The Reader Page 9

  “What? I mean, no. Well, I do feel irritation if that counts.”

  Liar.

  She laughed. “You’re going to have to get past your irritation before you kiss him.”

  “Wait. What do you mean, kiss him? I’m not going to kiss him.”

  “Devon, Markus, Archer, and I have to kiss all the new Readers. You didn’t know that? It’s no big deal. The Elders want to be able to rule out the soul mate thing. Just in case.”

  “They can’t make me, can they?” I held my hands together in an attempt to hide the trembling.

  “No, of course not. But aren’t you curious? I’ve kissed plenty of new Readers over the years. Just a quick peck on the lips is all that’s needed. Easy.” She shrugged.

  Devon’s lips were full and soft looking. I didn’t think a kiss with him would be quick or easy.

  Uh oh. I wanted to kiss Devon.

  “Your face is doing that flushing thing again. Don’t worry, you can wait as long as you like. Once, in the nineteen-twenties, I made a Reader wait for two years.”

  “Why?” That seemed like a long time.

  “Adam was pompous and arrogant.” She giggled. “And those were his best qualities. Yeah, he needed to be taken down a notch or two. I’ll point him out to you next time I see him.”

  “Sounds familiar.” I winked, half-joking.

  “Devon does seem that way on the surface. But he’s really great when he lets down his guard.” Her face softened. “I wouldn’t mind, you know, if you decided to pursue things.”

  “With Devon? Uh-uh. He disapproves of everything I do. You saw him earlier.”

  “Yeah. His reaction was interesting. Either he thinks of you as a sister, or . . . something else. It’ll be fun to see which.” We stood outside the door to the Hub. “All ready?”

  “No.” I laughed.

  She gave my hand a little tug and pulled me inside.

  “Holy cow.”

  I expected a 1950s theme with a jukebox, poodle skirts, and Hula Hoops . . . but, instead, we were greeted with a simple elegance. White linen cloths draped over the wood tables, china plates, and sparkling silverware transformed the room. A crystal vase with a single rose sat in the middle of each table. Apparently, Susie went for a different type of fifties atmosphere.

  Around a hundred Readers were clustered in small groups, talking and laughing, their voices mingling with the Frank Sinatra tune floating from the speakers. Twinkling lights were strung, crisscrossing around the ceiling, casting a warm and festive glow around the room.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Archer asked.

  I jumped back. “Where did you come from?”

  “I told you; I’m always watching your back.” He smiled and took a step closer.

  “You’ll want to be careful tonight, Ann,” Devon warned.

  They were a team, but did they always have to be together?

  “Why is that?”

  “We’re Readers, not angels,” Devon said as his eyes scanned me again.

  “I can protect myself, remember?” I pretended to crack my knuckles and grinned. It earned me a half-smile.

  “Yeah. I still have the limp.” This time, I was assaulted by his full smile. Something small and annoying fluttered in my stomach.

  Stop that.

  “Come on. Let’s grab a table and order some appetizers from the waiters.” Lucy beckoned us to a table close to the dance floor.

  “Waiters? Since when?” I asked.

  “We all volunteer for birthday parties, anniversaries, weddings—any kind of celebration. I have a shift next month. You should come and do it with me. We get to wear uniforms and everything.”

  I smiled. Every day, I fell more in love with my new home. A sense of belonging replaced the ache of loneliness. The emptiness had become manageable now because of this small community I’d come to trust.

  I sat at the table with Lucy and studied the menu.

  “May I have this dance?” Archer stretched out his hand.

  “Oh. I didn’t expect . . . I mean, I’m not prepared.” This didn’t fit my plan to politely decline any type of dancing tonight. First, I didn’t know how. Second, because of the deadly contraptions called heels Lucy coaxed me to wear. I had to fess up. “Dancing and me, well, we don’t mix well.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll teach you.”

  With the expectant little-boy expression on his face, I didn’t have the heart to say no.

  “I’ll try, but don’t blame me if I step on your toes.”

  “I welcome it.”

  His black-tie suit was tailored to show off his trimmed and toned body. His hair was a little messy, with his blonder streaks interweaved with the darker shades and textures, making him look like he’d just come off a tropical beach. He spent a lot of time in the greenhouse, turning his skin a smooth, golden brown. Handsome was not an adequate word to describe him.

  Every time I was pulled toward Devon, Archer would say or do something that would draw me away. His timing was spot-on.

  “You have yourself a dance partner.” I let him tug me out of the chair and lead me to the center of the raised dance floor. He nodded to the DJ, and another song began to play. “This is nice. Who is it?” I asked.

  “You should be learning about Nat King Cole in your music class. It released in the early 1950s. Have you listened to his music?” He stepped closer.

  “Not yet. But I love this song so far.”

  Archer pulled me into his arms and placed his warm hand on my back. “Just lean into me, and I’ll show you what to do.”

  I took his advice. His hold on my back tightened, and he bent down a little and sang along with the song, “Unforgettable, that’s what you are.”

  Goosebumps popped up along my arms and legs. He continued to sway me to the music while he sang softly in my ear. Oh, this was nice, and he smelled so good. Like fresh linens and a light cologne.

  Were goosebumps similar to tingles? For the sake of avoiding complications—well, Devon, and his disapproving looks and moodiness—I hoped I’d bond with anyone except him.

  Please, oh, please let it be Archer. He always made me laugh and stayed out of the “friend” or “brother” category with his gentle touches during class or his ability to stop any alone time I might have with Devon.

  Archer pressed against me even closer and whispered, “I want to kiss you, Ann. No, I take that back. I need to kiss you. I’m dying here.” He continued to run his hands up and down my back, creating a firestorm of emotions.

  Warmth turned to red-hot heat. My fingers clutched the back of his coat, pulling.

  “We’ll have to kiss sooner or later for the Elders, so why not sooner?” he asked.

  I smiled. “So, let me get this straight. You want to kiss me for a bunch of old people?”

  “No. It’s because I feel . . .” Now his lips were on my neck, barely brushing back and forth. If he didn’t stop, I might do something foolish, like kiss him in front of everyone at the party.

  He bent his knees so we were eye-to-eye, so close I smelled the minty toothpaste on his breath. His eyes glanced down at my lips and lifted back up, searching for my response. I nodded once.

  Devon tapped on Archer’s arm. “The song has ended.” How did he do that, always show up at the most awkward moments?

  Archer sighed and dropped his head on my shoulder. He groaned. “So close.” We both laughed.

  He took my hand and led us back to the table. I sat next to Lucy, who clasped my hand under the table. “What the . . . what was that?”

  “What?” I asked, making sure my expression was the picture of innocence.

  “Archer. You know what I’m talking about.” She moved closer. “Devon looked like he’d blow a gasket. I’ve ruled out brotherly feelings.”

  A screeching noise from the speakers interrupted her interrogation.

  “That noise.” I covered my ears.

  “I don’t kn—”

  This is USA Radio Network. This broa
dcast is brought to you by USA Network, Seattle, bringing you the headlines from the US and the World. I’m Steven Bishop, and here are today’s top stories.

  Lucy took a firm hold of my arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait. What’s going on?”

  “Police have released new information on the Ann Baker Case, the eighteen-year-old wanted for the murder of her parents, Don & Laurin Baker. Ms. Baker was believed dead after diving into the cold waters of Elliott Bay after being shot by Seattle Police. A remnant of clothing retrieved from Lopez Island, part of the San Juan Islands, revealed matching DNA . . .”

  My head felt light, and my heart beat so fast, I was sure it would burst.

  “Lucy.” I rubbed my arm where the bullet wound had healed. “The police shot me? I thought maybe the Jacks had. Why didn’t you tell me? Is this why I’m not allowed out? Everyone here believes I’m a murderer?”

  “No. No.” Tears welled in Lucy’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you.”

  “It’s true?” Betrayal clawed and ripped through the shock. I looked around the room. The party atmosphere had come to a complete halt. Every pair of eyes were on me. Everyone knew.

  I got up from the table. The fury, disappointment, sadness, and, finally—loneliness were staggering. My emotions were so excruciating, my chest squeezed where my heart pounded. Painful enough to kill me, or at least, strong enough to make me want to die. Nothing here was real. Too many half-truths and lies. “I’m going to the bathroom. I need a few minutes.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Lucy stood next to me.

  “Alone. I need to go alone. Can you give me a few minutes, please?”

  She fidgeted with the hem on her dress and muttered, “Okay. But don’t be long. We need to talk about this.”

  I left the room. Another flash of my parents smiling faces came and left before I could grab onto the memory. If they wouldn’t give me the answers I needed, I’d get them myself.

  One thing I knew for sure. I didn’t kill my parents, but I’d find out who did. But I couldn’t do it from inside the compound.

  They want to shut me out of my own life? Well, think again.

  I would break out of this place, and no one could stop me.

  How long would it be before they noticed my disappearance? I kicked off my heels and chucked them in a garbage can on the way back to my room. My hands grabbed onto the delicate fabric of my dress, and I yanked it off over my head. I stepped into my closet, picking up and tossing the needed items onto my bed. After slipping on jeans and a t-shirt, I pulled my book bag off the floor. I dumped the contents and packed two pairs of jeans, sweaters, a warm jacket, underwear, toiletries, and an extra pair of comfortable shoes.

  I stopped. My books. I ran my finger over their smooth surface, already missing the life I thought I had. The life I wanted.

  Quit waiting around. Find the truth.

  With the bag over my shoulder, I grabbed a knife and flashlight from the kitchen drawer, stuffing them in with my other supplies.

  How to get out of the compound? Ugh. I headed out my door, clueless. Think. Perhaps I could hide in the back of a delivery truck? But all the truck drivers were Readers, so they might recognize me. Nope. That won’t work.

  Lucy . . . laundry.

  The vents.

  Lucy hated laundry duty and would often drag me along. I reversed my direction and doubled my speed to the west side of the compound. The laundry room had big vents that had to go somewhere. It was one of the few places I had access.

  The blood in my veins rushed so hard, it reverberated in my ears, making it difficult to hear anything around me. I practiced deep breathing, hoping to appear relaxed in case I passed anyone in the corridor.

  I made it to the laundry room, placed my hand on the entry pad, and prayed. If access was denied, that would mean one thing—they knew of my plans. The door clicked open, and I sighed in relief. My eyes scanned around the room. Empty. I headed toward the dryers. Sure enough, huge industrial tubes, attached to the back of the dryers, went into a wall leading who knew where, but I was about to find out.

  I squeezed behind the large dryer and pulled on the tube. It was stuck on with a few screws and a metal ring. The knife shook as I pressed and turned firmly to remove the screws. I tugged it free. Wow. This was going to be a tight squeeze, but doable.

  The laundry room door squeaked open and closed. “Ann’s not going to be in here. What, she’s going to fold her clothes before making a big escape?” Becca from my art history class asked, standing only a few feet from my hiding place.

  I prayed they wouldn’t see me. Beads of sweat dampened my forehead.

  “I know. I mean, why would she leave Samara? She’d have the cops and Jacks all over her. It’s not safe,” a male voice I didn’t recognize said.

  “Yeah, you’re right. She wouldn’t leave. She’s probably in one of the classrooms, wanting to be alone. I’ll bet it was hard for her to find out her parents were murdered like that.” They left the room, and the door clicked shut behind them.

  The police and Jacks waited for me on the outside. I paused, looking at my escape tube. What was the alternative? My desire to know overpowered the temptation to go back to my warm, safe room.

  For now, everyone would think I was off brooding on my own. But that wouldn’t last. Back to the tube. Could I do this? What would happen if I became stuck? Or if I suffered a panic attack and passed out?

  Stop it. You can do this.

  I pushed my bag in first, took a deep calming breath, and crawled into the tube, still warm from the last load of clothes. By grabbing onto a metal ring every few feet, I was able to pull myself forward, working my way out of the main laundry area. The farther I went, the darker it became. My hand dug around my escape bag and landed on the flashlight. I flipped it on and illuminated the tube across a long corridor that would hopefully lead me out. Except, about twenty feet away, two red dots appeared . . .

  Eyes.

  My hand slapped over my mouth to muffle the scream that wanted to escape. Really? A rat, or mouse. The distinction didn’t matter. The disgusting creature was here, with me.

  I put my head against the cool metal duct. “Shoo,” I hissed. Of course, he didn’t leave.

  If that rodent knew what was good for him, he’d hightail it out before my flashlight landed on him. My stomach turned.

  “Go bye-bye, little mousey.” I waved my flashlight at him. He stayed still, watching me. When I inched toward him, he finally skittered off.

  Smart mouse.

  I rounded the first corner, and a little bit of light cut through the darkness. Still moving forward, excitement replaced the dread and fear from a few minutes ago. I wiped my forehead with my shirt.

  A lint filter was my last barrier. I gave it a good yank, and it loosened. A few more pushes and pulls and I had it out.

  My bag went out the opening first. I crawled out and jumped down a three-foot drop. Freedom. I’d done it. I breathed in the cool, autumn air and tipped my head back, turning my face to the sky. The moon, bright and beautiful, gave me the needed light to move forward.

  I brushed off my filthy jeans, and threw on my warm coat. I wasn’t in the clear yet. The next hurdle would be the guard at the entrance.

  I closed my eyes and brought back the map in my head of all the turns from the guard station to the compound. My other option was the cement wall with the thin wire running along the top that enclosed the entire neighborhood. Not wanting to find out what that wire was all about, I knew slipping past the guard at the main gate would be my best option.

  I kept in a crouched position, darting in and out of the trees, avoiding all the houses until I made it to the guardhouse. The uniformed man inside leaned back in his chair, eating a sandwich.

  No one knew I was out.

  The phone rang, and he turned to answer it. This was my chance. I sprinted under his line of sight, out into the night.

  I ran fast, all knees and elbows flying as an alarm w
ent off. The clanking of the gates signaled their closure. My head turned as I searched for the best route. The roads would be too risky. I’d duck into the woods and wait until morning. Maybe they’d spend all night searching the houses. If that was the case, I had myself a good head start.

  Stiffness and freezing cold temperatures greeted me upon first waking. Curled up into a ball with leaves piled over me to keep me warm hadn’t worked. I stood up, stretched, and enjoyed the warmth of the morning sun.

  Suddenly, realization struck. This was the first time I’d been alone since the beach. Completely alone. Tears stung my eyes. My fists tightened, and I dredged up the determination to move forward. Once I learned more about my parents and what had happened, maybe it would spark something.

  I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop. Not until I found the truth.

  A plan was what I needed. First up—a disguise. If the police were looking for me, I wouldn’t make their job easy. A grocery store should have hair color and scissors. Out here in North Bend, they most likely wouldn’t be looking for a girl on the run.

  I dodged through the woods, following the direction of the cars on the highway. After an exhausting two hours, I spied a little town next to the freeway. Before walking out from the safety of the forest, I checked for the Jeep Devon drove, but it was nowhere to be seen. With shoulders straight, I strode into the little grocery store like I owned the place.

  Wow. She’s hot.

  A young clerk, about sixteen, sat at attention behind the checkout counter. “May I help you?” he asked.

  I’d do anything for you. I could be your love slave.

  My head veered back in his direction.

  A wide grin spread across his face.

  “What? What did you say?” This kid was a creep.

  “I just asked if I could help you find anything?”

  Oh, now he acts all innocent.

  Look at that bimbo flirting with the kid.

  I turned to see a forty-something woman with bleach-blond hair, staring at me.

  “Who’s the bimbo?” I asked her, seething.