Soulprint (31 page)

And then I walk out to join them.

“Time to go,” I say, and I point to the dark stairwell beside the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Ivory's knuckles are white as she grips the counter. Cameron gestures toward the staircase. I walk ahead of them, down the first few steps, just to make sure. But it's just as Ivory said. A cellar full of wine. Dark and musty. Windowless and comfortless. Cold, but not deadly.

“Don't worry,” I say, leading her inside. “Someone's coming for you, right? In the meantime, this is just a containment.” I close the door, and she pushes back against it. But I'm stronger. I lean close to the door. “It's for your own protection,” I say. And then I turn the deadbolt.

She's still pounding on the door, screaming through it, as we prepare to leave the kitchen, leave the house, leave this all behind.

“I can give you something no one else can,” she calls. “It's the same offer I made June. Your freedom. I'm in a unique position to get you out of here. I pull a lot of strings.”

It's a tempting offer. I have my answers, but I still can't see how to get from here to freedom on my own. If it's even a possibility in this lifetime. And now Ivory is offering it to us.

But the price will be our silence.

Noise can be dangerous. But there's also a danger to silence. It's everything we discovered, still going, for seventeen years. It's a gun firing with no sound. It's me, on an island, with no voice.

“We'll take our chances,” I say.

I picture June running for the woods, looking over her shoulder.

And then I realize.

June said no.

I can see her now, so clearly, running from this home, stopping at a bank, not even worried about the police picking up on it. She was terrified for her life. She left herself a message, just in case, like she promised she would.
The truth will not die with me
. But she never made it back to the hideaway.

I am not the danger
, she had said.
I am not the threat. I am the bell, tolling out its warning
.

More than that, she was going to blow the whistle.

I hit my palms against the closed cellar door, and Casey sucks in a breath. “
You
got her killed,” I say. “
You
did it.”

“I didn't do anything,” Ivory says. “I'm not a killer.”

“No,” I say, “you just pull the strings, right?”

But she doesn't respond. I want to feel anger, for how June and I have both been wronged, some drive for revenge, but instead, I am filled with a surge of adrenaline, of appreciation, of awe. What June was willing to do for us both.

“Alina?” Cameron asks. “What next?”

“Let's go,” I say.

Cameron gives me a look, but he doesn't question me. Doesn't even hesitate as he swings his bag over his shoulder. He doesn't look back.

“Where are you going?” Ivory asks. “What do you think you're going to do? You won't get far, Alina. June didn't. You won't.”

“Let's go,” I say again. This was the end for June, but it will not be for me.

“What do you think you'll do?” she calls. “You have nothing.”

“Don't you remember?” I say. “I am the bell, tolling out its warning.”

And right now, I am the threat.

I am the threat and the warning and the whistle, all rolled into one. June made mistakes, and she tried to right them, and I think how hard that must be in your own life. To admit to it, and to try to change.

I wonder if I owe her this, or if maybe I owe myself this.

June died for this, and I may yet, too.

“I'm going to the source,” I say to Cameron and Casey outside the house. “I'm going for the proof.” For June, for me, for everyone. I will not ask them to risk anything more, to come with me any farther. If I have to go it alone, I will.

I run straight for the car, in broad daylight, in the middle of the street.

They follow me.

It takes two hours to arrive on campus. It's just outside the city, but close enough to not be segregated from the community. People of all ages wander the sidewalks in front of the buildings that border the city streets, but as we drive through the entrance, the street narrows, and the people disappear. I'm not sure whether it's because it's summer or because it's almost dinnertime, but this place feels like a ghost town.

Cameron navigates the winding side roads, following signs for different sections of campus. Expanses of grass extend out to either side, and old stone and brick buildings break up the landscape. Once we pass the buildings, we find ourselves on an alley street with several homes that all look alike—as if they were built as part of the school but converted to homes later. The address for Mason Alonzo is for a brick home on this alley. “Should we check it out?” Casey asks. “He's not home, right?”

“Right,” I whisper, imagining him on his way to Ivory. Cameron backs out and retraces our path a bit. We leave the van in
visitor parking and walk the rest of the way. Mason's home is about halfway down the street. We don't stop as we walk past it, but I take my time looking in the front window as we pass. The house is old, narrow, covered with ivy, and has turrets like a castle. Mason may not be home, but the house is not empty. I can see through the window, through the open curtains, two teenagers, or maybe a little older, and a woman I'm assuming is their mother, sitting at the dining room table. They're mostly ignoring each other—the boy looking down at his cell phone under the table; the girl moving pieces of food around the plate; the woman bringing dishes in and out and answering the ringing telephone—but there's still a wave of jealousy stirring inside me.

Cameron pulls me close, puts an arm around my shoulder, and I spend way too long wondering if this is part of our disguise or if he just wants to do it. Casey pauses and separates herself from us, waiting for us to walk about fifty feet before she starts moving again.

Disguise, then.

Okay, then.

We stop at the end of the alley, and Cameron puts his hands on my waist, tips his head so it rests against mine, as if we're sharing a moment, but it's a lie. “We can't go in there,” I say. “We have to find his office in the school.”

“I know,” he says. “We need to get back to the van. There aren't enough people out here. We'll be noticed.”

I nod against his forehead, though I want to stay this way, to keep on pretending that this is our normal and something
like this moment could last forever, but I know it isn't safe. He pulls me close as we walk back to the van. Nobody seems to notice us in the visitor lot, so we crack the front windows and move to the back, hoping nobody knows we're here.

“One at a time,” Cameron says. “We leave here only one at a time. It's too risky.” He squeezes Casey's shoulder. “Me first,” he says.

I grab his arm. “What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to see if these buildings are locked, and if they are, I'm going to find a way in. Casey, then you can see what you can find in his office, wherever that is. Once you find what you need, it's all yours, Alina. Sound good?”

I don't answer, and neither does Casey, but it does actually sound good. But every time he leaves I feel this overwhelming terror, that he is risking too much, that this is the last I will see of him. It has always been only myself on the line. I'm not used to worrying about others.

Casey doesn't speak the entire time he's gone. In the dark of the van, as the sun drops below the horizon, at first I think she's sleeping, with her head leaning back against the wall. But then I see her lips just faintly moving, and I wonder if she's praying. I'm scared to break her trance, so I close my eyes, and I try to imagine all the possible outcomes of this moment. But all I can see are the people who would stop us, who would punish us. All I can imagine are the words people will say, twisting the facts into their own version of events. The rooms that will hold us; the places that can contain us.

And then I am picturing that truck going over the bridge seven years ago, and my mother holding my wet and tattered body to her own as she pulls me from the ocean. I am imagining the lullaby she sings:
Duérmete, mi niña, duérmete, mi amor, duérmete, y nos vemos en la tierra de sueños
…

“What does it mean?”

I open my eyes to find Casey watching me. I must've been saying it aloud. “Literally, ‘go to sleep, my girl, go to sleep, my love, go to sleep, and we will see each other in the land of dreams.' ”

It's the only place she said I could find her.

“It's nice,” she says. “Soothing.”

I close my eyes again.

Because in this moment, it truly is.

Cameron doesn't knock before opening the back doors, and it makes us both jump. The streetlight is on behind him, and the sky is completely dark beyond.

He hops inside and says, “Doors are locked, but I have an access card.” Then he looks at Casey. “You can yell at me later.”

“I would never,” she says.

He climbs over us and starts the car.

“Where are we going?”

“Hiding the car,” he says. “After hours, security will run checks.”

We drive behind a building, and he eases the van underneath a willow tree, out of sight, its hanging leaves covering us like a blanket. He gets out, removing the license plates—“Just in case,” he says—before handing the access card to Casey.

“Do you know what you're doing?” he asks.

“Computer lab. Find his office. Get in. Get out.” She nods to herself, leaving off everything important she intends to do in that office.
Find the way Mason accesses the database. Find Ava. Find proof she's still alive
.

Cameron grabs her arm as she leaves. “Stay safe, Case,” he says.

“Be right back,” she says.

We sit across from each other in the back of the van, not speaking, not touching. Everything between us, that got us to this point, hovering in the air. Every choice we've made, in this life and in June's, hanging in the balance. Tomorrow is only hours away. Tomorrow this will all be done. Tomorrow we'll no longer be bound to one another.

“What are you going to do after this?” I ask him.

“I guess that depends on what happens in the next few hours.”

“What do you want, then, if you could do anything?”

He stares at me. “That's a dangerous question, Alina. Because I can't. I can only think about today. And the only thing I want right now is the girl sitting on the other side of the van.”

Such a simple thing to want. Such a simple thing to give him. I crawl across the space between us, but he meets me before I get there, pulling me on top of him, one of my legs on either side of him, as he leans against the wall. I kiss him as if this is the last time, because it might be. I kiss him like it will have to last in my memory for the rest of my life. I kiss him
like I've been imagining doing since the moment I let the pieces of glass drop from my fingers in surrender.

I feel his teeth softly against my lips, and I remember the blade that got us here. That got me out. I pull back, place my finger on the sharp point of his false canine, and say, “How'd you get this?”

He runs his tongue across it, but his eyes never leave mine. “Lost it in a fight. Had a friend take me to a place that would do this, for a trade. Before I went into the system. I don't like the idea of being stripped to nothing but my fists.”

And here I thought it was just for me. But it was for him, before that. Because there are other prisons besides mine. More dangerous ones. I think, in truth, I could've had it worse. A prison where I am left and forgotten. A prison where I have no access to information or education. A prison where I have no hope. I think of June, hiding alone underground. I think of Cameron, locked in a cell. His soul was not meant to be caged, either.

“Never had to use it, thank God,” he says.

“It saved me,” I say.

He nods. “Casey told Dom about it. I guess they were brainstorming how to get a blade onto the island, and she mentioned this.” He bites down, and I hear the sound of teeth on teeth. “She told him about this, and I guess he figured, why not just use
me
?”

And so, here he is. And here I am. “This is what got you involved?”

He shakes his head, and his nose touches mine. “I would've gotten involved either way.”

“Regrets?” I ask.

“None,” he says. “On the contrary. You?”

I smile and say, “None,” the moment before I kiss him again. My hands are on his shoulders, and then they are lower, on his waist, and then under his shirt. He pulls me so we're chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hips to hips, and my hands trail up his back until I feel the ridge of the scar. “What about this?” I ask.

I lean back, and he lets me pull the shirt up over his head. I have never seen this look on him before. I like it. I love it. “Tell me,” I say, overcome with the rush of power.

“Random attack,” he says. “Outside a convenience store. Happened when Casey entered the National Guard training, and me and Dom were setting up the cabin. Dom was inside the shop, stocking up on supplies. I was out, loading the trunk with our first batch of stuff, and some guy jumped me from behind.” His body tenses as he speaks. “There was a knife in my back before I could even process what was happening.” I feel the shudder roll through him. “Took my wallet and left me there, bleeding in the parking lot.”

I run my fingers along the scar—it covers the span of at least four ribs. I am imagining him bleeding on the blacktop, and I cannot stand the way the scene looks in my head, even though I know it isn't real.

“I know Dom's a dick, and probably a psychopath, but I
couldn't go to a hospital, and I couldn't reach Casey. He took me somewhere safe, gave me some drugs, stitched me up right. He's got some good in him somewhere, Alina.” He laughs. “Or maybe he needed me too much.”