I shook my head, trying to brush it all away. Returning to the past was no longer an option.
Ollie’s ears perked up, watching me for a moment. Then he jumped off my lap, curled up on the rug, and closed his eyes.
Even Ollie sensed my unsettledness.
I’d already decided. I’d wait as long as tomorrow night. If the boys didn’t show up by then, Sven was lying to me, and I needed to find a way out of here on my own. I hoped the twenty-four hours of trust didn’t cost me something dearly—like Finn passing away. But what choice did I have? The police idea would take so much longer. At least I had to find out if Sven’s story was real.
Waiting for tomorrow night would be the hardest part of the coming day.
I forced myself from the chair and flung my body onto the ruby-colored satin comforter on the four-poster bed.
Agonized and exhausted by all the possible scenarios of what could happen tomorrow, I drifted off to sleep.
*
That night, another memory-dream came, the vividness similar to the dream I’d had on the island right after Dr. Adamson injected me.
It was my dad again, and this time, my mom, too, in that same brownstone house as before, the same one where that man—my dad—had knelt in front of me on the stairwell landing and told me I “had something special inside of me.”
This time, my parents and I sat around a dining room table. I looked on at the scene, knowing the little baby was me but seeing myself as an outside observer. I couldn’t be more than fifteen months old, but the image felt as vivid as anything I could remember about the farm. My legs swung back and forth, dangling off the tall high chair where I sat at the end of the table, my mom and dad in chairs on either side of me.
“I feel so small when I see the moon,” my mom said, reclined back in her chair, gazing out the front window. She was as relaxed as I’d ever seen her, a half-empty plate of food in front of her, a wine glass in her hand. “Think about what earth looks like from the moon. We’re a speck in the universe. Doesn’t it make you wonder?”
“I don’t need to guess what the earth looks like from the moon.” My dad winked at toddler-me. “I’ve been there.”
“Robert, be serious. She doesn’t know the difference.”
“It’s true. I have.” He turned to me and poked my side gently, tickling me underneath my yellow bib. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart? We’ve been to the moon.”
Toddler-me giggled. My mom smiled, then laughed, full and deep. My mom’s teeth glittered in the light of the chandelier above the table, her shiny brown hair flowing over her shoulder.
In all my seventeen years that I could consciously remember, I’d never seen my mom laugh so freely. But my fifteen-month-old self didn’t seem to notice the contrast, as if this was a normal, daily occurrence.
Mom laughing. Her teeth glistening white.
Those were the last two things I remembered when I woke up in the middle of the night on the ruby comforter at the Vasterias mansion.
Ollie breathed deeply beside me.
I clung to that image of my mother. An image I’d never see again.
And my father … I wanted to believe it was true, that this was a proper representation of who my father was. But we left him when I was two years old. I didn’t have any real memories of him. Just these dream-memories.
He looked like he loved me, but how did I know this was truly him?
I wanted Sven to be telling the truth—that my father sent for me.
I wanted to meet my dad—this man in my dream who loved me. My real, biological father. A man who cared deeply about me. I just didn’t know if it was too much to wish for.
Still, I let this version of my dad float in my mind as I drifted back to sleep.
Somehow, just thinking about him in this way, waiting expectantly for me out there somewhere, made me feel safe.
26
JACK
We drove through the night and reached Pennsylvania as the sun rose over the trees in front of us.
I’d had plenty of time to think.
About Sage.
About my friend, Caesar. The support he’d been to me, making life lighter, making me less of a jerk to people. And, how he was now dead because of me.
About my brother, Beckett. Still here, still alive, right here in front of me on his bike, wanting to do the same for me, like Caesar. To help make my life lighter, easier.
My eyes stayed on Beckett and his motorcycle—his posture relaxed on the bike, free from all of the burdens I carried.
I realized all his pain came from people outside himself. He was an innocent spirit trapped among people with big issues. He deserved to be happy—he deserved it for putting up with everything—all the pain and all the crap.
Without slowing my motorcycle, I pulled off my helmet, and let the cool morning wind blow through my hair.
I watched the sunlight flickering through the leaves of a sycamore on the road up ahead. I could see the light reflecting against the molecules in the very air itself. And in that moment, everything crystallized.
Sage would make him happy.
Beckett would make her happy.
I could let her go for that. For both of them—two people who deserved it most.
They could disappear—somewhere coastal and sunny. I could keep her safe and watch her from afar, ensure Vasterias never touched her again. I owed her that much.
I owed both of them that much.
Beckett had never given up on me, not once, not for a single moment. He continually expected the good to come out in other people, and he just kept waiting and waiting for me to prove it to him.
Sage had given me the gift of living again, freedom from the burden of guilt. For all my life, I carried guilt for just being alive at all.
Now, because of her, I didn’t have to. That was her gift to me, all on its own. Even if I couldn’t have her, couldn’t live life with her, I was grateful for it. For that gift, I was forever indebted to her. It was enough.
At the end of all this, for closure, all I needed was a special moment where I could say goodbye and capture a mental image of her face.
Later, when I was going mad with lonesomeness for the both of them, I’d remind myself of all they’d done for me and picture Sage’s face in my mind.
27
BECKETT
Something had shifted inside Jack.
I felt it when he passed me on his motorcycle. He was lighter. He sat taller and seemed free of whatever had been bothering him through the night. Sometimes he got that way, running through plans, running through his past, working it all out in his brain.
I hoped he thought about what I said last night. But then, I never knew exactly what went on in Jack’s head.
Jack revved his engine and glanced back at me, an actual smile on his face. He raised his eyebrows, proposing the challenge.
Maybe it was the familiarity of the Pennsylvania hills that brought us both back to life. I think coming home always did that.
I sped up, bringing my front tire directly behind Jack’s back tire.
Without giving him warning, I swerved to Jack’s left and flew past him, my odometer jumping with the acceleration.
Jack’s engine responded behind me, and within seconds, we were side by side, racing through the winding Pennsylvania roads, our motorcycles leaning in synchronization with every turn.
Adrenaline flooded my body; blood rushed to my head from the wind in my face.
At a straight stretch in the road, I sped out in front of Jack.
He increased his speed to pass me, but I matched it, and we rode side by side again.
The freedom of the bike felt phenomenal.
And it felt good, too, connecting to Jack again. Even if it was through a motorcycle race.
I hadn’t had my brother beside me for three years, and he was the only person who could fully understand all the hell our dad put us through.
Jack glanced over, the thrill of the race obvious o
n his face, along with his dogged determination to win. Just like I would expect from him.
Something about that predictability felt so, so good.
We were back.
I tipped my face up toward the sky and laughed.
Not because everything was perfect in this moment, but because I believed someday it could be, and that was good enough for now.
28
IMOGEN
No one would bring a cup for Finn.
When Bert left, the guard locked the door behind him. And now, no one would bring a bloody cup.
I stared at the cracks in the walls for so long, it felt like they were multiplying.
Then I pounded on the door for, like, ever.
I think it bothered Finn. So I stopped.
I gave up trying to garner the attention of anyone who cared because apparently, no one did.
I scanned the room for anything that might serve as a cup.
Nothing readily appeared, so I ripped the oblong handle off the cupboard door below the corner sink.
Why not? Everything else in here was falling apart, might as well add to the dilapidated mess.
I washed the handle with some hand soap sitting next to the sink and filled it with a small bit of water.
Back by Finn’s bedside, I pressed the makeshift cup to his lips to see if it might rouse him. He didn’t respond, but I tipped a few drops into his mouth anyway.
The water trickled down the side of his cheek.
I shrugged, drank the water myself, and pulled up a chair next to him.
“You’re looking ripe bad,” I said, staring at his face.
Finn didn’t so much as flinch at my words.
“Hey,” I held up my hands. “I’m just being honest. But no frets.” I patted the sheet near his hand. “I’ve seen worse. You’ve still got time. You’ll pull out of this ….”
I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my thighs, and spun the cupboard handle in my hands. Finn’s breathing—a slight movement of his chest—remained the only sign that his heart still beat.
I wondered if my own words were true, because honestly, I had no idea how much time he had left.
Where was Dr. Cunningham?
29
SAGE
“Big day today,” Dallamore said as I stepped out onto the front porch. He remained a few paces away, clad in his too-tight suit, holding a bagel wrapped in a napkin.
The morning sun was beautiful, shining through the giant maple trees of the mansion’s front lawn. I found a spot on the front porch where the sunlight hit my whole body. The cotton dress they’d supplied didn’t offer much warmth, and the temperature couldn’t be more than sixty degrees this morning.
“You’ll want to take this.” Dallamore attempted to hand me the bagel. “You didn’t eat dinner last night, and you won’t be getting anything else until lunch.”
Grudgingly—and mainly due to my growling stomach—I took the offer.
“People will begin arriving for the gala tonight as early as five o’clock. Lots of preparation to be done this morning,” Dallamore said. “Keep your eyes open at headquarters for Vasterias board members. Many of them will tour the newly renovated research wing before attending the gala tonight.”
As if to prove the truth in Dallamore’s comment about a busy day, a lawn mower rounded the side of the mansion, driven by a middle-aged man. Several other mowers could be heard in the distance.
The same Mercedes I’d rode in last night rolled up the circle drive and parked in front of us. Surprisingly, Sven exited the driver’s seat and walked around the front of the car to pull the passenger door open for me. We made eye contact. I didn’t move. What was he doing here? Where was the driver from last night? Something didn’t feel right.
Dallamore frowned at me. “Get going, then,” he said. He turned back toward the mansion, checking his watch and mumbling to himself about the arrival time of Russia.
“We’ll be back this afternoon,” Sven called to Dallamore, and Dallamore waved without turning around again.
My steps toward the car were hesitant. Sven noticed.
I ignored the open front passenger door where Sven stood. Instead, I pulled open the rear door, climbed into the back seat, and slammed it shut. Sven said nothing about this. He closed the passenger door calmly, strode around the car again, and slid inside.
He didn’t speak for the first ten minutes of our drive, but his eyes trailed to me every few minutes in the rearview mirror. Every time he did this, the car pulled slightly into the lane of oncoming traffic.
“If you’re on my side,” I finally said, exasperated, “and we have a car, and we’re on our own, and we’re already fifteen minutes away from Vasterias mansion, how come we’re not escaping, like, now?”
Sven looked back at me, steering us through a sharp curve but drifting into the opposite lane again. My bagel slid off the leather seat to the floorboard on the opposite side of the car.
“It’s not that easy,” he said. “This car has tracers. The wheel has remote control capabilities. The audio system is wired with recorders. Right now, they could hear everything we are saying if I weren’t drowning it out with radio interference.” Sven draped his hand over the wheel and shifted in his seat. “They can’t hear us, but they could hunt us down. Which is why we have to wait. Beckett is coming. You’ll be escaping with him during the gala tonight. Everything will be put into motion then.”
“Everything?” I said. “What do you mean, everything?”
“Your reunion. With your father. That’s what I mean. But for now, we play along. We’ll arrive at headquarters in the city in a few hours.” His eyes caught my gaze in the rearview mirror and held it, his expression penetrating. “Remember. Just stay calm. We’re waiting for tonight.”
“How, exactly, are we going to escape?”
“Well, assuming all goes according to plan, your friend Beckett will come in first and confuse things up a bit by pretending to have a change of heart. Jack will follow four hours later with a shock and awe package.”
“Shock and awe package?” I tensed as Sven sped up around a curve and passed a sedan, getting back into our lane just in time to miss hitting an oncoming minivan, who honked loudly as we flew past.
“Everyone will get a nice display of Jack’s physical capabilities,” Sven said. “Something meant to distract people, so they’re no longer watching you.” Sven turned his head to look at me directly, perhaps to gauge my response to this. The car swerved.
I gripped the door. “Would you watch the road, please?”
Sven turned forward again.
“And what will you be doing?” I asked. “During all this shock and awe?”
“A bit of this and that,” he replied. “Putting people on the wrong trail, adding to the general confusion, that sort of thing.”
“And why are we going to headquarters now?”
“A physical examination. Nothing serious.”
“But they’re planning to take my eggs. I can’t let them do that.”
“This morning, they don’t have intentions to do anything more than take your blood.”
“They could have done that from the mansion,” I said.
“Dr. Stanstopolis doesn’t like to go out of her way to accommodate people. She wanted to see you herself, in her lab. My other hypothesis is that Dr. Adamson is arriving at the mansion later this morning, and I’ve heard he’s none-too-happy he got left behind at the switch-over with you on the plane. I think Vasterias didn’t want you on the premises when he arrived.”
Sven glanced at me in the mirror. “They’re a bit possessive of you, aren’t they?”
I didn’t really care who was fighting over me. There were more important things to consider.
“What if they do take more than my blood?”
“Calm down. It’s not like they can extract your eggs right away,” Sven said. “They have to plump up the follicles in order to do it. That would take a few days of hormones and tests.
A moot point, because you’re leaving tonight.”
My head turned away, and I willed my face not to flush.
I couldn’t believe I was talking about the plumping of my follicles with this man.
I didn’t even know what follicles were, really.
I refused to say another word the entire drive to headquarters.
30
BECKETT
We dropped our motorcycles and guns off at the warehouse in the city first. Dad had owned the warehouse since forever—at least, for as long as I could remember.
Jack and I thought there might be signs Dad had been here since leaving the island with Sage, but it was obvious nothing had been touched in years.
The code to get in was the same. Somehow, the place still smelled like lemon. Like Dad. Surely the oil stick diffuser on the shelf had long ago dried out. The scent just never goes away.
A small, infinitesimal part of me felt satisfied to be here again—my mind clearly caught in some sort of twisted nostalgia. The rest of me—the 99.9 percent of me—would have been fine to never see this place again.
The sheets covering Dad’s six sports cars and three motorcycles all looked undisturbed. Dust had settled on the exposed back tire of Dad’s MV Agusta F4CC motorcycle. Jack and I both eyed the distinct outline of the Energica Ego 45 sitting beneath a sheet between the other two bikes. This motorcycle was our favorite of Dad’s options, probably because only forty-five of them were ever made, and Dad managed to snag one. He never let us ride it. Which, of course, made us want to even more.
“I call the Ego,” I said before Jack could.
“Fine.” He shrugged in allowance, without so much as the threat of an arm wrestle for it, without so much as a fake lunge in my direction.
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