Chapter 8
Wednesday, 11:37 a.m.
Alex laughed with exhilaration as she deflected another punch from Zach, her arm easily meeting his fist in midair. The young man grunted with frustration, but she could see he was pleased with her progress. The next block threw Zach off balance, and Alex seized the opportunity to go on the offensive, launching a flurry of blows and crowing with delight when the final one connected with his chest.
“Got me,” he grinned tightly at her, wiping sweat from his forehead and heading over to the two water bottles they’d left near the house. He raised his to his lips, taking a long swig, then turned to face Alex as she headed toward him. “Good work,” Zach told her, panting for air after the long drink. “I think you’re ready for your first mission.”
“Mission?” Alex raised an eyebrow, laughing a bit at his words. “Are we runaways or secret agents?”
“Runaways,” Zach answered, turning an intent look on her. “But with a purpose. You and me and Cloak and the others – we weren’t the only ones harmed by the Wells Society, Alex. Even in this city, there are other people going through exactly what we did before we got out. We have to help them.”
Alex thought about this for a moment, and then her lips turned upward in a smile. “All right. I can go for that.”
Zach nodded to her. “Good, ‘cause I was thinking we’d do our first one later today. If Cloak’ll cover our backs, and all.”
Alex grinned at him. “Who we rescuing?”
“Nobody, this time,” Zach answered, and Alex’s expression turned puzzled. “We’re finishing the job on somebody we already rescued.”
“Finishing the job?” Alex asked. “Do they have a clone or a twin we left behind?” She laughed to cover her confusion.
Zach shook his head, taking another swig from the water bottle. “There’s two parts to a rescue, Alex,” he explained, “getting the kid out – and killing the Wicked Bitch of the West to make sure she can’t come after him. Or her,” he grinned tightly at her.
But Alex was no longer amused. “Killing … “
“It’s the only way, Alex,” Zach told her, utter certainty in his voice. “These people will never stop coming after us as long as they’re alive.”
“But the police –“ Alex started, but Zach interrupted her harshly.
“Are gonna believe, what? That our mothers genetically altered us at birth and have been experimenting on us ever since?” Zach snorted. “We’d be the ones locked up as soon as we told ‘em that story. Besides,” he continued, taking yet another swig of his water and nearly emptying the bottle, “they’ve got quite a few of the police in their pockets. We can’t trust them to keep us safe.”
Doubt clouded Alex’s features. “I don’t –“ she started to say, voice filled with hesitation.
“What?” Zach scoffed at her. “Want a murder conviction clouding your bright future. We have no future, Alex,” he told her, getting in her face as he did. “None of us do. Our moms made sure of that the second we were born. Assuming we don’t get hauled back home to be lab rats, we’ll have to keep low profiles for the rest of our lives – change our names, take crap jobs, and never do anything to attract attention. Because the second we do, they’ll be on us like that.”
He pounded his left fist into his right palm, and the noise reverberated throughout the yard.
“So any plans you had to become a movie star? I suggest you put them on hold,” Zach hissed, his eyes flashing.
Alex recoiled, deeply disturbed by the things she’d just heard. Her mind raced. What Zach had said made sense – her mother and her unknown associates probably would continue searching for her, tirelessly, for years to come. And yet something within her still did not feel comfortable with murdering the members of the Wells Society. She hated what they were doing, and was scared beyond belief of what would happen to her if they ever caught up with her – she could make a decent argument that going along with Zach’s plans was a matter of simple self-defense. But part of her refused to believe it.
A queasy feeling in her gut, Alex met Zach’s eyes. “All right, I got it,” she told him shakily. “So who’s the target?”
“Your mother,” Zach told her, flashing a wicked grin. “Ainsling Cronlord.”
--
11:45 a.m.
Moira and Andy were each concentrating on a stack of paperwork when the knock came at the door. Both of their heads jolted upward suddenly, as if jarred out of a reverie, and it was Moira who spoke first. “Come in!”
One of the support staff, a blond woman with a cheerful face, appeared at the door, smiling at them. “Excuse me, agents? There’s someone to see you.”
“Who?” Andy asked.
“I think he said his name is … Cronlord?”
Moira nodded. “Send him in.”
The woman nodded and disappeared, and a few moments later, Mr. Cronlord appeared in the doorway. He was obviously anxious – he stood rigidly, with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his lips pressed together in a tight line. Moira stood to greet him, extending a hand for him to shake. “Mr. Cronlord, how are you?”
“Worried,” he answered succinctly, taking the proffered hand in a firm grip. “Any news on Alex?”
Andy shook his head from where he sat at his desk behind Moira. “We’ll let you know the second we hear anything, Mr. Cronlord, I promise.”
“I appreciate that,” he looked over at Andy, then shifted his eyes back to Moira. “Agent McBain … what’s gonna happen to my – to Ainsling,” he corrected himself.
“I … honestly don’t know that, Mr. Cronlord,” Moira told him frankly, though the look on her face spoke of sympathy for his position. “I understand that you’d probably rather she stayed out of prison, and I’m sure Alex will feel the same way when we get her back, but the fact is that she’s committed –“
“No,” Mr. Cronlord interjected, voice quietly lethal. “I want her put away. For as long as possible.”
Moira’s grey eyes scrutinized the man’s face. The set of his jaw and the steely look in his eyes spoke of a hard, cold anger that ran to the core of his being. Someone else might have found it frightening, but Moira realized belatedly that it was very familiar to her – a similar look had surely been on her own face after Ian’s suicide, once the immediacy of the grief had passed. What he felt right now was probably very similar to her own feelings toward her mother then, and her brother. A great rush of empathy for Mr. Cronlord suddenly flooded through Moira.
“Well,” she answered, “there’s certainly no doubt in my mind that she’s committed crimes for which jail time would be appropriate. I’ve gotta be honest, though – that’s gonna be hard to prove.” The connection she suddenly felt to the man made it easier to explain this to him, she found – she knew what she would want to hear, and so that’s what she told him.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because we have no evidence,” she answered.
“We have Alex. Or we will, when we get her back.” His face briefly betrayed his worry for his daughter.
“I’m assuming you and your wife haven’t gotten a ransom demand?” Moira asked, though she already knew the answer.
“I’d have called you if we had.”
Moira nodded. “Anyway, yes, we’ll have Alex, but her power comes across like she’s crazy. A person who can see the future – no judge is gonna believe that.”
“They will when it comes true,” he answered, his voice hard.
“A judge may not wait that long to dismiss the case,” Moira frowned. “We’d need to get her to a neurologist, see if what they did to her left any scarring on her brain or something like –“
She was interrupted as Mr. Cronlord’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from its holster at his side, looked at the screen – and his face went white.
“Who is it?” Moira asked.
“Alex,” Mr. Cronlord answered, stunned.
--
Alex sat in the small room she’d been
given in the house, silently willing her father to answer the phone. She’d excused herself from Zach’s presence as soon as she politely could, saying that she needed to use the restroom before they set off. She’d then raced to her room and closed the door behind her, hoping that Zach had believed her. She felt guilty, remembering Zach calling her a liability just days ago and insisting that she always ran away rather than standing her ground. What she was currently doing – dealing with a problem by hiding in her room and calling her father – felt as if she was validating every word of Zach’s criticism.
She’d first thought about trying to fight him, but those thoughts had been short-lived. Zach was an Igniter, after all – which meant that if she didn’t knock him out with her first blow, he could light her on fire. What was more, there were a whole houseful of Rejects here who presumably agreed with his tactics – which of them could she make her case to? She didn’t need her psychic powers to tell her that going head-to-head with Zach was fraught with danger for her. And so, she’d decided to call for help instead.
As her cell phone’s ring filled her ears, it struck her that this way didn’t feel particularly safe, either.
To her great relief, her father answered quickly. His voice sounded frantic as he spoke into the phone. “Alex? Alex, is that you? Are you all right?”
“Dad, yes, I’m fine!” she quickly assured him, speaking in a frenzied whisper to avoid attracting attention. “I need you to come get me, okay? I’m fine, but I need you to –“
He didn’t even let her finish. “I’ll be right over, honey! Where are you? Just tell me where you are, I’ll come get you, okay?”
“I’m at a house on –“ she stopped, a chill going up her spine as she heard a creeeeeeeeeeeaking noise from behind her. She turned her head quickly – someone was opening the door to her room.
Quickly, she shoved her phone under her bed, trying to compose her face into an innocuous expression.
--
“Alex? ALEX?!” Mr. Cronlord cried, his voice growing louder as his daughter didn’t answer.
“What happened?” Moira asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Mr. Cronlord told her. “She just suddenly … stopped answering. She was about to tell me where she was, and then—“
“Is the line still open?” Moira interrupted him urgently.
“I – I think so,” he put the phone to his ear again. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Moira turned to Andy and pointed to the door to their office. Andy met her eyes, nodded, and scurried out of the office. Mr. Cronlord saw it, and turned a curious look on Moira. “Where’s he going?”
“If the line stays open, we can trace the call,” Moira told him. “We need thirty seconds.”
Andy came back a moment later, giving Moira a brisk nod. “It’s done,” her partner said quietly.
“So what do we do now?” Mr. Cronlord asked.
“Wait,” Moira answered.
--
“Alex?” Zach asked, his face appearing in her doorway. “What are you doing?”
“There’s a thing called ‘knocking,’ you know?” Alex responded, shooting him a withering look. “What if I’d been naked?”
“Sorry,” he told her. “I was just looking for you – you said you were going to the bathroom.”
“Yeah, sorry, I’m not feeling that –,“ she cringed as a loud squawking noise came from her phone. She was sure it was her father calling out her name, wondering why she’d suddenly disappeared in the middle of their urgent conversation. But she couldn’t worry about that now – if Zach found out who she was talking to, she was dead. She mentally crossed her fingers and hoped he hadn’t heard it.
No such luck. “What was that?” Zach asked, eyes darting around the room as he looked for the source of the noise.
“What was what?” she asked in turn.
“There was a loud noise,” Zach answered, regarding her with surprise. “You didn’t hear it?”
“No,” she answered, trying her best to sound confused. “What kinda noise?”
“It was … kinda like nails on chalkboard,” he answered, stepping into her room and taking a few steps toward the opposite wall, turning his head from side to side as he looked for the source of the noise.
“Um …” Alex stammered, desperate to stop his search before he thought to look under her bed.
Zach turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Are you feeling okay, Alex?”
“No,” she answered, and that was completely true. “That’s what I was trying to tell you, I’m not. That’s why I came up here. I feel nauseous.”
“Oh?” Zach asked, eyes fixing on her face. “This nausea wouldn’t have anything to do with your first mission, would it?”
Alex was silent, letting her honestly-conflicted face speak for itself.
Zach’s look was sympathetic, and he put a hand on her shoulder. “Look,” he told her, in a comforting tone. “I know it’s not the easiest thing to stomach – having to kill a member of your own family. My mom almost caught me three times before I realized it was the only way. But do you really want to go back to being a lab rat?”
“No,” she admitted, and meant it. “But … that doesn’t mean we have to kill her, does it?” She raised her volume with those last two words, ostensibly to convey her horror at the prospect, but actually in the hope that her Dad would hear it. “I mean, what about my Dad? He’s not part of this ‘Wells Society’? He could keep me safe, couldn’t he?”
Disappointment clouded Zach’s features. “Alex, haven’t you learned anything this week? Nobody but you can keep you safe. Besides, you think your Dad’s gonna believe that your mother’s genetically engineered you to see the future?”
Alex’s own face filled with doubt.
--
“What are they saying over there?” asked Mr. Cronlord, who, like all of them, could hear only murmurings, not specific words. Impatience was plain in his features.
“Shhh!” Moira silenced him harshly, putting a finger to her lips. “There’s still twenty seconds left on the trace, and if they hear you, they’ll kill Alex!” All of this she said in a harsh whisper.
Embarrassment flooded Mr. Cronlord’s face. “Sorry,” he whispered back. “It’s just … she’s my daughter. I hate not being able to help her.”
Another rush of empathy for the man flooded through Moira, and she put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I know,” she answered.
“Fifteen seconds,” Andy interjected. As Moira looked back at him, she thought she saw a flash of something vaguely like jealousy on her partner’s face. For a moment she was amused, but disciplined herself sternly.
No time to think about that now. Find Alex first.
Her thoughts were interrupted as a loud noise came over Mr. Cronlord’s phone, which he had set on speaker. “—have to kill her--,” came a very distinct female voice before the conversation became incoherent mumbling once again.
“That was –“ Mr. Cronlord started in a normal voice, but caught himself quickly and dropped to a whisper. “That was Alex!”
--
Before Alex could give any sort of verbal answer to Zach’s question, another loud but incoherent noise filled the room. Alex was sure it was her father’s voice, and she was at once grateful and annoyed that he hadn’t hung up: grateful because it made her feel better to know that he cared about finding her, annoyed because every word he spoke increased the chance that he would find her dead.
“Okay, that time I’m sure I heard something,” Zach said, starting again toward the back of the room. Alex’s heart froze in her chest, but she knew a moment’s relief as he headed first for an empty bookshelf at the back of her cluttered room, starting to pull it away from the wall.
“Maybe you’re the one that’s not feeling well,” Alex teased, forcing a laugh she didn’t feel.
Zach turned an incredulous expression on her. “Seriously?” he asked. “You’re telling me you didn’t hear it? You really didn’t?”
“No,” she told him, sure that she sounded as unconvincing to him as she did to herself. “I really didn’t.”
From the look on Zach’s face, he showed every sign of being ready to call her bluff.
--
“Ten seconds,” Andy interjected.
“What was Alex talking about, ‘kill her’?” Mr. Cronlord asked, taking care to whisper. “My daughter’s not a killer.”
“It sounded like a question, Mr. Cronlord,” Moira told him. “Didn’t you hear how her voice went up as she spoke? That usually means interrogatory sentence, not declaratory.”
“So she’s asking whoever she’s talking to whether they have to kill someone else,” he speculated.
“It makes sense,” Andy opined, “the group that kidnapped Alex is fond of setting people’s houses on fire. There’s been at least one suspected death in many of the cases.”
“So who would they be wanting to kill?” Mr. Cronlord asked.
“They seem to be targeting people off of a list they’ve got,” Andy told him. “Moira and I suspect that all the people on the list are members of this ‘Wells Society.’”
“Then in that case … “ Mr. Cronlord stopped midsentence, but Moira knew what he was thinking.
“Ainsling,” she finished his thought.
“Three seconds left.”
--
“Alex, seriously, what’s wrong with you?” Zach asked, his manner and tone confrontational. “There’s no way you didn’t hear that.”
“I really didn’t, okay??” she replied, growing confrontational herself – though in her case, it was to cover her fear.
Zach scrutinized her face, as if he were looking for proof she was lying. Uncomfortable with the sound of her own heart thudding in her chest, Alex spoke up suddenly, hastily, offering up an excuse that she hoped against hope he would believe. “I just … it’s what you said, okay? It’s hard to think about killing my own mother. But you’re right, it has to be done – go get Cloak, I’ll be ready by the time you get back.”
Zach scrutinized her face for a second more, and then his expression relaxed and he nodded. “All right,” he told her, walking past her toward the door. Alex heaved a great inward sigh of relief – until he stopped a moment later, just shy of the doorway.
“Alex?”
“Hmm?”
He flashed her a roguish smile. “It’s good to have you on the team.”
A moment later he was gone. Alex heaved a deep sigh of relief, then looked out her window. There was a tree a few inches away, with a (hopefully) sturdy branch hanging just outside of her reach. Alex hesitated for only a moment. If she couldn’t make the jump …
She shoved her fear downward. There was no choice. Taking a deep breath, she headed for the window and began to pull it open.
--
“We got the trace!” Andy told them in a cheering whisper. “It’s over on 57th Street.”
“Great,” Moira answered back. “Call the Dallas P.D. and tell them to send a squad car over to the Cronlord house. Better safe than sorry. Then let’s go get Alex back.”
Andy nodded to her and picked up the receiver on his phone. Mr. Cronlord, having hung up his own phone and shoved it into his pocket, looked to Moira. “I wanna go with you,” he told her.
“Mr. Cronlord, I appreciate the sentiment, but I promise you we’ll bring Alex here as soon as –“
“Agent McBain –“ Mr. Cronlord protested.
“We really can’t –“ Moira counter-protested.
“She’s my daughter, Agent McBain,” Mr. Cronlord countered forcefully, finality coloring his voice as he gave Moira an insistent look.
Moira hesitated for only a moment, then nodded. “Just don’t do anything stupid, all right? You get hurt, and it’s my ass for taking you.”
Cronlord nodded back, giving her a smile. “And Agent McBain?”
“Hmm?”
“Call me James.”
--
Ten minutes later, a dozen F.B.I. agents swarmed the house, rounding up Zach and the other runaways. Alex saw her father round the corner as she hid in the bushes. His eyes fell on her and he broke out in a run, but she shrank back. James stopped in his tracks, looking taken aback. “Alex? It’s me,” he told her, as if she couldn’t see him. “You called me. I came to get you.”
“I can’t go home,” she answered, voice taut.
James apparently understood, for he smiled reassuringly at his daughter. “I’m not here to take you home,” he told her. “I know all about your mother and what she’s been doing.”
Alex’s eyebrows shot skyward. “You do?” he asked. “How?”
“It’s … hard to explain,” James answered. “But you’re not gonna be her lab rat anymore. I’m leaving her.”
Alex was stunned. “You are? But you guys have been married for … for like twenty years.” She could scarcely believe what she was hearing.
James looked pained. “I know,” he told her, sadness in his voice, “but nobody fucks with my child.”
She ran to him at that, hugging him tightly as her eyes filled with moisture. “I’m sorry,” she told him softly, voice cracking.
“For what?” he asked, sounding puzzled.
“Ruining your marriage.”
“You didn’t,” he answered, holding her tighter, and there was a hard quality in his voice that she had never before heard in her usually upbeat, optimistic father. “She ruined it herself. I guess I just … didn’t see it.”
“Neither did I,” Alex whispered. She wiped her eyes dry, and then pulled back from the hug and looked up at her father, actually flashing him a smile. “And I can see the future.”
“… Yeah,” James answered hesitantly, and Alex was sure she detected unease in her father’s voice.
“Dad, believe me, I wish I couldn’t, I hate it, if there’s any way I can get rid of it –“ she babbled, desperate to reassure him that she was still his daughter and that he needn’t fear her.
“No no, it’s not that,” he interrupted. “I just … I liked it when you were my little girl.”
Alex smiled up at him. “I’m still your daughter,” she told him.
“Couldn’t have asked for a better one,” he told her, and sounded like he meant it. “Come on. Let’s get to a hotel or something.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” she told him, and they walked together toward the waiting line of cars. As they approached, Moira saw them from where she was directing the raid. Andy stood next to her. Moira smiled down at Alex.
“Good to see you again, Alex,” Moira smiled at her. “I’m Agent Moira McBain, of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We met once before – though there wasn’t much time for conversation then.”
Alex smiled shyly, unsure what to say to the woman. “Hi,” she finally managed, meekly, then looked over at Andy – and there her eyes froze. He was much older than she was, of course, but still young, and Alex couldn’t help noticing that he was quite attractive. She’d long disdained classmates of hers who got crushes on their teachers, but she couldn’t deny that such feelings were rather akin to her own right now.
“We’d better get you guys to a hotel,” Moira intoned, looking at James. “I think your daughter is a bit smitten.”
The words broke Alex out of her reverie, her face flushing with embarrassment. Andy himself, however, had another reaction. He looked over at Moira teasingly. “You wouldn’t be jealous, would you?”
“Over you? Never,” Moira shot back in the same bantering tone, though to Alex it didn’t sound entirely convincing. Before any more could be said on the subject, another agent approached the car next to which they stood -- a woman, holding the handcuffed arms of Zach Mason as she led him toward the car.
Alex instinctively shrank back, afraid that Zach might try to harm her. But he didn’t. Instead, he merely said, in a quiet, lethal tone: “You haven’t changed after all. You still run from everything.”
With that, the woman put
him in the car and slammed the door.
Weaver Page 9