Vortex: A Tempest Novel

  This must be what she had been keeping from me.

  Holly furiously typed something on her computer and then turned back to the notebook in front of her.

  “I’ll tell you what, Flynn,” Carter said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You do something for me, and I’ll let you off for the night.”

  Oh, no … no way. I nearly jumped out from behind the shelf, but a short blond woman breezed past me and walked toward their table.

  Katherine Flynn.

  “Mom!”

  “Holly … I’ve been looking for you, calling. Finally the girl in the room next to yours told me you might be here.” Katherine moved her eyes to Carter and then back to Holly.

  “This is Patrick,” Holly said mechanically. “We have a class together.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Carter said, then he stood up and winked at Holly. “Don’t fall asleep studying again. The librarian might start thinking you don’t have a place to live.”

  He waved good-bye and left them, heading toward the exit door. I was following him before I even realized it. Anger pumping through every ounce of my blood. I nearly laughed out loud when he turned down a deserted street.

  Too easy.

  “Agent Carter … long time, no see,” I called.

  He spun around immediately and narrowed his eyes at me. “Have you guys executed Collins yet? How about the others?”

  “Nope,” I said before lunging for his waist. Today I was fearless, mostly because I had a spare injection of the drug I was supposed to have used on Collins last night if he tried anything while we were alone together. One toss to the ground and I had him stabbed with the needle, eyes rolling in the back of his head. I dragged him off to the side and threw a couple garbage bags in front, to hide him a little. He’d be out for twelve to fourteen hours. At least. I texted Stewart, letting her know his location, as I walked back into the library.

  When I returned to my hiding spot behind the bookshelf, Holly was typing quickly on her laptop again, while Katherine waited impatiently. I decided to step out a little farther and get a closer look.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in forever … things are so busy,” Holly said.

  “Just come with me and get some dinner. You look terrible. How much weight have you lost?” Katherine slid into the chair Carter had just abandoned and began riffling through her purse. “I brought vitamins, to help you sleep and keep you from getting those bad colds.”

  Holly did look terrible. Beyond exhausted, and haunted by dark circles under her eyes. She usually had a nice tan, but her skin was paler than I’d ever seen it, like she hadn’t been out in the sun for a while. The conditions of our recent dark underground entrapment hadn’t allowed me to see her clearly.

  “I have to stay here … I got a D on my last calc test.” Holly’s voice shook a little.

  Katherine didn’t miss that. She put her hands on her daughter’s face and examined her carefully. “Please, honey … just tell me what’s going on with you. Is it Adam? I think you need to talk to someone. You’re making yourself sick.”

  Holly drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, I’ll talk to someone … a counselor or therapist. You’re right, I need help.”

  Apparently agent training could also be used to soothe worried mothers.

  Katherine leaned forward and hugged her, so tight. “Thank you. Give me your room key and I’ll get some groceries to put in your fridge.”

  “Sure,” Holly said, but she didn’t let go. “I’m sorry … I just … I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, sweetheart, just take care of yourself. Promise?”

  “I promise,” she said, then whispered, “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too.” Katherine stood up and ran her hand over Holly’s ponytail. “I just wish you could have waited until September to start school. It’s so much for you to stress about.” She sighed and tried to smile. “Anyway, I’m coming back to check on you tomorrow, all right?”

  “Okay,” Holly said, handing over her spare room key.

  The second Katherine had exited the building, Holly put her head down, burying her face in her arms on the table. I saw her body shaking before I heard her crying. I stood there for ten agonizing minutes, watching her cry and fighting the urge to walk over there.

  Eventually she stopped shaking and stopped making any sounds. Stewart had said I could attempt to question her if she was alone. I moved closer and tapped her lightly on the shoulder, preparing to run if she looked up, but she didn’t. A loud BEEP, BEEP, BEEP rang from the computer. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Holly didn’t even flinch. I knelt down in front of it and saw the long chat that must have been going on the whole time Holly had been sitting here.

  That was the test. She had to keep answering questions all night long to prove she had stayed awake.

  7:08 P.M. SLEEP MONITOR: How many individuals reside on your block?

  I took about thirty seconds to review the residents of Holly’s neighborhood and then quickly typed:

  7:09 P.M. AGENT FLYNN: 28

  I slid a chair over, placing it in front of the computer. Holly’s breaths were long and deep now, and I hated the idea of waking her, knowing she was beyond exhausted. But maybe I wouldn’t have to and could help her keep out of trouble, keep from getting another strike against her.

  The beeping had stopped and I scrolled back through the previous questions to get an idea of what it might ask next. This was honestly the most ridiculous exercise ever:

  6:58 P.M. SLEEP MONITOR: Name something you’ve recently learned about a team member.

  7:00 P.M. AGENT FLYNN: Agent Carter can’t keep his hands to himself.

  6:48 P.M. SLEEP MONITOR: Name something you’ve learned recently about your organization.

  6:50 P.M. AGENT FLYNN: Apparently, sexual harassment laws don’t apply to the CIA.

  It took a minute or two for the shock of her candid answers to wear off, then I snapped into agent mode, analyzing the situation. From what it looked like, the questions came every ten minutes, so she probably had ten minutes to answer them. The phone was next to start making noise. Even though it was on vibrate, the whole table buzzed and I snatched it up quickly before she woke up. Text message from Brian. Great.

  Hey sexy, where u been?

  I checked for Holly’s deep breathing, my fingers itching to type a reply.

  Regretting losing my virginity to a guy with a 2 inch penis. I quickly deleted the message before sending it and instead wrote, Busy. School … stuff.

  Wanna talk?

  I rolled my eyes. Of course he just had to be nice. Bastard. But really, how could I be jealous of Brian when I knew she couldn’t really tell him what was wrong. She didn’t have anyone to talk to. I had Stewart and Kendrick. But Holly was truly alone.

  I sent a quick reply to Brian just in case her phone was being monitored, too: Tomorrow?

  Cool

  Another question popped up on the screen and I set the phone down to respond before the beeping started up again. It was an easy question asking about the people in her current surroundings. I answered it in about thirty seconds and then slipped the notebook out from underneath Holly’s arms. Her arms thudded against the table and I held my breath, waiting for her to jump up. But she just mumbled something incoherent and then started to snore quietly.

  The ink had smeared a little on the page, probably from her tears, but I could still read the essay she had been attempting to write for her required Freshman English course. I vaguely remember doing this exact same assignment: WHO AM I?

  Great topic for a CIA agent.

  I’m not sure I can answer this question, but I’ll try. Every time I think about a proper response, my mind drifts to other questions, like who I used to be, who I want to be, and only sometimes can I bear to think about who I am right now. Five years ago, I was the little freshman girl who took pity on a tall skinny boy, way too nice to stand up for himself. I yanked a very inappropriate sign off his bac
k, right in the middle of the cafeteria on our first day of high school. From that point on, we were best friends. I never doubted my loyalty to David, but getting older makes it hard to tell who to be loyal to. Five years ago, it was crystal clear. Black and white. Now, it’s so much more complicated.

  Three years ago, I still hugged my mother. I’d tell her I loved her and the weird thing is, she already knew. I didn’t need to say it then, but now, she might not be sure and I should tell her. But I haven’t for a long time. Two years ago, I was the girl who studied obsessively for the SATs, saved every penny, and dreamed of living in New York, being on my own and loving every minute of it. I craved the freedom and endless possibilities. I wasn’t afraid of the unknown. I hated ordinary.

  Now, I wake up every morning as the girl who only has one goal: Survive today. Make it out alive and everything will be okay. But lately, I’m wondering why I should keep doing it. Keep surviving. So I can spend another day afraid of not making it? Thinking about how much worse tomorrow will be?

  There’s so much uncertainty that I think I’ve stopped feeling things, like how warm the sun is at noon, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, the scent of my mother’s perfume—something I’ve remembered forever. Until now.

  I always thought life burst from every direction after a person has a brush with death, or when they feel it coming. The world is supposed to come alive and make you want to stay so badly you’ll do anything. But it just keeps getting darker and I can’t see colors anymore. Everything looks, smells, and feels … gray.

  And I’m so tired, I could sleep forever.

  That’s who I am now. Someone who just wants to sleep and never wake up. But I can’t because I have to rewrite this essay since I could never tell anyone this much about me. Or this little. Depends on how you look at it.

  I stared at her notebook page long after I had finished reading. My chest physically ached when I drew in a breath. Everything made sense and seemed more terrible all at once. Whoever had planned this twist of events, this new path Holly’s life had taken, whoever decided to put her in Eyewall as a method to torture me—maybe Thomas—knew exactly what they were doing. Unlike Holly, I had several reasons to get up in the morning, to face the day, whatever might come with it. Keeping her alive … that was my biggest reason for a long time. And Dad, being his only family. Now there was Stewart and Kendrick … and Emily.

  Whoever made this plan needed me to have someone … several someones. All this time, I had thought it was just the opposite. That everything was being taken from me until I had nothing left. That needing someone made this job so much harder.

  All along, I’d been devastated that Holly didn’t know me, didn’t know how much I loved her, but now that didn’t matter. Not even a little bit. It only matter that I knew. That I know. If Holly was in my position and had loved someone and let that person go, she’d have something to write about. She would be someone with a good reason to keep going.

  After answering another question on Holly’s laptop, I laid my head on my arm, right next to her, and drew in a deep breath, recognizing her scent immediately. Her mouth had opened, and every time she took a breath she inhaled pieces of loose hair. I gently moved her hair off her face and rested my fingertips on her cheek.

  I hated reading the desperate, depressing words she had written, but at the same time, it made me realize that Holly would always be Holly. Stewart had been wrong about this … It wasn’t the fact that she looked the same as my Holly that made it confusing to me. It had nothing to do with appearance. You could take everything from her, change her entire life, and I think, deep down, she’d still have the same soul. The one that belonged to my Holly. Just like Emily, who had been surrounded by people telling her I was bad, that she’d never want to be like me, and something inside of her resisted that. She could be wherever and whenever and she’d always be Emily.

  And the 009 Holly I had left … if she had died when Thomas threw her off that roof, she would have died knowing I loved her, but more importantly, knowing she could love someone that much.

  There are worse things than death.

  She didn’t even need to know how I felt. Ever. Telling her I loved her would just be about me. She would have to take that journey on her own. With me, with someone else … Maybe she had moved a little in that direction tonight, with her mom.

  That didn’t mean I’d forget my mission to help her or that I’d forget about what Agent Carter had said to her, what she wrote in her answers about him. No—I still wanted to break him into a million pieces.

  I picked up her calculus book and the unfinished worksheet lying next to the book. And then I started completing her homework, one assignment at a time.

  Around ten, Stewart called me. “I just did something really stupid … really, really stupid.”

  Oh, God. “What?”

  “Gave Healy truth serum,” she croaked, panic already flooding her voice.

  “Why?” I asked, and then lowered my voice to a whisper. “What for?”

  “I don’t know how much time I have to explain, so you’re gonna have to do this quick.”

  I could hear cars zipping by in the background. She must have been outside running.

  “You need to do a half-jump to … October twentieth … 1952.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just do it, Junior! You owe me, remember,” she pleaded. “It’s about your dad. Remember Bill’s Tavern?”

  I listened to her describe the street and the exact corner I needed to be on and then hung up the phone. I had no idea if I was capable of jumping this far back, even with a half-jump, but I had to try.

  1952 … this should be interesting. But just before I managed my half-jump, I felt my cell phone go off. Too late now … I’m already half gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  OCTOBER 20, 1952, 12:28 P.M.

  The jump had been more disorienting than ever. The city was amazing in this year. To see it, to feel it … how had I not done this before, just for the experience? I found Bill’s Tavern after walking a few blocks, but going inside was a different story. Since it was only a half-jump and I wouldn’t change anything or truly harm someone, I didn’t feel guilty at all about the jacket I swiped from a picnic table after an old man had set it down and then bent over to tie his shoe.

  As usual the half-jump dulled the sensation of cold but my very modern T-shirt wouldn’t help me fit in. I zipped the jacket up to my neck and tried to pull the bottom of my jeans over my shoes, so they wouldn’t stand out too much. The rest of me seemed okay for 1952.

  But the second I saw the dark-haired guy walk out of Bill’s Tavern, I no longer cared about fitting in. I wanted answers. Now.

  Right here, in the middle of the sidewalk, strolling comfortably under the midday sun, was my dad. A very young version of him. Younger than I’d ever seen in real life.

  I kept my feet as quiet as possible, trotting behind him to keep up with his much more purposeful steps. He knew where he was going. He wasn’t a lost time traveler. Or was he? He had an old worn navy-blue jacket on over his khaki dress pants and wore black dress shoes. His hair was parted and combed to one side.

  He walked about three more blocks before turning into an alley between two buildings. He slowed up a little and then suddenly snapped around quickly, drawing a gun and pointing it at me. “Hands up!”

  I lifted them quickly in the air, stunned to see his face up close. “Wait—”

  “Why are you following me?” he demanded, taking two steps closer to me.

  He looked me over briefly and his face faltered a little, giving away his surprise. “Who the hell are you?”

  The gun was tucked away immediately.

  “Uh … Jackson.”

  Dad’s face revealed mild panic. “Sorry … but you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” He patted the back of his pants, where the gun had been stowed. “It’s not even loaded, so don’t go calling the heat.”

  “I … I won’t.” Wh
atever that means?

  “If you had my job, you’d do the same thing. The phrase ‘don’t kill the messenger’ doesn’t seem to be widely known. I’ve got guys going ape on me every day. Can’t just stand there defenseless.”

  “You’re Kevin, right?” I croaked. “Kevin Meyer?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Do I know you?”

  “Um … maybe … from somewhere,” I said, then remembered that none of this mattered. It’s a half-jump. I just needed to know how he got here. “Actually, I might know you … We just haven’t met yet.”

  His hands lifted to his face and he groaned. “Oh, God … this isn’t happening again. Where the fuck is Melvin when this shit goes on?”

  “Dr. Melvin?” I asked.

  Dad laughed, looking way more freaked out and threatened than I did. “I wouldn’t exactly call him a doctor. That would require medical school. Considering he’s seventeen.”

  It could be the Dr. Melvin … that would be about right. “Does he study you … or help you time-travel? What year did you come from?” I asked.

  He stared at me blankly and then finally said, barely above a whisper, “Is that why I keep running into them … you … people like you? They don’t think I belong here? Or that I’m hiding out like Superman or something?”

  “Are you … hiding your abilities?”

  “No,” he said firmly. “I don’t have any time-traveling powers.”

  For some reason, I believed him. “Well … then you’ve been displaced … one of them dragged you here and—”

  “Them? Why not you or your people?” he asked.

  Definite interrogation question. Has he been trained? “We don’t all work for the same side … at least I don’t think we do.”

  “I haven’t been dragged anywhere,” he said with a defensive edge. “If that’s why I keep getting cornered in dark alleys by fellows from the future, then maybe you can just give them a message for me: This is my home. I don’t have any information about future events. Nothing.”

  “This is your home now,” I pressed, just to clarify. “Like, you’d rather stay here than whatever year you came from?”