“What are the rectangles?” I ask. “And is that a . . . tractor?”
She looks around the pantry door. “Maybe . . . maybe a bulldozer? And I don’t know what the rectangles are. They’re man-made, though. Parking lot? And I get a strong sense of people nearby. A lot of them, but . . . it’s like something is dampening the signal. Or someone. Deo’s there, and he might be in the building I drew earlier, the one near the top. But check out the bottom-right corner. Look familiar?”
It does. It’s the same pear-shaped location from last night.
“The quarry. Which means that’s the Susquehanna River.” Aaron grabs his tablet and starts to pull up the map, but Taylor takes it away.
“This needs to wait. Food supplies are down to mustard, ketchup, and an expired can of green beans, and my blood sugar is so low I’m seeing spots.”
Aaron calls for Chinese takeout. The place doesn’t deliver. Apparently there are no delivery options other than pizza, at least not during the off-season. And since Aaron won’t leave the house unless Taylor and I go too, we all head into Chesapeake Beach.
We’re on the return trip, about two blocks from the beach house. Aaron reaches into the container for another egg roll, then suddenly slams on the brakes. I catch his expression in the mirror and I know, even before I see the car parked across from the beach house.
He reverses and takes a left at the intersection we’ve just passed.
“We’re going around the back way. Taylor, as soon as we’re out of the car, slide into the driver’s seat and head straight to Sam’s. I’ll call you when I can. Anna, follow my lead, okay?”
“Sure.” I grab the file folder of Aaron and Taylor memories and shove them behind my second wall. Before Aaron can accelerate again, I fling open the door and take off. It’s not a graceful exit, and I twist my ankle in the process, but I don’t think I’ll need to run on it for long.
“Anna!”
His car squeals to a halt behind me. But I don’t have time to look back.
The BMW meets me at the corner and someone flings open a rear door. I dive inside, and the other passenger reaches across me to slam the car door shut. Through the window, I see Aaron running after me. I wish he could read the thought I’m sending—I’m sorry, I’m so, so, sorry—but the only one who gets that message is Dacia Badea.
She laughs and tosses me a sealed plastic bag. There’s a mask of some sort inside. “If you are ready to cooperate this time, take that out and put it on.”
One last glance through the rear window. Aaron is standing in the middle of the street, growing smaller as we drive away. Then we turn the corner and I can’t see him at all.
I’m sorry.
My eyes shift to the front seat, and I catch a glimpse of the driver’s face in the rearview mirror. Bald, with a dinky half beard. The last time I saw that face clearly was in Molly’s memory. And even though Molly’s emotions are no longer part of the equation, I remember her fear vividly.
But I need to focus. I pull my eyes away from Lucas and rip the plastic bag open with my teeth. Once the mask is out and the loops of elastic are over my ears, I turn to Dacia and say, “Now what?”
She places the palm of her hand against the outside of the mask and pushes forward with a bit more force than seems necessary. The plastic edge of the mask digs into my chin and I suck in a mouthful of air. That seems to cause the mask to clutch my face even tighter.
I don’t know if it’s the gas that’s released or the mask itself, but I catch a faint whiff of vanilla. Which makes me think of Kelsey.
A memory I’d almost forgotten flutters through my mind—sitting on the banks of Rock Creek with an eight-year-old Deo, sharing a small box of vanilla wafers when we were on the run that first time.
And then I’m thinking of someone else, who doesn’t smell of vanilla, but who smells warm and safe. But my mind can’t grab his name because it’s drifting away on a vanilla cloud and because I have that memory behind . . .
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The wall.
It’s my very first thought, before my eyes open. Before I’m even aware of the queasy feeling in my stomach or of the bed beneath me.
Although “bed” might be a bit too generous. It’s more like one of those narrow examination tables in a doctor’s office, with bars on the sides and a slightly elevated head. Except there are sheets instead of the crinkly paper strip down the middle.
I’m in the hospital again. Why?
I close my eyes and remain still and silent for several minutes, trying to get my bearings. Trying to remember why my first thought was the wall, even as I’m checking for gaps, for signs that anyone has been tinkering while I was unconscious.