Antitype (6 page)

I reach a hand out to him. “I'll be the first one in line to set you straight.”

He takes my hand and stands to face me. “Same here, brother.”

Noah

I storm into Dad's study. “I just came from the WTC.”

He glances over from where he sits behind his ridiculously large desk. “How are the girls?” he asks, then smiles as if he cares.

“Where's Hannah?”

His eyes lower to the desktop touch screen inset in the wood by his right arm. A video plays, but he doesn't appear to be watching it. “You were right. She suffered a mental break. I've had her committed.”

A fissure cracks open and gapes in my chest, but it appears that the opposite happens to Dad. Walls and gates and support beams slam into place. His back straightens and he taps his screen until a white document replaces the video.

“Where is she?” I ask, my tone gravelly.

“It doesn't matter. You can't see her.”

“You can't stop me.”

With a sigh, he pushes back in his chair. “They need to spend time with her. Evaluations. Medication. Maybe they can salvage what's left so she isn't a lost cause.”

I step closer, my stomach roiling. “You still hope to marry her off.”

“I'm not holding my breath at this point. Initial evaluations say she's too far gone.”

I have to lock my fingers around the back of my neck to keep from grabbing his suit jacket. Shaking him to his feet. Yelling accusations that won't do a damn bit of good. But despite my restraint, tears burn the backs of my eyes, and my temples pulse with the charges I would put on him. She's too far gone? She wasn't when I last saw her. I refuse to believe a month made so drastic a difference.

“I need to see her,” I say. “Because I don't believe you.” My voice has risen, and spittle dots my lower lip, but Dad sits there as if no words have come out at all.

“House control,” he says in an even tone, “call Edgemont. Request video for room 47 and play in the study.”

Annabelle appears in the doorway behind me, clutching her belly. She looks pale, and a sheen of sweat coats her brow, but she smiles for the benefit of three-year-old Lance clutching her leg. “Baby's coming.”

Dad stands and throws a smile on his face. “Wonderful. Let's go to the hospital.” He looks at me. “We'll finish this later?”

I nod and try smiling at Annabelle. I can barely utter the words, “Good luck,” without getting sick all over the carpet. All I care about is Hannah.

I have the study to myself when the video hologram appears. A partial of a padded white room appears in front of the desk. Hannah sits on the floor, arms wrapped around knees pulled tight to her chest. She rocks and mumbles unintelligibly. Grease thickens her black hair, making the strands hang in clumps. Her skin, usually porcelain in color, is pale. Ghostly and sick.

“What the fuck?” Gabe darts into the room, wide eyes glued to the video. Both hands drag through his mop of blond waves. “Is that Hannah?”

I can't answer. I'm shattering into a million pieces.

“The girls must be scared as hell,” Gabe says, swiveling his head to look at me. “Do they even know?”

Mention of the girls forces glue into all my broken parts. “No. I saw them today. They said she's been absent from meals for a couple days but didn't know why. When I asked that prick, Zimmerman, for answers, he sent me here to see Dad.”

I tell Gabe everything I know, from the visit last month to today. The more I talk about it, the more I realize how all my plans have gone to shit. Hannah was the rock who would care for the three younger girls. It wasn't fair of me to plan this burden for her given how young she is herself, but she would have raised the girls anyway. She would have done anything for their freedom.

But now that this has happened, what will I do? Paige is only thirteen. She can't care for a seven- and five-year-old alone. The odds of them all being split up to adoptive homes after the raid are now too great.

I'm getting ahead of myself. I need more information. I need Hannah's prognosis, and I need to know if Nate can help me get her out. She can't be as far gone as Dad's been told. I refuse to believe it.

“I have to go,” I tell Gabe.

In the hallway, I pull my cell phone from my pocket and call Nathan Updike. I skip the greeting as soon as he answers. “You know anyone over at Edgemont Psychiatric?”

 • • • 

The family table is full tonight. With Annabelle and new baby Felix tucked in upstairs, Dad has his usual celebratory dinner with every member of the family who can attend. Carter and his new wife, Rebecca, sit across from Gabe and me. Aaron, Hannah's full brother, to Rebecca's left. To Gabe's right is Tate, Paige's full brother. Ten-year-old identical twins Owen and Parker sit across from each other at the end of each side. Annabelle's other son, Lance, sits at the end opposite Dad and completes the circle.

Gabriel lifts a glass of champagne to toast. “Congratulations, Dad. You've added yet another strapping young man to the family.”

Everyone adds their cheer with a raised glass.

Everyone but me. “What's the plan now?” I ask Dad.

Dad chuckles as the clinking of glasses comes to a standstill. His gaze jumps around the table, while his smile holds perfectly still. His attention ends on me. “Always so eager to get to the point.”

I lean back in my chair and hook an elbow over the back. “Come on, Dad. You've reached your quota. You're going to announce it at some point tonight anyway. May as well get it over with now.”

Dad bites the end off a piece of asparagus, chews, then grins. “All right.” His tone can only be classified as overexcited. “You caught me. I've filed for a divorce.”

No one looks surprised, least of all me. Rebecca refuses to tear her gaze away from her plate, where she pushes three bites of chicken breast around with a fork.

What Dad says next
does
surprise me. “Marco and I spoke. He's decided to take Annabelle now that Hannah's been declared unfit for marriage.”

I scoot away from the table, the legs of my chair vibrating loudly on the tile. “Declared unfit? When?” Last I spoke to Updike, he was still looking into the matter but had nothing concrete to report.

“Not long after we last spoke about her condition.” He takes a bite of his chicken and chews slowly. Attentively. Moans and says, “This dinner is wonderful.”

I feel sick. He's completely given up on Hannah. His own daughter. “I have an early morning,” I tell the table, throwing my cloth napkin on my full plate. “Thank you for dinner.”

Gabriel follows me into the hallway. “Hold up,” he whispers.

I slow but don't stop completely. “What is it?”

“Let me take your meetings tomorrow. I know you have a couple big ones, but I've been getting myself acquainted with everything, and I think I can do it. No, I know I can.”

I stop. Swivel around. “What's this about? I thought you had some end-of-summer thing tomorrow with friends.”

“I'll cancel. It's no big deal.”

I still don't understand, and I'm as curious as hell about why Gabriel would suddenly give up his free time to take my workload for a day. “Why would you do this?”

His eyes lower to the beige carpet. “You've been tied up and distant for two days, and I know it's because you're trying to fix this Hannah situation. The more work keeps you busy, the longer it'll take. I want Hannah out and well as much as you do.” He waves a hand toward the dining room. “Dad's clearly moved on.” He meets my eyes. “You think you can help her?”

Aaron appears around the corner, his expression tight. “What's this noise about my sister?”

New cracks fissure through my foundation. He looks so much like Hannah. Black hair, pale blue eyes. He lacks her experience, though, despite being two years older. She sees things,
has
seen things, he'll never understand.

Gabe grips my shoulder. “I got this. And I've got your back tomorrow. You do what you need to, all right?”

I let out a breath and study him. He really believes he can do this. “You sure? Dad'll kill us both if anything goes wrong.”

He grins. “It's just a couple client meetings. I gotta get my feet wet sometime.”

I nod. “Yeah, okay, but if anything happens, you call me. I'll come right in.”

Aaron stands beside us, arms folded. Thick waves of hair lay over his forehead, nearly reaching his eyes. “Anything I can help with? I have an exam tomorrow, but I can reschedule.”

“No, don't. Everything else goes on as planned. Let me worry about Hannah.” I grip his arm. “Gabe will fill you in on the details.”

 • • • 

Bridget Schwab, my mother, teleports directly into my apartment. The open floor plan still smells of the fresh white paint that covers the walls and columns forming makeshift corners to the living room. Opaque shades cordon off the early morning, lighting the twelve narrow floor-to-ceiling windows.

She stares at the empty space, combing fingers through her shoulder-length dark blond hair. She angles a brow at me. “Usually, when you invite a guest to your new place, certain expectations need to be followed. Like providing furniture.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

Her smile lights the brown in her eyes. “I'm just happy you called. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

I laugh. “If I were?”

“I'd talk to Henry,” she says matter-of-factly.

I nod. Her husband is nothing like Dad. Henry's taken very good care of my mother since marrying her twenty years ago. They haven't had any children but seem happy. I just wish Henry didn't move her all over the world the way he does. He has a lot of family money and gets bored very easily. I guess I should count my blessings. He held to his marriage vows.

I nod at a spot beside a three-quarter wall separating the kitchen from the living room. “Sit with me? I have something to tell you.”

We sit with our backs to the wall, Mom's skirt tucked tight under her, legs bent toward me and ankles crossed. She gives me devoted attention, which makes it hard to look at her.

“You can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you,” I start.

“They'd have to torture it out of me, and even then I wouldn't tell.”

I take only a single heartbeat before saying, “I've been working with the resistance.”

Mom blinks twice, then shifts her gaze away. “I think I'll stand for this.”

I rest my elbows on upturned knees, watching her as she paces in front of me. “It was meant to be a means to an end. Get Hannah and the girls out and across the border to somewhere safe. I tried getting out a few months ago, but it isn't as easy as I thought. As it turns out, I'm no longer sure I want that anymore. That, and I need their help now more than ever.”

She pauses to look down at me. A war rages in her eyes. I'm walking a dangerous line. Working with the resistance can get me killed. Working for Dad, maintaining a public profile while doing so, can get me killed. But if anyone will understand where I'm coming from, it's her.

“I need your help too,” I say.

“Name it.”

“I'm getting the girls out, and it doesn't look like Hannah will be able to take care of them. The resistance puts the rescued girls into adoptive homes in the west. I don't want them split up.”

“What's wrong with Hannah?” She pales as I explain and returns to sit beside me. When I'm finished, she says, “My God, Noah. What can I do?”

“Help me find them a home. You or Henry must know people who would be willing to take all three girls.”

She nibbles her lip, nodding slowly. “Let me make some calls. We know a couple in Oregon. Henry will be happy to help.” She cuts her eyes at me. “There's no love lost between him and your father. Whatever he can do to slight James, he will.”

“Just don't tell him about—”

Her hands fly up to stop me. “I won't. That's your secret to tell. One you shouldn't tell another living soul.”

I nod. “When will you find out? The raid is early next month.”

“That's not a lot of time.”

“I know.”

She sighs. “I'll have something concrete by the end of the week.”

We stand and hug. My chin rests perfectly on the crown of her head. “Thanks, Mom.”

She looks up and pats my cheek. “Promise you'll be careful.”

“Promise.”

 • • • 

I teleport into the underground resistance hub. I don't know its exact location, but I know it's under Baltimore, Maryland, and part of the mid-Atlantic region. The room is small and holds twelve teleporter tubes in three rows of four. Sentry guards in resistance standard-issue black sit on high stools bookending a silver door. They stand as I appear, arcing rifles over their shoulders on the off chance I'm an unexpected enemy.

“Lieutenant Colonel Updike is expecting me,” I say.

One elbows the square switch that opens the door with a hydraulic
hiss.
I pass into the boxlike stone hallways. A chill belies the late summer several feet over our heads, and the air smells stale.

Two corridors later, tapping feet precede a friendly voice. “Noah.”

I pause for Dr. Sonya Toro, who smiles and jogs to a stop in front of me. She's a tall woman about my age, dark-skinned, and the closest friend I've got around here. We joined up at roughly the same time but come from very different backgrounds. She grew up in California and joined because she heard the resistance was short on medical help.

Sonya twists her long black hair at the nape of a slim neck. “Haven't seen you around in a while.”

It's hard not to return her bright smile. She's a very attractive woman. Full lips, large eyes, high cheekbones encased in delicate bone structure. “I've been busy.”

“I heard. I know about Hannah. The lieutenant colonel had me look over her records.”