Chasing Before Page 16

  When I arrive at Gym Three, the rubber duck is once again being used as a doorstop. I give it a tiny good-bye wave, since this is almost definitely the last time I’ll be welcome at seraphim guard training, thanks to Nate. The duck’s yellow cheerfulness seems to mock me, especially when I’m confronted with the somber atmosphere inside. All the other candidates have arrived already, and from their semicircle on the floor, Wolf stares at me with a sneer. I ignore him, my eyes locking with Autumn’s. She’s sitting with Furukama at the opening of the semicircle. I look away quickly. Moby and Brady are on one end, and when Brady pats the floor next to him in invitation, I don’t hesitate to join them.

  Once I’m seated, Furukama goes down the line, examining each of us, with the exception of Autumn, from head to toe. He doesn’t touch us physically, but the way his eyes drill into me is invasive enough. Can he see the blackness of my soul?

  “Seraphim reign supreme,” Furukama says, and we repeat it after him. “Your minds are strong. We train. Your minds get stronger. At the end of term, on Ascension Day, I will choose twelve to join the seraphim guard and ascend to Level Four. The rest will continue to train until they are one day chosen, or leave to seek another career.” Furukama materializes a binder, the same one we were all given yesterday. The one I left in my dorm room. This day is not at all going in my favor.

  Wolf has his binder with him, of course, as do about half of the other students. Because I never touched my seraphim guard binder on Earth, I can’t materialize it now. I could materialize a similar-looking binder, but it wouldn’t have the same content, so it’s no use.

  Autumn takes over. “If you looked at the syllabus yesterday after class, you know that our first unit is on meditation. And you would have read the required chapters provided as well as practiced deep breathing techniques.” She pauses to look knowingly at those of us who didn’t bring our binders and probably also didn’t read or practice. “But considering the bombing of the library yesterday, we will not penalize anyone today. We will have an open session to talk about your concerns. Who would like to go first?”

  Wolf’s hand shoots up, and Brady groans beside me. “It’s obvious who’s setting off the bombs. It’s that angel,” Wolf says. Some of the others around Wolf mumble in agreement. Even though most of the populace of Level Three doesn’t know about the Morati being here, it’s an open secret among the seraphim guard trainees, many of whom also serve on the security force.

  Furukama nods. “You refer to Julian.”

  “Julian continues to be in our custody,” Autumn explains. “Therefore, we can be sure that he is not responsible for the latest bombing.”

  Wolf sticks out his lower lip like a bratty child. “Maybe he didn’t blow up the library, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t responsible for the other crimes. It means he has an accomplice.” When he says the word “accomplice,” he looks straight at me. Real subtle, Wolf.

  “I assure you, we are pursuing every lead.” Furukama’s tone is polite but firm. Wolf nods, satisfied for now.

  “Anyone else?” Autumn asks.

  Zhu Mao clears her throat and straightens her posture. She has pulled her dreadlocks back into a bun, which gives her a more serious edge. “So these people in my hall were complaining that the security force sucks.” The trainees that are also part of the security force chime in with unhappy groans and denials. Some cast uneasy glances toward Furukama, waiting for his reaction. After all, if you criticize the security force, you are in essence complaining about its top commander.

  “And everyone’s, like, totally freaked,” Zhu Mao continues. “The bomb chopped a girl in half yesterday. So is this, like, Armageddon or something?”

  “There is no reason to believe that.” Autumn’s voice is tight. “If we stay calm, and lead with our calm examples, everything will go back to normal soon. To assist on this account we’ve enlisted Libby’s help. Some of you might have heard about, or attended, Libby’s first mood-enhancing concert last night. The results were extraordinarily positive.”

  “But, like, isn’t that a Band-Aid for the problem? Drugging everyone up? I mean, not that I mind drugs,” Zhu Mao says, eliciting chuckles from the group, “but they don’t protect anyone from bombs. Won’t we be like lambs on a chopping block? Can’t we stop preventing people from leaving here to go to Areas One and Three?”

  “You think we’d all be safe from the Morati if we moved? Why wouldn’t they follow us?” Autumn challenges.

  “I don’t know.”

  “If you have a better suggestion, you’re welcome to share it with us,” Autumn says.

  Zhu Mao shakes her head.

  Furukama stares at me. “Are there other concerns?” It’s like he can read my mind.

  I gulp. Here goes nothing. I’d rather do this in private, but I can’t risk that Furukama will go back into his statue mode before I have the chance to do Nate’s dirty work. “Yes. I do have something I want to say.” I stand up. “I’ve thought it over, and I have to quit.”

  Brady and Moby look up at me in surprise, and Wolf lets out a very inelegant cackle. Brady pulls at my arm. “What’re you doing?” he whispers. “Is this because of what Zhu Mao said?” I sway on my feet, fighting the urge to run.

  Furukama’s face reveals nothing. “Class dismissed,” he says. “Only Felicia stays.”

  My fellow trainees file out, eyeing me with a mix of curiosity and disdain as they go. They can’t fathom why anyone would voluntarily leave guard training and all the cachet that comes with it.

  When the gym is empty but for me and Autumn, Furukama wastes no time in getting to the point. “Do you disagree with my tactics? Is that why you wish to quit?”

  “No. The Morati drugged us in Level Two for selfish reasons. What you and Libby are doing is trying to help people.”

  “Explain your problem,” Furukama says. “You are a valued trainee. You could find the Morati. I have high hopes for you.”

  “I do as well,” Autumn interjects, the concern clearly showing in her eyes. Autumn’s acceptance makes this even harder for me.

  I bow my head. I can’t bear to look at Autumn while I say what I have to say in order to keep Neil safe. Even though my afterlife will be bleak without Autumn’s friendship, it would be even more so if Nate were to dispose of Neil. “Thank you, but . . .” I pause, my voice cracking. “I can’t train with Autumn. It’s either me or her.”

  Autumn yelps, like a dog that’s been kicked in the side. “What?”

  Furukama reaches out both arms, placing one hand on Autumn’s shoulder, which silences her, and one hand on mine. His concentrated stillness fills my mind, pushing out all my thoughts.

  He lets go of us abruptly and grunts. “Autumn, you are dismissed. Permanently.” Then he morphs into his stone statue mode as if to ward off any protestations.

  My jaw drops, and Autumn careens into me in a free fall. I catch her and lower her to the floor. She slaps at my legs, and I let her. I want it to hurt. “Why, Felicia? Why? You have to explain this to me, because I don’t understand.”

  “I’m so sorry. So sorry.” I could say it a million times and it would still never be enough for what I’ve done. I never could have anticipated that Furukama would choose me. I was fully resigned to be the one who had to leave. Autumn would still have her position. Nate would have his sadistic fun. And I would be reliant on Julian for helping me find the Morati. Maybe Autumn would have forgiven me again at some point down the road. But she’s not going to now, especially because I can’t tell her that Nate forced me to do this.

  Her forehead creased in confusion, she lowers her cheek to the floor and stares at the balance beam against the wall. For a moment she’s the old vulnerable Autumn. “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to get this? To become Furukama’s confidant? To have a position where people look up to me? And then you waltz in here, smile your pretty smile, and he dumps me for you.”

  “I wish I could take it back. I am so, so, so sorry,” I repeat hel
plessly.

  “Oh no, you’re not.” Autumn’s pupils dilate, making her look a bit crazy. A bit dangerous. “Not now you aren’t. But you will be.”

  Is that a threat? “More sorry than now?” I squeak out. In all my fear of Nate throwing me into the hellhole if I didn’t do his bidding, I didn’t even consider what Autumn might do.

  She sits up. “There is so much more going on here than you’ll ever understand. I shouldn’t give you this advice, because you certainly don’t deserve it, but don’t trust anyone.” Autumn glances at Furukama’s statue, and when she does, her lip twitches. “Especially not him.” Then she goes to the door, kicks the rubber duck viciously, and lets the metal door slam behind her.

  The slam echoes through the gym, driving it into my skull how very cut off from everyone I am. Autumn said I shouldn’t trust anyone, but I know the truth. No one should trust me. Not even I can anymore.

  I walk back to my room, kicking idly at stones and pebbles. Now that Furukama has put his faith in me, I should check out the syllabus and do my meditation homework so I can be prepared for tomorrow, but I get no joy from the thought of doing so. When I reach the lobby of the dorms, I’m greeted by the sound of Neil’s singing voice. He leads a large group of our peers in some songs. I don’t stop. I can’t deal with his cheery public persona right now. I need to get to my room and be alone.

  Safely inside, my eyes automatically go to the table by the door to check if the Morati have delivered. They have. And this time there’s not one memory globe but two.

  twenty-three

  THE TWO UNLABELED milky-white memory globes are nestled in a cream-colored silk scarf. They look so innocent for objects that hold so much mystery and temptation. I should alert Libby or Furukama, but I won’t. Not when the globes pulsate with truths that have been kept from me all this time. Truths that could be my salvation—the keys to improving my relationship with Neil, maybe even salvaging my friendship with Autumn. And until I have these truths, nobody has to be aware of this but me.

  I inch closer until I’m poised directly over the twin globes. Their soft glow illuminates my greedy hand as I make contact with the one on the right. The globe pops and the memory dissolves into my skin, rushing my mind with images and sucking me back in time. Back to my earthly life.

  It’s nearing midnight and I’m sitting cross-legged on my narrow bed in the tiny Paris hotel room I’m sharing with my dad. The score to the Prancing Goat Symphony is laid out all around him on his own narrow bed, and he scrawls notes in the margins.

  “Isn’t it a bit late to be making changes?” I ask. “The concert is tomorrow.” I’ve been practicing for months, but my nerves are so frayed that my hands are tucked under my legs to keep them from shaking. It’s not only worry about my performance. It’s also that I texted Neil earlier and asked him to call, but he hasn’t. And I don’t know why not. He should’ve been home from work an hour ago.

  Dad flashes me a harried smile and collects all the papers, stacking them in an orderly pile. “Preconcert ritual to keep the jitters at bay.” He gets up and deposits the score on the desk under the window, sweeping the curtain closed at the same time. “We should get some sleep. Did you brush your teeth?”

  I groan. I’m eighteen and my dad is still telling me to brush my teeth. “Yes, Dad.” I finished my entire bedtime routine in the bathroom, including changing into pj’s. I even laid out an extra blanket on the end of his bed in case he gets cold.

  “Did you floss, too?”

  “Yes.”

  He nods. “Floss every day, and you’ll keep your teeth forever. That’s what our health teacher in high school told us. It may have been the only thing I learned in that class.”

  In my case my health teacher was far more concerned with preaching safe sex than extolling the virtues of flossing. She averaged 3.2 utterly mortifying statements per class, and none of them had to do with teeth.

  I slip under the duvet and stare at the ceiling. Without even moving my eyes, I see all four corners of the room. The springs of Dad’s mattress constrict and his sheets rustle as he gets into bed. He clicks off the lamp and plunges the room into inky darkness.

  “Why didn’t Mother come?” I’ve been thinking about her absence a lot today, sure that it means she still doesn’t want to see me, especially because she’s never missed one of Dad’s premieres before. The absence of light makes me bold enough to pose the question.

  “Oh, you know. She had an important embassy function she couldn’t miss.” Though he tries to keep his tone light, as if it doesn’t bother him, there’s an undercurrent of strain in his voice. I can just imagine their arguments about me.

  “I’m sure.” I taste the bitterness on my tongue when I say it.

  “Oh, sweet pea, she would have come if she could have.” His words lack conviction, only confirming what I already suspected. My mother wants nothing more to do with me after what I did to get my security clearance revoked by the State Department. The official reason was that I misused my diplomatic passport when I entered Myanmar to look for my dad, but I’m sure the fact that I fled the scene of Autumn’s murder without calling the police and hacked my way into a free plane ticket contributed to the State Department’s decision. I don’t answer. There’s nothing I can say that hasn’t been said already. I’ve talked to her only twice since, both after my accident.

  Dad and I have been in Paris now for a week, our time eaten up by lengthy daily rehearsals. Neil has called every day without fail, except today. This is the longest amount of time we’ve been apart, with the exception of the days after our car accident when we were both too out of it to even notice. He’s become so much a part of me, I hate being this far away. I wonder if this is how my dad once felt about my mother. If he still feels the ache of separation despite their many solo trips throughout their marriage. Does it ever get easier?

  “When did you know that you wanted to get married?” I ask.

  “Hmmm . . .” Dad thinks aloud. “Well, after we recovered from malaria in Dakar, we went back to our posts in rural Senegal. I had time to bike over to her village once or twice a week, but it was never enough.”

  I hear the smile in his voice as he recalls his courtship with my mother. I wish I were able to see the side of her that brings my dad such joy.

  He goes on. “We talked about what we would do when our peace corps term was up. Evie wanted to get her master’s degree in international relations at George Washington University. My Africa stay had gotten me interested in ethnic music, and I was already composing classical pieces that integrated tribal drums. I didn’t really have a plan, so I ended up following her and proposing to her because I didn’t want to lose her.”

  “You knew each other for only a year when you got married, right?”

  “Well, it was more like eighteen months by the time we planned the wedding.”

  “Did you ever think you should have waited longer?” I ask tentatively.

  “We’ve had our problems and differences of opinion.” He pauses, the weight of his statement clear. “But I’ve never regretted marrying your mother. Not for a second.”

  Though I find it hard to believe the woman my dad loves so fiercely is the mother who hates me, I’m happy for my dad that their relationship has stood the test of time. It gives me hope for Neil and me.

  He clears his throat. “Why the sudden interest?”

  I feel my cheeks grow hot. I don’t want to discuss Neil with my dad right now. Not when my insides are churning with so many insecurities about both Neil and the concert. “Oh, no reason. Trying to keep my mind off tomorrow.”

  “You’ve been so good in rehearsals. You’ll nail it.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Good night, sweet pea.”

  That’s where the first memory ends, a bittersweet fragment of my life that reopens the wounds of my mother rejecting me. But my father forgave me, let me back into his life. I wonder what he’s doing right now. If the pages of his Prancing Goa
t Symphony score swim before his eyes when he thinks of me.

  I stare at the ceiling, a dull pounding pain in my head from where it smacked the floor. Maybe I should go into the next memory from a lower position. I get up on my knees and stretch my arm until my hand comes in contact with the second memory globe. Then I’m pulled under again.

  Dad and I sit at a table with Arno, the director of the Metropole Orchestra, and Frederick, the guy who organized the financing for tonight’s sold-out performance of the Prancing Goat Symphony. They laugh and talk over one another, their eyes still bright with the memory of our standing ovation.

  We’re in a brasserie in Paris that Arno recommended. He says he loves to come here for both the excellent food and the art nouveau décor. I stare up at the gorgeous stained-glass windows in the ceiling. In the one directly above our table, green and yellow and white glass come together to form an intricate floral mosaic.

  The waiter distributes menus. The leather cover of the menu is embossed with the restaurant’s name. Julien. Not spelled the same way as that ghost from my past, but an unsettling coincidence all the same. I haven’t thought of Julian much lately. After confiding in Neil about my dark days, Julian pops up on my radar only rarely. I can’t help closing my eyes and picturing him as he was the last time I saw him, when he ditched me outside the Irish pub on Halloween. His face is slightly blurry behind the window of the cab, but the sadness in his eyes is clear. Now I swing my head to the right, as if the motion could erase him from my mind, but instead what I see is impossible: Julian behind a steering wheel of a police car—the police car—for a split second before glass shatters all around me.