Elusion(54)

I wonder if Patrick is aware of how crazy his ramble just sounded and how much he’s sweating right now.

“Vendetta? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, like the second he feels I’m not taking him seriously, he goes and befriends you. Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious?”

“For your information,” I say with sheer grit, “Josh and I ran into one another in the administrative office at school. He was registering and I’d just gotten my ass handed to me by the principal for pushing Avery, because I was standing up for you.”

Patrick rubs his face with both hands, and then his eyes soften. “I’m just trying to—”

“Protect me? You keep saying that, but I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“I know,” he says. “I just want you to be careful. He’s got a temper. Always has, but after his parents split, the kids kind of lost it. Nora started getting into trouble, Josh was out of control . . .”

“He hit a guy and got sent to military school. I know. He told me.”

“Hit a guy?” Patrick says, sarcastically. “He almost killed someone, Ree. Beat up a kid so badly he was in the hospital for three days.”

I snort at the accusation. It seems so exaggerated. “Josh doesn’t seem capable of doing that. And he certainly kept calm just now when you slammed him against the wall.”


“Trust me, that was for your sake. He thinks you know something, and he’s willing to exploit your friendship to get to me. Isn’t that obvious?”

I spring up from the stairs, stone cold angry. “Don’t twist this whole thing around. This is about how you’re not being honest with me. About Elusion, about Josh, about—”

“Wait, I’m not being honest?” Patrick gets up and stares me down. “What was he doing over here tonight? He was in your bedroom, wasn’t he? Did I walk in on something, Regan?”

I’m shocked by how tongue-tied I become at his accusation, but I manage to squeak something out of my vocal cords.

“Now who’s paranoid?”

Patrick smirks and pulls out his tab. “Josh’s name was kept out of the papers because he was underage, but Trent was older, so there might be something about it in the local news archives,” he says, typing and scrolling away. “Here we go. Trent Sasder. That was the name of his victim.”

I glance down at the tab Patrick has shoved into my hand.

Brutal Attacker Cops Plea

The assailant of local college student Trent Sasder, 19, who was in critical care for days after suffering a brutal attack, is being set free. Insiders say the high school sophomore, who attacked Mr. Sasder outside his home, is being forced to attend Ashville Academy, a military school known for the hard-core tactics used to rehabilitate its students . . .



“How can I be sure this is even about Josh?” I say, forcing the tab back into Patrick’s possession. “I bet there are plenty of other people who were sent to Ashville for the same reason.”

“If you looked closely enough, you’d see the timing of the article is an exact match to when Josh left for the academy.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t want to look closely enough where Josh is concerned. But I’m so tired of Patrick turning the tables tonight, which is why I keep the pressure on him.

“If you were so worried about me hanging out with Josh, why didn’t you say anything about this at your party?” I growl. “You knew he was driving me home. Anything could’ve happened, right?”

“It seemed like Ashville had straightened him out.” Patrick shoves the tab back into his pocket and shrugs. “Guess I was wrong. About a lot of things.”

I reach out and grab him by the shoulders, hoping to get through to him. “You know what you’re wrong about? Me. You can tell me anything, Patrick, even if it’s really bad. You have to trust me and let me help.”

For a moment there’s this look in his eyes, like he’s drowning and he wants me to throw him a rope. But it vanishes in a flash. Patrick snatches his coat off the floor and walks out the front door without saying another word to me. I don’t tell him to wait, but I follow him outside and stand on the stoop, watching him get into his black luxury car.

He doesn’t look back. Not even once.

I realize now that my friendship with Patrick might be coming to an end, and my relationship with Josh might be over before it’s had the chance to get started. But does any of this matter? When today people are missing and dying . . .

And possibly alive somewhere even though they’re supposed to be dead.

When the car is out of sight, I go inside and notice the shopping bag Patrick left behind. I peek inside and see a small box with Xr47 printed on it in large bold yellow lettering.

It’s a new tablet, intended for me, I assume. Top-of-the-line, of course. The fastest one on the market, and the most expensive.

I suppose nothing’s too good for Patrick Simmons’s best friend.

Except for the truth.


“Regan, wait up!” I hear a high-pitched voice call out into the seven a.m. rush crowd at the Hills Sector Traxx station.

It’s a dreary but wind-free day, and O2 shields aren’t needed, which makes it easier to see everyone’s faces. Still, there’s a bitter chill and a lot of dampness in the air. I grabbed my dad’s black fleece jacket as I ran out of the house early this morning, but right now it’s doing little to keep me warm and dry.