Fox Forever (Jenna Fox Chronicles #3)

by Mary E. Pearson

  I work up to a minute of complete darkness, then two minutes, then five, and I practice maneuvering through the apartment. I concentrate and learn I can push my BioPerfect to hone skills I’ve barely tapped into. My night vision improves. By the end of the second night I can see more than dim edges of objects. Seeing those objects gives me more courage. I develop depth perception and can move through the rooms without bumping into a single table or wall.

  Walking home the other night from Xavier’s neighborhood, I made a decision. When it comes time to go down into those tunnels searching for Karden, it won’t be Xavier who’s doing the searching. He has family who will miss him if he doesn’t make it. I don’t.

  I search through the files, looking for an image of Karden. If I’m going down for him, I need to know what he looks like. Curiously, even though the whole Favor is about him, there isn’t a single image of him. I make a note to ask Carver for a picture. If I ask Xavier he may catch on to what I’m planning.

  I tap into my Assistant’s skills too. I may be strong, but I need to be quick and anticipate moves. I learned that twice the hard way when Xavier outmaneuvered me. I practice Strategic Combat with Percel. It’s hard to move in the apartment, and the sound of me falling—which I do a lot—might alert neighbors so we practice in the small fenced park across the street.

  I study the layout of the Secretary’s apartment so that I know every turn, hallway, and room by heart. Of course, no one has been inside so we don’t know for sure which room is for what purpose or which is the Secretary’s office. I suspect the southwest corner bedroom belongs to Raine. It’s the closest to the rooftop garden. As detailed as all the files are about all the other players, including LeGru, the files for Raine seem incomplete. Only the basic information, which seems odd since she’s the one I have to get close to. There’s nothing about her friends, early life, or her dead mother, but as tight a rein as the Secretary keeps on her, maybe there’s no more information available.

  On the third night I pin Percel in three moves and decide I’ve earned some time off for a while. I know where I’m going. I’ve been thinking about it for days, trying to stay away, but I need to know more. More than the files are telling me.

  * * *

  I silently turn over a waste can in the recessed doorway and sit on it. It’s a good place to wait and it’s plenty dark. I don’t have to wait long. It’s all too easy and perfect and I almost feel guilty. The ladder is lowered and I spot her climbing down. She’ll land just a few feet away but I know I’m hidden in the shadows and she can’t see me. A small overhang casts me in complete darkness.

  She’s graceful and confident as she comes down the ladder, but it occurs to me that I shouldn’t startle her until her feet are firmly on the ground. But I do want to surprise her—the same way she did me. Somehow I think she’ll appreciate the effort. I can’t wait to repeat her words verbatim back to her. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.

  The ladder ends about four feet from the ground, so she’ll have to jump the last few feet. That’s when I’ll make myself known.

  I watch as she descends and wonder if she likes the thrill of coming down this way, or is it the only way she can leave without her gold thug Bot in tow? Is he more of a guard than a Personal Assistant? She only has a dozen more rungs to go and I hold my breath. She’s as silent as a shadow, the rope only occasionally rasping against the bricks. She reaches the last rung and jumps the remaining few feet to the ground.

  I continue to hold my breath, my plans suddenly gone out of me, watching her as she rubs her hands where the rope has dug in, watching her as she brushes the hair from her face and some dust from her eye. Surprise her, Locke. Startle her before she walks away. But I don’t. I just watch and wonder. She pauses and turns her head like she senses a presence. I remain silent, using the moment to examine her, stare at her face, every angle, every line. There’s something about her. She’s pleasant to look at. Is that it? Am I just admiring the stark contrast to the face she wears for everyone else? Or is it something else?

  “Raine,” I whisper.

  She stiffens, and looks into the shadows where I’m hiding. I can see the fear on her face.

  “Who’s there?” she asks.

  The trash can grates against the pavement as I stand. “It’s me. Locke.” I step from the shadows so she can see me.

  She doesn’t move or respond.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

  She lets out a slow uneven breath. “Touché, Mr. Jenkins. Game point to you.”

  I step closer. “Really, I am sorry. I guess I was trying to get back at you, but then I changed my mind, and then it was too late to—”

  “Shh,” she says. “I believe you. Maybe.” She walks over to where I’m standing. “Why are you here? You couldn’t sleep again?”

  “Something like that. You?”

  “Nothing like that.”

  We stand there for only a few seconds but it seems like an eternity before one of us speaks again. She glances at the windows above us. “Can we go somewhere else before someone hears us whispering?”

  “Hap?”

  “Anyone.”

  “Let’s go.”

  She pulls some thin slippers from her waistband and slides them onto her feet. We head down Beacon Street, at this hour mostly deserted, only a few passing cars breaking the silence.

  “I looked for you the next night after our last meeting,” she says. “You strike me as the type who likes to make a point. When you didn’t come I thought you were over it.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “And now you’re not?”

  “I’ve been wanting to come. I knew my last words to you were a little rough. I shouldn’t have said them.” She doesn’t reply, like she’s still hurt by what I said. “I’m sorry. I don’t really think you’re too full of yourself,” I add.

  She sighs. “Of course you do, because I am.” She stops walking and looks at me. “But not always. Most of the time I feel like the tiniest speck on the surface of the planet.”

  I wasn’t expecting this confession. It stops me like cold water. Swagger, Locke. Swagger like you own the planet. I know that feeling, the fear you can’t reveal, the show you have to put on to survive. This is genuine. Not a game play. Not a strategy. I see it in her eyes.

  She looks away, lowering her lashes like she’s embarrassed, and resumes walking. We reach Arlington and she points across the street. “Let’s walk back through the park.”

  We cross the street and enter through the park gate, stopping for a moment on the bridge just inside the entrance. The water below is like glass. “How long before Hap notices you’re missing?”

  “Hap?” she says. “He knows I’m gone. We have an understanding. I have my secrets and he has his.”

  I can’t imagine that gold nugget-head even understanding the concept. “He has secrets?”

  “Hap has an odd weakness for talking to other Bots. Father forbids it. So a few times a week I take Hap to a public Netlog to chat with other Bots.”

  “Even if it’s odd, it seems like a pretty harmless activity. Why does your father forbid it? That sounds a little stern.”

  “My father’s an important man. When you’re in a position of power like he is, you have spies and enemies. He’s warned me about them from the time I was a child. He’s told me I must be careful. He has to be careful as well. And that sometimes means being stern.” She climbs onto the lower rail of the bridge and leans over, looking at her reflection below.

  “Is that why you straddle rooftops in the middle of the night? Is he stern with you?”

  Her foot slips and she tumbles forward. I grab her by her waist just before she goes over.

  “Don’t. Move.” I grunt. It’s an awkward position and I’m afraid I still might lose her or that we both might somersault into the water. I tighten my grip around her waist and hoist her in one quick lift. We both tumble backward and fall onto the bridge.

  She sits up,
rubbing her wrist. “It wouldn’t have been the end of the world if I fell in. I can swim. I’ve fallen in before.”

  I lie there on my back and shake my head. “You’re welcome.”

  She gets my point and smiles, the first real smile I’ve seen on her. “Thank you,” she says. She stands and offers me a hand up. I take it and we continue across the bridge and through the gardens. There’s a long period where we say nothing. I’m conscious of the silence and the space between us as we walk. I try to think of something to say. I came to get information, but everything seems too much like prying and I think asking her just one thing about her father is what made her lose her footing on the bridge.

  I finally ask her about the Collective, a safe topic that might provide some insights, and she tells me who the members of the A are. That’s what they call their small group. The A Group. According to her the A stands for Agony. She says the people in it are tolerable enough, but the very controlled socialization is a complete bore.

  “But Vina’s thrilled that you’ll be joining our group.”

  I note that she doesn’t say that she’s thrilled.

  “Well, Vina may find I’m not so thrilling once she gets to know me.”

  Raine looks sideways at me. “Where did you say you were from?”

  I hear suspicion in her voice. “I didn’t say. But for the record, I’m Boston born and bred. Only I’ve been away for a long time.” A very long time and I wonder if it’s showing.

  “Are you here to stay now?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. For a while at least.”

  She crosses her arms in front of her like she’s cold. “There’s something very different about you.”

  I slow my pace. What difference has she noticed? Something minor? Or has she sensed something else? Something deeper beneath my skin? I’m always on guard about what my BioPerfect might reveal. It’s blue for God’s sake, and I know there’s a lot Gatsbro didn’t tell me about it. What if one day I start oozing the damn stuff? I reach up and wipe away the moisture on my upper lip, checking the palm of my hand as I return it to my side.

  “How so?” I ask.

  “You’re not like other boys.”

  I attempt to redirect her thinking. “I’ve traveled a lot. Maybe that’s what makes me different. You travel much?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s something else. Maybe it’s the way you watch the world. You’re always thinking, aren’t you? Thinking about big things. You’re intense.”

  A little side effect of not having a body for 260 years. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be intense.”

  “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” She kicks a pebble in the pathway and runs ahead to kick it back to me. “Tell me about your family, Locke. Are you close with them?”

  I hesitate, caught off guard at the mention of my family, surprised at the instant tightness of my throat. I stare at the pebble at my feet. I want to tell her about my family. With a wild passion that makes no sense, I want to tell her everything. I want to tell her how my mother had beautiful wavy hair and saved feathers that fell from the sky because she said they were gifts from loved ones in heaven. I want to tell her how my dad was the strongest man I ever knew and he wasn’t afraid to cry in front of me. I want to tell her about my grandparents who took us in when my parents were trying to save money for a new house in a better neighborhood. I want to share how my uncles helped gut and fix up that house and my aunts would bring casseroles and we’d eat on tables made of plywood and sawhorses. I want to share about my real family and how much I miss them, and how I let them down and how more than anything in the world I wish I could have just one more minute with them all, so I could at least say good-bye. I want her to know who they were and how they once walked this street, this sidewalk, this park, and breathed this air. Just like us.

  I look down at the pebble still at my feet.

  Kick it back, Locke.

  Kick it.

  I kick the pebble back to her and I stick to the story the Network has created for me—the family who doesn’t really exist. The lies are sour in my mouth.

  We end up back at the Commons and the tree with the giant twisted root. We look at the tree, the sky, the lawn. We listen to rustling in the bushes. Finally there’s nowhere else to look but at each other.

  “I need to go,” she finally says.

  “Sure.”

  “Will you have a hard time sleeping tomorrow night?” she asks.

  “I think I might.”

  She nods and leaves but when she’s only a few yards away she turns and says, “You answered my question. It’s only fair that I answer yours. Yes. Sometimes my father is stern with me too.”

  A Sudden Dip

  I sleep through early afternoon. My habit of “sleeplessness” is catching up with me. For the last four nights I’ve met Raine in the park.

  Each night our visits grow longer, mostly walking through the Commons and public gardens, and each night I get a piece of information from her, probably small and useless, maybe not. I don’t push. These are small slips in passing. She offers these freely. The A Group has been together for three years. No new additions in that time. She’s surprised I was invited to join. I don’t tell her that I’m surprised as well. When I mentioned meeting LeGru at the Somerset Club, she told me she hates her father’s assistant. She thinks he has soulless eyes. When he comes to their apartment, which is often, she stays in her room or goes to the roof to feed the pigeons.

  I noted her spontaneous smile when she told me about feeding the birds even though it’s against the rules of the apartment association. It seems the rooftop is her domain and she does as she pleases there. A fat white pigeon that she’s named Rufus is her favorite. There’s still tension between us, distance that she’s clearly maintaining—and yet she still comes. And every night as we part she asks again if I might have a hard time sleeping the next night. And every night my answer is the same. Yes.

  I throw on some clothes and grab my pack. I’ve stayed put in the apartment during the daytime for as long as I can. I need to get out and I head for Quincy Market, walking at a brisk pace like something inside of me is stuck in high gear. I wonder how Raine fills her days? Will I ever see her in the light of day?

  I walk through the shops taking samples that are offered, mindful of not using my money card. It’s Miesha’s money and I’d like to give it back to her if I can. Free samples are scarce today so I finally splurge and buy a sandwich, an old-fashioned Italian sub. It tastes almost like the ones my mom used to bring home from the deli at her market, loaded with peperoncini.

  With the first bite, a wave of homesickness hits me, even though technically, I am home, and in practically the same moment, I think about the disposable phone tabs I saw at the checkout. Three on a card, each good for twenty minutes. Carver may have said no phone contact, but what harm would a disposable phone tab do? No one would know and I would throw it away right after I used it. I eat my sandwich, thinking about Jenna, Miesha, Allys, and Kayla, the closest people I have to family now, and after my last bite, I walk back to the counter and buy the phone tabs. I walk outside looking for a private place to talk and spot a dark, quiet service entrance for a gelato shop.

  “Hello? Jenna?”

  “Locke?” In one word, I can tell she’s surprised to hear from me. “Miesha said you wouldn’t be able to contact us.”

  Hearing her voice makes the knot in my throat twist tighter. “Yeah, so I need to keep this short, but I had to call.”

  “Are you all right?”

  I lean against the brick wall staring down at my boots. It’s only been a short time since I saw her, since she kissed my cheek at the train station, but it already seems like a lifetime ago. “I’m fine.”

  “Locke, what is it? Something isn’t right. I can hear it in—”

  “No. I promise you everything’s okay.”

  “But?” She won’t let it go. I should have known I couldn’t hide anything from Jenna.

  �
��But the Favor turned out to be a little more complicated than I expected. It’s going to take a lot longer than I thought.”

  “Things that matter usually do.”

  “I know, I know, you told me, change doesn’t happen overnight,” I parrot back to her, “but … there’s more to it than that.”

  She’s silent waiting for me to continue. There’s no video on these cheap phone tabs, but I can imagine her biting her lip, holding her breath.

  “You have to promise you won’t tell Miesha.”

  “You know I won’t.”

  I tell her the rumors about Karden, the Secretary who is possibly holding him, the eighty billion duros, and the Secretary’s daughter who is my in to get me closer to him and his hidden information—if there really is any to be had.

  “The Network doesn’t jump on things like this without reason,” she answers. “Karden was a good man, one of the bravest, most determined people I ever knew. If after all this time, he’s alive—”

  “But he might not be. That’s why you can’t whisper a word of this to Miesha.”

  “Of course. What about Miesha’s baby? Do they know what happened to her?”

  The baby? We never talked about her and I never asked. “There was no mention of a baby. I assume she died in the fire.”

  Jenna sighs. I know she’s become very fond of Miesha. And having her own daughter—and almost losing her—probably makes her understand Miesha’s pain in ways that I can never begin to. A flash of shame hits me that I never even asked about something that would be so important to Miesha. It’s times like this that I hate the divide that time has created between us. Jenna’s a mother. A woman. Our last conversations echo in my head. I may look like the Jenna you knew so long ago, but I’m lifetimes from that girl.… Tell me, Locke! What are you? A boy? A man? Something else?… You need to find out.

  My fingers curl into my palm. A fist. I want to erase the years and events with one quick blow.

  Jenna gives me quick updates on Miesha’s progress—still walking with a cane but much more stable. The daily exercises to strengthen her damaged muscles are helping. The herb garden I built is flourishing, and Kayla misses me. And finally she asks if there’s something she can do to help.