Don't Let Go (36 page)

Peter almost laughed; this was the first time his parents had ever demonstrated any interest in his hacking skills. It was beyond ironic. He nodded. “Yeah, I could. You probably never realized it, but that’s what I’m best at.”

“Thank God,” his mother murmured.

“But the thing is,” Peter said, “I’m not going to.”

While they watched gape-mouthed, he went back to the door and opened it. An FBI agent stood there, flanked by five cops.

“All set?” she asked.

“Yeah, thanks.” Peter turned back to his parents. They seemed to be diminishing by the minute; he almost felt sorry for them. Almost. “This is Agent Rodriguez. She’s going to be arresting you now.”

As the cops swarmed in, he stepped out onto the stoop. He could hear his parents protesting: Priscilla’s voice high-pitched and panicked, Bob swearing loudly.

“You okay?” Agent Rodriguez asked.

She was a good-looking woman in her late thirties, wearing a black blazer and no-nonsense shoes. Peter managed a weak smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You have a place to go?”

Peter thought about that for a minute. He’d been crashing with Luke and the other kids who used to comprise the Northeast division of Persefone’s Army. They were living in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t as bad as some of the places he’d shared with Noa, Teo, and Daisy; but it wasn’t much better, either. He could probably call some old friends from high school, or even Amanda’s parents, but somehow that didn’t feel right. “I’ll be okay,” he finally said. “I’m going to take off soon, anyway.”

At that, Rodriguez raised an eyebrow. “Headed where?”

“Anywhere, I guess.” Peter shrugged. “I figured I might start with Costa Rica, maybe learn how to surf.”

Agent Rodriguez looked bemused. “Surfing, huh? Well, I don’t know if I can beat that. But I promised my boss I’d try.”

“Try how?”

“By offering you a job.” Seeing his look of confusion, she said, “Our tech division could use some help going through all this information, and you’re already familiar with it. Plus, we have an entire unit devoted to cybercrime.”

“I’m only eighteen,” Peter said, puzzled. “I haven’t even graduated high school yet.”

Rodriguez shrugged. “Age doesn’t really matter, I don’t think we have a single techie over thirty. Here’s my card. Think about it.”

“Sure.” Peter tucked the card away in his back pocket. A slow grin spread across his face. “So you could make me a G-man?”

“Technically, you’d be a consultant,” Rodriguez clarified with a smile. “But down the road, maybe.”

“Cool.”

She laughed and held out her hand. “Take care of yourself, Peter Gregory.”

“I will.”

Peter shook her hand, then headed down the stairs, walking away from his house for what would probably be the last time. He expected to be overwhelmed with nostalgia, or grief. Instead, he felt about a thousand pounds lighter; like he’d been carrying around an invisible weight, and it had finally dispersed.

Noa rocked slightly back and forth as the T rattled through tunnels, balancing an Apple store bag on her lap. She’d finally decided to invest in a fifteen-inch MacBook Pro. She and Zeke were swamped with freelance work now, and she needed the extra screen space. Still, when they’d handed her the bag, she’d flinched at the extra weight. Even though months had passed, she had a hard time shaking the thought that this would be much harder to take on the run.

No more running
, she reminded herself. In fact, this laptop would rarely leave the confines of their house. She still had difficulty wrapping her head around that, too; thanks to a huge settlement from Pike & Dolan, they had a real home now, a sprawling four bedroom in Brookline. They’d moved in right before school started. Not that she and Zeke went; they’d both gotten their GEDs, and since Zeke was eighteen, he was officially the adult in charge of their chaotic household. Teo and Daisy had been less than thrilled when Children’s Services mandated that they attend the local high school, especially when they found out they’d both be sophomores. But that was part of the deal they’d struck: The kids could stay with Noa and Zeke, as long as they went to class.

So far, it had been going surprisingly well. Teo was rapidly becoming Brookline High’s track star, and Daisy was heavily involved in the school’s radio station. They spent most of their free time volunteering at the Runaway Coalition, which Amanda had taken over when Mrs. Latimar died of a sudden heart attack.

Noa and the others had donated a serious chunk of their settlement money to the Coalition. She’d originally wanted to give it all away, but Zeke insisted on keeping a cushion for themselves, and setting some aside for Teo and Daisy in case they wanted to go to college.

Daisy, in college. Noa smiled at the thought.

Peter should be calling tonight from Thailand. He was on his tenth country in five months. They received postcards regularly, and he Skyped with them at least once a week. Still, after living on top of each other for months, it was strange not having him around. Sometimes when she was working on a particularly tricky hack, Noa would catch herself talking back to the monitor, the same way he used to.

Peter always sounded cheerful, relaying anecdotes about his crazy backpacking experiences. But even through a webcam, she could see the shadow behind his eyes. After all they’d been through, neither of them would ever be whole again, not completely. She’d lay awake nights, wondering which of them was following the right path. Could the past be outrun? Or had she made the right choice, staying here to try and put it behind her?

There was a map of the Green line overhead; her eyes zeroed in on the Newton Centre stop. That’s where all this had started; somewhere between her apartment and the T station, they’d taken her. And that’s why she never felt completely safe on the subway.

The train shuddered to a stop. Noa slung the bag’s straps over her shoulder and climbed off, shuffling along with the rush-hour commuters. Daisy and Teo should be home from school by now. Zeke was probably in the home office, working on their latest IT contract. Amanda might be at the house, too, stirring some sort of disgusting vegetarian mush on the stove.

Not that she minded. Anything hot still tasted good, and not having to cook was an added bonus. There were times that acting as den mother to a bunch of foster kids was even more exhausting than running for her life.

As she passed the ticket agent’s booth, Noa caught the reflection of a beefy bald man directly behind her. The back of her neck suddenly prickled, and her pulse kicked up. Noa walked faster, murmuring apologies as she pushed past other passengers.

She was slightly out of breath as she emerged from the station, and the scar on her chest throbbed uncomfortably. Glancing back, her heart sank; the bald man was still close on her heels, wearing an intent look on his face.

Their house was five blocks away. She could make it in three minutes if she ran.

But then he’d know where they lived. Maybe that’s exactly what he wanted.

Adrenaline surged through her veins as the familiar flight response kicked in. She’d almost forgotten how it felt to be hunted.

But she was done being prey.

Noa let the bag drop to her side as she turned to face him. She clenched the box in both hands; the laptop was heavy, and solid. If she swung hard enough, it might knock him out.

The bald man was dressed in black jeans and a heavy overcoat that was perfect for concealing a weapon. She checked his feet . . . dress shoes. Noa frowned. That was unusual. Maybe they’d gotten better at concealing themselves. She braced, discreetly drawing back the box, preparing to use it as a club. . . .

A smile broke across the guy’s face, and he threw his arms wide. As Noa hesitated, confused, something large and red flitted past her—a young girl, maybe eight years old. She hurtled into the bald man’s arms. He swept her up, whipping her in a circle and laughing.

As he kissed the girl’s forehead and tugged playfully at her ponytail, Noa slowly lowered the bag. She was still breathing hard, her whole body taut with tension. The man set the girl on the ground. Hand in hand they walked by her, the girl chattering while her father nodded indulgently.

Noa choked out a relieved laugh. Still feeling shaky, she slipped the straps back over her shoulder and adjusted her knit cap. Turning, she headed for home.

It was late October, and most of the leaves had already fallen. They crunched under her feet as she walked up the path to their house.

A year ago, she’d been perfectly content living alone in a studio apartment, shying away from human interaction; she never would have expected to enjoy sharing a house with a bunch of other kids.
My family
, Noa reminded herself. The word still felt foreign at times, but that’s what they’d become, for better or worse. A family.

The front door popped open. Light spilled from the hallway, framing Zeke in silhouette. His hair was slick from the shower, and he was wearing low-slung jeans and a black T-shirt. “Hey! I was getting worried.” Taking her in, his brow furrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s great,” Noa said, mounting the final step. She wrapped her arms around him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, sounding surprised.

Noa nuzzled his neck, inhaling deeply. She still couldn’t get enough of him: the way he smelled, how his skin felt, the softness of his mouth.

“I’ve got dinner on the stove,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her ear. “It’ll burn.”

“I don’t care,” she said, going up on her toes to kiss him. “Let it.”

This will be my final post. By now, the whole world knows about what happened to me . . . what happened to all of us. Most of the people responsible have been brought to justice. So if you joined our fight, thank you.

We lost a lot of people along the way. Some of their names we know: Janiqua. Remo. Alex. Loki.

But so many others were reduced to a file number. Kids who suffered terribly at the hands of Charles Pike and his “scientists.” Kids who screamed and suffered and died alone.

These are the kids we need to remember. Because in spite of everything that’s been written, all the horror and shock and outrage, the truth is, it could happen again.

So stay vigilant. Look out for each other. And remember that we’re all stronger than we think. Someone once said that the only way to fight monsters is to become the bigger monster. I used to think so, too, but it’s not true.

The truth is, the only way to fight monsters is to become something they cannot defeat. Like Persephone, the only way back from hell is to walk toward the light.

Posted by PERSEF0NE on October 25th
/ALLIANCE/ /NEKRO/ /#PERSEF_ARMY/

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Three years ago, I sat down and wrote, “When Noa Torson woke up, the first thing she noticed was that her feet were cold.” And from there, this incredible journey with Peter, Noa, and so many other characters who stole my heart began. I’m terribly sad to be saying good-bye to them, and I hope I did them justice.

My good friend Lisa Brown was instrumental in helping get this trilogy off the ground; I owe her and Dan Ehrenhaft a debt that truly cannot be repaid.

The PERSEF0NE trilogy found the perfect home at Harper Teen; I couldn’t have asked for better champions for these books. Publicist Olivia deLeon went above and beyond the call of duty; if it weren’t for her, I’d probably still be wandering the bowels of the Javits Center, hopelessly lost. The Tea Time ladies, Margot Wood and Aubry Parks-Fried, were the best book shimmy buddies ever; along with Alana Whitman and Alison Lisnow, they made the Pitch Dark Days fall tour an incredible experience.

Speaking of which . . . my fellow “Beautiful Weirdoes,” Rae Carson, Sherry Thomas, Mindy McGinnis, and Madeleine Roux, were tourmates extraordinaire. Sending five women on a four-day, four-city road trip sounds like a recipe for disaster; instead, it was hands down some of the most fun I’ve ever had in my life. Maddie and Mindy even went above and beyond, offering line edits for
DLG
; so any and all mistakes are clearly their fault ☺. Seriously, I love these ladies and their books, and everyone should rush out and buy multiple copies.

Dudley, Ryan, Amara, Wendy, and all the other amazing teachers and fellow dancers at ODC helped keep me sane during some truly challenging life events over the past few years.

My team of white hat hackers/tech experts, Keith Nordstrom and Bruce Davis, exhibited tremendous patience while wading through versions of these manuscripts, doing their best to explain encryption technology to a Luddite. They both deserve free cold beer for life (the good stuff); I couldn’t have done it without them.

Kate Stoia generously donated money to Live Oak School by buying character naming rights: Matan and Ella Maoz, I hope that you’re not too angry about me killing off your namesakes; at least they both died honorable deaths.

My editor, Karen Chaplin, has gallantly shepherded these books through every draft; her keen eye for detail and gentle insistence on which darlings to kill has been a true gift. She’s a real pro, and I was lucky to have her on my team.

Copy editors are the unsung heroes of manuscripts. Aaron Murray and Bethany Reis pointed out inconsistencies and errors that would have proven hugely embarrassing had they made it to print—so thanks for making me look good.

Two poets generously allowed me to use their work as epigraphs: the esteemed Rita Dove (“Persephone, Falling”) and Cleopatra Mathis (“After Persephone”). If you love these poems as much as I do, you can find more of their work in
Mother Love
and
What to Tip the Boatman?
, respectively.

Stephanie Kip Rostan has been so much more than my agent, she’s also a friend with an unerring knack for talking me down from the proverbial ledge and putting out fires with aplomb. We’re all lucky that she chooses to use her powers for good.

With this trilogy, I tried to shine a light on some of the failures of the U.S. foster care system. There are organizations devoted to improving the lives of these kids. Rising Tides is a crowdfunding group that helps teens during the difficult transition out of foster care, providing assistance for education and life needs (rising-tides.org). One Simple Wish (onesimplewish.org) matches donors with kids, helping grant wishes that range from new shoes to music lessons. Any amount helps; it’s almost heartbreaking to see what an enormous difference a small gift can make for a foster kid. So please consider donating today.