I am so mesmerized by her appearance that it takes me a few seconds to realize that she called me Mercy. In my short time in Lyla’s body only two people have known who I really am, and neither of those encounters went very well. Bracing myself for the worst, I nod to let her know that yes, I am Mercy.
I wait for her to speak.
“I’m Rae.” She holds out her hand for me to shake. “I’m a friend of Gage’s.”
When I don’t reciprocate the gesture she pulls her hand back and says, “Okay.”
“What do you want?” I ask her.
She adjusts her stance, shifting from warm to put-off and annoyed. “I came here to help you,” she tells me.
Get in line, I think. Gage’s help nearly got me killed and Nathaniel’s help left Lyla’s neighbor dead. Unless this Rae girl has an exact plan of how to get me out of Lyla’s body without having to kill her, I’m not interested in anything she has to offer.
“You don’t want my help, do you?” She steps between me and the back entrance to Wally’s. “I can understand that. And just between us girls,” she leans in close, “I don’t want to help you either. You are a soul-sucking Breacher and nothing would give me more pleasure than to end you right now.”
Irritation takes a backseat to fear. My palms start to sweat.
“Relax,” she continues. “I’m not going to kill you. Like I said, I’m here to help you.”
“Why?”
“For Gage.” She spins around and starts back down the alley toward the sidewalk. Just as she reaches it, she whirls back around and calls out, “Meet me tonight. Seven thirty, corner of 13th and J. I’ll be waiting.”
I watch her disappear around the corner. It’s only when she is out of sight that I realize I’m trembling. She says she wants to help me. She says she’s doing it for Gage. Can I trust her? I suppose I don’t have much choice.
It’s difficult to believe what my life has come to in less than twenty-four hours. I never should’ve let Lyla throw me a birthday party. I told her I didn’t want one. Nothing good ever comes from celebrating my birthday. But I’d gone along with it because she was so determined to make the night special for me. It’s not her fault things ended up the way they did. It’s mine.
The guilt is crushing. But it isn’t the only emotion nipping at me. There’s plenty of anger and resentment in the mix and all of it is directed at my mother.
As far as I knew, my mother was Molly Sherman. She was a student at Sacramento City College when she met my father. He was the teaching assistant for her Introduction to Western Civilizations class. My dad told me how he was so taken with her that when he stood to greet her, he knocked over his cup of coffee, spilling it down the front of his pants. She’d burst out laughing. He couldn’t help himself, he’d laughed too.
For their first date he’d taken her to see a revival of Psycho. It’s not exactly the most romantic movie in the world, but she’d never seen it and my dad has a major thing for Hitchcock. They’d spent the entire movie huddled together sharing popcorn.
They’d married four years later on the anniversary of their first date. My mother had no family to speak of so they married in a small courthouse ceremony with only a judge and my paternal grandmother for a witness.
They hadn’t taken a honeymoon, not in the traditional sense. There was no money for a Hawaiian vacation or anything like that, so my dad had created a paradise for her in the backyard. He’d set up Tiki torches and a picnic blanket. He’d special ordered a Hawaiian Lei from the local florist. They’d eaten barbecue and fresh fruit.
I was born ten months later. My mother had stayed home with me while my dad worked. She was the best. She took me to the park almost every day. She made cookies and hot chocolate. When I was sick, she made her famous chicken soup and sometimes she even slept on a chair next to my bed just in case I needed her during the night.
How could she not tell me who she really was, or who I really was for that matter? Why did she keep it from me?
“Ly, what’re you doing out here?” Kate dries her hands off on a rag as she approaches.
I shake my head and start to cry. She folds me into her and holds me while I sob. Kate lets me get it all out, holding me tightly until the very last tear falls.
“What am I gonna do?”
“We’ll get through this,” she assures me. “Just like we’ve gotten through everything else. Together.”
“I can’t do it. It’s too much.” Just when I think the well of tears is dry, more come gushing forth.
“Hey,” she says firmly. “You can’t fall apart. You have to just keep going. One foot in front of the other.”
It’s her standard pep talk, one that I’ve heard plenty of times before whenever Lyla or I faced something difficult.
I need my dad. I need Lyla. I need someone to help me. All the things I want to say, but know that I can’t, swim around my mouth and lodge there until I choke on them.
“Breathe, Ly. Try and calm down. This is the worst of it and it’ll only get better,” Kate tells me.
If she only knew how wrong she was.
Chapter Sixteen
For the next several hours I concentrate on the menial tasks at hand. I clear and wipe down tables. I sweep and mop the floor. I even clean the bathrooms. Putting Wally’s back in order is all I think about until we finish. When Kate flips off the lights and we walk out, I worry that my mind will start to race and wander again.
Kate’s cell phone rings once we get to the car. She grabs my hand, gives me a strange look, like she needs to take a moment, and then she answers the phone.
“Hi, Eric.”
Dad! The ache for him is nearly overwhelming. It takes some strength not to yank the phone from Kate’s hand just so I can hear his voice.
Kate nods along while he speaks and then she says, “Of course. We can do that. We’ll be over soon. Okay. Bye.”
“What did he say?” I ask.
“He wants us to help him pick out something for Mercy to wear.”
“To wear?”
“For the burial.”
“Oh.”
The burial. At least he isn’t going to cremate me. This did little to give me comfort. I am still dead. It seems wrong somehow that I should be asked to pick out my own burial outfit.
I force myself to think like Lyla would in this situation. If she were here, instead of me, she would take the task of selecting my last outfit very seriously.
When Kate and I get out of the car and stand on the sidewalk in front of my house, it seems neither of us is willing to take the first step.
“Ready?” Kate asks me.
“Nope.”
She puts her hand on the small of my back, nudging me forward.
The house isn’t much to speak of, but it’s lovingly cared for. While my mother was around she kept house, spending her days cooking, cleaning and occasionally shopping. She made this house a home and, in her absence, my father and I did our best to maintain it.
The family room is cozy and comfortable, with Pottery Barn slouchy couches, a leather ottoman, and a set of matching recliners. Above the mantel hangs a family photo taken seven years ago. Books and newspapers are strewn about. Between my father and me, we have enough magazines to fill a doctor’s office.
Beyond the living room and off to the left is a dining room and a tiny kitchen. To the right are my father’s office, a bathroom, and my room. My father’s room is in the back left corner of the house. He keeps the door closed at all times.
When my dad answers the door it’s obvious that he’s been crying. He hugs us both and offers us something to drink, which we decline. Kate tells him we won’t take too long. He profusely thanks us for helping him and we tell him that we’re happy to help.
Kate follows me into my room. I stop about halfway in.
“You okay, Ly?” I shake my head no. “Me either,” Kate agrees as she goes to the closet and flips through its conte
nts.
“What are you looking for?” I ask her.
“Something … respectable, not flashy, and not entirely depressing.”
“How do you know so much about this?” I asked her.
She looks at me for a second like she thinks I’m crazy and then she says, “Well, I have done this twice.”
I’d forgotten. Kate has buried both of her parents. She’s planned funerals and made arrangements. She knows all about this kind of thing.
I wander about, feeling strange to be in my room as an observer and not an occupant. I notice things about myself for the first time, like how all of the books on the second shelf of my bookcase start with the letter P. I don’t remember doing that on purpose.
“How about this?” Kate holds up my tan skirt and white blouse. I do not want to be buried in that.
“Kinda boring, don’t you think?”
“Okay, what about this?” Next she holds up a black dress that I’ve never worn. The price tags are still attached.
“I’d forgotten about that.” I take the dress from Kate and lay it across the bed.
Kate picks up the price tag. “I wonder why she never wore it.”
“She was waiting for her first date.” I’d never actually told Lyla that. Lyla didn’t even know I had the dress because if I showed it to her she would’ve made me wear it and I wanted to save it for a special occasion. My funeral is not the special occasion I had in mind.
“I’m not sure we should bury her in black though,” I say.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Kate grabs the hanger and puts the dress back in the closet.
“Let me look.” It is, after all, my closet. I pull out a cream-colored sheath with a tiny gold belt around the middle. “This is good, right?”
“That’s perfect. What about shoes?”
“Umm … ” I search the floor. “These will work.” I show her a pair of nude kitten heels, one of the only pair of high heels I own. If Lyla were here, she would’ve picked these out first and then picked a dress to match. Shoes are Lyla’s specialty.
“I think we’re done here then.” Kate scans the room. “Are we really going to do this?” She looks to me for the answer, but I don’t have one so I hug her until she pulls away.
Taking one last look around my room, I wonder if I’ll ever see it again. Will my dad throw my stuff away or keep it a shrine like people do sometimes? It’s tempting to take a few things with me, like my favorite USC t-shirt or the dried corsage from last year’s father/daughter dance, but I leave them all, too afraid that if I take anything, I’ll try and take everything.
Kate calls out to my dad as we leave my bedroom, “Eric.”
“In the kitchen,” he calls back.
He stands at the counter, looking out into the backyard. The sink is full of last night’s dishes.
“We left the clothes on the bed,” Kate tells him.
“Thank you.”
We say our good-byes and I leave, knowing that the next time I see him it will be at my funeral.
Chapter Seventeen
Gage
“You need to stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy.” Rae glares at me.
“I hate waiting.”
“No shit. She said she’d be here. Just relax.”
I reach into my jacket pocket for my phone and press the home button. The screen lights up, letting me know it’s seven forty-five PM. “She’s fifteen minutes late.”
“That doesn’t mean anything other than she’s late. Stop reading into everything.”
“If only we could figure out what Nathaniel wants.”
“Does it matter what he wants? She’ll lead us to him, we’ll kill him, and then it’ll all be over.”
“I don’t like the idea of using Mercy as bait.”
“Yeah, well, you’re going to need to get over that.”
I give Rae a dirty look.
“Fine.” She throws up her hands. “We’ll keep your precious Mercy safe.”
There’s nothing in her tone that even remotely resembles sincerity. But before I have the chance to say anything, Mercy comes walking down the street toward us.
Her gait is steady, cautious. I can see that she’s nervous and that she’s trying to hide it. But she’s here and that’s a start. As much as I want to rush to her, I don’t want to startle her, so I plant my feet and wait.
I hate waiting.
“Hey,” Mercy says.
“Thanks for coming,” I say. She nods. “It’s this way.”
I lead the way while Rae brings up the rear. It isn’t my intention to flank Mercy; it just sort of happens that way. From the way she keeps looking over her shoulder at Rae, while I keep looking over my shoulder at her, it’s a wonder that neither of us walks headfirst into a street lamp.
The entrance to the warehouse is nondescript, just another door on what appears to be an abandoned building. It isn’t until we get into the entryway that it’s possible to notice that this is no ordinary warehouse.
The keypad on the wall to my left flips open at my touch. I type in the code and lean forward to allow for the facial recognition test. Once I’m cleared, the inner door slides open allowing us to pass.
I step aside as Rae leads Mercy through the entrance and into the warehouse. Mercy looks around, taking everything in, but she doesn’t comment. Zee and Jinx are waiting for us at the Observation Desk.
Mercy tries, but she can’t hide her reaction the O.D.. Her eyes are as big as saucers.
“What is this place?” she asks.
“This is my baby,” Jinx speaks up. “Pretty awesome, don’t you think? We’re wired into every network, every surveillance system. It’s our window to the world.”
“So you’re spying on everyone?”
“We’re protecting everyone,” Rae says sharply. “From Breachers like you.”
“Nice work,” Mercy shoots back while she gestures toward Lyla’s body.
“Breachers give off a different energy,” Jinx continues. “Like a heat source. That’s how we know where they are.”
“Then you know about Mr. Sullivan and that Nathaniel Black guy. You could see it?” Mercy asks Jinx.
He answers, “Not exactly.”
“We can see the energy, but that doesn’t identify the specific Breacher,” I tell her. “So, it was Nathaniel?”
Mercy keeps watching the multi-screen projection while she speaks. “Mr. Sullivan said he had our mail. As soon as I got inside his house I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t act. It’s like I talked myself out of it or something.” She pauses, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then he grabbed for my throat and I couldn’t breathe.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, putting my hand on her shoulder. I expect her to shrug me off, but she doesn’t.
“I thought I was going to die, again,” she whispers. “I don’t know where Nathaniel came from or how he got there. He was just there. And he killed Mr. Sullivan and that’s when things got weird. Or weirder, I guess.”
Slowly, so as not to scare her, I remove my hand from her shoulder. “Can you describe it for us?”
“I’m not even sure what I saw. It was like this black fog or cloud or something. And it looked like it might be a man, but I couldn’t really tell. It didn’t last long.”
“What do you mean?” I ask her.
She looks up at me when she says, “Nathaniel had a knife and he stabbed him or it, or whatever, and then it was gone.”
Rae, Jinx, Zee, and I all exchange knowing looks. What goes unspoken between us is our heightened sense of uncertainty regarding Nathaniel. It’s time to stop messing around and figure out what he’s up to once and for all.
Though I don’t like it, Rae is right. We need Mercy to get to him. Whether or not she’s willing to cooperate is still up in the air.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Mercy asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I look
to Zee. “You want to take this?”
Zee steps forward and Mercy recoils. He’s intimidating in stature, with the look of someone who shouldn’t be messed with, but at heart Zee’s a creature full of compassion and understanding. Fiercely loyal and brave, I’ve put my life in his hands on more than one occasion and I’d do it again without even thinking.
He bends at the waist just slightly, as if he’s bowing, and says to Mercy, “If you’ll just follow me this way, please.”
Mercy looks to me for reassurance and with a slight nod of my head I signal to her that Zee can be trusted.
I follow them down the hall to the Records Room, the place where we keep and store all of our investigations. Zee is the Records Keeper, a librarian of sorts.
“Right through here.” Zee opens the Records Room door.
We cross the threshold into a room that looks very much like a library. Long tables are capped with bookshelves that appear to stretch endlessly into the distance.
Zee pulls out a chair for Mercy at a table near the center of the room. He dims the lights with a remote control. With a few more clicks a large screen lights up the wall in front of us.
A row of people dressed in white robes appear on the screen.
“What is this?” Mercy asks.
“Nathaniel Black’s sentencing. I thought you’d like to see for yourself exactly what we’re up against,” Zee explains to her.
“This is The Assembled,” I point to the screen. “They’re keepers of peace and they make sure that the human world stays safe.”
We turn our attention back to the screen.
Samuel Maine, first assistant, speaks first, “Nathaniel Black, do you deny the charges brought against you by the High Council?”
Nathaniel, sharply dressed in a black suit, crisp silver shirt, and a matching silver tie, sits behind a large wooden table. His eyes shimmer in the fluorescent light, giving them an unnatural glow. When he smiles, his painfully white teeth flash wickedly. His hair is slicked back. He has the air of a smooth-talking used car salesman.
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