Still Point (17 page)

Molly quickly snapped off the screen. She looked over at me and I settled back into the couch. My eyes fell to the ground. Shawn's last statement rolled over in my head until the edges of my brain felt singed.

“Maddie, everything will work out.”

I nodded, but Molly's voice was distant. Her words didn't sink in—they floated by. I looked at the time. It was almost midnight. “I've gotta go,” I said. I stood up and walked down the hallway, not stopping in the living room to say goodbye. I continued down the stairs and outside and welcomed the cool night air.

I thought about what Clare had said. Emotional insurance. Was she right? Or do people plan too much and forecast too much, and really, when are we ever right? Things happen strictly by surprise in this life, and it's the surprises that change us, that direct us, not what we plan.

I needed to give up the control. Besides, control is just an illusion. Maybe love is too.

I stood under the glass-dome rain shelter at the train stop. Digital images flashed around inside it, making me dizzy, so I walked outside. I caught my reflection in the black window of a building. I stared at the perplexing image. The cheekbones and nose set at an angle high enough to warn people there was attitude inside. Eyes too large to miss details. I took in my black hooded sweatshirt and dark jeans. I'd spent eighteen years trying to figure out who I was and what I wanted. I looked at my pink hair, bright even in the fog. It wasn't until I stopped looking so hard that she pointed herself out to me.

I pulled the hood over my head and tightened it. I liked it that way. It cut out some of my peripheral vision so I could see less. Feel less. That was what I wanted right now. Even in the real world, you need to escape.

I jumped off the train into the cool night, breathing in a deep gulp of the fresh air, always tinted with a plastic scent from the trees and grass. The train sped away and it was quiet, except for a low hum that sounded like a motor running. I looked over my shoulder and noticed a black car parked down the block. The engine was idling. I warily pulled the strings of my hood tight and ducked my head. I quickly crossed the street, heading for my house two blocks away. My senses were alert, and I heard a car door creak open. My heart punched against my ribs.

“Stop!” a man shouted behind me.

Three thoughts instantly crisscrossed in my mind:
Run. Scream for help. Get back on a train.
I followed my first response, and my legs sprang off the asphalt. Footsteps pounded behind me.

“Don't shoot her!” somebody shouted. “We need her conscious.”

I shot past dark houses and tried to think. I knew better than to run to my house. They obviously knew where I lived. They had probably been following me since I moved home. I was more angry than afraid, and my feet sprang farther and kicked harder with each step. I imagined my father was behind me, chasing me, which gave me the encouragement to fight through the burn in my muscles.

My dad was still having me followed?
I'm not only being tracked, I'm being watched?
Does he really think I'm that much of a threat?

I ran parallel to the train tracks, and a light, steady sheet of rain began to fall. My camouflage of dark jeans and a hooded sweatshirt was my only defense. The footsteps didn't let up, but they also weren't gaining ground. I ran down the street and could hear the rattle of a cargo train approaching. A yellow light blinked with lazy repetition at the next intersection to warn me the train was coming. I looked back quickly to see two men a block behind me. One of them yelled again for me to stop, but it only made my feet dig harder against the ground. I looked back again and they were gaining. Train lights flashed in my direction, and I took my chance. I ran past the yellow warning light, and an engine whistle screamed, rocketing through my ears as I leaped over the tracks.

A rush of wind blew the hood off my head, and a blinding wall of white light held my body for an instant. I squeezed my eyes shut before I landed hard on the plastic turf on the other side of the tracks. I flipped over, my body rolling on the wet, slippery ground until I dug my feet in and skidded to a stop.

The train whipped past and the cars stretched long into the distance, buying me a little time. I caught my breath and checked myself over, wincing when I touched sticky blood oozing out of my knee. The turf grass had burned a hole through my jeans and torn through the skin around my kneecap. I inhaled a sharp breath through my teeth to hold back a groan as I pulled pieces of plastic grass out of the open sore. I wiped my knee as clean as I could and straightened to my feet, my burned kneecap rubbing and sticking against my tattered jeans. I limped away from the tracks, trying to formulate a plan. I headed down a desolate street, passing an apartment building with nearly every window lit like unblinking eyes following me. Watching me. I was careful to avoid yards, since I might set off house alarms, a mistake I'd learned a year earlier.

I turned in one complete circle, looking for anything familiar. It was pathetic that I didn't know my own neighborhood. I didn't know a single neighbor or a place to hide. I was too disoriented from the fall to even know what direction I was heading. Street signs were only used on train crossings, since people rarely went outside anymore. A car engine accelerated in the distance. I decided to stay near the tracks and keep walking; maybe I could flag down a ZipShuttle and call Justin.

I headed down the tracks, along the grass, when suddenly white headlights peeled around the corner, aimed in my direction. That's when I panicked. These people weren't working for my father. His men wouldn't be chasing me down, putting me in harm's way.

I ran again, forgetting the pain in my knee, and searched the sky for the neon green roof of a ZipShuttle call booth. I could take the shuttle back to Scott's apartment or at least use the emergency assistance button. The cargo train finally passed me and opened the barricade too soon. Before I heard footsteps, a hand reached around my waist and yanked me off the ground.

I turned around, and in the light of a street lamp Paul's face glared down at me. His hands pinned my arms to my sides, making them useless. I kneed him between his legs as hard as I could, and he groaned, dropping his hands and bending over. I stumbled back and another set of hands grabbed me.

Before I could scream, someone covered my mouth with a damp cloth.

“I've got her,” a voice grumbled. I looked up at a man I had never seen before, his dark eyes glaring into mine. I was trapped, my lungs inhaling the rich scent of ammonia and alcohol. I coughed out one breath only to fill my lungs with another, and my throat burned so badly that tears ran down my face. My tense muscles instantly weakened, and I turned to mush in his steel grip.

I started to slip but he caught me before I slid out of his arms. He dragged me across the street. My feet scuffed along the asphalt. It took effort to keep my eyes open. My eyelids were as useless as my limbs, and I was too woozy to hold my head up. I was already forgetting Paul's face, as if it were just a hallucination.

I heard an engine humming, closer now, and I felt myself lowered inside a car. The door closed and people sat on either side of me, pinning me in place. I could smell cologne and skin mixed with car leather.

My head was as wobbly as an infant's. It dropped forward because it was too heavy to hold up, as if someone had attached weights to my forehead.

“Drive,” a man's voice said. The car peeled out onto the road.

“We need to work fast—we have about three minutes before she passes out.”

This voice I did recognize. It still echoed through my memories. Vaughn's tone was sharp and it made me wince to hear it, like his words could pierce me.

“Vaughn?” I heard my voice, heavy, like it was dripping through the air.

It was too hard to think. My brain was clenched hard like a fist, and then it suddenly relaxed. My thoughts flooded out. My mind, what I worked so hard to keep safe and private, ran out like a caged animal set free. I wanted to chase it, to call it back.

“Madeline.” His voice hovered around me. It crawled inside me. My thoughts scattered. They ran up mountains, they slipped into cracks, they hid in knots of darkness. They sprang and flew. My head fell back against the seat as we turned a corner.

“We're going to lose her soon,” the man next to me said. His voice sounded like Paul's, but my neck was too loose to turn and look at him. He stuck an electrode to the side of my head and monitored lines on a screen in front of me.

“Tell me what your dad's doing,” Vaughn said.

My eyes blinked shut and I had to force them open.
My dad?
I didn't know if I was speaking out loud. My own voice sounded distant, like my words could fly. Then they shot back at me in a slow echo.

“Who does your dad work for?” he demanded.

“You,” I mumbled. “He works for you.”

“Who else?”

“No one,” I muttered. My mouth was dry. I tried to wet my lips, but my tongue felt like sandpaper.

“Who are his connections with the rebels?”

His questions made no sense. “He's fighting the rebels. He's against us.”

“Start talking, Madeline!” he shouted. “What do you know?”

“Nothing. There's no one else.”

“She's telling the truth,” someone said. “Or we gave her too strong of a dose so she can't remember anything.”

“Who does your dad know on your side?” Vaughn demanded. “Who are his connections? Is it you, Madeline?”

“No. He's fighting me. He doesn't trust me.”

I slowly shook my head, confused and exhausted.

“I need answers!” Vaughn shouted. “Tell me what your father is planning.”

My voice was too dry. It felt like my tongue was swelling in my mouth. I couldn't form another word.

“She doesn't know anything,” Paul grumbled. “You want me to finish her off?”

“She's staying alive until we pry that information out of her head. Where's the nearest lab?” Vaughn demanded.

A white light suddenly filled the back car window, illuminating Vaughn's face in the passenger seat in front of me. His wild blue eyes glared at the car behind us.

There were two muffled shots, and the car tires thumped like we'd hit a sharp speed bump.

“Back tires blew out,” the driver muttered with a curse, and the car started to swerve toward the curb. The driver slammed on the brakes, and I crashed forward into the seat in front of me. The next thing I knew, the door swung open and I started to lean and slip out, my body as viscous as water. I fell into hands that picked me up. I knew the hands. I knew the voice.

“I've got you,” Justin said.

How?
I wondered, but I couldn't tell if I spoke the question.

“Molly!” Justin shouted. “I need you to look her over.”

Justin yelled more orders, and there was a scuffling of feet and voices. Cars screeched and doors opened and slammed shut. An engine roared and tires peeled off.

“Riley, can you get another car?” Justin called behind him. “Molly, you need to stick with us.”

“Justin, chase them down!” I heard Scott shout.

“I'm staying with Maddie.”

“That was Vaughn,” Molly cried. “Somebody go after him!”

“Would you please just look at Maddie?” Justin shouted. “Send somebody to pick up her mom.”

My eyes didn't work. I couldn't tell if they were open or closed. Justin was carrying me. My feet dangled and jostled in the air.

“How?” It was the only thing I could say. I opened my eyes a slit, and Justin pressed an earpod into his ear and started talking.

“I've got her,” he said. “Vaughn drugged her.” There was a pause before he continued. “I don't know—we're checking her out right now.”

He set me down lightly in the back seat of a car. His hands never left me. I could feel them shaking as they held me.

“Don't start giving me orders,” Justin snapped. “I did one favor. For Maddie.”

Molly sat on the other side of me, and I could feel her hands checking my pulse. I leaned into Justin's arms as the car pulled onto the street.

I finally muttered the sentence ripping through my mind.

“How long have you been working for my dad?”

It was all I had the energy to say. I let myself slip into the smooth darkness.

I woke up to a smell I didn't recognize—citrusy, like an orange. Something cold and wet wiggled its way into the crook of my neck, and I shoved it away. A familiar warm tongue lapped my cheek, and an anxious whine filled my ears.

“Baley,” I groaned, and pushed her nose away and blinked my eyes open. I was lying on a brown couch in a room I didn't recognize. A row of windows behind the couch looked out into a green arboretum. I thought it was a wall-screen program until I recognized the painted murals and wood benches. I pulled back a sleeping bag cover to reveal my tattered jeans and the white gauze tape covering my knee. I stretched my leg and my knee was tight and stiff.

My mom walked into the room, carrying a plate full of orange slices and toast.

“What happened?” I asked. “What are we doing here?” She bent over me and softly brushed a few strands of hair off my forehead. She checked my temperature the way mothers do, by pressing her lips to my forehead for a few seconds. Her breaths stirred my hair and it was calming. When I was little, she told me she could kiss all my pain away. If I had a cold or the flu, she could press her lips to my forehead and pull it out. I always believed it. You always want to believe that people and love can save you. I never stopped believing it. Maybe I was foolish, or maybe it was my greatest strength.

I gazed up at her, groggy and confused. My mind felt like it was trudging through floodwaters. I sat up and looked around Jax's apartment. Baley's nails tapped against the floor, and I looked up to see Justin standing in the doorway. He stooped down to scratch Baley, and she arched her neck like a cat.