-don’t know this for sure yet, but I think he’s the m-man in charge.” He put his finger to the photograph and followed the string attached to it. “See?” Now he was pointing at a picture of the same man, surrounded by guards as he headed into a building. Everyone was dressed in military gear except for the man, who wore a black Armani suit and wore it well.
Rachel had always wondered what Charlie looked like but never would have guessed him to be so young. If Val had been working for the Agency for as long as he’d said, he must have seen employers come and go.
Behind her, as if a ghost had swooped down to whisper in her ear, she heard something familiar. She didn’t know what it was as first but knew that it was worth her attention. She looked up at the TV and watched the news. A black woman was
reporting about some unfortunate accident, while a picture of a large, modern building sat in the background.
It’s probably nothing.
Rachel returned to the board, studied the blank space and picked up a piece of paper. Across it, she scribbled, Took shelter in abandoned warehouse, and then she pinned it into the gap. “That should explain that.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But Blake was s-s-seen crossing the road outside a m-mall?”
“We needed food…” Rachel’s ears pricked again at the word gunshot coming from the TV report. She turned around, suddenly uninterested in the project they’d been working on. Her eyes went to the screen, where a field reporter took over and explained how a dying woman had come to be left there.
“What about this?” Twitch asked.
“Shh. Turn that up.”
Twitch sighed and cranked the volume up using the remote, and then sat quietly.
“Security footage has been given to us, which shows this man carrying the victim onto a gurney,” the reporter said. A black-and-white picture of the parking lot appeared on the screen, where a zoomed-in screenshot showed a man leaving the scene. It was unclear, and Rachel wondered if anyone would be able to recognize him.
The reporter continued: “The victim—who the LAPD are yet to reveal the name of—was left with a gunshot wound, having been shot in the stomach. We would like to warn viewers that the next image could be considered disturbing to some.”
A faded photograph of a woman came on the screen with a white background. The woman’s hair was long and dark. The skin was pale, save for the rosy blushes that colored her cheeks. It seemed like an old photo—obviously the best the journalist could have gotten under the circumstances.
Rachel strained her eyes. There was something about the woman that she recognized. At first, she thought it might have been somebody she’d worked with; a receptionist at the office who she’d passed every day without second thought. But then as she studied the jawline, the little button nose, and the scar across her eyebrow, Rachel recognized her. “That… that’s Jackie!”
“Jackie Lang? It c-c-can’t be.” Twitch stood up, looking closer.
“It is! It’s Jackie! Shh-shh.” She waved her hand to silence him, but the report came to an end, and Twitch turned off the TV.
Rachel looked at him in the dark, quiet room. “I can’t believe it.” She felt as though a brick had come out of the air and struck her skull. It was a toss-up between surprise and pain. Jackie was still alive, the reporter had said, but how long for?
“We should t-take a break.” Twitch set down the remote and began to clear up sheets of paper, organizing things into neat piles.
Rachel watched him. She needed to speak. Needed to ask him, and she had a feeling that he knew it but didn’t want it to happen. “Twitch.”
He continued shuffling, acting as though he hadn’t heard her.
“Twitch,” she said again, and then he stopped fussing. “I have to leave.”
Sadness welled in his moist eyes before he diverted his gaze. “I know… I suh-suppose I will drive you there, if you really must go.”
“Thank you.” Rachel stalked around the cabin, looking for things that might be hers. She hadn’t brought anything here, of course, but she’d accumulated some random items from Twitch: an origami boat, for one. She didn’t really want it, but she didn’t want to be impolite either. As far as she was concerned, it was sentimental.
She headed for the basement, stepped down into the room that still reeked of something moldy. It felt strange being down there, where he’d once kept her frightened and alone. But she’d since come to understand that he’d only wanted to help.
There was a startling rustle in the corner of the room, and Rachel curiously moved toward it. Splinter, she thought and winced at the idea that she could say goodbye to her friend. She pulled back the empty paper bag that had moved only seconds ago.
She found nothing.
“Are you r-ready?” Twitch asked from the top of the stairs.
Rachel felt her stomach knot. “I guess so.” She headed back up the stairs, regret stabbing her for not having said farewell to the rodent that had kept her company down there for so long. As they stepped out into the cold wintery air, the wind blowing a gale into their faces, she stopped to look back.
“What are you d-doing?” Twitch asked, unlocking the car.
“Just taking it in.” But all she could think about was Jackie.
It was a long drive back to Central LA, with Rachel wondering whether her driver’s constant twitching might prove dangerous on the roads. But he drove so slow it was almost impossible to crash. It did, however, take them a lot longer to get there; four hours at least. It was early morning.
When they finally arrived outside the hospital in the city, Twitch turned off the engine. “I’m sorry you h-have to leave,” he said.
I’m not, she thought. What am I saying? He’s so sweet to me.
“If you ev-ever need somewhere to l-lay low—”
“I know,” Rachel said. She was aching to go into the hospital and see her friend, but she didn’t want to rush saying goodbye to this one either. She’d already missed out on the opportunity of wishing Splinter a good rest of his life.
“Goodbye, Rachel. I’ll m-m-miss you.”
“You too, Twitch. Thank you for everything.” Feeling like a real bitch for abandoning him, she climbed out of the car and shut the door, then began to leave. Rachel had taken less than ten steps before she realized that he hadn’t driven away yet. She turned, looked at the car with the dark windows, through which she could see nothing. She went back, rapped on his window, and he rolled it down.
“Are you o-okay?” he asked, genuine concern across his face.
Rachel leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
Twitch smiled. She’d never seen it look so authentic. “Merry Christmas,” he said, then rolled up his window, started up the engine, and drove away.
Rachel took a moment to stand watching him. Would she miss him, or would it transpire that it’d only been nice to have a roof over her head and some cooked meals? Life with Twitch had certainly been better than living on the street, but would it be better than living in her own space again, if all this ever came to an end?
Wondering if she would ever go back to visit him—I will, I will see him again—she shuddered in the wind and headed toward the hospital, where Jackie Lang lay dying.
Chapter Twenty
The receptionist was a vindictive old crow on a power trip.
As Rachel waited in line, keeping her head down to shy her face from the security cameras, she listened as each and every visitor was rejected. “There’s a police investigation in that ward. You’ll have to wait until they say you can go.”
Rachel fled to the back of the waiting room as soon as she’d heard that.
Should I continue? The last thing she wanted was to be caught trying to get into the room. But she had to see Jackie. One way or another.
More people queued up to be spoken to like nobodies. Rachel watched them come and go, waiting for the police to leave so she could safely pay her visit. She waited for over two hours according to the clock on the far wall. It was coming up to three in the morning, and her eyes were just starting to close.
“Excuse me. I’m here to see the lady who was shot.”
Rachel’s ears pricked up, and she looked to the reception desk, where a tall but well-built man with graying hair stood over the desk. She listened closely.
“No visitors allowed,” the snotty receptionist said.
The man flashed something like a wallet and handed her a piece of paper. “I’m FBI, and you’re going to let me through,” he said.
Rachel tried not to laugh at the look on her face.
The receptionist resignedly checked her computer, fishing out the exact information. “Go up the elevator to the second floor, take your first left and then follow the corridor.” She pointed at
the nearby elevator and scowled at him. It reminded Rachel of when she’d once outsmarted her elementary-school teacher. It was the same look of angry humiliation from a miserable old woman.
The FBI agent headed toward the elevator. Rachel waited until someone else approached the desks, distracting the receptionist, and then she followed him. She saw him get into the elevator, and then she took the stairs. When they both came out on the correct floor, her footsteps echoed up the hallway. She stopped to remove her shoes. Much better, she thought as she walked silently behind him.
Rachel stopped on the corner, watching him go into the room. It was good to see there were no more police officers here, which made it was safe to conclude that the investigation had been tied up.
But then, why are the FBI here?
She put her shoes back on and waited for the man to return. It felt like days before he finally did. Rachel tucked away into the ladies’ toilets when she saw him coming. It was a shock to her system when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She stayed to freshen up, splashing cold water on her face and dabbing wet tissue on her armpits. Some stray blobs clung to her, but she didn’t care. At least she smelled a little better.
A few minutes later, she emerged in the hallway, peering up both ends for any sign of the FBI agent or any new police officers who may have come back to further their investigation. The coast is clear, she thought as she headed toward Jackie’s room. With her hand on the knob, she took a deep breath and went inside.
It was dark in here, save for the dim bulb above the bed—it was the only bed. Rachel looked at the woman who lay unconscious, surrounded by a number of machines. Some of them made beeping noises, others hissed or whirred. Rachel stepped forward, approaching the bed. Why, oh why, did I ever think this was a good idea? As she drew up beside it, she looked down. It was Jackie—her hair had been cut short but it was definitely her.
“Oh, Jackie,” Rachel said, studying her friend. She took her hand. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this situation. If I hadn’t forced you to waste time coming after me. If I hadn’t…” It was tough not to cry, but recently she’d had enough practice at keeping her cheeks dry. “Where is everybody?” she whispered under her breath as if Jackie—or anyone else—could answer her. “How did things get so screwed up?”
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