“I need to know,” Weyland insisted with arched eyebrows. He expected an answer regardless of my feelings on the subject.
Crossing my arms at my chest, I said, “She’s in mental hospital in Tennessee. Blissfully unaware of the truth.”
They both frowned and fell silent.
Weyland recovered quicker. “Where has Valerie gone?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But she was the one who helped Chelsea contact Admiral Dennett.”
“Why would she do that?” Dave snapped. The words were more of a bark.
I eyed him, but his bandaged hand stole my attention. Just the other day, he’d had his wrist cast off while playing poker. I thumbed toward it. “What happened?”
His eyes darted to the bandage, fist tightening.
Weyland interjected before Dave could answer me. “Don’t change the subject, Trevor. Why would Valerie help Chelsea if she was working for Thompson all along?”
Eyes still lingering on Dave’s hand, I said, “My guess is Valerie thought Thompson wanted to destroy the station before they completed their mission. In that case, her loyalties changed to the collective, not him. It’s how she works.”
Dave’s jaw worked, muscles popping.
Weyland either ignored his weird reaction or didn’t see it. “If you had to guess where she went, what would that guess be?”
My fists clenched in my lap. “Look, I know you need to worry because you’re Head of Security, but Valerie knows as much about SeaSat5 and Humming Bird as I do. The only reason she’s not on the senior staff is because our former employers knew you’d catch on quicker if the two of us showed up together. If she wants to get onboard, she will. There’s nothing you or I can do about it. And no, I have no idea where she went. My guess is somewhere foreign and urban, like Paris or London. Somewhere she can blend in and hide for a while.”
“So, we may never see her again,” Dave said.
“It’s as likely as her showing up tomorrow with another Lemurian contingent. I can attempt to rework the shield, but she knew the whole time it couldn’t block out Thompson’s crew when I thought it could.” My shoulders drooped. “I didn’t know as much as I thought, and that’s why we’re here right now. I’m sorry.”
Dave frowned again, leveling his eyes with mine. “It’s okay.”
“Not really,” Weyland said. “Thanks to these events, the world knows about SeaSatellite5.”
My eyes snapped to his. “What?”
“Thompson’s crew destroyed the station’s cloaking system. It was down the whole time. When we flipped vertical, after Chelsea fixed the hull, word got out. The U.N. managed to keep people from panicking, but everyone knows the United States owns the most advanced piece of submersible technology ever created.”
“Financed by the U.N for allied global research purposes,” I countered.
“Except, it’s manned by more military officers than civilian scientists and has impressive weapons systems. And a nice shield, to boot.”
My chest gave out and the world spun. Not good. Not good at all.
Weyland cleared his throat. “I need to speak with the Captain. I’m placing you in quarters confinement until he makes up his mind. Until then, you’ll have no access to the station’s systems. Dave, make sure that holds.”
“Aye, sir,” Dave said.
“Think about ways to improve the shield, Trevor,” Weyland said, “in the event Captain Marks wants to keep you.”
Defeated, I pulled in a deep breath. “Okay.”
I spent my time in quarters confinement making a game that would be destroyed upon Captain Marks discovering it. The game detailed everything I knew about Lemuria and Atlantis, an RPG based on what it might have been like to be there the night Lemuria ordered the Athenians to destroy the famous lost city.
The game was stupid and would never sell, so after one play-through, I relaxed into my chair and rubbed the fatigue out of my face. Nothing I did here would see the light of day. Ever. Not anymore. Except possibly Humming Bird. Thanks to Thompson’s ridiculous actions, the whole world now knew about SeaSat5.
The whoosh of an incoming email exploded through my computer’s speakers. I jumped a foot out of my chair. No one should be messaging me right now, and everyone except Chelsea was here. My heart leapt nearly out of my chest. Chelsea messaged me?
I opened my inbox, and my hope plummeted. An email from Emma Rose waited for me.
Valerie. Where was she?
I clicked on the email.
Trevor,
You’ll probably never see me again, and that’s fine. I lied, and I know you’re angry and confused right now, but please understand: I never thought Thompson would risk the station. SeaSatellite5 is more important than you know, and if I, for one moment, thought he’d risk it just to take the Link Pieces inside, or that TAO would interfere, I wouldn’t have helped him. That’s why I acted, and why I now need to disappear.
Take care, Trevor. And take care of Abby for me. Visit her.
—V
“Valerie.” The word came out more like a whine than anything else. What had she gotten herself into? What attention had she put on SeaSat5 in the process? And where would Valerie go to hide? Not back home. Betraying Thompson in the end put her on the same no-fly list as me. Our families wouldn’t take us back now. Guess we both had issues with blind loyalty.
Should I try to find her, trace her cyber footsteps? I didn’t know why I suddenly cared what happened to her or where she’d went after leaving SeaSat5, but now that the thought had implanted itself into my mind, I couldn’t let it go. I balanced the laptop on my knees and tried following her hack, but she’d covered her tracks well. Three routers, two countries, and seven different IP addresses later, a weight sunk deep in my stomach. She was much better at this than me, and I’d never find her. Ever.
It’d been two weeks since I last saw Chelsea. Since I last spoke to her. Since she nearly broke me with her words. It wasn’t meant to be permanent. Now, some of SeaSatellite5’s crew had packed a tiny shuttle to see Phoenix and Lobster’s end of the summer show. To see Chelsea. Anxiety wracked my body, and I couldn’t sit still. How was she? Would she okay with me being in the crowd tonight? She’d only invited Freddy, really. Hopefully I’d blend in better at tonight’s show than at the one where we met. Pointless wish. She’d pinpointed me in a crowd on the night I’d most wanted to stay hidden.
Heavy traffic into Boston forced us to miss their opening band, which didn’t matter to me. I wasn’t there for them. I was there for Chelsea, just like I would be no matter how many pieces she shattered me into.
While the rest of the guys headed to the bar at the rear of the Franklin, Freddy and I fought our way into a good standing room spot. Did she even want me here? Not like I could have asked her to find out. She hadn’t returned any of my calls. Hadn’t talked to me since she woke up after her surgery.
Phoenix and Lobster’s set started minutes later. Chelsea and their other singer, a guy, took the stage. The first song rode quick and heavy, enough to get the crowd warmed up and cheering. Strobe lights streaked across the stage and crowd. They disoriented me as much tonight as they did the last time I stood here. Chelsea’s sister hopped in on bass, followed by their third guitarist and drummer, and the lights broke out into a dizzying, multi-colored array.
The first two songs they played were heavier than anything I’d heard in March. The rifts grew solid, the baseline lower. At one point, I swore one their male singer tried something akin to screamo. I’d be lying if I said the music wasn’t good. In fact, they were great. Yet, it wasn’t Chelsea. She dressed like a punk rock princess but danced around like something else. She hopped up on amps to wildly play breakdowns and flirted with their main guitarist as lyrics rolled out of her mouth, like it was all part of the show. All part of the new Phoenix and Lobster experience.
But all of that was nothing compared to what she did in the middle of their last song.
Chelsea grabbed her mic
off its stand, and the band played lower background music.
“Thank you all for coming out tonight,” she spoke as she sauntered to the side of the stage. She nodded to someone behind the curtain with a huge smile across her sweaty face. “We’ve missed playing more than we can express, and we’re sorry for missing the Battle of the Bands a few months ago. To make up for it, we’re gonna close out the show tonight in a very special way.”
She shoved her bright, fire engine red guitar behind her, the neck running along her legs. The guitar was new, probably bought while she was on leave. Someone off-stage handed her something, and she returned to center stage with it in her hand. She held up the beer can for the crowd to see.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve had one hell of a summer.” She placed the mic on her stand then reached into her pockets and pulled out a set of keys.
No. She was not going to shotgun a beer on stage.
She held up both the beer and keys to either side of the stand. “So, this one’s for all of us!”
The band came back in with the song, repeating a few chords of the breakdown. Seconds before the last chorus started, Chelsea punctured the beer can and shot-gunned the entire thing in one swift gulp. Then she held the prize out for all to see as she finished the song in full rock star form, barely a drop of beer anywhere on her shiny gold tank top.
I glanced over at Freddy, whose lips pressed together into a thin line, apparently about as amused as I was. Chelsea danced around in her red converse and skinny jeans as she rocked out the rest of the song, hopping from foot to foot in time with the dropkick on the drums. She ended the set with a fist in the air, standing on top of an amp—grinning from ear to ear.
After the show ended, Freddy and I fought our way backstage through the crowd to try and find Chelsea and the band. We both thought the beer stunt was for more than fun. We wandered without direction around the labyrinth that was the Franklin’s artist-only area. Freddy wanted to check in on Chelsea, and I didn’t argue with him. I’d heard enough stories from Chelsea’s mouth about wild parties and her ridiculous alcohol tolerance to know that’s all she did on break. But on stage, she looked more than tipsy. Somehow, someway, she’d managed to get drunk. Which meant she’d spiraled, just like I’d been afraid of her doing.
A young woman with long blonde hair and green eyes rounded the corner and paused, her brows furrowed. “Can I help you?” It was Chelsea’s sister, Sarah. I’d seen her picture on Chelsea’s wall in her quarters.
“Hey, can we see Chelsea?” I asked.
Her cheeks filled with air, which she slowly blew out, a definite Chelsea-ism. Her eyes darted between us, deliberating. “Um, now’s not the best time. You’re Trevor, right?”
“Yeah. It’s nice to meet you, Sarah.”
She nodded. “Yeah, uh, Chelsea’s… unwinding.” She cringed, biting the inside of her lower lip.
“Unwinding, how?” Freddy asked. His fist curled and uncurled at his sides, a nervous habit. Weird, since he and Chelsea weren’t really friends until we’d found the outpost. But ever since the hijacking had started, he’d formed an overprotective streak.
Sarah clicked her tongue. “All right, fine. But I’m only showing you this because I don’t like it, either.”
Sarah waved us on, leading us to a room three hallways over. Chelsea knelt over a coffee table, next to the other singer of their band and surrounded by people I didn’t recognize. Chelsea poured a haphazard line of liquor into shot glasses. Everyone around the table grabbed one and dunked it upright into their solo cup filled with a tan-colored liquid. Chelsea counted to three, then they all chugged the concoction. She finished first and laughed, falling against the couch. The male singer lifted a hand, and they bumped fists.
Freddy cleared his throat, and they all stopped to stare.
“Hey, Chelsea,” he said.
The sight of Freddy shut most of them up. He was a stocky, muscular dude, definitely out of place in a hangout full of bands and their groupies.
Chelsea stood up, brushed off her hands on her pants, and danced over wearing a lazy smile. “Freddy! Did you like the show?”
She embraced Freddy. He looked over her shoulder at me. She let go and turned to me with a shrug.
“Oh, come on.” She hugged me, too.
“Everything all right?” I asked her.
Chelsea’s face grew hard. “Way to go and ruin the moment by being a worrywart.” She frowned.
I glanced at Freddy, my jaw hung open. His expression confirmed the same thought. Sarah came over to us, and I asked her if Chelsea was, by original guess, actually drunk.
Sarah cringed. “You don’t want to know how.”
“No, I think I do,” I said.
Sarah pointed to a ratty chair where an empty bottle of whiskey sat. I then followed her gaze to where someone poured another round of shots. “She mumbled something about painkillers and whiskey. My guess is it mixed together poorly. How she’s even still standing, I have no idea. But our friend Logan’s on speed dial, just in case.”
I closed my eyes, disappointment coating every thought.
Freddy stiffened, strode to Chelsea, and grabbed her by the arm. “We’re leaving before you do something you regret.”
She pushed against him. “No. Get your hands off me. You know nothing.”
“Now.” His words were firm, ordering.
They stared each other down. Freddy wouldn’t budge. Chelsea wouldn’t hurt him trying to extricate herself, either. Finally, she huffed, ripped her arm out of Freddy’s grasp and grabbed her stuff. Sarah mouthed a thank you as we left.
Chelsea. Mixing pills and alcohol… to what, forget? To feel numb?
My heart sank, quick and deep. This wasn’t right. And that fire, that blaze of freedom I’d felt when we met outside this building months ago, it died as we walked her out to the car.
Neither of us would ever be free again. Not from these memories, and not ever from the war.
Chelsea
awoke to a massive headache beating the insides of my skull. I cradled my head. Everything was damn foggy and slow and sensitive, and I couldn’t for the life of me remember why. Did I get drunk? The blankets I found myself cocooned in weren’t familiar. Neither was the bed. The beige colored walls encasing the room didn’t belong to me. Shit. Where am I?
“I’m glad to see you’re awake.”
I jumped at the voice, setting off the jackhammer in my head again.
Freddy sat at his desk, wrapped in a navy-issued blanket with his feet propped up.
I swallowed hard. What the hell happened that I ended up in a room with Freddy?
I swung my legs over the bed. “Um, I don’t know wh—”
“We’re not sure what happened in between the end of your set and finding you doing Jägerbombs with your buddies, but Trevor and I scooped you out of there and brought you home to SeaSatellite5.” He leaned forward, dropping the blanket off him, and reached for my purse on the side of the bed. He dug around for something then lifted the pill bottle up for me to see. “Don’t ever do that again.”
I gulped, drowning in guilt. No one was supposed to find out about that. How did Freddy find out about that? “I… I won’t.”
He relaxed, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “You’re welcome.”
I didn’t know what to say or where to look. My cheeks warmed and anxiety rushed my heavy chest. My head pounded so hard that I thought it’d explode.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Thank you for looking out for me.”
A half-smile quirked his lips. “Someone has to.” His radio beeped, and he answered it. “Olivarez.”
“It’s me.” Trevor’s voice filled the other end. “When Chelsea wakes up, can you bring her to the Artifact Room? I want to talk to her.”
Freddy glanced my way. “She’s awake. Give us fifteen minutes, and we’ll be there.”
I looked down at myself again. I couldn’t show up wearing the same clothes from last night.
That’d be too close to a Walk of Shame for my liking. And if Freddy knew about the pills, odds were Trevor did, too.
Freddy noticed my distress and threw me one of my own uniforms. “You can thank Trevor for thinking ahead. He went into your quarters and got you a uniform this morning.”
I gulped. I forever owed those two for saving me from myself and then covering my ass on top of it.
“Thank you,” I said again. “What time is it?”
“Ten-thirty.”
I hung my head. Ten-thirty?
“The bathroom’s in the corner. Go shower and get dressed.”
I changed in record time and washed my face to take off all the heavy makeup I wore. I looked so different without all of it on; it jarred me. What had happened to me in just two weeks?
Freddy escorted me to the Artifact Room and left me with Trevor, who stood behind my desk, tossing a stress ball from one hand to another. My eyes trained on the movement, despite the hammering in my skull. It rolled my stomach. The hangover wasn’t lost on Trevor.
“I didn’t think that happened to you,” he said.
I shrugged. “Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
He stopped the ball’s movement and squeezed it. “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Can we do this later?” Like when I wasn’t hung-over and guilty as all hell.
“You’re mad, and I understand.”
Guess not.
“Hell, I understand why you’re freaking out—you killed Thompson. Even if the bastard had it coming, it shouldn’t have had to be you. And Michael—that wasn’t your fault, either. So, stop blaming yourself.”
My breathing came shallow and fast until I was forced to take in longer breaths to squash feelings of queasiness. I leaned against the countertop for support. I’d killed a man, and I’d have to live with that forever, even if I forgave myself for not saving Michael.
Gyre (Atlas Link Series Book 1) Page 28