The Gathering (32 page)

How will the media spin it? Another suicide? I can hear the news anchor now.
If only she’d checked into a rehab facility sooner, she might not have become so desperate.

I’m tired of innocent people dying. I’m tired of every single mission going south. I hate that there’s nothing we can do to protect B-Trix until she falls asleep. I run harder. I don’t stop until I reach five miles, and then I hit the weights. Claire is lifting too. An ever-present thorn in my side. I stay far away from her and push my muscles until they feel like overstretched rubber bands. Halfway into my fourth set of bench presses, Luka strides inside the gymnasium. Claire attempts to intercept him with a sultry hello, but he walks right past her without returning the greeting. I’d feel a little victorious about it if his face wasn’t so alarmingly pale.

I wipe my forehead with a small, white towel and stand. “What’s wrong?”

His attention slides to the bench, then back to me. “Maybe you should sit down.”

I follow his suggestion, my pulse going fluttery. “What is it?”

He sits beside me with dark shadows beneath his eyes and rubs the back of his neck.

“Luka, you’re freaking me out.”

“California’s State Penitentiary is under quarantine.”

“What?”

“There was a report on the news that a virus is killing off prisoners.”

The news hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. A virus? Killing off prisoners?

“Link and Ronie are trying to find out how many have died.” Luka takes my hand. “It doesn’t sound good.”

“Do they know if—?” Fear clamps tightly around my voice box. I can’t say it. I can’t even think it. I left him there. He was innocent and I did nothing. I relegated my father to a box marked
later
because I didn’t know how to help him. And now he might be …

The room starts to spin.

My lungs contract, sucking and expelling the air like a fish out of water, but I swear there’s not a drop of oxygen to be found.

Luka squeezes my hand tighter. “He could be fine. We don’t know yet.”

I stand. Too fast. Everything tilts, like I’m back in B-Trix’s dream. Luka grabs my elbow, but I shake him off and force my rubbery legs to move. I have to find out. I have to know. If my dad is—if he’s …

I squeeze the thought away and force my legs into a speed walk, out of the gym, through the main section, until I’m in front of the door to the private wing, shoving my badge up against the access scanner. I fling the door open and run straight into Link.

His arms wrap around my waist, steadying me.

“Whoa,” he whispers in my ear. “It’s all right. I was just coming to find you. Your dad’s still alive. He’s listed as healthy in their system.”

Dear Daddy

T
he choice between saving B-Trix and saving my father is a no-brainer. One’s a linchpin in evil’s master plan. The other is the man whose shoulders I rode on as a little girl. Felix and Cap work every possible angle, reaching out to any Believer with a measure of authority who might be able to get my dad out of there. Until then, I need to get to him. I need to see with my own eyes that his heart is still beating. I need to explain that we’re working on a rescue plan.

I fall asleep thinking about him, dredging up my earliest memories and working my way forward. I recall every single Saturday together in his office, when I was Tess the Freak with no friends to hang out with on the weekends. The sound of his voice in the morning as he read the paper out loud to me and Pete. His steadiness. His certainty. His love and support. His unwavering belief that logic always wins.

Has that changed, these last four months behind bars? Does he still cling to logic now, when his life has become so illogical? Convicted of a felony he didn’t commit. His family split apart. His daughter on the run—America’s most wanted fugitive.

I don’t know who my dad will be when I find him. I just know that I have to find him. So I continue to pore through the memories until I wake up inside his dream. It’s soaked in an anxiety I know all too well. Dark and frightening, with shadows looming. The kind of dream where you’re running—away from something, toward something. Only you can’t get away and you can’t get ahead. Despite his frantic motion, my dad is stuck in place.

I grab his shoulder.

He whirls around, his eyes going wide. “Teresa?”

Before I can even nod, he wraps me in a bear hug, pressing short, relieved kisses against the side of my forehead. Over and over again.

Tears sting my eyes. How can a man so obsessed with logic love so well—so deeply—when love isn’t logical?

He grabs my shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

“This is a dream, Dad. You’re dreaming right now.”

The skin between his eyebrows puckers.

I start explaining. In an onslaught of words with no pause in between. I tell him everything that has happened. I tell him everything that I am. Everything the world is. Hoping with every ounce of hope that he will believe. And when I’m finished, I wrap him in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“Of course I’m alive. Why wouldn’t I be alive?”

“They’re saying half the prisoners are dead.”

“Tess, what are you talking about? Who’s saying?”

“The news. The virus. The whole prison is on quarantine.”

“That’s ridiculous. Nobody’s dying here.”

Now I’m the one with the furrowed brow. Nobody’s dying? Is my dad right, or is he unaware? Are they hiding the deaths to keep the prisoners calm? “Listen. I don’t know what’s going on, I just know that you’re not safe. You don’t belong here. We’re going to get you out. We have connections. People on the inside. You have to remember this dream, and you have to cooperate.”

My dad kneads his temples. “This is a dream.”

“But it’s real. I’m real. Everything I just told you is real.”

His eyes go cloudy with doubt.

Desperation expands inside me like a balloon about to burst. And a sensation like tugging grows behind my bellybutton. It’s a sensation I know well. A doorway is opening, and with it, an idea. My dad needs to be on guard, but he can’t guard himself against something he doesn’t believe. And he won’t believe without evidence. Well, if it’s proof he needs, then that is exactly what I will give him.

“When you wake up, you’ll know the truth. I’ll prove that I was really here.” I give his hand a squeeze, then back away. I move toward the tugging, until it’s so strong I can barely keep my feet in place. I’m standing on the threshold. “Promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

The clouds of doubt swirl with confusion. “I promise.”

I give him a small wave, and then I step through the doorway. Straight into his prison cell. My dad sleeps on a cot in a cold, damp room with nothing but a thin blanket to cover him. He’s so much thinner, so much paler than I remember.

Except for a couple books, the cell is empty. There’s nothing at all that I could use to scratch a message against the wall. The books will have to do. As I stare at my father, I let all the memories well into one single overwhelming emotion—
love
. It builds. It consumes. And then I get to work, ripping out pages, crumpling them into balls, and arranging them on the floor in a clear, concise message.

Tess was here
.

“How sweet.”

The sound of that voice makes my blood curdle. I remain crouched on the floor, one final page crumpled in my hand.

“A message for dear Daddy.”

Slowly, I turn around and stare up into a face marked with two scars.

He folds his hands behind his back and strolls to the foot of my father’s bed.

My teeth clench.

“I like to think of myself as a patient person, Little Rabbit. But then your grandmother failed to bring you to me, and I will admit, I was more than a little frustrated.” A glint of evil flashes in his ordinary, forgettable eyes. “You’re making me look bad. I don’t like to look bad.”

Hearing his voice, seeing him standing there so close to my father, knowing what he did to Luka, what he did to a weak woman like my grandmother—it has every cell in my body, every atom, quivering with hatred.

“I was certain you’d come after your father eventually. You do like to play the hero. But then you didn’t and I decided to take matters into my own hands.” He traces one of his fingers along the mattress, inches from my father’s foot. “I think it’s time for dear daddy to fall ill.”

“Leave him alone.”

“And then once he’s gone, I’ll make sure to destroy everyone else you care about. Mommy. Petey. What’s the name of the girl you’re so fond of? Ah yes, Leela.”

I lunge toward him, but a wall of black mist rises up between us.

“Such a temper.” He clucks his tongue and sits at the head of my dad’s bed. “Of course, you could always turn yourself over, and I won’t touch a single hair on their heads.” He presses his finger against my father’s forehead.

Dad’s entire body shudders.

“Don’t touch him!”

“That, Little Rabbit, is up to you.”

White-eyed men appear. They surround me on all sides, closing in. I look at my dad, lying there in a prison cell. I look at Scarface, the liar. Handing myself over will not ensure their safety. Of that, I’m sure. Before anyone can grab me, I startle myself awake.

Frantic

A
s soon as my eyes open, I hurl myself out of bed and start waking people up—Link and Luka, Felix, Cap, Connal and Lexi, Ronie, and Glenda. Anybody who might be able to help me. Felix has a table of coffee and donuts and muffins set up in the command center as Link and Ronie rig up a secure phone line.

We contact a Believer in our network—a filthy rich, bigwig director who owns his own private jet and lives five hours south of Thornsdale.

“Where should he take them?” Felix asks.

I scramble about, trying to think of a safe place. A secure place. But my mind is all frantic energy. I haven’t been able to sit still since waking up. I pace from the donut table to the wall with the monitors showing the refugee community and Shady Wood’s hallway—back and forth, back and forth. All motion, but getting nowhere. Just like my father’s dream.

“New Orleans.”

I stop and look at Luka, who answered the question, and remember the guardians standing outside the gate—impossibly, brilliantly bright with blinding swords. “He’s right. The Rivards will take them in.”

All that’s left to do is call Leela and my mother.

It’s nine fifteen in the morning in Newport. Six fifteen in Thornsdale. Leela answers the phone on the fifth ring with a groggy hello.

The sound brings a giant wave of relief. “Leela?”

Nothing.

“Leela, are you there?”

“Tess?” I picture her sitting up in bed, batting hair from her eyes.

I clutch the receiver to my ear, so thankful she’s alive and well. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Oh my gosh, Tess! Are you okay? Your face is on the news every single night. So is Luka’s. You’re the most wanted criminals in America.”

“I know. Listen, Leela. You’re in danger.”

Now there’s a conversation stopper.

“I don’t have time to explain. I just need you to trust me and do exactly what I say. My mom and Pete are in danger, too. I need the three of you to pack up and drive to San Francisco.” I give her the address, and then the name.

“Wait. You mean the
director
?”

“He’ll be waiting for you. As soon as you get to his house, he’s going to fly the three of you somewhere safe.”

“In his
private jet
?”

“Yes.”

Leela doesn’t respond.

“You still there?”

“Just pinching myself to make sure this isn’t a dream.”

“I know this is crazy. It’s absolutely insane. But I need you to be careful. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t talk to anyone. Just get to San Francisco with my mom and Pete as quickly as you can, all right?”

“What about my family?”

I bite my lip and look at Felix. He and Link are both wearing headsets that patch them into the phone call, listening in for anything strange. Monitoring for bugs or wires. Felix lifts his shoulder, as if to say it’s my call.

My gut screams no. Don’t trust. I don’t care about Leela’s family. I care about Leela. But she loves her parents as much as I love my parents. I can’t ask her to leave them behind. I rake my teeth over my bottom lip and go against my gut. “If you think you can trust them. If you think they’ll cooperate, then you can bring them, too. Just be really, really careful.”

Leela agrees.

We say goodbye. And before I can let myself worry over my decision, I call my mother. I haven’t seen her since the night I disobeyed Cap’s orders, jumped through a doorway, and found her being tortured by Scarface. The last time I heard her voice, she was screaming in agony. My heart twists as the phone rings once, twice, three times, and then …

“Hello?”

I wait a beat, unable to speak past the onslaught of emotion knotting in my throat. I want, more than anything, to crawl through the phone line, straight into my mother’s lap. I want to feel her fingers stroking my hair, her voice promising me that everything will be okay. That Scarface won’t be able to follow through on his threat. If he does—if anything happens to my family … I let the train of thought drop away, unable to finish it.

“Hello?” she says again.

I swallow the knot down. “Mom, it’s me.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath. An agonizingly long, silent pause. And then sobbing in my ear. I can see her sitting there. Maybe in our kitchen, dressed in her robe, getting breakfast ready for Pete, if she still does that sort of thing with me gone and Dad locked in prison. I want to ask how she’s doing. I want to ask how Pete’s doing. But there’s no time.

“I need you to listen very carefully.”

As she sniffs into the receiver, I tell her as quickly and succinctly as possible what she needs to do. “Do you understand?”

“I can’t believe it’s you. I can’t believe you’re okay.”

“I’m okay. At least I will be once I know that you’re okay.”

“Your father. What about your father? There’s this virus. They’re saying it’s spreading fast. Killing inmates. They won’t let me talk to him. They won’t let any visitors in. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”