After dinner we retreated to Lucas’s room with plans to watch all four Jolt movies. It was a good distraction from thinking about Grace, though I did send her one gloating text about the Spurs winning the NBA title. I passed out somewhere in the middle of the third movie.
That night I dreamed again about Kimatra having her baby, and it took a while before I was able to get back to sleep. I woke the next morning to the smell of chorizo and eggs. Lukas had already left for work—he was a lifeguard at the city pool. The guy had more jobs than a temp. I was surprised his parents let him work on a Sunday. Grandma never would have let me.
After I ate Mrs. Rodriguez out of house and home, I took off. I had already missed most of the service at Cornerstone, but I had plenty of time to make the service at Calvary Baptist. I drove straight there wearing the same clothes I’d worn yesterday. I zipped on my hoodie so Grandma wouldn’t notice. My phone buzzed as I was parking, so I sat in the car and read the new message from Kimatra Patel. She had finally replied to my ten-million dollar question:
My scholarship was through the Free Light Youth. It’s a group that works around the world to help children and teens get education, healthcare, and jobs.
Oh, cool, I replied. I think I’ve heard of them.
One mystery solved. The FLYs had brought Kimatra to the USA. She got a job in a MacCormack movie. And now she and her vending machines were partnering with a shady real-estate company.
Time to solve mystery number two. Just what was Kimatra doing in the vending machine business?
REPORT NUMBER: 11
REPORT TITLE: Kicked Out
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Nicolas Muren
LOCATION: Muren Residence, 1052 N. Elm Street, Pilot Point, California, USA
DATE AND TIME: Saturday, June 23, 11:28 p.m.
Nick walked into the living room and sat in the armchair near the door. Dad was watching the cooking channel and glanced away from the TV. “Didn’t see you at the baptism today.”
“Wasn’t there,” Nick said. “I was driving around the Verdugo Mountains all day looking for the edible plants OST. Apparently it was canceled. Mr. S said he told you.”
“You didn’t get the message?” Dad asked.
No he hadn’t gotten it. “How can I get a message if you don’t give it to me?”
“I wrote it down where I always write down the messages. If you would’ve come home at a decent hour last night, you might have had time to check the notepad. We could’ve even had a conversation. Imagine that.”
Nick could imagine Dad talking at him, but not an actual two-way conversation. “I’m free now, Dad. What do you want to talk about?”
“I want to talk about what it means to be a Muren. You haven’t been doing your part lately.”
Nick snorted. Not this again. “Sorry, Dad, but no one can live up to your expectations.”
“I don’t ask that much of you.”
“Oh, but you do. And so does Mom. And so does the church. And the school. And every person living in this town. Everyone has an idea in their heads about how Pastor Muren’s son should behave. It’s impossible to live up to them all.” Nick had given up trying a long time ago.
“Being a pastor’s son and being my son are two different things,” Dad said. “Pastors and their families live under a microscope. And for the most part, I don’t care what those people have to say about you. I want to talk about your being my son. We have rules in this household.”
“Yeah, well, sorry you can’t trade me in for a better model.”
“I don’t want to trade you in. I want to be able to talk about things without you getting defensive.”
“Then stop attacking me.”
Dad sighed. “You know the rules, and lately, you’ve been breaking them. Too often.”
“I’m eighteen. You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”
“I can while you’re living in my house.”
His dad always used the same argument. “Um, no you can’t.”
Dad took a long breath through his nose, clasped his hands like he was praying. “Being an adult means you get to start making your own choices. You’re right about that much. You have a choice before you now. By September 1 you will either find your own place, where you can live however you want, or you’re welcome to stay here. If you choose this house, you will pay us $300 a month rent, payable on the first of each month, and you will abide by our house rules or be evicted. If you decide to stay with us, rent starts on September 1.”
Pressure built up in Nick’s chest. “You’re kicking me out? It hasn’t even been a month since graduation.”
“Regardless of where you decide to live, on September 1 you will also start paying for your cell phone and your car insurance. I will be taking you off both of my plans.”
“Great.” Nick got up and strode toward the front door, spun back. “What will your congregation say when they find out you abandoned your son?”
“It’s not their business. You want to live like an adult, you should have the responsibility of an adult.”
“Sounds good to me.” Nick left the house, slamming the door behind him. He strode to his car and climbed in, slammed that door too. He squeezed the steering wheel. Deep breath.
It didn’t matter. This was better. He could live with Kimatra.
Nick drove toward Kimatra’s apartment, texting her from the road. When he arrived, she was waiting with the front door opened.
“You okay?” she asked, coaxing him inside.
He shut the door behind them and leaned against it, kissing her long and deep. “I am now,” he mumbled.
****
A half hour later they sat snuggled on the sofa together, watching TV. Kimmy was prattling on about her visit to see her sister and nephew the previous weekend.
“I wish you could meet Rudy,” she said. “He’s so smart. He can put together a whole puzzle by himself and he’s only two and a half. And he talks all the time. His voice is so adorable, it melts my heart.”
Nick was only half listening. “You’re sure I can stay here?” he asked, breathing in the smell of her hair.
She scratched her fingernails over his chest, and they whirred against the fabric of his T-shirt. “Of course, baby. As long as you want.”
He might want forever. “I’m quitting the Mission League.”
She pushed away from him. “You can’t quit.”
“Of course I can.”
“But we need you there.”
This again. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Kimmy. I just can’t do it anymore. It’s not who I am.” It was such a bunch of do-good nonsense. “If I quit, I can skip the Alaska trip and stay here with you.” He leaned in to kiss her but she stood up and folded her arms.
“They won’t let you quit.”
He didn’t like the way her pupils had swelled. He tried to laugh it off. “You think Mr. S and Prière are going to start dragging me to training?”
“You know who I mean.”
“Hey, don’t worry about those guys.” He took hold of her hand, tugged her to sit down again. “I’ll be fine.”
She shook her head. “You’re not hearing me. They’ll hurt Faith.”
That got his attention. “Why? Why Faith?”
“Because she matters to you. I’ve seen this before, Nick,” Kimatra said, voice cracking. “They’ll kidnap her. Keep her in a tiny room in the dark, someplace far away from here. And if that’s not enough to get you to comply, they’ll start hurting her. They’ll record it and send you the video.”
Nick sputtered, a chill pulsing down his arms. “They can’t do that! I’ll call the cops.”
Kimmy tipped her head to the side, full lips frowning, eyebrows pinched. Her pity face. “It won’t matter. Not to Faith. Or me. If I fail to keep you in line, I’ll get hurt too.”
“This is ridiculous! Why don’t they just nab Spencer and be done with all this?”
“Too many people are protecting him. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.
They own us.”
She started to cry.
“Hey…” Nick jumped up and pulled her into a hug, held her close. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Or Faith. I’ll stay in the Mission League. It’s only a few more months. Then I’m out anyway.” He drew back and looked into her teary eyes. “Okay? They won’t be able to threaten us then.”
She sniffled, nodded, and he hugged her again, hating this. But it couldn’t last forever. September 1, eviction day, and the start of a new school year. He’d be out of the Mission League forever, then, and out of the reach of Kimatra’s creepy friends. This would all be over, and he and Kimatra could finally live in peace.
REPORT NUMBER: 12
REPORT TITLE: Another Nightmare Becomes Reality
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond
LOCATION: Grandma Alice’s House, Pilot Point, California, USA
DATE AND TIME: Monday, June 25, 9:19 p.m.
Monday night, I was scanning through my real estate footage. I was sick to death of this project, and my hand had a cramp from clutching my USB mouse. My cell rang, providing a welcome distraction for a break. I glanced at the caller ID, then answered. “Hey, Arianna.”
“Is Grace with you?”
“Why would you think that?”
“She was supposed to meet me at my house an hour ago. It’s not like her to, you know, not show up without calling first. The last time she did that, she went to your house.”
A chill ran over me. Grace was in trouble.
I jumped up and shoved my feet into my sneakers. “I’m driving to her apartment now. I’ll call you back.”
“Spencer, wait! Come get me first?”
I winced. “Yeah, sure,” I said. But only because it was on the way.
****
I picked up Arianna and drove to Ghettoside, parked the banana on the street outside Grace’s place, right behind her dad’s Camry. As we walked toward the apartment, we met Mr. Thomas coming out. The screen door slammed in his wake.
“Hello, Mr. Thomas,” Arianna said. “Is Grace home?”
The deadbeat squinted through the dark at us as he passed, reeking of beer. He turned and walked backwards. “Who wants to know?” He tripped on his own feet and fell against his car, cursing.
“Are you all right?” Arianna lunged past me, as if to go help the man.
I grabbed her elbow before she could get too close. “He’s drunk.”
“Spencer,” Arianna said. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”
Mr. Thomas wrenched open the car door and fell into the front seat.
I should have tried to stop him, but my thoughts were on Grace and what he might have done to her—what we might find inside. I started for the front door.
The Camry roared to life, and rolled down the street.
“Spencer, wait!”
I glanced back. Arianna ran to catch up.
“Why do you think he was drunk?” she asked.
I raised one eyebrow. Sometimes churchers were a little too sheltered. “Let’s see, the stench, the staggering, his bloodshot eyes…”
She shot me a glare. “Don’t be mean.”
I wanted to say, “Then don’t be stupid,” but I held my tongue and continued up the front steps. Arianna flanked me. I could see through the screen that the interior door was wide open.
Arianna peered through the screen and knocked lightly. “Hello? Grace?” She looked back at me, her pale face white in the glow of the distant street lamp. “Should we just go in?”
My stomach crawled up beside my heart. It felt like they were trying to wrestle each other.
Fear crept across Arianna’s face. “Spencer, what’s wrong? What are you thinking?”
“That we should go in,” I said, annoyed that she kept stalling.
Arianna opened the screen door, and we went inside. It was dark. I fumbled, found a light switch near the door, flipped it on. Beer cans peppered the kitchen and living room floor. Seventies rock music blared on the stereo system. The room reeked of alcohol, body odor, and mildew.
I exhaled a breath of dread. This looked like my prophecy come to life, which meant that Grace was likely hurt. Badly.
But just hurt, though. Right, God? Right?
“She’s in the back room. Her dad’s room, I think. On the floor. I think.”
“Spencer, you’re scaring me.”
And her sloth speed was ticking me off. I raised my voice. “Go!”
Arianna jogged across the living room and down the hall. “Grace?”
I waited in the living room. I don’t know why. Chicken, I guess. The hallway was dark but for the doorway leading to Grace’s room. Lights were on in there, casting a bit of a purple glow around Arianna’s dark silhouette. It struck me then that Arianna had never been in my prophecy. So maybe this wasn’t it. The song was different too. Aerosmith’s Dream On. That screamo voice grated on my nerves, but I hoped that Grace was out, maybe with Eli, practicing throws and lifts for cheer team.
“Spencer! Come quick!”
The terror in Arianna’s voice about killed me.
I sprinted down the hallway and into the room across from Grace’s. While Grace’s room usually smelled like perfume and coconuts, was bright purple and pink with One Direction pillows and a chair for Jesus, this room was black and brown and dark, even with the bedside lamp on. It smelled foul in here. Like BO and beer and dirt were having a party.
Grace’s body lay twisted in an unnatural shape just inside the doorway. A smashed alarm clock was upended on the floor nearby. Her golden hair was all dingy and matted with something brown and slimy.
No, God. Not this. Why hadn’t we been able to stop it? I’d turned in my reports to Prière. What was the point of my visions and dreams if I couldn’t stop stuff like this from happening?
Arianna was kneeling, fingers against Grace’s wrist. I crouched down on the other side and brushed the hair off of her peaceful yet battered face. In addition to the horrible head wound, her nose had been bleeding—a swath of blood had begun to dry over her lips and down one side of her neck. There was a cut across her left cheek and the eye above was swollen shut. A sleeve of her shirt was torn half off, and just above the elbow her arm twisted oddly.
“Is she—” I couldn’t voice the question. My heart was throbbing too loudly, pulsing in my ears.
“She’s breathing,” Arianna said. “She needs to see a doctor.”
I sighed, but my relief instantly turned to rage.
“He did this! That—” And I called her father couple of choice R-rated slurs that I’ll leave to your imagination.
“Spencer!” Arianna said, shocked.
I pulled out my cell phone. “I’m calling 911.”
“Don’t,” Grace whispered.
My gaze met her good eye. It was all red and watery. “Arianna says you need a doctor.”
“Just help me sit,” Grace said.
“We shouldn’t move you,” Arianna said. “Not until a doctor or EMT looks you over.”
“You’re not calling 911, okay? I’m fine.”
“No, no, no you aren’t,” I said, my hand shaking as I tapped to bring up the phone keypad.
“You definitely need a doctor, Grace,” Arianna said. “You could have a concussion, and I think your arm is broken.”
I cursed again and again and again, mumbling the little words to myself as if they alone might calm me down.
Arianna glared at me. “Not helping!”
So I said them silently in my head, instead.
“No hospital,” Grace whispered. “Please.”
“Grace, you must!” Arianna said.
“No. Just, um… help me up. I need to get to the bathroom where I can wash up. Then I’ll go to urgent care.”
“Grace, no,” Arianna said.
“Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Wincing, Grace struggled to sit up.
I swooped down and gathered her into my arms. Her hair smelled like dirty coconuts. When I stood, she gasp
ed, and Arianna rose with us and moved Grace’s injured arm to rest across her stomach.
She was so tiny and light. A wave of emotion choked me. I wanted to hug her, but I was afraid I’d break her more.
Arianna ran out of the room. “This way, Spencer.”
I carried Grace after Arianna, glad to leave the room of death behind. Halfway back toward the kitchen, Arianna darted into the yellow bathroom decorated with sunflowers and put down the toilet lid.
“Set her there.” She opened the medicine cabinet over the sink and started rummaging around.
I did my best to set Grace down carefully, but she let out a whiny puppy sound that made me cringe. I pulled my arms away from her and straightened, feeling way too big—I always felt big in residential bathrooms.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this,” I said.
Grace’s eyebrows crumpled, like I had spoken in another language and she was struggling to understand.
Arianna turned on the faucet and held a washcloth underneath. “Spencer? Get her some clean clothes. A shirt that buttons up the front.”
“In my closet,” Grace said. “Jeans in my dresser.”
“Um… okay.” I wandered into the purple room, glanced from the closet doors to the white dresser. I timidly pulled open the top drawer. Socks. Did Grace need socks?
The next drawer was filled with underwear. I slammed the thing closed so hard it rattled the wall. I reached down to the bottom drawer and found jeans. They all looked the same to me. I grabbed a pair and tucked them under my arm. I was about to move to the closet when I caught sight of a red business card on the top of her dresser.
Had it been upside down, I might not have read it. But it was face up, and my name was on it.
SOLO
FIELD: PROFILING: WORLD
Track and report all movements and conversations
Broken Trust Page 11