March 8 2004
Twenty-five days after Mr. Lynch had presented her with a checkbook, Anna was tidying the house, expecting company. Mr. Lynch had called the day before, as agitated as she'd ever heard him, telling her that her company was arriving ahead of schedule. Early in the afternoon, half a day later than predicted by her employer, she heard an automobile idling at the curb in front of the house; not through her own ears, but fed to her through the remote mike she'd hooked up at the mailbox. She increased sensitivity, and heard voices inside the car.
"Kat, are you sure we've got the right address? This sure isn't my idea of a secret hideout." A young man's voice, not deep, but rich and well modulated. A very expressive voice, she thought. This boy says what he thinks, even when he doesn't mean to. I'll bet he's Mr. Lynch's son.
"Maybe that's the idea. The directions were perfectly clear, and the keypad combination he gave us opened the gate." A girl, young, but with a resonant voice that would fill a room if she shouted. "This is the place, Bobby."
"Oh, wow," said another girl; her voice was high, clear, and musical. "It's like something out of a movie. Terrazzo driveway and walks. Palm trees. The front yard looks the size of a football field. Is this guy rich, or what?"
She directed the center garage door to open, and hurried outside.
"Somebody's coming out." It was a second male voice, somewhat hoarse and foghorn deep. "I think we're in the wrong place, Red. That's somebody's housekeeper. Probably called the cops on us already."
She smiled to herself. I haven't met them yet; I don't even know what they look like, and I like them already. Mr. Lynch often made shrewd guesses based on incomplete data, which he called 'hunches' or 'intuition'; it seemed a useful skill, if she could develop it. Before she looked, she closed her eyes for a few milliseconds and let her first impressions of the newcomers come to her mind. Bobby would be a younger version of his father, brown of hair and eye; she imagined his hair long, with a reddish tinge, and bound up in a tail. He'll have an artistic temperament, I think. The girl Kat should have a physical presence to match her voice: tall, stocky, and mannish in appearance, with short blonde hair. She'll be the leader, if they have one. The second girl's sunny tone seemed to go with freckles and pigtails; she would be the youngest. Their mascot, the one the others watch out for. The pessimist with the deep voice would be the oldest, someone the others looked to for advice. He seems the thoughtful type. She opened her eyes.
An aged sedan was stopped across the end of the driveway. She could see two figures in front: a redheaded girl driving, with a blond boy sitting beside her. Kat and Bobby. She could make out two more youngsters in the back seat. Oh, well, it was just a fancy. She stood inside the garage and beckoned urgently.
"Hey, she's waving us in." The deep male voice, which she was now sure was coming from the back seat. The car backed up a few feet, then moved forward and turned in. As the car entered the garage, she ordered the door to close behind it.
The driver unfolded herself from the car, and they looked each other over briefly. Well, I was only half wrong about this one; she certainly has size and presence, but she belongs in one of those lingerie commercials I sometimes see on television, not a bodybuilder competition. She was fully two meters tall, with a striking face and figure, and crowned with a head of red-gold hair that shone like copper. She wore a track outfit, grey pants and jacket with a white shirt that rode up past her navel; the bottom edge of the shirt and unzipped jacket hung well forward of her flat stomach. I wonder if she needs a brassiere to hold them and mold them. Her bright emerald eyes took in Anna's outfit in turn. "You're not Mrs. Lynch, I'm guessing."
"Hardly, miss; Mister Lynch never remarried. You're Kat, I'm guessing. I'm Anna, the housekeeper." The others were getting out, looking at her. She regarded the tall blond boy, dressed in jeans, a white tee, and a flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up his forearms. "You must be Bobby. You don't have your father's hair or eyes, but you have the same strong face."
He flushed slightly. "About the only thing I got from him."
"Well, I know my opinion is based on slight acquaintance, but I'm inclined to disagree." The other two kids were out of the car. I couldn't have been farther off the mark with these two, could I? The boy was young, quite short, and built like a troll, with huge hands and a bodybuilder's physique; although he was dressed like Bobby, his rumpled clothes looked like they'd been raided from a donation box. His eyes had a distinct Asian cast, and his hair was brown, chin-length, and slightly disarrayed. He doesn't look like the sort of person anyone would go to for advice. The other girl stepped out of the car. She was about the younger boy's height but with an almost willowy figure, and she didn't look like anybody's idea of a mascot. She wore a black leotard with a short leather skirt and matching jacket; her jet hair was cut too short for pigtails, and she'd applied purple dye to the strands that framed her face. On television, young girls dressed in such a manner were invariably troublesome and rebellious. "Now, who might you be?"
The boy stuck his hand out. "Grunge."
She blinked. "Beg pardon?" She glanced behind her, but of course the garage was spotless.
The girl giggled as she shook her head; the sound fell on Anna's ears like the tinkling of chimes. "He's got this thing about Kurt Cobain. Call him Eddie. I'm Roxanne." She thumped his shoulder with her fist. "I thought I was the only one who called you that."
She looked from one to another. Roxanne was keeping well inside Eddie's personal space; they would scarcely have been closer together in a closet. Bobby and Kat were separated by a distance that suggested friendship rather than intimacy, but they might just be reserved in front of a stranger. "Boys and girls, this house only has three extra bedrooms. Two of you are going to have to share. So, at the risk of sounding nosy, how many couples am I looking at here?"
Kat drew away from Bobby, flushing. "God, no." She turned to Bobby and flushed harder. "Sorry. I didn't mean … you know."
The corner of Bobby's mouth twitched. "No problem, Kat."
"You're a nice guy, you know, any girl would be lucky to have you …"
He looked up at the ceiling. "Jeez, quit it. You're embarrassing me."
Eddie eyed Roxanne; his mouth opened, just as she said quickly, "Bunk with me, Kat?"
The tall redhead looked at Eddie as if she were sighting a gun. "Absolutely."
"You gotta bunk with me anyway, bro," said Bobby. "Sarah's gonna need her own room."
"Sarah?" They were all supposed to arrive together.
"We have one more coming," said Kat. "I hope."
"I see. Well, come inside, and I'll show you around. The bedrooms all have twin beds, so that's no problem. Do you have anything to take out of the car?"
"All we own is what we're wearing," Kat said. "Mr. Lynch gave us some cash before we split up, or else …" She paused, unsure of how much to say.
"Or else you'd be showing up in those fancy prison coveralls you wore at the Project," Anna finished for her. She watched them trade glances. "Yes, I know something of it, though not all, I'm sure. I don't suppose Mr. Lynch expects you to keep secrets from me." And how long can I share their secrets without giving up some of my own? I doubt I'll keep these kids at arm's length with a maid's outfit for long. She led them into the house proper.
Her guest's heads swiveled around as they surveyed the interior. Eddie whistled softly. "Place is an art museum. Doesn't seem like the L-man's style. I was expecting a lot of photos of guys in uniform with M-16s, maybe a bowl of grenades on the coffee table."
"He does have a few such photos in his study. But the rest of the house is more refined."
"Are these originals?" Kat touched the frame of a painting, not daring to lay a hand on the work itself. "I'm sure I've seen this one in a book somewhere."
"Monsignor's Garden, Joel Lieberman, nineteen twenty-eight," Eddie said automatically. At Kat's surprised glance, he said, "Hey, so I read it too."
"Sure it's original." Bobby's mouth was drawn into a line. "Looks like he's trying to buy some respectability. Or maybe laundering his money by buying art."
"Mr. Lynch seems quite knowledgeable," Anna said. "I think he buys these things because he likes them." She led them towards the kitchen. Looking back to make sure they were following, her gaze took in their sizes and coloration. "You're rather a diverse group."
"We'll be a lot more diverse when Sarah gets here," Eddie said. "She's our token everything." Bobby's face clouded at the remark as Eddie turned towards the sliding glass door in the kitchen. "Dang. I knew we were near the water, but I didn't know we were on the beach."
"Yes. All the properties on this side of the street are. The ground rises a little towards the back of the lot, so you can't see the beach from the street. Pretty view, isn't it?"
"Why a pool in the back yard, when you've got all that to swim in?"
"First, believe it or not, the water's rather chilly for much of the year. Second, you may get tired of immersing yourself in salt water. Third, the pool's more convenient. If you walk the beach, you'll see a pool in every back yard. Though I don't know why Mr. Lynch has one; he never uses it."
"Where's Mr. Lynch now?" Kat jumped in.
"On his way. I'm expecting him in less than ten minutes."
She would be talking to him before he arrived; the first thing she'd bought with her wages had been a top-end FM transceiver, consisting of an ear bud no bigger than a hearing aid and a mike that could be clipped to one's collar or worn on a Velcro wristband. He'd accepted it with a trace of amusement, and didn't seem surprised when she told him that she'd linked it to the one in her skull. It was low-power and short-range to avoid detection, but she thought he should be in reach by now. While the kids explored the bedrooms, she opened com.
[Can you hear me, sir?]
[Loud and clear. I'm coming up on the gate now.]
[Be advised, only the number-three garage bay is unoccupied.]
[Our guests have arrived, I take it?]
[All but one, I think. Were you expecting Sarah?]
[She didn't.]
[Not with the others. Bobby thinks she's coming later, but Kat doesn't seem so sure. Do you know where she is?]
[I'm betting she detoured to her family's place on the reservation. Dammit.]
[Reservation? I don't understand.]
[She's an Indian. Native American, I mean. A lot of them live on land reserved for them, hence the name. IO's got to be watching her house; she's going to get picked up for sure.] He closed com.
"Is that cookies I smell?" Eddie's nose lifted.
"Still warm from the oven; milk's in the fridge. Kitchen's on the left. When did you all eat last?"
"We stopped at a strip mall south of Phoenix and grabbed some clothes and stuff," Kat said. "Nothing since then."
"I thought I heard stomachs growling. I have a big dish of macaroni and cheese in the fridge, too; fifteen minutes to heat." Kids love cookies and milk, and macaroni and cheese; all the magazines say so. As she retrieved the dish and set the oven, she said, "Where did Sarah leave you?"
"Globe. Globe, Arizona." Kat and Bobby looked uneasily at her as Eddie and Roxanne stuffed chocolate-chip cookies into their mouths. "We change our route and drive two hundred miles out of our way to take her to see her family, and she insists on us dropping her off at the edge of the reservation. At the crack of dawn."
"Prudent," she told them. "You'd stand out. Her chances are much better without you, assuming she looks Indian. How is she getting back?" I thought these two looked uncomfortable before.
"Where is she?" Mr. Lynch came through the door, looking at Kat. Bringing him up to speed took twenty seconds.
"She said she'd find a ride." Kat seemed embarrassed.
"Great," the master of the house growled. "She'll be bringing strangers to my gate. We'll have to move right away." He added, "Or maybe I can shoot him."
"Actually," the girl said, "I think she meant to hitchhike."
"Even better," he ground out. "Five hundred miles. Two, maybe three days by thumb. A hundred thousand witnesses will pass her by. IO will be following her to my doorstep, if they don't pick her up on the road."
"Nobody's going to pass her on the road," Bobby said.
"And why not?" He turned to the boy.
Bobby seemed as defensive as if he, and not Sarah, were the object of his father's irritation; his mouth took a stubborn set, and there was a challenging tone to his reply. "What guy's going to dust her, if he sees her alone by the road with her thumb out? She won't spend ten minutes on the shoulder between there and here. I wouldn't be surprised if she makes better time than we did."
"I wouldn't be surprised if she sets out for here and never makes it. IO's not the only danger on the road for a seventeen-year-old girl." He turned back towards the garage. "I've got to go. Probably be gone a couple days, maybe three. I'll call."
Bobby's face clouded again. "The reservation's only eight hours away, about."
"And IO will be at her mother's door in twelve, asking unpleasant questions. It's her family I'm worried about right now. Sorry, Anna; I didn't intend to leave you holding the fort like this."
She glanced at her four house guests. "Don't worry about us, sir. Everything will be fine."
The trouble began scarcely an hour after Mr. Lynch left. She was cleaning the counters when Roxanne came into the kitchen with an unlit cigarette between her lips; she flicked on a lighter and brought the flame to its tip.
"Roxanne. No smoking in the house, please."
The girl rolled her eyes and let her lighter go out. "What's the problem?" She stuffed the coffin nail back into a fancy case and put cigarettes and lighter into her jacket pocket.
She smiled at her. "No problem. But there's no smoking in the house. Did you get enough to eat?"
"Uggh, I'm stuffed. I don't usually drop my face in my plate like that. Must've felt a real need for comfort food."
"Good. Tell me what you like before I grocery shop tomorrow. Are you settled in with Kat yet?"
"Sure. Took about ten seconds, with nothing to unpack. We just picked beds."
"And we'll get you a couple of changes of clothes tomorrow. Come here a second."
The girl approached cautiously. Anna reached out and brushed at the shoulders of the leather jacket.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting the ashes off." She flicked her eyes towards the girl's lowering face, and combed her fingers through the ends of her dark hair. She compared the girl's features to a hundred magazines and cosmetics ads. "There. You're beautiful again. The purple streaks are a perfect touch. They frame your face and provide a nice contrast. And your eyes are quite distinctive. Are those contacts, or are they really violet?"
Roxanne eyed her. "Going a little heavy on the mom act, aren't you?"
"Am I?" She smiled again. "If you think so, I can tone it down."
"Whatever." She turned to leave, then turned back. "You work here, right? This is just a job?"
She cocked her head. "I don't understand."
"You're not bumping the headboard with the Man in Black, are you? You're just here for the money."
"I can make money a lot of ways. I like the work, Roxanne. What are you asking me?"
"I'm saying, if you've got a problem with me, you don't have to come on all nice to me for a paycheck."
She took a step towards the girl. "Roxanne, believe me, there's not enough money in the world to make me be nice to you." She tousled her hair. "Don't worry, baby. I'll take good care of you."
The violet eyes regarded her with a strange expression. Inappropriate response? "Lady, you are strange." But she smiled as she said it. Not this time, apparently. "I thought you were dumping on me, brushing off my jacket."
"Dumping on you."
"Yeah. Trying to make me feel like a slob for smoking."
"Not in my nature. You were the victim of a puff of wind, that's all. Have you been smoking outside?"
"Out the side door, away from the street."
"Good." She turned to the cupboard and brought out a disposable container. "This is your ashtray until I can get you something better. Do your smoking at least three steps from the door and don't leave any evidence but this, and you'll hear no complaints from me. Does anyone else smoke?"
"No. You really don't care?"
"I certainly do. You're what, fourteen? Fifteen? And you managed to lay hands on a pack while you were running for your life. You've got the habit bad. But if you ever shake it, you'll do it when you decide; I'll just settle for keeping it out of the house." She rinsed her rag in the sink and hung it over the faucet. "So, what did you come in here for, originally?"
"Nothing, really. I guess I came in to see what you were doing."
Wandering through a strange house, wondering what the future holds; sounds familiar.
"Since you're here, how about helping me make some plans? You guys are going to need a ton of stuff. Including swimsuits," she said, glancing out the window at the pool and the beach beyond. "Do you like one or two piece suits? I don't recommend skinny dipping. The pool and the beach are secluded from the street, and the neighbors can't see the pool, but both are quite visible from boats, and people do stroll the beach." The planting I've done should take care of that in a few months, and nobody approaches this house from any direction without the security system catching it.
She giggled. "Two piece, definitely. You know those string bikinis that tie? They're my favorite."
Anna looked her up and down. "Well, you've got the perfect figure for them." She didn't know what sort of figure suited such apparel, but the remark seemed appropriate.
"So do you. I bet we're the same size. Um, do you have any Kotexes? I'm about due."
"No, I don't have any, either. Let's make it the first thing on our list."
They sat at the kitchen table and spent an hour discussing clothes and food; Anna came away with a menu plan for the next week, and a decision to take the girls individually on short shopping trips. Shopping for clothes in a group, she determined, would likely turn into a social event; she needed to get them clothed and back under cover as quickly as possible. She would buy for the boys herself; in Roxanne's opinion, they'd wear anything that fit.
"Did they pick out what they're wearing?" Get more of the same. Find their sizes.
"Yeah." She made a face. "It takes me longer to brush my teeth."
She added toothbrushes, combs, and toiletries to her mental list. "I'd like to have some things for Sarah before she gets here. Any idea what her sizes are?"
"Um, no idea what her dress size is; ten, maybe? I've never seen her wear one. She's a shorts-and-slacks kind of girl. Likes her tops tight and low-cut, the showoff. Five-seven, maybe one-twenty, one-thirty. I'm just guessing." She paused. "You might want to be careful buying clothes for her, there's no telling how she'll take it. Especially if you bought her something she liked; she dresses to give a certain impression, you might say."
This from a girl wearing purple hair and a leather mini. "She seems independent-minded."
"Well, that too, but … did anybody tell you why she needs her own room?" When she shook her head, the girl went on. "She's gay. Into girls, I mean."
"Oh. Does that create a problem?"
Roxanne looked at her speculatively. "Anna … which way does your gate swing?"
"Beg pardon?"
"Are you gay? Any chance you two might pair off?"
Is this the sort of question Mr. Lynch was hoping to avoid with this little dress? The kids have been here two hours, and the disguise is slipping already. "No. Even if I were, it would be unprofessional."
"Uh huh. That doesn't sound like a whole answer, Anna. You like guys?"
She thought about Mr. Lynch and the two boys now under her roof. "Yes, very much."
"Got a boyfriend?"
"Haven't had much time for one, or opportunity. What about you? How serious is it with you and Eddie?"
The girl grinned. "Not much past flirting right now, but he's hot. I've got plans for him." The smile thinned slightly. "If I can unglue his eyes from my sister's rack."
"Rack?"
"You know." She cupped her hands in front of her, as if she were holding invisible grapefruits to her chest.
"Oh. You and Kat are sisters?" There's no resemblance, either in body type or facial structure.
"Half sisters, we think. We only met at the Academy." She looked thoughtful. "Didn't take long to notice that most of us were adopted or foster kids. I was the only one living single-parent with her natural mother. None of us knew our natural fathers, seemed like. There were a few kids who claimed they lived with their real parents, but how could they know? I wonder if they ever looked at their birth certificates. There were copies in the paperwork we had to bring to school with us. When Kat showed up, they put her in my study group, and we compared. The same guy was listed as the father on both of them, kind of an embarrassing moment. Strange world, huh?"
"I doubt it was a coincidence; I'm sure IO knew, given their keen interest in your fathers."
Roxanne stood up. "Well, if my mom told me the truth about it, my father probably forgot her name, and he never knew I existed. At least Kat's mom got a wedding ring, and Kat got his name. And he made sure they were safe with his brother, before he dropped off the face of the earth."
And he's probably dead. Your father sounds like one of the Twelves who hid their children as best they could and used themselves as decoys, once they realized what was going on. "I'd give him a chance to tell his story before I judge him, Roxanne."
"Tell that to Bobby. He needs it a lot more than I do."
"What is it I need?" Bobby popped his head into the doorway.
"Explanations," Anna replied, smiling. "And maybe some TLC. How was your snack?"
"'Snack.' I usually get my mac and cheese from a box, not out of the oven with bread crumbs and toasted cheese on top. And a little sprig of parsley." He smiled back. "But I could get used to it. You doing anything right now? Cuz I think Kat's having a meeting. And your name's coming up a lot."
Her hearing had picked up a conversation developing in the living room, and identified the voices of the other three kids, but she'd filtered it out to keep her focus on Roxanne; now, as she walked the short hall to the living room, she readjusted her filters and picked out Kat's voice clearly.
"-and I for one am ready to hear some answers. If we're kept in the dark and we're not allowed to leave, this place is just a fancier prison. I was going to talk to Mr. Lynch, but he's gone, maybe for days, and I don't want to wait if I don't have to. I'm betting Anna knows a lot more than we do."
"I don't feel like a prisoner," Eddie said. "It's more like being in the Witness Protection Program." A patting sound. "And I like the grub. It isn't perfect here, but it's a lot better than where we were."
She stepped into the room. Eddie lounged on the couch and Kat was standing in front of him; she turned as Anna spoke to them. "And on that note, are you guys going to be okay till breakfast, or should I fix something else? After I've answered all the questions I can, that is." Roxanne and Bobby followed her in; the girl sat down beside Eddie, and Bobby took a nearby chair, while Kat kept on her feet, facing her.
"I'm full now, but it won't last," Kat said. "But if there's stuff in the fridge or whatever, we can do for ourselves. We don't need you to wait on us hand and foot."
"Speak for yourself, Red," Eddie said with a hand on his stomach. "We don't want her boss thinking she's not doing her job."
"Which is any meal bigger than a sandwich or a bowl of cereal, Kat. I can see I'm going to have to stock the pantry better from now on. Where do you want to start? I'll tell you anything I can." Meaning, anything it's okay for you to know.
"Well, for starters, exactly who are we running from? Who did this to us, and why?"
"The government," said Bobby. "Had to be. But this guy who says he's my father, where does he fit in?"
"And what's he got in mind for us?" Eddie rose off the couch. "What's happening at home, and how soon can we go back? And what's with all the weird stuff we're doing now?"
She held up a hand. "Wait. I didn't think I was going to be able to tell you much that you didn't know, but I see now you're still mostly in the dark. So let's start at the beginning. As you've probably guessed by now, you were used as guinea pigs in an exotic experiment. The culprit is … a government intelligence agency that's gone cancerous, growing without limit and poisoning its host. It's known as International Operations, or just IO. It's very big, very rich, and very secret; even the government entities that are supposed to be overseeing it know only a fraction of what it's up to. It has its own armed forces; small but well-equipped and superbly trained, elite troops who specialize in counterterrorism work done very quietly. Its intelligence-gathering capabilities are an order of magnitude better than anyone else's, and its research programs are doing breakthrough experiments in almost any field you can name. The strange abilities you've developed are an inheritance from your fathers, who were all members of IO's military arm. Before you were conceived, IO used them as unwitting test subjects, and they came out of the program with some odd abilities of their own, and alterations to their genetic code."
"Anna, you just lost me," Bobby said.
"I get it," Eddie said. "Super soldier serum, like Captain America."
Bobby looked amused. "Careful, man. Your education's showing."
"Hey, the guy's been around since the Forties. It's like reading the classics."
"Whatever it is you're talking about, Eddie, it sounds like you're on track. Twenty years ago, your dads were given a series of treatments and drug regimens that they were told was a 'special inoculation series' for an extended assignment overseas. When the 'mission' was scrubbed, none of them thought anything of it … until a few weeks later, when their subjective reality started shifting on them. They found themselves gifted with unsettling new talents, talents that IO thought would make them better covert-action troopers."
Eddie grinned. "Like the L-man's scowl? That could be classified as a weapon." When Bobby glared at him, he said, "Yeah, like that."
She looked at him coolly. "Like being able to see around corners, or dodge bullets, or think a man dead without touching him." Eddie's lighthearted attitude dissipated.
"Has he ever done that?" Kat seemed subdued, yet oddly fascinated.
"I've never seen him do it. But I'm sure he could. I wouldn't urge him to demonstrate, if I were you." She looked at each of them in turn; Roxanne was suddenly looking a bit pasty. "I'm sure IO will steal you back, if they can. Mr. Lynch intends that not to happen. He sabotaged IO's computers so that they no longer have records of you or how they found you. That was just to provide a respite for you and all the others to run. Some of that data may be lost forever, but they'll reconstruct a great deal of it quickly. You have to steer clear of any known contacts: family, friends, favorite places. You'd better be circumspect about picking up former hobbies, if they're anything unusual."
"We can't stay cooped up in this house forever." Bobby looked around the living room. "It's nice, but like Kat said, it's just another prison if we can't leave."
"Mr. Lynch is working on that. No doubt this emergency will set back his schedule, but I'm sure you'll be able to leave the house in a week or less. Eventually, he may be able to put you back in touch with your folks, but you'll have to be very careful about that. IO knowing that your family is in contact with you is the last thing you want."
Eddie looked thoughtful. "I bet they're still sending my folks fake e-mails and such."
"Yes, provided IO still has their address. No doubt everyone at the Academy who had contact with you is being questioned exhaustively, from your teachers down to the people who emptied your wastebaskets, trying to fill in details."
Eddie looked around at all the others. "How much did anybody tell Nicole?"
Kat and Roxanne looked grave. "If she remembers half of what I told her," Kat said, "I can never go home again. IO's staking out my uncle's house and my computer club and my favorite coffee shop already."
Eddie nodded. "Same. She could get your life story out of you in ten minutes."
"Kids, who's Nicole?"
"She was our guidance counselor at the Academy," Eddie answered. "About Kat's age, maybe a little older. Had a real personal touch. People were popping into her office all day to chat."
"Guys especially," Roxanne said. "Shameless flirt, just like Sarah. Her coverall zipper never got within six inches of her neck."
"I liked her," Kat said. "So did you, Sis, don't deny it. She was easy to like." She shook her head. "She was a plant. Matt too."
Bobby's gone quiet, suddenly. Anna shrugged."It doesn't change the plan. Everybody stays close to the house until Mr. Lynch gets back. I'll take the girls out one at a time for a few things, and bring back some clothes for the boys. Make a list of favorites from the grocery store, and I'll see what I can do." She smiled at them. "By tomorrow afternoon, you'll all be in the pool, and I'll have put three meals in you. Maybe things won't seem so grim by then."
She turned to Bobby. "I didn't forget your question, Bobby. Your father is … was … the head of one of IO's three main divisions, the Operations Directorate. That's the military arm. He's been looking for you since you disappeared. When he found you at the Academy, he made the decision to desert IO and take you with him. After the kids at the Academy started manifesting and he found out about what IO was doing to them, he expanded his plan to include scuttling the whole Genesis Project, and taking as many other kids with him as he could. That turned out to be your whole study and training group. For reasons of their own, IO housed you together as prisoners, just as they did when you were students."
"My mom's dead, right?"
"Yes, dear. I'm sorry. When you were very small, and both of you away from home. That's how your father lost you. I don't think I should say any more about that; your father should tell you." She looked at the others: Kat, Roxanne, Eddie. "I don't know where your fathers are. They're either dead or so deep underground that they can't be found. Eddie, your mother disappeared at the same time as your father, so there's hope they're together. Kat, do you know about your mother?"
"Divorced Dad when I was three," she said. "Didn't stop him from moving us in with his brother just before he disappeared. Mom died in a car crash a year later. I don't remember her. Uncle Nathan and Aunt Joyce raised me as their own, but they made sure I knew where I came from."
Anna nodded. "I know Mr. Lynch would like to locate your parents, but he doesn't have much hope. Contacting anyone you knew before the Academy would put them in grave danger. So for now at least, all we have is each other." She looked from one to the other. "Anything else?" after a moment, she said, "Something's bound to come to mind later. I'll tell you anything I can. Now, there are a few house rules."
Eddie and Roxanne groaned.
"Not many, at least not yet, but I'll expect you to abide by them. Most of them deal with security, with keeping us under the radar and uncaught. First and foremost: this house has a better security system than the Louvre. But you have to be on the property for it to protect you. So until Mr. Lynch gets back to forge you some proper ID, you stay on the property unless escorted by me, and I warn you, outings will be few and far between. By midnight, everyone has to be inside, and the house perimeter gets locked down. That won't change when Mr. Lynch comes back and you're free to travel away from the house during the day."
"We have to be in bed by midnight?" Roxanne was aghast.
"Hardly." She shook her head. "Mr. Lynch didn't give me any lights-out policy. Keep whatever hours you like." She smiled. "I'm a night owl myself. But Mr. Lynch and I are the only ones who enter or leave the house between midnight and six AM. If it matters, feel free to ask why. Better still, guess."
"None of us is ever out of contact for more than eighteen hours," Caitlin said.
"Yes. But you should always let someone know when you leave the house, with an approximate time to expect you back. Elementary security precaution. If it's not asking too much, knowing where you intend to go might be helpful in locating your body before the hyenas get it." She looked at their faces. "Not funny? Forget I said it. But, if they nab you, IO can take you far from aid in eighteen hours. Keep as close tabs on each other as privacy allows. Watch each other's backs. Any other guesses?"
Roxanne made a face. "He's trying to keep us out of trouble."
"Exactly. You're teenagers. Your chances of being picked up by the police or finding some other trouble are phenomenally higher during the wee hours. Mr. Lynch is simply eliminating the possibility. Also, if IO wants to pick one of you up without alarming the rest of us, what better time than when you're out late at night, a time you might be expected not to check in for hours?"
"Dance clubs are open after midnight."
"So are bars, pool halls, massage parlors, airports, hospitals, and police stations. Your point?"
"Nothing. Never mind."
"All right then. So, when we're most vulnerable to individual attack, we make sure we're together and well-protected. At this time, the only other rule concerns smoking in the house: there isn't any. It's a fire risk, a health hazard for the non-smokers, and an unnecessary cleaning job for me. Roxanne can show you the designated smoking area."
"Hey," Eddie said, "I still want to know what this dude is planning to do with us, and how long before we can go home."
"He hasn't told me, Eddie, only that you may be staying here for an extended period. I suppose it depends on how soon you want to be guests of IO again." She looked at the apprehension on their faces. "There's no telling how long it will take for them to lose interest in you, if ever; IO has a lot invested in you, after all. Perhaps Mr. Lynch can think of a way to get them to leave you alone. Until then, you'd better stay here."
"Okay. But how come we can't pick our own clothes, like the girls?"
She blinked. "I thought you didn't care what you wore."
"Are you kidding?" He looked down at his rumpled garments. "I'm real fussy about my clothes. So's Bobby."
"I was under the impression that you two would go into a store and buy the first thing that fit."
Eddie gave Roxanne a sour look. "Looks that way to a girl, maybe. That's because they'll put everything they pick out right back in the rack if they think one of their girlfriends has something that looks like it. Guys don't worry about that. If it looks good, and you see some other guy looking good in the same outfit, it just proves you've got good taste."
"I see." She smiled. "Clearly I've got a thing or two to learn about men. Outings for each of you, then. We start at nine." She turned. "If anybody needs something, I'll be in the kitchen."
In the kitchen, she opened the pantry and refrigerator, examining the contents and her memory, looking for a recipe she could use that her guests might like, making enough noise to reassure them of her location. As she did, she listened carefully to the conversation in the next room.
Kat started, keeping her voice low. "Okay, team. We need a roundtable discussion. We've got some big decisions to make."
"Sarah's not here."
"She's not here by choice, Bobby. She made her decision without consulting us, and frankly, she may not be back. If she was sitting here, it wouldn't make any difference, because she'd do what she wants anyway. Okay. Can we trust these people, and should we accept their protection? If not, do we stay together … or split up? Bobby, you start. You have the biggest stake in this."
"How so?"
"Well, he's your dad."
"Says him. He never coached my Little League team. We don't know who he is, or what he wants from us. All we know about him is that he's ruthless and dangerous and seems to be rich." The echoes from his voice changed subtly; she decided he must be looking around as he spoke. "We might wonder how a guy who doesn't notice he's got somebody else's blood all over his shirt makes his money. And if he is my father, he sure picked a great time to jump back into my life, don't you think?"
"What about her?"
"Strange. But nice. She has a lot of faith in her boss. That's a plus for him, in my book."
"All right. So, what do you want to do?"
"Stick around for now, I guess. But I think we should bail as soon as it looks like he's not being straight with us. I just hope he doesn't want to play Dad-and-Lad. I don't think I could stand it."
"Eddie? What say you?"
"The L-man makes sense so far. As long as the people who trapped us are still looking for us, we're plague carriers. I won't carry this trouble back to my family if I can avoid it. I just wish I could tell them I'm okay."
"So, you trust him?"
"To a certain point. There's an awful lot they're not telling us. But as long as they treat me right, I can overlook it. I wonder what's for dinner?"
"So, you accept Anna because she can cook?" The amusement in Kat's voice was obvious. He's deliberately acting the clown, breaking the tension.
"And because she's a babe. A fine catch for an older guy," he added quickly. "Somebody who's not already crazy about another girl. Seriously. Does anybody think we've got a better chance on our own? I say we stick, and see what kind of deal we're being offered."
"Sis?"
"He's scary. And I'm not sure she's all there. I trust both of them, their intentions anyway. But I'm not sure staying here is a smart idea. Who ever heard of hiding in a place like this? There are probably tour buses going down the street."
"Gate across the road, Rox. Remember?"
"Yeah. Maybe I'm just scared. I wish he hadn't left."
"What do you want to do, Sis?"
"I don't know." Anna caught a tremor in the girl's voice. "I just don't want to get caught again."
Anna decided it was time to stick her oar in the water. She emerged from the kitchen. "Grub in twenty minutes, kids."
"What are we having?"
She smiled. "Let me surprise you, Eddie." But instead of turning back, she entered their circle.
She'd made a study of body language, and assumed a posture that she thought indicated reasonable supplication: feet together, erect stance, hands clasped in front of her. She watched the kids carefully, as the unease at her approach faded. "I think, if I were you right now, I'd be wondering if there's anybody I can trust. Mr. Lynch is a very private man, and given to secrets. He's also very resourceful, and courageous, and he does and means what he says. He's offered you his protection, and that's not something to be regarded lightly. Whatever else you may think of him, you can count on him to do what he thinks is the best thing for you. Even if it's not the best thing for him." She turned and headed down the hall.
As she descended the steps to the basement, she heard Eddie say, "He's doing her."
"She says not, and I believe her."
"You asked her that?"
"Uh huh. Also, if she might end up bunking with Sarah."
"Well?"
"She says she likes guys, but she's not looking for one. There's something going on with her and Mr. Lynch. They must go way back, for him to trust her so much."
"She's not old enough for them to go way back," Bobby said. "Do you think she heard us?"
"Maybe," Eddie replied. "The kitchen's not that far away, but we had our voices down. Do you suppose there's a mike in here or something?"
"No," Kat said. "But what else would we be talking about?"
"You haven't weighed in, Kat," Bobby said. "What do you think?"
A pause of five heartbeats. "I want to trust them. Let's wait and see."
III
The dinner dishes were done, and the sink was draining. Anna wiped the counters, listening to the patter of rain outside the window. I've spent more time cooking and cleaning the kitchen in the past six hours than the previous six days. And I have to move at their speed if there's a chance one of them will walk in. These kids are going to force significant changes in my daily schedule.
Her air filters detected combustion byproducts. She felt a few milliseconds of alarm before her discrimination software identified it as cigarette smoke. So soon? The sooner the better, I suppose. She went looking for the source and found Roxanne smoking in the garage.
"Roxanne, put that out now and get it out of the house."
The girl frowned at her. "It's the garage." She made no move to put out the cigarette.
"It's not three steps from the side door. It's inside the walls and mixing with the house air. Get it out of here."
"It's raining."
"Not an extenuating circumstance. Find a way to keep dry outside, smoke in the rain, or wait for it to pass."
Roxanne brought the offending object to her lips. "Jeez, don't wig out. It's not like it's weed or anything."
The cigarette disappeared from her fingers; eyes wide, she stared at Anna holding the stubbed-out butt in a three-fingered grip.
Without anger, Anna said, "I've compromised on this all I'm going to, Roxanne. We had a deal. Are you prepared to set it aside entirely?" She took a step towards the girl. "Because I will not tolerate smoking in this house, and if I can't trust you to honor that, the circumstances of your residence here are going to change dramatically." The girl's attention was riveted on her, eyes wide and glaring.
"Roxanne, if I have my way, you're not going to lift a finger around this house. You'll never wash a dish or sweep a floor. I'll clean your clothes and feed you and clean up after you; you'll live like a princess." She lifted the cigarette between them. "This is a deal breaker. If you flout my rules, I'm no longer obliged to cater to you. You'll wash your own clothes or wear them dirty. You won't starve, but your meal requests won't be honored, and you won't find any favorite snacks around here either. And you're going to lose a great deal of your privacy, because I'll declare open season on any cigarettes in the house. I'll be on a twenty-four-seven seek-and-destroy mission, and you're going to be amazed at how difficult it is to hide things from me."
Roxanne's lips were white. "You wouldn't."
"In a heartbeat."
"Does Mr. Lynch know you're making your own rules up?" The girl's eyes narrowed. "What would he do if he found out you're threatening to go on strike?"
Anna stepped to the wall where a phone was mounted. She punched in a number, set the phone to speaker, and stepped back. The sound of the phone ringing filled the garage.
"What are you doing?"
"You asked two important questions. Let's get the answers." She folded her arms.
The phone picked up. "Anna?" Lynch's voice answered.
"Yes, sir." Her voice was neutral, impassive.
"I'm expecting calls back from tribal elders in a few minutes. Can this wait?"
"It's urgent sir, but it shouldn't take long. Roxanne needs to speak with you." Anna pinned the girl with her glance.
"Roxanne? What is it, what's wrong?" His gruff voice was suddenly warm with concern.
Roxanne glanced from Anna to the phone. "Uh." When she realized Anna wasn't going to interrupt, she began, "Your housekeeper's wigging out. I came in out of the rain to have a smoke in the garage, and she went ballistic. Snatched it out of my mouth and threatened to quit doing my laundry, and then she said she was going to go through my room every day, looking for cigarettes." Her eyes were challenging.
"Anna? Is that true?"
"Essentially correct, sir. I won't quibble over details. I've forbidden smoking inside the house."
A moment's silence, then: "I can't believe I'm taking a call about this." Roxanne looked at Anna, expectant; Anna returned the look. Finally, the master of the house spoke.
"Roxanne, if Anna forbids clothing inside the house, I'll expect you to comply, because she never does anything without a reason and I trust her judgment completely. She's my employee, not yours, and her instructions are very simple. When I'm not around, she enforces my rules, and whether I'm there or not, the household is hers to run as she sees fit. I reserve the right to countermand her policies, but I won't do it for something as trivial as your cigarette habit. Anna, do you have anything to add?"
Anna leaned a shoulder against the wall. "No, sir, I think that takes care of it. Thank you."
"Don't hesitate to call if any more trouble comes up. And I'll be calling you later, for a full report."
"Yes, sir." She broke the connection and held out the cigarette, offering it stubbed end up. "The deal is still on the table, Roxanne. You're a big girl. Make a decision."
She didn't reach for it. "Guess I should have seen this coming. You used to sleep with him, right?"
"Sweetheart, I've never slept with him. He's doing this because it's the right thing to do."
Scowling, the girl reached for the offered butt, but her fingers stopped inches from touching it. She stared at the cigarette, then at Anna's hands. Finally, she reached cautiously for the butt, and gasped as the housekeeper's hand spun and clamped her wrist. "One more thing, Roxanne. Your fake ID. Let's see it."
"Fake ID?"
"Roxanne," she said with narrowed eyes, "I presume you haven't been stealing your smokes."
"No." She pulled it slowly out of a jacket pocket and passed it to her.
Still holding the girl's wrist, Anna examined the card critically. "Well, you certainly are an artist with makeup. You could easily pass for twenty-one in this photo. How long did it take you to put on?"
"Forty minutes, maybe." She tugged experimentally, testing the housekeeper's grip. "Let go."
"Nice work. Trouble is, you don't look like this when you buy your smokes, do you? You look like a girl who stole her sister's ID. And the picture is the best part; the rest is amateurish work with a copy machine and whiteout. Only someone who wanted to be fooled would let it pass." She let go of Roxanne's wrist and tore the card in half. Roxanne gasped again. She put the two pieces together and tore them a second time, dividing the card into quarters. She stuck the pieces in her pocket. "When Mr. Lynch gets back, he's going to arrange for fake IDs, good ones. I'll make sure you get one that lists you as barely legal. You make sure you get your picture for it taken in the oldest face you can apply in five minutes, and then do it every time you buy smokes."
The girl rubbed her wrist. "I thought … we were going to be friends."
"Even if you never speak to me again, Roxanne, I'll still be your friend. But I won't risk your life to keep you liking me."
"What are you talking about?"
"San Diego PD." She began counting on her fingers. "San Diego Sheriff's Department. State inspectors. ATF. They all send undercover agents into stores suspected of selling to minors. If you had presented that ID to a cashier in front of any of them, you'd have been arrested. For any other kid, that's a couple hours in custody until their parents come for them. But you're not any kid; you're being hunted by IO, an agency of the Department of Homeland Security. By now, they've got a photo of you from somewhere, and copies of it have been faxed to cop shops all over the country. They won't post them, but IO has contacts in all the country's police agencies. Each of those faxes will end up in somebody's desk drawer, along with orders to keep an eye out for you." She leaned towards the girl until their faces were a foot apart. "If you're ever in a store buying cigarettes and a hand comes down on your shoulder, it means you're just hours away from being back in your cell."
She watched Roxanne tremble; a tear rolled down her cheek. "Don't," she said. "You can't know …"
"Maybe not," Anna replied. "But I know this: as horrible as it was, they were just getting started. IO has plans for you." She wiped at the girl's cheek. "Let's try to avoid all that, shall we? And try not to dwell on it. Tomorrow morning I'll take you shopping, and by lunchtime you'll be dozing in the sun by the pool, working on your tan."
The girl stumbled towards the connecting door.
"Ah." Anna stopped her, pointing to the cigarette butt still clutched in the girl's fingers. The garage door lifted, opening on the gloom and drizzle. Roxanne passed through the big door without a word, and Anna sent it down behind her.
"Wow," Anna said to herself. From the time she'd entered the garage until she'd sent Roxanne shuffling out into the gloom, she'd encountered thirty-four high-order decision points; a bad choice or an inappropriate response at any of them might have produced a negative effect ranging from inconvenient to disastrous. At this point, she could only hope she'd navigated safely through the perils of instructing the obstinate girl. Raising kids is tough.
Anna was vacuuming the house an hour later. As she ran the sweeper under the dining room table, she kept an ear cocked for conversations. Her discrimination software filtered out the whine of the machine, leaving her able to focus on the sound of voices in the kids' bedrooms.
From the boys' room, she heard Bobby say, "Bro, tell me you're not really thinking of doing that."
"Why not? Girls her age go for young guys. Look at all the twenty-something schoolteachers get popped screwing around with ones our age."
"You'll get popped, like a soap bubble, when Rox catches you, and don't say she won't. You came that close to getting caught our last night at the Academy. Natalie must have been telling her girlfriends before she had her coverall zipped. Only thing saved you was that her pod was clear across the complex, and the story didn't make it to commons in time. If we'd stayed in school another day, you'd be a dead man. Anna's bedroom is right next door."
"I bet she could keep her mouth shut. Think on it, dude. She must get lonesome, cooped up in the house alone all the time. If they're keeping secrets, maybe she'll spill them to me."
"Oh, so you're doing it for the team now."
"Let's say I'm also doing it for the team. If Sarah wasn't dragging you around with her delicate pinky up your nostril, I'd suggest you do it. I bet you're more her type."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. One: you're closer to her age. Two: you're dapper, and she's a neat freak. Three: you're both too Caucasian for words. For all we know, she's a member of the Aryan Sisterhood."
Bobby snorted. "You make me laugh. It's the only reason I don't have you committed. When are you going to make your big play?"
"She says she's a night owl. I'll see what I can do after the girls are in bed. Be ready to take over if I strike out."
"I'll be there to call the squad after she parts your hair with an iron."
From the girls' room, Kat said, "Are you going to take any of those to the sink?"
"Nope. And when I get more than one outfit to wear, you'd better watch where you step, cause my dirties are headed for the floor. Don't pick up after me."
"I don't get it. Why make extra work for her?"
"We have a deal. Kat, you remember what I said before? About her not being all there?"
"Sis, she caught you smoking in the house and came down on you with both feet. That doesn't make her crazy."
"No. But she got a little upset, maybe, and showed me more than she intended to."
"Like?"
"She's fast, Kat. As fast as you, maybe. She was three steps away when she moved to take that cig out of my mouth. I wasn't asleep on my feet; I was watching to see what she'd do. But she caught me flat-footed, I never saw it coming. She did the same thing when she grabbed my wrist. Which brings up the second thing. I was caught like a fox in a bear trap. She's strong."
"She didn't mark you." Kat sounded dubious.
"She wasn't gripping me tight. But I wasn't getting away. Her hand was like a manacle on my wrist. Kat, you ever try to tear a driver's license? Or a credit card, anything like that? Without your magic, I mean."
"You can't, they're too – oh."
"Yeah. Mine was double laminated, just like a real one. She tore it like notepaper. Then she doubled it and did it again, also like it was nothing."
"What are you thinking? She's like us?"
"Sort of." The girl's voice grew softer. "I think she's a lab rat like us, only from a different lab. But I think she spent too much time in her cell before Bobby's dad got her out. You remember him saying he had to move before he was ready? I think they put us in those cells sooner than he expected, and he had to get us out quick … before we ended up like her."
"You make her sound autistic or something."
"No. But there are a lot of pieces missing from her puzzle. What girl her age doesn't know what a rack is? Or what it means to dump on somebody? Or the way she … looks at something commonplace like she's seeing it for the first time. Mark my words, some morning we'll come in the kitchen, and she'll be stirring oatmeal with her bra on outside her shirt. But you know what really raised the hairs on the back of my neck? She grabbed the cigarette out of my mouth and stubbed it out, quick as taking a breath. It only occurred to me later, when she gave it back … Kat, she ground it out in her other hand."
III
Anna was sitting on the couch at one AM, watching an old movie on the DVD player, when she heard quiet steps behind the couch that her discrimination software identified as Eddie's. She pretended not to hear, watching her show raptly, oblivious, as he approached. He stood over her from behind for three minutes. Finally, he said, "Hi."
She jumped and turned her head. "You have the deepest voice for a fifteen-year-old. How long have you been standing there?"
"Not long. I was savoring the moment. It's the first time I've seen you when you weren't moving." He smiled down at her. "What happened to the penguin outfit?"
She was wearing her shorts and sweatshirt. Sitting on the couch cross-legged, her legs were exposed to mid-thigh. When she turned her head towards him, the neck opening slipped down her shoulder, bare with no sign of a bra strap. "I'm off the clock. I can wear what I like."
"Uh huh. Looks like your boyfriend's clothes."
"Ex. Seems he was easier to dispense with than his sweats."
"I bet they look better on you. Lots." He circled the couch and sat down next to her, a hand's width away; his thigh touched her knee. "What is this we're watching?"
"Movie, sixty years old, black and white. Casablanca. Ever hear of it?"
"Everybody's heard of it. I never got into it, though." He placed his arm on the back of the couch behind her.
"I've watched it four times, but there are parts I just can't understand. It's a love story, I think."
"Well, see, that's why you don't understand it. Love never makes sense." He leaned close. "Sometimes you find yourself attracted to the most unlikely person."
"I've never had that problem. All my boyfriends look alike. Eddie, if you're going to watch this with me, would you like me to start it over?"
"No need," he said, smiling. "I'm here for the company. What do I have to do to get you to call me Grunge?"
"That's your girlfriend's name for you, Eddie." She kept her eyes on the screen.
"She's not exactly my girlfriend." His arm slid down, the hand resting lightly on her bare shoulder.
"She's not exactly not. Eddie, I'm enjoying your company, and I hope you don't decide to leave. But if you don't take your hand off me right now, you're going to have trouble using it tomorrow."
He lifted it unhurriedly. "You're not mad at me, are you?"
"Not at all. Flattered. Really. But I'm not in the market for a boyfriend, and if I were, I'd never pick a client. Unprofessional."
"'Unprofessional.' Sounds like an excuse to me."
"It's not; it's a commitment. Domestic service is a profession. When you invite a stranger to move in with you and run your house, you have to be able to rely on certain standards, codes of conduct, a clear set of responsibilities and obligations. That's why domestics wear uniforms."
"Well, you're not in that starched little dress now. Something wrong with me? Got a problem with yellow boys, maybe?"
She gave him a brief smile. "You're gorgeous and you know it; in fact, that's the first problem. You're fifteen, that's another. And even if I'm out of uniform, you're still a client. Besides, you're not my type, about six different ways, and nothing to do with your eye slant. Are you going to watch this with me, or did you just come in here trying to get lucky?"
Bobby appeared at the back of the couch. "Hey. Casablanca."
"Good grief, is anybody asleep in this house?"
"Girls are dead to the world. You like Bogie flicks, Anna?"
"Is this a Bogie flick?"
"Well, sure. Humphrey Bogart stars." He dropped down on her other side, as close as Eddie. Cozy.
"Well, I like this one. But I don't understand this part. Rick is talking to Ilsa. He's been drinking, and he seems angry; that much I understand. But what is he talking about … 'a tinny piano playing in the parlor downstairs'? And why is she so upset?"
Eddie stood up. "A glass of milk sounds good right now."
After he left, Bobby said evenly, "He just called her a lying whore."
"Oh." She shook her head. "I'm lost. I thought he loved her."
"He does. He's crazy about her."
"Then … why did he hurt her?"
He shrugged. "It's complicated." He stared at the screen. "She's hurt him, and he doesn't understand why. He's looking for some explanation, but all he can come up with is that she's not who he thinks she is, that she's been playing him for kicks. He needs her to be a bad person for it all to make sense, so he can feel better. But it's not working, because he loves her and he can't make himself believe. So he takes a stab at her, pushes her off balance, to see if she'll show him who she really is." He took a deep breath. "She doesn't mean to hurt him. But their choices are forced by one crazy circumstance after another, and it's all out of control, and they just keep hurting each other. The time is just never right for them to come together."
She looked at him. "Love never makes sense."
His eyes were as shiny as Ilsa's as he stared at the screen. "I wouldn't know. What's a kid my age know about it? We only think we're in love."
She recalled the unusual stresses in the boy's voice when the missing girl Sarah was a subject of the conversation. The girl is his lover. That's why he said no man could resist her. But he didn't want to share a room with her. And Roxanne says she's gay.
In a different tone, he went on, "You know, this is a strange flick. The dialogue's too clever to be real. The action scenes are wooden, because the camera's so big and heavy it takes a crew to move it. The special effects are Flintstone. Did you know that airplane's a prop, built in three-fourths scale? Those guys standing around it are midgets, I'm not kidding. And when it takes off, you can almost see the wire lifting it off the runway. This is really a stage play done in front of a camera, and it's a shameless World War Two propaganda picture.
"But I still like it. When Rick thought he'd lost her, he lost himself. When she came back into his life, he had to find himself again. Then he gave up everything, absolutely everything, even her, in return for her love." He swallowed. "And Victor. Right now, Ilsa's going to talk about all the times he risked his life to keep her near. Later, when he's alone with Rick in the bar, he'll almost beg Rick to steal his wife and leave him forever, just to keep her safe. That's the thing about this movie that makes up for everything else. No matter how screwed up everything gets, no matter how much hurt he's eating, in the end a guy can at least figure out the right thing to do." The tears finally broke free, two of them, one falling silently down each cheek.
The hurt in the boy's voice was overpowering, demanding a response. As he spoke, her menu of appropriate responses shrank until only three were left. If there is a God, let Him help me choose rightly. It was her very first prayer.
Unfolding her legs, she dropped her feet to the floor and brought her head down to the height of his chin. She reached behind his neck and drew them together. With one hand gently holding the side of his head, she rested her cheek on his shoulder. "Things will work out, Bobby," she said softly. "Somehow, I don't know how yet, but they will." She added deliberately, "I promise."
He tipped his head towards her. "I don't believe a word of it. But I like hearing somebody say it. Thanks."
They lingered together for a moment. Just as they were about to separate, Eddie spoke from a short distance behind them. "Ahem. Got my milk and cookies right here, and I'm headed for my room. Gonna stay there and go right to sleep, and I'm not gonna wake up till morning. Late."
Bobby stood up. "Hope you've got enough for two. I'm coming too. Night, Anna. See you in the morning."
"Goodnight, guys," she said, turning back to the television. "Sweet dreams."
The bedroom door was barely closed behind them before she heard Eddie say, "What are you doing? You had her."
"No, I didn't. And I think the idea sucks anyway. And even if it worked, I'd feel like an ass for using her."
"Told you. You're her type. 'Sweet dreams.' Maybe she wouldn't mind being used."
"I hope you choke on those cookies. Seriously."
"Great. Now you're hopeless over two women you'll never have."
She heard the soft thud of a body landing on a mattress. "Going to sleep now. Just so you know, if I haven't had a full night's rest, I wake up mean."
"Okay, I'm shutting up. But you had a good thing going, and you blew it."
"Things'll work out." Listening at full gain, she heard his heart and breathing begin to slow, while Eddie munched and drank. By the time he finished, Bobby was asleep.
She heard Eddie set the plate and glass on the floor by the bed, and then brush at the covers. "Too bad, dude," he said, too softly to wake his companion. "You really ought to be looking for another girl. Got a feeling this one would be good for you." The light under the bedroom door went out, and the house was hers; aside from some light snoring coming from the girls' room, there were no human sounds at normal hearing levels.
She thought about it as the movie progressed. Bobby loves Sarah, but she can't love him, because she's gay. Or can she? But she doesn't, except … what was all that about love? I'm sure he wasn't just talking about the picture; there were too many stress indicators in his voice. She watched Rick press his chest against Ilsa's pistol and urge her to shoot. Another test. He's stressing her another way, trying to see who she really is. But this time, he's gambling with his life. If she chooses the wrong way, he's dead … and won't care.
Can love really be this chaotic? This is "drama," an exaggerated hypothetical. But what do I use for a response check? If Eddie and Roxanne are in love, the exaggeration is ludicrous. But Bobby's responses are much closer to the ones in the picture. I'll have to study his and Sarah's interactions if she comes to the house.
It seems that love has different degrees of intensity. Now Rick was preparing to deceive the girl he loved, while sacrificing everything he possessed, to ensure her safety and happiness. And perhaps it comes in different flavors, as well.
An hour later, the phone rang. Since Mr. Lynch had told her to expect his call, she had kept the handset close at hand, to reach it before it woke the kids. "Good morning, sir."
"Good morning. What was that all about?"
"Training, sir. Our joint survival depends on being able to function as a team, which implies respect for leadership and discipline. Willingness to obey orders is not a common teenage trait."
"Humph. Go on."
"I've been listening to the kids' conversations. They're uncertain and suspicious; their consensus is that you have ulterior motives for bringing them here. I'm a ditzy waif that you trust just enough to carry out your orders. They'll test you, starting with your rules and, since you'll be gone frequently, my authority. I simply took the initiative by giving a quick opportunity to test me to the child most likely to bend the rules."
"She seemed plenty mature and dependable at the Complex."
"She was badly frightened and totally dependent on you for her safety and freedom. Disobeying you wouldn't occur to her under such circumstances; she's quite intelligent. Now she's far from that danger, and the memory of her ordeal is starting to fade. I gather she didn't have much supervision at home; she probably hasn't had a midnight curfew since middle school."
"She had a ten o'clock curfew at the Complex."
"And do you intend to lock her underground to force compliance? She observed that curfew because she didn't have any choice. If you give her a normal life, she'll have the same opportunities to break the rules that any child has; only the consequences will be different. These kids have to understand that it's vital for them to observe your rules and obey your orders, even when you're gone. And that my rules and orders carry the same weight. I can't have them appealing to you at every decision."
"I understand that; it's why I backed you. Would you really quit doing her laundry?"
"We don't have many options for enforcing our decisions, sir. I can't ground her; she's already under house arrest, as it were. She seems rather big to spank. Throwing her out is an empty threat; it would be the same as giving her back to IO, and would lead them back to the rest of us besides. The only consequences I could devise were the withholding of something she values: I threatened her comfort and her privacy."
"If she'd called you on it, you wouldn't have anything left to enforce the important rules."
"It wouldn't matter. The smoking rule is simple, not too burdensome, and easy to enforce. I discussed it with her and offered a compromise. When she tried to push beyond the limits of our agreement, I had to step on her, or she'd be snapping her fingers at every rule she found inconvenient. She'd drag the other kids into trouble, likely, and they'd all be back in their cells before the year is out. I didn't dare give way."
"Anna, you're changing again," Mr. Lynch said. "You sound like a mom."
"You asked me to take care of a houseful of kids, sir. Their families are out of reach or nonexistent. You stand in loco parentis to them, and by extension, so do I. Granted, they're precocious; each of them seems a couple of years ahead of the norm in terms of maturity. But they still need more from us than food, shelter, and clothing; they need guidance, nurturing, and support."
He was slow to reply. "You think you're ready for that?"
"I don't know. But it's a need more essential than clean laundry, and they have no one except us to provide it right now."
Shortly before dawn, she heard Roxanne's voice from the bedroom, too low and blurry for normal hearing. "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me? Say something, can't you? Wait. Don't go. Don't go…"