Zero Day

by Jan Gangsei

  Agent Alvarez sat next to her. After giving Addie time to shower and change, the fleet had arrived to pick them up. Alvarez didn’t say much. She was busy watching the scene outside as well. But with a different purpose, Addie knew. Alvarez’s job was to make sure nobody got to Addie ever again.

  Like protecting her now would somehow erase the past eight years. It was too late. They had failed.

  And they would fail again. That was one thing Addie knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. The knowledge had been bone-deep for half of her life now: no amount of security in the world would ever keep her safe.

  Addie crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. The motorcade approached the White House gates and rolled inside. As the huge columned building rose above her, looming larger the closer they got, Addie’s palms began to sweat. She wiped them on her legs.

  Agent Alvarez spoke into her mouthpiece.

  “This is Alvarez,” she said. “Songbird has landed.”

  “Songbird?” Addie said.

  “That’s your Secret Service nickname,” Alvarez explained. “You know, like Adele, the singer.”

  “Oh. I don’t know her,” Addie said, even as “Rolling in the Deep” started looping through her mind. “What do you call the president?”

  “He’s Spider,” Alvarez said.

  Addie nodded. “I get it. Webster. That’s good.”

  “No, it’s not,” Alvarez said with a grin. “Luckily he has other guys to write his jokes. All we have to do is keep him safe.”

  Addie smiled. She kind of liked Alvarez. She wasn’t like the other agents. Addie took a deep breath as the limousine pulled into the secure garage.

  “Okay, it’s time to go inside,” Agent Alvarez said. “I’ll escort you to the elevator, and the agent on duty will bring you up to the residence. I’ll be with the rest of the detail monitoring the situation if you need me. Got it?”

  Addie nodded. But her breath caught in her chest. Every noise was amplified: the sound of the limo rolling to a stop, the driver’s door opening and banging shut. Still, nothing could drown out the thump of her own heart pounding in her ears. Her car door was flung open and Addie recoiled from the hand that was reaching in to help her out.

  “You going to be okay?” Alvarez asked, looking at her closely. “I can go up with you if you’d like.”

  “No,” Addie said. “I’ll be fine.” She pinched her eyes shut for a moment before steeling her resolve and swinging her legs from the limo, feet hitting the smooth concrete of the garage floor.

  I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.

  She had to be fine. There was no other choice.

  There was before. There was after.

  And this was now.

  Songbird had landed.

  As the wood-paneled elevator rose inside the official residence, so did Addie’s pulse. Ground floor, first floor, second floor. Ding. The elevator stopped and the door slid open.

  A vestibule was straight ahead. In it were the president, the first lady, and a little girl with pigtails wedged between them. Addie froze momentarily as they all stared at each other. She couldn’t quite believe they were real. A memory suddenly overwhelmed her: eleven years old, in the dark of her bedroom. The moment she realized she couldn’t conjure up her mother’s face in her head, couldn’t recall the sound of her voice. Addie hadn’t cried. Good, she remembered thinking. She belongs in the past. Addie had given up on looking up any photos or videos of them and Elinor—or her new sister—by then. He had a browser-history recorder that even Addie couldn’t bypass. He always knew. And always made her regret it. Over the years, Liz and Mark Webster had faded into ghosts.

  But there they were, huddled together with her replacement—Ellie conspicuously absent—looking at her like she was the ghost. Addie noticed the president’s hair had grown gray around the temples, making him look…not exactly older, just more presidential. And while her mother’s jet-black hair hadn’t turned gray, there were a few more lines around her mouth, and faint creases by her eyes. Remnants of a million smiles, laughs, and tears that Addie had missed.

  Addie’s legs shook. She suddenly felt like she was eight years old again, crying for her mother in the darkness, trying to claw her way from the trunk of the car. She fought to regain her composure, telling herself she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and took a measured step forward. The pigtailed girl hid her face in the president’s pant leg.

  “Mom? Dad?” Addie choked out.

  But before she could say another word, her mother rushed at her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “Addie. My baby. Oh my God.” She buried her face in Addie’s hair and breathed in deeply. “It’s really you. You still smell the same. I can’t believe it. I never thought I would—I would—” Her mother’s quiet sobs sounded foreign to Addie, her voice like a stranger’s. But she tucked Addie’s hair behind her ears with those slender-fingered hands, that achingly familiar gesture—

  It took Addie a moment to recognize the painful swell inside her chest that made tears sting her eyes. It swept over her like waves crashing over rocks, and she felt her whole body go limp as she rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. Relief. A voice inside her that she thought had died long ago whispered: It’s finally over. You’re safe. Another set of arms wrapped tightly around them. The president’s. He kissed the top of Addie’s head. They stood there for several minutes, just clinging to each other and crying.

  No. This was all wrong. She’d prepared for this. She needed to be in control. Yes, she should be crying…but not like this. She willed herself to stop as soon as possible. Real tears only got you hurt.

  “Addie,” the president said. Her name caught in his throat. He coughed and tried again. “I can’t believe it. Sweetie, I’ve missed you every day.…”

  Addie looked up, disoriented. Somehow the memory of his voice didn’t seem as muddled by the years. It was soft and gravelly, so different from the one he used for stump speeches and television ads—the only times she’d heard him speak in the past eight years. “I know,” she said. “So have I. I can’t—I don’t even know what to say.”

  The president was very still, gazing at Addie like she might disappear again at any moment. “You’re home,” he said, brushing the tears off her cheek. “That’s all that matters. All that matters is you’re home now.”

  Addie felt her back stiffen. The past eight years mattered. They mattered a hell of a lot more than the first eight. And did they really think that Addie wouldn’t notice that Elinor wasn’t there? She tried to shake off her momentary weakness as her mother nodded and wiped her own face with the back of her hand.

  “Addie, there’s someone we’d like you to meet.” Her mother waved to the pigtailed girl, who was now standing by herself on the opposite side of the vestibule. She watched them with big hazel eyes and an expressionless face.

  “Mackenzie,” Addie’s mother said. “Come say hello to your sister, Addie.”

  Mackenzie walked over, staring at Addie the entire time. Addie kneeled face-to-face with the little girl. She looked so much like Addie at that age, it was like a tiny stab in her heart. As though the before was standing right in front of her.

  “Hi, Mackenzie,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you. I always wanted another sister.”

  Addie glanced over her shoulder at her mother. “Where’s Ellie?”

  There was silence for a moment, before the president said, “She’s away. At boarding school.”

  Addie’s jaw clenched. Only home for ten minutes, and already they were lying to her.

  “She can’t wait to see you, though,” her mother said. “She’ll be home as soon as we can get her here. It’s just…complicated.…” Liz’s eyes flicked to Mackenzie. The little girl was studying Addie intently.

  “What are you doing here?” she said.

  “What?” Addie blinked and stood up. Liz Webster scooped Mackenzie into her arms.

  “Mackie, we talked about this,” she said. “Addie lives here now. She’s
your sister.” The little girl buried her face in her mother’s neck.

  “I’m sorry,” Addie’s mother said. “This has all been a lot for Mackenzie to take in. Why don’t we go inside? Somewhere we can all get to know—” She cut her words short.

  Addie looked quickly at her.

  “I mean talk,” her mother said. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable than the elevator vestibule.”

  Addie followed her family through a long narrow room furnished with a grand piano, leather chairs, and built-in bookshelves. It was hard not to be distracted—and somewhat intimidated—by the opulence of it all. The Versailles drapes. The fresh flowers in heavy brass vases. The crystal chandeliers. This wasn’t just any house. It was the White House. And now it was Addie’s house.

  The family walked through a set of arched doorways into a smaller, more intimate room decorated with an antique sofa and matching armchairs. Addie hesitated, unsure what to do with herself, then sat in a chair. The president sat opposite her. Mackenzie curled up tight into her mother’s side on the couch.

  The next hour passed with more tears, hugs, and forced small talk.

  Yes, it’s beautiful here. I would love to help select some artwork. Of course I’d enjoy homemade macaroni and cheese for dinner; it’s still my favorite.

  But it was the spaces between the words that held the most. Addie could almost hear her family crying out with every pause and silence: What happened to you? Are you okay? Are you still Addie?

  In a way, she wished they’d just go ahead and ask; stop being so polite. Say something real. But she was sure they’d been coached: Don’t push. Let her come around when she’s ready. Give her time and space.

  But it wasn’t making Addie calm. It was wearing her out.

  “I’m kind of tired,” Addie said. “Is there somewhere I could rest for a bit?”

  “Oh my goodness, yes.” Addie’s mother stood. “Why don’t I take you to your bedroom? Then after dinner we can give you the grand tour.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Addie said.

  The president also got to his feet. “I’m going to pop downstairs and check in with Cheryl,” he said. “I’ll be back up to join you for dinner. Macaroni and cheese, right? No peas.” He smiled and hugged Addie.

  “Wait…” Addie said as she pulled away. “Cheryl? As in Fergusson?”

  “That’s right. You remember,” President Webster said. “She’ll be glad to hear that. I know she and Darrow can’t wait to see you. When you’re ready, of course.” Addie’s heart skipped a beat. Darrow. The last familiar face she’d seen, before…

  Would he even know her now? Maybe he’d forgotten all about her, too. Just like the rest of them. Carried on. Found her replacement.

  Addie’s mom nodded at Mackenzie. “You want to come with me to show your sister her room?”

  The little girl shook her head and the pigtails flopped from side to side. “I’ve got homework.”

  “They give homework in kindergarten?” Addie said.

  “I’m not in kindergarten. I’m six. I’m in first grade,” Mackenzie answered. “And yes, they do.”

  “Okay, come with me, Ad.” Her mother took Addie by the hand. Addie held on limply, letting Liz lead her back through the central hall and another arched corridor like she was Mackenzie’s age rather than a sixteen-year-old. They stopped at a set of double doors. Liz pushed them open. Addie had to catch her breath. She’d seen some lavish rooms in her travels, but nothing compared to this.

  Straight ahead, a huge four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room, with thick red brocade curtains tied back at the sides with tasseled ropes. A Louis XVI dresser, two side tables, and a matching desk completed the set. Gilt-framed art was displayed on the walls. A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, surrounded by an intricate leaf medallion.

  “What do you think?” her mom asked. She almost sounded nervous. “We didn’t have much time to set things up before you got here, but—”

  “It’s beautiful,” Addie said.

  “I know it’s sort of impersonal right now. But we’ll make it yours, okay?”

  “Sure,” Addie said.

  “Let me show you a few more things and then I’ll let you get some rest.” Her mom led her through the room to a large closet. “I had some clothes delivered for you. I’m sorry, I had no idea what you like. I hope they’re okay.”

  Addie cringed inwardly as she looked over the rows of dresses, knit tops, and leggings. She hadn’t worn anything like this in years. Well, not since she was eight.

  “They’re fine, Mom,” Addie said. “Perfect.”

  Her mother sighed. “No, they’re not, are they? I’m sorry. We’ll go shopping later, okay? And if there’s anything you need, just tell me. Anything at all.”

  Addie took a deep breath. “Mom? How much have they told you about what—what happened to me?”

  Liz’s breath hitched, but she quickly arranged her face in a neutral expression. “I know a few things, baby. But you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

  Addie nodded quickly. “I’ve told the Secret Service anything I can think of that will help find…them. But there are other things that won’t really make a difference.…” She trailed off.

  Her mother just looked at her, an open expression that invited Addie to continue.

  Addie swallowed. “The worst thing, besides missing you, was just, like, the isolation. I feel like I don’t know anything about the world, anything that’s happened since—” Her voice broke. “I feel so stupid. I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Liz took her hand. “None of this is your fault. The last thing you should feel is stupid. Let me see what I can do about getting you a computer, to help you get caught up on everything you missed. How does that sound?”

  “Okay,” Addie said in a small voice. Triumph washed over her.

  Her mother sat down on the bed and patted the space next to her. Addie lowered herself onto a cloud-soft mattress, carefully leaving a few inches of space between them. The bed was so high off the ground that only her tiptoes reached the floor. Addie stroked the silky duvet cover, avoiding her mother’s gaze. She needed to be alone. She needed to think. After all this time, Addie didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t…this. The awkward attempts at kindness; the haunted look in her mother’s eyes.

  When Liz finally spoke, her voice sounded stronger than it had before. “Kiddo, I know all of this is overwhelming—I know, well, there’s a lot of catching up to do, and there’s a lot I don’t know about you anymore. But…I want you to know that I’m here, whenever you’re ready. I’ve missed you so much, baby. You’re home now, and I promise it will get easier.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Addie whispered. The traitorous feeling, the wanting to believe her, was back, but Addie pushed it away. Things didn’t get better unless you made them better. Which was exactly what Addie was going to do. Still, she let her mother fold her in her arms until a small voice interrupted.

  “What’ll get easier?”

  Mackenzie stood in the doorway, a small teddy bear clutched in her hands.

  “Mackie,” Addie’s mother said. She walked over, wrapped her arms around the little girl’s shoulders, and gave her a hug. The girl stayed stiff and held the bear out to Addie.

  “I thought you might want this,” she said, walking up to the bed.

  Addie took the ragtag bear in both hands and ran her fingers over its matted fur and scruffy face. The felt nose was rubbed away from all the times Addie had slept with him under her pillow. Her hand began to tremble as she remembered those first two months alone in that dark, silent room…the nights she’d ached to hold Mr. Fluff.

  “This is really sweet,” Addie said. “Thanks for sharing your bear. What’s his name?”

  “He’s not mine, he’s yours,” Mackenzie said.

  “Don’t you remember Mr. Fluff?” her mother said.

  “Oh, right.” Addie said. “Yeah
, I remember him now. It’s been a while. Mr. Fluff…”

  “I call him Brown Bear,” Mackenzie said.

  “I guess Mr. Fluff is a pretty silly name, isn’t it?” Addie said.

  Mackenzie nodded. “He’s really not very fluffy.”

  “No,” Addie said with a sad smile. “But he used to be. A long time ago.” She rubbed Mr. Fluff’s head and held him out to her little sister. “Here. I think you should keep him. He’s Brown Bear now.”

  Mackenzie just looked at her with those wide eyes. “No,” she said. “I don’t want him. He’s yours.”

  With that, she turned and walked out the door and back down the hallway. Addie bit her lower lip, put the bear on her dresser, and sat on the edge of her bed. Suddenly, Mikey’s face popped into her mind. He’d worn the same wide-eyed look when they’d first met, too. Addie’s stomach knotted and she angled herself away from her mother’s gaze. She couldn’t think about him right now. The day had overwhelmed her enough already.

  “Addie, let me explain. About your sister.” Her mother sat back down next to Addie and took her hands. Addie couldn’t help but notice they both had the same long, thin fingers, nails bitten to the quick. Just like how they both had long, black hair that fell in waves over their shoulders.

  As far as Addie knew, that was pretty much where the similarities ended.

  “It’s not you, okay, Addie?” her mom said. “Mackenzie is just…how can I put this? She processes things differently than other people. She’s like a walking computer. Emotions are tough for her. Does that make sense?”

  “I guess so,” Addie said.

  “Give her time. She’ll come around.”

  Addie nodded and Liz inspected her face.

  “What is it?” Addie said.

  “Elinor,” Liz said. “I’m sorry we couldn’t give you a straight answer earlier. I know you saw right through it. We just don’t like to discuss it in front of Mackenzie.”

  “What’s the matter with Elinor?” Addie said, surprised by her mother’s sudden honesty. “Is she okay?”