Fly: A PORTAL Chronicles Novel (The PORTAL Chronicles) (7 page)

Mom burst into tears. I’d really done it now. I wrapped my arms around her tiny shoulders. She pushed away, but I held her tighter. She broke, melting into violent sobs, her hot tears penetrated my shirt, her loud, breathless cry tearing at my insides. The pain welled up inside me, yet I held back knowing if I started crying, neither of us would ever stop.

What hurt more: Actually losing Benson or the pain Mom, Dad, and I experienced because of it? I couldn’t decide. Why did bad things like this happen? It was wrong.

Why, Dio? Why did this to happen to me and my family? I don’t get it. I don’t think I ever will.

It killed me to see Mom like this — only a shadow of the woman she used to be. I’d spent many sleepless nights trying to remember who we used to be. Mom had been so vibrant, beautiful, and full of life — a beacon of love and comfort. Now tragedy had stripped her of all this, leaving her an empty shell. Though she was an excellent pretender, expertly portraying who she used to be, moments like these made it clear she was dying inside like the rest of us.

Dad reacted oppositely of Mom. He didn’t hide his feelings, but lashed out, eventually hiding away when he realized all of us were avoiding him. He became a hermit, cutting back work hours at the hospital to spend time in his beloved garage, inventing stupid odds and ends that would never do anybody any good. On the rare occasion that he emerged, no one spoke to him for fear of getting their head chewed off.

I held Mom close, rocking her and rubbing her back — comforting her as she used to with me when I was a boy and had skinned a knee or lost a wrestling match to Benson. Her crying minimized to a miniscule whimper, and finally ceased altogether.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I apologized, my throat aching from holding back tears.

“Don’t be,” she said, pulling back. “I’m sorry for not validating your feelings. I don’t take them into consideration enough.” She forced a smile, despite the pain in her eyes. “Thank you for trusting me with your thoughts. I know it was hard for you to do.” She paused before adding, “I can tell them you need more time. They’ll understand.”

“No,” I said, knowing what she meant. “I’m accepting the mission. I’m ready. Besides, I can’t stand the thought of anyone else protecting Sophie.”

“Are you sure? You can’t screw this one up. Her life hangs in the balance.”

“That’s exactly why I can’t lay it down. After spending the summer watching her, I feel like I know her so well. Someone new to the case would botch the whole mission on the first day and get her killed.” Mom looked concerned. “No mistakes, I promise.” I managed a smile, my eyes not wavering from hers.

“You can do this,” she said, returning my smile. “Having a mission will be good for you. I missed you this summer, but I see how much being away allowed you to heal. You came back different somehow.”

She’d realized a truth that I had only recently discovered: I needed this mission. I needed Sophie just as much as she unknowingly needed me.

Mom stretched and yawned. “I’m going to bed. Get some sleep. It’s been a long day.” Standing to her feet, she took my face in her hands and barely bent to kiss my forehead. “Where did my little boy go? It seems only yesterday… ” Her eyes clouded over, leaving me wondering what painful memory she was reliving now. She came to. “Sweet dreams. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

She left, turning the lights off and submerging me in darkness. Waiting for my eyes to adjust, I listened to the creaking floors as Mom made her way through the huge, old house.

Our conversation had left me depleted. I spread out on the couch listless, feeling numb and devoid of emotion or energy. I had tried so hard not to feel, yet had failed tonight. But it felt good to admit my feelings about Benson.

It was weird to accept a mission without him. We’d always discussed and accepted missions together. With my intelligence and his brawn, we’d made the perfect agent, unmatched in skill or strength, so I wasn’t surprised going it alone felt strange.

All summer, I fought the feeling I was going behind Benson’s back — wronging him somehow. But Mom was right. It was time to move on, and I knew Benson would do the same if our roles were reversed, especially when it came to the importance of the mission at hand.

I had met the girl I was to protect today, but it wasn’t the first time. It was just the first time I’d met her
in person.
I was still warring over whether I should continue protecting Sophie or not when I got the call from Dr. Smitherson, headmaster at Brightman Academy and an ally to the agency. There had been a security breach and someone had hacked into Brightman’s registration database. Dr. Smitherson was needed and requested I greet Sophie in his stead as he knew I’d been assigned to protect her.

A few hours later, I found myself waiting for her outside Brightman’s headquarters, a nervous mess. What was wrong with me? After all, it was like I already knew her. Why the sick feeling in my stomach? I’d never felt like that before, and I hadn’t liked it.

I’d spent the past three months of summer break in Portland following her, learning about her, and figuring her out. Upon receiving the mission, I’d gone to Portland to research the enemy’s target simply thinking,
All I have to do is watch a teenage girl. How hard can it be? I’ll follow her around and whip out a few reports. It will be like a three-month paid vacation — easy money before the school year commences.

Mom and Dad agreed the time away would do me good. Watching me spend a month holed up in my room made it apparent to them that being home only reminded me of Benson, so I accepted the mission with their blessing, relieved to escape the sad prison our house had become.

Once in Portland, I got settled in the apartment the agency provided and set out to begin my research, soon finding Sophie at a bookstore. I later found that when she was alone, which occurred almost daily, if she wasn’t at home or running errands, she was at this bookstore.

I’d expected to find a trite, sixteen-year-old girl, but Sophie was nothing like I’d anticipated. First off, she was far prettier than I’d imagined.

The most recent images provided in her files were from her eighth birthday. I guessed her mom, Clara, had been the photographer of the family as no pictures of the family had been taken since her death. But then again, maybe it was something Sophie’s father, Evyatar, did purposefully. It made sense for him not to take pictures of a daughter he didn’t want anyone to recognize, especially considering he and Sophie went into hiding after Clara’s death.

The first time I spotted Sophie, she was in line at the coffee stand in the corner of the bookstore, her back turned to me. All I saw was a thin, young woman in a white summer dress, her long, brown hair hanging in a braid down her tan back. But then she turned and stole my breath away.

I took in every detail of her lovely face: her intriguing, dark eyes framed by thick black lashes, the delicate arch of her brows, the slight peach glow of her cheeks against her olive complexion, and her full pout — her upper lip just slightly larger than the bottom.

So yes, at first the attraction was merely physical. Though as I trailed her, I became captivated with the things that weren’t: Her innate kindness — something I found unusual for such a pretty girl. The way she got lost in her books for hours on end, unconsciously frowning, laughing, and smiling along the way. How she exuded nobility without even trying. The fact that she was utterly unaware of the many stares that followed her every move, totally clueless of her eminent beauty.

I felt sorry for the poor saps whom came to the book store to study, read or work, but couldn’t accomplish a thing for the distraction of a beautiful girl in the room. Though, maybe like me, they came around anticipating her appearance at ten a.m., knowing she purchased mint tea and a blueberry scone before making her way to the oversized yellow chair near the windowed wall.

And if, like me, they came simply for a glimpse of her, I couldn’t blame them, for she was lovely in every way.

Chapter 9

At First Sight

At first, I excused my exceptional attention to Sophie rationalizing that it was my job to notice every detail about her, like whom she talked to, what she wore, and where she went each day. But I soon conceded that I’d never taken to studying a subject with such voracity before. Something about her captured me, drew me in.

To my detriment, the feelings took root and grew. The more I saw her, the more I needed to see her. The more I learned about her, the more I wanted to learn. Why was the agency so careful to protect this beautiful girl? And why was Lucian Divaldo, the agency’s greatest enemy, so determined to kill her?

Though, if I knew anything about Divaldo, it was that he hated all things good and pure and he didn’t care who he had to sacrifice to win his long-fought war against Dio, whom I served. So maybe it was simply the fact that Sophie was so selfless and kind, characteristics encouraged by Dio, that made Divaldo despise her. Regardless of the reasons why there was a death sentence on her head, my growing care for Sophie drove me to quickly learn her habits and routines to better protect her.

She was an early riser and made breakfast for her father, Evyatar, each morning. They’d pour over the morning newspaper at breakfast, reading aloud tidbits that amused them, always ensuing much conversation and laughter.

The girl was close to her father, largely because they were so much alike. Like her dad, a genius and brilliant professor, she was very intelligent. While this was probably correlated to the innumerable books she read, there was no doubt in my mind it was also genetic, making me like her even more. She was smart and beautiful and seemingly unaware of both.

After breakfast, Evyatar would go to work, leaving Sophie to her own devices. I’d then spend the day following her from a distance down aisles at the grocery store, watching her pick up the dry cleaning, or keeping an eye on the streets outside her house at night.

As my admiration for Sophie grew, so did my need to be near her. Like an addict, the more I got, the more desperate I became for my next fix, and I soon found myself doing careless things that risked blowing my cover. I pulled alongside her car at a stop light or sat within noticeable range at the bookstore — anything to be close to her. I normally wouldn’t dream of doing such things, but the wellbeing it gave me led me to do it again and again, until, on one particularly bold day, I almost got caught.

Sophie occasionally accompanied her father to the university he taught at, spending the day visiting with his co-workers or taking in a class. This day, she settled in for one of her father’s lectures. The area where she sat was empty, and, ignoring my instinct that it was horribly wrong, I sat directly behind her.

For too long I’d been following her from afar — from across a crowded street or business or from a computer screen and headphones feeding me sight and sound — so I relished this vantage point, watching as she doodled in her notebook, occasionally pausing to focus on Evyatar’s lecture while chewing the end of her pen. From here, I could smell her pretty, fresh scent, make out the faint, sheer rose of her cheeks, and tell she was cold from the goose bumps on her arm. Caught up in my reverie, I lost track of my bearings, becoming engrossed and complacent.

Suddenly, Evyatar called out, “You, in the back.” It took me a moment to realize he was referring to me. “The time required for half of the atoms in any given quantity of a radioactive isotope to decay is called the… ?”

The whole class waited for an answer, many students turning in their seats. I froze, my mouth gaping. Nothing came to me.

After what felt like an eternity, Sophie called out, “Half life. The time required for half of the atoms in a given quantity of a radioactive isotope to decay is called the half life.”

Evyatar shook his head at her, a slight smile on his face, before continuing his lecture on nuclear physics.

With great relief, I got up to leave. Thankfully, Sophie hadn’t turned to stare like the other students and I knew it was wise to disappear before I drew any more unwanted attention. But then, making my way out of the narrow row, I tripped with a great clamor. Sophie started towards me, distracted by the ruckus. Still a good ten feet from the door, I threw myself into the nearest seat, folding my arms across the desktop and letting my head drop. My genius proved false as my head slipped past my arms, planting into the desk. Tingly pain pricked from my nose to my cheeks, and then behind my eyes. Though excruciated, I held my pose until I heard the rustle of Sophie turning to watch her father again.

When I thought it was safe, I slowly raised my head to find a small puddle of blood on the desk. Frantically feeling my face, I realized my nose was bleeding. Not bothering to see if anyone was watching, I quickly wiped the desk with my sleeve and raced from the room.

I laughed at the moment now, though at the time, it scared the living daylights out of me. I almost compromised my position. And for what? To sit close to a girl who didn’t know I existed.

I was a joke. For the first time, I was glad Benson wasn’t around so he didn’t witness my misstep. Though Dio had seen it and I wondered how or why he would choose to use an incompetent fool like me.

I entertained resigning from the mission, though that thought lasted only a moment. No one could do a better job at protecting Sophie than me. In a way, my vested emotions were an advantage, so I continued with new determination to remain professional, soon learning I wasn’t the only person to do something I hid.

On occasion, Sophie watercolor painted, but only during the day while Evyatar was away, stowing her supplies and cleaning any evidence of her hobby long before he returned at the end of the day.

Sometimes, the paintings were bright and beautiful: large landscapes with rolling fields and flowers or vibrant skylines. But in these rare, unguarded moments, she also showed a side of herself she kept private from the rest of the world, painting the dark, abstract feelings of depression that I so readily related to, perfectly portraying the emotions that, like her paintings, she carefully hid away.