by Jan Gangsei
Her mother took a deep breath. “Ellie, she’s—well, she’s been through a lot in the past few years. I don’t want to overwhelm you, but it’s not fair to keep it from you either. Your sister has struggled with addiction.” Liz sucked in a sharp breath. “And a month ago, she had a dangerous overdose.”
Addie’s heart clenched. Elinor. Her almost-twin and constant shadow, always hidden in plain sight behind the glare of Addie’s spotlight. It could only have gotten worse when Addie performed the ultimate attention-grabbing feat: disappearing. Addie pictured Ellie’s honey-brown hair and gray eyes and wondered what the years had done to her sensitive little sister.
“Overdosed on what?” Addie whispered.
“She got hurt running track last year,” her mother said, her voice faint. “Her doctor warned us that the pills could be addictive, but we never thought—”
Liz ran her hands distractedly through her hair, then put her hand on Addie’s leg. “She’s going to be okay,” her mother said. “She’s in one of the best residential rehab programs in the country. And she’s so happy that you’re home. She can’t wait to get back and see you.”
Addie nodded. “I can’t wait to see her, too.”
The phone buzzed in her mother’s pocket. Addie watched her mother’s face twist to the side as she attempted to ignore it. The ringing finally stopped, but immediately started right back up again. Addie’s mother checked the screen.
“I’m really sorry, Ad,” her mother said. “We’ve had issues with the transition at Nova ever since I stepped down as CEO.…”
Addie cut her off. “It’s okay. You can take it. I’m fine.” Of course it was work. Even though becoming First Lady had meant Liz Webster could no longer run the day-to-day operations of the company she founded, Addie knew her mother better than to think she could just walk away. Addie felt an insane urge to laugh at the familiar feeling rising up in her, the resentment she’d felt as a child whenever her mom automatically shelved whatever the two of them were doing for her work. Almost everything had changed, but some things never would.
Addie’s mom pressed the phone to her ear. “Liz here.” She leaned over, quietly kissed the top of Addie’s head, and mouthed, “I love you.”
Then left.
Addie leaned back on the bed and closed her eyes. She was surprised at how tired she actually was. When she woke up, the room was quiet. She looked at the clock, and saw she’d been asleep for a half hour. There was nothing to do besides stare at the ceiling, so she decided to walk around the residence and check things out. She quietly padded down the halls, feeling oddly like an intruder, even though technically this was her home.
She wandered past a variety of rooms, poking her head inside several living rooms and sitting rooms, and rooms that seemed to have no purpose other than to just hold more stuff. The sheer opulence of it all was breathtaking and disgusting at the same time: antique furniture, crystal chandeliers, and priceless art everywhere she looked. Didn’t they realize how quickly all of this could come crumbling down?
She passed the dining room and kitchen, where she could hear the staff cooking and preparing the table for dinner. She headed back through the common area, passing the elevator and what she recognized from pictures as the Lincoln Bedroom—maybe the most famous room in the White House residence, thanks to the fact that it was practically a hotel room for top campaign donors.
At the end of the hall, Addie stopped short at the sound of her mother’s voice coming from behind a partially closed door. From the one-sided conversation, Addie could tell she was still on the phone. She was about to walk away when she heard her name.
“I don’t think Addie’s ready,” her mother said.
Ready for what? Addie pressed her back to the wall, moved closer, and listened.
“I don’t know, Mark,” her mom said. It was the president on the other end. “I don’t think it’s a great idea. She just got here. We need to give her time to adjust. We don’t even know—”
Pause.
“Yes, I understand the public will want to see how she’s doing.” Pause. “I know Cheryl thinks…” Another long pause.
“Look, Mark,” her mother said, voice rising. “I read the psychologist’s report, too, and I’m concerned. Yes, I know her answers were perfect. Too perfect. The doctor said they have control questions to determine when someone’s trying too hard. And it was inconclusive, but they thought maybe she was.”
The blood rushed to Addie’s face. She knew all those people questioning her had been trying to trick her into doing or saying something stupid. And obviously, she had.
“Why don’t you just do the press conference alone?” her mother said. “The public will totally understand that Addie isn’t up to having a bunch of cameras in her face. I mean, who would be? Not after what she’s been through.”
Pause.
“Jesus, Mark.” Liz sucked in a breath. “They think an appearance will prompt chatter in the terrorist networks? Why not just call it what it is? You want to bait these shits with Addie, and I’m not going—”
Addie rapped on the door, pushing it open. Her mom jolted and spun around in her chair. She was sitting at a large desk covered with stacks of paper and a computer. A pile of envelopes toppled over and hit the floor. It always amazed Addie that her mom could look so disorganized, yet had founded one of the most profitable companies in the world.
“Oh my God, Addie,” Liz Webster said. “How long have you been standing there?”
“A minute,” Addie said. Her mother’s face grew pale.
“So you heard…?”
“Enough.”
“Honey, let me call you back,” her mom said into the mouthpiece.
“No, wait,” Addie said. “Is that Dad?” Her mom nodded.
“Good. Tell him I want to do it,” Addie said.
Her mom’s eyebrows knit together. “Do what?”
“The press conference,” Addie said. “That’s what you’re talking about, right? A press conference about me? Tell Dad I want to be there.”
“But, Addie…”
“No,” Addie said, standing up straight. “Put Dad on speaker. Please.”
Her mother set the phone on the desk and pushed a button.
“Addie?” The president’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“Hi, Dad,” Addie said. “I just told Mom, I want to do the press conference.”
The president was silent for a moment. “Addie, honey, are you sure about that? I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
Of course you don’t, Addie thought. That’s why you were just arguing that I should be paraded around in front of a bunch of nosy reporters. Once again, Addie was witness to the many faces of Mark Webster: slick politician, caring father, chameleon.
“I’m positive,” Addie answered. “This is important to me. I want the world to see I’m okay. And if it helps find the people who took me, even better.”
Liz flinched. But Addie swore she could actually hear the president smiling through the phone. His approval ratings were going to shoot through the roof. And if he had any hope of being reelected after the events of the last six months, he was going to need the boost.
“Well, only if you’re sure,” he said slowly. “Websters are tough, but you know I wouldn’t mind if you sat this one out, right?”
Now it was Addie’s turn to flinch. But only on the inside. Outside, she smiled. The perfect daughter. Before. After. And now.
“I know,” she said. “But it’s important. To me.” She backed out of the room, waving to her mom. “I’ll see you at dinner. Sorry for interrupting.”
The first lady hesitated, casting a concerned look in Addie’s direction, then resumed her conversation with the president, keeping the phone on speaker as she typed up notes on her laptop. Addie moved to the other side of the door and listened. Her mom started going over the menu for an upcoming state dinner until the president broke in.
“Hey hon,
” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to run. Cheryl is here. She’s been on the phone with Jenkins at the Post all morning. Someone came forward to claim responsibility for Saturday’s attack.”
“What, someone did?” Liz said. “Who?”
Addie froze, leaning forward to listen to the president’s response, but Liz had turned off the speaker.
“Cerberus?” Liz said, her lowered voice incredulous. “The anonymous hacktivist group? Why on earth would they attack a Republican fund-raiser?”
Addie longed to hear what the president was saying in response. Her mother began speaking again.
“Yes, but watch what you say, Mark,” she said. “A few nutcases may not be a threat to national security, but they can do a number on public opinion. Look what almost happened six months ago.…”
Disgust rose up in Addie’s chest. With everything that had happened, they were only worried about the PR spin? Addie turned in frustration toward the hallway. A set of big hazel eyes stared at her from the door to the opposite room.
“Mackenzie,” Addie said with a jolt. “I didn’t see you there.”
The little girl didn’t blink. “You really shouldn’t spy on people, you know,” she said.
“What do you mean? I wasn’t spying,” Addie said.
“Yes you were. I saw you,” Mackenzie said.
“And how would you know that? Were you spying?”
“No.” Mackenzie pursed her small lips. “I was just going to the bathroom. You shouldn’t spy. It’s not nice and it will get you in trouble. Dad says so.”
“Am I in trouble with you?” Addie asked her sister.
Mackenzie narrowed her eyes. “Not this time.”
“Phew,” Addie said, pretending to look relieved. Her sister didn’t crack a smile.
As she watched Mackenzie’s small form continue down the hallway, the words came back to Addie as clearly as if they’d been spoken yesterday, even though she’d only been a few years older than Mackenzie when she’d learned the truth.
What would people do without anyone looking over their shoulder? Can you imagine that world, little one?
Mackenzie might not like spies, but she had no idea just how much she needed them.
A hush fell over the crowd of reporters assembled in the White House Rose Garden as Addie walked out of the Oval Office flanked by the president and first lady, holding her little sister’s clammy hand. They walked along the colonnade between the white columns and down the steps, picture-perfect: Addie in a gray Tory Burch dress, Mackenzie in Burberry plaid with a matching headband, President Webster in his usual navy suit, and the First Lady in a pale yellow sheath dress by Janie Liu, the latest up-and-coming designer Liz had decided to make famous.
Addie, her mother, and her sister sat in a row of chairs facing the audience. President Webster took his position at the podium, drew in a heavy breath, and briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, he smiled warmly.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for joining me here on what has proven to be the most monumental week of my life. The end of a long nightmare, the worst any parent can face.”
Addie watched his face work through a range of emotions: sadness, joy, determination. If he hadn’t become a politician, he would have been one hell of an actor. He certainly had the part of “president” down—the full head of hair flecked with just the right amount of distinguished gray, the charming smile, the ability to make people he’d just met feel like they were his oldest friend.
In fact, as Addie looked around at the reporters gathered in rows of folding chairs before her, at the crab apple trees in full bloom around the garden, the whole event struck Addie as little more than a Hollywood production. She touched the back of her own hair, which had been brushed smooth of its waves and tucked into a neat chignon by a White House stylist. Her face was caked with high-definition makeup designed to make her look like she was wearing almost none at all. A hint of cherry-blossom pink colored her lips and cheeks, and Addie was certain that the dove-gray dress that had appeared in her bedroom that morning was the result of multiple conversations behind closed doors. The tasteful neckline, cap sleeves, slenderizing little peplum, and knee-brushing hemline conveyed just the right balance of innocent yet grown-up, demure yet strong. Addie hated it.
But in a way, that made things easier. She was merely dressed up for a show, scripted into the scene by President Webster’s staff. A supporting role in the grand drama that was Mark Webster’s life.
All Addie had to do was play her part.
Just as the president played his.
At the podium he paused, letting the silence dramatically fill the air. “Eight years ago, our precious little girl was stolen from us. Yesterday, I was reunited with the strongest and bravest person I know.” His voice broke, and Addie could almost see the reporters leaning forward, hanging on his words. “Our Addie is finally home.”
Cameras flashed. A chorus of voices began calling out. “Mr. President, can you tell us…?” “Mr. President, where has she been…?” Another reporter broke in. “Mr. President, what is your response to the recent attack carried out by Cerberus, and their assertion that your administration’s intelligence failures are to blame?”
President Webster held up his right hand. “Please,” he said sternly. “Out of respect for my daughter and everything she’s gone through, I ask that we keep this conference on-topic, and that you refrain from asking questions at this time. My press secretary will be available afterward to answer your inquiries.”
The reporters quieted.
“Right now,” President Webster continued, “I would like to focus on moving forward. And to say how deeply proud I am of my daughter. Not only for never giving up hope, but for growing into the courageous young woman you see here. Despite everything she’s been through, it was her idea to be here today. In doing so, she is a reminder to us all of the resilience of the human spirit. She is a reminder to me of everything that is right in the world. Addie”—he turned to face her, hand on his chest, tears in his eyes—“your mother, sisters, and I are overjoyed that you are home. Words cannot express how much we love you and have missed you all these years. We never gave up hope. And we will not stop until the people responsible for taking you from us are apprehended and justice is served.”
Addie’s mother wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. Addie’s own hands trembled. But she knew what she needed to do. It was time. The family was heading to the Clifton house tomorrow morning, just as she’d requested. Clutching her fingers together, she rose to her feet.
“I’d like to say something, if I could,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Of course.” The president looked slightly surprised. He quickly moved over, making room for Addie at the podium. He held his arm out to her. Addie stood at his side.
“Thank you, Dad,” she said. “Mom. Mackenzie. My sister Elinor, who couldn’t be here today. And thank you to everyone for keeping up the search. For never giving up on me. It’s what kept me from falling apart during the last eight years. Knowing that somebody out there still cared.” Her eyes welled with tears and she gripped the podium. President Webster put his hand on her shoulder.
“You don’t have to continue,” he whispered in her ear. She shook her head.
“I do,” she said, taking a deep breath and speaking louder. “Because I also have this to say.” She turned to the reporters, looking directly into the television camera set up between the chairs. “To my captors: You robbed me of my childhood. You robbed me of my innocence. But you can never rob me of my family. Of love. Of who I am. Your actions cannot define me. Only I can.” Addie held her head high, thrust her chin forward, and smiled, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She lowered her right arm, pressing her hand against her waist, and quickly opened and closed her fingers. Twice.
A thousand camera flashes went off at once.
It would become the picture of the decade, gracing a thousand front pages and magazine covers, playing on
television screens around the world.…
Including the screen she knew someone would be watching right now.
He sat on the edge of her empty, unmade bed, switched off the television set, and just stared for a moment at the blank screen. It felt surreal to watch her up there, posing primly in a designer dress, hair perfectly combed, tears in her eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever even seen her in a dress. And he hadn’t seen her cry in years. The last time she had, it was on his behalf, not her own. But he saw the signal. She would be there. Two days from now. Six P.M., as planned.
Michael looked around the room. Her black T-shirts were strewn all over the floor. Jeans lay crumpled in the corner. Empty Red Bull cans littered her dresser. Even the power light on her computer still pulsed green.
It was like she was coming back.
But he knew better.
He got up and started scooping the clothes off the floor, folding them and putting them away. He couldn’t help himself. He hated messiness. Disorder. Things not in their proper places. Not to mention he’d spent so much time cleaning up after her, it had become second nature.
He didn’t want to miss her, but he did. As stubborn and opinionated as she could be, she was his best friend. His only friend, if he was being honest with himself. She was the one person on earth who had the guts to stand up for him. It almost made up for the fact that she was the favorite. The one who always got her way. When there were two bedrooms, she got the bigger one. When he’d been forced to endure school, she got to stay home with a tutor.
And when she ran away, he’d paid the price.
He rubbed his fingers over the thin raised scars that snaked across his lower back. Three lines. One for every time she had tried to run. He shuddered. In his mind, he could still hear the crack of the belt. The sound of her screaming stop.
Now seventeen, six feet four inches tall, he was too big to lash anymore. His once dirty-blond hair had turned a deep brown, his eyes a stormy blue. When he looked in the mirror, he no longer saw a scared little boy; he saw the heir apparent to an organization with the power to bring this country to its knees. Michael’s fingers brushed lower to the tattoo. He couldn’t see it, but he knew it was there, watching from its many beastly eyes.