Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(15)

I spin back around. Only a couple more months of this. I slip down in my chair, fortifying myself with that reminder. In the grand scheme, a couple months won’t amount to much.

The minutes drag by. Finally, Brockman announces, “Okay, you can get out of here. See ya tomorrow.”

I’m the first out of my desk. I fly past Sean as he rises, casually stuffing a notebook into his backpack. Like someone announced the building is on fire, I move, swing my backpack on my shoulder, and truck it out of the Cage.

Even thirty minutes after the bell, a few students loiter in the halls, but fortunately none point at me like I’m some sort of freak show. The newest addition to the killers on campus. I cross my arms, tucking the colored ID flapping against my chest out of sight. Just in case. No need to call undue attention to myself.

I’m almost to the parking lot—Mom and I took separate vehicles so I could get home on my own—when I realize I left my purse in the room. Everything is in it. My wallet and phone. My keys. Stupid.

Groaning, I spin back on my heel and head back into the building. I pass Gil. His eyes meet mine, widen for a moment, and then jerk away as he scurries past. I don’t see any of the others on the way back down, and count my blessings.

When I arrive at the Cage, it’s empty. Brockman’s no longer at his desk. Guess he was as eager to leave this place as we were.

The gate is unlocked, thankfully. My bag is under the desk just where I left it. Just to be safe, I give it a quick inspection to make sure everything is still there.

And that’s when I hear a sound. Like someone . . . crying.

I glance around, confirming I’m alone in the Cage. Thinking someone might be hurt, I inch forward, scanning the room. The door to the storage closet is shut, but as I near it I hear the noise again. A muffled whimper. Louder this time. I close my hand around the knob, my heart thumping hard against my ribs.

I turn the knob and push open. The door swings soundlessly. A path of bright fluorescent light spills into the dim room directly on two people.

It takes my mind a moment to register what my eyes are seeing. Coco pinned between Mr. Brockman and a rack of basketballs. Kissing. His back is to me, but one of his hands grips her shoulder, the other her butt. The sight of that hand on her snares my attention. His nails are jagged and shorn to the quick like he spends a good portion of every day chewing them.

I take it all in within a moment. With a quick, horrible sweep of my gaze.

Brockman doesn’t see me, but Coco’s eyes are opened. The heavily lined eyes fall on me. They glitter through her ragged bangs, locking on me. Rage lights up their depths. The venom there stabs me. She tears her face free. “Get out! Get out of here!”

Brockman swings around.

I gasp and slam the door shut, unwilling to watch another moment. I hate that I saw what I just did. Just as much as I hate that they saw me seeing them. If I could burn the image from my corneas I would.

This time I run.





UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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911 Transcript



911 DISPATCHER 3026: Operator 3026, what is your emergency?


MARIE DOYLE: This is Marie Doyle at 1919 Elmwood in Boerne. I have a carrier living down the street from me.


911 DISPATCHER 3026: (typing) D-O-Y-L-E. 1919 Elmwood.


MARIE DQYLE: Yes.


911 DISPATCHER 3026: Okay, ah, yes, ma’am. Um, has the carrier done anything specifically—


MARIE DOYLE: She’s a carrier! That means she’s a killer.


911 DISPATCHER 3026: But she hasn’t assaulted you in any way—


MARIE DOYLE: Are you kidding? (loud slam) Are you a mother? I have two small children. How am I supposed to let them play outside? We moved here because it’s supposed to be a safe place. . . .


911 DISPATCHER 3026: I understand your distress, ma’am, I do, but unless she threatens you or your family, I can’t help you.


MARIE DOYLE: Great! You’ll come when I’m dead then? Fantastic! Good people like me shouldn’t have to live in fear. This is wrong. Carriers should be behind bars. I watch the news. That’s where they’re headed.


911 DISPATCHER 3026: I understand, ma’am. But for now you’re going to have to sit tight. Stay vigilant. If she makes the smallest threat, please . . . call us back. . . .





SEVEN




MITCHELL FINDS ME IN MY ROOM. I’M STILL IN MY bathrobe, my hair a wet, unbrushed snarl. I showered as soon as I got home. As if I could wash away the day. The Cage. The sight of Brockman and Coco in that storage closet. I guess I understood now why Nathan left her alone . . . and why Gil thinks I need an ally.

He catches me tuning my guitar, singing lightly to myself as I adjust the pegs and testing the strings. “Hey.” He drops down on my bed, tucking a pillow under his head. “How was it?”

I set my guitar down and swirl to face him on my chair, tucking my hands beneath my thighs. They’re still shaking. I haven’t stopped shaking since I ran to my car. “I can’t go back.”

“C’mon. It’s just until May. And Mom said it would look good with the Agency if you finished out the year at school. . . . Show them that you can function in the real world—”