by Tahereh Mafi
“What’s wrong?” I ask again. Adrenaline is moving through me now, dousing my fear. I feel calmer. Sharper. “What happened?”
Brendan hesitates; glances at something over his shoulder. “I’m just a messenger, mate. I’m not supposed to tell you anything.”
“What? Why not?”
“Trust me,” he says, meeting my eyes. “It’ll help to hear this from Castle himself.”
Five
“Why?” is the first thing I say to Castle.
I burst through the doorway with maybe a little too much force, but I can’t help it. I’m freaking out. “Why do I have to hear this directly from you?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
I can hardly keep the anger out of my voice. I can hardly keep myself from imagining every possible worst-case scenario. Any number of horrible things could’ve happened to merit dragging me out of bed before dawn, and making me wait even five extra minutes to find out what the hell is going on is nothing short of cruel.
Castle stares at me, his face grim, and I take a deep breath, look around, steady my pulse. I have no idea where I am. This looks like some kind of . . . headquarters. Another building. Castle, Sam, and Nouria are seated at a long wooden table, atop which are scattered papers, waterlogged blueprints, a ruler, three pocketknives, and several old cups of coffee.
“Sit down, Kenji.”
But I’m still looking around, this time searching for J. Ian and Lily are here. Brendan and Winston, too.
No J. No Warner. And no one is making eye contact with me.
“Where’s Juliette?” I ask.
“You mean Ella,” Castle says gently.
“Whatever. Why isn’t she here?”
“Kenji,” Castle says. “Please sit down. This is hard enough without having to manage your emotions, too. Please.”
“With all due respect, sir, I’ll sit down after I know what the hell is going on.”
Castle sighs heavily. Finally, he says—
“You were right.”
My eyes widen, my heart still hammering in my chest. “Excuse me?”
“You were right,” Castle says, and his voice catches on the last word. He clenches and unclenches his fists. “About Adam. And James.”
But I’m shaking my head. “I don’t want to be right. I was overreacting. They’re fine. Don’t listen to me,” I say, sounding a little crazy. “I’m not right. I’m never right.”
“Kenji.”
“No.”
Castle looks up, looks me directly in the eye. He looks devastated. Beyond devastated.
“Tell me this is a joke,” I say.
“Anderson has taken the boys hostage,” he says, glancing at Brendan and Winston. Ian. The ghost of Emory. “He’s doing it again.”
I can’t handle this.
My heart can’t handle this. I’m already too close to the edge of crisis. This is too much. Too much.
“You’re wrong,” I insist. “Anderson wouldn’t do that, not to James. James is just a child— He wouldn’t do that to a child—”
“Yes,” Winston says quietly. “He would.”
I glance over at him, my eyes wild. I feel stupid. I feel like my skin is too tight. Too loose. And I’m looking at Castle again when I say:
“How do you know? How can you be sure this isn’t another trap, just like last time—”
“Of course it’s a trap,” Nouria says. Her voice is firm but not unkind. She glances at Castle before she says: “I’m not sure why, but my dad is making this sound like a simple hostage situation. It’s not. We’re not even sure exactly what’s happening yet. It definitely looks like Anderson is holding the boys hostage, but it’s also clear that there’s something much bigger happening behind the scenes. Anderson is plotting something. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t have—”
“I think,” Sam says, squeezing her wife’s hand, “what Nouria is trying to say is that we think Adam and James play only a small role in all of this.”
I glance between them, confused. There’s tension in the room that wasn’t there a moment ago, but my head feels too full of sand to figure it out. “I don’t think I understand what you’re getting at,” I say.
But it’s Castle who explains.
“It’s not just Adam and James,” he says. “Anderson currently has custody of all the kids—specifically, the children of the supreme commanders.”
And I’m about to ask another question before I realize—
I’m the only one asking questions right now. I glance around the room, at the faces of my friends. They look sad but determined. Like they already know how this story ends, and they’re ready to face it.
I’m floored by the revelation. And I can’t keep the edge out of my voice when I say, “Why was I the last to be informed about this?”
My question is followed by perfect silence. Harried glances. Nervous expressions.
Then, finally:
“We knew it would be hard for you,” Lily says. Lily, who never gives a shit about my feelings. “You’d just been on this crazy mission, and then we had to shoot your plane out of the sky— Honestly, we weren’t sure if we should tell you right away.” She hesitates. And then, aiming an irritated look at the other ladies in the room: “But if it makes you feel any better, Nouria and Sam didn’t tell us right away, either.”
“What?” My eyebrows fly up my head. “What the hell is going on? When did you first get the news?”
The room goes quiet again.
“When?” I demand.
“Fourteen hours ago,” Nouria says.
“Fourteen hours ago?” My eyes widen to the point of pain. “You knew about this fourteen hours ago and you’re only telling me now? Castle?”
He shakes his head.
“They kept it from me, too,” he says, and despite his calm demeanor, I notice the tension in his jaw. He won’t look me in the eye. He won’t look at Nouria, either.
Realization dawns with sudden, startling speed, and I finally understand: there are too many cooks in this metaphorical kitchen.
I had no idea what kind of complicated shitshow I’d just walked into, but it’s clear that Nouria and Sam are used to running this place on their own. Daughter or not, Nouria is the head of this resistance, and it doesn’t matter how much she likes having her dad around, she’s not about to cede control. Which apparently means she’s going to keep him from accessing classified information before she deems it necessary. Which means— Hell, I think it means Castle has no real authority anymore.
Holy shit.
“So you knew about this,” I say, looking from Nouria to Sam. “You knew it when we landed here yesterday—you knew then that Anderson was rounding up the kids. When we had cake and sang happy birthday to Warner, you knew that James and Adam had been abducted. When I asked, over and over and over again, why the hell Adam and James weren’t here, you knew and said nothing—”
“Calm down,” Nouria says sharply. “You’re losing control.”
“How could you lie to us like that?” I demand, not bothering to keep my voice down. “How could you stand there and smile when you knew our friends were suffering?”
“Because we had to be sure,” Sam says to me. And then she sighs, heavily, pushing wisps of her blond hair out of her face. There are purple smudges under her eyes that tell me I’m not the only one who’s been losing sleep lately. “Anderson had his men feed this information directly underground. He planted it in our networks on purpose, which made me doubt his motives from the start.
“Anderson seems to have figured out that your team took refuge with another rebel group,” she says. “But he doesn’t know which of us is protecting you. I figured he was just trying to lure us out, into the open, so I wanted to verify the information before we spread it any further. We didn’t want to take next steps without being certain, and we didn’t think it would be good for morale to spread hurtful information that might, ultimately, be false.”
“You waited fourteen hours to spread inform
ation that might’ve been true,” I cry. “Anderson could’ve decided to kill them off by now!”
Nouria shakes her head. “That’s not how a hostage situation works. He’s made it clear he wants something from us. He wouldn’t kill off his own bargaining chips.”
I go suddenly still. “What do you mean? What does he want from us?” Then, looking around again: “And why the hell isn’t Juliette here right now? She needs to be hearing this.”
“There’s no reason to disturb Ella’s sleep,” Sam says, “because there’s nothing we can do at the moment. We’ll fill her in in the morning.”
“The hell we are,” I say angrily, forgetting myself. “I’m sorry, sir, I know we’re not at Point anymore, but you have to do something. This isn’t okay. J led a goddamn resistance—she doesn’t want to be coddled or protected from this shit. And when she finds out that we didn’t tell her she’s going to be pissed.”
“Kenji—”
“This is all some sort of bullshit, anyway,” I say, my hands caught in my hair. “A bluff. More lies. There’s no way Anderson has all the other kids. He’s obviously trying to mess with our heads—and it’s working—because he knows we could never be sure whether he’s actually taken them hostage. This is all some complicated mind game,” I say. “It’s the perfect play.”
“It’s not,” Brendan says, putting his hand on my shoulder. His eyebrows pull together with concern. “It’s not a mind game.”
“Of course it—”
“Sam saw them,” Nouria says. “We have proof.”
I stiffen. “What?”
“I can see across long distances,” Sam says. She tries to smile, but she just looks tired. “Really, really long distances. We figured if Anderson was going to take the kids anywhere he’d do it somewhere close to his home base, where he has soldiers and resources at his disposal. And when Ella told us Evie was dead, I felt even more certain that he’d head back to North America, where he’d need to do damage control and maintain his power over the continent. In the event that another rebel group tried to take advantage of the sudden upheaval, he’d have to be here, exercise his power, maintain order. So I focused on Sector 45 in my search. It took nearly all fourteen hours to do a proper sweep, but I’m certain I’ve found enough evidence to support his claims.”
“What the hell kind of— You’re certain you’ve found enough evidence? What kind of vague nonsense is that? And why are you the one who gets to decide wh—”
“Watch your tone, Kishimoto,” Nouria says sharply. “Sam has been working nonstop trying to figure this situation out. You will recognize her authority here, where we’ve offered you refuge, and you will give her your gratitude and your respect.”
Sam places a calming hand on Nouria’s arm. “It’s all right,” Sam says, still looking at me. “He’s just overset.”
“We’re all overset,” Nouria says, narrowing her eyes at me. Anger gives her a sudden, ethereal glow that makes her dark skin seem almost bioluminescent. For a moment, I can’t look away.
I give my head a quick shake to clear it.
“I’m not trying to be disrespectful,” I say. “I just don’t understand why we’re buying into this. ‘Enough evidence’ doesn’t sound convincing, especially not when Anderson pulled this exact same shit before. Do you remember how that turned out? If it weren’t for J, who saved all our asses that day, we’d be dead. Ian would definitely be dead right now.”
“Yes,” Castle says patiently, “but you’re forgetting one important detail.”
I tilt my head at him.
“Anderson did indeed have our men. He never lied about that.”
I clench my jaw. My fists. My whole body turns to stone.
“Denial is the first stage of grief, bro.”
“Fuck off, Sanchez.”
“That is enough,” Castle says, standing up with sudden force. He looks livid, the table rattling under his splayed fingers. “What’s the matter with you, son? This isn’t like you—this angry, reckless, disrespectful behavior. Your harsh judgments are doing nothing to help the current situation.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Anger explodes in the blackness behind my eyelids, fireworks building and breaking me down.
My head is spinning.
My heart is spinning.
A bead of sweat travels down my back and I shiver, involuntarily.
“Fine,” I snap, opening my eyes. “I apologize for my disrespectful behavior. But I’m only going to ask this question one more time before I go and get her myself: Why the hell isn’t Juliette here right now?”
Their collective silence is the only answer I need.
“What is really going on?” I say angrily. “Why are you doing this? Why are you letting her sleep and rest and recover so much? What aren’t you telling m—”
“Kenji.” Castle sounds suddenly different. His eyes are pulled together, his forehead creased in concern. “Are you feeling all right?”
I blink. Take a sudden, steadying breath. “I’m fine,” I say, but for a second the words sound strange, like I got caught in an echo.
“Bro, you don’t look okay.”
Who said that?
Ian?
I turn toward his voice, but everything seems to warp as I move, sounds bending in half.
“Yeah, maybe you should get some sleep.”
Winston?
I turn again, and this time all the sounds speed up, fast-forwarding until they collide in real time. My ears start ringing. And then I look down, realizing too late that my hands are shaking. My teeth are shaking. Chattering. I’m freezing. “Why is it so cold in here?” I ask.
Brendan is suddenly standing next to me. “Let me take you back to your room,” he says. “Maybe y—”
“I’m fine,” I lie, lurching away from him. I can feel my heart racing too fast, the movement so quick it’s a blur, practically a vibration.
It freaks me out.
I need to calm down. I need to catch my breath. I need to sit—or lean against something—
Exhaustion hits me like a bullet between the eyes. Suddenly, ferociously, digging its claws into my chest and dragging me down. I stumble over to a chair, blinking slowly. My arms feel heavy. My heart rate begins to slow. I’m liquid.
My eyes fall closed.
Instantly, an image of James materializes in my mind: hungry, bruised, beaten. Alone and terrified.
Horror sends an electric shock to my heart, brings me back to life.
My eyes fly open.
“Listen.” My throat is dry. I swallow, hard. “Listen,” I say again, “if this is true, if James and Adam are really being held hostage by Anderson right now, then we have to go. We have to go right now. Right the hell now—”
“Kenji, we can’t,” Sam says. She’s standing in front of me, which surprises me. “We can’t do anything right now.” She’s pronouncing the words slowly. Carefully, like she’s talking to a child.
“Why not?”
“Because we don’t know yet exactly where they are.” Nouria, this time. “And because you’re right: this whole thing is some kind of a trap.”
She’s looking at me like she feels sorry for me, and it sends another shot of anger through my blood. “We can’t go into this unprepared,” she says. “We need more time. More information.”
“We’re going to get them back,” Castle says, stepping forward. He drops his hands on my shoulders, peers into my face. “I swear to you we’ll get them back. James and Adam are going to be fine. We just need to form a plan first.”
“No,” I say angrily, breaking away. “None of this makes sense. Juliette needs to be here. This whole situation is fucked.”
“Kenji—”
I storm out of the room.
Six
I must be out of my mind.
That’s got to be it. There’s no other reason why I’d swear in Castle’s face, scream at his daughter, fight my own friends, and still be standing here at dawn, pressing
this doorbell for the third time. It’s like I’m asking to be murdered. It’s like I want Warner to just punch me in the face or something. Even now, through the thick, dumb fog of my head, I know I shouldn’t be here. I know it’s not right.
But I’m either (a) too stupid, (b) too tired, (c) too angry, or (d) all of the above, to give a proper shit about their personal space or their privacy. And then, as if on cue, I hear his muffled, angry voice through the door.
“Please, love. Just ignore it.”
“What if something’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” he says. “It’s just Kenji.”
“Kenji?” I hear some kind of shuffle, and my heart picks up. J always comes through. She always comes through. “How do you know it’s Kenji?”
“Call it a wild guess,” Warner says.
I ring the doorbell again.
“Coming!” J. Finally.
“She’s not coming,” Warner shouts. “Go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I shout back. “I want to talk to Juliette. Ella. Jella. Jello. Whatever.”
“Ella, love, please—let me kill him.”
I hear J laugh, which is sweet, actually, because it’s clear she thinks Warner’s joking. Me, on the other hand—I’m pretty sure he’s not.
Warner says something then, something I don’t hear. The room goes quiet, and, for a moment, I’m confused. And then I realize I’ve been bested. Warner probably got her back into bed.
Goddammit.
“But that’s exactly why I should answer the door,” I hear her say. More silence. Then rustling. A muted thud. “If he needs to talk to me this early in the morning, it must be important.”
Warner sighs so loudly I actually hear it through the wall.
I press the doorbell again.
A single, unintelligible cry.
“Hey,” I call out. “Seriously—someone open the door. I’m freezing my ass off out here.”
More angry mutters from Warner.
“I’ll be right there,” Jello shouts.
“What’s taking so long?” I ask.
“I’m trying to—” I hear her laugh, and then, in a soft, sweet voice clearly directed at someone else: “Aaron, please—I promise I’ll be right back.”