Girl Called Fearless: A Girl Undone Part 36

"TEOTWAWKI," I muttered.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." I pushed my hair off my face. "One chance. I don't know what I'd say."

"When the time is right, you'll know."

"I want to see Zara."

"Don't be a fool. Adam Ho won't let you anywhere near the L.A. County Jail. Not even in that nasty Chaste sack." Sig rubbed my shoulder. "Why don't you try to get some rest?"

"How am I supposed to rest?"

Sig got up, saying, "I need to get to LAX. There are eight guitar shops in Montana, Wyoming, Idaho, and Washington State that have carried 7476 brand guitars."

"You think they're Barnabas'?"

"Maggie hid a mandolin in her storage unit, and she wouldn't have held on to it if it wasn't important. The number 7476 was burned into the wood inside."

"Barnabas taught Luke how to build guitars and mandolins. I'm sure Luke would love to have it."

"And I would love to give it to him. With luck, I'll either find him or get a lead on him. In the meantime, do me a favor and stay under the radar."

"Like I have a choice."

"They won't keep you in here forever."

"I wouldn't bet on it." Sig was almost to the door when I said, "Sig, if you find Luke, don't tell him you know me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, absolutely." I couldn't bear Luke telling Sig what he thought of me, of what I'd become.

I dragged my sheets and comforter off the floor and dumped them on the bed, then crawled under the quilt. I was repellent. A traitor. A wh.o.r.e, just like someone had written on the compound wall.

42.

Sometime during the night I heard the steel shutters roll up. I opened one eye, thinking I'd try the door, but then turned back over. Hawkins wasn't letting me out anytime soon.

He woke me early the next morning when he flipped on the light. I snapped my comforter over my head. "What do you want?"

"I'm going to London for a few days."

"Why? Is it too hot in L.A.?"

"Adam thought I should avoid the spotlight until the scandal blows over."

I hate you, I thought. I hate you for making me into this hideous, awful person, and I hate myself for letting you.

"I'm leaving now." Hawkins stood there like he expected me to make some big gesture of good-bye.

"Yeah, well, have a nice trip," I said.

I lay there thinking about my friends and how our lives had shattered. Zara, funny, fierce Zara, a murderer. Portia, so fragile that Zara always protected her, teetering on the edge. Brilliant, untamable Sparrow torching herself. Dayla, the most L.A. of us, sold off to a rancher in Montana.

And me, Zara's accomplice and Hawkins' lapdog. I was every disgusting thing Yates said I was.

Hours later, Deeps tried to bring me lunch, but I told him to get out. I had no desire to eat ever again.

I stared out at the ocean, picturing myself floating on the surface, the cold water numbing me until I let go and sank to the ocean floor. I was so, so tired of trying to survive. And what was the point, anyway?

The sun went down, and Deeps came in. "Did Sig call?" I asked.

"No."

I turned away. "Wake me when he does."

"It's time to get up."

"Go away."

"I'm asking you nicely. Please get up, Avie."

"Why should I?"

He leaned down, and before I realized it, he'd wrapped the quilt around me as tight as a tourniquet and scooped me up off the bed.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" I said. Deeps threw me over his shoulder. "Put me down!"

"Sure I'll put you down."

He'd pinned my arms to my chest, so I arched my back and kicked, trying to get free, but I couldn't throw off his grip. Deeps carried me across the hall to the elevator.

"Where are you taking me?" I demanded.

"You'll see."

I arched my back once again, and he shoved my head down. "You're going to hit your head if you don't stop that," he said, stepping inside.

I realized for the first time that he and I were alone. The chef had gone for the day and Hawkins and Ho were in London. Deeps wanted me to cooperate, but why?

We got out at the bottom floor.

"Why did you bring me down here?" I said.

Deeps began to whistle the Seminole war chant. He carried me past the darkened gym, then pushed open the door to the indoor pool. He walked over to the deep end, and I realized what he was about to do. "Don't!" I cried.

Deeps dropped me and I sank, dragging the comforter under.

Water soaked the fabric, then the down inside, and the weight pulled me to the bottom. Silence filled my ears. I saw the bright green surface shimmering only a few feet above me, and Deeps crouched on the side, watching.

He's going to let me drown?

I thrashed my arms and legs, fighting the heavy cloth, but my legs only got more tangled. My heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it.

I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I have to get this off me.

Then I remembered how Yates once got his leash caught in a huge kelp bed after he'd fallen off his surfboard. The surf rolled him under and the kelp tied itself around his legs. "I knew I'd die if I didn't calm down," he'd told me. "The more I fought, the worse it got."

I forced myself to stop flailing, and hold still. I waited, lungs burning, ready to explode, until I felt the quilt loosen. Then I peeled it down with my hands and shot to the surface.

I sucked in a huge breath, and Deeps stood up. The life-saving hook was in his hands.

"What the f.u.c.k was that!" I yelled.

"That was me doing my job." He hooked the comforter and towed it toward the surface. "I can't save your life if you don't want to live."

I swam to the shallow end, and pressed against the wall, hiding my now transparent top. Deeps dragged the quilt out of the pool, then threw me a towel and hung a robe over a nearby chair. "Soup or a smoothie?"

Apparently, me not eating wasn't an option anymore. "Smoothie."

"It'll be waiting in your room."

When I was alone again, I peeled off my wet clothes and wrapped up in the robe. I supposed I should thank Deeps for jump-starting my will to live. I couldn't fix what I'd done if I wasn't here to do it.

Entering the hall, I saw the screen above the elliptical turned to the news even though the gym was empty. Another one of Deeps' tricks.

I walked right up and pressed against the windows. Yates was leading a silent vigil on the steps of St. Mark's Church. PRAY FOR ZARA AND HER FATHER and STOP AUCTION SLAVERY read signs held by some of the hundreds of people around him.

I should be there telling the world what I really believe. As if he'd want me there, I thought. I pictured myself emerging from a car and Yates yelling from the church steps, "What do you think you're doing here? Haven't you done enough?"

No, I haven't. I haven't done nearly enough.

My wet clothes were dripping onto the floor through the towel I'd wrapped them in. I bent down to wipe the slate, and when I stood up, Portia was being wheeled out of Cedars-Sinai.

Oh, Portia, are you okay? I fixed on the video, trying to see past the huge sungla.s.ses and hoodie. Portia slumped in the wheelchair, and the press swarmed her like bees, b.u.mping her and shoving their mikes in her face as her brothers and bodyguards tried to keep them off her.

Leave her alone! Can't you see she's barely holding it together?

I tried to tell myself this wasn't my fault, that Portia and Zara had collected those pills days ago, but what if last night I'd yelled, "Stop! This isn't right!"

I pictured the stunned moment of silence, Hawkins dragging me off the stage, and the auction continuing as planned. Maybe I couldn't have stopped it and Portia and Zara would still have done what they did, but what if my crying out made a father somewhere change his mind about Contracting his daughter?

Up on the screen, Jouvert waved his hand at a map of the Middle East while the banner across the bottom scrolled, "U.S. and Saudi relations enter new era." My stomach clenched. Jouvert would give them nukes and they'd give him all the money he wanted. And my friends and I were the p.a.w.ns in their game.

I crouched down and wiped the last drops of water off the floor. I'd messed up in so many ways, and there were things I could never fix, but I needed to find something I could do that would help me live with myself again Back in my room, the bed was made with fresh sheets, and a smoothie sat on the shelf beside it. I picked up the note by the gla.s.s.

"Be dressed by ten tomorrow. Visit with your dad." I drew in a deep breath, grateful to Deeps for arranging the visit. I needed to see Dad, the one person who loved me no matter what.

43.

I slept hard, and managed to get down an egg and toast before Deeps flew me home. Dad waited for us on the terrace, and as soon as the helicopter rotors stopped spinning, he ran to help me out.

I came off the steps and Dad pulled me in for a hug. I buried my face in his chest, loving the weight of his arms around me, and the softness of his cotton sweater against my cheek.

"You've had a rough week," he said. "You holding up?"

"I'm surviving."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not really. I'd sort of like to forget about everything."

"All right. You let me know if you change your mind." He tucked me under his arm and walked me into the house.

The scent of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves wafted through the downstairs. In the kitchen, Gerard, decked out in his red-striped ap.r.o.n, sc.r.a.ped icing off a beater. Flat sections of gingerbread covered the table and counters along with bowls of peppermints, jelly beans, and M&M's.

"Gingerbread," I marveled. "You remembered."

"How could I forget?" Gerard said.

"Thank you."

He handed me a beater to lick. Building gingerbread houses was Mom's Christmas tradition, but Gerard had always kept it alive for me.

I circled the island as Deeps sat down at the table, so happy that for a couple hours the only thing I had to worry about was keeping a few baked walls from falling down. "What is it? It's way bigger than what we usually make."

"Pasadena City Hall. We're donating it to the children's ward at Huntington Hospital so it has to be big," Gerard said. "But it's not as complicated as last year."

"What was that?" Deeps said.

"Disney Concert Hall," Dad muttered. "Those curved walls were a nightmare."

I leaned over to study Gerard's construction diagram, and realized I hadn't seen my pup. "Wait, where's Dusty?"

"She's at the groomer," Gerard answered. "I didn't know you'd be here when I scheduled her. Sorry about that."