Five minutes or so later, Aaron sits next to me and pushes his phone into my hands. “Mom texted what she could find, but . . . there’s not much, Anna.”
What he really means is there’s not much that’s likely to help us. Sonia was fifteen years old when she was brought into The Warren on February 23, 2018. She’s listed as “average intelligence; good health; asymptomatic.” Three weeks later, she’s listed as dead.
In the period between admission and death, there are a few medical notes dealing with the week after injection with something called CA3. She suffered from fever and delirium for five days and then showed a sudden improvement. Four additional entries, terse and to the point, detail incidents with other patients, a few of them violent, after she was released from the infirmary. On one occasion, half the kids in the cafeteria began tossing food, plates, and cutlery at her for no apparent reason. Later that same week, the room adjacent to Sonia’s caught fire in the middle of the night, injuring both residents. Two other wabbits in The Warren complained that her presence was making them crazy, including the one Jaden mentioned, Maria. I actually remember her—she was one of the girls who spied on me while I was there.
The final medical entry notes a relapse, twenty-two days after admission, with her fever spiking at 105.6. An MRI revealed cerebral edema. Sonia died two days later.
Aaron reads my face and immediately launches into all the reasons I shouldn’t freak out. “There was no label on the vial that we sent to Magda. We don’t know if it’s even the same serum. It could be a new-and-improved formula, less risky.”
Taylor is leaning against the doorway now, her outburst from earlier apparently forgotten or at least set aside for now. “And even if it’s the same, Deo might respond to it better than this Sonia girl did.”
As much as I appreciate their efforts, I’m still freaking out. Everything they just said could be true, but it’s equally likely that the new-and-improved formula is more of a risk, not less. Or Deo could be more sensitive to the serum than Sonia was. When you’re dealing with mad scientists who felt it was perfectly okay to test my psychic skills by murdering three people in cold blood, I don’t think you can assume they’re all that worried about safety protocols.
I resist the urge to check Deo’s temperature again. It probably hasn’t changed, and I don’t want to risk another flash from our eventual trip to Georgia. But it’s a punch in the gut to think that touching Deo is somehow toxic now—at least for me. And for Aaron, too, I guess.
“I think we can safely assume it’s the same—or at least a similar—serum,” I say. “That’s why you had the multiple flashes earlier today, why your range was extended. You touched Deo when we were trying to get some fluids into him.”
A sheepish look crosses Aaron’s face. “I wasn’t going to mention it, but yeah, that occurred to me, too. I can try again, but . . .”
I can’t blame him for sounding reluctant. All I got when I touched Deo was a snippet from a vision. The violent thoughts Aaron picks up with his “spidey sense” aren’t pleasant, even when they come in one at a time. He was seriously freaked out this morning by the sudden onrush.
“No. I tested it twice. The vision kicked in both times. I don’t think we need additional data points.”
Taylor leans over Deo’s bunk. She presses her hand against his neck and holds it there for several seconds. “He’s really hot. But . . . I’m not getting anything aside from that. Whatever this amp stuff is, it doesn’t seem to affect me.”
“Maybe it would have an effect if you were doing a reading?” Aaron asks.
“Maybe. No way to test that right now, though.”
Taylor’s “readings” are kind of like GPS signals she picks up from objects that allow her to track the object’s owner. But Taylor’s little gift from Delphi isn’t something that just hits her out of the blue like Aaron’s early-warning system or Jaden’s future flashes.
Aaron hands Taylor one of the wearable thermometers I asked him to pick up when he drove into town earlier, and Taylor attaches it to Deo’s forehead.
“Thanks, Taylor.”
She doesn’t respond until the three of us are back in the main cabin, and as she turns toward me, I can see instantly that we’re going to be finishing our little chat about Daniel. “I’ve decided to take you on your word, Anna. You don’t have to prove to me that Daniel is hitching a ride, hopefully temporary, with you right now. But if we’re going to work together, I expect the truth—and I mean the full truth—from here on out. You seem to think that your primary obligation is to your hitchers, but it’s not. If the four of us are going to be cooped up in this tiny tin can, if we’re going to be living and working together pretty much 24/7, complete honesty is mandatory.”
I’m tempted to argue the point, in part because Taylor sounds like a sanctimonious little brat right now. And the very fact that I’m thinking that about her illustrates the problem with what she’s just said. Would telling Taylor my honest opinion of her right this minute be at all helpful to our living and working together? In my experience—for that matter, in the experience of every single hitcher I’ve housed—complete and total honesty is overrated. Society would collapse if everyone told the pure, unadulterated truth.
But for the sake of harmony, I simply nod, acknowledging Taylor’s comment without making any stupid promises. Hoping she’ll just move on.
And she does. Sort of.
“With that in mind, I want some answers. If you don’t want to let Daniel come forward to give them, that’s fine—you can just relay the information yourself.”
Aaron gives me a questioning look. “If that’s not a problem for you, I have a few questions as well. Actually, that’s not true. I have a lot of questions, but I’ll try to keep it to a few.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“Good,” Taylor says. “I have two questions up front for security purposes. First, what was Dad’s favorite movie?”
Aaron’s eyebrows shoot up. “What happened to taking Anna on her word?”
“As Mom used to say when demanding our computer passwords—trust but verify.”
I resist the urge to tell her to kiss off and instead start unstacking my mental bricks. Might as well get this over with. But to my surprise, Daniel doesn’t exactly rush forward.
Come on, Daniel. You know she’s not going to drop this.
There’s a long silence, and I’m about to nudge again when I feel him shift toward the front.
I’m going to answer Taylor’s questions, but before I do, you and I need to get something straight. I’ll admit I don’t like being cooped up in here. I’m bored and . . . maybe this shouldn’t feel like a tight space. It’s not like Jaden and I take up any room, physically. But it does feel that way, and I’m more than a little claustrophobic by nature, so this is kind of like being in a prison cell.
All the more reason we need to get you back to Baltimore and into your own body.
Would you let me finish, please? My point was that I don’t like being in here, but you need to give me a little credit. I’m not a damn body thief. You don’t know much about my time in the military or with the police, but I worked on finding and stopping human traffickers. Most of their victims were girls who never had any choice in the matter. So, the only way I will ever take control of your body is with your explicit consent. Shawshank Redemption.
It takes a second for me to realize the last bit is Daniel’s answer to Taylor’s question. I relay his response to her, but my mind is still back on his comment.
I’m sorry.
You don’t have to apologize. I get it. I’m not an invited guest. Just . . . let’s find a way to get through this, okay?
It would be a lot easier if I didn’t constantly feel like he was hiding things. I felt that way occasionally with Molly, too, but the things she was hiding were always about Lucas. Always about something she didn’t want to face herself. It feels more purposeful on Daniel’s part, and I’m not really used to my hitche
rs keeping secrets. They all realize pretty quickly that I’m their archivist. All of their memories will be stored away in my files when they move on, so what’s the point of hiding the bad stuff?
Except, again, for Myron. I instinctively shove the thought of Myron away, like I always do. Like Kelsey taught me to do. But maybe that’s part of my issue with Daniel. The only other hitcher who was secretive, who could block me out of his thoughts almost completely, didn’t exactly have my best interests at heart.
I’ve missed Taylor’s next security question, so I ask her to repeat it.
“What is your secret that I’m never supposed to tell?”
When Taylor’s question registers, Daniel retreats so quickly that it’s like there’s a vacuum in my head, sucking him backward. Claustrophobic or not, it’s clear that he’d love to find a way to stack up my mental bricks and hide behind them right now.
Jaden laughs, but it’s a nervous laugh.
Whoa, dude. I get the feelin’ your baby sister just sucker punched you.
Taylor’s expression is a teensy bit smug. There was only one security question. She just wanted to hit Daniel with this particular question before his guard was up. “I was serious about what I said before, Daniel. We’re way past the point of secrets. You have information that we need to know. And I’m tired of you expecting me to keep Aaron in the dark. It’s not fair. If you don’t want to tell him, then fine. I will.”
I already know the answer to Taylor’s question. She’s talking about Daniel’s ability to sway the minds of others—sort of like a Jedi mind trick and an Imperius Curse rolled into one. Daniel used it on Lucas, back at The Warren when we were trying to escape. He tried to use it on me, but the mental walls I keep up in public to help protect me from new hitchers kept him out. His psychic ability is the same as Graham Cregg’s, although I get the feeling Daniel is stronger. Cregg has to stop, has to really focus, in order to control someone. Then again, it’s probably easier to convince someone that he gave the wrong order—especially someone like Lucas who wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer—than forcing someone to snip off one of her fingers.
Still no response from Daniel. Aaron is staring at Taylor now, mouth open, clearly pissed that he’s been kept in the dark about something, even if he doesn’t know what it is.
Is it because you’ve pushed Aaron? Or both of them? Is that why you didn’t want him to know?
No. There may have been some . . . I mean, yeah, I did nudge them when I was a little kid. There’s this one time I’m pretty sure Aaron remembers. But I don’t use it on family anymore. Not since I learned to control it.
I get that sense that he’s holding something back again.
Okay, fine, Anna. I made two exceptions over the course of . . . what? Eighteen years, total. But I don’t use it on anyone without a damn good reason. And before you go all what-about-me, I was trying to protect you and Deo or I’d never have attempted to nudge you, either.
How did you manage to hide an ability like that as a kid?
Pretty easy when you can make people forget, Anna. When you can make them do the things you want. Sam figured it out when I was about seven. Made me see why it was wrong. Helped me learn to control it. And to his credit, he never told anyone else. Said he’d keep my secret as long as I kept my promise not to coerce people, especially not family. For the most part, I did keep that promise . . . only Taylor was in a bad place after Dad was killed and then Molly, too. I didn’t like that dark hole she was slipping into. She’s got scars on the underside of her arm. Tiny, symmetrical cuts. When I found out . . . it just . . . it hit me hard, okay? I tried to take the easy way out, the fast fix, because I couldn’t let her keep hurting herself. But eventually Taylor figured things out.
So . . . what do I tell her?
Whatever you want. She’s going to spill to Aaron anyway . . . and maybe she’s right. I’d still rather keep Mom out of this, but . . . that may not even be my call anymore. Taylor needs to tell him everything, though. All of it, including how she found out. If I don’t get to have secrets, neither does she.
I expect both Aaron and Taylor to be staring at me when I tune back in to the outside world, but for once there are no expectant eyes awaiting me. Aaron is staring at Taylor, and Taylor is looking down at the table, clearly much less enthusiastic about this whole question-and-answer session now that it’s actually under way.
“Daniel says go ahead and tell him. He says maybe you’re right about keeping too many secrets. Just make sure you tell him everything.”
I cast a pointed glance at her arms. Taylor colors slightly, but nods.
“I was going to anyway. I meant what I said about no more secrets. Aaron already knows that I was cutting. He and Mom just didn’t have the same tools to try and help me that Daniel had. His heart was in the right place, but . . . you can’t make someone stop hurting. I lost Dad and Molly in a matter of months, and I needed to work through my pain, just like Anna has to work through the Molly dreams.”
“Back up,” Aaron says. “What do you mean, Mom and I didn’t have the same tools? What was Daniel doing to try and make you forget? He can erase memories?”
“Not exactly. But he’s pretty good at planting happy thoughts to replace them. Making people think maybe they did something they didn’t do . . . or vice versa. It worked on me for a while. But then cognitive dissonance—and yes, Aaron, I know what it means—kicked in. Plus, there was this little part of me that started connecting Daniel’s happy thoughts with the cutting. That was an illusion, and it was definitely not what Daniel was trying to achieve, so he backed off. What finally helped me was being able to do something. Finding Molly’s body wasn’t easy. But being able to put my ability to use, being able to do something constructive—that’s what pulled me out.”
Aaron’s jaw tightens as she speaks. Then he turns to look at me next to him on the bench, and for the first time, there’s suspicion in his eyes. Anger, even. Is the anger directed at me or at Daniel? Either way, it’s disturbing. I slide a little closer to the wall, increasing the distance between us. A flicker of hurt, or maybe it’s guilt, crosses his face, and then he looks back to Taylor.
“So,” he says. “All of that time he was scoffing at us—no, let’s be honest, at me. Scoffing at me. He never really gave you any crap about it. But all that time, he was doing the same damn thing.”
Except no one knew. Tell him that, Anna. He’s an open book. Anyone could tell when Aaron was getting premonitions. It’s different with me. Different with Taylor, too, because she has to turn it on. His ability was a liability in terms of keeping the family under the radar. That’s why—
Aaron is calling my name, so I push Daniel back.
“He used it on me, or at least attempted to. Didn’t he? When Mom was trying to talk me and Taylor out of poking into Molly’s death.”
“I don’t know, Aaron. And please, don’t ask me to get in the middle of what’s clearly a protracted family squabble. When you’re yelling at each other, you’re also yelling at me. Can we just focus on questions about Daniel’s work at Python and what he knows about the Delphi Project and save the personal stuff until we get him back into his own body? Please?”
I can tell he’s reluctant to let it go, but eventually his expression softens and he nods. “Sure. They’ve kept me in the dark this long. A little longer won’t make much difference. And . . . sorry if you were caught in the cross fire.”
That goes for you, too, Daniel. I’m not passing notes back and forth. You can tell them anything you want once we get you back to Baltimore.
Daniel doesn’t respond, possibly because Taylor is speaking and he wants to listen.
“You’re making a big assumption there, Anna. Daniel might actually be dead, for all you know, and this might be our only chance to tell him good-bye. To get closure.”
There’s a slight hint of manipulation in her voice, and I feel it working on Daniel. Jaden, who has been hanging well out of the way until n
ow, laughs.
Man, she is good. I bet you gave her all your cookies when you were little kids, and did her chores, too. Don’t let them bully you, Anna. No offense to ol’ Dan here, but it doesn’t matter if he’s dead. If he can’t return to his body, you can scoop him back up and let him say his good-byes.
That is an excellent point, Jaden. Thank you.
“Not going to work,” I tell Taylor. “Get to your actual questions, okay?”
Her lips tighten. “Fine. My first actual question is why aren’t we currently en route to Baltimore? Mom looks like death on toast because she’s worried sick about Daniel. And yeah, I get that the authorities might think you had something to do with his current condition, but he could clear you when he wakes up.”
As she just noted, if I wake up. If. No guarantees I’m coming out of this, and there’s more at stake right now than just me.
I sigh. This is really the same damn line of questioning as before. But I pass his words along to Taylor, since it’s clear we’re not going to get anything of substance done until she’s vented.
“Screw Delphi. Screw Magda,” Taylor counters. “We need to head home. And you agree with me, don’t you, Aaron? I can tell you do.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I mean . . . I don’t know.”
For the next couple of minutes, I relay their personal messages back and forth, even after saying I wouldn’t. In the end, though, I’m glad. Daniel has his own walls, maybe not as substantive as mine, but there are things he’s hiding. And as he tries to think of the best way to convince Taylor that we need to stay the current course, his guard drops a bit, and I pick up more than just words. I’m getting his thoughts now, as well, random emotions and ideas peeking through like bright flashes of color and light.
At the front is his fear, vibrant, amorphous flashes of red-orange. Fear that he really is dead. Fear that he might not like his afterlife accommodations so much. I also get a glimpse of the huge twisted knot of guilt at his core, the color of a day-old bruise. The guilt spins out in five directions. Five . . . people. I don’t see them as images, it’s more the feelings he attaches to them. The first three are easy to recognize—Aaron, Taylor, and his mom. Daniel feels responsible for them, partly because his dad is gone now, but it goes deeper, especially toward Aaron and Taylor. Almost like he’s the reason they’re in danger and he must fix it.