The Butterfly Code (17 page)

Outside, the damp greenery has grown so lush from all the rain that plants are crushing one another. I’m tempted to spill all of it and cry on Ella’s shoulder. Maybe it would feel good to talk.

"You read him wrong," I say.

"Bummer. He’s cute. Correction, not cute. Hot. Seriously hot."

"Yeah, he is. . . . too bad he’s not my type."

"That whole type business is ridiculous. It’s not about that. You never know who you might like. Sometimes a guy asks you out, and you go. Maybe you have an okay time, so you decide to go on another date. After a while, you’re a couple."

"I don’t think I ever want to date a guy until I get used to him."

"That’s not what I’m saying."

"It’s what happened with me and Trey. Which is why we didn’t work out. I want a guy who makes my heart pound from the first moment I see him. I want his voice, when he speaks my name for the first time, to make my knees tremble. I want him to see me the way I’m seeing him, like a revelation, like our whole lives have led up to this moment."

"Who wouldn’t?" Ella says. "Unfortunately, that only happens in romance novels and fairy tales."

T
he next few
days are spent between the piano and my laptop, punctuated by daily visits from Ella and Gage. There’s a large Wikipedia entry on Blackbird detailing its rise to power and its link to various military scandals. The company’s like a cockroach—it just shakes off trouble and moves on. Reports of Gage’s medical trials are small and vague.

I search for Brewster King, the CEO Gage mentioned. The guy has done an amazing job of staying under the radar—I can’t even find a photograph. Another search that leads nowhere is for a link between Blackbird and Hunter Cayman.

Mom’s journal and the questions about Switzerland has sparked fresh interest in me, as well. I wonder if it’s worth tracking down people she went to school with. I could get a class roster from her college days. And what about the company she worked at? I know Dad tracked down her old coworkers years ago but didn’t learn anything that led to answers. Is it worth revisiting them? What if she was doing freelance work on the side? Had those people been contacted? Who were her mentors, if any? I know the man who attacked us knew her.

But how?

His words have echoed over and over in me, down through the years.

I wish you’d behaved more professionally, Julia.

What had he meant?

I pick up the journal and read it for what feels like the hundredth time. A tiny memory comes to me. It could be nothing. Then again . . . it was about butterflies. She’d told me about them in detail, their life stages. How they regenerated. She’d been obsessed with them. She even kept a small collection of them in her lab. Wait—she’d kept live ones. I jerk upright as I recall them flying around in a glassed-in room. Was that real or my four-year-old imagination at work?

Whatever the case, there’s no online record of her and such a lab existing.

I’m hunched over my laptop when I get the distinct feeling I’m being watched. I bolt upright and wrench around. My door is open. The hairs stand up on my arms. I wheel quickly toward the hall. Empty. My skin vibrates with the certainty that I’m not alone. I tour the whole house, yanking open closets, peering behind curtains and under tables. Not a soul.

In the guest room, I go to the blinds and twitch them aside the way Victoria had the day she visited. Feeling trapped and defenseless in my wheelchair, I squint at the apple orchard where Iron-fist hid his SUV.

It must be the light, because I can see every single leaf in clear detail. Green and vibrant and laced with veins. Was my vision always this good? Maybe it’s the strong sunlight after weeks of gloomy storm clouds that’s making the world so clear. Or maybe . . . it’s like my skin.

I rub my forehead. Regardless, I don’t see anyone hiding out there. No metallic reflections behind the trees. So then why do I feel like eyeballs are drilling into my neck?

The sensation of being watched looms all day. The next day, too. Maybe I’m being paranoid. Dad had said Iron-fist was monitoring him before their attack. Did that include surveillance inside the house? Could they have taken fresh interest now that I’m here with the meds?

I search my room for hidden cameras. I search the whole house. I’ve heard they can be tiny and undetectable. No matter where I look, I can’t find the source of my suspicions.

I
t’s shortly
after eleven in the morning when Ella and Gage show up.

"A double visit? Awesome," I say.

"We’re taking you on a mini getaway," Ella announces.

"Really?" I rub my dirty hair. I’ve run out of oversize T-shirts and boxers and am wearing a white knee-length nightshirt decorated with black music notes over underpants. Oh, for the days when I can pull on a pair of jeans again. "Forget it. It’s one thing to have you guys here, but I don’t want to scare the rest of the world."

"You look great," Gage insists. "You’re injured; so what? It happens."

"Anyway," Ella says, "We’re taking you out in the boat. You won’t see anyone. It’ll be good for you to get some air. Liven you up."

"Sounds tempting." I recall Victoria’s warning to stay inside and get better. To be honest, I’m not sure what staying inside has to do with it. Edward took me out to the gardens at the PRL and I haven’t enjoyed the outdoors since. That can’t be healthy. Besides, I’d love to escape this sensation of being watched.

"What do you say? Come on," Ella urges.

I cave. "Let me just call my dad and tell him."

The phone in the shop goes to voice mail. He must be busy with customers.

"I’ll leave him a note."

Thirty minutes later, we’re on the dock. Ella and I laugh as Gage carries me onto his boat, joking about pirates and lasses in plaster casts and billowing nightshirts.

From my position on the cushioned bench seat, I watch them toss off ropes and push away from shore. They’re right. It’s good to get out in the open. My eyes find the cliff that belongs to the PRL. The small section where Hunter and I rode along the top appears deserted. The longing I thought I’d overcome rises hot and painful.

I turn and focus on the surging green ocean.

The engine roars to life. I need this escape.

Ella whoops and grins at me as the twenty-foot cruiser powers away from shore. Under the open sky, the breeze rushes through my hair. The boat flies seaward, cresting and falling over the whitecaps. In the distance, the dock shrinks rapidly until it disappears into the rocky shoreline.

Gage shoots me a smile, and my lips curve up of their own accord.

The sea begins to rip away the past weeks. Even my casts feel lighter until I’m barely aware of them. A pod of dolphins springs out of the ocean. We shout, and Gage steers closer. They’re all glossy and spinning and chattering away. They disappear into their secret underworld and we race farther on, chased by cormorants and flashes of silver herring. Stretching farther and farther from Deep Cove until its choking chains snap and fall away.

A town appears in the distance, perched along the shoreline. From here, the buildings look like toy models. Gage’s cheeks are ruddy as he motions at it with his head.

"There’s a great fish-and-chip place over there. We can pull up with the boat and get food to go. Want to?"

"Sure. Sounds great."

Gage aims the boat shoreward.

Three feet from the starboard rail, an ash-white seabird coasts alongside the boat. It turns to probe me with its shiny black eyes. From the pilot’s chair, an alarm starts to beep.

Worry jerks me upright. It reminds me of my own alarm. The one that tells me to take my pills.

"What’s that beeping?" Ella asks.

I glance up at the bright afternoon sun. I don’t have to look at the time to know it’s well past noon. Probably closer to one thirty or two. The alarm continues to beep. A sickening sensation slithers into my belly.

"We’re passing over a reef," Gage says. He flicks a switch, and the alarm goes silent.

I lick my lips, which have gone bone-dry. How could I have forgotten to bring my silver pill after what happened? "We should head back."

He eases off the throttle. "What about lunch? Are you getting seasick?"

"No! No, I’m fine. I just—I changed my mind."

"Come on, Aeris," Ella says. "Lunch won’t take that long. And we can get it to go if you’re so worried about people seeing you."

"Wait, let her be," Gage says. "What’s going on Aeris? Is something wrong?"

"I forgot my medicine. How long will it take to get back?"

"An hour if I gun it. Do you want me to?"

My hands are icy slick. An hour? At this point, it’s already way too late.

Maybe what happened last time I was late taking my silver pill was a coincidence. In fact, it’s been more than two hours and I’m perfectly fine. No flames. No heat. If anything, I’m a little chilly. Yes, it was definitely a coincidence. The attack happened only minutes after I took my dosage. In fact, it could have been the dosage itself that caused it.

I’d be sick by now, wouldn’t I?

I feel free out here. I don’t want to go back yet. I chew on my lower lip. On the other hand, what if it was because I'd been late taking it? Ian and Victoria had been so insistent that I follow the dosage rules. I rub my face.

"I hate to be a downer, but I need to go home."

The white bird cries out and banks over the waves. It spears a fish, and the fish wiggles desperately to get free. I watch the bird wheel off. It heads for land, for some hidden nest where it can devour its prey in privacy.

T
he tremor begins
in my right hand. Shaking overtakes my fingers. Ella is talking. I smile at her and clench them to make them stop.

White heat explodes behind my eyelashes. Convulsions rip through me. My arms and legs hammer wildly, sending me tumbling out of my seat, scattering cushions until my flailing casts are hammering against the fiberglass deck. Frantic, I open my mouth in agony. Hellfire licks at my brain. My scream is so hot it turns the air into billows of scorching mist.

Ella is screaming, too. "Oh my god! Call 911! What’s happening to her? Call 911!"

The world becomes a blur of whining engine noise, a wild slamming place as the boat crashes over crest after crest. Wailing sirens and blinding flashes of red light rip through my distorted consciousness.

An ambulance.

The shore.

People.

Gage’s huge hands restrain me, carrying me to land.

"Careful with her," he barks at the four medics it takes to strap me to the gurney.

Sweat pours from every inch of my body. Crowds press in and I can’t breathe.

"Get away," I beg.

The ambulance walls close around me. The door slams shut and we’re off, wailing and careening in a van of beeping equipment.
Medicine.
The word flares.
Medicine!
I force my heavy eyes wide and struggle to focus on the faces around me. Something creepy is going on. The people are not normal. They look alien and strange. I curl away in revulsion.

There he is—Gage—the one who can help. He’s beside me. Why are his features all wrong? Ugly and horrifying. A wild impulse to attack sends my arms lurching for his throat. The restraints check my assault. I sob in frustration.

What am I doing? It’s Gage! My friend.

"Hang on." He squeezes my arm. "We’re almost at the hospital."

"I need my medicine." Sweat pours from my scalp. "My medicine!"

"They’ll know what to do."

"No! It’s in my room. Dad knows. Please!" I gasp. "I need my medicine!"

It’s like a mantra. Over and over I repeat the words, crying, wailing, whispering, pleading. Down the streets. Across the emergency unloading area. Through the antiseptic hallways filled with monster-faced patients and brutish alien workers with hungry eyes. What has happened to the world? Why has everyone turned to demons? Or have they all been this way and I never noticed?

The gurney flies through a pair of double doors. I thrash hard, my body on fire, my mind clenched with the need to attack.

A woman, white-masked, bends over me. I bare my teeth at her, growling.

"This should calm you down."

The needle pierces my belly. I sink away from her into a dim, raging hole of fire.

A
cool
, familiar hand touches my forehead. I sigh into it, filled with impressions of comfort and home. My eyes flutter open and Dad’s mountain-man face peers into mine.

"Feeling better?"

I dry swallow. "Much." Then I bolt upright. "My medicine."

"I gave it to you an hour ago."

"The silver one? How did you know?"

His tone is vague. "The instructions on the label."

How much does he know about my cure? Because more than ever, I’m certain it’s not normal. "What did the doctor say about me?" I ask, studying his reaction.

"You had a high fever and a blood test came back showing low glucose levels. She said either of those could have caused your seizures. She put you on a glucose drip and is thinking about antibiotics, but your fever’s down. She thinks it was probably the shock of being out in the boat, combined with too little to eat. Right now, she’s keeping you under observation."

He gives no sign of suspecting anything beyond that.

Then again, he did give me the silver pill. "What do you think, Dad?"

"I think I’m worried as hell. I wish you hadn’t gone out on that boat."

My head flops back. "I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry if I scared you."

He squeezes my hand.

"I’m freaked out," I whisper. "I’m scared about the drugs I’m taking."

"I am, too, Peanut. As soon as you’re out of here, we’re making a visit to the PRL."

So he does know Hunter’s methods were unorthodox. I can see it in his face.

"Maybe we should talk to the doctor," I whisper.

The color drains from his cheeks. "No. Hunter warned against you seeing a doctor. He said they might take you off your meds, and that could cause serious problems." His voice is low, urgent. "I’m sorry, I almost lost you a few weeks ago. Hunter has medicines that aren’t exactly in the public domain. You wouldn’t be here without him. I want us to go there tomorrow before we decide anything further."

All this time we’ve been hiding our knowledge from each other.

Movement catches my eye, and I glance out the door of the sterile hospital room to see Gage and Ella in the hall. Their faces no longer resemble scary monster masks. They simply look concerned. Whatever happened to me clearly twisted my vision into insanity.

Tentatively, Gage steps inside. "You okay, Aeris?"

"Yeah. Turns out I just needed a shot of sugar."

"Jesus, Aeris," Ella says. "You scared me shitless."

"I scared myself," I reply.

The hospital bustle resounds through the half-open door: loudspeaker announcements, carts wheeling past, the squeaky shoes of nurses.

"Can we go home?" I ask Dad.

His face is grim. "They want to keep you overnight for observation."

Dread creeps over me, shortening my breath. "Dad," I whisper, "I need to get out of here."

"I know. It’s easier this way. It’s only until tomorrow."

"I’ll stay with you," Gage volunteers.

"No," Dad says. "I’ll do that myself. Better get your boat back. It’ll be getting dark."

At six, after a horrible meal of powdered mashed potatoes and dry chicken, I banish Dad to the cafeteria.

"You should probably get something to eat, too," I tell him.

He nods. "I won’t be long."

I’m left with the pinging of strange machines and sheets that smell of vinegar and bleach.

With him gone, my mind flashes back to my monstrous hallucinations. Gage and Ella had looked inhuman. Grotesque. Like hideous bogeymen. I’d wanted to attack them, kill them. What had come over me? What if it happens again? I could hurt someone I care about. Like Dad or Sammy.

With nervous hands, I crumple and uncrumple the covers until they’re damp with sweat.

From the hallway, heavy boots blend in with the patter of orthopedic footwear. I quail under a sudden fear that Iron-fist has come after me. What if he’s tracked me here, to this bed? Waited for Dad to leave the room so he could get me alone?

The footsteps carry on past my door.

My muscles unclench, and clammy sweat drips down my ribs. I’m exhausted, bone deep. I stay awake long enough for Dad to return and then nod off into a numb, dreamless sleep.

The sound of low, urgent voices tugs me awake. I blink in the dim light of dawn and see Gage and Dad in the light of the doorway. I fumble for my red pills, gulp them down, and hide the bag back under my hoodie.

"What’s happening?" I ask, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"The store’s on fire," Dad says. "Firefighters are working to put it out."

I recoil at the grisly news. "On fire?"

Gage says, "I came right away so your Dad could go back."

"Dad, hurry—what are you waiting for?"

His hands are in fists. "I’m not comfortable leaving you."

"Gage can take me home. The police need you there. Go."

He mauls his neck, haggard with shock.

"I’m serious, Dad, go. What about Sammy? What if something’s happened to him?"

He nods once. "All right. You’ll only be here for another hour or two. They said they’d release you when the doctor comes in around seven. I told them Gage is a relative. He’ll be able to stay in the room."

He kisses my forehead, and then he’s gone.

"
D
on’t look
at me like I’m some wretched casualty," I tell Gage.

"I wasn’t."

"You were and it’s unnerving. I’m just injured, temporarily. I’m still me. Still the same person."
I hope.

"Duh, of course you are. Even if your hair
is
a little greasier than usual."

I roll my eyes. "Great, thanks, that makes me feel so much better."

"Here," he says. "Move over."

"What are you doing?" I say on a laugh.

"Joining the team."

"Ow, hey!" I say as he shifts me over a few inches and lies down on his back next to me.

"Boy, they don’t exactly make these beds comfortable, do they?"

"That’s because you don’t fit."

"And what are these sheets made of? Small-grit sandpaper?"

"Stop it," I say. "Someone’s going to come!"

"You’re right." He puts a finger to my lips.

I snort and let my head flop back onto the pillow. We stare at the ceiling in silence.