When Layla walked in, I was ready to fight off her advances, but I shouldn’t have worried, because from the look on her face, she wasn’t interested in romance. Barely through the door, she skipped a traditional greeting and said, “We need to talk.”
I stood up. “Okay, what about?”
“Not here.” She beckoned with one finger and turned around.
I obediently followed. “Are you planning on telling me where we’re going?” I asked. She was a tall girl who took long strides, and I was right on her heels. She moved at such a fast clip that the purse hanging off her shoulder swung as she walked.
“Breakfast.” She shot this word over her shoulder and kept going.
We went into an empty dining room with yellow walls, a blue and yellow rug, and a large chandelier. Layla said, “This is the Family Dining Room,” and kept going. She pushed through a swinging door and I followed her into a long narrow work area comprised of white walls, cabinets, fluorescent lights, and chrome counters. I felt the electricity in the walls powering industrial sized refrigerators and other appliances. There was a lot of power in this room, and not the presidential kind. Two women dressed in white shirts stopped talking as we walked in. One was folding napkins, the other putting away a rack of glasses. “Good morning, Miss Layla,” they said in unison.
“Good morning,” she said. “My friend and I are going to be eating here for the next hour or so and we’d like some privacy please.” She pointed to a chrome counter fronted by three red vinyl covered stools. The same style as those in Rosie’s Diner back in Edgewood.
“We’ll be out of here in a second,” the woman said, and true to her word, they finished up what they were doing and left almost immediately.
As if on cue, an elevator door opened on the other side and a man in a bow tie, white shirt, black jacket and trousers, came out and placed a tray of food on the counter in front of us. “Good morning.” He nodded to each of us, then raised the covers of the plates revealing omelets and fresh fruit. Besides the food, he’d also brought each of us a cup of coffee with cream and sugar, and a glass of orange juice. The coffee smell was strong, like walking into Starbucks in the morning. “Can I get you anything else, Miss?” he asked cheerily.
“No, this will do fine,” she said, depositing her purse on the counter next to her plate. “Thanks.”
When we were completely alone, Layla said, “You’re probably wondering why we aren’t eating in the dining room.” She spooned some sugar into her coffee and stirred before looking up to meet my eyes.
“Well no, this is rather…” I looked at the open garbage can next to me. On the top of the heap were coffee grounds and orange peels. A nearby counter held an open notebook with a list like someone had been taking inventory of the contents of the refrigerator. “…cozy?”
She laughed. “Nice try. This is the Butler’s Pantry. I wanted to go someplace where we wouldn’t be overheard. This is as good as it gets. We probably have about an hour before they’ll need this space.”
“Okay.” I took a sip of my orange juice. “You were saying we needed to talk.”
“Yes we do, Russ Becker. You’ve got some explaining to do.”
I tried to read her face. Clearly she wasn’t happy with me which was a huge change. The last time I’d seen her she’d looked at me like she’d been waiting her whole life for a caramel sundae and I was a perfect caramel sundae. “Okay. What do you want to know?” Despite my curiosity I was suddenly really hungry. I dug into the omelet, watching as she pulled a book out of her purse.
“Do you know what this is?” she said, showing me a leather bound volume secured by a lock.
“A diary?” I guessed.
“Fourth graders keep diaries,” she said. “This, young man, is a journal. My journal.” She set it on the counter and put a possessive hand over the cover. “I carry it with me at all times and it’s always locked. It’s hack proof, virus proof, and can never be accidentally deleted or forwarded. Old school security. I’ve been keeping it for ages. My grandmother gave it to me. She thought it would be a good idea to document my years in the White House.”
“Nice,” I said.
“When she first gave it to me, I thought I’d never use it,” Layla said. “I was like ‘thanks, Gram,’ and then I stuck it in a drawer. It was there for months. I almost tossed it out, but one day it occurred to me that maybe old Gram was on to something. I mean, maybe someday I’d want to write a memoir or something and it would be good to have a written record to jog my memory. But of course, once you write something down, there’s always the thought that someone else might get hold of it and read it, and God forbid, maybe publish it, so that’s when I decided I’d always carry it with me. I also came up with abbreviations and codes that only I know, so now all of my entries are written in secret code.” Layla spun the dial on the lock back and forth until it clicked open. Removing the lock, she opened the journal and showed me a page. “To most people this looks like the ramblings of a crazy meth addict.”
I took a look and nodded. First of all, her handwriting was terrible, worse than my sister’s even. And once you got past the messy writing, there was more trouble because the text appeared to be a mixture of letters and numbers sprinkled in between actual words. I couldn’t make sense of it. I doubted it was as secure as she thought, but it wasn’t something that could be solved quickly either.
“Good idea, using code,” I said, spearing a melon ball. This breakfast was really hitting the spot.
“One interesting little bonus is that sometimes I catch people in lies.” She closed the journal. “Or worse.” Her tone turned icy. “Sometimes they try to turn me into a lie. And that’s something I won’t stand for.”
I stopped mid-chew. The food in my mouth sat like paste on my tongue as I realized where this was going. She searched my face for a reaction. Trying not to give anything away, I quickly looked down at my plate, but it was too late. She knew I knew something. I swallowed the food and the lump in my throat at the same time. “Really,” I said.
“Yes, really.” Her expression softened just a bit. “Okay, Russ, I’m giving you a chance here to be straight with me. Would you like to explain why I suddenly remember three people I’ve never met before and why I’m haunted by thoughts I’m in love with you when we barely know each other?”
“You’re haunted by thoughts that you’re in love with me?” Despite my best efforts, the corners of my mouth tugged upward.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and gave me a thin lipped smile. “But I know it’s not real love. It feels like when I was eleven and I used to obsess about some actor in a movie. An immature crush based on nothing.”
“Oh.” Suddenly the omelet lost its appeal. I set my fork down. “You don’t remember meeting us in Miami?”
“No, I actually have very distinct memories of meeting you in Miami, and yet, I know that it never happened. I know that because—” She opened the journal and flipped through the pages until she found the right spot and began to read. “I wrote this: Delphine has scheduled me to meet with three high school kids she says I met in Miami. Not true. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before and I know I’ve never met Russ Becker.” She looked up at me.
“Who’s Delphine?” I asked, buying time.
“She handles the schedule.” She narrowed her eyes. “Nice try changing the subject.” When I didn’t say anything she continued. “I checked all three of you out on Facebook ahead of time. Mallory and Jameson had a vaguely familiar look. I meet a lot of people and sometimes they all blur together in my mind.” She waved her hand for emphasis. “But you? You have a look I wouldn’t have forgotten. I knew instantly that I’d never laid eyes on you before.”
I scrambled for an explanation. “I don’t update my Facebook page all that much. My profile picture is old.”
“Nice try.” She continued, “I also know I’m not in love with you because I’m involved in a relationship wit
h someone else, a secret, scorching hot love affair, which is why having you constantly in my thoughts is really annoying. I think something happened to me once we were all up in my bedroom. Something that affected my brain and inserted memories I didn’t have before.”
“What do you think happened?” I asked cautiously. The door from the dining room swung open, but I didn’t turn to look. Someone started coming in, spotted us, and backed out again.
“I believe I was brainwashed, but I’m a little unclear on how it was done,” Layla said, taking another sip of her coffee. “I know I wasn’t drugged because we all had the iced tea. The same thing with the air. Anything I could have breathed in would have affected everybody in the room. I think it’s more likely there was some kind of hypnosis, but I think I would have remembered something like that.” She leaned toward me and spoke quietly but firmly. “I feel like I’m going insane. I need you to tell me the truth here, Russ. Can you do that? Are you man enough to come clean?”
I wished she’d stop staring at me—it was making me feel guilty. “I can’t tell you everything,” I said reluctantly. “But I can tell you that you’re not going insane.”
“That’s a start. Keep going.”
I shook my head. “I can’t say anymore than that. It’s a national security issue.”
“National security requires that I lust after you?”
I felt the familiar flush of my face turning bright red. “Well, no.”
“So then it’s not a national security issue.” She folded her arms. “You can’t have it both ways, Russ. It’s either a matter of national security or it’s not.”
I leaned in. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Please.” She exhaled audibly. “All I do is keep secrets.”
“Mallory, Jameson and I are attending the Bash as added protection for you and your mother. They thought it would seem more natural for us to be there if you’d met us before. Like inviting friends to come.”
“Who is this they?” She put the words in finger quotes.
“I can’t say.”
“Why would my mother and I need added protection when we have the Secret Service?”
I shook my head. “That I can’t tell you.”
“Well then, why would they choose high school kids from Wisconsin to protect us? Seems kind of lame. No offense.”
“None taken.” I thought for a second. “Let’s just say we have some specific talents that not too many people have.”
“Specific talents?” She raised one eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Like martial arts training?”
“No. I mean, yeah, something like that, only different.” Every time I opened my mouth I dug myself in deeper.
Layla tapped her fingers on the counter for a minute, deep in thought. When realization dawned, her mouth stretched into a wide smile. “Aha! Now it all makes sense,” she said, snapping her fingers and jabbing a finger toward my chin. “You’re one of them.”
Now I was the one with a question. “One of what?”
“One of those kids, those meteorite kids.” Her eyes gleamed. “I’ve been hearing about you for years. When my mother was with the NSA I used to listen at doors. Sometimes I’d pretend to fall asleep on her couch in the office. You wouldn’t believe what I heard.” She tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Or come to think of it, maybe you would.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. “I think we should just forget this whole conversation. We’ll have a nice time at the Bash and that will be the end of it. Hopefully your boyfriend won’t find out and beat the snot out of me.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said.
“You mentioned a secret relationship?” I tried to think of the phrase she used. “Scorching hot?” I prompted.
“All true. But it’s not a boyfriend.”
“Oh.”
She laughed. “Don’t look so surprised, Wisconsin.”
“I’m not.” I rearranged my expression to convey a look of nonchalance. “I mean, it’s cool.”
Layla put her hand up to my cheek and leaned in. “Our next order of business,” she said, and paused. To me the pause seemed deliberate.
“Yes?” I said.
“Will be to undo the brainwashing before I go insane.” She sat back and started to tick off on her fingers. “I need to get you and your incredible body out of my head. I also need—,”
I felt my cheeks flush crimson. “My incredible body?”
She leaned toward me and whispered. “That’s one of the thoughts I keep having. Over and over again I find myself thinking, ‘I bet he has an incredible body. I’d love to see him with his clothes off. I want to run my hands over his incredible body.’ Trust me, between that and knowing we hadn’t met before, I knew something wasn’t right.”
I looked away, embarrassed. “I can’t believe Mallory did that. I’m sorry.”
“So it was Mallory who did it,” Layla said with a satisfied expression. “I thought as much. One of the other thoughts I keep having is that I trust her implicitly. Without question. ‘Blind obedience to Mallory’ is the phrase that keeps popping into my head. I need to get that erased too.”
“Blind obedience to Mallory?” I said. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
I shook my head, confused. “Why would she do that?” If Mallory thought that was funny, it wasn’t.
“I don’t know.” She held her palms up. “Why do people do what they do? I just need you to fix it. Can you do that for me?”
I wanted to help, but I sure wasn’t positive I could make it work. “I can try.”
“Or do you need Mallory to reverse the curse?”
I pushed my stool back and stood up next to Layla. “Let’s see what I can do.”
It was true I couldn’t touch what Mallory could do in the mind control department, but still, I thought I could help Layla. I got up and stood behind her, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. She relaxed at my touch, and I concentrated on transmitting energy.
Unlike Mallory, I needed to speak aloud. I leaned in, purposely keeping my voice low so only Layla would hear me. “Layla Bernstein, you are not in love with me, Russ Becker. You no longer feel any attraction to me. You will not have obsessive thoughts about me.” I hesitated, letting it sink in. “You feel no blind obedience to Mallory. You have free will and will use your own judgment. These troubling obsessive thoughts are gone now. You no longer have the memories of meeting us in Miami. You know that you just met us for the first time the other day.” Layla’s head dropped forward. I wasn’t sure if she’d relaxed fully on purpose or if this proved my words had sunk in. Just to be safe, I slowly repeated everything again. When I felt like I was depleted, I shook out my hands, and said, “Okay, that’s the best I can do.”
Layla lifted her head, turned to me, and blinked. “You’re done?”
“Yes, that’s all I’ve got. How do you feel? Did it work?”
“I no longer have the urge to grab your crotch, so that’s an improvement.”
What does a person say to that? “Well that’s good.”
Her forehead scrunched as she thought. “The feelings I had for you are gone, I think. I remember having memories of meeting you in Miami, but now they don’t feel real. It seems more like a movie I saw a long time ago or something I heard about once. I’m pretty sure that what you did worked.”
“Pretty sure?”
“Let’s test it, shall we?” She stood up and pushed her stool aside, and then grabbed my face with both hands. Before I could even process what she was doing, her mouth was pressed hard against mine. Layla Bernstein was gorgeous and her lips were warm and soft, but all I could think of was how much better it was to kiss Nadia. When she pulled back, her mouth made a sort of smacking noise.
“So?” I said. “What do you think?
Layla wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Nope,” she said. “I’ve got nothing. My feelings for you are
officially gone.”
We shared a smile. “Good,” I said. “If you wouldn’t mention this to Mallory, I’d appreciate it.” The fact that Mallory had implanted the words ‘blind obedience to Mallory’ confused me. That hadn’t been part of the training.
Layla shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on talking much to Mallory. After what happened, I don’t want her anywhere near me.”
I didn’t stay too much longer after that. Right after we finished our meal, the staff needed the space to prepare lunch and so we slipped out to talk in a sitting area for a bit. After about half an hour, Layla’s personal assistant came to remind her that she had to leave shortly to speak at a fundraiser for a children’s charity. “Russ, this is Chloe. Chloe, Russ,” she said, introducing me to her assistant. Chloe was slim and tall like Layla, with cocoa brown skin and hair pulled back into a French braid. If she hadn’t been wearing office attire—navy pants and a white button-down shirt with a clunky gold necklace—she could have passed for a college freshman. “Russ is my date for the Bash tomorrow night.” The two of them exchanged an amused glance and burst out laughing.
“Something funny?” I asked.
“Not at all,” Layla said, grinning.
But I got a hint of something I couldn’t put my finger on. Later on, when I was back at the hotel resting before our final briefing, I figured it out. The something I couldn’t put my finger on was a silent vibration between Chloe and Layla, something, I guessed, that was scorching hot. I wondered if I was right, but I wasn’t going to ask.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Nadia
The woman behind the airline counter said, “Legally a child? How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“And you’re by yourself?”
I nodded.
“Okay, that changes things,” she said, tapping into her keyboard. She must not have liked what she saw because she picked up the phone and the next thing I heard was her saying, “I’ve got an unaccompanied minor here. She needs to be on the next flight to IAD.” She listened and frowned. “Okay,” she said. “Yes, will do.” She gave me a small smile. “Today’s your lucky day. We’re working to get you situated. My supervisor is checking with other airlines. Please take a seat and I’ll call your name when I hear what’s been arranged.”
Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 76