Elusion(11)

Coming back from Elusion is like finding out he’s dead all over again.

High pollutant levels or no, I need some air.

I stand up, setting the copy of Walden in my place, and sneak out of the living room through the front door. There’s a chill outside that wasn’t there fifteen minutes ago when Patrick dropped me off, and it’s enough to make me shiver. The cool temperature feels really good against my flushed skin, so I push up my sleeves and unbutton the collar of my shirt down to my breastbone. But when I breathe deeply, it feels like something is scraping against the back of my throat.

I know I should get my O2 shield. Dad was so militant about protecting ourselves from inhaling Florapetro residue. He would have a conniption if he caught me without it. Still, retreating into our house isn’t an option right now.

To me, it seems more toxic inside than it is out here.

I park myself on the steps and look down Hollow Street, which hasn’t changed since the day I was born. The rows of historic brick townhomes are all perfectly indistinguishable, with one exception, of course. The pathway in front of our house is the only one with the shape of a star pressed into the concrete, signaling that someone important—in this case, my father—once lived here. Usually I walk right over the seal and pretend it’s not even there, but tonight it takes a Herculean effort to keep my eyes focused on the pops of light coming from behind my neighbors’ windows.

Thankfully, the roar of a V12 synthetic-oil engine pulls my attention somewhere else and my head turns. A bulldozer-size delivery truck lurches down the road and comes to a stop a few feet away. I rise to my feet when a slender man in a light gray shirt and black pants exits the driver’s side, carrying a large parcel. When his shoes walk across the star on our pathway, it feels like something is coiling around me and squeezing.

“Regan Welch?” The man’s words come out quick behind his O2 shield, like he’s in a big rush, so I just nod. He sets the package down on the steps with a thud and types on his tablet, his eyes never meeting mine. Then he shoves the tablet in front of me. “Scan here, please.”

I reach into my pocket and pull out my card, tapping it against the screen. Once we hear a chirping sound, the deliveryman yanks the tablet away from me so he can dash toward his truck, practically knocking over the package in the process.

“Thanks for being so careful!” I shout sarcastically, but he slams the truck door in reply and slowly chugs away, a stream of exhaust hurtling behind him.

Sighing, I pick up the package, which is surprisingly heavy considering that it’s packed in a durable foam box. The tag reads Alessandra Cole. The trendiest boutique in the Heights Sector.

It wasn’t my birthday. Who would send me something from Alessandra Cole?

I’m about to rip it open on the steps, but when I see how secure it is—there are thick, orange strips of quick-seal on every side—I realize I’m going to need a laser pen to tear into it. The other thing I realize is that I’m starting to wheeze a little, so going back inside the House of Darkness is an absolute must now.

I hold the package in between my knees as I wave my passcard in front of the lockpad near the front door, unlocking it and pushing it open with my left hand. I gently set the box on the ground and nudge it forward until it passes through the entryway. The door shuts softly behind me and I lift the package up with both hands, almost dropping it when I see my mother standing in the middle of the living room, her back to me. She’s holding the book my dad left in the lockbox.

She must sense me, because she slowly glances over her shoulder, her eyes meeting mine. She doesn’t seem rested at all. In fact, from the dark half-moons that have formed right above her cheeks, it doesn’t look like she’s slept since December.

“Where did you get this?” she asks, her voice weak and hoarse.

For a moment, I worry that she’s upset with me, but then I notice the small smile forming on her lips, like she’s trying to remember how to be happy.

I set down the package, but I hesitate. I know that when I respond, the small smile is going to disappear. I consider lying and telling her I found the book hiding somewhere, but she keeps this house like a shrine to my dad—everything he owned is still sprinkled around this place—so she wouldn’t believe that for a second. I almost feel a little angry with her for putting me in this position.

“At the depository. It was in his lockbox.”

“Oh my God, Regan. The appointment.” Mom covers her mouth with her trembling hand, and just like that, the smile is gone. “I’m so, so sorry. I got a call from Orexis about Elusion’s CIT approval a few hours ago, and I just got so worked up, thinking about your dad; I went to Elusion, and then I was just so tired. I sat down on the couch and . . .” She shrugs, choking back tears. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

“It’s okay, Mom. Really.”

I want to believe what I just said. I tell myself I just have to be more patient. But I know what she’s going to say next.

“All I need is a little more time. I’m going to do better tomorrow, I promise.”

Mom wipes her eyes with her shoulder so she doesn’t have to let go of the book. My heart immediately replaces anger with guilt, and the shift makes me hunch forward. Suddenly, I have the posture and regret of a woman five times my age.

“You’re right—tomorrow will be better,” I say.