And then the tears fall. I don’t try to stop them. I cry for my dad, for my mom, for Yellow, myself, even Alpha. And especially for Abe. It’s as if the universe doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know how long I can keep fighting it.
Abe’s gone. He’s gone. And I don’t know when I’ll see him again. Whether I’ll ever see him again. I choke.
“Abe!” I yell after him.
He doesn’t respond. But someone does. Many someones. And then the secretary of defense, the director of National Intelligence, the National Security adviser, the FBI director, and the vice president all squeeze into the back of the ambulance and shut the door.
I don’t go back to Annum Hall. I don’t want to. I’m so tired. I lost my leader, then my boyfriend, and maybe even my friend. I went through a whole night’s worth of questioning. It’s seven in the morning, I haven’t slept since Dallas, and I don’t want to contemplate anything: Vaughn, CE, XP, the charred notebook. I just want to go to Mass General. So I do. To the reception area.
“My friend was shot,” I tell the very no-nonsense woman with frizzy hair sitting behind a computer. “I need to find her.”
“What’s her name?” the woman asks as she places her fingers over the keyboard.
I open my mouth, then close it. Because I don’t know. Somehow I’m going to doubt she’s here under “Yellow.” But then I remember Indigo’s anguished screams piercing the sky. The name he called her. The name he yelled over and over again.
“Elizabeth,” I say. “Her name is Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth what?” the woman asks in this totally annoyed voice.
“I don’t know her last name.”
The woman takes her hands off the keys. “I guess you guys aren’t very good friends then, are you? I can’t help you without a last name.”
And now I really have to restrain myself. I’m tired. I’m sore. I’ve lost almost three months of my life. I’ve lost my boyfriend. My father. My father’s friend. Everyone. Everything. I have no idea if Yellow is all right. I’m ready for a release. I clench my fists.
“Iris!”
My head pops up.
“Indigo!”
I push off the desk and run over to him. I run right into his arms, and he wraps them around me and holds me tight.
“How is she?” I ask, my mouth pressed into his shoulder.
“She’s okay.” Indigo’s voice is hurried, scared, exhausted, all in one. “They had to rush her into surgery to repair the damage, but she made it through.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “This is all my fault. Yellow getting shot. I should have stayed when I found out the truth. Then no one would have chased after me and no one—”
Indigo holds a finger to my mouth. “Stop. None of this is your fault.”
“But—”
“None of it.” He steps back and looks me in the eyes. “Your dad really was Annum Guard?”
“Yes,” I say.
“I always wanted to believe you were right. I think deep down I knew it. You’re a good person. You wouldn’t do all those things Alpha accused you of doing. All those months we were tracking you, I was actually hoping we wouldn’t find you. That you’d just disappear and go be free and happy somewhere.”
“There was never freedom and happiness. Not until I ended this.”
Indigo nods. “Everything’s changing. I don’t know where Annum Guard is going to go from here. If we’ll even exist anymore. We don’t have a leader. I mean, maybe my dad will take over when everything gets cleared up, but I don’t know. I don’t know if he wants to. Seems we’re dropping like flies these days. Blue’s gone.”
I should be shocked. But I’m not. Blue has always been gone. Ever since he was betrayed on Testing Day his junior year.
“Tyler,” I say. “His name is Tyler. And my name is Amanda. Not Iris.”
Indigo waits a second and then holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Amanda. I’m Nick.”
Nick. I repeat the name in my head a few times. Nick. Nick. It sounds so weird.
Beside us, someone clears a throat. Indigo—Nick—and I both turn. Zeta is standing there. He looks as if he’s aged twenty years since I last saw him. His blue eyes are weary and weathered, and his hair seems less brown and more gray today. Wrinkles snake across his face. “They just moved her out of Recovery. She’s awake and asking for you.”
Indigo drops my hand. “I have to go.” I nod at him, and he starts down the hall. But Zeta holds out his arm to stop him.
“I meant you,” he says, looking directly at me. “She’s asking for you.”
“Me?” I repeat.
Zeta nods. “I’ll show you the way.”
We trudge down the hall in silence, but then a thought occurs to me. I make a dead stop, and Zeta and Indigo do the same. They turn to look at me.
“Where were you?” I demand of Zeta.
He grimaces. “1942. Sent on a last-minute mission by a very frantic Alpha that turned out to be nothing.” His face contorts into a look of physical pain, and he walks away, as if standing here talking about it is too much to bear. He stops in front of the elevator, the doors open, and we file in. Zeta pushes the button for the fourth floor. “I should have known something was wrong based on his demeanor. I never should have gone. Then I would have been there and—”
He doesn’t finish the thought. I look away. I’m sorry I asked. As it is, I’m sure he’s going to beat himself up for years over being on a bogus mission when his daughter was shot.
We get off the elevator and are greeted by a glass door with a buzzer on the wall. Zeta scans a card that opens the door for us. And then we’re in the ICU. All the doors are glass, and the rooms are tiny. I see Yellow right away. She’s in the third room, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. She looks like hell. There are dark-purple circles under her eyes, and she’s whiter than the sheets she’s lying. She looks up and sees me staring at her from the other side of the glass, so I slide open the door and walk in. As I do, I notice her name has been written on a dry-erase strip outside the door.
ELIZABETH MASTERS
She’ll always be Yellow to me. And Indigo is always going to be Indigo, now that I think about it. I’ll probably be Iris to them. It’s who we are.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“Please tell me it’s all over. Please tell me I didn’t take a bullet for no reason.”
“It’s all over.”
Yeah, it’s nowhere close to being over. The investigation hasn’t even begun. But there’s no need to trouble Yellow with the details now.
Yellow nods. “Good.” She closes her eyes, then opens them a few seconds later. “Getting shot hurts like a bitch, in case you were wondering.”
“I would have guessed as much.”
“So that was your boyfriend, huh?”
“Was my boyfriend is right.” It sounds so wrong when I say it.
“You broke up?”
“No.” I think about it. “Maybe.” I think some more. “No. I don’t know what happened.”
“Are you going to start dating my brother now?”
I turn my head to look out the windowed doors, where Zeta and Indigo are standing with arms crossed looking in. Indigo gives me a little smile, and I return it. Then I look back at Yellow. “Not a chance. Your brother’s a great guy, but no. We’re friends. Besides, he uses finger quotes. I could never be with a guy who uses finger quotes.”
And Abe and I aren’t over. Screw the universe. Screw the house. We’ll find our way back together.
“Okay, good,” Yellow says. “Because that would be totally weird if my friend was dating my little brother.”
“So we’re friends then?”
“Um, duh,” Yellow says. “I took a bullet for you.”
“Technically you didn’t,” I point out. “Blue jus
t got a little jumpy.”
She smiles. It’s a weak smile, and I can tell her eyes are struggling to stay open.
“I’m going to let you rest,” I say. “I’m really glad you didn’t die today, Yellow.”
“That makes two of us.” And then she closes her eyes.
I slide the door closed behind me as softly as I can. Zeta reaches out and squeezes me on the shoulder.
“So where do we go from here?” I ask.
Zeta swallows. Then he shrugs. “You go back to Annum Hall. I go . . . somewhere for now. I’m out.”
I gasp. “What? Why?”
“I’m being investigated, too. We all are, but my generation is being more heavily scrutinized than yours is.” He gives a weak laugh. “My generation. I’m pretty much the only one left from my generation.”
His eyes are sad, and I look away. I can’t take one more sad, defeated person today.
“I’m not allowed within fifty feet of the hall until the investigation is complete,” Zeta says.
I don’t say anything. I look down at my feet.
“And for the record,” Zeta continues, “the investigation is going to show that I knew nothing about what Alpha was doing.”
I look at Zeta. He’s staring at me with those scary, intense eyes. But behind them is a softness, a look of concern.
“You knew my dad,” I say. It’s one hell of a subject change, but I don’t care.
“I did know your dad. I knew him well. Since childhood.”
“And?” I say, looking from Zeta to Indigo and then back to Zeta.
“And let me make it clear to you that I didn’t know you were Delta’s daughter until today. I want you to know that. I’d never met you or seen a picture of you or anything like that until the day Alpha brought you to us. Your mom was fiercely protective of you, Iris. She completely cut you off from our world, and for good reason, I now see.”
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“And what if I decide that I’m done with Annum Guard? That I don’t want to be a part of it anymore?”
“Well, that’s your choice. But I know that I’d be disappointed. You’re a good addition to the Guard. We’re a broken, bleeding Guard, but we’ll continue.”
I nod. “I want to come back.” I do. I don’t think I realized it until this exact moment, but I do. I’m going to go to Vermont, make things right with my mom, and then I’ll be back. Annum Guard feels like a part of me. It’s in my blood. It’s who I am. And I feel like I owe it to the Obermann name to prove that we can do it right, without the corruption. “But what if they don’t want me back?”
“Of course we do!” Indigo says.
“I broke just about every rule we have. I projected in front of people. A lot of people. I changed the past.”
“Oh, of course you changed the past!” Zeta says. “That’s what we do. We give you the ‘enhancing, not altering’ lingo in the beginning; but when it comes down to it, a change is a change. A minor tweak has the potential to change the past just as much as a material alteration. We just try to do our homework ahead of time and make sure we’re not in danger of changing the world for the worse.”
“So changing the past is okay?”
“It can be.”
“In that case, I need to talk to you about something. Alone. It’s important.”
Zeta takes a breath, then turns to Indigo. “Go see your sister.”
“What?” Indigo’s head whips to the glass door. “She’s asleep.”
“I don’t care,” Zeta says. “Go see her. Now.”
We wait until Indigo has shut the sliding glass door behind him. Then I turn back to Zeta. “What’s your security clearance like?”
Zeta raises an eyebrow. “What did it used to be like, or what is it like now? If you need sensitive information this minute, you’re out of luck.”
“I’m not talking about log-ins and passwords,” I say. “What’s your building clearance? Like, for instance, in this hospital?”
“Ah.” Zeta slowly nods his head and unclips the plain white pass key from his belt that got us into the ICU. “They forgot to take this from me. I’m sure they’ll figure it out any second now, but in the meantime you saw the doors it can open. I’m sure I could go observe a brain surgery if I wanted to.”
I hold out my hand. “Can I borrow that for a few hours? I have some unfinished business I need to take care of.”
Zeta hesitates for a second but then hands me the key. “I trust you.”
I close my hands around it. “Thank you,” I whisper. And then I walk out of the ICU.
I dress a little more appropriately this time. I’m in the dress I wore for the Boston Massacre, corset and all. The corset was not by choice. I tried to lace up the dress without it, but hell if it isn’t tighter than it was a few days ago. I mean, a few months ago.
Damn.
I’m going to have to get used to the fact that it’s February. Not November. I slide my brand-new charm bracelet onto my wrist. My mom bought it for me. She’s here. In Boston. Staying at the Omni Parker House, of all places, until a spot opens up at McLean, which has the best damned bipolar treatment program in the country. And it’s only eight miles west of here.
She cried when I called her from the hospital. She’s sorry, I’m sorry, and while we have miles still to go toward fixing our relationship, McLean is a start. A twice-daily dose of lithium is a start. My sincerest apology is a start. The joint therapy and PTSD counseling our government is springing for is a start. And the one charm hanging from the bracelet is the biggest start of all. It’s a bird. Not in a cage. Free from the weight of its past and soaring into the future.
I’ve been down this road before with my mom, but this time it feels different. This time I think she has a shot. I have a shot.
I grab the edge of the dress and puff it out before slipping down the stairs as quietly as I can. Two female investigators are in the library on the computer, but they don’t even glance up at me as I walk by. Perfect. It’s as good as empty.
Except that it’s not empty. I take a few steps, my heels click-clack against the hardwood floor by the stairs, and Abe sits up from behind the back of the couch.
My feet grind to a halt, and I gasp as he makes eye contact.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Um, I live here,” he says.
My mouth drops open. “You mean you’re staying? You’re going to be in Annum Guard from now on?”
“I think that’s what I just said.”
“But what about Ariel?” I didn’t dream that, did I?
“Ariel said one thing,” Abe says with a smile, “but my dad said another. My dad knows about the Guard. Always has. I guess he’s a little resentful that Ariel refused to let him join. My dad thinks it’s a great honor, and the physical risks aren’t nearly as bad as they were a generation ago. I have my dad’s blessing.”
“And you live here now.” I repeat the words, but my brain is having a hard time processing them.
“Seriously, were you always this bad at listening?”
I run. I pick up the edge of my damn dress and I run. Straight to Abe. I fling myself into his arms and throw my hands around his neck.
“You’re here,” I whisper. “You’re really here. To stay.”
Abe slips his arms around my waist and touches his forehead to mine.
“I thought you were going to break up with me,” I say.
“Never.”
I press my mouth into his. I’ve missed the soft feel of his mouth, the tenderness of his kiss. I don’t know how long I stay there, entwined with him. For once I don’t care how much time passes.
Soon enough, Abe pulls away. “What’s with the costume?”
“Oh.” I look down at the dress and all of its restricting layers and bones. “I have
one last mission before I can put this whole experience behind me.” I hold up the plain brown bag I’ve been clutching.
“What’s that?” Abe asks.
“Penicillin I swiped from the hospital.”
“Isn’t that a felony?”
“Possibly,” I say. “But it’s for a good reason. There’s a little girl in 1782 who needs this. And I promised her I’d help her. I won’t be long. Wait for me?”
Abe smiles. “Always.”
He slips his hand through mine and walks me to the gravity chamber. I enter the code they gave me that morning—seriously, they change the codes around here every twelve hours now, and let’s not talk about how many forms I had to fill out to get this mission authorized—and the room opens to blackness.
I give Abe’s hand a squeeze because I know he’ll be right here when I get back. Like he promised. Like he always will. And then I leap.
I’m not sure how old I was when I first started figuring out that some of the history that filled my schoolbooks was a partial, if not total, fabrication; but this discovery stayed with me for a while. It even inspired many of the events in this book. I tried to stay as close to true historical accuracy as I could, but there were a few instances where I fudged the truth for the sake of narration.
In the Boston Massacre scene, I have James Caldwell and Samuel Maverick running to the location together, under the impression there was a fire. There’s no indication in history that Caldwell and Maverick knew each other, much less that they ever spoke during the massacre. And while it’s true that both boys probably would have assumed there was a fire when they first heard the church bells ringing throughout Boston, by the time they reached the Old State House—the location of the Boston Massacre—they had already realized what was going on and joined the mob.
But my biggest fabrication in the Boston Massacre scene lies with Patrick Carr. Not much is known of Carr’s history. There’s no indication that he was married with a family, so it’s certainly not true that he was there with his young son. But it is true that Carr, being from Ireland, was used to political mobs and would have known instantly the danger of the situation. It’s also true that Carr’s deathbed account of the massacre was perhaps the most important piece of evidence in the subsequent trial (and acquittal) of the British soldiers. (Legal trivia: Carr’s testimony is one of the first recorded instances of the dying declaration hearsay exception used in an American courtroom.)
The Eighth Guardian (Annum Guard) Page 31