Defector

by Susanne Winnacker

  “That makes sense, I suppose,” Devon said. But of course he could never understand. He had his parents, Linda and Ronald. He had a family who loved him no matter what. He’d never felt the hollow pain of deep betrayal, of believing you were worthless, that feeling you only get if the people who’d brought you into this world, the people who should love you more than their own life, can’t even look at you without disgust.

  I nodded. It wasn’t Devon’s fault that he couldn’t commiserate. He understood pain and loss. It was just a different kind of pain. I took his hand. It felt strong and warm.

  We pulled into the street where Holly’s family lived. Rows upon rows of identical-looking small gray houses stood perched on even tinier square lawns. I pulled the car up beside the curb, and we got out. The grass was yellow, the flowers in the beds burnt by the sun. The front door was ajar. I slowly walked up to it and pushed it open. There were no sounds emanating from anywhere in the house. There was utter silence. Devon followed me inside. “Hello?” I called, but the word echoed in the quiet. I poked my head into the living room. The drawers were open, and their contents littered the ground. My heart pounded in my chest. I hurried up the stairs and found the bedrooms in a similar state of disarray. The closets in the master bedroom and the rooms of Holly’s siblings were all empty. The furniture was still there, undisturbed.

  “What happened here?” I whispered.

  Devon poked a potted plant with the tip of his sneaker; it had fallen to the ground and scattered soil and dried leaves all over the beige rug. “Whoever was here, they were in a hurry.”

  We went back downstairs. In the kitchen, a milk carton sat forgotten on the counter and gave off the rancid smell of spoiled milk. Through the window, I could make out a neighbor watering his tomato plants. I hurried out of the house and toward the man. He looked up when Devon and I approached and pushed back the brim of the black hat that was protecting him from the sun.

  “Where are . . .” I racked my brain for Holly’s last name. “Have you seen the Mitchells lately?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. He put the watering can down and wiped his big hands on his blue overalls. “I’ve never seen you around.”

  “I’m a friend of their eldest daughter, Holly.”

  “The boarding-school girl,” the man said. Then he let out a sigh. “The Mitchells left a few days ago. We heard their car drive off in the middle of the night. Nobody knows anything about where they went. I know they were having financial troubles, but to run off like that . . .” He shook his head.

  “That’s all you know?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, thanks.” I took Devon’s hand and dragged him back to the car.

  “What do you think happened here?” he asked as we got back into the car.

  “Either Major brought them to a safe place—which I doubt, given the state of the house—or Abel’s Army kidnapped them to guarantee Holly’s cooperation. Or . . .” I racked my brain to come up with another idea. No matter how you sliced it, it didn’t quite make sense.

  “We should leave,” Devon said, looking around the neighborhood nervously. “Now.”

  I hit the gas, and we barreled down the street. Panic clutched at my chest. What had happened to Holly’s family?

  “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It makes sense that the FEA would bring them to a safe place, not just for their sake, but for the safety of the FEA too. They would have to protect them. Plus, Holly will be less inclined to give away secrets if her family isn’t at risk,” Devon said in a calm voice.

  I wanted to believe that. Devon reached over and plugged the address of the bar into the GPS. Suddenly an image materialized before my inner eye, almost like a vision. My fingers tightened their grip around the steering wheel as the road disappeared from my view. The image in my head was all I could see: A small boy with turquoise eyes stands on a wooden stool and bends over a crib, staring down at a tiny baby. He moves closer and kisses the baby’s cheek. The baby opens her eyes. They’re turquoise, just like his.

  “Zach,” a man says, “don’t wake your sister. She just fell asleep.”

  “She’s awake,” Zach quips. The man comes into focus beside the boy and ruffles his hair. He too has turquoise eyes. He wraps an arm around the young boy and bends over the crib like the boy did. The man reaches out and pushes his finger into the baby’s tiny hand. She curls her hand around his finger.

  “Tessa!” Devon’s voice burst through my vision. I gasped and tried to blink away the images. The road came back into focus, and the car swerved violently as Devon gripped the steering wheel to rip the car back to the right lane and stop us from colliding with oncoming traffic. A car rushed past us, honking repeatedly, and the driver gave us the finger.

  “Tessa, what’s the matter?” Devon’s voice was panicked, and he was still holding on to the steering wheel.

  “I’ve got this,” I assured him, and he released his grip. The images of the baby girl were still in the back of my head, vivid as the road in front of me. They were memories; I knew that now. But how had they suddenly appeared in my head? I glanced into the rearview mirror and went cold. A black limousine was two car lengths behind us.

  Another image burst into color behind my eyes. This time Zach was on the ground, cradling the baby against his small body, smiling up at someone.

  I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal and passed the car in front of us with inches to spare.

  “Tessa, what the hell is going on?”

  “My memories, someone is manipulating them,” I yelled.

  Devon threw a glance over his shoulder, body coiled with tension. I didn’t slow. I passed one car after another, ignoring the honking and the angry hand signals of passing drivers.

  The images in my head faded, flickered, and disappeared. “The black limousine, where is it?”

  “It’s a ways back, six cars behind us. It’s trying to keep up with us.”

  I wouldn’t let it. The car was jerking back and forth every time I passed another car, but I kept my foot pressed down on the gas pedal until I couldn’t feel the images nibbling at my mind.

  “They’re gone,” Devon said, relaxing against the seat.

  “For now,” I whispered. My throat felt tight, and my eyes burned. The images, the memories, were they real? It didn’t matter. Someone was trying to mess with my mind, to take control of my thoughts and manipulate my consciousness. But this time, I wouldn’t let them.

  CHAPTER 24

  It turned dark when we reached Las Vegas. For the rest of the way, we didn’t have another encounter with the black limousine, and not a single strange vision had tried to burst into my mind, but I caught myself trying to conjure up my memories, looking for the image of Abel and Zach leaning over me in the crib. It was something I’d always wanted, to remember a loving father and brother, but could I even be sure the images were based on something that had really happened?

  I pushed my thoughts aside. I had to focus on Holly now.

  In the distance the stratosphere tower rose up into the sky, and around it skyscrapers in all shapes clustered together. There was a faux Eiffel Tower and Statue of Liberty and a roller coaster curling around the buildings like a snake.

  Though I wasn’t sure what lay before us, I was glad to be back in a city and for the departure from the harsh landscape we’d passed. After a while, the thorny cacti and spooky tumbleweeds got old. The navigation system told us we’d have to cross the city to reach the outskirts where the bar was situated. Devon made a little detour over the strip because I’d never been there before. On any other day, the luminous advertising, water shows, and fake gondoliers steering their gondolas through the Venetian landscape would have made me giddy with excitement, but I couldn’t get past the lump in my throat.

  Las Vegas Boulevard was crowded with people in flashy outfits. The skirts were a bit shorter and
the shirts a bit more unbuttoned than I’d seen in the rest of the country. People here were desperate for fun, for the thrill of losing or winning money. Maybe if my life had been a bit more normal, the thought of risking a few hundred bucks at a roulette table would have given me a thrill too. But after what I’d been through in the past year, the thought of mere gambling didn’t really make my heart race.

  Even so, it was pretty clear why a bar for Variants belonged so close to this place. A few people who acted or looked strange wouldn’t draw much attention to themselves in a surrounding as big and exaggerated as this.

  “You’ve been here before?” I asked, my eyes already struggling against the burst of colors.

  “A couple of years ago. Mom and Dad took Madison and me here for the weekend. We went to see a show, the Cirque du Soleil, and spent most of the day at the pool, and in the evenings we stuffed ourselves at the huge buffet at the Bellagio. I’ve never seen plates piled higher with crab legs in my life. It was kind of disgusting.” He laughed but then fell silent, and a wistful look crossed his face. I knew he was thinking of his sister.

  We spent the rest of the drive in silence.

  Eventually the hotels became a little less opulent, though not less flashy. The buffets got cheaper, and so did the rooms, and the flow of people thinned. A few seedy-looking strip clubs and bars shared this part of town with motels that had seen better times.

  “It’s supposed to be around here somewhere,” Devon said.

  My eyes were drawn to an alley that turned off the street we were on. “I think that’s the right street.”

  Devon steered the car to the right, and we followed the narrow road to the very end. “This is it.” We pulled into a small parking space in front of an unremarkable gray building with a flat roof. There wasn’t a flashy sign atop the door or ads for cheap rooms and food. Actually, there wasn’t anything that indicated a bar was hidden inside.

  My stomach tightened as we got out of the car. The air was warm and dry. I pulled my sweater off and straightened my T-shirt with shaky fingers before I scanned our surroundings. Our truck wasn’t the only car in the lot. Three spots, all closer to the door, were occupied by ordinary looking cars. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to see, but this was definitely underwhelming. I’d thought something would be different about a place frequented by Variants. An air of otherness. Unless this wasn’t a bar for Variants, and Alec had lied to throw us off course. I glanced at Devon. “What do you think?” My words seemed to carry and echo over the parking lot as if I’d used a microphone.

  Devon unfolded the paper Alec had given me. “Stanley’s. That’s what the bar is called. Do you see a sign anywhere?”

  I shook my head. The front of the building didn’t have any windows, and the only sign that you could actually enter it was a steel door that looked like it wouldn’t open unless you pulled very hard. I fingered the gun in my back pocket, regretting once again that I didn’t have a holster. It was much easier for the weapon to be detected this way, and just as easy for it to slip out of my pocket. “Maybe we should just check.”

  Slowly we made our way toward the building. My ballet flats scratched over the pavement. It sounded as if I was grinding hundreds of tiny grains of sand into dust. Devon’s body was coiled with tension, and the closer we got to the building, the more aware I became of the reassuring pressure of the gun wedged against my butt. Of course, I didn’t have many bullets left, and I didn’t know where I could get more without a fake ID.

  The facade of the building was gray concrete, matching the unadorned steel of the door. I pressed my ear against it, but if someone was inside, not a sound traveled through.

  I took a step back. My eyes once again scanned the windowless front. The steel door seemed to be the only way in or out. I didn’t like the odds of that. “Let’s go around the building. Maybe there’s more to see,” I said.

  Suddenly the door swung open, and I had to stumble back or it would have nailed me in the forehead. Devon gripped my arm protectively, and his other hand flew to the knife under his jacket. My own hand was already on the gun. But the average-looking guy who stumbled out of the building didn’t even glance at us. He staggered toward his car. The stench of alcohol and sweat wafted after him. It took him several tries to get the key into the lock. I didn’t think he was in a state to drive, but right now that wasn’t my problem.

  Devon nudged my arm, and I finally noticed that we weren’t alone. Another guy was holding the door open and eyeing us. His eyes were entirely white except for the black dots of his pupils. Variant. So maybe this was Stanley’s bar after all. I dropped my gaze from his eyes when they narrowed. He was scanning my face but lingering on my eyes for much longer than was appropriate. The turquoise of my irises was probably the reason why he opened the door a bit wider. “You wanna come in?” His voice was thin and high.

  Devon shrugged and walked in, glancing over his shoulder to check that I was following. With a pang of unease, I did. But this wasn’t a bar. It was a narrow, claustrophobia-inducing hallway with a low ceiling. The hallway led to a second door behind which I could hear laughter and music. If I’d extended my arms, my fingertips would have brushed the black-painted walls. My unease grew. I could feel the man who’d invited us in keeping close behind me. His breath pressed against my neck, wet and hot. He was only an inch taller than me and even thinner, and yet he seemed to be the bouncer in charge of guarding the place. I guessed that when it came to Variants, appearances didn’t necessarily reflect how dangerous someone could be. His eyes alone made me unwilling to cross him. My ignorance about his Variation only added to my fears.

  The only light source was a torch-like lamp on the wall, which gave off a bluish glow. It was right at eye level and messed with my vision. I moved closer to Devon to get some distance between the creepy bouncer and me. That’s when I noticed that the bouncer wasn’t the only person in the hallway with us. Tucked into an alcove, a woman sat on a high barstool, her pale legs curled under her body on the round red leather seat. She was bowed forward in a deep hip bend, her eyes closed. It was a miracle that she hadn’t toppled over yet.

  “I haven’t seen you before. How did you find us?” bouncer guy asked sharply.

  I jumped at how close beside my ear his voice was. He must have closed the distance to my back again as I’d been busy watching the woman. “Umm, a friend gave me your address,” I said quietly. Somehow it felt wrong to raise my voice in this place. Devon’s hands were curled into fists at his side; he looked ready to wrestle the guy to the ground.

  “We’re looking for someone,” Devon said.

  The bouncer’s stance became wide-legged and suspicious. In the bluish light of the torch, his eyes shone in his face like two halogen lamps. “Who sent you?”

  “No one. We’re on our own agenda here,” I told him, growing tired of his interrogation. “We’re no threat to you. Why do you ask so many questions?”

  Bouncer guy’s white eyes locked on mine, but I didn’t feel anything. I was sure he couldn’t access my mind. He just wanted to intimidate me with the creepiness of his stare. “First your blood.”

  The muscles in Devon’s arms tensed, and he took a step forward.

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “Your blood. To make sure you are what you claim to be.” Bouncer guy nodded toward Devon, one side of his mouth curled up in a nasty smile. “Especially him. No Normals allowed.”

  Normals? I didn’t even want to know what would happen if Devon or I were found to be Normals.

  “What are you going to do with it? Send it to a laboratory for tests?” Devon said in a challenging tone, crossing his arms. The air was practically crackling with tension.

  I gripped his biceps to shut him up, but without turning away from bouncer guy. Bouncer guy glared at Devon over my shoulder.

  “It’ll take only a minute,” he said, finally turning his attenti
on back to me. He positioned himself beside the girl on the bar tool. His shoes scratched over the rough concrete. He wore black-and-white wingtips, like an old-time movie gangster. Maybe he thought it gave him a more dangerous look.

  “Finja,” he said in a soft voice. He hadn’t once used a civil tone with us, but around her, his face shifted into something kind, devoid of menace. The girl didn’t react at first. She seemed to be in a deep meditative state, her chest rising and falling; if not for that, I’d have thought she was dead. He shook her slightly, and slowly she unfurled, her head rising, eyes peeling open almost in slow motion. She had an elegant long neck, and her collarbones jutted out of her creamy white skin. The black of her flimsy dress stood in stark contrast to her paleness. I couldn’t make out the color of her eyes, but they were very dark. I had a feeling that everything about that girl was dark, inside and out. She tilted her head like a baby bird, her long lashes fluttering as she peered at bouncer guy, who carried an almost tender expression. “I need you,” he said. It took her longer than it should have to process the words, then she turned her head toward Devon and me. “Bring them to me,” she said in a voice like smoke. The hairs at the nape of my neck stood on end.