“No, no, I don’t think I can—”
“You have to,” I say. “Or you’ll be responsible for whatever happens to us. And you won’t be able to blame that on Doug. If we are killed, it’ll be on you. How will you be able to live with yourself, be a mother to your daughter? We are someone’s children, too.”
“This is never going to work,” Cassie says once Lexi has left, giving us her wobbly assurances that she’ll do as we asked, that she’ll try to get Stuart off the door. “Did you see how nervous she was? She’s going to crack. She’ll probably tell her husband.”
“That’s helpful, Cassie,” Jasper barks. “And do you have a better idea? Considering that you are the entire reason we are in this fucked-up situation.”
Cassie closes her eyes and shakes her head. “No,” she says quietly, dropping herself down onto the couch. “I don’t have any more ideas.”
“Awesome,” Jasper goes on, gritting his teeth. “On the upside, at least you feel special.”
It’s fair that he’s angry. I’m angry at Cassie, too. But there’s a part of me that feels bad for her. Cassie is who she is. She can’t change that any more than I can. Whoever it is I end up being.
There’s another sound at the door then. The bolt sliding back open again. Too quick to be Lexi, though.
When the door finally opens, Quentin pokes his head in. He takes a deep breath and blows it out puffed-up cheeks as he walks inside. He is different yet again. Not quite the nervous boy-man we first met, but much closer. He’s even put the glasses back on.
Cassie was right, we are significantly more screwed with him in the cabin with us. And there’s no way to tell Lexi to wait until he is gone. We are going to have to go anyway, which means we need Quentin far away from the door.
“I’m glad somebody brought you some water.” He steps forward and picks up one of the bottles Lexi left, stares down at it in silence. I worry for a minute he’s going to tell us that he knows about Lexi agreeing to help. That Doug has already headed her off at the pass.
“Did you leave those dolls on our porch?” I ask, walking toward the back, hoping Quentin will follow, distracted by the conversation. One way or another, we have to get him off that door. And I’m assuming it was him. It started right after he got fired.
“Dolls?” Quentin asks, confused, and it seems genuine. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about any dolls. But I wouldn’t be surprised if someone left something unpleasant at your house, Wylie. This situation is so much larger and more complex than two scientists with opposing philosophical perspectives. There are so many forces at play.”
“Is my dad even coming here?” I ask, going to lean against the wall like I was just randomly headed to the back. “And those North Point people aren’t real, are they?”
“Yes, of course, on both fronts,” Quentin says, but not even like he really cares about convincing me. Instead, he walks right past me, even deeper into the cabin. Farther than I could have hoped. “Now, was your dad always coming? No. Were we always working together? No, obviously not. Otherwise I would have known from the beginning that he’d switched your and Cassie’s results.” He pauses like he’s waiting for me to say something. “Did I have to employ some misdirection to get him here? Yes, I did. But he will be here soon, Wylie. And make no mistake, North Point is very real. And just like The Collective, they are only the beginning. We stand in the eye of a hurricane.”
Quentin heads over to the wall, to where we removed the plywood. With his back turned to us, he stares down at the long, thin hole in the wall. I step then between Quentin and the door. Between him and my friends. Because it’s me that he wants. And maybe this is how all of this is—how I am—supposed to end. I have to believe I will find a way to escape somehow. And if I cannot, that feels like it might be okay. Because I may not know who I am anymore. But I do know one thing: I am done being afraid.
“Let Cassie and Jasper go and I’ll do whatever you want,” I say.
“Wylie.” Cassie’s voice wavers. She can see what I’m doing now. Can tell that I am planning to sacrifice myself so that they can run.
“I’ll teach you whatever you want,” I go on, moving closer to Quentin.
I’m amazed at how convincing I sound, like I really might know how to teach anyone anything. But it’s harder to keep my composure once Quentin turns around and locks eyes with me. It isn’t until then that I feel the full weight of his emptiness. His insides are a hole. His heart a cliff. And I’m about to slip into the abyss.
“I can’t let them go, Wylie,” he says calmly, like it’s just the unfortunate truth. One that he and I must face together. “Not now.” He lifts his head, looks vaguely toward the road, the woods. “It wouldn’t be safe anyway—not with North Point.”