I’m afraid to push Tyler too hard right now because I think he could flip either way. We left the tracker inside the house, buried under some clothes. From what it sounded like when they were talking, the tracker gives a general area of where it is, but not the specific location.
“What’s at Ursuline?”
We’re walking fast. I wasn’t wrong when I thought the Quarter felt small. In the few times I’ve been out of these streets, I keep seeing the same groups of people walking around. The bride-to-be from the first night, the group of guys Ethan nearly puked on. We all seem to be roaming the same streets over and over.
“Thomas tries not to keep any records. Nothing to prove what he is or where he goes or anything that can be used against him. But sometimes there’s just no way around it. He fell in love with New Orleans, the French Quarter especially, years ago. This is one of his favorite spots to hide out in. He loves the craziness of this town and the history.
“Anyway, there’s a room on the third floor of Ursuline with nothing but filing cabinets. I saw him walk in there with a large envelope and come out empty-handed just after we arrived. It was something he didn’t want me to see. And he’s been going over there a lot in the last two days. Something is going on over there.”
We walk two blocks to the convent. I didn’t realize just how close the house was to Ursuline. It’s so different seeing it in the light of day. It looks nice. And harmless. It’s hard to believe that’s where he was keeping us.
“Come on, we can get in through the back.”
It’s not empty inside like the night we fled. There are two tourists here, being led around by an elderly guide.
“I can’t believe he held us here when there are random people coming in and out.”
Tyler walks to the end of the hall to a narrow staircase. “He says the best place to hide is where no one will think to look. The second floor is nothing but storage and no one ever goes up to the third floor. And with an old building like this, you can’t hear anything down here.”
“So do they think he’s a priest?” I ask.
Tyler lets out a laugh. “Yes. And they love him here. This is where they keep records for this whole area and any priest can come in for research but none of them ever do. He talks to them in a French accent. He tells them what they want to hear and they do whatever he wants no matter how stupid it is.”
And then he stops. We’re halfway up and he leans against the wall.
“Just like me. He talks to me like a brother because he knows being part of a family is what I want more than anything. And I do whatever he wants, no matter how stupid.”
It’s almost like I can see the lightbulb going off over his head.
“At least you know now. At least it’s not too late to change things. You can help me and my family and that means something. You mean something to me. No matter what, you protected me and for that I will always be grateful.” I may still think he’s crazy, but I’d rather he be crazy on my side.
He grabs my hand and squeezes it softly. “Thank you for that. And thank you for being here with me now. I don’t think I could stand up to him alone.”
“You can. You’re way stronger than you think.”
“Let’s hope so.” And then we’re bounding up the rest of the stairs.
He flips the lights to the room with the shower and I stagger back.
The bed is gone, as is the nightstand, but the desk remains. Above the desk is a large corkboard—and it’s what’s on the corkboard that makes me want to vomit. It’s the last year of my life played out in pictures and maps and notes.
“What is this?” I ask.
“It’s how he tracked you while you were in the program, using the information he got from his sources. He must have printed everything out and brought it here.” He pauses a moment before saying, “This must be how he’s framing Hammond.” He points to a stack of correspondence, notes with Hammond’s name all over it. “There’s a lot he hasn’t told me. I never knew he had so much information until now.”
I walk to the wall slowly. There’s so much stuff there my eyes have trouble focusing.
Then I realize there is some sort of pattern. The grouping at the top are pictures of us in our first placement—Hillsboro, Ohio. There is a picture of Teeny and me in the small backyard, a picture of Mom coming out of the front door of the small house, and one of Dad and Agent Williams talking through the window. There’s also a sheet of typed paper, just like the one the suits gave us when we got to a new placement, summing up our new identity.
I read the familiar words:
Family name: Holmes.
Parents: Charles and Elizabeth
Children: Madeline and Hayden
My eyes follow a small line drawn to the next grouping—our second placement: Springfield, Missouri. A few more pictures here since our stay there was longer. Same typed sheet. But there is also a grainy black-and-white image of the suits picking me up from Charlotte’s house the night I got on Facebook and screwed up our placement there.
