Chapter 1
Not Yet
Cammie's POV
Run.
Run.
Run.
The voice inside me still urged me to run, but an even louder voice replied; 'Not Yet, Cammie, not yet,' and I listened. I stayed. I had no desire of relieving my last break and much less of placing Bex and her parents in a sticky situation (again). So, no matter how many times Bex plead with me to go with her to Geneva or how many times Mom tried to coax me to leave because "It'd be good for me," I refused to leave the Academy this summer. I refused to hide somewhere in the world from a terrorist group that was dead set on finding me. But most importantly, I just couldn't leave Mr. Solomon
I turn to observe Mr. Solomon; I watch as his chest slowly rises and falls. I become aware of the beeping monitor, a painful reminder of the weeks that have passed since that night. As the weeks pass I see his body growing thinner, but I haven't allowed myself to lose hope. I already lost my dad, I wouldn't lose him too. I really don't think I could stand to lose him.
Summary of Surveillance
(Because the fact that school is out is no excuse to let our guard down)
Operatives: Cameron Morgan…only.
Report of stay in the Gallagher Infirmary after the hot ex-CoveOps teacher was left in a comma:
Number of hours I've been here today:
3 hours fourteen minutes (and counting)
Number of times a nurse has entered the room:
4 – Two to check the monitor, one to change the IV bag and another one to bring me food and check the monitor.
Number of times the monitor has beeped in the three hours I've been here:
12,960
Number of times I have wished Mr. Solomon would wake up:
Enough to make my heart ache in longing.
Agent Morgan has recently discovered that staying at the Gallagher Academy for the summer is not as simple or as fun as it may seem. Yet, she knows that that's where she ought to be.
In the weeks since that night, I have often found myself here, at the infirmary. I have sat in this leather couch and watched, as slowly, Mr. Solomon's body consumed itself. But the monitor machine still beeps, the brain scans haven't alert us to any problems, and with each beep I try to remind myself that he's still alive, still there, still sleeping.
During school nights I used to come down here with my friends, and we'd keep a light conversation while trying to ignore the beeping machine. But it's summer now and their gone: Liz, to her parents in Alabama, pretending to be a normal girl (which she obviously isn't). Macey, in her parents' villa home in Tuscany, pretending to be a spoiled heiress (which she actually is) and Bex, of course, is facing dangers beside her parents-slash-spies.
Then Zach became a constant companion. He , like me, is a prisoner to this mansion.-Although he confinement, as far as I'm concerned, is voluntary, and for that I'm thankful, thank full for the way he'd just hold me close and whisper reassuring words, for the times we spend in silence, hoping fiercely that Mr. Solomon would wake up soon. But that was long ago, before I realized that lounging around is not his cup of tea, and that It's torture for him to see Mr. Solomon comatose, unmoving, and barely what'd you'd call living. Although he doesn't say it, his growing absence from the infirmary is enough to tell me that he's tired of waiting. No, I don't believe that he has given up hope, for hope is the last thing we let go of. He is just tired of holding on to tight. So we are content now to spend our time here apart for the most time, and now I'm thankful for the fact that he can still manage to sneak into town to buy me a corndog now and then.
Aunt Abby has stopped being the ghost she was throughput my child hood, but I don't think it's for the better. Still, she used to drop by into the mansion once every week, and come down here with me, stay for a while, chatting casually about missions of the past, reminiscing the time she, my dad and Mr. Solomon save the world ( –or the part of the world that is the US). I'm sure such information is classified, but she doesn't care and neither do I. But she too got tired of waiting and so the only who haven't are me and my mom. When she's not halfway across the world, she's usually here, always fussing, fidgeting, waiting and hoping, but since being halfway across the world is her favorite hobby, it's usually only me down here.
Mom and Abby are constantly out of the mansion, leaving me to the care of the staff, the guards and my ever-present security team. Things between them and I are tense, we don't know what to talk about, nothing seems like a good topic now, not Mr. Solomon, not my school (when it's out of session), not Zach, not plans for vacations since I refuse to budge from here. Nothing. At the rare dinner, we keep conversations down to a minimum.
This summer, I seem to be doing things that contradict each other. I'm waiting for Mr. Solomon to wake up, so that we could return to some degree of normalcy, and yet I'm still planning my escape. I have to leave; I have to search for answers. I have to at least try.
So as the good spy I'm, I have set the deadline for three months;because, a whole summer should be enough time for the flame of hope inside me to slowly fade, flicker and die and that way it will be less painful to turn my back on him and all safety I've known and face the unknown. Or so I hoped. But, if worse came to worse I'd leave the day before classes resumed, and would probably, do the unforgivable.
I'd have to leave a letter expressing my permission to disconnect Mr. Solomon's life support. My consent wasn't legally necessary to disconnect him, but Aunt Abby and Mom found it imperative to have it before even thinking of taking action. It was a subject that, from the time Dr. Anders had first spoken of it, had become a taboo issue between Mom, Aunt Abby and I and had also amounted to the already existing tension between us.
It was decision we couldn't take lightly. I had refuse point blank to discuss, and until now, I thought that my answer would always be No. But, I realize now, it is something, that, for the sake of moving on, I'd have to do.
When I think of it, I find myself staring into Zach's cold, dark eyes. His eyes burning with hatred, blaming me for Mr. Solomon's demise, blaming me for not holding on a bit longer. This image burns behind my lids when I think of writing the letter, but that doesn't stop me from thinking about it because I know he'll forgive me. Maybe not for a few months, perhaps not for a decade, but once the anger had subsided, he'll forgive me. He'll forgive me, but I don't know if I could forgive myself if I did, and I don't know if I could move on if I didn't..
If I leave, I have to let him go, I have to let go of him and let him rest in peace. As much as I love him I wouldn't-couldn't- put the rest of the people I love in more danger by my presence. So even if the decision would hunt me for the rest of my life, I know I'll let him go, because life must go on, and I had to let go; everyone must do so at some point in their lives.
I'm a spy, after all. This is the life I chose when I had the option not to. I know I shouldn't forge profound relationships with anyone, I shouldn't grow roots to hold me down, I can't afford to bound myself to anyone, or tie myself to a place because in the end I know it will only hurt more when it was all taken away.
I had seen the consequences of this life in my parents, and the suffering it caused my mom. Aunt Abby; when I could never see enough of her or know where she was at any given time. I'm now living a part of it with Mr. Solomon and it hurts. I feel it too with Zach; our relationship is too rocky and difficult because of the lives we lead and most of the times we find ourselves in an impasse. In a few years I'll feel it with my girls when we'll all be scattered around the world in deep, deep cover and even deeper danger.
These are examples of what being a spy means. I know I'll get myself hurt along the way, but I don't care now, because a good spy knows that the only thing they've got is the present and right now, I have them, and looking at Mr. Solomon, I have hope and I wouldn't let go of either. Not until I had to.
"Ms. Morgan?"
I'm brought out of my train of thought by the gentle voice of the young doctor who diligently cared for Mr. Solomon day and night; he too, was a constant companion in my time spent here.
"Yes, Dr. Anders. What can I do for you?" I ask taking the tissue he was offering and dabbing my face slightly, I didn't fail to notice that the usual small smile in his face was bigger than usual.
"First of all, don't cry Cameron, it's all going to be okay, "he soothed gently, his temperate blue eyes meeting mine. He had said those words countless times in the last weeks, yet I never failed to believe them and they never failed to comfort me.
"Thank you," was all I could reply as always.
He smiled "Your mother wants to see you in her office as soon as possible." He informed me while glancing at the monitor, and I did too and noticed the slight acceleration of Mr. Solomon's heartbeat. My own heart gave a flutter, but quickly quieted down as his did. It wasn't unusual for this to happen, but every time it did, it gave me a little more hope, a little bit more to hang on.
Doctor Anders turned to me, smiling warmly, a smile I quickly return, "You better get on your way." he said helping me gather my things.
"Yes, of course Dr. Anders, "I answered heaving my bag onto my shoulder.
"Take care of him, please." I added walking out the door.
"I will Ms. Morgan, and please, behave, I don't need more patients here." He called after me in a teasing voice but something in his voice told me he wasn't joking, nor talking about me, either.
"I will, Dr. Anders, Thank you." I reply and as quickly as possible made my way to Mom's office.
