Vicarious

by Paula Stokes

  We’re only a few yards from the Range Rover when my eyes are drawn to a car in the next row. Black. Midsize. Completely nondescript. There’s a man sitting in the driver’s seat.

  A man wearing a coat and a fedora.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Guys,” I start. “Don’t look, but there’s a guy wearing a hat and a coat in a black car one row over, and I think he’s watching us.”

  Jesse keeps his eyes trained on me, but Andy starts to turn his head.

  The sedan’s engine suddenly springs to life. The driver backs up quickly, shifts into drive, and squeals his tires as he heads for the exit.

  “Shit,” Andy says. “Sorry.”

  I am already running toward the Range Rover. “Let’s go after him.”

  We peel out of the parking lot in pursuit of the black car. Andy drives like a race car driver and we quickly gain on the sedan, pulling ever closer as it heads for the riverfront. Snowflakes slap the windshield and immediately get shunted to either side by the wiper blades. Andy accelerates until the Rover is vibrating, the seams rattling so hard I start to worry they might come apart. The arrow on the speedometer jumps and twitches as it climbs higher and higher.

  “What are we going to do when we catch up to him?” he asks.

  “Cut him off,” I say. “Force him to pull over.”

  “And then what?”

  “Leave that to us.” Jesse produces a black pistol from beneath his seat.

  Andy catches a glimpse of the gun in his peripheral vision and his sun-kissed skin goes pale. He lifts his foot from the accelerator. “Holy shit. Is that thing real?”

  “Real enough,” Jesse says.

  “Don’t slow down,” I bark.

  Andy speeds up again, cutting across an empty parking lot. For a moment the Rover tilts up on two wheels as he jumps a curve and ends up back on the road. We’re closing on the sedan when a train whistle sounds in the distance—long and shrill. Red lights flash in front of us. There’s a set of tracks just ahead. The sedan speeds up. The black-and-white gate begins to lower. The flickering lights of a passenger train appear in the distance, moving deceptively quickly.

  We should stop. We need to stop. But instead I hear myself saying: “Hurry. Gun it!”

  The sedan slips under the gate at the last second. It rockets over the tracks, practically going airborne from the shock of hitting the metal at high speed. Andy swears loudly but bears down on the accelerator.

  I try to calculate the distance to the other side of the tracks with respect to how fast the Rover and the train are traveling.

  We’re one hundred yards away.

  The train whistle bleats.

  Fifty yards.

  We might make it.

  Twenty yards.

  The train roars. All I see is the white of its headlights.

  Or we might die.

  Metal screams on metal. Sparks shoot from the train’s wheels as the engineer sees us coming and tries to slow down. It’s too late. He’ll never stop in time.

  CHAPTER 17

  Andy swears again, slamming on the brakes and screeching to a halt just in front of the gate. I jolt forward, the shoulder belt keeping me from hitting the windshield. I feel Jesse slam into the back of my seat. The train bleats angrily as it rushes past, its fluorescent headlights reflecting a ribbon of silver metal into the night.

  “Damn it,” I say.

  “Sorry. No point in getting us killed.” Andy glances over his shoulder at Jesse as he holsters the gun. “You good back there?”

  “Fine,” Jesse says. “Thanks for stopping. Winter might have a death wish, but I don’t.” He leans forward. “I don’t suppose you got close enough to see the license plate?”

  “I doubt it.” I yank off my wig and press the STOP button on my headset.

  Andy glances over at the pile of black waves splayed across my lap. “So you were actually recording the whole time?”

  “Don’t worry. I promise not to sell the footage of you,” I tell him. I rewind and play the recording from the time we left Zoo onward. Unfortunately, I can’t read the license plate’s numbers.

  By the time the train has passed in front of us and the black-and-white gate rises, the sedan is long gone.

  “What now?” Andy asks.

  “Home, I guess.” As I lean back in the passenger seat, I try to figure out what came over me there for a second. Am I really so intent on avenging Rose that I would kill myself and two friends in the process? And if so, what does that make me? Determined? Obsessed? I bury my face in my hands.

  “Are you okay?” Jesse reaches one hand forward to squeeze my shoulder. I nod violently without making eye contact. If I look at him, I know what I’ll see. Sympathy. Empathy. Jesse knows what it’s like to lose people. Jesse knows his way around this hell.

  A fissure opens in my chest, rage and sorrow threatening to spill out and overwhelm me. I take in a deep breath and hold it until the crack stops widening. I can’t lose control. Not here, with Andy. Not anywhere. Rose would tell me to stay strong—to fight it.

  I lock the pain away and force myself to focus. Who is the man in the coat and fedora? Why was he following Rose? The answers swirl around but ultimately elude me, melting into the night like the snowflakes battering the car windows.

  * * *

  Back home, Andy drops Jesse and me off in front of the building. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” he says. “And call me and fill me in on what the cops say.”

  “I will,” I say.

  It’s after one in the morning when Jesse and I head inside. Both Escape and the lobby bar are closed. The quiet mixed with the ornate surroundings is almost like being in a museum. Jesse and I head for the stairwell. As the door falls shut behind us, he squares his shoulders and lowers his voice in an imitation of Andy. “So yeah, let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  I snicker as we start climbing the stairs. “You don’t have to be such an ass.”

  “I don’t trust him. I saw you guys dancing together. He didn’t exactly look like he was missing Rose too much.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” Jesse’s jealousy is sweet but I could never replace Rose in anyone’s mind.

  “We are who we are, you know?” he says with a grin. He stops on the seventh floor. “I’m going to shower and change really quick and then I’ll be up.”

  “You don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to.”

  Jesse touches the knuckles of his left hand to my cheek. “I want to.”

  I blink hard. “All right. See you soon.”

  He disappears into the hallway and I head toward the top floor, my progress slightly hindered by Rose’s boots. We are who we are. I know Jesse was just kidding around, that he didn’t mean the words seriously, but still, they fester inside of me. Rose always said we could be who we choose to be. That just because I was weak didn’t mean I couldn’t become strong. What’s the point of living if people can’t change?

  I pause on the tenth floor to catch my breath. I hear a second set of footsteps, but I can’t tell if they’re coming from above or below me. I peer upward but I can’t see anything in the dim stairwell lighting. I look down. “Jesse,” I call. “Is that you?”

  No response.

  Shrugging, I continue toward the penthouse, but I’m unable to fight off the feeling that I’m not alone. I wish I had brought my throwing knives with me, but weapons aren’t allowed inside Zoo. I pause midstep between the twelfth and thirteenth floor, listening closely for the sound of anyone else.

  Nothing.

  I exhale deeply and shake out my arms. I’m probably still caught up in the adrenaline of the night—the club, the car chase, the train that could’ve killed us. “Don’t lose your mind, Winter,” I mutter.

  I push open the door to the top floor. The hallway is empty as usual. I punch in the key code for the penthouse and place my thumb on the sensor. The alarm system beeps and unlocks the door.

  That’s when I feel
the barrel of a gun against my temple.

  CHAPTER 18

  For a second, I think about making a move, but that’s a lot easier when I’m recording a ViSE and have had at least some time to prepare for things like this. “What do you want?” I ask calmly.

  “Inside. Now,” a man growls.

  I don’t recognize his voice, but I suspect he’s distorting it on purpose. I let him push me inside the darkened penthouse. I start calculating how long it’ll be before Jesse arrives.

  Too long.

  My chest goes tight as my brain starts to play through all the possible scenarios. Is this the guy who killed my sister? Is he planning on sending Gideon a recording of me too? My ViSE headset weighs heavy in the pocket of Rose’s coat. I wish I hadn’t quit recording back in the Range Rover.

  “What do you want?” I repeat.

  “I need all your ViSE stuff,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  I nod slightly. I don’t want to make any sudden movements in case he’s got his finger on the trigger. I’m not giving him the recordings, but I need to get him to drop the gun somehow. Hand-to-hand I at least have a fighting chance. “It’s in my room,” I say slowly, a plan starting to formulate. “It’s down the hall.”

  He jams the gun against the back of my head. “Let’s go.”

  I head for my room. My throwing knives are on top of my dresser, but can I reach one without tipping off my assailant?

  I hope so.

  I have never stabbed anyone.

  That’s about to change.

  I pause outside my bedroom, my breath whispering harshly in my ears. Resting my hand on the knob, I focus on the angle the door will swing in, on the precise location of my knives. I envision the exact movement I’ll have to make to grab a knife, the whirling around, the strike of my arm, blade moving through the air to connect with the intruder’s neck. No. I need to aim low—a nonlethal target. A muscle or tendon, just enough to incapacitate. I need to know exactly what happened to my sister.

  I turn the knob and push the door inward. “It’s right here on the dresser,” I say. Without warning I drop low out of the gun’s aim and lunge for the nearest knife. I make contact with the handle and spin around. The intruder is too close for me to throw. I flail in the darkness, praying the blade hits its mark before I get shot.

  But Rose’s coat limits my mobility and I end up missing him completely.

  Shit. Plan B. I lunge for his gun, my free hand forcing the barrel up and away from me.

  He lashes out with one of his feet, landing a solid hit to my left knee. A grunt of pain escapes my lips. My legs fold underneath me and I crumple to the floor in a heap. I try to roll out of the way but the guy steps on my hand, digging in the heel of his boot until I release my grip on the knife. He kicks it behind me and points his gun at my chest. My breath catches in my throat as I wait for him to shoot me point-blank.

  But he doesn’t.

  His menacing silhouette towers over me. He’s wearing all black and a face mask, just like the men in the ViSE. It could be the bigger man from the recording, but I can’t tell for certain.

  My kneecap feels like it’s splintering into pieces. My eyes are trained on the gun, but I force myself to slowly widen my visual field, taking in more of my bedroom, looking for the best way to escape. I’m not giving up. I’m not giving him what he wants.

  As if the assailant can read my thoughts, he backhands me across the face with his gun. My neck snaps painfully; my ribs hit the edge of my bed.

  He bends low to me and suddenly it is the weight of his body and not his weapon that terrifies me. He wraps one hand around my neck and begins to squeeze. “Where is it?” he asks.

  I feel the cold steel of metal against my temple again. I gag. He squeezes harder. The delicate structures of my throat begin to collapse under his force.

  “I lied,” I choke out. “I don’t have anything here.” Blackness is threading through my vision and I don’t know if it’s from lack of oxygen or fear or both. I try not to exhale, conserving the air in my lungs while I probe the carpet behind me with one hand, searching for my knife.

  “Then where is it kept?” he asks.

  “What are you actually looking for?” I rasp, hoping he’ll give me more information. I let my body slump toward the floor. If I fake being weak and scared, maybe he’ll relax his hold. Not that I have to fake the fear part. Terror is racing through my veins, my heartbeat galloping after it like a runaway horse.

  “You know what I’m looking for.” He hits me with the gun again, so hard that I taste blood.

  I shake my head, do my best to look frightened. “Please don’t hurt me,” I whimper. Limply, I use one hand to try to break the hold he has around my neck. It’s what he expects me to do. My other hand lies uselessly behind me.

  Or so he thinks.

  My fingers crawl slowly over the carpet in search of my knife. The darkness is expanding in my brain. My lungs are on fire. Rose and I might meet again soon.

  “Why did you hurt my sister?” I ask. “What did you do to her?”

  “I don’t know shit about that little whore.”

  “She’s not a—” His grip is too tight. I can’t form the words. The air feels heavy around me, like water pressing down on my skull. The room begins to fade away.

  I channel my rage to keep from passing out. How dare this man judge my sister. He doesn’t know her. He doesn’t know what we’ve been through, what we’ve survived.

  The room is halfway gone.

  Three-quarters gone.

  My fingers locate the knife’s hilt and something inside of me snaps. Gasping for breath, I swing the knife toward the intruder, no longer caring if I wound him or kill him outright.

  But I’m too late.

  Before the blade can find its target, the room dissolves completely. Darkness wraps around me and my body goes limp.

  CHAPTER 19

  The pounding wakes me. Faster. Harder. Relentless. It’s like someone is building a house inside my brain. Groaning, I lift my fingertips to my temples.

  My hands are wet.

  Why are my hands wet?

  Blinking slowly, I open my eyes. Blood. There’s blood on my hands. Nausea overwhelms me. Trembling, I wipe my fingers violently on the fabric of Rose’s coat.

  The intruder! I leap to my feet, or at least try to. Too late I remember the kick to my knee. All I can do is wobble before crashing back to the ground. More pounding. I realize it’s coming from the vicinity of the living room.

  “Winter! Are you in there?” Jesse’s voice, frantic but muffled. “Are you okay?”

  I manage to turn over onto my hands and knees. Oh no. There’s blood on the carpet. There’s blood on Rose’s dress. I peek down the front of it. My skin is intact. Hesitantly, I raise a hand and check for scalp wounds. Nothing.

  It’s not my blood.

  What have I done?

  Still more pounding. “Let me in,” Jesse hollers.

  “I’m coming.” The words fall from my lips, weak and breathy, my throat sore inside and out.

  Half walking, half crawling, I fight my way to the living room and open the door.

  Jesse storms into the penthouse, his hair sticking up, his eyes wild. “Are you all right? It looks like there’s blood in the hallway.” His hands go immediately to my face. I wince as he finds a tender area. And then he sees my hands, my fingers still wet with someone else’s blood. He pales. “Winter. What the hell happened?”

  “It’s not mine,” I whisper. “Someone broke in. He jumped me right outside the door.”

  Jesse pulls a gun from the small of his back and shields me with his body. “Stay behind me,” he orders. He quickly goes through the penthouse, checking each room for the intruder. When he gets to Rose’s room, we both hear a scratching sound from the closet. Jesse lifts one finger to his lips. Brandishing his weapon, he yanks open the closet door. A ball of black and white fur tumbles out.

  “Miso!” I say. “How di
d you get stuck in there?” The cat gives me a reproachful look before trotting off toward the living room. Jesse and I follow him. The whole apartment is silent now. I open the front door and peek out into the hallway. There are a few elongated drops of something red on the carpet, like someone was running away. “I think he’s gone.”

  “I’m going to check the utility room and the roof, just in case,” Jesse says.

  I limp behind him as he uses the light on his phone to make sure no one is hiding in the little room that houses a smattering of cleaning supplies and various apartment fixtures. There are footsteps in the dust on the floor, but there’s no way to know who they’re from.

  Jesse cuts between a chipped porcelain bathtub and an old washing machine and opens the window on the far wall. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Be careful,” I say.

  He crawls out onto the roof and comes back a few minutes later. “No sign of anyone. No blood that I could see.” We turn back toward the penthouse together.

  Jesse bends down to consider the splotches of red on the carpet. “Gid is going to kill me. We should call the cops. If you hurt the guy badly, he might not have gotten far.”

  Did I stab him? I wanted to stab him, that’s for certain, but I thought I passed out before I got a chance. “We should call Gideon first,” I say. “He’s working directly with a detective on the police force that he trusts.” I punch in the security code and press my thumb to the sensor.

  Jesse doesn’t say anything until we’re back inside the penthouse and the door is locked behind us. Then he pulls out his phone. “Fine. We’ll call Gideon.”

  “I’m going to change clothes.” I limp toward my room.

  “Give me a minute and I’ll help you. You look like you can barely walk.” Jesse has his phone to his ear, waiting for Gideon to answer. After a few seconds, he frowns and slips it back into his pocket.