“We’ll get them out. And I’ll be well enough to do my part when the time comes.”
Fluffington chirps at a bird, the tip of his tail flicking against the trunk of the lime tree. But there’s no other answer. Just the silent house chiming in with a noticeable lack of encouragement.
Chapter 9
Clara
One week. Two runs with Falk. Three showers or baths a day just to pass the time. And then they let me out. A different guard takes me to class on Monday, one that’s attentive and ready to take me down on a hair trigger, while silently staring at me like I’m devil spawn.
Which maybe I am? I have no idea what I am right now, besides in a holding pattern, desperate to break free. Even the noise in the halls between classes is both overstimulating and amazing after all the silence.
Trips makes more sense the longer I spend in that house. Worlds of meaning can be conveyed through a simple eyebrow raise or the slight downward twist of a lip. Meanings that, while clear, can’t be weaponized against the person trying to communicate.
The hollow chasm in my chest gets larger every day I’m there. It’s a wonder he has any heart left at all. Or the odd, irreverent jokes that always catch me off-guard.
He’s still locked away, his ragged screams waking me last night. I’m terrified for him. If I’m out, he should be too.
Maybe I’ll see him tonight.
I almost miss the hand-off RJ slips me, his baseball cap and playboy clothes a good enough disguise that my staticky brain only recognizes him a second before his hand touches mine, our shoulders slamming together, his gaze locked on his phone in his other hand while the point where our skin comes into contact sears. My body knows what to do before I do, and I tuck the note up the sleeve of my blouse without a break in my stride. A perfect exchange.
“Hey!” I shout, brushing off my front as he disappears into the crowd. “I’m going to the bathroom,” I announce to my new guard, and while he looks annoyed by the change in plan, he lets me walk into a regular public bathroom without a fuss.
It’s a nice change after the iron rules of Smith.
I duck into a stall and unfold the note, finding a message scrawled in the code we’d worked so hard on in Mexico. I take longer than I want to parse it, but I figure it out just as the guard hollers in, asking what’s taking me so long.
“Can’t a girl shit in peace?” I shout back, knowing how effective embarrassment can be in resetting expectations.
This shuts him up, and a few chuckles surround me from neighboring stalls.
Looking back at the note, I memorize the content.
Cop in play, opening moves. Clara’s parents moved. Jasmine working on Chicago. Summer on call. Walker starting second project. Full access to the network by next week. Files not on the network so far. You found physical location? Jansen healing, Emma with him. Evie mad but no police. Surgery recorded live. Consequences besides locked up? Jewels currently in limbo, waiting on Jansen. Reply with progress if possible. Chat board or note. Skipping class this week for drop if need be.
Scratched on the bottom, like an afterthought, is one more line.
Mattie’s boyfriend worries me.
I flush, then toss the crumpled note into a garbage can—no need to ruin the plumbing. Even if someone found it, without a key, it’s gibberish. Part of it is literally hieroglyphics, added by Jansen after he decided what we had was still too simple.
Leaving the bathroom with my chin in the air, I puzzle through the message. At least it’s another verification that Jansen is okay, that Emma’s okay. Evie didn’t call the cops, and Falk has been honest about not finding them.
The note could have gone to either Trips or me, and it ending up in my hand means that Trips isn’t on campus today. Or that they couldn’t get to him. How did they know we were locked up? Is Trips’ dad writing memos about ourincarceration? The note raises almost as many questions as answers.
It’s still helpful to know where they are at on their side. But with the deadline inching ever closer, it might be time to become a bigger distraction. Only, I want Trips by my side as I make my move. Going alone against his father is too great of a risk. And as someone who has taken some pretty big risks over the last year, thinking it’s too much means it’s probably lethal.
When we get back to the estate, Mary intercepts my guard, her voice clear despite her soft words. “She’s wanted in the rose garden.”
Strolling between the rose bushes like it doesn’t make my stomach turn takes every ounce of acting I practiced over the last year. But I manage it. Trips’ father waits for me at his table, surrounded by dead roses, the wind brisk but the sun warm, the occasional leaf daring to cartwheel across the open space.
He motions to the chessboard before him, tucking away a folder and a fancy red pen as I take in the setup. I can’t help the startled laugh that escapes me.
He waits for me to take my seat, which I do, staring at the pieces before me.
“I mentioned before I’d like to get to know you better. It turns out that even my extensive research into your past and character has left some gaps.”
“I’ve spent most of my life being exactly what you see. I’m not sure a friendly chess match is going to change that.”
