Fox Forever

  “It’s strange to think you’ve been here before,” Miesha says. “I keep forgetting how far back you two go.” She walks over and brushes hair aside that hangs over my eye, like she’s still my caretaker at Gatsbro’s estate. “You’re looking better than you did yesterday.”

  “What else would you expect?” I answer, trying to put her at ease. I even add one of my impish grins.

  She balks. “Don’t even try to use that on me. I know you too well.”

  I put away the smile and pretense. “You do know me, Miesha. And there’s something I need to know about you. But no questions asked.”

  She delivers a long slow blink, clearly not fond of conditional information, but waits silently for me to continue.

  “When you lived in Cambridge with Karden all those years ago, who knew your address?” She looks startled and I tell her I’m only curious, trying to piece together the early activities of the Resistance. “I remember you told me that you and Karden lived under the radar and moved frequently, but you must have told some people where you lived.”

  She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have done it, but when we returned to Boston I contacted my parents. I wanted them to see their only grandchild. I thought if they saw Rebecca, that might change things between us, but they refused to come. They rejected her the same as they rejected me. They would never accept me being with Karden.”

  She pauses, looking down as her hand slides over her scarred forearm, the lasting proof that her long-ago nightmare really happened. Her gaze jerks back to me. “But if you’re wondering how Security found us, it wasn’t them. My parents had plenty of opportunities to turn me in before but they never did. They may have hated Karden but they didn’t hate me. I told you before that Karden had been working on his next maneuver. We stayed in Cambridge longer than we had ever stayed anywhere before. Too long. I think Security must have traced his activity.”

  “And no one else knew your address?”

  “Only a trusted few in the Resistance.”

  “Who were they?”

  “You’ve already met them. Carver, Livvy, and Xavier.”

  I try to process what this might mean. Her estranged bitter parents versus three trusted members of the Resistance. “Was Karden close to the three of them?”

  “Carver and Karden were childhood best friends.” She shrugs. “But they all had a long history together.”

  “You don’t seem to like any of them.”

  She steps over to a hutch that holds a few dishes for the tiny kitchen, checking a plate like she’s just noticed a speck of dirt on it. “It has nothing to do with liking. It has to do with reminders. I can barely stand to look at them because when I do all I see are memories.” She pauses, rubbing her thumb across the plate. “They make me remember all the nights I lay on my cot in prison, staring at the ceiling and wishing it had been them and their families in the burned rubble instead of mine. Every ugliness in myself and every horror from that day are what I see when I look at them.” She pulls a towel from the drawer and begins wiping down each plate and restacking them. “When I saw you yesterday…” She shakes her head. “I thought, they have no right to do this to me again. No right.”

  I walk over to her and pull the towel from her hands so she has to look at me. “They aren’t doing anything to me, Miesha. I’m here because I want to be. I don’t know how all these things work, how any person ends up in a place where they never expected to be, but maybe sometimes we find ourselves in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time and then maybe there’s just as many of those other times too when we’re in exactly the right place just when we need to be there. I’m hoping this is one of those other times.”

  She’s silent like she’s trying to weigh the odds. “Me too,” she finally whispers, and then dismisses me in her trademark Miesha way, snatching the towel back from me and wiping a final plate.

  When it’s time for me to leave Jenna says she’ll walk me out. Miesha and I don’t say good-bye, as we never do. Maybe some scars last forever.

  When we’re in the dark stairwell that leads up to the street, Jenna pulls me closer and whispers, “Did you tell Raine?”

  She already knows. I hear it in her voice. I shake my head. “No.”

  “Why? Are you afraid?”

  “No. I just didn’t get the chance.”

  “That’s probably the poorest excuse I’ve ever heard for not telling someone that you love them.”

  Yes. It probably is. But I can’t begin to tell her all the reasons why speaking to Raine is no longer an option, so I just nod in agreement and walk up the stairs to the street level.

  * * *

  I hide in the shadows, watching my apartment from across the street. I wear my black government charity coat as camouflage, but maybe for other reasons too. I remember when I saw land pirates wearing them, filled with swagger. The first time I put one on that’s what I needed, swagger and to feel dark and dangerous the way Miesha described Karden. That was my purpose then, to feel strong enough to survive. I know a coat doesn’t make someone into something else—it’s only a symbol of what you want to be—but it’s a good reminder too.

  I know who I am and it’s not a rich kid living in a luxury apartment going to school with rich kids. It’s freeing not to have to play that role anymore, even if it makes me a target. I suppose one’s true character is impossible to hide for long. On that much, the Secretary and I agree.

  My palm ripples and my chest catches. I jerk my iScroll up, hoping and praying Raine has had a change of heart, but the caller is unidentified. Anonymous. I hesitate, wondering if I should accept, but before I can the call ends. “Percel, who was it?”

  “Sorry, sir, it was an unregistered source. No caller ID.”

  Who besides Raine and the Network knows my code? And why did they terminate the call before I could answer? Is someone trying to figure out where I am?

  I look back at my apartment. I deliberately left the shutters open and the lights on so I could check for unusual activity when I returned. I don’t want to be ambushed. Security patrols on the street are more frequent, slowing down as they pass my apartment, but at least they don’t stop. The Secretary seems to be employing cheap intimidation methods with a clear message: Stay away from my daughter.

  Even though I can’t see my front door from my position, I open it with the remote code anyway, hoping it will trigger movement inside if anyone is there. It remains still. When I decide that everything is reasonably clear I return to the apartment, lock the door behind me, eat a leftover chunk of cheese, and wash it down with some water. I’ve hardly eaten today.

  Next I call Carver, trying to dispel my guilt over not taking his call last night, wondering if I could have made any difference for Livvy. He sounds and looks drained, as though he hasn’t slept in days.

  “I’m sorry about Livvy,” I say. “Any news?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Any news on your end?”

  I want to give him at least a glimmer of hope. “I was able to duck into the Secretary’s office last night for a few minutes and got a quick glimpse of some blueprints. There’s a lighting grid down in the tunnel. I think it must lead to something.”

  His face brightens. “You’re going back tonight?”

  Apparently the Collective wasn’t notified. The Secretary must assume that I have the good sense not to show up. Maybe that’s the purpose of the increased patrols. At least that’s one worry off my mind—Xavier and Carver don’t know yet that I was thrown out. “Yeah, going back tonight,” I tell him.

  “Good,” he says. “Find out more. If I hear any news about Livvy I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks.”

  He’s about to sign off but I stop him. “About last night—I’m sorry I didn’t take your call. I was—”

  “No need to explain. You’re making progress. We desperately need that now.”

  It was progress—until I was caught.

  A Deadly Walk

  I stay in the cov
er of the trees this time. I don’t want to drive her away with my presence.

  I just need to see her and know she’s still okay.

  The experimental scan that awaits Karden—and possibly Raine too—haunts me. I imagine all the ways it’s more painful and risky than a standard scan.

  While I wait for her to show, memories of all our nights together begin to surface, the times on the PAT taking turns choosing destinations, laughing together as we chose Hawaii, or Paris, or Moscow, and PAT repeating over and over, Not a valid destination, but it delayed our departure, and that was really all we wanted—more time to be with each other.

  I think about the miles and miles we walked for all the prescribed hours that the Secretary slept, using up each minute because we had so much to talk about, so much to share, the places we wanted to visit, the things we wanted to see. It didn’t matter that we were born in different centuries—there were so many things that were amazingly timeless between us. And then I think about the times the conversation turned and I ached because I had to share a different version of myself.

  I think about all the nights we lay under the stars in each other’s arms, and I listened to her breaths like they were my own. I think about our first kiss and all the ones that came after, the times I traced her lips with my finger, traced the profile of her face, the times my finger slid down her throat and across her collarbone and I thought she was too perfect to be true. The times I told her the truths I could, how I was mesmerized by her from the first time I saw her even though I wouldn’t admit it to myself, and she told me the truth of the night we danced in the graveyard, that all she could think about was me dancing with Vina and wanting to replace that memory with one of us dancing together instead. And I told her it worked. The truth.

  But I did use her.

  That’s one truth I can’t change.

  At 2:15 she appears. Like the first night I saw her, she climbs onto the edge of the rooftop wall and dangles her legs over. The wind is brisk and blows strands of hair across her eyes. She turns her face to the wind and stands. Her gown snaps in the wind. I stand too, holding my breath. Raine, get down. But she walks the length of the wall, one foot over another, her arms poised at length for balance. Get down. Please. I don’t dare call out and draw her attention away from her footing. Her movements are fearless and graceful. Confident. But my God, she’s nine stories up on an old building that may have loose stones. When she gets to the end she jumps down onto the rooftop and disappears back into the shadows. Gone for the night. A short but potentially lethal appearance, like she has to push her limits in new ways.

  I step from the shadows, angry at her for taking such risks, angry that she could throw so much away without even an explanation, but then I see movement again on the rooftop. I’m about to move back where it’s dark, but before I can, Hap steps to the edge and looks straight down at me as if he knew I was there all along.

  Bitter Pill

  I sneak in through the door that Raine showed me—the one that’s never locked—like they know some poor souls must always be in need of sanctuary if they’re only smart enough to find their way in. The hinges groan as I open the heavy wooden door. I don’t worry at the sound. Very little sneaking is actually involved. Like every time I visited here with Raine, the cathedral is empty, void of priests, caretakers, nuns, and even those in need of middle-of-the-night confessions. I’m not sure anyone comes here anymore but Raine and myself.

  And now, maybe just me.

  I walk up the center aisle, imagining all the times I walked up it so long ago, barely seven years old, barely able to see over the pews in front of me, my stomach rumbling, thinking about the doughnut with colored sprinkles that my mother promised if I behaved myself, which meant no sliding to the floor, no picking my nose, no putting my feet on the hymnals. I nearly always got the doughnuts with sprinkles afterward, because I nearly always behaved. And the truth was, I would have behaved even without the doughnuts. I liked the order of the whole mystical affair, the standing up, the sitting down, the touching of fingers to lips, the passing of peace, the ringing of bells, the swinging of incense, and especially the organ that vibrated to the core of my bones. It made me feel connected to everyone there. Maybe to the whole universe. I felt safe.

  Is that why Raine comes?

  I listen to whispers from the stained-glass saints.… I pretend I’m somewhere in heaven. Maybe that’s why she used to come. I doubt she’ll be back. She may never descend from her rooftop tower again—unless she trips on a ledge and falls from it. And we all fall sometime.

  I reach the end of the aisle. The last time I went farther than this it was as an altar boy. I’m light-years from that altar boy now. Light-years in every way, from lost innocence to a lost body. From here it’s seven stairs and seven footsteps to the altar. I still have every inch memorized. I remember how I trembled with each step, how I feared the supremely inconsequential—tripping and shaming God and my family.

  The things I know now that I wish I had known then.

  Sanctuary.

  Refuge.

  Asylum.

  A piece of Raine’s heaven.

  I walk up the steps and turn, staring back at the empty church, the white stone balcony above the entrance doors, and the towering gold pipes of the organ above that. Everything just as I recall.

  The world’s changed, Locke. It’s always changing.

  At least some things don’t change.

  I sit down on the last step and look down at my hands. The gashes are gone. When I wasn’t looking, wasn’t paying attention, wasn’t trying to hurry it along, the BioPerfect did what it was programmed to do. It repaired me just as my own skin would have done—but faster and better. Hundreds of small changes that took place right in front of me to add up to something bigger and whole.

  I run my finger across my lip. That gash is nearly healed too. I listen to the sounds of the church, the ghosts of another time, rosary beads squeezing in my grandmother’s hand, the shuffle of the repentant on their way up the aisle to accept communion, the collective amens that were like notes of music, as clear as yesterday but lifetimes ago. So much has happened since then—a jarring kaleidoscope of events I never planned, one piling onto the next, changing me into someone else more than any blue gel beneath my skin ever could.… The accident, being trapped for centuries, running for my life with Kara, nearly killing Gatsbro with my bare hands, carrying the remains of Dot in my arms, leaving Jenna and California for the unknown, the Favor, and then—

  I stand. There were so many things I never could have foreseen. I walk back down the center aisle and step out the side door into the night. I adjust my coat against the chill. All these people, all these things, all these changes for better or worse, are the truth of my life. I wouldn’t change any of it because it’s what led me to Raine, and she’s what changed me the most of all.

  I remember her sarcastic words to me on the first night we met. The truth’s a bitter pill displaying princesses.

  Yes, Raine, I’m afraid it is, but sometimes we all have to swallow it.

  Affairs in Order

  I wake up early. It’s going to be a full day.

  My first stop is a meat market near my apartment. I order a dozen whole raw chickens. The clerk raises her brows. “Large party?”

  “Something like that. Just wrapped in paper, please.”

  I carry the two bags straight to the public gardens. As I pass I look at the ground where I lay four nights ago, leaving a trail of blue goo. It’s not there anymore. I pace back and forth, passing time until a couple holding hands walks away, and then I slip through the bushes to the makeshift entrance of Arlington station. I carefully make my way down the steps of rubble, allowing my eyes to adjust completely before I step into the cavern. I set the bags down and touch the wall next to me, sliding my hands along it until I find what I’m looking for. I press it and simultaneously a dim red light in the distance illuminates an area of about fifty feet in front of me and a
high-pitched hum echoes through the cavern. I pick up the bags and walk to where the red light is and feel the wall, again searching until I find what I need and press again. Another hum, another fifty feet of dim red light.

  I dump out the bags on the walkway above the abandoned track. “These are for you!” I yell. “I know you’re hungry. Come and get them.”

  I leave, repeating my process, touching hidden panels to illuminate my way back, but more importantly sending the high-pitched hum echoing around me. That’s how LeGru managed to navigate these tunnels unscathed. Like bats in a cave the half-humans depend on sonar to help them navigate the black tunnels, which explains their screeches, and the high-pitched hums temporarily disorient them. If only I knew where every hidden panel in the grid was, but I was only able to pinpoint two before Raine elbowed me and I had to abandon my search. I emerge from the bushes back into the gardens. Maybe the chickens will provide a little cheap insurance.

  Next I search the city for a hardware store. I know that nearly everything is ordered via cybermarts now but surely there are still stores for those who can’t wait for deliveries. I find one tucked down an alley off Commonwealth Avenue. It claims to be the oldest hardware store in Massachusetts—and I’m guessing, maybe the only one. Like the haberdashery in Cambridge, they play up the quaintness factor with a Coke machine in one corner that would have been an antique even in my day, and wooden barrels that hold merchandise—but most of it is unrecognizable to me—building materials that even my father couldn’t have guessed at. I go to the counter and ask for rope.

  “How much and what kind?” the clerk asks.

  I eyed the amount I would need earlier today but I throw in a few extra feet for good measure. “Sixty feet. And whatever kind of rope will hold me.”