I Become Shadow (24 page)

Junie kept a poker face throughout, but his eyes gave him away. The kiss bothered him a lot. It pained him, which pained me. It was a hurt I never wanted to be responsible for. Only the anger from the attack made it go away.

When I finished I took a big drink of coffee, which was much cooler now, and looked at him. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of my shoulders. I felt free. I felt great. Except for one thing.

“Sorry about the kiss,” I finished.

“Nothing to be sorry about.
You
didn’t kiss
him
, right?” he asked.

I aggressively shook my head.

“And you didn’t enjoy it, right?”

I looked at him. My non-reply was confirmation enough.

“Oh.”

I scrambled to explain it to him. “No, not like that. Not like
that
. It’s just, you know that feeling when you see your FIP?”

He nodded.

“Times a thousand. I’m programmed to like it. We both are,” I then added, with a smile, “I pushed him into a wall after he did it. He won’t do it again.”

He turned back to the Emily screens. “I know it wasn’t your idea, Ren, and I get it. I do.”

He leaned across the table and kissed me. It was genuine and gentle and said everything Junie couldn’t say in words. And I knew what I felt was real and not fabricated. That was all that mattered.

When he leaned back into his seat he looked troubled.

“What?” I asked.

“I took a lot of blood from that kid yesterday. Let’s just say he’ll wake up with one hell of a headache.” He smirked impishly. “I don’t feel bad about it now.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

He blinked and then started talking. The next part tumbled out with the right amount of guilt and with a pinch of it being something he’d been dying to say, “I’ve been babysitting Emily for over a month now. Like,
really
babysitting. As in spending time with her and playing with her and—”

“Seriously?” I interrupted. And I had to admit, I felt pretty freaking awesome. I always assumed I was the only idiot. The only one who had broken the rules. But Junie too? Follow-the-rules, top-of-the-class Junie? How many more Shadows were out there like us?

He smiled. “It all started a couple months ago. I was in my front yard working on my flowerbeds. My boxwoods weren’t rooting.”

I shot him a look. He flushed.

“Shut up. So I was gardening when I felt a tiny little tap on my shoulder. It was Emily. The feeling was, like you said, indescribable. I nearly passed out right then and there. Anyway, Chris and Michelle, her parents, were nowhere to be seen, so I took her hand and walked her back to her house. As we were going up the stairs her mother came running out scared out of her mind. We laughed and, well, one thing led to another … and I’m now their go- to sitter for Thursday date night.”

“You, the stay-at-home writer?”

He laughed. “We read! She’s really smart, and loves to cook so …”

At that moment the fourteen-year-old kid I fell in love with so long ago was gone. That kid was replaced by the adult sitting across from me. As he spoke, I began to see him doing all of these things. I saw him reading her stories, baking cakes, being, well, a father. He loved this kid like she was his own flesh and blood. She was more than a link to him now. The glow in his eyes, the enthusiasm—it
was love, real love. But if his feelings for Emily ran deeper than the link, could my feelings for Gareth be that deep as well? Could I honestly brush them off as nothing more than side effects?

“We dress up and have tea parties. She calls me Miss Pippy Bottoms …”

I started laughing. The image of Junie sitting in a tiny chair, wearing a dress, speaking with a high-pitched English accent, and sipping a tiny tea cup popped into my head, and soon I was in hysterics. “Miss Pippy Bottoms!” I was crying it was so bad.

I wiped the tears from eyes and nodded. “Oh, wow,” I said slightly out breath. “That was a good one.”

“Finished?”

“Oh, I’ll revisit that one later for sure, but yeah, for now … Miss Pippy Bottoms.”

“Hardy har. It reminds me of babysitting my little sister. Of being home. So make fun of me all you want. I don’t care. It’s the best part of my week.” He paused. “Well, that, and when you email.”

There were footsteps upstairs. Gareth was awake and heading our way.

I then realized this could be the last time we were together, alone, for, well … ever. “Quick,” I said and leaned in for one last kiss. We stopped as Gareth came walking down the stairs.

His hair was messed up, and he was holding his head. “Got any Advil in this place?” he croaked.

We shared a look before Junie said, “Far right, top shelf,” and pointed at a cabinet.

“Morning?” I said with a smile. My voice had the tone of,
Hello, I’m here and alive
.

Gareth stopped halfway to the cabinet and came stumbling over to me. He hugged me from over the back of the chair. Junie sighed and nodded.

“I’m so sorry,” Gareth said to me. “Rude. I’m only … my head hurts so bad. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Go get your drugs.”

“Thank you,” he said as if I’d released him from prison. He popped a few pills in his mouth and grabbed a cup of coffee to wash them down. Then he joined us at the table and slumped into the chair. The triumvirate. Too awkward. Too quiet. Somebody had to break the tension. I opened my mouth, but Gareth beat me to it.

“So, I’ve been a pretty good sport about all of this, right?”

“You’ve been great,” I said, exhaling.

“You have,” Junie added sincerely.

“So then when do I get to know what the hell is going on?”

Junie and I exchanged a glance. He’d been through everything and had no clue why. Went with the flow when he had no idea where it was taking him. He’d earned the right to know; I owed him that. He was injured, filthy, far from home, and still covered in what had to be my dried blood.

I took the cup of coffee from him and said, “After you take a shower. Open book. Deal?”

“Open book? You mean that? I can ask anything, and you’ll tell me?”

I nodded.

He looked at himself. “Shower’s probably a good idea.”

“Linen closet is at the end of the upstairs hall. Blue towels are for company, so grab one of them,” Junie told him. I gave a snort of laughter and he added, “Shut up, Ren.”

“Blue towels, got it.”

As Gareth reached the top of the stairs, he called down, “You realize you’re both staring at a sleeping child. Add that to the list of creepy things that need explaining.”

Once Gareth was upstairs, Junie looked at me. “Did you ever hit the beacon to alert FATE?”

I nodded. “While we were running.”

“And nobody came?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Weird.”

“I know.”

It had been something that bothered me—or didn’t, depending on how you saw it. But it was new information to Junie, so I let it sit before asking, “Be straight with me, Slick. How bad is this?”

“Slick?”

“It just came out, no idea why,” I said honestly. Total brain fart. “But come on. How bad?”

“On a scale of one to ten?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Twelve … no, thirty.”

“Twelve jumps to thirty just like that?” I said with a snap of my fingers. But my smile faltered.

“I’m not very good at math,” he said. He tried to smile, too, with equal lack of success. This wasn’t good. “I mean, you’ve pretty much broken every rule we have, Ren, and there aren’t that many. But you broke them doing what
you were supposed to do, so I wouldn’t worry about it. You can explain everything to them when they get here. I’m sure they’ll understand. It’ll be fine.”

I nearly spit out my coffee. “When
who
gets here?”

“Them,” he said as if it needed no more explanation. “They called while you were asleep. Said you’d gone missing and they couldn’t find you. I told them you were here.”

“Junie, no,” I said, my pulse picking up a notch. I guess I wasn’t entirely fearless. I could feel no pain, but I knew what certain death meant.

“What do you mean, no?”

“The attack on me. Us. Was too …” I struggled for the words, “…  I
recognized
it. It was them. FATE.” And there it was. Once I’d said it out loud I knew it was true. “It’s been them this whole time.”

The mugging had been sloppily executed but well-coordinated. They knew Gareth used that shortcut. Someone had sent them there. They knew if Gareth wasn’t in mortal danger I’d stay out of it, and I did until they drew the gun. Had they left with his backpack as planned I’d never have intervened.

The attack yesterday had felt too familiar because it was exactly how I would have planned the execution. (Of the plan, not of Gareth.) A team of four. Two killers, one shooter, and a driver. Spotty images from my dream hovered at the edge of my consciousness. I was fighting versions of myself on campus because they
were
just like me. They’d come to kill me and to kidnap Gareth. If they’d wanted him dead he would be. Killing was easy.
They wanted him alive and there was only one reason for that. The same reason he was a FIP, the same reason we’d been linked.

“I have to go,” I said. “Now.” But as I stood up a metal canister shot down the stairs, clanked off the wall, and landed on the floor. I knew what it was before the gas began steaming out of it. This was the end.

The effect was almost instant. I became groggy, and my movement clumsy and slow. I had to get to Gareth but couldn’t move.

All I could muster was turning my head toward Junie. My eyes were teary as I pleaded, “Junie, what did you do?”

He opened his mouth in horror and confusion, but I never heard what he said.

The floor came crashing toward me, as did the dark. My last thought was of Gareth and how I’d failed him.

So here I sit, in a grassy meadow overlooking a breathtaking valley below. It’s complete with a running river, a small village, and the last strips of late spring snow. It’s absolutely beautiful
.

“Ren, we’re all waiting for you!”

It’s my father’s voice. I spin around and see him standing at the crest of a hill waving me over. He looks like I remember him, maybe a little younger and a bit more handsome, but he’s still my dad
.

I get up and walk through the knee-high grass over to him. He puts his arm around me and steers me over the crest of the hill. Everyone is there. It’s a picnic. My mother and little brother are having a watermelon eating contest with my grandparents. Junie and Gareth are playing catch with a football. All of my old friends are here too. What the hell, is that Will Ferrell again?! They all drop what they’re doing and yell, “Hey, Ren!”

I wave back shyly
.

So this is death, huh? Well, it ain’t half bad then. No pitchforks
or hellfire. No elegant cloud-living either. No, only this. Simple, peaceful, and exactly what perfection is to me
.

I make my way down the slope of the hill toward all of the people I love or have loved. All of them are waiting for me to reach them
.

The blue sky looks like the ocean and a cool breeze is blowing through the trees. I take a deep breath. But there’s something off. The air carries a scent that makes my skin crawl. I will never, can never, forget it. It’s a mixture of stale, recycled oxygen mixed with bleach and cleaning products. It’s purely antiseptic; it reeks of a place that’s too clean, of the place where I was kept prisoner for years
.

The woods around me erupt into loud wails of pain and misery. The sounds of suffering. The sounds of broken minds
.

No, this is not death and this is no dream. I’m back
.

I REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS STRAPPED
into a chair in an all-too-familiar medical room. Good old déjà vu. I struggled against the binds, but unlike before, I recognized there was no chance of escape. I stopped to conserve my energy. I did some deep breathing to calm down, to prepare myself for whatever was about to happen. Was there anything in here to give me a clue?

I had never been in this room before but I could tell from the white subway tile and the surround sound of agony that I was somewhere in the hospital wing. The room looked a bit older than the others. The door must have been behind me because there wasn’t one anywhere I could see.

The hairs on my neck stood up. Maybe I was just cold?

There was a sudden stabbing sensation in my stomach. I
hadn’t felt pain in so long I had forgotten what it was like. It overwhelmed me. I vomited on the floor to my right. The strange pain lessened but didn’t go away. With that, a door hissed open behind me. I assumed it was a doctor, nurse, or even a Hunter here to put me down. But if they wanted me dead, they could have easily done so by now. Would have been much easier while I was out. No, someone wanted me alive, someone wanted me here. But who?

Mr. S. slowly appeared in front of me, holding a steaming cup of tea.

“Ren Sharpe. I’m so glad you’re still alive. You were always one of my favorites.” He smiled.

He took a sip of tea from his mug. Funny: I thought he’d brought it for me.

After his sip he nodded knowingly as he said, “I know, I know. I’ve got some explaining to do. And some apologizing. The muggers were an insult and the attack on campus was so ill-conceived I’m ashamed to have sanctioned it. Please forgive me.”

“Where’s Gareth?” I demanded. “Is he safe?” He could explain later.

“He’s here.”

It was not the response I was looking for. The tea was annoying me. “Is he safe?” I repeated.

Mr. S. toyed with the thoughts in his head, rocking his noggin back and forth, but still wouldn’t answer me.

“I have to see him. Please, let me see him.”

Mr. S. pursed his lips. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you do that.”
He lowered his eyes to look as sad as possible while he said, “He’s being broken, Ren.”

Gareth was in agony, so as a result, I was too. There was only one solution. I had to save him and punish those responsible, starting with the man in front of me. I could think of nothing else. I struggled stupidly against the binds again, screaming as I strained every muscle in my body to free myself.