Hold Me Like a Breath (32 page)

Mick had been shot—he was the only one of the Wards to have been injured, because he was the only one on the estate. He hadn't been banished because he hadn't been at breakfast. He was already being punished for his part in my clinic break-in. He'd been on duty … in the gatehouse.

Every one of my senses was screaming “danger” when I asked, “Garrett, why
that
morning? Why decide to run away then?”

“What do you mean?” But he knew. He knew exactly what I was asking. His jaw had tightened, and his eyes had become shrouded.

I took a step backward. “Who's running the Family now?”

He studied the pavement. “It's chaos. There were FBI everywhere. It's not anything like …
before
. The whole estate is closed. Everyone's scattered and trying to stay off-radar. Sky and Light had to shut down for a while because the Feds were circling. It's looking like Kilney's might have to—”

“What about the patients who need those organs? And are we making sure all the clients have the meds they need? Where's Nolan?”

“He—he's been busy in DC. He was never a leader. Maybe a politician, but not a leader of the Family. Your dad made a mistake. But it'll get better soon.”

He'd lifted his chin with the last statement in a look so completely Ward it crushed what was left of my heart. I didn't want to ask my next questions, didn't want to think them, or shape them into sentences, but I had to see his face.

“Why? What's going to happen?”

His face paled again, except for two circles of anger on his cheeks. “The Zhus are going to pay for what they did to Carter. My dad, he—
we
—we're gonna strike against their Family. Like
tonight
. It's all planned. We're avenging your brother.”

“The Zhus?” I wanted to vomit.

“And once we show the Family that sort of leadership, people will fall in line. They'll get behind Deer Meadow, and we'll rebuild the Family from there. My dad has it all planned.”

“Your dad? He's involved in Deer Meadow?”

“Of course. It was his idea to start it.” He reached out a hand.
“Penny, you look sick. Let me take you back there—the doctors there can do your blood test and get what you need.”

“Carter wanted to shut down Dead Meat.” Maybe I should've kept my cards tipped up, but I've never been good at that.

Garrett's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and swallowed, before setting his jaw and answering. “He would've changed his mind. He'd changed it like twelve times already. You remember how excited he was that night.”

“Before or after he went back off-estate to burn it down?”

“What are you talking about?” His voice was pinched with panic. “Burn it?”

I took a step backward. Shaking my head. Shaking.

“Princess. Talk to me. Let's go somewhere and you can explain.”

I took another step. And another. I held my palms out to Garrett. “Stay there. I will scream. I will make so much noise that every person within a block will turn to look.”

He froze. “I'd never hurt you. Don't you know that?”

I pushed up my sleeves, displaying handprints that looked as if they'd been tattooed on my arms in indigo ink and watched his face fall.

“Carter left me a letter. He didn't mention you in it at all.” I should have noticed this sooner. This should have screamed from the page. Echoed in the fact that my brother left the letter in Maggie's care, not Garrett's. That if things went wrong, Carter wanted me to run away from the estate and all its well-trained, well-armed security—that he thought I was safer
without it
than I was there. I let Garrett absorb this for a moment before adding a second accusation. “My parents thought of you like another son.”

“I know.” His voice was so quiet I almost couldn't hear it from across the width of the jog path.

“Your family?” Mine was quieter. He couldn't have possibly heard me, but he must've read my lips because he gave a white-faced nod.

“I didn't know what they were planning—honest. I knew Dad was furious about Nolan, thought it should be him … or
me
, but I didn't know they would kill them. I just knew my dad was already close to snapping that morning and then
your
dad made things worse by kicking them out. I just knew I had to get
you
to safety.”

“Because you'd already failed Carter.”

He recoiled, like the words were the slap I wished I could give him. “I thought I could save you—I tried.” His voice broke. “But—but I was too late. You were all dead.”

I wouldn't vomit. I wouldn't black out. I wouldn't cry. I'd freeze my heart the way they froze those cadavers at Dead Meat—maybe then this news wouldn't kill me.

“Your family murdered mine—and you're still
helping
them? You didn't turn them in?” My eyes, my voice, every childhood memory with him in it, they were all pleading with him to disagree with me.

“You've got to understand, I didn't know. And you said it yourself—little
f
family comes first. And once it was done, what would telling the Feds help? What would it change? I didn't have
anyone else left.” He was crying now, and I couldn't make myself feel anything but fury. “You were dead. And not Carter—they didn't—that was the Zhus. The Zhus started this.”

“You can't possibly believe that.”

“They didn't”—he wiped clumsily at his face—“my family
didn't
. Not Carter.”

“Not Carter,” I echoed his delusion. “But
me
? You could live with that? With any of this?”

When he took a step forward, I turned and ran.

I ran along the park, in and out of paths, over a field, interrupting a game of Frisbee and almost tripping over a staked dog leash. Then I was back out of the park. On the sidewalk, trying to blend in with a crowd crossing the street.

The Museum of Natural History was right in front of me. Without thinking, I ducked inside. This was not the entrance I normally used, where the doorway to the left led to the elephants. I paused to reorient, and then I heard it: “Penelope, wait!”

I ducked into an elevator, took it down to the level with the meteors display and where the floor was dotted with scales that would measure my weight on other planets. But they were all behind signs that read TICKETS REQUIRED BEYOND THIS POINT.

The gift shop? No, that wasn't a real hiding spot. Not one that would stand up under any scrutiny.

I looked at the lines for the ticket kiosks and despaired. Then
a dark-skinned man was stepping in front of me. “Miss, I've got an extra ticket. Why don't you take it?” His voice was deep and musical. I didn't argue, didn't question.

“Thank you so much!” I grabbed the rectangle of paper and ran toward the entrance, scanned the ticket, and slipped through the gate and into the display.

Stairs. I had to find stairs.

And after I'd found them, I needed to climb them faster than the couple trying to coax their toddler. Bribing him with raisins and applause. I ducked and pushed my way around them and the others and dashed into another exhibit. Found myself facing a large bear, teeth exposed, claws extended. His partner bent over a bloody fish.

I was running so fast I almost tripped over the shin-high barrier, almost flew into the glass display case that separated me from the claws and teeth and all those natural weapons—ones animals had, but I did not.

I needed to get lost.

And so I did. Weaving up and down floors. In and out of displays until I was disoriented. And I realized how ineffective this was. Staying in motion when Garrett was also in motion only increased my chance of an encounter. And I couldn't think of him without it squeezing all the air out of me. Did he
truly
believe his family hadn't killed Carter, or did he just desperately want to? The same way I desperately wanted to throw blame and blood at everyone around him. Every Ward
except
him.

I was getting strange looks from the other patrons because of the sounds I was making. Sobs. I was crying. A fact brought
home when I tried to pretend I was reading a plaque and couldn't see it through my tears.

I wiped my eyes.

TO SURVIVE: INDIANS OF AMAZONIA

I was outside the theater. Standing next to the same tree where Char and I had had our first kiss.

It was as good a place as any to hide. And since I was already crying, I might as well add a few tears for Char into the mix.

I don't know how many times I watched the documentary. Over and over until the narrator's voice stopped sounding authoritative and blended into a background hum. Until I started to be aware of how hard and uncomfortable the bench was and that there was a rip in the wall covering beside me.

A piece of paper wedged into it. Not a museum map, ticket, or receipt from the gift shop. Not a snack wrapper. A letter. With my name on it.

Or Maeve's, rather.

I didn't hesitate to read this like I had Carter's. I unfolded it with desperate fingers, devoured it with hungry eyes.

Maeve
,

I'm trying to convince myself this isn't a coward's note, but I'm not having any success. I'm not who I said I was. Magnolia—that girl at your apartment—she's not just any girl either. She's not safe. I don't know how you know her, but I wish you didn't. Seeing her was an unwelcome
reminder of what my life is and the risks that come with it. I don't expect this to make any sense, but I've put you in more danger than I want to think about, so the safest thing for me to do is leave. Leave you
.

I'm going home. I'm going to stop running from my future
.

I've left these notes everywhere I can think. Shanice has one. Byron. The couple at the dog park too. I don't know if you'll get any of them, or if it will change anything if you do, but I'm sorry
.

My life isn't normal. It's not … good. I can't really say any more than that. Except I shouldn't have pretended it was, or been selfish enough to think I could have someone as wonderful as you in it
.

I know I've lied to you so often that I can't expect you to believe me when I say this much was real: what I felt for you
.

Char

I folded his letter and put it in the envelope with Carter's. They were both fragments of my heart shaped into farewells.

Both were also things I should've noticed sooner: Char's lies; Carter's love life and secrets. It was the omissions, the things that had been left out that should have haunted me.

I flipped the envelope over and made a list beneath Carter's cube. A list of things I knew in pluses and things I didn't in minuses.

+ The Wards are truly evil
.

– How long have they been planning this? Why?

+ Al's involved in Dead Meat / Carter wanted to torch it

– Is this why they killed him?

+ Garrett admitted they killed my parents
.

– Because of Nolan? Organ Act?

+ They're attacking the Zhus tonight
.

– Why? To impress the Family? Shift blame? Artificial organs?

– Is Char there?

– How can I stop them?

A list of the contradictions:

Carter: Trust Maggie // Char: Magnolia's not safe
.

And a list of questions with a list of the answers.

Did Char lie to me? Yes
.

Did he kill my family? No
.

Would he have still cared for me if he knew who I was?

Will I ever get the chance to tell him?

Do I love him?

What do I do now?

When I ran out of room, I searched my pockets for more paper—I was not defiling my memory notebook with this. I came up with two more pieces. The museum ticket given to me by a stranger and the folded card handed to me by the man on the street.

Those were answers. Those had always been answers. I just hadn't been paying attention.

Garrett was waiting outside the building when I returned. I'd expected this. I'd already called Maggie, told her to stay in the apartment, lock the new dead bolt, and not let him in no matter what he said.

It felt strange to think of him as a threat. But he was. The guy who'd watched over every breath I took after Carter's death. Every breath I took … until my screams when I woke up orphaned.

I set each foot down with precision, each step measured, solid, and taking me closer to him. I thought I could stare him down, manage a glare that matched my marching, but I couldn't. My eyes darted away when they met his, full of apology and regret and sadness.

But in shifting my gaze I noticed something else. The man I'd almost run into earlier. He was still standing on the corner
just past my apartment. This also wasn't a surprise, not after playing connect-the-mental-dots in the museum.

I'd seen him before. He'd sold me gum once from a sidewalk kiosk. And he'd sold Char roses. Was he the umbrella vendor too? I couldn't be sure, but probably. He'd stood near me on the subway during my one and only ride—it was because he'd managed to catch a drunk before she'd fallen on me that I escaped the trip unscathed. He'd been reading the newspaper in Byron's cafe. Yet the first time I'd seen him, he'd been a graying buzz cut in the apartment's bedroom. He'd been with the dark-skinned man who'd handed me a ticket at the museum today.

I slid my hand into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out the folded piece of paper he'd given me earlier. It was thick, creamy, expensive. Still taking steps toward Garrett, I flicked it open in my palm, glanced down.

An eagle holding an olive branch and a clutch of arrows. Set on a white background.