The Aberration of Eden Pruitt, page 16
Apparently, Anastasia Blaire invited artists to perform in her coffee shop every Friday night. Judging by Anastasia’s posts, Willow was a regular. Which meant Willow had to live in Chicago.
Next, they looked up Willow’s younger brother, Clay. According to Perk, he was a well-adjusted 16-year-old who played point guard for a traveling basketball team called the Glencoe Gladiators. He didn’t post often, but when he did, he was almost always with people. Teammates from his basketball team. One or both of his parents. And a reoccurring girl named Charlotte. Cassian followed the handle to her account. In her profile picture, she wore Clay’s jersey and held up her pointer finger in a number one sign and beamed at the camera with a scoreboard in the background showing a score of 73 to 68. Glencoe for the win.
Cassian returned to Clay’s account and scrolled further into his past. Two years ago, he posted a picture with a dark-haired, dark-eyed man in his thirties. They stood side-by-side in front of a memorial that had been erected along I-95, right outside Washington, DC. It was as close as a person could get to the country’s former capitol, as the area contained radioactive residue that made the city uninhabitable. In the caption, Clay wrote he was visiting his cousin Amir out east, then concluded with the words never forget in all caps.
Amir.
This was Isabella Bryson’s nephew.
A young man who’d lost his mother when he was seventeen.
Cass searched his name but found nothing. Not a single Amir Kashif owned an account on Perk. Cassian took the search out of the social media site to the broader world wide web and discovered that Amir was a cybersecurity analyst for Under Armour in Baltimore. They also stumbled upon the same obituary Cleo had found yesterday for Amir’s mother, Lillian.
Eden read the ending line over Cassian’s shoulder. “She has gone from us, reunited with her beloved husband, Moshe, a man who died in service to his country.”
They searched for an obituary for Moshe Kashif, but there wasn’t one. They couldn’t find any information on the man at all, not even his name on the veteran databases Cassian was able to access.
“Do you think he was alive when she got pregnant?” Eden asked.
Cass leaned back in his chair, as stumped as she was.
Lillian Kashif got pregnant in her forties, then died in labor. Along with the baby. There was no mention of the baby’s father. Only her beloved Moshe, who was dead. Which seemed to imply that he was the father. Eden stared at the computer screen, trying to work out the mystery. What did these people have to do with The Monarch? And what did The Monarch have to do with her?
A buzzing sound filled the small room.
Cass looked at the monitor in the corner.
A young man stood outside, waiting to be let in.
Cassian left. Eden took his chair and started digging into The Orchard, jotting down a list of girls who would have stayed there at the same time as Willow and Francesca. When Cass returned, he accessed drone surveillance monitoring the Bryson’s neighborhood and zoomed in on their home. The house looked like the kind Eden had lived in her whole life. Middle class America with neatly trimmed box bushes, two garden gnomes, and the American flag flapping in the wind.
They spent the evening toggling back and forth between the surveillance and the search bar, taking notes and watching joggers and dog walkers make their way through the quiet neighborhood. A few more of Lou’s patrons came and went. Cass grabbed Chinese for dinner. They ate with chopsticks, discussing theories and possibilities until there was nothing left to say, and the training facility was closed and a yawn stretched Eden’s mouth wide.
Cass stuffed the empty cartons into the plastic bag and tossed it toward the trash bin. It sailed straight through without hitting the rim. “It’s late. I can take the floor.”
His words caught her by surprise. She cast her attention to the floor in question, then swallowed and rubbed her earlobe. “We can share the bed.”
It was big enough for both of them.
There was no reason for him to sleep on the cold, hard ground. Especially when there were no extra blankets that she could see. It didn’t have to be a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal. She was eighteen, for crying out loud. A girl who didn’t embarrass easily. And yet, her cheeks had gone incriminatingly warm. Then even warmer as she registered the warmth.
“Eden,” Cass said.
She forced herself to look at him.
His gaze was steady. He didn’t look nervous or unsure as he studied her inquiringly. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
“And I don’t mind sharing the bed,” she replied, silently admonishing the tremble in her voice. She lifted her chin like a girl determined to mean what she said.
He studied her for a moment longer, then excused himself to check the locks and alarms. Eden found a half-empty tube of toothpaste in the basement bathroom. She used her finger to clean her teeth, splashed water on her face, and hurried to the room, where she quickly slipped beneath the covers and scooted as close to the wall as possible, her heart racing absurdly fast in her chest.
She stared at the ceiling, an intrusive image crowding her brain. The lithe and sensuous Ruby and the suggestive way she looked at Cassian in Angelica’s apartment. A girl didn’t look at a guy that way without a past. Without a history. Eden squeezed her eyes tight, willing the imagery away, her ears catching fire as Cassian returned and shut off the light.
The springs of the mattress squeaked as he stretched out beside her.
Never in her life had she been so aware of another human being. She could smell the mint of his breath, feel the heat radiating off his body as the invisible barrier between them crackled like a live wire. Eden could sense him waiting on the other side of it—this boy with so much more experience than she—and somehow, she knew he wouldn’t make the first move. The fighter was a gentleman. He would wait on the other side of that crackling wire until she decided to cross it.
Eden’s stomach fluttered.
Her breath went shallow.
Her fingers twitched.
She imagined reaching beneath the comforter to touch his hand. She curled hers into a fist and lay there in the dark—his nearness, his warmth, the slightly elevated but steady beat of his heart an intoxicating combination of torment and bliss, until she finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. For the first time since the horror that transpired on The Sapphire rooftop, she didn’t have a single nightmare.
25
Jane sat cross-legged in the shade. On the edge of the tree line. Away from the others. Away from the television. Wishing someone would turn it off. For as far back as she could remember, Father had worked relentlessly to bring forth her powers. Jane had cooperated, desperate for them to come. Maybe then the pain would stop. But Father didn’t tell her how exhausting those powers would be. He never explained what it might be like to hear every sound, register every smell, see every line and color in the sharpest detail. Combine that with the helpless panic radiating off Ruth and Alexander Pruitt—and now, even Barrett—and Jane felt like she might explode.
Rusted hinges groaned.
The screen door opened, then slapped shut as Barrett stepped outside, the sun reflecting off his dark, floppy hair. Even from this distance, she could clearly see the troubled look in his eye and the name he’d scrawled on the back of his hand. Eden. It kept slipping from his mind—the lone bug that refused to stick in his spiderweb of a brain.
Spotting her beneath the tree, Barrett headed in her direction. He glanced at the sack she hugged in her lap before ruffling his hair and meeting her eye with a gentle smile. “Hey.”
He always greeted like this. As though she might greet him back.
She blinked up at him.
His shoulders lifted and fell with a deep breath. “Mind if I join you?”
Jane scooted over an inch or two—a nonverbal invitation of welcome.
Barrett sat down beside her. He leaned against the large trunk at their backs, planted his feet flat on the ground—slightly splayed—and rested his arms on his knees. She watched from the corner of her eye as he traced the four letters of Eden’s name. “Do you think it could happen again?”
She looked at him more directly.
He narrowed his eyes. “I wish I knew how it happened, you know? I wish I knew what was going on. How can a name just … fall out of my brain?” He heaved a sigh. “It’s not like I can look up answers on the web or consult a book. I mean, this isn’t exactly like my grandfather’s dementia.”
Jane cocked her head. She didn’t know that word. Dementia.
“You want to hear something crazy? Before we went to Maine, my mom and dad got into this big argument about nano-treatment. Mom wanted to look into it as a treatment plan for my grandpa, but my dad didn’t like the idea. He was staunchly against it, actually. My mom got really pissed off when he objected and—” Barrett shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m making it up in my mind, but I swear I remember her cutting this look my way, as if Dad wasn’t just staunchly against nano-treatment, but staunchly against me. Because I guess they knew. They knew I had nanobots and my mom didn’t like the idea of my dad being against anything that might be a part of me.”
Barrett plucked a blade of grass from the ground and twirled it between his fingers.
Jane could picture his parents. His father’s round face. His mother’s kind eyes. By now, she’d seen them several times on Concordia National, the pair of them beseeching the camera with straight spines and crumpled expressions. Neither looked angry, like she imagined Father looking whenever his face flashed through her mind. They looked distraught. Like Mother used to look. Before Mother left.
“What if it happens again? What if I lose more names or what if I lose memories?”
Jane leaned closer. She enjoyed listening to Barrett talk. He did a lot of it and while it seemed to annoy some of the others, it never annoyed her. His voice gave her one singular sound to focus on. And often, he shared about his family—so opposite from hers, so foreign from any of her own experiences. The novelty of it seemed to shift something deep down inside of her. In the place her words were buried.
“Last night, I kept running every memory I could think of through my head. From as far back as I can remember. I even wrote some of them down. The really good ones I can’t forget, you know?”
No, she didn’t know.
Too often, Jane wished she could forget.
“Like my first day of kindergarten. I walked to school with Graham and Jameson, who weren’t afraid of anything. At least, it never seemed like they were. Back then, I was afraid of everything. I mean it, too. If you can believe it, I was a super shy kid. I had to fight tears the whole first half of the day, I missed my mom so much. Then lunchtime came, and I found this note in my lunch box. Lots of kids had notes on the first day, but mine wasn’t just a note. My mom drew this dinosaur on it. It was this cartoon she made up when Graham and Jameson were really little and this kid next to me—his name was Jordan—he sees it and he’s amazed. Like, truly amazed. He could not believe my mom drew it. Plus, he loved dinosaurs. So I gave it to him and then we played Lava Monster at recess and he ended up being my best friend all the way through elementary school. When I got home, I told my mom all about it—my new friend Jordan and how much he loved the dinosaur and the next day at lunch, most of the notes stopped because it was the second day and most moms didn’t write notes on the second day. But I had one. And this time, the dinosaur was on the toilet. Jordan laughed so hard milk shot out of his nose, which made me laugh so hard that I almost peed my pants. And I just … I wasn’t nervous anymore.” Barrett smiled—a wistful, far-off smile. “She put a note in my lunch box with a drawing of that dinosaur every day that year. She didn’t miss a single one.”
Jane was leaning closer now—impossibly riveted. She wanted Barrett to keep going. She wanted him to draw the picture of the dinosaur and tell her more and more stories about his mother.
Instead, his eyes went glossy. His face stretched long with sadness. “What if I forget about the dinosaur? What if I forget about my mom?”
Jane shook her head—a slight, subtle shake. She wanted to take Barrett’s hand. Or maybe squeeze his shoulder. A gesture of comfort she sometimes saw Jack and Dr. Norton do with Alexander. She swallowed in an attempt to drum up the courage when the sound came—a horrible, screeching burst of noise that pounced so ferociously, she doubled over her crossed legs and threw her hands over her head.
When it ended, her heart thudded violently. Erratically. And Barrett had jumped to his feet.
After a moment of quiet uncertainty, he gently peeled her hands away from her ears, his eyes wide and filled with knowing as he crouched beside her.
“What happened?” he said. “Was it your hearing?
She didn’t have to nod for Barrett to know he’d guessed correctly.
Something was wrong.
With Barrett’s brain.
With Jane’s hearing.
She spent the rest of the day in her room, jumping at every sound, unsure when they might join together and scream in her ear. At lunchtime, Barrett lost another name—Cleo’s—and began freaking out in earnest. He paced in the living room asking questions while Jack acted like a man in the throes of anaphylactic shock. The borders were closing. Annette and Ellery were waiting for a flight home. And he was an absolute mess. Studying Eden’s network was his EpiPen.
Another reason Jane stayed in her room.
Jack had taken over Dr. Norton’s living space, spreading the contents from their files across the floor along with all the images that had been taken over the years. Eden had the most, but there were images of Barrett and Violet, too. Images taken when they were babies and again more recently, before they woke up. Images that showed differences in Jane’s network that were there now but weren’t before. Differences that made her want to run before he could do any more testing.
Dr. Norton had told Jack to give her time.
But that was weeks ago.
That time had run out.
Jane had to go.
She hugged the sack of treasures to her chest and rocked on her bed.
She didn’t want to go. Eden told them they needed to stay—she and Barrett both. That was their job. They were going to stay here and protect the others in case the bad guys came. Jane could not let anything bad happen to them. Not like Kitty. Not like the puppies. No matter how hard her heart pounded, no matter how frightened these tests made her, she had to be brave.
She had to stay.
A knock sounded on the door.
She squeaked and buried her face in her treasure sack.
“Jane?”
The voice belonged to Ruth. Earlier this morning, before her time with Barrett under the tree, Jane overheard her in the bedroom across the hall talking to Alexander about someone named Christopher. Then she burst into tears because she was so worried about Eden. Now Jane was adding to that worry by refusing to come out of her room. She crawled off the bed and opened the door with her hair hanging in her face.
“Ben made sandwiches for dinner. Would you like to join us?”
Jane took a deep breath.
It was time to be brave.
These people weren’t like Father. She knew that by now. Not even Jack was like Father, and he scared her the most. Even so, her heart still raced.
She followed Ruth down the hall, her body trembling from head to toe.
In the living room, Jack was swiping through the holographic images projected from the device Jane had fixed. Alexander was doing weightlifting exercises in his wheelchair—something he’d resumed ever since Eden left, as if building his strength was no longer a choice but a necessity. Maybe he thought he could go after her once he was strong enough.
Dr. Norton sat at the kitchen table. There was a plate of sandwiches in the center, along with a bowl of carrots. Barrett paced in front of it, his hair sticking up in every direction, muttering as he looked down at his upturned palm, where he’d scrawled another name in blue ink—Cleo.
“I think I understand it,” Jack said, holding his hands in such a way as to frame all the work spread on the floor in front of him.
Barrett stopped pacing.
Jack pulled up the holographic diagram with the different colored dots. He zoomed in and captured an image—a cluster of yellow markers gathered around the lymph nodes in Eden’s neck. He walked to a printed image near the fireplace and held it up beside the projection. “These have been active since birth. They’re the ones that interact with her immune system.”
He scrolled up to the brain and captured a different image. Most of the markers were red. He picked up several printed images from the floor—cross-referencing. Back and forth, back and forth, his bloodshot eyes bright with discovery. “These were manually activated once she was connected to the host. They enhance her senses, her speed, her strength.”
“Her memory,” Barrett added.
Jack nodded and pointed out the blue markers—not gathered in any one specific place, but spread evenly through her body. “Then there’s these. Nodes that have been pre-programmed to come online automatically at a specific time, based on predetermined signals. These markers brought her network online.” He looked at Jane when he said this.
She ducked behind her hair.
“We already knew all of this,” Alexander said, stretching his bad leg straight in front of him.
“In a vague sense, yes. But not with this amount of detail.” Jack zoomed in on one of the blue markers. He was able to blow it up to one thousand times its size. He moved from blue marker to blue marker until he found one darker than the rest, with a fluorescent globule floating in its center. He’d been studying this one a lot. “It’s master slave technology.”
“What’s that?” Ruth asked.
Jack zipped around the diagram, zooming in and out with such speed, Jane’s stomach clenched. Then he returned to the dark blue. “This is the master. It’s the only node with output capabilities. The others only have input.”
