A Vault of Sins (7 page)

Then he calls me a gorgeous catastrophe. The word catastrophe in itself is violent. It’s an interesting choice given his hatred of violence for the sake of violence, but I never asked him what it meant.

I need to.

Whatever passion we left unexplored isn’t something I can brush off. Casey and I watched people die together. We fought to survive together. He saw me kill someone and told me he loved me as I was covered in Gordon’s blood. I need Casey not just because of our connection. I need Casey because I have to understand why we connected in the first place, and it had to have been more than our need to protect.

I’m his gorgeous catastrophe, after all.

I watch one more clip before returning inside, of Casey and Valerie overlapping. I look at the time stamp and do the math. It must have taken place right after our reunion, on the day that the sky turned turquoise. I can’t remember Casey and Valerie ever leaving the group at the same time, but then again, I was distracted by a lot of things that day, particularly the CR malfunctioning and the bottle of booze that Valerie made us act like monkeys for.

Casey’s explaining to Valerie what happened between us. He reaches the part with the cabin.

“You screwed her, didn’t you?”

Casey’s eyes widen, but he says nothing.

Valerie laughs. “You’re kind of easy to read. Like, twenty minutes ago I asked how you ever got laid and you winked at her without thinking twice.”

He smiles at the bundle of wood in his hands, picking away at some of the dry needles.

“Did you tell her?”

Casey stalls. “Tell her what?”

“That she was your first.”

My mouth falls open as a wave of heat washes over me.
What?

Casey turns away from Valerie.

“Holy shit, you didn’t.”

To my surprise, Casey laughs. “Of course I didn’t. We were already having sex in a cabin in the center of a death prison. Why would I want to make it more awkward?”

Valerie sighs and crosses her arms. “Well, I’m happy for you.”

“That I finally got laid before I died?”

“That you were able to let go.”

I jump to my feet and hurry into the house. Valerie’s staring at the tablet in her lap with her hands covering her mouth. She hasn’t budged since I left her. Finally, she glances up at me and drops her hands.

“Casey was a virgin?”

Her shoulders sag. “Ev . . .”

I turn from her and walk into the kitchen. She follows me.

I make myself another drink. “Why didn’t he tell me?” I take a sip and turn back to her. “Why didn’t
you
tell me?”

She scoffs. “What an awkward thing to bring up.
Oh, remember that guy in the Compass Room you screwed and abandoned? Well, you were his first. IN CASE YOU DIDN’T KNOW.
”

I’m too distraught to find her humorous. I take a huge gulp. Casey . . . a virgin. “He said there had been other girls.”

“
Other girls
. But what does that even mean? Other girls he liked? Other girls he kissed?”

“He’s gorgeous, Val. He’s nineteen and gorgeous. A gorgeous guy doesn’t get to nineteen without getting laid unless he’s . . . he’s . . .”

“He’s what? Gay and doesn’t know it? A Eunuch? Super religious?”

I bite my lip.

She sighs. “Casey isn’t any of those things, Evalyn. Obviously. He’s just really, really fucked up. More fucked up than I think you realize.”

“How did you know?” That’s my real question. “How did you know and I didn’t?”

She shrugs. “I asked him. I don’t remember. We were at the camp and talking about women and I must have made some dumb sexual quip. I remember he gave me this blank stare and that’s when I figured it out for myself. He was touchy about it.” She points to my drink. “Make me one of those.”

I grab a glass from the cabinet.

“I mean, he was obviously touchy about it. I pried him. Finally, he told me he wasn’t ready.”

“Ready for sex?” I hand her the drink.

“All I know is that it has something to do with his parents.” She sips and makes a face. “This is strong.”

“There’s no reason to drink if it isn’t.”

OOPS!

This forum is receiving an overwhelming amount of traffic, and is currently unavailable.

We should be back up and running shortly.

My phone has been blowing up, but I won’t go near it. A million and one missed calls from Mom and Liz. Valerie’s been glued to her phone for the past two hours. I’ve taken God knows how many shots. I lean over the sink, sure I’m going to throw it all up, when Valerie finally pulls herself away from her phone. “Have you called Liz?”

“I don’t want to talk to Liz.”

“They can’t use any of this as evidence, Ev. Even if someone proves that it isn’t a feed of some virtual reality.”

I push myself away from the sink and turn back to the living room, where Valerie sits on my bed. “The hell you talking about?”

“All of it was obtained unconstitutionally, which means the division can’t be retried.”

I groan. “It’s like the universe is screwing with us. The truth can be right in front of everyone’s fucking face and we’ll still lose. We’ll still lose!” My hand fumbles for the bottle of tequila and Valerie slides it out of reach. I don’t even remember when she moved into the kitchen. “They need to stop telling me what I’m thinking. They need to stop telling me what to do.”

“Who?” she asks.

“Everyone.” Everyone. I’m tired of everyone.

“Alright, alright. So what? If no one was telling you what to do right now, than what would you do?”

I blink rapidly, my vision blurring. If I could do anything. . . .

I stand up straight, turn from the sink, and walk toward the kitchen. Picking up my tablet from the couch, I try logging into the forum with no success. It’s crashed. Too many people want to discuss the feed of the Compass Room. . . . The
real
feed.

My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing against my leg for a goddamn hour. I stand and march toward the door. Fishing in my pocket, I find my phone, open the door, and chuck it into the snow.

When I turn back into the house, Valerie’s staring at me, horrified.

“I can’t think!”

She shrugs and nods toward the feed. “The news can’t think either, it seems. It’s exploding with speculation. Half of it thinks the new footage makes us seem more twisted and the other half is playing it up like we’re saints.”

I moan.

“Stop being dramatic, this is good for you. There are so many ‘Redeemed Ibarra’ headlines that the Internet might break. The world can’t handle you being so glorified.” She raises her hands and dips them, miming a bow in my direction.

We read a few articles. One question rises above the others—how could this be a simulation if what happens in the feed perfectly mirrors our testimonies? And if the footage
is
a simulation (which it isn’t), people seem to be empathizing with our inability to distinguish reality.

“They finally humanize us.” I swipe to the next thread.

“All they needed to see was you cowgirl it up on top of Hargrove.”

“Oh my god.” I bury my face in my hands. “I can’t believe you watched that.”

She busts up laughing. “Actually, I didn’t. Lucky guess. But now I know, thanks for the mental image.”

I attempt to hide my humiliation by focusing on my tablet. The forum has exploded to the point where there’s no following it. The only thing I can thread together are that my “believers,” or the people who have thought I’ve been telling the truth this whole time, are rising to the occasion.

Can you believe that the Division of Judicial Technology is still trying to pull off the lie that the Compass Room was a virtual simulation? Do they think we’re idiots?

EI sacrificed herself multiple times for the sake of her fellow candidates. A psychopath wouldn’t do that.

Did you
watch
the clip where EI explains the shooting in detail to CH. HEARTBREAKING! Only people without souls believe she isn’t telling the truth.

Totally started an Evalyn/Casey fic last night. It’s like I’m psychic or something!

Dear Lord. People are freaking nuts.

“I’m leaving.”

I look up at Val, not understanding. She’s sliding on her jacket, and her duffel is near her feet. I didn’t even notice her pack up.

“I called a car. It’s outside.”

“Why?” My heart sinks. I’m not ready for her to go, especially not now, with the feed release. “I need you.” I feel like crying as I stand. “No one gets it. No one does.”

“Hey, hey.” To my surprise, she hugs me. Valerie hasn’t hugged me since the hospital. I cling to her, burying my face into her shoulder, and she hisses. “Tattoo.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

She takes my face in her hands and looks me directly in the eye. “I’m not leaving because of you. I need to go home. I need to be with my dad and my sister.”

I nod.

“I’m a hypocrite. I’ve been judging you for the past week for leaving Casey when I did the same thing. I left.” She pauses, and I let her words sink in. She’s serious and sad and so very unlike Valerie. She’s not smirking or sarcastic and I realize that this moment is very important for her. “Hiding defeats the purpose of everything that happened to us. I made a promise I wouldn’t hide, and despite what happens to me, I must keep it. For Jace.”

I sniff. “Okay.”

“And fuck whatever image we’re supposed to keep up of pretending we don’t care about one another. Everyone knows we’re liars now anyway.”

“Then call me, goddamnit.”

She smiles and pats me on the shoulder, pulling away. “You call me. Let me know what you decide to do about that boyfriend and life of yours. And the next time we meet up, you better have another tattoo designed for me.”

I nod, and we walk out to the porch where a black car waits. Government issue.

On her way to the car, she swings toward me and walks backward. “Stay off the Internet.”

“No promises. I need that kinky fan-fiction to get me through the long days without you.”

When she laughs, her face is bright and completely weightless. I hope she finds what she’s looking for back at home.

She’s right. Hiding here is an insult to everything that has happened.

***

At three o’clock in the afternoon, my bracelet turns red—the whole thing, as though it is pressed against flame, but it’s as cool as it’s always been.

I wish I didn’t drink so much. All I want to do is sit on the floor and cry.

My tablet pings.

Evalyn Ibarra, stay where you are. Federal agents are on their way.

Federal agents?

Another message.

Evalyn Ibarra, stay where you are. Probation has been locked down. Moving from your location would be a violation.

“Oh God.” I breathe. “Oh God. Oh God.”

There are two reasons why I’m wearing his bracelet. One, so they know where I am if I don’t show up to court. Two, if there is a warrant out for my arrest.

I rush to the window overlooking the porch, expecting a swarm of police cars in the driveway. Instead, a woman stands by a beat-up truck. She must be in her late fifties. Her long gray hair is wound into a braid that cascades down her shoulder, her skin tan and weathered. From here, I can tell that her eyes are kind. Or at least, they appear to be.

She holds up a notebook. On a page written in black ink are the words
I’m here to help
.

I open the door.

She’s dressed in clothes that remind me of the woods. Not Compass Room woods, but real woods. Flannel and leather and fur. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?” I ask.

“You needed out. That’s why I came for you. Do you have your things? We need to hurry.”

I look over her shoulder. She’s alone as far as I can tell.

“Were you the one who contacted me?”

She shakes her head. “One of my men.”

Panic grows in the pit of my stomach. This is all happening too fast. “Who do you work for?”

“Reprise.” The hackers.

I hold up my hand with the bracelet. “I can’t leave. They’re coming to get me—to throw me back in jail, most likely. They told me not to move.”

“That’s one of the reasons why I’m here. Once they arrive, they’ll find nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“No one will be able to track you, or follow you. You’ll be free.”

Free. “What about my mom? What about Todd?”

She cocks her head, her face remaining eerily calm. “Last I was aware, you were worried about your safety, and the negative influence you had on their lives.”

Dammit, she’s right, but how the hell does she know?

“Hurry. Pack for the cold.”

“Where are we—”

“No questions. There’s no time.”

I race back into the house and through the hallway. In the bedroom, I tear open my old duffel and begin stuffing it with anything I think I’ll need. I pile into my bag sweaters and jeans and all the underwear I own.

I sweep my meager set of toiletries and packs of birth control into the bag, and then I tug on my boots and jacket.

I wish I wasn’t drunk. This decision is too hasty.

“How can I trust you?” I close my eyes and rub at my forehead, as if that will help me conjure the right thing to say.

“We have Casey.”

The words are like a fist to my stomach, and I take a step back.

“We’re protecting him. That’s why they’re coming to retrieve you. They don’t want you disappearing too before they can pin you with charges. Now hurry, before it’s too late.”

We rush out the front door and I lock it behind me. I’m about to pick up my phone from the ground when the woman aggressively grabs my hand, stopping me. “Leave it.” She shakes her head slowly, her eyes dangerous.

“I can’t even say good-bye?”

“You are as unaware of your departure as they are. Get in the truck.” She ushers me in, and I scoot to the middle. She hops in the other side, and I suddenly sober up.

Three months ago, I was sure I wanted to tear Gemma to pieces or die trying. I haven’t done either of those yet.

I keep running away.

“Here.” She pulls from her leather jacket a flask and uncaps it, handing it to me. I take a large swig. It’s not what I expected. There’s a burn for sure, but it’s sweet and tangy.

My head grows heavy—too heavy for my neck to hold up. I let it fall back onto the seat. My vision blurs, and suddenly holding my eyes open becomes the hardest thing in the damn world.

“Tell me I’m not going to die,” I slur. “Tell me you didn’t poison me.”

I never hear her response.