The Delphi Revolution (The Delphi Trilogy Book 3) Page 8

  But you want to know the biggest tip-off, at least for me? She takes sugar in her coffee now. Not just a smidgen, but three heaping teaspoons. Mostly in the mornings, although it seems to me it’s happened a few times in the afternoon lately. Any other time, she drinks her coffee black, like she always has. She still kind of wrinkles her nose in that slightly superior way when I dump sugar into mine, totally oblivious to the fact she did the same thing that morning.

  So, no. You aren’t going to convince me this is about some unprocessed memories. I don’t know what this Myron guy did to her, but I know to my very core this isn’t about him. Anna picked up Cregg in that airport hangar. He’s in her head, and he’s getting stronger. If the antipsychotic drug Kelsey suggested might help in any way to keep Anna in control, why not at least try it?

  I don’t get why all of you keep avoiding reality. Unless maybe Anna is using Cregg’s ability on the rest of you, too? I’m telling you, we need to stop being alone with her, especially in the early mornings and especially when she’s sitting still. When you do talk to her, keep her moving. Everyone I’ve talked to says Cregg can’t focus unless he’s still. And for God’s sake, stick to the buddy system when you’re around her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Southern Shores, North Carolina

  April 23, 2020, 4:17 p.m.

  I wipe off the thin layer of dust that accumulated on the kitchen counter in our absence, then stash the roll of paper towels back in the pantry. This storage unit was supposed to be climate controlled, but it’s too hot and stuffy here in the RV for me to believe that. I’m pretty sure the AC was turned on a few seconds after we keyed our password into the security pad at the front gate.

  All in all, I’d rather not be here. After we left the meeting with Maria and the other adepts, I went straight to Kelsey, hoping she would nix the idea of me leaving Sandalford. I’m not well enough to travel. As much as I hate admitting that, I know it’s true. This is something that should be left to Magda’s people or the police . . . okay, no, maybe not. Magda’s security would bring Pfeifer straight here, and we can’t involve the police.

  But it should be the others without me. Aaron and Sam are detectives. What do I bring to the equation that’s worth the risk of me going with them? Not a damn thing. Just because Stan thinks I’m somehow at the center of what’s going down with my father doesn’t mean he’s right.

  As I marched down the hallway to Kelsey’s office, I had no doubt where she would stand on the issue. She probably wouldn’t want any of us to go, but definitely not me or Deo. After all, we’re walking into danger, and that’s something Kelsey tends to oppose on general principle. Assuming Stan’s vision pans out, there could be gunfire outside that building. And while Scott Pfeifer is my father, he shot my mom. As awful as it sounds, I’m not willing to risk our lives to save him from what feels like poetic justice.

  But something went wrong before I even reached Kelsey’s door. My head began to pound. The next thing I remember with crystal clarity is being in the back seat of the truck, squeezed in next to Taylor and Deo as we headed south toward Kitty Hawk where the RV is stored.

  There was an argument in Kelsey’s office. Even if I can’t remember it, I know something is wrong simply from the way Aaron and the others keep looking at me. I don’t know how much Aaron told Kelsey about what we’re doing. Hell, I don’t even know how much I told Kelsey, and I can’t exactly ask without letting on that I’ve lost time again.

  My head still hurts. But now it’s more from the tension of worrying I’m going to say the wrong thing and give away the fact that I’ve acquired another gap in my memory. That makes two in one day, which may be a personal best. Or worst, I guess.

  I shove the paper towel roll back onto the holder and look around for something else to keep me occupied until Aaron can finish checking the outside of the RV for trackers and we can hit the road. Deo and Taylor helped him for a bit, but they came back inside a few minutes ago, since we only have one of the scanning devices that checks for unusual electronic signals. The RV has been parked here for the past four months, and even though this is an enclosed unit, one of the Senator’s goons could have bribed or threatened the owner and picked the lock. And I’d almost guarantee Miller, Magda’s head of security, has placed a tracker somewhere on the camper—although I’m not sure why he’d bother, since Aaron located and removed it the last time we left without Magda’s official sanction.

  “This is beginning to feel like a pattern,” Deo says as he shoves a carton of milk into the fridge. “Maybe we should put together a departure checklist for the next time we have to take off at a moment’s notice.”

  “That’s a good point,” I say. “Why did it have to be at a moment’s notice?”

  “Because Stan’s paths were shifting all over the place,” Taylor says. “Apparently, he told Maria last week that something new was coming down the pike, but it was blurry. Then, about eight hours ago, everything started to converge.”

  Taylor watches me as she says these last words, like she’s waiting for a reaction. I’m not sure why at first, then I remember that my morning jog on the beach was around eight hours ago. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. As usual, Taylor has to assign blame to someone. And as usual, I’m at the top of her list. But it really feels like she’s reaching this time.

  “We should have brought Ein,” I say, changing the subject fully so she’ll know I’m not going to take the bait.

  “We’re only leaving him for a few days,” she says. “Although I’m guessing Stan wishes we had taken Ein. He nearly tripped over him this morning. Right around the time he said the paths got all out of whack. When you were out on the beach.”

  She gives me a smug smile. Two can play the subject-changing game, and the conversation is now right back where she wanted it.

  “That’s why Maggie had to walk around with Stan today. Even with the cane, he was really dizzy. He told me when the paths diverge as much as they did this morning, it’s like walking when you’re drunk. Or at least how he imagines that would be, based on movies. Which makes me wonder how much of what he says is even true. I mean, he’s older than I am. He has to know what’s it like to walk when you’re buzzed.”

  “Well,” Deo says, “he’s been at The Warren for a few years, and before that, he and his brother were in a mental hospital.”

  “He has a brother?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Taylor says. “He didn’t make it out with our group. He was in a different wing, with the other more . . . volatile kids. Stan gave me this stuffed animal so I could do a reading—a sock monkey with a Harvard T-shirt. That’s the brother’s name—Harvard. Apparently, his mom had Ivy League aspirations for her kids.”

  Her expression and tone make it abundantly clear this is another of the many things I should remember. And yeah, if Taylor did a remote viewing, I’m guessing most of Sandalford knew. She goes into full psychic-diva mode, eating enough for three and becoming annoyed at even minor distractions.

  “Last time I checked,” she says, “he was in Nevada with the Bear Brigade.”

  Aaron enters while Taylor is speaking. “I think the RV is clean, aside from Miller’s stupid tracker, which I removed. Same brand as last time even. He must order the damn things in bulk.”

  Once we have the RV hooked up to the truck and we’re out of the storage unit, I reluctantly join Aaron in the cab. Normally, I look forward to riding shotgun because we get to spend a bit of time alone. But I’m pretty sure he’s going to want to talk about whatever happened in Kelsey’s office before we left. And since I have no freakin’ idea what happened, I’d really rather not.

  But he doesn’t bring it up. Maybe he’s worried I’m mad at him. For the most part I’m not, although the part of me that was ready to attack on the beach this morning still seems to be hovering around. Looking for a reason to get angry.

  Even once we’re out on the highway, Aaron just keeps up a light banter, talking about the RV and the pros and cons
of being back on the road. I pull up a Pandora station we both like and try to relax, but I remain on edge. By the time we pull through a Taco Bell near Norfolk, I’m almost hoping he’ll mention the argument just to get it over with. And by the time we reach Richmond, I’m ready to start the argument myself, even at the risk of revealing I have another memory gap.

  But Aaron jumps into the breach first. “I’m sorry, okay? But I still think you shouldn’t be here. And you know it’s not because I don’t want you with me. You’re not well, Anna. If you have another of these weird . . . spells . . . you’ve been having, you’ll be a liability, not an asset. I don’t know if I’ll be able to protect you, and it will make it harder to protect the others. I’m really sorry if that hurts your feelings, but . . .”

  I want to argue that I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself. That’s definitely what I would have argued a few months ago. The problem is, I know he’s right. I know I should have stayed at Sandalford. I even remember walking into Kelsey’s office hoping she’d veto the idea of me coming on this trip. Then . . . all of that changed, and apparently, I was arguing something else entirely. Must have been pretty persuasive, too, because here I sit.

  Still, there must be a reason this angry side of my brain thinks I should be here. “Maria and Stan said I’m supposed to be with you. That he had a vision of me . . . having a vision—”

  “Yeah, well, Stan’s ability isn’t like Jaden’s, is it? Maybe the path where all of this works out was the one where you stayed back at Sandalford.” He pulls his eyes from the road briefly to look at me, his eyes pleading. “But I really don’t like arguing with you, so let’s just drop it, okay? It doesn’t matter now that you are here. We’ll just have to make the . . .”

  Aaron continues talking for a few seconds longer, but I can’t hear the last bit over the blood pounding in my ears. His eyes are on the road now as he tries to shift the trailer into the other lane to avoid a slowdown on the overpass up ahead.

  I’m so sick of him and the others constantly belittling me and treating me like a child. I should grab the steering wheel. That would show them. Yank it hard to the right, and we’d crash through the guardrail. Sail through the air and all of this would be over—

  NO!

  Bricks fly from every corner of my mind. They line themselves into rows automatically, blocking that mad impulse, cordoning it off from the rest of my mind.

  But my wall comes up too late for me to hide that crazy thought from Aaron. Even as the bricks are stacking, he instinctively jerks the wheel sharply to the left to compensate for what I thought about doing but didn’t. A horn blasts from the lane next to us, followed by the squeal of brakes. Our tires hit the rumble strip, but Aaron keeps the RV on the road. Two cars whizz past us on either side, both laying heavily on their horns, the driver on the right also raising an angry middle finger.

  Aaron darts a glance my way, but he’s too shaken to take his eyes off the road. As he opens his mouth to speak, the intercom buzzes and Taylor’s anxious face appears.

  “Not now,” he says, and punches the button to turn off the screen.

  I stare straight ahead, frozen in place. Silent, because what can I say? Aaron clearly picked up on my urge to send the RV flying over the guardrail. There’s no way to sugarcoat it.

  And it wasn’t simply a suicidal thought. It was also homicidal. Three other people are currently in this vehicle. Two of them are people I actually love. No, let’s be honest, three. Taylor is a pain, but she’s Aaron’s sister and my friend, and I would never willingly hurt her.

  The blood drains from my face as I remember Kelsey’s question earlier. What about Myron?

  I did hurt someone when Myron was in control. I hurt her badly. In fact, I very nearly killed her . . . and I was six at the time.

  It was a lot easier back in Kelsey’s office to brush aside her fears that Myron’s memories had somehow leaked out of their containment unit due to my concussion. Now, however, I’m desperately afraid she’s right. The anger and the suicidal thoughts could be my way of processing those long-repressed memories. A truly stupid way of processing them, in my opinion, but still . . .

  Thinking about Myron gives me a cold chill. I build a second wall, even though it feels pointless. There are no hitchers in my head to block. Memories, yes, but no hitchers. Can my walls protect me from me?

  As soon as Aaron spots an exit, he pulls off and parks behind a McDonald’s. Taylor pops up on the screen again.

  “Not now,” he says. “Stay in the camper. We’ll be back there in a minute.”

  Taylor looks like she wants to argue. I guess his expression convinces her that’s not a good idea, however, because she just sniffs and switches off the intercom.

  “What the hell was that, Anna?” He’s still gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles strain against his skin, and his voice shakes.

  Tears burn my eyes, but I fight them. I understand Aaron well enough to know some of his anger will melt away if I cry, and I don’t deserve his sympathy. “You were right. I should have stayed home.”

  I push the door open, shrugging off Aaron’s hand when he reaches for me.

  “Anna, wait. We need to—”

  The rest of his sentence is cut off as I slam the truck door and hurry back to the RV. Taylor peppers me with questions about the near crash the minute I step inside. I ignore her and retreat to the bedroom I share—or at least used to share—with Aaron.

  I lock the door behind me and then realize I’m not alone. Deo is stretched out on the bed with his iPad.

  “What happened back there? Taylor said Aaron was pretty freaked out. And do I smell . . . fries?” He trails off, having finally looked up from the tablet to see my face. “Whoa. What’s wrong?”

  Shaking my head, I feel along the paneling behind me for the bathroom door. His mention of french fries was the final straw for my stomach. I barely make it inside before losing my dinner.

  Deo waits outside the still-open doorway until I’m finished, then grabs a washcloth from above the sink and dampens it.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “A little,” I say, taking the cloth from him. “Thanks.”

  Our hands barely even touch, but we both recoil, as if we’ve had a static shock. I feel myself slipping into the vision just as that odd metallic hum echoes in my head.

  My foot catches on one of the bricks in the walkway, causing me to collide with the first bike. It tumbles off-balance, crashing into the second one. I grab the rail of the bike rack, partially breaking my fall, but still land on my butt.

  The bus passes, headed for Union Station, according to the sign on the front.

  Abbott rounds the building at the end of the block. His neck is a bright, blistered red, and he’s alone. Maybe Costello bled out on the floor. One part of me says that’s a good thing, and the other says I’m going straight to hell for even thinking it.

  His hand slips inside his suit jacket, reaching for the gun, as he heads across Second Street. A blue banner spans the top of the building behind him, proclaiming a message the man with the gun clearly isn’t following: Love Thy Neighbor.

  Across the street, a black sedan is parked at the side entrance of the Hart Senate Office Building. Three men move across the courtyard toward the car. I’m pretty sure they’re the ones from the flash Maria showed us. Two guys in dark suits. One looks vaguely familiar. Between them is a taller man. I only get a brief glimpse of his face, but I’m certain it’s my father.

  The guard at the kiosk isn’t watching them. He’s looking down at something. His phone, maybe.

  I could yell that Abbott is armed. But the street is crowded. I doubt the guard would center in on the correct person in time. And I know Abbott is perfectly willing to shoot innocent bystanders.

  But he won’t shoot me. He doesn’t dare shoot the vessel. Costello made that clear earlier when they were arguing.

  I can’t let him hurt anyone else.

  And so even though every instinct
says I should run away from him, I switch tactics and dash across Second Street, aiming to intercept before he can fire.

  I feel a momentary pulse of rage from behind my walls, but I pull on my reserve focus to block it out. To stack the mental bricks higher so I can’t hear HIM. So he can’t manipulate me into doing what he wants.

  My head, my body, my freakin’ decision. Back off.

  A horn blasts, and the guard—

  NNNNNNNnnnn

  My eyes open to see Deo, now sitting on the far side of the bed to maximize the distance between us. Aaron is knocking on the bedroom door, calling my name.

  “She’s sick,” Deo says, his eyes still on me. “Give her some space. We’ll be out in a minute.”

  I press the wet cloth to my face and close my eyes, delaying the inevitable moment when I have to tell Deo what happened out there. The thought I had in the vision keeps echoing in my mind . . . stack the mental bricks higher so I can’t hear HIM.

  “You want to talk about it?” Deo asks. “The vision? Or maybe you could start with whatever happened in the truck just now?”

  I start to say no, my automatic response these days, but . . . I do want to talk about it. Not with Aaron. Not yet. Aaron loves me. I don’t doubt that. But he doesn’t know me like Deo does. That’s the thing about family, even—or maybe especially—chosen family. They know you. The light and the dark. The good and the bad. The past and the present. Deo understands my demons, maybe even better than Kelsey does.

  “It’s him, D. Myron’s thoughts keep coming through. He wanted me to grab the wheel. Yank it so we’d drive off the overpass. I fought him off, but Aaron picked up on what I was thinking and, um . . . overcorrected. So thanks to me, we nearly crashed.”

  “Partly thanks to you,” Deo says. “You didn’t actually grab the wheel, right?”