Angel

Page 74

 

  I wiped my cheek with the tissue. “I don’t have a choice,” I got out. “If I had a choice . . . ” I couldn’t finish. Oh, God, Alex and I would be together right now, on our way down to Mexico. My pendant flashed against my sweater; it hurt to even look at it. Sophie stopped talking then, and I was glad of it. Dropping my head back on the seat, I stared at the blurred, watery plains.

  A few hours later, we landed in Colorado, at a small, private airport outside of Denver. My legs were stiff as I climbed out of the helicopter; my ears still thudding from the incessant noise. I could see the Rocky Mountains in the distance, their peaks capped with snow. I looked away. I didn’t think I could ever look at a mountain again without hurting.

  Nate and Sophie walked me across the pavement, where a car with tinted windows sat waiting for us. I felt like I might fly apart into little pieces, but I knew that I had to at least try to act normal, or else I would just collapse. I cleared my throat. “I thought you were the only two left on Project Angel. ”

  “We’re being sheltered by another department,” explained Nate. “They don’t know the details, just that we have high-security clearance and our mission’s been compromised. ”

  He opened the door for me as we reached the car, and I slid into the back, onto soft black leather seats. It reminded me of Alex’s Porsche. Everything around me reminded me of Alex. Nate got in front with the driver; a glass panel separated front from back. I sat tensely with Sophie beside me, hugging my bag and watching as the airport glided away. Soon we were on a highway with green fields to either side, the mountains rising beyond.

  Suddenly I looked over at Sophie. “Do you know what’s been happening back in Pawtucket? Is my mom OK?”

  I could sense her relief at being able to tell me something good. “Your mom’s fine,” she said. “So’s your aunt. ”

  My muscles sagged. “Really? They’re OK?”

  “Really. I promise. ”

  Oh, thank God. I let out a deep breath and felt the painful tightness in my chest ease slightly. My mom was all right. She was really all right. “What happened after I left?” I asked.

  Sophie took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one, then rolled the window down a few inches. “The Church of Angels influenced the police investigation into your disappearance,” she said, leaning back and blowing out a puff of smoke. “It was closed after only a day or two. Basically, there were a hundred witnesses who said that you ran off with a boyfriend — that you were seen loading a suitcase into his car and kissing him. ”

  I stared as her words sank in. No wonder Aunt Jo’s vibes had seemed so irritated every time I tried to pick up on them. “But my friend Nina knew that wasn’t true. Didn’t she tell them?”

  Sophie smiled. Taking an iPhone out of her bag, she tapped something into it and then handed it to me. I gazed down at the small screen. It had Twitter on it, with a post from Nina: WILLOW FIELDS DID NOT HAVE A BOYFRIEND, END OF STORY! Doesn’t anyone actually CARE that my friend has vanished?

  Oh, Nina. I touched the phone as sadness swept through me.

  “No one’s listening to her,” said Sophie, taking it back. “From what I’ve heard, your classmates back at Pawtucket High prefer the secret boyfriend story — and there are enough Church members in the Schenectady police force to ensure that no one’s going to look into things further. ” She put the phone back into her bag. “It’s probably what’s saved her life so far, to be honest. ”

  “Alex said that there would be,” I said after a pause. “Church of Angels members on the police force, I mean. ”

  Sophie’s face was thoughtful as she flicked ash out the window. “He’s quite extraordinary,” she said. “For someone so young, to do the things he’s done. . . . ”

  “He’s never really been young,” I said softly, looking away. “He never had the chance. ” No, but when it was just the two of us, alone together — I pressed my head against the window, seeing his grin, his laughing eyes. And then his face when he had realized I was leaving.

  He hadn’t even told me good-bye.

  Glancing at me, Sophie went silent; we didn’t speak for a long time. Finally the car took a turnoff, and a few minutes later we were heading down an unmarked drive. A low, tan building rose up from a manicured lawn. There were no signs. Sophie sat up, unfastening her seat belt. “A CIA satellite office,” she explained, though I hadn’t asked. “We can brief you here, and there are showers, beds . . . ”

  I nodded dully, gazing at the stark, featureless building. I was so far away from Alex, almost a thousand miles. It felt like every one of them was crushing my heart like a stone.

  I got out of the car. We walked up a short flight of cement stairs and then through a pair of gleaming glass doors. Sophie and Nate showed ID at a desk and then ushered me down a carpetless hallway. The floor was so polished, I could see our reflections as we walked; our footsteps echoed around us.

  “Here we go,” said Nate, opening a door. We stepped into a small apartment with sofas and chairs. A kitchenette sat at one end, with a breakfast counter and bar stools.

  Sophie put her briefcase onto the coffee table. “Would you like to get freshened up?” she asked me. “There’s a shower if you feel like it. ” She indicated the hallway past the kitchen.

  I was still wearing the sweatpants and T-shirt I had slept in, and the red sweater Alex had given me. An irrational part of me never wanted to take them off, as if doing so would break the last link that I had with him. But it didn’t make any difference, did it? I’d probably never see him again no matter what I wore. The thought lashed at me like a whip. Then I realized that Sophie and Nate were both looking at me, waiting for an answer. “I guess,” I said, my voice barely audible, even to me. “I don’t have any shampoo, though, or —” Memories of the motel room in Tennessee swarmed over me, and I broke off, closing my eyes against the sudden pain. “Sorry,” I said, trying to regain myself. “I don’t have any shampoo. ”

  Sophie’s brown eyes looked troubled, but she tried to smile. “Don’t worry. Everything you need’s in there. ”

  In the bathroom I stripped off my clothes, folding them carefully. As I glanced in the mirror, the pendant gleamed on my chest. I touched it, trying to comprehend how fast things had changed. Just hours ago I’d been standing in front of the cabin with Alex’s arms around me, the two of us about to leave together.

  I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Turning on the shower so that I couldn’t be heard, I got in and sobbed, hugging myself as the hot water rained down around me. Oh, Alex. Oh, God, please don’t hate me, please don’t. I miss you so much already. I wanted it all with you, everything. I want you here with me now, to hold me and tell me it’s going to be OK, that maybe I won’t actually die when I do this thing. . . .

  I cried until there were no tears left. Feeling worse than I had before, I washed my hair and climbed out of the shower. My face in the steamy mirror looked sore and swollen, as if someone had been using it as a punching bag. I stared at myself, not caring. Mechanically, I took the clothes from my bag and got dressed. Underwear, jeans, and the pale-blue T-shirt. I pulled on the red sweater again. It hurt, seeing it, but it would have hurt ten times worse not to wear it. I combed out my wet hair and twisted it up into a knot.