Flee (4 page)

****

My second day of high school passed similarly to my first, only now I found myself scanning the rooms when I entered them or looking in the hallways between classes for Blake. She was right. She was easy to miss. She entered the room right before the bell and slid into a seat in the back. She didn't raise her hand or speak up during discussions and she was always the first to exit when class ended. Between classes she occupied herself at her locker or disappeared into the ladies' room or the school offices. A few students spoke with her; most just smiled politely and stayed out of her way. One girl, though, seemed almost protective, talking with Blake every chance she got and following her movements with anxious eyes, as did Wade Robbins. He kept his distance but watched her carefully.
Well, that makes three of us
, I thought, convincing myself that it was okay to watch from afar as long as I concentrated my efforts on making other friends. And I stayed true to my word, using every opportunity to talk with the other students. By lunch I was feeling comfortable with my new acquaintances, joining a table of some of the football players and a few girls I'd met. Blake carried her tray and water bottle outside, to one of the picnic tables I supposed, even though the only ones I'd spotted were in the full sun and it was, as usual, blazing hot. Wade, sitting across from me, watched her and groaned.

“How long can that go on?” he mumbled, looking down at his tray.

“Just keep giving her time,” a girl replied. She was the same one who had spoken to Blake several times that day. Despite her words, she looked every bit as worried as Wade did.

“She asked us for distance and time. She apparently still needs that. She'll let us know when she's ready to let us back in.”

“If she's ever ready to let us back in. Come on, Callie, it's been seven months. It's not healthy for her to continue to isolate herself like that. I think it's time we staged an intervention.”

“Absolutely not, Wade,” Callie replied, her voice so sharp even I backed up a little in my chair. “One thing at a time. Coach Joe got her to continue as a trainer for the team, and that's huge. It's forcing her to interact, at least after school, and maybe that's all she can handle right now. Just be patient.” Wade glared at her, but backed down under Callie's fierce gaze and kept his mouth shut. The conversation shifted then, to the English class syllabus and the paper assigned that morning.

I finished my lunch quickly and then excused myself, stopping in the cafeteria kitchen and getting a cup of ice before heading outside. My eyes scanned the courtyard until I saw Blake. She sat at a picnic table in a corner, her head down and shoulders turned in. It was heartbreaking, her posture. She looked like she was trying to disappear into herself. Sad. Lonely. It was all I could do to keep my steps slow and measured as I approached.

“Are you immune to the heat, or do you prefer the sweaty, wilted look?” She jolted a bit when I sat down across from her and handed her the cup of ice.

“What's this for?” She took the offered cup but didn't bother to change her dejected posture.

“I figured your water bottle must be boiling by now. After your run this morning and with practice this afternoon you need to stay hydrated.”

“And you think it's your job to help me do that?” Blake looked slightly bewildered, but she raised her head and straightened her back as if in challenge, so I decided to continue to press.

“Consider me the hydration police,” I replied, winking at her.

Her eyes flashed and she started to say something, then seemed to change her mind and instead looked down self-consciously and pushed her damp hair away from her face. “So, sweaty and wilted. I look that bad, huh?”

“Actually, it's not a bad look for you. You should be proud. Not many can pull it off.”

“Mateo,” Blake paused, squinting up at me, shading her eyes from the sun with one hand. “I'm really not much of a conversationalist. It just takes more effort than I have to give. You would be better off sitting with someone else.”

“Who says I need conversation? ‘Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself and learn that everything in life has a purpose,'” I quoted.

She rolled her eyes at me, but smiled slightly and grabbed her water bottle, pouring it over the ice. Score one for me. I pulled my smartphone out of my pocket, scrolled through my playlist, and then offered her one earpiece. She moved closer, curious but wary, looking up at me when she heard my selection.

“'The Sound of Silence'? Seriously? Simon and Garfunkel? Aren't you a little young for that?” Her eyes were softer though, almost amused.

“I pride myself on having songs for every occasion.” I returned. “It's sort of a hobby of mine.”

“Useful hobby,” she mumbled, but she took my phone and began to scroll through the selections. She smirked at some of my choices and raised her eyebrows at others. She didn't speak again, but I didn't mind. She sipped her water and played around with my phone. It was a useful distraction and she wasn't sitting here alone and sad anymore. When the lunch period ended, she smiled, handed the phone back to me, and walked away without a word.

I didn't see her again until football practice, and not much then. Coach worked us hard and fast, and I found my head spinning, trying to get up to speed with the team. Blake did her job silently from the sidelines, handing out water, taping ankles and running around behind Coach Williams, writing down the instructions he barked at her. At the end of practice, she approached me as I headed for the locker room to change.

“Six a.m. tomorrow?” She sounded hesitant.

Would she panic if I grabbed her hand? I wanted to. “Sure, I'll be here,” I replied softly.

She started to reply, but broke off in a yawn.

“Go to bed early tonight, Blake. You look exhausted.”

“Sweaty, wilted, and exhausted. I'm making quite an impression.” She smiled, a small tight-lipped thing. “And isn't proper rest out of the jurisdiction of the hydration police?”

“Oh, I cover all areas of general health. And don't worry about your first impression on me. It was good.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “You're a bold one, aren't you?”

“A family trait, I'm afraid.” Was I too bold? My dad's boldness had always awed and irritated me. I wondered what effect I was having on her. “I could dial it down for you if you like.”

“No, I like you being direct. Everyone else here walks on eggshells around me.”

“Um, could it have anything to do with the huge
Back Off
sign you practically wear around your neck?”

“Probably.” She sighed. “But I'll make an exception for you, Soccer Boy. I could use a friend, preferably one who wasn't around to witness my whole sad history.”

“I can relate to that.” I responded quietly and she raised her eyebrows, questioning. I didn't elaborate. “So, friends it is. See ya in the morning, Blake.” She turned and walked off the field, her steps dragging a little with the fatigue evident on her face.

****

My cell phone sat charging on my desk, powered off, so the silent vibration noise took me by surprise. I jumped up, and the Latin book I'd been holding dropped to the ground. Fumbling around, I quickly pulled out a hidden phone from the back drawer of my desk and pushed talk.

“Thomas?” I whispered, careful so Mom wouldn't overhear.

“Dude, it's good to hear your voice. I miss you, bro.”

“I was wondering if you would call.” My voice cracked with emotion, and I cleared my throat. Thomas. Brother. Best friend. Leaving him behind had been hard.

“I had to wait for the right time. Dad and Juan Carlos are closely monitoring me. They know I'm sympathetic. I couldn't risk them discovering our spy phones. Plus I, uh, kinda couldn't find mine for a while.”

I laughed. As kids, Thomas and I had used red walkie-talkies to communicate with each other as we pretended to be international spies. Neither of us at the time suspected that our own lives were more complicated and dangerous than Jason Bourne's. Two years ago, when we had both learned from Juan Carlos what the family business really was, Thomas had secretly purchased these prepaid phones as a precaution. Only he and I had them; only he and I knew about them. They were our new “spy phones,” he had said. This was the first time we had needed to use them.

“Then they're still angry?” I winced, picturing their faces when we had left.

“Dad's hard to read. Anger is there, but it seems put on. I can't figure him out. He's all hot air on the outside, but on the inside I think he just really misses you and Mom. He's not himself. One minute he seems brokenhearted, the next he yells that you're dead to him. JC is just JC. He scares me a little. He's so callous.” Thomas sounded tired.

“Has the danger passed there?” The gunshots had still been echoing in the hills around the family compound when Mom and I had helicoptered out.

“The rebellion was squelched in a matter of days. The traitor was found, along with his people, and, um, dealt with.” He didn't elaborate. I didn't ask him to. I didn't want to picture someone I probably knew being “dealt with” Juan Carlos style.

“Mateo, are you two okay? Do you have security in place? You know, you can run but you can't hide. If someone wants to hurt our family, your distance doesn't make you immune.”

“I know, Tommy, don't worry. I've hired a very capable security team. Mom and the house are very secure.” I hoped what I said was true. Were there weak spots in our defenses? I had gone over the security plans so many times my head hurt. It made me miss Hector even more.

“And you, Mateo? Are you keeping yourself safe?” Thomas couldn't or wouldn't hide the worry in his voice. I would always be the little brother to him.

“I'm taking no unnecessary risks, but I won't be followed everywhere like a toddler.” Thomas sighed unhappily at my response. “You know you can make yourself feel better about our safety if you just join us here and oversee it yourself.” He sighed again, this time heavily.

“You know I can't, Mattie boy. I have to stay and pour over everything if I'm going to find a way out of this life for everyone. Well, almost everyone. I think it may be too late for Juan Carlos. Ever since Monica died, he's seemed dead himself, you know? Almost soulless.”

I silently agreed. I had seen the disturbing changes in Juan Carlos over the last two years since he lost his fiancée.

“I have to keep an eye on him and on Dad, as well as continue to seek what we need to untangle ourselves from this horrible mess. And if I find a way, I'll have more leverage to persuade Dad to walk away if I have stayed. Your job is to take care of yourself and Mom. Let me handle this end.”

“Be careful, Tommy,” I replied. “I'm proud of you. I know you'll figure something out.”

“You be careful too, Mateo. Keep this phone charged. I'll call again when I can. Adios.”

“Adios, Thomas.” I hung up, both relieved and saddened by the call. I hoped he was right. I hoped with everything in me that he would be able to find a way to cleanly disassociate our family from its inherited curse. And beyond that I hoped that the man I had known for most of my life as my father was still there somewhere and would return to us. I knew that was the only thing that would completely erase the haunted look in my mom's eyes.
Please see reason
,
Dad
, I silently prayed before retrieving my Latin book from the floor.

****

Blake, seven months earlier

I knew, without pausing to think, that the scene I now saw would forever be burned into my eyes. Like contacts I could never remove, the rest of my life would be viewed through this filter of horror and pain.

“Mom?” I whispered, my own voice surprising and scaring me. “Daddy? Please wake up, please wake up…” I was crying now, wild hysterical sorrow replacing the horror and shock I had first felt. “What is happening?” I sobbed, then screamed, “What is happening?”

The house alarm was blaring. How long had it been going off? How long since I had been awakened by it, since the sound of my mother's scream barely audible over its ominous din? I dropped to my knees and crawled toward my parents' bodies, where they lay awkwardly on the ground between the sofa and the coffee table, their left arms extended up. Vaguely I could hear soft music coming from the stereo system, in sharp contrast to the sound of the alarm. Two half-empty wine glasses sat on the coffee table next to them. I could picture them together on the sofa, Dad's arm across Mom's shoulder, talking and laughing.

“I don't understand, I don't understand.” Who was talking? Was someone here, or was that me? I couldn't think, couldn't come to any conclusions. I could only crawl to my parents slowly and carefully, afraid of what I knew I would have to conclude when I got there. I didn't see any wounds, but blood was everywhere beneath their heads. I grabbed my Dad's wrist and felt frantically for a pulse. Nothing. I couldn't grab Mom's wrist. She couldn't be gone if he was. How would I survive? As long as I didn't check, it couldn't be true. She was okay. She had to be. My mind would accept no other option. I cuddled up between their bodies, the same way I had when I was little and had a nightmare. That was it. This was a nightmare. I would wake up soon. I shivered as cold wind blew in from the open patio door and was instantly afraid. I looked at the door, but my eyes, blurry with tears and hysteria, refused to register anything. Maybe this was just part of a nightmare. I closed my eyes tightly.
Go back to sleep
, I desperately coaxed myself.
Just go back to sleep. It will be okay when you wake up.

Blake, first day of school