The Power of Six tll-2

by Pittacus Lore

Sarah covers her mouth and nose with her hands.

  I walk towards her and she tries to get off of the swing, but its ropes are too taut for her to escape.

  I jump forward and catch the swing’s ropes in my hands. I twist her towards me and raise my arms, lifting her and the seat so her face lines up with mine. I lean in and kiss her, and the instant our lips meet, it’s as if I’d never left Paradise.

  “Sarah,” I say into her ear. “I’ve missed you so, so, so much.”

  “I can’t believe you’re here. This can’t be real.”

  I kiss her again, and I don’t stop while I twist us both around and around until the ropes above her separate. Sarah pushes off from the seat and lands in my arms. I kiss her cheeks and her neck, and she runs her hands over my head, gripping my short hair between her fingers.

  I set her down and she says, “Somebody got a haircut.”

  “Yeah, it’s my whole tough-guy-on-the-run look. What do you think? You into it?”

  “I am,” she says, pressing her palms to my chest. “But you could be bald for all I care.”

  I take a step back to cement this image of Sarah. I note the brightness of the stars behind her, the tilt of her winter hat. Her nose and cheeks are red from the cold; and as she bites her lower lip and stares at me, a small cloud of breath floats from her mouth. “I’ve thought about you every single day, Sarah Hart.”

  “I promise I’ve thought about you twice as much.”

  I lower my head until our foreheads touch. We stay this way wearing ridiculous grins until I ask, “How are you? What are things like for you around here right now?”

  “Better now.”

  “It’s so hard being away from you,” I say, kissing her cold fingers. “I’m constantly thinking about what it feels like to touch you and hear your voice. I’ve come close to calling you every single night.”

  Sarah cups my chin and runs her thumbs over my lips. “I’ve sat in my dad’s car so many times just wondering where you are. All I needed to know was which direction and I would’ve started to drive.”

  “I’m right here. Right in front of you,” I whisper.

  She drops her hands. “I want to come with you, John. I don’t care. I can’t go on like this.”

  “It’s way too dangerous. We just finished battling fifty Mogs over at Sam’s place. That’s what life is like with me right now. I can’t put you in the middle of all this.”

  Her shoulders shake, and tears dot the corners of her eyes. “I can’t stay here, John. Not with you out there and me not knowing if you’re dead or alive.”

  “Look at me, Sarah,” I say. She raises her head. “There’s no way I’m going to die. Knowing that you’re here waiting for me, it’s like a force field. We’re going to be together. Soon.”

  Her lip quivers. “It’s so hard. Everything is awful right now, John.”

  “Everything’s awful? What do you mean?”

  “People are jerks. Everyone’s saying hateful things about you, and they say a lot of things about me, too.”

  “Like what?”

  “That you’re a terrorist and a murderer and you hate the United States. Guys at school call you names like Bomb Smith. My parents say you’re dangerous and I’m never supposed to talk to you again no matter what; and as an added bonus, there’s a reward on your head, so people are always talking about shooting you.”

  She puts her head down. “I can’t believe you have to put up with all that, Sarah,” I say. “At least you know the truth.”

  “I’ve lost almost every friend I had. Plus I’m at a new school where everyone just thinks I’m this weirdo.”

  I’m devastated. Sarah was the most popular, most beautiful, most liked girl at Paradise High School. Now she’s an outcast.

  “Things won’t always be this way,” I whisper.

  She can’t hold back the tears any longer. “I love you so much, John. But I can’t imagine how we’re going to get out of this mess. Maybe you should turn yourself in.”

  “I’m not turning myself in, Sarah. I just can’t. We’ll get out of it. Of course we will. My one and only love, Sarah. I promise, if you wait for me, things will get better.”

  But the tears don’t stop. “How long do I wait, though? And what happens when things do get better? Will you go back to Lorien?”

  “I don’t know,” I finally say. “Paradise is the only place I want to be right now, and you’re the only person I want to be with in the future. But if we’re able to somehow defeat the Mogadorians, then yes, I have to go back to Lorien. But I don’t know when that will be.”

  Sarah’s phone buzzes in her pocket, and she pulls it halfway out to check the screen.

  “Who’s texting you so late?” I ask.

  “Just Emily. Maybe you should just turn yourself in and tell them you’re not a terrorist. I don’t want to lose you over and over, John.”

  “Listen to me, Sarah. I can’t turn myself in. I can’t sit in a police station and try to explain how an entire school was destroyed and how five people were killed. How am I supposed to explain Henri? Those documents they found in our house? I can’t get arrested. I mean, Six would absolutely kill me right now if she knew I was here talking to you.”

  Sarah sniffs and wipes her tears away with the backs of her hands. “Why would Six kill you if she knew you were here?”

  “Because she needs me right now and it’s dangerous for me to be here.”

  “She needs you? She does? I need you, John. I need you here to tell me everything is going to be okay, that all this is worth it.”

  Sarah walks slowly over to a bench marked with initials. I sit down next to her and lean my shoulder onto hers. We’re out of the light and I can’t see her face very well.

  I don’t know where it comes from, but Sarah leans away from me and says, “Six is very pretty.”

  “She is,” I agree. I shouldn’t have, but it just fell out of my mouth. “Not as pretty as you, though. You’re the prettiest girl I know. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

  “But you don’t have to stay away from Six like you have to with me.”

  “When we go on walks we have to be invisible, Sarah! It’s not like we can just hold hands and walk down the street. We have to hide from the entire world. I’m hiding just as much when I’m with her as when I am with you.”

  Sarah shoots off of the bench and turns around. “You go on walks with her? Do you hold her hand when you two walk down the street?”

  I stand up and approach her with my arms out, the sleeves of my coat still caked with dirt. “We have to. It’s the only way I can be invisible.”

  “Have you kissed her?”

  “What?”

  “Answer me.” There’s something new in her voice. It’s a mixture of jealousy and loneliness, and enough anger to give each word a kick.

  I shake my head. “Sarah, I love you. I don’t really know what else to say. I mean, nothing’s happened.” A tsunami of discomfort crashes into me, and I rifle through my vocabulary to piece together the right words.

  She’s furious. “It was a simple question, John. Have you kissed her?”

  “I haven’t kissed Six, Sarah. We haven’t kissed. I love you,” I say, and then I cringe at the acidity of the words, the sentence sounding far worse than I thought it would.

  “I see. Why was that question so hard for you to answer, John? My life just keeps getting better and better. Does she like you?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Sarah. I love you, so Six doesn’t matter. No other girls matter!”

  “I feel like such an idiot,” she says, crossing her arms.

  “Stop, please. Sarah, you’re misinterpreting everything.”

  “Am I, John?” she asks, turning her head and staring fiercely at me with tears in her eyes. “I’ve gone through so much for you.”

  I reach out and try taking Sarah’s hand, but she snatches it away the instant our fingers touch.

  “Don’t,” she says, a hard edge in
her voice. Her phone buzzes again in her jacket pocket, but she doesn’t make a move to check it.

  “I want to be with you, Sarah,” I say. “Nothing I say right now seems to come out right. All I can really say is that I’ve spent weeks missing you terribly, and there hasn’t been a single day that I didn’t think about calling you or writing a letter.” I feel wobbly. I can tell I’m losing her. “I love you. Don’t doubt that for a second.”

  “I love you, too,” she cries.

  I close my eyes and breathe in the cool air. A bad feeling rushes over me; a prickly feeling that starts in my throat and claws its way into my shoes. When I open my eyes, Sarah has taken several steps away from me.

  There’s a noise to my left, and I whip my head to see Sam. His eyes are downcast, and he bobs his head in a way that tells Sarah and me that he’d rather not be approaching but he has to.

  “Sam?” Sarah asks.

  “Hey, Sarah,” he whispers.

  Sarah wraps her arms around him.

  “It’s really good to see you,” he says into her hair. “But, Sarah, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry and I know you guys haven’t seen each other in a long time, but John and I need to go. We’re in a lot of danger. You have no idea.”

  “I sort of do.” She pulls off of him, and just as I prepare to start reassuring her how much I love her, just as I’m about to start saying good-bye, chaos erupts.

  Everything happens so fast I’m unable to take it all in completely, the scenes randomly skipping like a movie reel gone mad. Sam is tackled from behind by a man in a gas mask. The blue jacket he wears has the letters FBI on the back. Someone wraps their arms around Sarah and whisks her away from me. A metallic shell skids across the grass and lands at my feet, and the white smoke billowing from both ends burns my eyes and throat. I can’t see. I hear Sam gag. I stumble away from the canister and fall to my knees next to a plastic slide. When I lift my head I see over a dozen officers surrounding me, all with guns drawn. The masked officer who tackled Sam has his knee on Sam’s back. A voice through a megaphone blasts: “Don’t move! Put your hands on the top of your head and get on your stomach! You are under arrest!” As I place my hands on the top of my head, cars that have been parked on the street the entire time we were there suddenly come to life; their headlights turn on, red lights flash from dashboards. Cop cars screech around the corner, and an armored vehicle with swat written on its side jumps the curb and slams on its brakes in the middle of the basketball court. Men yell and pile out of it at an alarming rate, and that’s when someone kicks me in my stomach. Handcuffs are clicked around my wrists. Above me I hear the whir of a helicopter.

  My mind grabs hold of the only explanation it can come up with.

  Sarah. The text messages. That wasn’t Emily. The police were talking to her. What little of my heart that didn’t break when Sarah backed away from me now shatters.

  I shake my head with my face against the concrete. I feel someone remove my dagger. Hands take the tablet from my waistband. I watch as Sam is pulled off the ground by his arms, and our eyes meet for a brief second. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

  Cuffs are slapped around my ankles, and a chain connects to the cuffs around my wrists. I’m jerked up from the ground. The cuffs are too tight and dig into my wrists. A black hood is pulled over my head and secured around my throat. I can’t see a thing. Two officers grab my elbows while another shoves me forward.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” one of them begins as I’m led away, and I’m thrown into the back of a vehicle.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  AFTER FIVE MINUTES, I GET UP OFF MY BED AND look in the wardrobe to see if there are any clothes I want to take with us. I’m holding a black sweater when I decide I can’t leave without saying good-bye to Hector.

  I rip another girl’s jacket from the wall, one with a hood, and write a quick note to Adelina: Had to say good-bye to someone in town first.

  The double doors open into the chilly air, and once I see the police cars and news vans lining Calle Principal, I feel better. The Mogadorians wouldn’t try anything with so many witnesses. I walk through the gate with the hood over my head. The door to Hector’s house is cracked open, and I knock softly on the door frame. “Hector?”

  A woman answers. “Hello?”

  The door swings open and it’s Hector’s mother, Carlotta. Her black-and-gray hair is pinned carefully around her head, and her face is pink and smiling. She’s wearing a beautiful red dress and a blue apron. The house smells like cake.

  “Is Hector home, Senora Ricardo?” I ask.

  “My angel,” she says. “My angel has returned.”

  She remembers what I did for her, how I cured her disease. I feel embarrassed by the way she’s looking at me, but she bends down for a hug and I can’t resist. “My angel has returned,” she says again.

  “I’m so happy you’re feeling better, Senora Ricardo.”

  The tears that fall from her eyes are almost too much, and soon my own eyes swell with water. “You’re welcome,” I whisper. There’s a meow behind Carlotta, and I lean over to see Legacy trotting towards me from the kitchen with milk dripping from his chin. He purrs against my shins and I bend down to pet his coat.

  “When did you get a cat?” I ask.

  “This morning he comes to my door, and I think he is so sweet. I’ve named him Feo.”

  “It’s good to see you, Feo.”

  “He’s a good cat,” she says, her hands now on her hips. “Very hungry boy.”

  “I’m so glad you two found each other. Carlotta, I’m very sorry but I have to leave. I need to speak with Hector. Is he home?”

  “He’s at the cafe,” she says. The disappointment of Hector drinking so early in the morning must be evident on my face, because Carlotta adds, “Only coffee now. He’s drinking coffee.”

  I hug her good-bye and she kisses both of my cheeks.

  The cafe is packed. I reach for the door, but just before I pull it open, something stops me dead in my tracks: Hector’s sitting at a small table, but I notice him only in my periphery. My eyes are glued to who’s sitting in the chair opposite him-the Mogadorian from last night. He’s now clean shaven, and his black hair has been lightened to a chestnut color, but there’s no mistaking him. He’s just as tall and muscular as before, just as broad shouldered, just as dark and brooding, with the same heavy brows. I don’t need the killer’s description to know he matches it perfectly, with or without the dyed hair or missing mustache.

  I let go of the door and step backwards. Oh Hector, I think. How could you?

  My legs shake; my heart pounds. As I’m standing there watching them, the Mogadorian turns and sees me at the window. My flesh turns cold. The world seems to stop; I’m stuck, rooted in place, incapable of moving a muscle. The Mogadorian watches me, causing Hector to turn my way as well, and it’s only upon seeing his face that I’m shocked into action.

  I stumble backwards then, turn and run, but before I’ve made it far, I hear the cafe door open. I don’t turn around. If the Mogadorian is following me, I don’t want to know.

  “Marina!” Hector yells. “Marina!”

  Four officers ride with me. I touch my fingertips to the heavy chains. I’m certain I could break them if I wanted to, or I could simply unlock the cuffs with telekinesis; but the thought of Sarah empties me of the energy required for such an undertaking. She couldn’t have turned me in. Please don’t let it have been her.

  The first drive takes twenty minutes, and I have no idea where we are. I’m pulled out and shoved into a second vehicle which I assume is more secure, meant for longer transport. The second drive takes forever-two hours, maybe three-and by the time we finally stop and I’m again jerked out, the sickness over what Sarah may have done has grown to the point that it’s nearly unbearable.

  I’m guided into a building. After each turn I have to wait for a door to be unlocked. I count four of them, and the air changes with each new corridor, beco
ming staler the farther I’m led. Finally I’m pushed into a cell.

  “Sit,” one of them orders.

  I sit on a bed. The hood is removed but the shackles remain. Four officers exit and slam the door shut. The two larger ones take seats outside my cell, while the other two leave.

  The cell is small, ten feet by ten feet, and contains the bed I’m sitting on, covered in yellow stains, and a metal toilet and sink. Nothing else. Three of its four walls are solid concrete, and there’s a small window at the very top of the back wall.

  Despite the filthy mattress, I lie down, close my eyes, and wait for my mind to slow down.

  “John!” Sam’s voice yells out.

  My eyes snap open. I rush to the front of the cell, grabbing hold of the bars. “Right here,” I yell back.

  “Shut up!” the larger of the two guards yells, pointing his nightstick at me. Down the corridor, somebody yells at Sam, too. He doesn’t say anything else, but at least I know he’s close.

  I reach my hand through the bars of my cell and press my palm against the flat metal surface of the lock. I close my eyes, focus my telekinesis to feel its inner workings, and yet I feel nothing other than a vibration that hurts my head the harder I concentrate.

  The cell-it’s electronically controlled. I can’t open it with telekinesis.

  I run as fast as I can back to the orphanage, the hood ballooning with air behind me, and as I gain speed the clouds and blue sky above me melt into a bright white.

  I burst through the double doors and run to the sleeping quarters. Adelina’s sitting on my bed, the note folded on her lap. A small suitcase sits at her feet. When she sees me, she jumps up and hugs me.

  “You have to look at this,” she says, handing me the paper. I unfold it to see that it’s not my note after all but a photocopied picture.

  It takes me a second to realize what the picture is of, and when I recognize it my heart sinks. Someone has burned an enormous and intricate symbol into the side of a nearby mountain. With its careful lines and sharp angles, it’s an exact replica of the scars around my ankle.

  The sheet falls from my hand and slowly floats to the ground.