The Reader Page 10

  She stared for a moment, eyes wide, and dropped her bag of flour.

  After her startled look, comprehension struck. Uh oh. I must have heard her thoughts. And it must have been the kid’s thoughts as well. My heart raced, and I broke into a sweat.

  I am a Reader after all.

  Keep it together.

  “You—you.” Her eyes widened. “You’re the—” She ran from the store yelling, “Don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me.”

  The media. Everyone believed I was some murderer.

  “Do you really want to help me?” I asked the stunned kid.

  He swallowed. “I have to go home. My mom’s waiting for me.”

  She’s going to kill me now, I know it.

  Ugh. Just what I thought. Best to get on with it.

  “Here come with me.” I pulled him along. “I have to get some hair color. Where is it?”

  He picked a box off the shelf.

  “No, not blond. Grab the black. Never mind, I’ll take both.” Just in case he’s questioned by police, I didn’t want to tip them off.

  “Oh, and where are the scissors?”

  “Over here. Which ones?” He held up two.

  “The larger pair. Now I just need water and some snacks”

  “They’re at the register.”

  “Perfect, because I’m going to need some money.”

  He winced, his body deflating.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll return it all in a few days. Do you have a car?”

  Not my Mustang!

  “When I’m done with it, I’ll drop it safe and sound at . . . the Space Needle. How about that?”

  He dug in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. Closing his eyes, he dropped them into my waiting hand.

  Back in the parking lot, I threw the bag with the supplies on the passenger seat, got in, and peeled out. Poor kid. Oh well, he’d get over it, and have a good story to tell his friends. Once on the road, I let the store incident sink in. I was a Reader. They hadn’t lied about everything. I took small comfort from that.

  After a few blocks, I pulled over into a nice, safe-looking neighborhood. Not Seattle. Sorry, kid, the police would be on high alert. It was just the type of place where people would forget to lock their car doors.

  Sure enough, after three tries, the door of a Ford Taurus opened. I pulled out my knife and removed the plastic panels covering the steering column. Crouching under the wheel, I examined the car’s ignition lock, the ignition, and starter motor. A wiring diagram flashed into my head. I tugged loose the wires and prepared to connect them. First the dash lights came on, and, after the third wire was added, the car started.

  How in the world did I know how to do this?

  My getaway with the new car would only give me an hour, tops. The police would most likely find the Mustang and figure out another car had been stolen. To remain undetected, I’d need to repeat this at least three more times before I made it to Seattle.

  Two hours, a haircut, color change, and three cars later, I parked in the lot of the Seattle Public Library.

  I approached the librarian behind the counter. “Can I use one of the computers? I have some homework.” I motioned to my backpack.

  “You need a library card.” She went back to her filing.

  “Uh. I don’t have one. My purse was stolen from my car yesterday, and they took everything.” I blinked trying to look like I was holding back tears.

  Oh, that poor girl.

  “My dear, that’s terrible. I’ll get you a guest pass.” She reached under the counter and handed it to me with a sympathetic smile.

  “Thank you.” I sniffed one more time for good measure. That wasn’t so difficult.

  Now I needed to find a computer away from people. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate with a crowd of thoughts interfering.

  Once I settled in and began reading through all the articles about my parents, I soon discovered it was harder than I thought. So many things twisted inside my gut. Memories I had repressed?

  They were college professors, working together at North Seattle University. Their specialty was telekinesis and, no surprise, mind-reading.

  What were you trying to accomplish? And why did someone kill you?

  The articles about me read like a trashy gossip magazine, sensationalizing the murders and implying I had something to do with it. The police didn’t have any concrete evidence against me. I almost groaned out loud when I read, ‘The young and beautiful Ms. Baker had acted strangely during questioning.’ All they cared about was drama—selling more papers. Also, who wouldn’t act off? My parents had just died. What did they expect? The big scandal was the fact I had disarmed a cop and escaped.

  The next line stopped my breath.

  No.

  Dr. Don Baker and Dr. Laurin Baker both perished in a house fire. The Fire Marshal deemed the fire suspicious, and has ordered an arson investigation.

  I closed my eyes and let the wave of emotion hit. Guilt clawed its way up my throat. Could I have saved them? Where was I during all this? I continued to flip through every news article available without gaining any more information.

  Time to take action. I needed answers. We had lived on Capitol Hill, a residential neighborhood a few miles from the city center, according to one of the articles. My new destination.

  The next two hours were spent driving down unfamiliar streets in the most eclectic neighborhood imaginable. On one street corner, a drug deal went down, on the next sat an expensive French restaurant. The houses also varied, from dilapidated to multi-million dollar mansions. I crossed over Broadway Avenue into one of the oldest neighborhoods in Seattle.

  At least, that’s what the sign stated. The large homes were elegant with their columns and brick masonry. Huge front porches with rocking chairs and impeccable landscaping added to their beauty. I slowed and stopped in front of a house with a chain-link fence and crime tape hanging around the exterior. The house appeared vacant—dark. After closer inspection, black smoke stains up the west side of the house from the first floor reaching to the second confirmed it. This was it.

  I put my head on the steering wheel and waited, half expecting my entire life to come rushing back.

  Nothing. Not one single memory.

  I’d need to get in the house somehow. Maybe if I touched the walls or found a personal item it would spark something. Anything. I scanned up and down the street for suspicious activity. I pulled the hoodie up over my head and got out of the truck.

  A walk around the neighborhood would give me the opportunity to see if anyone or anything seemed out of place. I cleared my head, hoping to catch a thought or two, but it appeared my ability to mind-read only reached a few feet away. Probably a good thing.

  I circled the block, decided it was safe, and approached the house from the back alley. I shimmied under a small opening in the fence, wiped off the dirt, and walked to the back door. My hand twisted the doorknob and found it open. Police. They were so sloppy.

  Inside, the damp, stagnant air made the hairs in my nose burn, and I rubbed it, trying to rid myself of the sensation. Traces of smoke lingered, but the smell of mold overpowered it. Sections of ceiling hung loose, and plaster fragments littered the floor. I avoided them and moved into the kitchen area. It wasn’t any better. Between the fire and the subsequent police investigation, everything was in shambles. Overturned chairs, cupboard doors left open, grease spots on the floor, and broken dishes cluttered the countertops.

  Not everything was broken though. A mug with Best Dad in bold lettering sat undisturbed next to the sink. I picked it up, held it to my chest, and let the sadness sweep through me.

  Please let me remember them.

  “Too little, too late, Sweetcakes,” a strange voice said.

  I whipped around, still clutching the cup.

  “Your memory won’t come back for at least another year.” He smirked. A big man, probably six-foot-five, stood by the door I’d just come through. His large, protruding stomach added
to his already large frame.

  “How would you know that? Who are you?”

  “I’m just a guy. But now, I’ll be a hero. We’ve been tracking you for centuries.” He pulled a gun from his jacket. “Don’t worry. I won’t shoot unless you try to get away.” With his other hand, he pulled out a phone, punched a number, and said, “I’ve got her.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Devon?

  I turned to see him in the doorway on the other side of the kitchen.

  I closed my eyes, the relief overwhelming. But when I opened them again, the other man was grinning.

  “Well, well, well. The great Devon Dionysius. I never thought I’d see the day. Either she’s the Lost One, or you think she is. You’ve taken a risk coming after her, and you failed.” His smile remained smug.

  Devon leaned against the counter. “No, she took something of mine when she left. Once I get it back, you can have her. She’s useless to us.”

  What? I glared at Devon, but he kept his eyes on the other man.

  His eyebrow rose. “Just like that?”

  Devon crossed his arms. “Just like that.”

  My mouth fell open, and I shook my head. If I were closer, I’d smash Devon with my flashlight like I’d planned to do with the rodent.

  For God’s sake, if you can hear me, go along with it.

  I glanced over to the heavy-set man to see if he’d reacted to Devon’s thought. He stared at me with one eyebrow raised. What a relief. He hadn’t looked at Devon or heard his voice.

  “So what? It’s only a necklace.” I rolled my eyes.

  “That belonged to my mother,” Devon said through gritted teeth. I’d have to congratulate him on his acting skills later. If we got out of this mess.

  Grab anything and use it like the Kubotan.

  Devon’s thoughts distracted me, making it hard to keep the flow of conversation realistic. “I had to have something to pawn.” I shrugged.

  “No way. I can’t believe it,” said another gun-slinging mountain of a man who entered the kitchen. He stared at Devon with wide eyes.

  We were doomed.

  “We should probably kneel before His Highness.” He laughed and turned his three-hundred-pound-plus body to his partner. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “We’ll kill him, of course,” the first man said in a bored voice.

  “The Agreement?” Devon’s hands curled into fists.

  The first man waved him off. “That thing? It was written over two thousand years ago. It doesn’t apply anymore. We’ve had a bounty on your head for years. Coming here, where you knew we’d be waiting, was a big mistake.” He leered. “I don’t know if I’m more excited to kill you, or to capture the girl.”

  They wanted to kill Devon? The fury that raged through my blood was so potent, every fiber came to attention. A picture of what I needed to do formed in my brain. Every move choreographed down to how many breaths I’d take.

  “If you break The Agreement, there’ll be war.” Devon didn’t take his eyes off the first man.

  “Do you think we care? We’ll win now that we have the Lost One.” He shifted and grinned at his partner.

  The huge man said in a low voice, “Maybe we shouldn’t kill him yet. We need The Lost One. Devon doesn’t seem too interested.”

  “Are you dim-witted? We have the girl; she’s the one.” He turned to me with a menacing grin. “You’ll help us, won’t you, Sweetcakes?”

  “Help you? How am I supposed to help you when I don’t even remember my own name?” I knew in that moment, all the people I’d come to care about were in grave danger. I shouldn’t have run off on my own. Stupid. Stupid.

  “A little truth serum and torture will rectify that.” He pushed numbers into his cell. “We’re ready. Pull the van into the back alley.”

  Time to put my plan into action. I picked up the bag at my feet.

  Two guns aimed at my head.

  Unafraid and in the zone, I asked, “What? I can’t bring my things?”

  “Put the bag on the table. Slowly,” the first man instructed.

  The table sat two feet from them. With my emotions now under control, power started to build inside me. I placed the bag on the table and slowly tipped it over. I held the knife through the fabric so it wouldn’t fall out. The items would seem benign, but they wouldn’t be for long.

  I closed my eyes and focused. A strange calm came over me. I didn’t even need Devon to help. These men were going down.

  “Just a second. I need to get the necklace.” I reached into the bag. Once my fingers were around the knife, I said a quick prayer, aimed, and, with every inch of strength and momentum, threw it. It struck the first man just above the triceps. He screamed and dropped his gun. Without wasting a second, I flung the flashlight across the room, hitting the second man between the eyes. He slumped to the floor with a loud thud. The first man pulled the knife out and went for his gun. Devon tackled him, and they struggled on the floor. I grabbed the assault weapon from the unconscious man and located the bolt handle and ammunition.

  I raised the gun, aimed, and yelled, “Stop.”

  The man had his arm around Devon’s neck and held the gun to his head.

  Shoot me, then him. It’s the only way to save yourself. Devon’s thought. His eyes locked on mine, hard and resolute.

  “It’s time to give up, little girl. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” The first man’s soulless eyes narrowed.

  Oh, is that right?

  My vision aimed and zoomed to his right forefinger. I breathed out and fired. His finger disappeared into shards of flesh and bone, his gun dropping to the ground.

  “Don’t pick it up,” I warned.

  Devon inched toward the gun, but the first man tried to retrieve it with his good hand.

  I cleared the rifle and shot both shoulders in quick succession. He rolled on the ground and shrieked.

  The larger man groaned. I turned the gun his way. He lifted his head up, noticed the AK47 aimed at him, and dropped back to the floor, closing his eyes. Either he fainted or pretended to, but, in either case, it was a good move for him.

  Devon grabbed my arm. “Move. Now. They have men placed in the alley. We’ll need to go out the front door.”

  “Okay. I’ll follow you.”

  He examined me for an extra beat.

  “I’ve learned my lesson. I shouldn’t have come. Let’s go.”

  “I’m parked around the corner. You’ll need to leave the gun.”

  I clutched the AK47 to my chest. “We might need it.”

  “The police still make unscheduled rounds, checking on the house.”

  I groaned. “I might regret this.” I released the magazine, put the ammunition in my bag, and tucked the rifle under some bushes by the front porch.

  “This way.” He motioned. “I cut a hole in the fence over there. Try not to be obvious.”

  “We’re crawling through a fence. If someone’s looking, I don’t think we’ll fool them.”

  “I meant—Oh, never mind. Just be quick,” he groaned.

  We slipped through and strolled along the sidewalk like we didn’t have a care in the world. I would have laughed if the situation weren’t so serious.

  Once we got into the Jeep, Devon started the engine, gunned the gas, and roared out.

  “I thought we were attempting to appear calm and collected. You’re driving like a maniac.” I clung to the seat and door handle.

  “The Jacks in the backyard were ready to go. Once they figure out we’ve escaped, they’ll be on the road, searching for us. We don’t need another shoot-out, especially since we don’t have any guns.” He glanced at me. “You didn’t sneak any guns out, did you?

  “Just the small one from . . . what were their names anyway?”

  “The first one’s name is John. Last time I met him, he was in a different form. I knew him as soon as he called you Sweetcakes. That man is scum.”

  “I took John’s gun.�
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  He rubbed his face. “We have to talk.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t want to take you back to Samara.” His eyes refused to look at me.

  My heart sank, and feelings of shame spread through me. “I know. I don’t blame you. It was a stupid, emotional move. I put you and all the Readers at risk. I thought I could do this on my own. I’m so sorry.”

  My escape, my impulsive plan and what I’d done, came crashing down on me. I placed my hands over my face and cried softly. For my parents, my lost memory, and for losing my new life at Samara. “I don’t deserve to go back. I’m too stupid. Or selfish. Take your pick.”

  “That’s not the reason. I don’t want you to go back unless you want to stay with me. I . . . I mean, we can’t worry about you doing this again. We can’t protect you on the outside.”

  “Okay. I understand.” I wiped my nose. “It was strange how he said my memory wouldn’t come back for a year. That seems like a specific guess.”

  “We just received a report the Jacks have a formula to simulate amnesia. Our source told us they haven’t perfected it yet, so the effects wear off after about fourteen months. It’s part of their strategy to inhabit new bodies. I wish we would have known this when you first came to us. Maybe we could have started on an antidote.”

  “You might be able to bring back my memories?”

  “No promises, but there’s a chance.”

  “Devon?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to go back, but only if you answer all my questions—all of them. I’m stronger now. I can handle it.”

  His lips curved up. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  Compliments were always great, but from Devon, it was momentous.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I’ve never seen anyone with reflexes like you. It was like you had your plan down to within centimeters. Your aim is phenomenal.”

  “I want to go home.”

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Which home?”

  “Our home. Samara.” A thought occurred to me. “Is Archer all right? You two are always together.”

  He swallowed. “I came out here without permission. It wasn’t sanctioned.”

  “What does that mean?”