Chapter 24
AFTER FIVE MINUTES, I GET UP OFF MY BED AND look in the
wardrobe to see if there are any clothes I want to take with
us. I’m holding a black sweater when I decide I can’t leave
without saying good-bye to Hector.
I rip another girl’s jacket from the wall, one with a hood,
and write a quick note to Adelina: Had to say good-bye to
someone in town first.
The double doors open into the chilly air, and once I see
the police cars and news vans lining Calle Principal, I feel
better. The Mogadorians wouldn’t try anything with so many
witnesses. I walk through the gate with the hood over my
head. The door to Hector’s house is cracked open, and I
knock softly on the door frame. “Hector?”
A woman answers. “Hello?”
The door swings open and it’s Hector’s mother, Carlotta.
Her black-and-gray hair is pinned carefully around her
head, and her face is pink and smiling. She’s wearing a
beautiful red dress and a blue apron. The house smells like
cake.
“Is Hector home, Senora Ricardo?” I ask.
“My angel,” she says. “My angel has returned.”
She remembers what I did for her, how I cured her
disease. I feel embarrassed by the way she’s looking at
me, but she bends down for a hug and I can’t resist. “My
angel has returned,” she says again.
“I’m so happy you’re feeling better, Senora Ricardo.”
The tears that fall from her eyes are almost too much,
and soon my own eyes swell with water. “You’re welcome,” I
whisper. There’s a meow behind Carlotta, and I lean over to
see Legacy trotting towards me from the kitchen with milk
dripping from his chin. He purrs against my shins and I
bend down to pet his coat.
“When did you get a cat?” I ask.
“This morning he comes to my door, and I think he is so
sweet. I’ve named him Feo.”
“It’s good to see you, Feo.”
“He’s a good cat,” she says, her hands now on her hips.
“Very hungry boy.”
“I’m so glad you two found each other. Carlotta, I’m very
sorry but I have to leave. I need to speak with Hector. Is he
home?”
“He’s at the cafe,” she says. The disappointment of
Hector drinking so early in the morning must be evident on
my face, because Carlotta adds, “Only coffee now. He’s
drinking coffee.”
I hug her good-bye and she kisses both of my cheeks.
The cafe is packed. I reach for the door, but just before I
pull it open, something stops me dead in my tracks:
Hector’s sitting at a small table, but I notice him only in my
periphery. My eyes are glued to who’s sitting in the chair
opposite him—the Mogadorian from last night. He’s now
clean shaven, and his black hair has been lightened to a
chestnut color, but there’s no mistaking him. He’s just as tall
and muscular as before, just as broad shouldered, just as
dark and brooding, with the same heavy brows. I don’t need
the killer’s description to know he matches it perfectly, with
or without the dyed hair or missing mustache.
I let go of the door and step backwards. Oh Hector, I
think. How could you?
My legs shake; my heart pounds. As I’m standing there
watching them, the Mogadorian turns and sees me at the
window. My flesh turns cold. The world seems to stop; I’m
stuck, rooted in place, incapable of moving a muscle. The
Mogadorian watches me, causing Hector to turn my way as
well, and it’s only upon seeing his face that I’m shocked into
action.
I stumble backwards then, turn and run, but before I’ve
made it far, I hear the cafe door open. I don’t turn around. If
the Mogadorian is following me, I don’t want to know.
“Marina!” Hector yells. “Marina!”
Four officers ride with me. I touch my fingertips to the heavy
chains. I’m certain I could break them if I wanted to, or I
could simply unlock the cuffs with telekinesis; but the
thought of Sarah empties me of the energy required for
such an undertaking. She couldn’t have turned me in.
Please don’t let it have been her.
The first drive takes twenty minutes, and I have no idea
where we are. I’m pulled out and shoved into a second
vehicle which I assume is more secure, meant for longer
transport. The second drive takes forever—two hours,
maybe three—and by the time we finally stop and I’m again
jerked out, the sickness over what Sarah may have done
has grown to the point that it’s nearly unbearable.
I’m guided into a building. After each turn I have to wait
for a door to be unlocked. I count four of them, and the air
changes with each new corridor, becoming staler the
farther I’m led. Finally I’m pushed into a cell.
“Sit,” one of them orders.
I sit on a bed. The hood is removed but the shackles
remain. Four officers exit and slam the door shut. The two
larger ones take seats outside my cell, while the other two
leave.
The cell is small, ten feet by ten feet, and contains the
bed I’m sitting on, covered in yellow stains, and a metal
toilet and sink. Nothing else. Three of its four walls are solid
concrete, and there’s a small window at the very top of the
back wall.
Despite the filthy mattress, I lie down, close my eyes, and
wait for my mind to slow down.
“John!” Sam’s voice yells out.
My eyes snap open. I rush to the front of the cell,
grabbing hold of the bars. “Right here,” I yell back.
“Shut up!” the larger of the two guards yells, pointing his
nightstick at me. Down the corridor, somebody yells at
Sam, too. He doesn’t say anything else, but at least I know
he’s close.
I reach my hand through the bars of my cell and press my
palm against the flat metal surface of the lock. I close my
eyes, focus my telekinesis to feel its inner workings, and yet
I feel nothing other than a vibration that hurts my head the
harder I concentrate.
The cell—it’s electronically controlled. I can’t open it with
telekinesis.
I run as fast as I can back to the orphanage, the hood
ballooning with air behind me, and as I gain speed the
clouds and blue sky above me melt into a bright white.
I burst through the double doors and run to the sleeping
quarters. Adelina’s sitting on my bed, the note folded on her
lap. A small suitcase sits at her feet. When she sees me,
she jumps up and hugs me.
“You have to look at this,” she says, handing me the
paper. I unfold it to see that it’s not my note after all but a
photocopied picture.
It takes me a second to realize what the picture is of, and
when I recognize it my heart sinks. Someone has burned an
enormous and intricate symbol into the side of a nearby
mountain. With its careful lines and sharp angles, it’s an
exact replica of the scars around my ankle.
The sheet falls from my hand and slowly floats to the
ground.
“That was found yesterday, and the police are handing
these copies out looking for information,” Adelina says.
“We have to go now.”
“Yes, absolutely. I need to talk to you about Ella first,” I
say.
Adelina tilts her head. “What about Ella?”
“I want her to come with—”
Before I can finish my sentence, I’m rocked off my feet by
a thundering crash. Adelina falls as well and slams her
shoulder into the ground. There’s been an explosion,
somewhere within the orphanage. Several girls run into the
room screaming; others run past the doorway looking for
refuge elsewhere. I hear Sister Dora yell for everyone to go
to the south wing.
Adelina and I get to our feet and head for the hallway, but
then another explosion hits, and suddenly I can feel cold
wind. I can’t hear what Adelina is saying above the
screams, but I follow her gaze to the roof, where there’s
now a jagged hole the size of a bus. As I’m staring, a tall
man in a trench coat with long red hair walks to the edge of
the hole. He points at me.
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