Run Away(87)

Simon’s eyes drifted across the campus. He remembered something that had impressed his father during the tour. The main campus—where Simon now sat on these steps, across College Walk where he’d entered, then past the South Fields—was bookended by Low Library and Butler Library.

“Two libraries, Simon,” his father had said with a shake of his head. “What better symbol of learning?”

Odd thought to conjure up right now, but it was keeping Simon from allowing a bigger, uglier one to consume him: Even if he could figure out what was going on with these half brothers and adoptions, how could that help him find Paige?

Elena came back on the line. “Simon?”

A man hurried past him on the steps on his way, no doubt, to the Alma Mater statue. Simon recognized the face from his online profile—Professor Louis van de Beek. With the phone still against his ear, Simon stood to follow.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he said.

“Gotta go. Alison Mayflower wants to meet.”





Chapter

Thirty



Ash parked the car behind the house. You couldn’t see the car from the road, but Dee Dee still stood guard, just in case someone made the turn into the long driveway. Ash checked the back of the car. The bags were all there. He unzipped them and laid the weapons across the backseat.

All present and accounted for.

He grabbed what he needed, put the other weapons back in the bag, and whistled with two fingers. When Dee Dee came back, he handed her an FN 5.7.

“You had time to think,” he said.

“About?”

“Mother Adiona’s note. First off, who is she?”

“She serves in the chamber. That’s as high up as any woman can go.”

“Do you think she’s loyal to your cult?”

“Don’t call it a cult,” Dee Dee said. “And yes. There is only one other mother, who is known as Mother Abeona. They both were of such pure Truth that they were the ones he chose to create the Visitor and the Volunteer.”

“So Vartage’s kids,” he said, “they’re only half brothers?”

“Yes.”

“And which one is Mother Adiona’s son?”

“The Volunteer.”

“So Mother Adiona is the Volunteer’s mother. And Mother Abeona is the Visitor’s mother.”

“Yes.” They started toward the back of the house. “Why do you care, Ash?”

“I don’t. But I don’t like having someone on the inside working against us, do you?”

“I didn’t really think of it that way.”

“Mother Adiona had someone torture me to find out what we were up to. Then she slipped me a note telling me not to do it. That doesn’t worry you at all?”

“Oh, it worries me,” she said.

Ash checked the surroundings. “Dee Dee?”

“Yes.”

“Why do I think you’re not telling me everything?”

She smiled and faced him full-on. Ash felt his heart pick up the pace. “You felt it, didn’t you? When you were with him.”

“Vartage is charismatic. I’ll give you that.”

“And Truth Haven?”

“It’s peaceful and quiet,” he agreed.

“It’s more than that. It’s serene.”

“So?”

“You remember what I was like before?”

He did. A mess. But it hadn’t been her fault. Too many foster fathers and teachers and guidance counselors and spiritual advisors, especially the most sanctimonious of them, could not keep their hands and impure thoughts away from her.

“I remember,” he said.

“Don’t I seem better, Ash?”

“You do.” The sun was in his eyes, and he wanted to keep looking at her, so he placed his hand on his forehead, half salute, half visor. “But it doesn’t have to be either-or.”

“For me it does.”

“We can run away.” He heard something unfamiliar in his voice now. Desperation. Longing. “I can find us a place. A peaceful place like your haven. Quiet. Serene.”

“We could do that,” she said. “But it wouldn’t stick.”

He started to say more, but she put a silencing finger to his lips. “The real world holds too many temptations for me, Ash. Even being out here now, with you, I need to focus, be disciplined, or I’ll get hooked again. I’ll fall. And I need more.”

“More?”

“Yes.”

“And blindly believing in this truth nonsense gives you more?”

“Oh, I don’t believe in it.”

“Wait, what?”

“Most religious people don’t believe the dogma, Ash. We take from it what we want, we discard what we don’t. We form whatever narrative we like—kind God, vengeful God, active God, laid-back God, whatever. We just make sure we get something out of it. Maybe we get life everlasting while people we resent burn for eternity. Maybe we get something more concrete—money, a job, friends. You just change the narrative.”

“I’m surprised to hear that,” Ash said.

“Really?”

He cupped both hands around the back window so he could peer into the kitchen. Empty. Lights out. More than that, the kitchen table was covered in a long white cloth, the kind of thing you put on when you’re closing up for the season.