You Won't Know I'm Gone Page 15

  Tiny knots begin to loop in my stomach and I fear that scowl and vacant look has everything to do with me.

  TWENTY-ONE

  “It’s close to midnight and something evil’s lurking in the dark,” Anusha sings along to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” in our empty dorm room. She turns up the volume on her laptop and keeps singing.

  “You try to scream,” Cam and Luke sing in unison, their big feet landing with simultaneous thuds as they each spring through the open doorway, making me jump and laugh. “But terror takes the sound before you make it.”

  I spring from my bed, grabbing Cam dramatically by the shoulders and spinning him around as I finish the rest of the lyrics.

  “’Cause this is thriller, thriller night,” the four of us belt out the chorus, jumping around and walking like the undead while Anusha surprises us all, shaking her shoulders and legs from side to side. She looks like she should be standing right next to Michael Jackson in the music video.

  “Anusha, you’re officially the coolest girl I know,” Cam says, grabbing her by the shoulder once she’s finished her final, impressive spin move. She squeezes Cam around his waist before shimmying out of their embrace.

  “How do you know the entire dance?” I ask, trying my best to copy her spin move but failing rather ungracefully.

  “My friends and I may or may not have memorized the choreography a couple years ago,” Anusha replies, dancing her way to the other side of the room. “I love Halloween. This is the first year I haven’t dressed up. I want to go to a party so badly.”

  “I know. Me too,” I say, flopping down on my bed next to Luke. “I’m sure our friends are having the time of their lives right now at some college Halloween party.”

  “Beer and girls dressed in lingerie and animal ears,” Cam says, nodding his head, his eyes vacant, watching an imaginary scene in his head. “What’s not to like?”

  “Hey, I would not be slutting it up if I was at a college party right now,” I insert, throwing my pillow at Cam’s face.

  “I would,” Anusha announces, fixing her ponytail at the small mirror over our shared dresser. “Cat ears and the shortest black dress I could get my hands on.”

  “Meow,” I say and claw at her as she passes me on the way back to her bed.

  “Okay, guys, don’t shoot this down right away,” Anusha says. “But … what if we snuck out and went to some type of Halloween party tonight? Georgetown has got to be crawling with parties.”

  “Anusha…” I begin, sitting up straighter on the bed, but she holds up her hand, silencing me.

  “No, wait. Think about it,” she says and sits down next to Cam on the opposite lower bunk. “It’s some of our only time off during training. All the other trainees flew back home for break. Director Browning and a ton of the senior leaders were called away on a mission. We’re kind of here by ourselves.”

  “Us and like twenty other full-time CORE operatives,” I reply.

  “Yeah, but they’re not paying attention to us,” Cam says, waving off my concerns. And it’s true. The operatives at CORE right now are so wrapped up in missions, they have no idea which trainees are here and which ones went back home for the short break.

  “Come on, I’m so bored,” Anusha whines, flopping dramatically onto her back. “We already watched movies and played pool and Ping-Pong all day yesterday. I’m running out of stuff to do in this underground prison. I need some time in the real world or I think I might lose it.”

  “What about the threat, you guys?” Luke states cautiously. He leans his body forward, resting his forearms on his strong thighs. “Torres is still out there, you know.”

  “Yeah, but something must have happened to make them all calm down,” I argue. “They never would have let all the trainees go home and be out in public if there was still a serious threat. Plus, it’s Halloween. We’ll wear masks or something. No one will know who we are.”

  Luke turns his face toward me, his eyes narrowed, and quietly says, “I can’t believe you’re actually considering this.”

  “Cam, think you could hack into the security system and make it look like we never left?” Anusha asks, picking herself up off the bed and bouncing up and down on her knees, giddy with the idea of escaping.

  “For sure,” Cam answers.

  “What about all the cameras?” Luke asks, pointing up at the ceiling. I follow his index finger. There aren’t any cameras in the dorm rooms or bathrooms, but I’ve definitely noticed them throughout the compound.

  “There aren’t as many cameras in here as you’d think,” Cam replies. “The Black Angels don’t want their actions recorded. Plus, they’re not really that concerned about what’s going on inside here. Their focus is on the terrorists and kidnappings and murders on the outside. Not what the four of us are doing with our free time.”

  “What do you think, Reagan?” Anusha says, turning toward me, the corners of her mouth lifting into an apprehensive smile.

  My lips pinch together and push to one side as I gather my thoughts. I don’t want to get in trouble. But I’d kill to get out of this concrete bunker. Have a small taste of a normal life.

  “You really think we can get out of here without getting caught?” I question Cam.

  Cam nods his head. “Totally.”

  Anusha’s and Cam’s eager faces stare back at me, eyes wide, mouths primed with smiles. Finally, I return their grin. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Anusha jumps off the bed and tackles me with a hug. “Oh my God, I love you,” she squeals and I squeeze her back, laughing into clumps of her dark curls.

  “This is a really, really stupid idea,” Luke says sharply, quickly getting up from the bed.

  “Damn, way to kill the vibe,” I answer, pulling out of Anusha’s hug.

  “Reagan, you of all people should know this is a terrible idea,” Luke says, shaking his head disapprovingly, his hands on his hips, like a condemning father. “I’m telling you right now, do not go.”

  “Excuse me?” I answer, my voice harsh as I stand up from the bed. “Who are you to tell me what to do, Luke?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Luke says, throwing his hands up in the air. He shakes his head again and turns around, walking toward the door, but not before throwing in a final dig. “All you do is tell people what to do.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, my long legs chasing after him, my hand grabbing his forearm. He stops and turns around. “You’ve clearly got something to say. You’ve been acting totally weird the last couple days. So come on. I’m right here. Say it!”

  “Okay, kids, that’s enough. Mommy and Daddy haven’t had their five o’clock cocktail yet,” Anusha says in a high-pitched voice, trying to lighten the mood. But it doesn’t work. Luke pulls out of my grip and walks out of the room.

  “Luke,” I yell and chase after him into the hallway. I follow him into the boys-only dorm next door that’s completely empty. “Luke!”

  He flips on the light, ignoring me, and walks toward his bunk. He calmly goes about his evening routine of putting away his freshly laundered training clothes, as if I’m not even in the room, which irritates me even more. I’ve never gotten into an argument with Luke, but I can tell that’s where this is heading. That uneasy knot coils again around my stomach, but that doesn’t stop me from blocking his path as he turns to walk toward his dresser, my acidic tongue demanding a confrontation. “What is your problem?”

  He tries to walk around me, but I move to block him again. Finally, he stares down at me, his jaw tight, eyes angry. An emotion I’ve never really seen in him before. Hurt, yes. Angry? Never.

  “What’s my problem?” Luke finally says, his voice low. “You should know. You only pointed out every damn problem I was having during our test the other day. And thanks so much for that. As if I wasn’t already last on the list of the trainees. As if I wasn’t struggling enough to stay here. With you, by the way. Do you know what it’s like to constantly feel like you’re one mistake awa
y from being kicked out? And thanks to you and your bossy, big mouth, the trainers had to hear every single little thing I did wrong.”

  “I was only trying to help you,” I answer, playing back the number of times I yelled at him on the mission.

  “No you weren’t,” he replies quickly, finally stepping around me. He opens the drawer of his dresser, carefully placing his clothing inside before slamming it shut. “Your only concern was making sure we came out on top. You only gave a shit about whether we were number one, even if that meant I looked like a complete and total incompetent asshole.”

  “Well, excuse me if I want to make sure we make it into the training academy,” I say and point at the center of my chest. “So sorry I cannot play the sweet midwestern girl that bats my eyelashes at you and pats you on the head and tells you you’re perfect all the time and that your shit doesn’t stink. Because sometimes, it freaking does.”

  “See, right there,” Luke replies and points at me with both index fingers, his eyes lighting up, like he’s caught me with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar. “That’s another one of my problems with you. You’ve become cruel. And you were never cruel.”

  “Or maybe you didn’t know me as well as you thought you did,” I reply and cross my arms over my chest. “I was the girl everyone else wanted to be back in Ohio. I was sweet and funny and charming and whatever the hell I needed to be to get through the day. I was playing a role. I made you believe I was Reagan MacMillan. Well, I’m not that girl. I’m Reagan Hillis. And I guess I’m becoming the person I really am. And if that means I have to be bossy and bitchy and cruel to get the job done, then screw it. That is the person I’m going to be.”

  “But you’re not this person,” Luke says, his voice quiet, as he steps closer to me. “I’ve seen the real you. I saw her in New Albany. I saw her in Colombia. And I’ve seen glimpses of her here. I don’t understand why you’re doing this, what’s made you like this.”

  As soon as the words leave his lips, his tight mouth drops back open and his face softens. I can see his eyes searching for the words hanging in the air, wishing he could pull them, one by one, back into his mouth.

  “You of all people should know,” my voice squeezes out as I slowly back away from Luke and toward the door. “I hope it never happens, but if your mother ever dies in your arms, maybe report back. Let me know how it changes you.”

  As I reach the door frame, my body begins to shake and my lungs feel like they might just pull apart. I turn and walk out of the room. Luke calls after me but my legs pick up speed until I’m running. I don’t stop until I reach an empty, secure conference room. I slam the door, tear at clumps of my hair, then cover my scorching face in my even hotter hands. I miss my mother so badly sometimes I can barely stand it. I’m surprised some days that I can walk and form sentences, let alone think and run and train. I can feel my million shattered pieces clanging together somewhere inside me every time I move, cutting into my lungs every time I breathe. There’s no going back. I’m way past repair. So why try to go back to the girl Luke fell in love with? Why even try to be good when all I feel is bad?

  TWENTY-TWO

  “If you’re going to sit here and try to tell me that KISS is the best rock band of all time, then I seriously don’t think we can be friends anymore,” Anusha argues loudly with Cam from the front seat of our “borrowed” Black Angel Jeep. Getting out of CORE was much easier than I thought. All Cam had to do was bypass a few codes, upgrade our security clearance, and we were out the door.

  I had to get the hell out of there. The concrete walls felt like they were collapsing in on me. After our argument, Luke disappeared. He had initially called after me, but he didn’t run after me. He didn’t try to find me to apologize. So why should I even think about sticking around? Outside of the dungeon, I can finally suck in a full breath. But the oxygen is doing very little to stop the acidic bile that is eating away at my stomach lining. I feel sick about what he said. I feel even worse about what I said. Not just today, but on the mission. Some moments you can’t undo.

  “Well, who would you suggest should take the top spot?” Cam says.

  “Ummmm, I don’t know, like a hundred other bands,” Anusha says, rolling her eyes, her mouth separating into a smile as she argues. “Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Pink Floyd, Queen, Nirvana, the Who, the Doors, Black Sabbath, the Clash, Radiohead, the freaking Rolling Stones … need I keep going?”

  “I get goose bumps every time I hear ‘Rock and Roll All Nite,’” Cam replies. “Especially some of their live versions.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Anusha says, hanging her head in her hands. “You cannot compare ‘Rock and Roll All Nite’ to a masterpiece like the Stones’ ‘Gimme Shelter.’ You just can’t. When Merry Clayton hits that high note in the chorus, it makes me believe in God.”

  “Who’s Merry Clayton?” Cam asks.

  “And you say you know rock and roll better than me,” Anusha says, knocking the back of Cam’s headrest and laughing. “Don’t even try, Cam!”

  Somewhere between my argument with Luke and locking myself in one of the secure conference rooms, Cam hacked his way into a Georgetown club’s computer system and scored us free VIP passes to watch one of Anusha’s favorite bands from Chicago: Last Night in Sweden. I’ve never heard of them, but then again I never exactly had my finger on the pulse of the coolest bands. Without access to Harper every day, I’m even more out of the loop. That girl knew everything about the latest rising bands. She was always dragging me out to shows or to her room to listen to her latest find.

  “So who does this band sound like?” I ask from the backseat.

  The Jeep passes a streetlight and I can see Anusha’s lips pushed into a pondering pucker as she goes through the catalogue of her favorite bands. “I’d say they’re like if Walk the Moon and Twenty One Pilots had a baby,” she finally answers.

  “Oh, nice,” I reply. “Two Ohio bands I like.”

  “Look at you hitting me with that musical knowledge,” Anusha says, reaching into the backseat and pointing her finger at my forehead.

  “I have my moments,” I answer, my right shoulder rising into a sluggish shrug.

  “I cannot wait to dance,” Anusha replies, stomping her feet onto the carpeted floor of the front seat with anticipation. “You look like you could use a night out too.”

  “Yeah,” I answer with a sigh. “I definitely could.”

  “Want to talk about it?” she asks quietly.

  “No. Thanks though,” I answer and stare down at the Catwoman mask cradled in my hands. I had absolutely nothing to wear besides training gear, so I dressed in head to toe black and somehow found this mask out of the very slim pickings at the Halloween Express on K Street. The Torres threat level has clearly dropped (otherwise, they’d never have let trainees out on break) but Luke is at least somewhat right. I should always try to hide my identity and protect myself.

  My eyes turn to look out the window, scanning M Street. The sidewalks are packed with college students and young professionals. Women in tights, men in scarves, dressed up and ready to drink. No one is wearing a warm enough jacket. Men shove their hands in the pockets of their jeans, their bodies rigid, arms tight against their sides, doing their best to conserve heat. The girls travel in tiny packs, clinging to one another for warmth, or balance. Or both. The last of the autumn leaves cling to scattered parkway trees. These leaves are ugly, a disgusting shade of brown. The showstoppers have already fallen. Red, yellow, and orange leaves litter the sidewalk, trampled by boots, punctured by high heels. Autumn is all but over and soon the next desolate season will settle in. I roll down the window a few inches, the chill in the air striking my skin like a warning.

  As Cam pulls up to a stoplight, a threesome of girls stumble out of an open club door, their arms linked together, an inebriated chain. I think of Harper and Malika, the pit of my stomach throbbing with homesickness.

  I like to imagine what they’re doing. I pretend sometimes that they write me
emails about college. In my fantasy correspondences, Harper is obsessed with her film classes at NYU and is in love with all things New York. Malika is trying to pick a major but has her heart set on rushing a sorority at University of Georgia (something Harper teases her about mercilessly). I know it’s kind of crazy. I know I can never reach out to them again, never know what’s happening in their lives. And it makes my heart twinge with a potent mixture of resentment and sorrow.

  Five minutes and twenty dollars for a parking spot later, we push our way inside the Loose Groupie with our VIP passes. Everyone is dressed in well-planned, elaborate Halloween costumes. Our costumes are slightly less impressive. A Venetian mask hides Anusha’s face while a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle mask hides Cam’s (a mask Cam seemed super pumped about). We look more like teenagers who have outgrown the acceptable age for trick-or-treating but still run around the neighborhood in search of free Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Twix bars. But at least our identities are hidden.

  An escort helps to clear the way for us and we get about two hundred dirty looks as we brush past the show-goers who have been standing around for hours, trying to grab the best spot in the small, packed club.

  The Loose Groupie gives Columbus clubs a real run for their money. In Columbus, most clubs are just big black boxes with a bar in the corner. But the Loose Groupie’s black brick walls are covered in white and silver graffiti (clearly a graffiti artist’s work, but it’s made to look like it was taken off the street), two neon bars anchor either side of the room, and giant album covers of every amazing rock band that’s ever lived canvas the low ceiling. Anusha catches me looking up, follows my eyes, and then nudges Cam.

  “Funny, I don’t see KISS up there,” she yells over the house music.