Page 16 of Heir of Ashes
I turned my head and watched the desert, waiting for Logan to either tell me to get out or start driving.
When he spoke again, his gray eyes had darkened with determination. “Very well, don’t come with me. How well can you describe the Society’s grounds? Can you draw a map of the place?”
“I can do that. I was there for a while.” I rubbed the palms of my hands on my pants. “I can give you the smallest detail—down to a crack in a tile, a chipped corner’s edge. I can even tell you the locations of restricted areas, some of which I know what are used for.”
He inclined his head in agreement, but I could tell he was far from satisfied by settling for less. “Then draw me a map. What about surveillance?”
“There are cameras and sensors everywhere, along with guards like the ones at the motel.” I forced my fidgety hand to stay still. I knew with certainty that if Logan tried to rescue his friend, he’d never be able to leave—provided he wasn’t killed during the attempt.
“Draw me the map and include as many details as you can remember. Can you do that?” At my nod of agreement, he started the car and began driving again. “How did you escape?” he asked a long time later.
I turned from the endless desert outside to look at him. “I behaved,” I said cryptically.
If I hadn’t, they would never have agreed to that last session. In exchange for driving lessons, I had to consent and cooperate with Dr. Maxwell and any new horrible experiments, sacrificing a piece of myself. If it was something they deemed worthy, I got a session. If not, just a chaperoned afternoon outside with the Elite guards.
I didn’t tell Logan that, or how I had been taking lessons for a long time before the opportunity arose. How a whole contingent of the PSS’s Elite Team had followed me around. In the end, I had killed two guards, and left two more, along withDr. Maxwell, unconscious in the woods, hit with their own brand of tranquilizers. I’d dumped both escort vehicles into the Sound, as well as all their communication devices, to give myself a head start.
Logan gave me a quizzical look. “You behaved; that’s it?”
“Yeah.”
Sometimes, I would lie awake at night and think back on that day, wondering if someone had helped me escape. Not that it had been easy, mind you; just that some crucial elements should never have happened. Throughout my captivity, there had been a sympathetic guard or two who had covertly helped me—any interference on their part had to come indirectly, so if anything went wrong, the blame would fall on me.
“Where do you want to go?” Logan asked.
“Sacramento.”
While pacing in Remo Drammen’s penthouse, I had come to the conclusion that if I wanted answers to my questions, I had to stop meandering in an aimless loop and find out who, or what, I really was. Once I got that puzzle piece fitted, I’d have a clearer view of what awaited me ahead. Or that was what I was hoping for. To do that, I needed to find the only person who could provide me with the answers.
“What’s in Sacramento?” Logan asked, his curiosity evident.
“My mother.”
Chapter 7
We drove in silence. There was nothing to see but cacti and the endless desert. The steady hums of the engine and the AC lulled me to sleep, only waking whenever another vehicle passed by.
I was still aching somewhat, hungry, and needed to pee. To add insult to injury, the only clothes I had were bloodstained and rumpled. I promised myself to be decently dressed when I went to see my mother. How would she react when she saw me? How had she been all these years? Was she still a lab technician? Did she still live in the same neighborhood? The last time I’d checked, more than a year ago, someone else lived at our old address. Had she moved on because she couldn’t bear the grief of my absence and the flood of memories? Or maybe … maybe she was no longer among the living.
Often throughout the years, I had contemplated that possibility. And just like every time I did, I felt like a fist was squeezing my heart. Until I had proof otherwise, my mother was well and alive. My disturbing thoughts were interrupted when we stopped in front of a restaurant called El Niño. My stomach grumbled at the prospect of food. When was the last time I’d eaten?
Logan climbed out, and I glanced around. Where were we? A truck passed by, honking twice at a guy crossing the street. The guy shouted something at the driver, waved his hand, then nodded politely at Logan, took off his baseball cap, and pushed the door of the restaurant open. Across the street was a hotel, a boutique, a beauty parlor, and a bakery. I could see myself visiting all those establishments. First to the restaurant, then to the hotel for a shower, do some shopping, dye my hair back to its original color, and get some baked goods to go.
“You’re drooling,” Logan teased.
“Am not,” I retorted, following him into the restaurant, wondering what kind of food El Niño served.
We were greeted by a lot of noise and the enticing smell of greasy food. Ignoring the few stares my bloodstained clothes drew, I made a beeline to the small but tidy bathroom at the very back and relieved myself. When I returned, Logan was still waiting for me at the entrance, making it easier to find him.
El Niño, as it turned out, was a very popular and busy restaurant. Of course, it was also lunchtime. Aside from the solitary men eating fast food along the long stainless bar counter, families with shrieking and laughing kids occupied some of the booths. There were couples talking, some teenagers holding hands. Some were arguing, still waiting for their food; others were laughing and eating.
Logan led me to the back-most booth. I suspected he’d have chosen it even if it hadn’t been one of the only empty ones available. He waited until I was settled in before he sat across from me, with Logan facing the entrance while I faced a wall. I didn’t like leaving my back vulnerable, so I switched seats, my back to the bar, the crowded room to my left, and Logan to my right. I trusted that as long as Logan wanted something from me, he’d try his best to keep me safe, but I wouldn’t want to depend on him.
I picked up the laminated menu and absently scanned the options available. My thoughts drifted to his friend and why he’d merited the attention of the PSS, enough so that they had resorted to kidnapping him.He must be something of a commodity.Not that the PSS wouldn’t be glad to put their greedy hands on anything preternatural. I had learned the PSS did everything for a reason, but there were lines they didn’t cross. If the subject belonged to a clan or had someone to claim him, the PSS left them alone. Otherwise, they risked being shut down or faced serious lawsuits.
“Does your friend have any family?” I asked Logan after the waiter took our order of fries and cheeseburgers. There was no need to pick up a thorny route if an easy solution was available.
“Some. Why?”