Disclaimer: Ally Carter owns all the wonderful characters of the Gallagher Girls series, I, however own: Lucy, Arnold, Carol, Andy, Mark Tanner…and you guys don't know half of the people I've listed. Yet. Maxwell Edwards is actually a Gallagher Girls character, back in the first book!
(Author's Note): Hey you guys! See? I'm updating! I'm so proud of myself [you gotta admit, compared to a year, less than three weeks is pretty fast for me]. Thanks again for the wonderful feedback; you all are so kind and supportive and everything awesome! Thank you all so much! It's 'cause of your support that writing is even easier for me!
Replies to Anonymous Reviewers:
lily: hey again! Thanks for always reading and reviewing my story! And I write reviews as I read along as well. I hope you'll like this chapter! As for Kim's character, I was reading my story and I kind of realized almost everyone Zach meets likes him somehow. Thus, a hardcore girl who hates his guts was born. xD Anyways, I hope this chapter was updated fast enough and again, thank you so much for your reviews and support! It means a lot!
MiniSloth: Yes! I am dethroned :D so happy to know that! But I'm glad you liked the action; and your compliments are making me blush! xD But thank you for reading and reviewing and all your awesome support. As for your question: yup, Cam witnessed it…and a little something more. And that's really perceptive! This chapter is gonna show Cam being interrogated by the police (: You're the only one who seemed to catch that, NICE! Thanks again for reviewing!
Heart2Heart: Thanks for taking the time to read and review this! And very good point about the whole Kim and Cammie issue. I guess you'll just have to find out about her by reading more, right? But good job at finding that. Anyways, thanks again! Hope you like this chapter!
paramorefreakkk: Thanks for your review! Hopefully this is a quick update as well! And you're another person who saw the Kim-Cammie-Gallagher connection! Congrats! You'll just have to think of what/who Cammie is on your own until I update the chapter that reveals everything else. Anyways, thanks again for the review and hope you like this chapter!
kimkardashian: Hey! Thanks for reading and reviewing! And I'm glad you liked the action, it was fun to write! And no, Kim doesn't like Zach that much, does she? LOL. I hope you like this chapter as much as the last! Thanks again for your feedback!
Mrs. FutureGoodeAndHale: Thank you! I love long chapters too when I read something, so I figured if I love it, I should write it, right? [thus, all my stories are pretty much in Zach's POV]. OH! And I'm glad you like A Heist With A Spy too, I'll probably update that fic next. Thanks again!
PureNorwegianAwesomeness: Thanks for the major compliments and reading and reviewing my story! And the whole deal on Kim's character was kind of a test of waters, because I wanted to add different personalities out there like in real life. And I completely and utterly agree with you! I think everyone practically forgot that Josh was Cammie's first boyfriend and was incredibly sweet! I don't really like it when he's portrayed as evil, either. Trust me, this will DEFINITELY not be one of those stories. I'll write my Clique stories once I'm done with most of my other major stories. And don't even worry about long reviews, I actually LOVE them, like how some people like long chapters. Anyways, hope you like this story and thanks again!
SodaPOP: You're welcome, I love replying to reviews and try to as much as possible. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! I'm really glad you liked the chapter so much and here is your update! I hope you like it!
kaitlyn: Thanks for your feedback! I really hope you enjoy this chapter as well! Nice to know that you'd read my Clique story!(: And thanks again for the review(s)!
GGFANGIRL: I'm glad the update was fast enough! I hope you'll like this one and thank you for reading and reviewing my story! And as for the Massington story, I might do that pairing, but I always like love triangles and the Clique is the perfect fandom for that to me. So it might be Cassington! xD Anyways, thanks again for the review!
tmz: Hey, thanks for reviewing and telling me what you thought! And yeah, I can see your point. But I'm glad you liked it and don't worry about asking about Cammie, a lot of people do, however I can't really tell you anything, 'cause my story would be less interesting then, if you ask me. It's a mystery! Anyways, thanks so much for your kind review and I hope you enjoy reading this!
bianca: Hey! You'll learn about what happened to Bethany in a bit! But thanks for reading and reviewing! I hope you like this chapter as well! Again, thanks for the supportive feedback!
HOPE YOU ALL LIKE THE CHAPTER!
Summary of Story So Far [dubbed SSF]:
Enter: Kim Lee—punk rock CIA agent who fights with Zach like a cat whose tail was stomped on by a dog [in this case, Zach]. Then enter: Maxwell Edwards—a former CIA agent who had pulled himself out and recovered his lost memory of his missions.
As this all goes down, Cammie invites Zach, Lucy, Kim, and Jonas for a rock-climbing outing. So of course, things go horribly wrong when a girl is brutally murdered right outside the building—and Cammie and Zach saw it all through a window. The girl who is murdered turns out to be another student at Harvard College—Bethany Monroe. The police come to the school to investigate, as Zach and his team tries to skirt around them.
Zach breached Eliot House in hopes to find Bethany Monroe's file. And was knocked by an unknown figure. And now? He's finally awake.
M i s s i o n R a n k i n g s:
Black Out – Highest Clearance Level(s) (Level 10 and over)/Time Span: As Much as Necessary/ Classified: Between BOA members and advisors only/NSA, OSS, FBI assistance on occasion.
Level A – Clearance Level 8 to Level 10/ Time Span: As Much as Necessary/ Classified: High Leveled CIA agents only.
Level B – Clearance Level 6 to Level 8/ Time Span: Approximately 4 to 8 months
Level C – Clearance Level 4 to Level 6/ Time Span: Approximately 2 to 3 months
Level D – Clearance Level 2 to Level 4/ Time Span: Approximately 1 week.
Level E – Clearance Level 1/Time Span: Approximately 7 to 9 hours
Chapter Eight: Files
"If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or things." –Edward Townsend
Location: Unknown
Date: Wednesday, September 13th Time: 8:32 a.m.
P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode
I was feeling nostalgic.
I could have sworn I hadn't felt that freaking great since the day I had awoken with the world's largest hangover [the one where I woke up half-naked with a fully naked Grant draped across with room with only a lampshade to cover him]. This time, I wasn't half-naked and there was no [Thank God] naked Grant.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, and my eyes slowly lifted themselves open—
—And I shot up in pain, cussing so loudly in Tagalog that somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought half the population of the Philippines had heard me. Night vision contacts and the morning light didn't mix very well—it was like staring straight into stadium lights you would find in a football field.
A pale blue fleece blanket fell from my torso, pooling around my waist I sat up, taking the night vision contacts carefully one with one hand as the other shielded my eyes from the light. Vaguely noticing that my shoes were gone, I looked down at my clothes: jeans and a black t-shirt. Same things as yesterday. Blinking rapidly, I glanced at my surroundings—everything from the bed with navy sheets I was occupying to the closed mahogany door to light beige walls.
Waking up in an unknown bed wasn't completely unusual for me.
But that was a different story for a different day [and most likely a different and older audience].
Slowly, through the haze my mind was thrown into, I tried to comprehend everything, my hand closing over and crushing the night vision contacts—
My eyes widened and I rolled out of the bed, the rumpled blanket left behind.
The contacts.
Eliot House.
Bethany Monroe's murder.
The files.
My hand flew to my right ear, ready to contact Jonas. I'm alive, why—why hadn't they killed me yet? Did they want to interrogate? I thought speedily.
I froze; my comms unit was gone.
"Good morning."
My head jerked towards the, now, opened door. That, of course, did nothing to assist my devastatingly throbbing temples. My arms stiffened into a fighting stance, my eyes sharp for any piece of detail that I would need. I knew I was as emotionless as a statue, that I was able to mask my shock, but truly, I was actually genuinely surprised.
"Young man, are you alright?"
I cautiously lowered my arms, my eyes warily glancing at the woman. She was about half a head shorter than I was; a plain lilac shirt with long sleeves and black dress pants clad her somewhat hefty body [at least, she didn't look like she could hide any explosives in her clothes]. Short copper colored hair hung from her head and her brown eyes were glancing at me with concern [as if I wasn't able to roundhouse kick her freckled face].
I stared and questioned brusquely. "Who are you?"
She didn't seem fazed and smile warmly at me, despite my cold eyes. "I'm Carol, dear. And you would be Zach, correct?"
I didn't respond, just continuing my icy stare. A silence filled the room like fast and high-rising water. The woman, Carol, apparently, started to fidget a bit with her small pale hands uncomfortably—she's nervous? I thought, astounded. I'm the one who was knocked out in the middle of the night and dragged here. And she's the one who's uncomfortable?
It was sounding too familiar with the incident with Cammie, who, although I had my doubts and might actually like [again, another story for another time], was still a person of interest concerning the operation.
"Ah! Zach! You're finally up!"
My eyes didn't widen. I didn't gape astonishingly. I gave absolutely no indication of having been surprised. I, myself, had already come to a conclusion of my own the second I had woken up [and practically blinded myself with night-vision contacts]. So the following should have made sense to me.
But the thing is. I didn't.
Edwards popped out from the hallway with a happy grin, throwing an arm around Carol's waist and leaning down to give her a tender kiss on the cheek. Carol lifted her hand to her mouth and giggled like a giddy schoolgirl.
I'd seen Liz test a possible truth serum that could be used for interrogation [which, to save time, involved a rolling pin that had a laser in the handle, a certain Liz Sutton acting like an unbelievably angry drunk one second and like a depressed one in another, and a bunch of Brazilian candles set aflame like a forest fire].
But the scene of the outrageously happy couple seemed even stranger than that.
Edwards' hands were entwined with Carol's like they were going to go out for a clichéd, sunny-skied-birds-chirping-flowers-blooming stroll. "I see you've met my gorgeous wife, Carol." She giggled. Again. I could honestly say that I had no idea why she was laughing.
Yes. That situation was definitely stranger than the Bipolar Elizabeth Sutton Incident [as it has now been dubbed].
Instead of telling them that, I said. "You came into the room without making any kind of sound in the hallway."
Edwards turned thoughtful, "Yes. Well. I suppose old habits die hard." Suddenly a blue object was thrown at me, creating a blue, blurred streak, and I caught it at the last second. I turned it around: Advil? "Oh yes, before I forget, you should be having a pretty nasty headache right about now. Sorry about that." He genuinely looked apologetic. "Homemade Napotine patches are rather tricky, you see."
My hand flew to the back of my neck and felt the waxy surface of a Band-Aid; I yanked it off, the adhesive already losing its stick. Bringing it up to examine—besides the intense reek of chemicals [I nearly knocked myself just by being that close to it] it was just like any other bandage. I stuck the small bottle in my pocket, not trusting him or the medication.
"Cleaning supplies are even more useful than their commercials say they are," Edwards grinned. Carol was fumbling a bit with her hands, but Edwards simply squeezed her shoulders comfortingly. I didn't fail to notice it—and from what Edwards had just blurted out and from common sense and body language, I knew. Carol knew Edwards was a former agent.
I ignored his statement. "Why did you knock me out?"
"Because I figured we'd wake everyone in Eliot House up if we got into a tussle."
"How considerate." Especially acknowledging the fact that he rendered me unconscious with a Band-Aid.
Edwards merely shrugged and smiled again. "Carol, do you mind getting Zach's shoes, I believe we put them in the next room."
Carol complied, leaving the room, turning down the hall. My eyes warily tracked her before turning back towards Edwards. I didn't bother to hide the shock this time. It was as if someone could control his moods with the flip of a switch. The second his wife left the room, he went from perky to grimly serious.
"Here," he tossed me a black folder I hadn't seen him carry in. Catching it, I opened it to be faced with a pretty girl of about twenty, with wavy light brown hair and happy smile and large blue eyes. "I believe these are what you were looking for."
"Bethany Monroe's files—it's what you were in Eliot House to get, correct?" I looked sharply at Edwards. His chipper face had gone solemn, looking as if someone had just piled years onto his head in a matter of seconds. His grey eyes had turned to steel as he stared at me.
Was this a setup? I thought, suspicion coiling low in my stomach like a snake. "Why give this to me?"
"Because I want this murderer gone." Edwards said, his voice telling me that he wasn't going to elaborate any more on that.
My eyes drilled his—he wasn't lying. I clenched my fist around the black folder, the girl's bloody slaughter forever burnt into my eyes.
"The CIA sent you." It was more of a statement than a question. "The bug your friend in black put on me yesterday was made in Base 20." He lifted up a small black disk about half the size of a dime between his forefinger and thumb. Kim's bug. "They were notorious for their tracking and audio technology back when I still worked for them. I suppose they still are, by some standards."
I raised a brow. "So you want in on the mission then?"
"No." He answered with conviction. "What I want is this murderer taken out. And since it's your duty to do that, I decided you need a helping hand."
I ignored the last part of what he said.
"Why did you leave the CIA?" I inquired.
A large hand sifted through his salt-and-pepper hair, whether it was from frustration or annoyance, I wasn't sure. I thought back to his file—why would a 32 year-old already have graying hair? As if reading my mind, he gave a small, strained smile. "Constant life-threatening missions are rather stressful. To put it lightly, the operations slowly sucked the youth out of me like a vacuum. I decided I had enough of that."
"You left the CIA because you were getting gray hairs?" I asked dubiously.
Edwards, for the first time since in our acquaintance, laughed wholeheartedly. It was knee-slapping laughter as well. He glanced back at me after his fit, his grey eyes amused. "Yes, son, let's just go with that."
I suddenly felt irritated. "Why did you leave the CIA?" I repeated.
"You wouldn't understand."
Although the fact Edwards hadn't said it unkindly, I still felt like seething. Instead, I dug my hands into the pockets of my jeans, a ready weapon [a pen that could render a man paralyzed in three different ways, or kill one fourteen different ways] already gripped in my hand, hidden from view. The black folder was clamped safely under my left arm. I was the picture of nonchalance. "Try me."
Edwards face turned to stone suddenly. "Then tell me, Zach, did you join the CIA to solely serve your country?"
He was evading the question, but his response struck me. I knew the answer should have been 'yes.' That was what any loyal CIA operative would have said—to fight for the United States of America. But I also knew that that answer would have been a lie. And although I was positive I could pull off that lie, a sinking feeling settled in my stomach from the thought of lying to this man. I stared back icily at him, silent.
A strained smile appeared on his tight face. "That's what I thought." He started. "It took me a few years to learn that spies, agents, operatives—whatever you'd like to call them—aren't hired through pure patriotism. That's one of the main differences between them and those fanatical movies. Spies nowadays aren't hired, Zach, they're used."
Meeting his grey eyes, I made no comment. He spoke as if he wasn't an agent, but he was one. Or at least used to be one. What was I supposed to say to something like that, to a guy like that? So I tossed out the very first thing to pop into my mind: "You're pretty good at lying."
"I am telling you the truth."
"But not the whole truth." I shot back.
Edwards crossed his arms in front of his chest, a cocked brow on his forehead. "And what's your reasoning behind that one, son?"
"I suppose you could call it instinct."
A silence grew between us, unlike the one between his wife and I, it felt like pins and needles filled the room. And poor Carol seemed to have walked right into it, my leather shoes in her small hands. Politely receiving my shoes back, I sat back down on the bed behind me, slipping and tying them back on. My eyes trained solely on the shoes as I bent over.
By the time I got my first shoe on, I heard a small pattering bouncing around in the hallway, before it pounced into the room. I glanced up in time to see it.
I froze at the sight.
"Daddy!" A bundle of black, white and yellow barreled into Edwards' arms, his face changing instantly from its stony self to a warm, tender grin. "You need to drive me to school now!"
"Of course, sweetheart." The black haired bundle squirmed to be released from her father's arms, hopping down onto the floor before spinning clumsily around. It was disconcerting to see Edwards' grey eyes on the little girl's face, but instead of the harsh slate irises, I was met with innocently curious ones. Her black hair was tied up into side ponytails, her tiny body in a white and buttery yellow dress.
She clumsily toddled her way towards me as I tied my other shoe on. Cocking her head to the side, a feat that reminded me eerily of Cammie, making me smile a bit, she inquired, "Who are you?"
"Andy," Carol scolded softly, "don't be rude."
"It's alright," I reassured the mother. My eyes went back onto the little girl in front of me, Andy. "I'm Zach."
"I'm Andy." She said unnecessarily, large eyes still curious. Suddenly, she turned around to face her parents, a tiny finger and arm pointing back at me [or at least, the general direction of me]. "Is he the big sib-sibling I asked for last Christmas?" Her toddler tongue stumbling over the word.
Before Edwards or Carol could react, I cut in, "And what if I am?"
Andy spun back around, ponytails flailing. Her small button nose scrunched up, a small pink tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth: "You don't look like a big sister."
"Thank you. I get that a lot."
"Oh! No, Andy, Zach is here as a guest." The redheaded woman rushed to say to her daughter. Andy toddled back to her mother, arms held up, begging to be held. Carol complied.
"Who should be leaving soon," Edwards commented, eyes on his silver Rolex, even when I knew that he already knew the exact hour, minute and second. "His Legal Terminology class starts soon," I looked at him warily, was there anything about my cover he didn't know?
"What's that?" Andy asked, facing her father.
Edwards grinned happily at her: "Grown-up classes, sweetheart."
Andy's tiny face scrunched up: "Yucky."
It was nearing nine o'clock and pulling up my mental files I knew Edwards was right—Legal Terminology started in seventeen minutes. Quickly getting up, excusing myself and thanking them for allowing me to stay [Carol had looked at her husband rather accusingly at that. Andy just replied with an automatic "you're welcome" and Edwards—he just looked too damned satisfied].
Rushing through the richly decorated halls and finding the white front door, I opened it, glancing around to take in my surroundings—The Harvard College Campus would have been an easy five minute run—my mind rushing and crashing with facts like a waterfall.
Somewhere behind me as I dashed to the upcoming school, I heard a distinct shout and an image of a tiny, little girl with black pigtails waving her small arm wildly in the air materialized in my head: "Bye-bye, Zach! Bye-bye!"
I saw why Edwards wanted that murderer gone now, especially with being jogging distance between the school—Andy.
Location: Adams House, Room 119,
Harvard College,
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Date: Wednesday, September 13th Time: 9:36 a.m.
P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode
When I entered my dorm, my head was nearly snapped off by Jonas' spin kick.
Then again, I couldn't exactly blame him; I climbed through his bedroom window.
"Holy shit, don't ever do that again!" I heard Jonas wail, his tone somewhere between aggravation, relief and just being plain pissed off.
"Funny," I mumbled, my voice muffled from the carpet. I had to dive to the floor in order to miss his foot. I lifted my head up, still sprawled on the ground, glaring at him. "I was gonna say the exact same thing to you."
Jonas rolled his eyes irritably, immediately I noticed the dark circles surrounding them. Jonas' usually ironed white dress shirt was as wrinkled as crumpled paper, his black slacks not doing any better, a gaping hole in the knee, for that matter. His black hair looked like an angry cat wanted to maul him and sleep on him at the same time.
Pulling myself into a sitting position, I picked my words carefully. "You've definitely looked better."
"Where the hell were you?" Jonas seethed between clenched teeth. His frame tense. "You sent a distress signal and once I got to Eliot House—by knocking three fucking policemen unconscious, mind you—"
"Nice, so is that where you got the hole in your pants?" I interjected, he continued on as if I hadn't spoken.
"—and you weren't there." His eyes were crackling like lightning. I sighed. "I tried tracking your comms unit, but it was blocked. Kim had to physically pull me back before I went after you myself. We were gonna contact Black Out Agents, Zach. Their retrieval unit."
Shocked, I froze, but thawing, my eyes narrowed, my voice low: "You know they wouldn't have come, Jonas. The CIA, especially the Black Outs, wouldn't make that much trouble just because I went missing. If any of us went missing." As I stressed these words, I knew they were true—making me think of what Edwards had said—about spies not being hired, but being used. Like little toy soldiers, or being pawns in a game of chess.
A pause. The hot air seemed to have floated away and Jonas inhaled and exhaled heavily, his fingers holding the bridge of his nose. I stood up languidly, dusting myself off. "Now, if you would please stop acting like an overprotective mother," Jonas snapped his head towards me and gave the evil eye. I smirked: "I'd like to explain everything, starting with this," I tossed him the black folder.
I told him everything but the little conversation Edwards decided to share with me: "Spies nowadays aren't hired, Zach, they're used."
"Well, that's interesting." Jonas said when I finished, his eyes already analyzing the black folder and its contents, his mind like a master computer. "By the way, from the fact you climbed in through my window, I'm guessing you saw all the cop cars down there, huh? Probably smart to avoid them, classes are postponed for the day."
"Yup," I said, popping the 'p' and leaning against his bed. I had already snuck into the Lecture Hall in the South Wing, ready for Legal Terminology when the only things I saw in the desks were dust. "They're here to investigate more?"
Jonas shrugged, flipping through pages. "Half of them are. Other half's here to do something else."
"What do you mean?" I asked, shrugging off my black shirt before raiding Jonas' closet. A moment later and he still hadn't answered and I turned to see his frown at me. "What?"
"Wear your own clothes, dammit! I'm sick of all the laundry I have to do." He glared.
Rolling my eyes, I shoved the blue t-shirt back into his too-clean, too-organized closet. "You got it, Mom."
That earned me a pillow aimed for my head; I ducked, smirked and was glared at. It was nice to know the normal routine was still on.
"The other half is here to interrogate, alphabetical order by last name for each House. Once you're interrogated you can leave your House, but you're not allowed to step foot off campus." Jonas clarified. Folding my arms, leaning on my side by the window, my gaze fell on the two black and white police cars parked below.
A cop with blazing red hair was speaking quickly into a black hand-held radio. From behind me, I heard papers shuffling back to the folder as Jonas spoke: "Actually. Now that I think about it, I should be interviewed soon, there's one person before me. I'll see you later."
I merely nodded, my eyes still staring down through the glass. I heard Jonas lock himself in his bathroom, probably changing to look more presentable. But my mind stopped thinking of his mug shot worthy appearance the second I spotted a head of dark blonde hair falling pin straight down the back of a black jacket. She was being escorted by the redheaded cop towards the other side of the building, getting ready to be interviewed, I thought, eyes narrowed.
Thinking back to the first week Jonas and I had been here, I walked briskly to my room, snatching up my phone, thumbing through the different apps. Turning up the volume, my eyes glances through my window, no longer seeing her, but hearing her soft voice through my phone. I smirked; the bugs were left alone in the offices then. I quickly changed out of the soiled clothes from yesterday, opting for a fresh sports jacket and shirt and jeans as the interview began.
Cammie Morgan was right before Jonas Morganson after all.
"Miss Morgan, could you please tell me what you had been doing at Hangar 18 yesterday." A deep timbre boomed through my ears as I plugged white earphones into my head. It was more of an order than a question. To anyone watching, I looked like I was listening to music, my foot started tapping rhythmically for good measure. I frowned a bit at his tone, but Cammie's voice replied steadily back.
"I was spending time with a few friends, sir."
"And who were these friends, Miss Morgan, full names would be helpful."
I could almost hear the frown in Cammie's defensive tone: "With all due respect, none of my friends would ever be connected with a murder."
"We have yet to decide anything, Miss Morgan." A voice I recognized as the pompous blond prick sneered. I plopped myself down onto my bed, hands resting behind my head. "And you never know with your friends. Now, names, Miss Morgan."
I could imagine Cammie glaring at the man, striking eyes light with annoyance. An exasperated sigh blew through my ear buds: "Alright. I was with Lucy Harrington, Zach White, Jonas Morganson, along with his cousin Kim."
The blond officer: "Kim…what?"
"I don't know, Kim's in town to visit Jonas and I asked her if she'd like to come along." Another voice with a southern accent muttered something about looking up Jonas' family [which, according to our covers, consisted of divorced parents on the opposite of the globe, a dog named Hercules and a crazy aunt who apparently mothered Kim]. I momentarily heard papers being shuffled and pencils jotting down notes.
"I see, and your relationship with these people?" The deep voice prompted.
Cammie's voice overlapped the blond prick and the southern officer's muttering in the background. "Lucy's my roommate, we're really good friends. Kim and I don't know each other very well, and the same could be said about Jonas too, but he and I seem to be friends. And Zach's a very good friend too." I smiled at that.
The sound of laminated papers turning filled my ears, like someone was flipping through a photo album. Suddenly it stopped and I heard the blond prick exclaim: "It's that bratty kid from last night! Zach White, huh? I should just call him in here to clean the gum off my shoe, dammit, they'd cost a lot!"
"He's not a bratty kid." Cammie countered her tone indignant.
"Yeah, yeah, go ahead and defend your boyfriend."
"What? H-he's not my boy—he's not my boyfriend!" My brows rocketed to meet my hairline, my smirk prominent, thoroughly amused—I had never heard Cammie being so flustered that she'd yell at an authority figure [even if said authority figure was about as mature as a third grader, and had half the brain power of one]. She had always seemed so serene.
"Enough!" The first voice bellowed. The effects were like a hand had clicked the mute button on their voices.
I shifted positions, hearing Jonas slip through the door of our room with a click, probably heading down to the lounge waiting to be interrogated. And from that point forward, the interview ran as smoothly as a river, background information on Cammie was asked [nothing I hadn't already knew] until it finally came back to the murder at the rock-climbing gym.
I listened as Cammie let it slip that she had witnessed the killing from afar. I felt like a fist of ice punched my gut as her soft, bruised voice, no longer steady, but wavering a bit, described the scene that had been permanently playing in my mind like a broken record ever since the night before. Raking my hand through my hair roughly, I caught every word she uttered.
"…I didn't know what I was seeing when it happened, I just saw a clump of black jerking around, they were outside too and it was already getting dark. Then I heard s-someone scream and then I saw Bethany's face….Oh God, there was so much blood—it was all over her cheeks, a-and her forehead. And she just kept screaming and crying. I felt like screaming too, but I-I don't know. I froze on the climbing wall. I—"
A pause, Cammie took a deep breath before continuing. "Someone from behind had shot her and blood was just everywhere. Then they did something to her, to her arm—it was all twisted, it didn't even look real, and looked ready to be popped out of her socket like a doll—it just—oh God…"
Running my hand down my face warily, somewhat nauseated at the image in my head, I thumbed through my phone and pressed a blue record button on the screen, the programming in the bugs changing. The rest of the interviews for the day being saved to it. Turning my phone off, I ripped the white earphones out and wrapped them around my phone.
Closing my eyes, I headed for the bathroom to start a shower. Hysteric, pain filled screaming following me around in my mind as I stepped under the hot steaming water. My head met the smooth, cool tiling as I leaned against it, the scene tormenting me. For a second, Bethany's face had changed to a girl with dirty blonde hair with expressive green eyes in agony. I buried the image into a metaphorical abyss of my mind.
I knew what happened to Bethany Monroe's arm.
It was an exclusive, specially designed move for Blackthorne students, after all.
Location: Northern Courtyard,
Harvard College,
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Date: Sunday, September 17th Time: 12:03 p.m.
P.O.V: Zachary "The Shadow" Goode
Nearly all the policemen left Adams House and had moved onto the rest of the River Houses. The four days passed uneventfully, class-wise. Homework was stuffed snugly in my backpack, and after a long day of droning voices, pesky police officers barricading dorms and hallways, and the Bethany Monroe case, my backpack felt as if it weighed more than what I usually bench-pressed [which is pretty damn impressive, if I do say so myself].
The other night Jonas and I managed to identify one of the accomplices to the murderer as a man named Sam Kennedy, who had a background of homicide before and had escaped prison for half a year now. We had already surmised that he wasn't the one from Blackthorne, but a lackey. Arnold had arranged for him to be brought in [and by 'arranged' I mean Kim knocked him out and the policemen at the station found him on the front desk unconscious].
But aside from that, our lead had run cold, the file on Bethany Monroe not much help, only telling us medically what had happened and her personal file. Comparing it to the rest of the homicide victims, there was no solid link between them. Had it not been for a Blackthorne technique used on Bethany Monroe's arm, Jonas and I would have written it off as a random murder.
"Hey Cam," I smiled at the way Cammie was hauling her overstuffed red book bag. It looked as if adding a single sheet of paper would have made it burst at its frayed seams. "And you should really consider not carrying your homework everywhere you go on campus; your bag's so big half the time I think it's going to eat you."
"I'd put up a good enough fight." Cammie stated simply, she plopped her bag down to the grass, brown leaves crunching under the weight before dropping herself next to me on the stone bench. Her hand pulled a bag of colorful M&Ms and a water bottle out of her bag. "Want something? Vending machine in the lounge gave me a few extras by mistake."
Amused, I curled my arm around her petite shoulders playfully. "Actually now that you bring it up, I'd like something." Pushing down her offered bag of Skittles, I leaned down until my mouth was right next to her ear, my voice lowered for only her to hear. "Only question is, Cam, is if you'll give it to me or not."
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as she blinked with her long, curved eyelashes for a moment. Something between shock and confusion appeared on her face, large green eyes wide, before she yanked back so suddenly I thought she'd fallen off the end of the bench.
Setting my chin on my palm, my elbow leaning on the stone table, I gazed down as Cammie busied herself with grabbing her bag, nimble hands fidgeting. Her long thick hair covering her face that I knew for a fact was blushing. I grinned; happily amused, teasing her to keep her mind off the death had become something of a hobby for me. Despite what she thought of herself, Cammie truly was adorable.
"So anyways, did you hear about that fire alarm that went off in the Business Division—it's the building with the gigantic oak in front of it?" Cammie blurted out, obviously trying to change the subject. I smirked at bit at the pink tinge her cheeks were but nodded at her description.
"Not very smart for someone to pull a fire alarm with the cops around," I pointed out, stealing a green M&M from her outstretched hand.
Cammie merely shrugged. I had already heard the alarm, there had been a total of three alarms on Campus, and I assumed it was just someone who wanted to send the cops into frenzy [not that I really disapproved, it was almost funny watching some of them practically have a heart attack].
My phone vibrated from inside my pocket and I knew who it was before I retrieved it, reading the text message, I turned to Cammie and lied. "I've got to go pretty soon—Jonas needs some help analyzing Hamlet."
She nodded understandingly, my stomach dropping a bit from guilt, before tilting her head a bit inquiringly. "Bates' class is already starting Hamlet? Mr. Edwards better pick up the pace with our class then."
I tried not to stiffen at his name: "I suppose so."
"To be or not to be, that is the question," Cammie quoted automatically, before blushing bashfully. "Sadly, I don't know the rest completely—I'd be a terrible actress."
I smiled almost sadly, although I refused to think of her as a threat [and this was the only thing Kim had agreed with me on], Jonas and Arnold weren't letting up. "Acting is the same thing as lying, you know."
Her green eyes were curious now. "That's an interesting way of looking at it; but it wouldn't be technically lying if you were playing a character, right? It's the character saying the lines, not really you. For example, I really can't imagine you, Zach White, in tights and a cape, quoting Shakespeare. As Hamlet…well I suppose I could see it."
"I'm pretty sure I could pull off the tights and cape look," I said, mock serious. Cammie laughed. "But since you always call me Spy Boy, you can imagine me as a dashing spy in a tuxedo, am I right?"
"I suppose Hamlet could have been a spy: to spy or not to spy, that is the question." Cammie said through her fit of laughter. And image of Edwards popped up in my mind but I fiercely erased it the second it came.
Her green eyes practically sparkling. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, threateningly pulling her in gentle headlock. "Why are you laughing?" I exclaimed; she buried her face in my jacket, suppressing more laughter.
"It's not that far-fetched," I said, smiling, enveloping her to me with both arms. Her laughing had simmered down to soft giggling that I felt against my chest. "I'm handsome enough to be one, aren't I?"
She surprised me by answering seriously. "You really are." I gazed into her eyes, watching as the blacks of her pupils stayed still, not dilating. Her breathing was steady as well.
The corner of my mouth tilted up on its own accord and I watched as she seemed to realize the position we were in. Her face burned a deep pink that rose from her neck up and she pulled away from my arms, and I let her. She hefted her gigantic bag onto her shoulder, mumbling polite declinations to my offers to help her. I leaned back on the stone picnic table, feeling oddly cold when she pulled away, like someone ripping off a perfectly warm and comfy blanket as I was dreaming.
"Hey, what about dinner?" I blurted out, nearly surprising myself. Cammie stilled, looking at me astonished. Obviously she was surprised as well. "You know me and Jonas, you and Lucy? Food here is fine, but I want something other than health food—I feel like a rabbit eating all of it. So how about going out tonight?"
Cammie played with her nimble fingers, pink lips pursed—signs that meant she was nervous. "Do you think it's safe?" She whispered softly, sad and trusting eyes gazing back at mine. I softened at the sight—she was still nervous about leaving campus—as she should be.
"I wouldn't let anything hurt you." I said truthfully. Cammie blinked before giving me a warm smile. "It's safe with me."
"I believe you." A pang of guilt hit me, but I pushed it aside. "Thanks, Zach."
"No problem," I said, before my phone buzzed again. "Well, I should get going, then, I'll leave it to you and Lucy to decide the restaurant, considering me and Jonas will eat anything. And remember, it has to be somewhat unhealthy." I stood smoothly up.
"Somewhat unhealthy, got it. We'll call you for the details." I nodded before walking away, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a tall guy in an orange t-shirt and jeans who had been watching Cammie and I the whole time.
I recalled his name was Mark Tanner, and I also recalled that he was in the same Child Psychology class a Cam, watching her with lovesick puppy dog eyes. With an urge I wasn't about to refuse, I turned my head to the side, still walking and shouted: "It's a date!"
With a satisfied grin, feeling as if I had just made a major accomplishment [in a way, it kind of was], I walked away, leaving a flustered Cammie and a very angry, very jealous Mark Tanner behind.
As soon as I turned the corner, I started sprinting towards Adams House. The text message practically burning a hole through the pocket of my dark wash jeans, it was in code, but I knew how Jonas' mind worked, that it was solved within minutes of thinking.
We found a lead. The Target is closer than we think.
The mission was finally taking off.
(Author's Note): And there you have it, Chapter 8. Somewhat of a cliffy…? I can't really tell anymore ['cause I already know what's going to happen]. And there was a little bit of Zammie in there, if you squint [yeah, Romance and I aren't very well acquainted, but please be patient with me!].
As for my future stories [like my Clique, Heist Society, Sailor Moon, etc. stories] that are waiting on my computer to be published, I'm not going to publish ANY NEW STORIES, until I finish the ones I have now. And also, to those who have read my story: Family is My Business, I'm sorry to say, that I'm debating on taking it off the site, because I don't think I can write for it anymore. I'm very sorry to those who enjoyed that story.
Side note: Please visit my profile and vote on my poll: WHAT STORY SHOULD I UPDATE FIRST? Because it will help with time management! Much appreciated!
Thanks for reading everyone! First SEVENTEEN [if I get that much] REVIEWERS will get the preview! And also, if you're not interested in a preview, just write: PASS in all caps in your review and your sneak peek will be transferred to the next person in line. [since I've gotten a PM who said they didn't really want a preview. But it's fine!].
Please tell me what you think! Review please?
-a very grateful diva
