Generation of Liars (52 page)

“I’m alright,” he shouted. “One of
the boards flying off the ship hit me. Luckily I only lost consciousness for a
few seconds. We need to get out of here. It’s only a matter of time before a
burning boat in the middle of the Seine gets some attention.”

The sound of sirens sparked off
somewhere in the distance. The river’s current had carried us a few yards from
the burning carcass of the yacht. The four of us trudged towards the shore and
climbed onto a rickety pier. I had no idea which arrondissement we were in,
what cross streets we were near. I shivered, crossing my arms over my body. My
fingernails were bloodless.

“We need to separate,” Vivienne
said. She threw her body back into a dragon-esque arch and whipped her long
trail of soaked hair behind her.

“Vivienne and I are going to the
airport,” Rabbit said. “We are going to take one of Etienne’s private planes to
South America. But don’t try to find us. We’ll find you,
someday
.”

Vivienne gathered me up in her
petite embrace. “This is goodbye, Alice.”

I pressed myself tightly to her and
I could smell the jasmine on her skin. “Goodbye, Vivienne. You saved my life.
Thank you for everything.” She faded beyond the dock, and Rabbit lingered for a
moment, shyly looking at me.

“Goodbye, Alice,” he finally said.
“I’m sure you’re glad to be rid of a geek like me after all this time.”

“No, Rabbit. I’m not happy to get
rid of you. I will miss you. You were a friend to me.”

“I’m glad you finally see that,” he
said. “This has been quite an adventure we shared.”

“I feel like I fell down a rabbit
hole.”

“I never meant to chase you into
the rabbit hole, Alice. We were just stupid kids. We got manipulated by
Motley.”

“Sometimes, when you slip through
the trap door, all you can do is spin alongside the white rabbit until you hit
the bottom.”

“I guess this is the bottom. And
the bottom means goodbye.” He had a smile on his face when he shook my hand
farewell. He disappeared into the mist to follow Vivienne.

I turned to Pressley just as the
wail of a second siren echoed impedingly in the distance. “What about us?” I
asked. “Where are we going?”

“Forward,” Pressley replied.

He was right. There was no turning
back now. The dynamite stick was gone for good and we had just blown up a bomb
in Paris. Pressley Connard was a part of the Generation of Liars now and we
were wanted.

We had to run.

We had no choice.

“So we’ll just keep going, until we
find a way to survive in this mixed up world,” I said. My fingers were playing
with the silver key tied around my neck by a velvet string.

Epilogue

I MADE THE bed and fastened the
mosquito net to the pillars of the canopy. I stuffed the rest of my clothes
into a duffle bag and I fidgeted with my hair. I wasn’t used to it being this
short. It was still blond, but I had added honey lowlights and chopped it into
a pixie-shag that tucked easily behind my ears. It showed off beautifully the
blocks of diamond that hung from each of my ears.

I had seen a lot of women in
Johannesburg wearing their hair this way. With the heat, it was impractical to
keep it any longer. Blaring from the television, I caught the tail end of a
report about a new break in the three-and-half-year-long search for the hackers
who orchestrated the November Hit. The origin of the virus had just been traced
to a group of hackers in San Francisco. After going uncaught all this time, it
seemed that they were seeking a little attention. Credit and glory for their
dirty deeds, perhaps. I had always wondered who the hell was behind the
November Hit.

I grabbed my suitcase, checked my
makeup and did a little kissy face in the mirror. I rolled my bags down to the
concierge desk.

“Checking out, Mrs. Leor?” asked
the man in the purple suit behind the counter. “How did you enjoy your stay?”

“I’m just waiting for my husband to
finish up in the room. The stay was wonderful, thank you”

Pressley strolled into the lobby
and planted a kiss on my lips. His hair was slicked back and he had a pair of
sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar. We dumped our keys with the polite
concierge. “Remember us on your next stay in Johannesburg, Mr. and Mrs. Leor,”
he called out to us.

We got to the curb and I plunked my
suitcase down inside our taxi’s trunk. It was heavy and cumbersome since it
held about sixteen-million dollars’ worth of stolen diamonds inside. We boarded
a small plane at the airport. Pressley had made sure our luggage wasn’t scanned
by airport security with the help of a bill clip full of hundred-dollar bills.
I chucked my heavy suitcase onto the overhead compartment and collapsed into my
seat.

“I can’t believe you lied to the
concierge and told him I was your husband,” Pressley said, one eye collapsing
into a wink.

I nudged my elbow into his rib. “It
wouldn’t be the first lie I’ve told.”

“You’re kidding, Patricia. I always
pegged you as such a trustworthy gal.” He checked the time on his Rolex and let
me know we were due in Munich in less than ten hours for the big exchange.

After that, who knows?

The flight attendant bumped her
tray along the aisle. I snuggled into Pressley’s shoulder, took in his smell,
and it smelled like home. Really, it was the complimentary cologne from the
hotel’s bathroom, but it worked for the moment. My eyes glanced across the
aisle to a businessman with a copy of
TIME
magazine tucked under his
arm. I saw a toddler’s set of blue eyes peek back and a headline that said: The
Generation of Liars Lives On.

I smiled to myself.

So here we are.

Like I said at the beginning of all
of this, right now I’m in a lot of trouble. My troubles started when I got shot
out of the Eiffel Tower. They got worse when I got shot out of the Eiffel Tower
a
second time
by the same person. Lately, it feels like my troubles have
subsided now that my first love, Pressley Connard, is part of the Generation of
Liars
too. There really is no turning back now. We can only move forward
to our next adventure. Personally, I can’t wait. It’s like when Andy Warhol
said he knew he really did live for the future because when he ate a box of
candy, he couldn’t wait to get to the last piece.

When it comes to my life with
Pressley, I’m really looking forward to that next bite.

Where will we go? Who will we
become? Can true love last in a land full of liars? Impossible to say. There’s
only one thing that’s for certain now, the Generation of Liars
lives on.

THE END.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:  Camilla Stephanie Marks lives in the
Greater NYC area. She is much easier to pin down than her creation, Alice Fix.
She loves to hear from readers, fans, and blackhat foes alike, so please stir
up some chat by emailing her at [email protected]. Keep up with
Alice on twitter @WhereIsAliceFix

Screw the gatekeepers. Yours is the old way…xx CsM