Beside me, Jenny objects. “Hey!”
Ignoring her, I back up the clip a couple frames to where I’m leaning toward Burnham, and I scrutinize the image. I distinctly recall spelling out that I was Linus’s girlfriend, but my body language says otherwise. I see the hopeful tension in Burnham’s shoulders and the attentive way he leans against the wind to hear me better.
“Burnham was seriously into you. You must have known it,” Jenny says.
I nod. “I figured that out. But I liked Linus more.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, and points to the screen.
I tilt my head, studying the image once more. Okay, I liked Burnham, too. I couldn’t pinpoint when that started or how much I liked him, but I did. So what did that mean, exactly? I wasn’t disloyal to Linus.
“What did his letter say?” Jenny asks.
“He gave me some pills that were an antidote to the sleeping meds,” I say. “That’s how I was able to stay awake at night.”
“I don’t get it. Did you use them all the time?” Jenny asks.
“No, at first I just pretended to take my sleeping pill and secretly spit it out. But then, when the staff checked to see that I swallowed my pill, I used Burnham’s antidote,” I say. “I was sneaking around the school at night. That’s how I found out about the dream mining. Or maybe you don’t believe that.”
“I know what you said on the show just before you got kicked off,” Jenny says. She considers me thoughtfully. “It’s too bad you never had any proof. Did Burnham know about the dream mining?”
“I don’t know how much he knew,” I say. “We never had a chance to talk about it.”
“Maybe you will,” she says, and nods towards the image of Burnham again. “I mean, you broke up with Linus, right? I’d get on that thing if I were you.”
I absolutely do not know what to say. It’s clear Jenny admires Burnham, and I can see why, but I can’t just switch gears from Linus. My mind doesn’t have a language for explaining what Linus means to me. Instead I have this raw, confusing jumble of pain and longing. He made me say publicly, on The Forge Show, everything I’d discovered about Berg and the dream mining. He made me look like a fool, and worse, he made me doubt myself. Then, when I least expected it, he showed up and tried to help me, only he got caught by Berg, too. What did that mean for us?
Under all of my doubts is a fear that I’ll find out Linus is dead.
Jenny’s looking at me strangely. “Okay. Time to check out the ex,” she says and types Linus’s name into the search window.
I steel myself, and when the first picture comes up and shows him alive, I’m ridiculously relieved. Of course he isn’t dead! My emotions orbit madly around my heart for a second, and then I focus hungrily.
Linus gazes deliberately out of his photo, not bothering to smile. He’s leaning back against a black, ironwork fence in a dark blazer, a tee shirt, and jeans. Something about the colors and composition tells me the photo was posed for a publicity shot, which puzzles me. My gut tightens as I take the computer from Jenny. I enlarge the photo to study him more closely. His nose is the same straight line. His dark hair is tousled over his eyes, and the last of his earrings is gone. He looks wrong. Bored. Bought. It’s like some corporate entity decided Linus would be more attractive with this cool, aloof expression and packaged him like this.
I don’t like it.
“He’s the host of a new show, looks like,” Jenny says. “Did you see?”
I scan the article to learn he’s been named the host of a new series called Found Missing about missing kids. That explains the new look, but not how he ended up in a high-profile job. I thought he didn’t like publicity.
The cat jumps up on the couch beside Jenny, and she absently pats it.
“Could Linus be looking for you?” Jenny asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “He never found me, in any case.”
He could have tried to reach me. I pull up my Forge email account to log in.
“What are you doing?” Jenny asks.
“Checking my email.”
“You can’t,” she says. “You can’t contact anybody, especially not the host of a TV show. That reward’s a ton of money, Rosie,” Jenny says. “We deserve to get paid for helping you. If you’re going to go public, our first contact has to be to the reward hotline, not Linus Pitts.”
“But, how can—?” I stop. “This is ridiculous.”
She gently tugs her computer away from me, and I realize she’s serious. I can’t contact anybody while I’m with Jenny and Portia. That’s what this means. Linus, Burnham, Janice, my family—I can’t call any of them.
“I’m sorry,” Jenny says. “You understand, right? Portia and I can keep this confidential. It’ll be hard, but we can. As soon as it leaks that you’re here, though, poof. No reward for us. I’m sorry.”
“I get it.”
And I do. It’s not complicated. This place isn’t exactly a prison because I’m choosing to be here, but it comes with strings, like everything else.
13
THEA
BEHIND THE BLUE DOOR
“YOU NEED TIME TO RECOVER,” Ida my nurse said when she caught me trying to walk alone in my room. “Muscles can’t mend in a day. Neither can a brain. Besides, if you fall, you could have a serious setback.”
“I need to get stronger,” I said, tottering but determined. “Can’t you give me some steroids or something?”
“Not with your pregnancy. Now sit.”
I glanced at the fetus photo I’d propped against the vase and shifted back in my wheelchair. “Do you have kids?” I asked Ida.
“I have four. What was I thinking?” She smiled at me and flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Pregnancy is the easy part, believe me. Once your baby is out and running around, you will never have a minute’s peace.”
“Great.”
“Anytime, dúlla.”
As the days passed, I was restlessly lonely, and it became difficult to hide my impatience with my slow recovery. I took to exploring the clinic in my wheelchair, propelling myself with my arms as they grew stronger, and it was a relief to be out of my room and away from Althea’s solicitous parents.