Flee

by Francine Pascal

  The guy groaned.

  “You thoughtwhat?” the girl spat. She shook her head and caressed his darkening forehead. “That you’d beat somebody up for kicks? Jesus! You know, I should call the cops.” She squinted toward the street. “This is sick.Sick.” She seemed to be talking to herself more than Gaia.

  “I thought he was trying to sell you drugs,” Gaia said, fighting to regain her strength.

  “Well, you thought wrong, then, didn’t you?”

  “But I—”

  “It was none of your freaking business what we were talking about.”

  The guy’s eyelids fluttered. “Whasa. . . what’s happening?” he moaned.

  Best not to answer that,Gaia thought. She tried to smile. “I’m really sorry,” she said.

  The girl ignored her.

  Gaia opened her mouth again, then thought betterof it. She was too weak. She felt like puking.The reality of the situation struck her with the force of one of her own punches: she’d just knocked an innocent guy out cold.And why? But it was best not to answer that, either. She turned and shambled back onto the street. One thing was certain, though: in spite of the fact that she wanted to lie down in the gutter and die, the experience wasn’t a total wash. Yes, at the very least she’d proved her own point. Itwastime to move on. Time to get the hell out of this neighborhood for good. Solitaire was sounding better and better.

  Sick Fetish

  TOM BLINKED AS SOMEBODY’S FACE swam into view. His head was pounding. He was lying on the floor, looking up at. . .who?A woman. A woman who was pointing a gun at him. Her features were fuzzy, and for a moment he thought he was hallucinating. His heart squeezed painfully. This one looked even more like Katia than Charlotte had. He couldn’t believe it. Maybe this was some kind of sick fetish of Loki’s—to find female agents who bore a striking resemblance to Tom’s dead wife. Or maybe Loki hadthem surgically altered. After all, Loki’s feelings for Tom’s wife were no secret, either.

  “Get up,” the woman barked, motioning for him to stand.

  Careless,Tom thought, angry at himself. No, foolish. He’d been so engrossed with the computer disk, he’d forgotten to take even the most rudimentary precautions. He shook his head and sat up, tapping the back of his skull. His fingers came back wet with blood. But that was a good sign. If the wound hadn’t scabbed yet, then he hadn’t been out for very long.

  He glanced at the computer. She’d turned it off. The disk was no longer in the drive.

  “Move it!” she ordered.

  Tom nodded absently and lumbered to his feet. He overplayed his wooziness, teetering toward the desk. The woman lowered her gun for a split second, perhaps debating whether or not to steady him. It was just the opportunity he needed.Now!He spun, lashing out with his foot, striking a pressure point just above her ankle. She cried out and crumpled slightly. With one hand Tom wrenched the gun away from her and completed the spin, using the momentum to smash his other elbow against her forehead.

  She tumbled to the floor, flat on her back.

  “Bastard,” she spat in Russian. She clutched her skull with both hands.

  Tom cocked the hammer and pointed the gun atthe woman’s heart. “Tell me where Loki is,” he panted, patting her down for the disk. He snatched it from her back pocket and shoved it in his own. His own pain seemed very far away.

  The woman remained silent.

  “Tell me!” he snapped.

  “He’s in New York,” she muttered finally.

  Tom waited.

  “Chelsea. That is all I know,” she finished. She removed her hands from her face. Her eyes blazed with fury.

  “That’s it?”

  “You can go to hell. You’re a dead man.”

  Tom’s fingertip danced over the trigger. He hesitated for a moment. That face prevented him from shooting her; even in a rage, her features reminded him too much of Katia’s. But maybethatwas why Loki chose these women. Because he knew how hard it would be for Tom to harm anyone who resembled his wife.

  If you let her live, you’ll just be giving him another victory.

  He fired the bullet.

  From: smoon@alloymail.com

  To: gaia13@alloymail.com

  Time: 8:05A.M.

  Re: Confused

  Hi, Gaia,Sorry I didn’t reply sooner. I’ve been busy.

  Thanks for your letter. I’m glad you sent it.

  I do want to talk. I’m ready to tell you everything. Can you meet me tonight for dinner at the

  Bubble Lounge on Church Street, 8P.M.?Please say yes.

  Sam

  critical juncture

  Was this a date? The answer was most probably no, even though it had all the trappings of a date: girl meets boy alone for dinner at a fancy Tribeca restaurant.

  Right Wrong Time

  “HEY!” ED HELD UP A HAND AND signaled to Gaia as she carried her lunch tray through the cafeteria, right past his table. If it wasn’t for those freaking crutches, he’d jump out of his chair and plant himself in front of her. “Earth to Gaia! Over here!”

  Finally.

  She paused and shot Ed one of her impenetrable stares. Then she smiled. Slightly, anyway. “Oh. I’m sorry,” she said. She slid into a chair behind him.

  Ed frowned. “Anything you want to tell me?”

  She swirled a fork through theslush of yellowand-white goothat supposedly passed for the Village School cafeteria’s mac and cheese. “Not particularly,” she said.

  Hmmm.At least the blunt honesty was back.

  “You ditched me the other day,” he said. “One day you’re inviting me to dinner at the Mosses’ house; the next you’re blowing me off. So I’m just trying to figure out if I’m missing anything. If I did something wrong. If maybe you’re trying to avoid me.”

  Gaia shrugged. “Oh, no. It’s not that. Sorry.”

  He laughed bitterly. “That’s it? That’s the best you can do? Sorry?”

  She didn’t lift her eyes from her plate.

  “Forget it,” he muttered. He glared at her. He wanted to take one of his crutches and smash her over the head. No, actually what he wanted to do was stand up and make a speech. It would go like this: “I love you, Gaia. I love your ratty pants. I love your sour attitude, your mood swings, your crazy life, your surreal past. Your secrets. I love you when you’re bitter, angry, out of your mind, happy, nasty. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Just so long as it’s you.”

  Right.Chances of that happening: about one in eight billion.This was no cheesy teen romance where everything had a happy ending, as if by magic. This was the real world—the world of dog shit on your shoe, lousy school food, horrible accidents, and most of all, rejection.

  Gaia shoved a forkful of goo into her mouth.

  The inevitable question posed itself again, though: What did he have to lose? So she’d reject him, anyway. So he’d make a huge ass of himself.

  So what?

  Maybe now was the right time. Precisely because it seemed so wrong. Ed should just throw it out there. Besides, he might spontaneously combust if he didn’t. The confession was like hot air in a balloon, pumping him up and up until he was ready to pop. Yes, now—in the cafeteria, between bites of macaroni, with the squeak of chairs and theimbecilic conversation of students—now seemed weirdly appropriate.

  “Gaia, there’s something I want to tell you,” he said quietly. He was surprised by how calm he sounded. He took a deep breath, his heart pounding—then closed his mouth.

  Out of the corner of his eye he’d spotted Heather. She was staring at him but quickly looked away. His gaze flicked back to Gaia.

  “What?” Gaia prompted.

  The moment was gone. The air in the balloon shrank to a comfortable pressure.

  “I wanted to tell you that, um. . . I wanted to cash in a rain check on that lunch. Wanna go to dinner tonight?”

  Hey, it was a decent save. And maybe it was best to go with candlelight. Yes, that way if he had another momentary bout of insanity and decided to m
ake the confession tonight, he wouldn’t be able to see her horrified reaction so clearly.

  “Can’t,” Gaia replied, without looking up. “I’m having dinner with Sam.”

  “Oh,” Ed said. He shrugged and smiled. He felt like he’d just been tossed into a fiery pitand was now slowly roasting to death.But it wasn’t so bad. It was a feeling with which he was very familiar. It happened several times a day, usually. “Some other time, then.”

  Temper Tantrum

  “SO YOU’RE SAYING TOM ESCAPED,” Loki said dryly. He clutched the tiny Nokia cell phone at his ear, strolling aimlessly about the loft. “He never arrived at the airport.”

  “Sir, I’ve been waiting here for hours, and they just didn’t show,” the terrified voice on the other end of the line squeaked. “I can assure you, I’ve done everything you—”

  “Shut up.” Loki had a great urge to take the cell phone and smash it against the exposed brick wall of his loft, imagining that it was the skull of this feeble pilot. He had no time to listen to excuses, to sit through the frightened defense of an aborted mission. It wouldn’t make a difference, anyway. So instead of smashing the cell phone to smithereens, Loki abruptly clicked off.A temper tantrum wouldn’t be of much use at this critical juncture.He needed to focus, to counter his losses, to make some serious adjustments.

  Gaia.

  Yes. If Tom had indeed escaped, then there was only one place he could be heading. Home to his daughter.

  Loki punched in Josh Kendall’s cell phone number.

  “Yes?” Josh answered in the middle of the first ring.

  “I want round-the-clock surveillance of sevensevensix-two-four-four. Effective immediately.”

  “But I thought you—”

  “You thought?” Loki snapped. “I don’t pay you to think. Remember?”

  “I—yes. Yes, sir.”

  “Right,” Loki said evenly. “Zero-zero-two is closing in. I want the former subject monitored.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One more thing. We’ve discussed the messenger’s new role.” Loki peered out the giant glass windows that provided him with an uninterrupted view of the Hudson. “Time is truly of the essence now. He must persuade Gaia to come to me by tenP.M.tonight.” He paused, watching a cargo ship carving a frothy wake in the river’s surface. “And if the messenger doesn’t deliver by ten, he must be executed.”

  There was only the briefest pause before Josh responded.

  “Understood,” he said.

  Talk About Narcissism

  “DON’T YOU LOOK GORGEOUS,” MRS. Moss breathed as she peeked around the door to Mary’s bedroom.

  Gaia stared doubtfully into the full-length mirrorof Mary’s closet.Gorgeouswas hardly the word that leapt to mind. Yes, she was wearing a dress, plain brown—one she’d bought with Mary, all those months ago. And why, she did not know. Dresses hardly worked wonders for her. All they did was accent her freakishly big muscles.I look like a man in drag,she reflected miserably.

  “Do you mind if I ask you something?” Mrs. Moss said quietly.

  “No, not at all.” Gaia turned to her. She felt like adding: As if you even need to ask.

  “Is this a date?”

  Gaia grinned, even though she felt very far from happy at the moment.That was a very good question, in fact.Was this a date? The answer was most probably no, even though it had all the trappings of a date: girl meets boy alone for dinner at a fancy Tribeca restaurant. But the sad truth of the matter was that this was a breakup.An official ritual to end a ruined relationship.An act of closure.

  “I’m not sure,” she said finally, not wanting to worry or depress Mrs. Moss.

  Mrs. Moss smiled back at her. “I know what you mean,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

  Gaia turned back to the mirror. If only that were true. If only anybody had any idea whatanyonemeant. Right now, everybody in Gaia’s life seemed to be speaking a dead language that she had never learned.Tears started to well in her eyes.Damn it.She could see the salty water pooling there, dripping from her lashes. She shook her head, furious for wasting Mrs. Moss’s time, furious for losing control in front of her. But of course, Mrs. Moss’s features only softened in compassion and sympathy.She doesn’t need your stupid problems,Gaia cursed herself silently. The woman’s daughter had died. And now here was Mary’s friend, imposing on Mary’s family, crying over aboy,of all trivial things. Talk about narcissism.

  Mrs. Moss bit her lip. “Gaia, I won’t pry if you don’t want me to—”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Gaia interrupted, sniffling. “It’s just. . . things are confusing right now. On a lot of different levels.”

  “I know,” Mrs. Moss said quietly. “But remember, if you stick with something long enough, the bumps smooth themselves out in the end. Patience is all it takes. Patience and a little bit of faith.”

  Gaia laughed grimly. “I don’t know if that’s true.”

  “It’s true for me, Gaia. For this whole family. That’s why we want you to stay here with us.”

  “What?” The simplicity of the statement caught Gaia off guard. She turned toward the door again and much to her shocked surprise saw that Mrs. Moss’s cheeks were damp as well. She reallydidwant Gaia to stay. She must have sensed Gaia’s hesitancy about her uncle. Or perhaps she’d just grown accustomed to having Gaiaaround the house.Maybe she didn’t want to lose another teenage girl, even one who wasn’t her daughter.Whatever the reason, something snapped into place for Gaia at that moment. She felt a kind of inner calm she hadn’t felt in weeks.

  This is my home.

  Yes. The problems were definitely far from over. But in one area of her life she finally had a grip. A tenuous one, maybe, but it was better than falling off the cliff altogether. Gaia’s face brightened through her tears. If she could feel centered anywhere, it was here.

  Besides, if Oliver was the loving uncle he claimed to be, he could still be in her life. He could visit, hang out with her, whatever. And should her dad suddenly decide to reappear, he could track her down, too. So could George.Gaia was here for the finding.But she knew hands down that living with her biological family didn’t work out for her. Which was okay. She was at peace with it. It was okay.

  Too Trusting

  TOM HURRIED THROUGH THE BRITISH Airways terminal toward the gate, shaking his head. He’d been forced to take the Concorde. There was going to be hell to pay for thegrotesque expenditure. The Agency had a limited budget. His superiors couldn’t afford to throw money around, not even when it came to a criminal mastermind like Loki—something for which he’d been reprimanded more than once. But Tom didn’t have a choice. The Concorde was due to leave in a little over an hour, and it was the fastest way to get to the United States. The choice was that simple: either shell out the seven thousand dollars on the Agency’s tab for a ticket on the Concorde or hijack a fighter jet.

  “Coffee or tea, sir?” a uniformed woman inquired as Tom spotted an empty couch near the window. The lounge offered all manner of first-class amenities to its elite group of passengers: free cocktails, finger sandwiches, private movies. “A drink, perhaps?”

  “Not for me, thanks.” Tom moved quickly to the glass, gazing out into the night to the sleek supersonic jet on the brightly lit tarmac, its needle nose pointing to the black horizon. Anxiety took hold as he lifted his eyes. There were no stars, no moon in sight. A wind howled. Rain began to tick against the windowpane.Just English weather,he reassured himself.Best not to dwell on it.

  He turned back toward the terminal and spotted a bank of public telephones. There was some business that needed attention before he boarded. He picked an isolated booth and dialed a private cell phone number.

  George Niven picked up on the first ring.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m coming home,” Tom said. “I need you to pick me up in a few hours.”

  “Tom,” George gasped in relief. “Thank God. I’ve been trying to reach you. Henrik’s number has been disconnected—”

/>   “He’s dead,” Tom interrupted.

  There was silence. “I. . . see,” George said slowly. And with that, he recovered himself and moved on— as they always did—to more pressing matters. Explanations and mourning would wait. “There’s been a serious development. We’ve been monitoring Gaia discreetly as you’ve wanted.”

  “She’s all right?” Tom asked.

  “Yes. But we are concerned about her boyfriend. It appears Sam Moon may have helped Oliver escape from prison. There’s an investigation pending.”

  Tom’s stomach jackknifed. This was not good news. Clearly Loki was using Gaia’s boyfriend to get to her. She wouldn’t come of her own free will, so she had to be tricked. No doubt Loki had blackmailed the boy in some horrible way. Gaia was strong and smart, but she could be trusting as well. Too trusting. Tom knew how she felt about Sam Moon. And Tom thought he’d gotten a good feel for Sam’s strength of character, too. Of course, once Loki was involved, a person’s will and conscience became playthings, toys for him to manipulate.

  “Loki is in Chelsea,” Tom whispered urgently. “Idon’t know where. But under no circumstances may Gaia have contact with Sam Moon. I don’t care if you have to blow your cover. Just get her. I’ll be in New York in exactly three and a half hours.”

  “Understood. Be strong, Tom.”

  Tom swallowed. “You too.” He hung up the phone.

  For a moment he stood still, rubbing his temples. He was so tired—

  There was a crackle of static. He frowned and emerged from the booth. Was that the boarding call already? He wasn’t due to depart for another hour.

  The PA system leaped to life.

  “Attention, all passengers,” a nasal female voice announced. “Due to inclement weather, all flights are currently delayed. Please see your ticket agents for further information.”