A Vault of Sins (18 page)

I pick one container up, studying the iris inside the contact. Luckily we both have brown eyes. “For the Vault?”

“Yes,” Maliyah says. “Assuming the layout of Compass Room J is the same as C, the Vault will be beneath the lodge. You should be able to access a port that will feed data directly into your chip and store it there. But be careful. From the outside, the Vault looks like an empty room, but data is processed inside of it at such a delicate, rapid pace that if your chip is exposed to it without the vessel of the port, you’ll end up frying your brain.”

I raise my eyebrows, but she isn’t joking. “Seriously?”

“Yes, well, you’ll fry your brain
and
the Vault.”

I run my finger along the lip of my mug. “Seems like the Vault is a little sensitive to be the sole proprietor of Compass Room data.”

“It’s a fail safe,” says Maliyah. “In case someone tries to hack it.”

I narrow my eyes. “So if there is the smallest likelihood that the Vault is being hacked, it self-destructs.”

Maliyah nods.

“What the fuck are they hiding?”

She purses her thin lips and leans back in her chair. “Data they’d rather lose then have found.”

Reprise is on to something. They have to be. They lied during the trial, but that wasn’t just to cover up what really goes on inside the Compass Room.

“Please remember that your life and Valerie’s life are more important, so if you feel like the mission is compromised in any way, forget the Vault, and get the two of you out of there.”

I nod. She’s about to say something else when the front door opens.

Casey hobbles in, his arm wrapped around Wes’s shoulders. Wes releases him, and Casey slides down the nearest wall, pale, sweaty, and clutching his hip.

I stand up so fast that I knock my chair over. “Casey?”

As I run to him, my eyes meet Wes’s. His nod is barely a shiver.

***

Fifteen minutes later, Casey is resting on the couch, a paper sheet on top of his lap. Piper has attached an x-ray scanner to the feed, and we all watch her glide the device over his hip, the image flickering to the wall.

His replacement doesn’t look bone-like at all; it makes him look like he’s part cyborg. Reprise did this. They remade Casey’s hip just like they remade a Compass Room in their own back yard, just like they remade every element of our pasts on the virtual corkboard Piper toys with. Medicine, technology, data—I wonder the limit to their power.

Piper points to the ball joint. “Dislocated. Not something we can fix remotely.”

“He’ll need surgery then,” I say.

“Surgery?” Casey sits up straight, wincing at the movement. “No, no, I can’t have surgery. Not now. We’re sending the message to Gemma in three days!”

She nods. “It’s definitely possible without a hospital, however, the recovery time will be much longer. Possibly multiple weeks.”

“Can you do it?”

“I can do it. But until I do, it’ll be very painful to move around. Ice packs and hot baths will be key to making the next couple of days bearable. I don’t want to start surgery until you’re sent off, Evalyn.”

Casey stares down at his lap like it’s alien. An imposter. I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. “It will be fine,” I say. “We haven’t sent the message to Gemma yet. She doesn’t know you’re with me and this house is still safe.”

“Oh, I bet you’re just loving this, aren’t you?” He glares at me spitefully. “My hip breaking three days before we’re supposed to give ourselves up. You never wanted me to come with you.”

I don’t know what he sees when he looks at my face. I don’t know how well he can read me, but I do my damnedest to mask the truth. “I will never
love
watching you in pain. How could you say that?”

It’s a half-truth. I’m relieved at his pain, because it means that he won’t be risking his life.

I nod toward Piper. “Do what she says and try the hot and cold treatment. That’s all we can do at this point. Count your blessings, Casey.”

When I stand to retrieve a bag of frozen vegetables, he says. “My blessings have nothing to do with my body.”

“He isn’t even making sense,” I grumble when I shuffle through the contents of the freezer.

“I think what he’s trying to say . . .” I jump. I didn’t realize Piper followed me into the kitchen. “Is that his body isn’t a blessing.”

“Okay . . .”

“Oh, Evalyn. You aren’t stupid.”

I finally tug out a bag of frozen broccoli and shut the freezer door, turning to her. “I know I’m not. He’s trying to say that his ability to walk means nothing compared to me. I’m his blessing.” I lean in close. “But here’s the thing. He’s mine. He never stopped being mine, and this is the best damn thing that’s happened since waking up here.
You know that
.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “I just feel so bad for him.”

I watch from the kitchen as Maliyah helps Casey stand from the couch. He can barely straighten his knees.

“He’ll be alive,” I mutter. “That’s all that matters.”

When Casey’s out of the room, Wes tells me what happened.

“He was doing great, actually. Moving all sorts of matter around so quickly, he’d lost concentration on what he was keeping track of. Used the opportunity to swipe his feet from beneath him with some low-lying brush and nail him in the hip with a rock. Happened so fast, he never saw it coming.”

“So he thinks he did it to himself.”

Wes nods. “I’m almost positive he doesn’t suspect me.”

Half of me wants to scream for joy, and the other half feels like a total monster. “Thank you,” I say. “And please, don’t ever—”

“If he ever finds out, it wasn’t your idea.” He holds up his pinkie and I roll my eyes, linking mine with his.

Pinkie promise.

Casey will never find out that I betrayed him.

***

Two days pass, and Casey remains silent.

Half his time is spent in the bath, using up all of the lodge’s hot water. No one blames him.

The other half of his time is spent with a bag of frozen vegetables on his lap, listening closely as all five of us nail down the plan for the Compass Room. Reprise’s team of hackers will arrive soon. By that time, I should be able to recite the plan in my sleep.

Casey sits in misery as we discuss every last detail over and over again. When we’ve thoroughly worn ourselves out for the day, Wes and I help him back up the stairs for another bath.

Sitting in the tub, he gazes out the French-paned window. His scars look more inflamed than normal, irritated by the amount of time that he’s spent in the water. When I begin to strip down, he doesn’t even look at me. I climb into the tub and sink down next to him, touching his cheek and trying to gain his attention, but he’s being stubborn.

“It’s too dangerous without me,” he says softly.

I try to make light of it. “If I’m not mistaken, I think I’ve saved your ass more times than you’ve saved mine.”

He isn’t amused. “What if you offer yourself up and they hold off on sending you in—or torture you—until you tell them where I am?”

“We aren’t surrendering until the contract is written up. They won’t be able to do any of that. Plus, there’s no evidence that they have any idea where you are.”

“We disappeared almost simultaneously.”

“It isn’t enough. Anyway, Casey, that isn’t what you’re upset about.”

He blinks. A tear slides down his cheek. I look out the window, toward where he is staring. New snow is falling gently toward the ground. Against the twilight of the sky, it gives the illusion that nothing in the world should be wrong.

“I am angry,” he says. “I’m so angry that I could kill something, but all of my energy is going toward this stupid fucking hip. I have to concentrate just to not throw up. I walk down the stairs and it feels like I’ve run a half-marathon.”

He’s been holding himself together. Even I didn’t realize that he was so bad.

I curl into the side of him, running my hand from his chest to his stomach. I dare to drift lower, to his hip. His body tenses, and his grimaces.

His eyes become desperate. “Rethink this. I know you love her, but please rethink this whole situation.”

I could rethink this. Maybe I should. Why send myself catapulting back into the hell of my past when I have Casey and freedom and everything I was so desperate for when I was in the Compass Room the first time?

I snap to my senses. “It’s Valerie. I can’t let her face the CR alone. You know that. And everything I can do to hurt the division if I can get to the Vault . . .”

“But that’s the thing, Evalyn! You’re risking your life to slow them down momentarily. You going in and fucking with the Compass Room may make Gemma more eager to kill you.”

I shake my head, but I’m not going to keep arguing with him.

Another tear trickles down Casey’s cheek. The only times I’ve seen him cry was when he was forced to relive the outcomes of his crime, or when mortal danger was upon either him or myself. When he was being beaten to death by the illusion of his father, when I killed Gordon and we were certain the CR would take me too. At this moment, the mortal danger is very present, but it’s a vapor—consumable, breathable—not suffocating us just yet.

“I’ll be okay,” I whisper.

“I’m not stupid.”

I know he isn’t. We’ve dealt with enough surprise tragedy to know that there are no rules concerning the phrase
I’ll be okay
.

“I finally have you where I want you,” he then says, like that’s going to make a difference. He should know that nothing we believe to be permanent will be with us forever. We’ve grown up. Loved ones have left us. We’ve taken lives.

And this is nothing different.

“Don’t cry like I’m already gone.” I reach up and wipe the tear from his cheek. He’s furious. It’s such a strange sight, Casey furious and unable to act upon it. Like for once in his life, he knows that it isn’t worth it.

I slide on top of him and kiss his slick skin, the water and steam reminding me of the hot spring and raw fear and our first kiss.

We truly have come full circle.

From RNC News Blog:

The FBI has released a statement saying that they believe Evalyn Ibarra’s and Casey Hargrove’s disappearance may be linked to the mysterious group of hacktivists called Reprise.

While the representative refused to release any further evidence, she encourages anyone with information relating directly to Ibarra, Hargrove, or Reprise to contact their local police department immediately.

I thought the villa was crowded before. I didn’t realize that it had the capability to fit fifteen extra analysts inside of it.

The couches in the living room have been pushed to the walls, giving room for temporary tables and the hardware and computers on top of them. Analysts scurry between machines, talking intensely to their peers as though the weight of the world rests solely on their shoulders.

Maybe it does.

They began arriving slowly last night by shuttle. Piper and Wes have moved into mine and Casey’s room with us for the time being to make as much space as possible for them. I can’t even begin to imagine what tonight will be like.

With my back pressed to the pine paneling of the living room like a wallflower, I soak in everything at once. Hackers ranging from their early twenties to their late seventies, dressed in every way from business suits to flannels and jeans. My team is amongst them—Maliyah, Piper, and Wes.

I glance around the room. The analyst next to us must be in his mid-seventies, dressed in flannel with a beard down to his chest. He nods when our eyes meet and returns to his work. Funny. Looks like the kind of person that existed fifty years ago, the kind that called computers “thingamabobs” and wanted nothing to do with them.

You can’t judge a book by its cover.

“Where’s Casey?” I ask.

“Out on the porch,” Maliyah responds. “Didn’t want to watch your message. Don’t blame him.” She smiles sadly before snapping herself out of it. “You ready?”

The plan is to stand against a blank wall, giving no clue as to where I am. It will take all fifteen analysts to make this stream of feed untraceable.

Hopefully.

I nod. “Let’s do this.”

I follow Maliyah to the space cleared just for me, and walk between the bare wall and the camera. I want to lean back, to press myself against the hard surface, but I can’t afford to appear vulnerable right now.

It’s eerie how quickly the room falls silent. I gaze across the sea of analysts. They wear earpieces as they sit in front of their machines, all looking as nervous as I feel.

“Remember,” begins Maliyah. “Nothing that gives away your location. They don’t know where you are. You have the upper hand. Demand, don’t ask.”

I swallow and stare at the black monitor before me, which suddenly flashes bright blue.

You sure you want to do this?

I exhale slowly through my mouth.

A pretty blonde wearing a headset appears. “Division of Judicial Technology,” she says before even looking at the call screen. “How may I connect—”

She finally glances at her monitor. I’ve never seen an expression shift from faux-cheerful to absolutely petrified so quickly.

She reaches off screen for something. Maybe the panic button. I begin to conjure up my villain voice. Sickly sweet and threatening all at once. “Please connect me to Gemma Branam immediately.”

***

It takes a bit of time for the connection to go through. The secretary must have alerted the entire building by now. Maybe they’re already trying to trace the signal.

I keep glancing up at the green light on the wall, letting us know that we haven’t been compromised yet.

Gemma finally appears on screen within the setting of a sleek government office. No one else is with her, or at least, in front of the camera. She tries to give off a smug and pleased illusion, but something glistens behind her eyes—raw, uncontrollable mania. She’s so close to finding us, but knows that it won’t come without a price.

I explain my demands, trying desperately to not be distracted every time an analyst makes a movement or ushers Maliyah over to their machine. Gemma asks me questions in her delicate, indifferent way. Like my demands don’t matter unless she can wring information from me. But I’m prepared for this. I know how Gemma works.

“Where’s Hargrove?” she finally asks.

I’ve practiced my response. At first, I pull my eyebrows together like I don’t know who she’s speaking about. “Casey,” I say flatly.

“Don’t feign innocence.” Her patience is waning.

“The last time I saw Casey was months ago in a Missouri hotel, right before my lawyer told me to stop speaking with him.”

“I’m sure you’re aware that he’s missing too,” Gemma says calmly.

“This transaction has nothing to do with Casey Hargrove or his whereabouts. I’ll enter this upcoming room and will be judged, just like I was supposed to be all along. Your machine proves me innocent once and for all, and I walk. For life. No more trials, no more prison.”

With a set jaw, she murmurs, “Shall I contact your lawyer?”

I match her stoic expression. “Not necessary. Liz will contact you when she has the contract ready.”

Next, I explain to Gemma what she’ll need to do once she’s talked to her people. Because I know she’ll need to talk to her people. Create a new username on the Compass Room forum and inform the public via a new topic that Evalyn Ibarra is reentering the Compass Room for a second chance at freedom.

Maliyah holds up both of her hands. Ten seconds. I freeze up, wondering if the last bit of time spent on the air will be nothing more than an awkward stare-down. Finally, I speak up.

“You’ll only turn me down if you’re afraid I’ll make it out alive.”

Gemma doesn’t have time to react. The feed shuts off.

***

I stay up all night with the hackers. We all do. Some of them take over the kitchen, making everyone a buffet-style meal. I don’t eat. I stay with Casey as Piper performs tests on him. His pale skin glistens with sweat, eyes set with deep, black bags. When she suggests she start and IV of morphine, Casey shakes his head.

“I’m not hurting too bad.”

“You look miserable,” she says.

“I feel miserable, but it isn’t pain.”

Piper glances at me and frowns. I’m trying to control my terror, but it isn’t working.

At twelve-oh-six a.m., an analyst shouts, “The message is posted!”

I lean into Casey. He holds me so tightly that he’s almost hurting me. I let him.

“Don’t do this.” It’s not a plea. It’s a demand if I ever heard one. “Don’t leave me.”

The message is posted under the username that I gave Gemma, stating exactly what I told her to write.
Evalyn Ibarra is reentering the Compass Room
.

Of course, within a minute of her posting, other forum members are crying bullshit. Why should they believe such an insane statement when the story hasn’t appeared on any news feeds yet? But it doesn’t matter—they’ll know soon enough that her claim is the truth.

It’s time for me to call Liz.

I don’t use the video call. She knows my voice well enough.

Maliyah gives me a safe line. Liz—Liz has always been on my side. I know she will be now, even after I disappeared on her. The first thing she says to me is, “Holy shit, Evalyn—you can’t be calling me like this!”

“I’m on a protected line, Liz,” I assure her. “Listen close.”

I tell her everything as quickly as possible, starting with the moment that Wes contacted me on the forum. What I don’t tell her is that I’m actually working with the hackers to sabotage the Compass Room. All she needs to know is that my trip through the CR will finally grant me my freedom. Knowing anything more would compromise her safety.

“Can you form the contract?” I ask.

“You bet your ass I can,” she says. “The real question is, are you sure that you want to go back in? After knowing that the machine can malfunction?”

“What other option do I have, Liz?”

“Point taken,” she says.

***

We give Liz a safe mode of contacting us for when the contract is complete. Until then, I alternate my time between painting and wrapping myself in Casey’s arms up in our room, away from the news, away from all of the analysts.

When I paint, Casey sits on the window seat, staring at the melting snow. The silence we share is the deep breath before the plunge. We both know it, afraid to admit it to the other. Which is okay. The quiet is okay. It gives us a glimpse at what normal life with each other could be like.

Painting and coffee and quiet in the midst of a daily agenda.

Normal seems so inconceivable at the moment.

The thought is so startling that I feel like collapsing where I stand. Casey notices, and finally speaks. “Swallow a bug?”

“I lost my courage for a hot minute,” I stammer. “Don’t worry. It’ll come back.”

“Praying it won’t,” he says.

Thirty minutes later, and fourteen hours before the official launch of the next Compass Room, Maliyah enters and tells us that Liz pushed the contract through.

There isn’t a second to waste. I pop in the contacts that replicate Gemma’s eyes, and roll her thumbprint on top of mine.

“How do you want to do this?” Maliyah asks. “Piper has measured out the anesthetic already. You should wake up around the time they find you.”

I look to Casey, noticing the bags under his eyes. He breaks away from me, resting his head against the window.

“Bring me the drug,” I tell her. “But I want to be alone for this.” I nod toward the boy at the window. “Alone with him.”

She nods and disappears into the hall, returning a few moments later with a shot glass a third full of clear liquid. “Have him retrieve me when you’re finished,” she says before shutting the door behind her.

Holding the shot glass level with the cleft of my ribs, I turn to Casey. “Are you mad at me?”

He keeps his eyes glued to the window. I’m beginning to notice a trend here. He does this when he is afraid.

“I’m mad at myself for hating your reason to go.”

“Don’t be,” I say. “I understand.”

I understand selfishness more than I should. I wish I had time to explain this to him.

Finally, he turns to me, and I have a chance to say what has been building within my chest since the moment I found out he was still alive and hadn’t been swallowed up by Compass Room C.

“I love you. It isn’t a pretty feeling. It doesn’t make me feel good. I didn’t know that love could be like this. I thought it was supposed to be gradual and relaxing and safe. And every time I leave you—every time I hurt you—the guilt . . . it burrows deeper inside of me.”

I’m a bitch, because I don’t give him a second to respond, instead, I down the sweet fluid. The shot glass slips from my fingers.

He’s up in half a moment, hobbling to the bed at the same time I stagger to it. When I collapse on top of the duvet, he lies next to me.

My vision softens like I’m staring through an unfocused lens of a camera. He brushes the hair from my eyes. “You bring her back.”

My mouth is made of lead, and I can’t respond.

He watches me like he did the night in the Missouri motel, like nothing is more meaningful than my presence. We could do this for hours. We envy those who can.

Time—we seem to be chasing it.

The last thing I feel are his lips to my forehead.