Found (3 page)

“That’s right,” soothes Ben, who doesn’t have to force the male flight attendant to look his way – the guy’s glance was drawn to him instantly at the sound of his voice.

I turn and walk back to my seat before either of my mind scrambling travel companions can suggest it.

Heading out of the ladies room at LAX, I stop at the water fountain, pleasantly surprised to see that it’s working and actual water is coming out of it. A man wearing sunglasses, a white button down
shirt, and ripped-up baggy jeans approaches it at the same time.

“Go ahead,” he says softly, motioning at the fountain. “The sign says we’ve only got another two minutes before it shuts off for an hour.”

“Thanks.” I stare at him a moment longer than I should, wracking my brain for a reason he looks so familiar.

I take my drink and step back so he can get his. He shoots me a megawatt smile as he bends over.

Recognition hits. OM – to –the- mutha-effin’ – G. I’ve been in Los Angeles for all of ten minutes and I’m already having a celebrity sighting!

Not that I’m into that sort of thing, really. I mean, I’ve been in hiding, but everyone knows who Kent Hahn is. (But they don’t love him like I do!
Kidding. Not really. I’m his number one fan -- uncontested in my own mind for three years running.)

I’m surprised, and a little bit worried, he’s not surrounded by bodyguards.

“You’re…” I manage to get out.

“Nah,” he says,
chucking me on the arm and walking away.

Chapter Four

Penny

Hot, dry wind blasts into us as we leave the airport. Ben directs me onto the elevated solar-powered people mover that takes us to parking garage eight. The idea I had of what Los Angeles looks like is nothing like it really is. There are palm trees, yes, and big
digi-billboards hanging over the entrances to the parking garages advertising the latest blockbuster movies. Cars everywhere, the sun glaring off of FauxChrome bumpers, and plenty of tan, blond people wearing enormous sunglasses with Ret-tech’s built in.

But, it’s not…glamorous. Everything looks bleached out and dusty -- the sky, all of the concrete buildings, the streets below us as we move through the desert air – even the sun is a faded, tired yellow.

Other cities I’ve lived in had a distinct humidity, a certain heavy, wet blanket layer that settles on your skin. In St. Louis, especially, there were lots of dark places left for me to hide. Here, I feel like I could crumble and blow away.

L.A. and I are both overexposed.

“You’re wearing a doubt-y look again, Penny,” Christopher chides.

“We’re still at the airport,” Ben adds. “Never judge a city by its airports, bus stations, or freeways.”

After we locate the car, a butt ugly, lime green four-door sedan with a tag on the side, Christopher announces that a drive up Highway 1 with the windows down will change my mind. I begin to relax.

The buildings are still weathered, but I can see slivered views of the ocean between them and bright desert flowers are everywhere, conquering vacant lots and abandoned gas stations, spilling over the tops of terracotta pots on the balconies of multi-colored stucco buildings. The air is cooler. There is a faint scent of saltwater.

Christopher takes a right onto Venice and we head inland for several blocks. Then a left onto
Walgrove and the busyness of the city morphs into neighborhood life. There are nannies pushing strollers on the sidewalk, paying no mind to the brigade of gardeners blowing errant palm fronds and yard debris into the street. People jogging, or getting into their cars with water bottles and yoga mats. Big kids skateboarding and riding their bikes, littler kids running after them.

It is stunningly boring and I want it.

We turn onto Beethoven. Christopher slows the car down to a crawl and we hang our final left at Redwood.

It’s a dump. And I say this as someone who has primarily lived in abandoned buildings the last seven years of my life. The entire street is a trash-strewn, cracked-sidewalk, broken-windowed mess. All of the houses look about a month past being condemned. I get a serious case of the shivers.

“This is my house,” Ben points to the first abode on the right, a one story olive green stucco number with peeling paint and a single, splintered shutter hanging from the barred front window. The olive and black striped awning over the wide scuff- marked front door appears to have been served to Mothra as an appetizer. “And this is Christopher’s.” Ben turns to the left, pointing across the street at an almost identical house to his, but Christopher’s is all baby crap brown with an awningless awning frame.

Christopher takes over the guided tour. “Dr. Adams and her husband Avery, also Dr. Adams, live there when they’re in town,” he gestures at a two-story gray-blue stucco house with a crazy, unkempt yard full of man-tall cacti, thorny rose bushes, and rusty car parts, “as well as her sister Melody, the Lookout in Charge, and her husband, Raleigh. Wyatt usually bunks with them too, but he’ll be staying in the dorm with you.” He swings his head around, “That’s one of our
benefactor, Claire Vargas’ houses.” What I’m sure used to be a beautiful modern concrete and glass home looms over the block and takes up at least three regular sized lots.

“Wow?”

I look back and forth between Christopher and Ben, hoping to see a shared signal that,
“Ha ha isn’t it funny that this poor girl actually thinks we live here,”
but they give nothing away.

Besides the six or so vacant lots that look like they are being used as hobo timeshares, there are three more houses on the street: an out of place ramshackle Victorian sits all the way at the end, with another plain stucco one-story across from it, and then a slightly more interesting Spanish-style ranch next to it.

Dump, dump, dump. Something has to be going on. Not even a pack of wild dogs would live here. They have to be messing with me. I decide to play along. “Let me guess.” I point to the remaining houses. “The Victorian belongs to Claire, another out-of –towner lives in the bland stucco box and, actually I don’t know who owns the hacienda, but it has to be someone you all can’t live without since you guys seem to live and work and go on Penny-finding quests together.”

C’mon. It’s a little weird.

Ben and Christopher laugh as Christopher pulls the car into the driveway of the Spanish style house. “I know it seems a little ridiculous, but there’s a good reason why the New Society and Claire Vargas own all of the residences on Redwood.”

We all get out of the car. “And that is?”

“We’ve got an assload of secrets to protect, Pen.” Ben places his hand on my shoulder.

With his touch, the neighborhood transforms. Clean streets, flat sidewalks,
crisp striped awnings over polished front doors. Manicured lawns, sparkling windows, and pristine cars. Except for Christopher’s, it’s still a POS.

Ben drops his hand, returning my view back to
slumville. “And you just became Super Secret Number One.”

I follow the guys through the front door and drop my pack onto the shiny wood floor next to a coat rack. On my right is a gourmet kitchen, complete with smart appliances and a large copper sink. The sitting room on my left is decked out with overstuffed deep crimson velvety couches and heavy, dark wood furniture. Now this is more like it. One Cent will be comfy here.

“Keep on
comin’” Christopher says, crooking his finger at me overhead. “The school’s this way.”

Okaaaaaay
. I hastily grab my bag and jog to catch up. After the open sitting room/kitchen area, I go down a short hallway and into a small, empty bedroom. Ben ushers me into a closet.

I’m about to give him my best Hell No face when I realize there’s a staircase where clothes should be hanging.

“Go on,” he nods, “I have to set the alarm code after you.”

I descend the solid spiral staircase into a chic modern lobby, decorated in greens and
golds. The way the lighting is, combined with the shimmer and shine of the fabric, I can’t even tell we’re underground. The place appears naturally lit – which is bueno, because nothing can get a decent hyperventilation going like the feeling that you’re enclosed in a concrete coffin buried a mile underground.

Christopher takes me by the elbow and leads me over to a little building, a guard station with a gate, which blocks the way from the lobby to the rotunda beyond.

“Penny’s going to need a badge, Phil. By the end of the day would be great.”

The guard nods, his calming smile betraying his strong physique and brush cut. “I’ve already started on it; just send her back to me for a retina scan and a
holophoto after you’re done with the docs.”

Then we’re off through the rotunda and heading down a wide polished concrete hall to the left. I hear a bunch of people talking behind me and I look over my shoulder at the opposite hallway. Kids are leaning against doors, green doors, chatting, hugging,
looking like they’re catching up. About halfway down, I see the guy from my glimpse approach a dark-skinned dude with dreads. They do the requisite bro hand-grab hug. Wyatt-- the name sounds funny in my brain, knowing it, but not having met him yet, uh, officially-- has got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. That way must be the dorm.

“I know I haven’t done this before, but this has to be the
suckiest school tour ever,” I mutter.

Ben shoots me an amused look. “I promise we’ll get you all settled in after you meet with the doctors. Avery’s going to check on those ribs of yours and
Zellie’s going to do a simple intake. Probably a lot like what you’ve had at juvie, except you can answer the questions truthfully.”

Something about that feels liberating…and scary at the same time. If these people can help me figure out my dreams, my visions, the secrets I’ve been keeping from myself all these years without even knowing it…that would be awesome. But the subject of my parents, of my past and who I’ve had to use, who I’ve been with and the things I’ve done in the years since my parents were killed…I keep those thoughts close, so close I’ve never told anyone, not even Darren in the dark of night, our naked limbs entangled on our mattress in St. Louis.

The stainless steel door at the end of the hallway beeps and then swings open, revealing the tallest, most pregnant redheaded woman I’ve ever seen. She looks like that painting, the one with the lady standing in a clamshell, only this chick is wearing a pink floral print muumuu sundress and her face is flushed bright red. She gives me a smile that makes me feel like I’ve been hugged.

“Hi Penny, I’m Dr. Adams. Forgive me for not looking more professional, but being a big, fat pregnant lady in California in June is so very, very, hot. If I could climb out of my skin, I totally would.”

Christopher places his hand on the small of my back and nudges me forward. “She’ll take you to the examination room. We’ll see you back out here when you’re done.”

I become slightly unsure as Christopher and Ben leave and walk back down the hall, not to mention my ribs are suddenly achy.

Dr. Adams waves me over to the door and I go through it, entering into another plush lobby, this one done in soothing blues. There is an unmanned reception desk to my right and a white door in front of me.

“You’re probably feeling a little uneasy now that Christopher has removed his influence from you?” she asks.

I nod. So he was controlling me all along.
Shit.
The door closes behind me with another beep.

Dr. Adams puts her hand on my shoulder and I flinch away from her touch.

“It’s okay, Penny. You really are safe here.” Her eyes are kind, and I feel shitty for dodging her. “I know exactly what it’s like to be under Chris’s control, and I can tell you it only works if
you
want it to on some level. He does it to put you at ease and to persuade you in making what we all think is the right decision for you. None of us want you to feel trapped, but we do need you here. Powers like ours, going unchecked, are dangerous for the Retroact and those around them.”

She opens the white door and waddles through it. “The exam room is this way.”

I follow her because? I follow her because what if she’s telling me the truth? Every instance when I could’ve escaped today, I didn’t. I just didn’t
feel
like it. And, God knows I have a rich subconscious mind that pushes me to save people, so maybe it was pushing me to save myself?

I could spend all day on an endless loop of doubt, fear, hope, and desire. I follow her.

We walk into a room that looks like every doctor’s office I’ve ever been in. There’s the padded table with white paper, the plastic chair for me to not sit in, the short, black rolling stool for the doctor, the Formica cabinet, the sink, the soap dispenser.

Dr. Adams opens the cabinet above the sink and pulls out a thin gown. “Just take off your top gear. The ultra scanner works better the less clothing between it and your skin.” I reach out and take the gown from her. “I’ll let you get changed and then I’ll actually be present while Avery does his examination. I thought I’d do your intake at the same time, get you out of here quicker and over to the dorm where you can meet all of your future friends.”

I mentally roll my eyes at the ‘future friends’ bit. “Okay.”

She leaves and I dump my pack on the chair, along with my tank top and bra. I put on the gown and hop up onto the table. At the last second, I go back over to the chair and hide my bra underneath my shirt. The state of my undergarments is embarrassing. This time I give myself an actual
eyeroll over the fact that I give a shit that the state of my undergarments is embarrassing. Way to go, Penny, already caring what these people think about you.

There’s a short rap on the door and I tell them to come in. The male Dr. Adams enters the room first. He’s got a full head of silver-grey hair and an athletic build that fills out his white coat nicely. I guess I’ll be holding my breath to meet someone in this joint
who’s butt ugly, or at the very least, average looking.

“Hi Penny,” he says, smiling all the way to his eyes at me as he extends his hand.
“Nice to meet you.” We clasp palms and shake firmly. “You can call me Dr. Avery. It’s way less confusing. Cool?”

I nod.

“Okay, then. What we’re most concerned with today is whether your ribs are broken, cracked, or bruised. After that, I’ll do a short physical to determine what your health and fitness levels are.” He taps his stylus against his tablet a couple of times and then sets it down on the counter next to the sink. “If you could lie back, I’ll begin the scan.”