I leave Zachary’s room in a daze.
I’m tired. I’m confused. Morning starts to brim in the faint wisps of light glistening off dew. A few early risers are roaming about. Walking dogs, getting coffee. If they cock their heads, concerned, I wave my hand. I’m fine. If they look at me like I’m some kind of freak, I ignore them.
The world is damp and gray. My chest fills with moist air.
Conrad is lying on his back, hands behind his head, in our front yard. He stares at the faint pink wisps of clouds hovering above us.
He must notice my sunken aura, because he asks me if I’m okay.
“Why does the world have to be so awful?” I ask.
“The world isn’t awful, it’s neither bad nor good, it just is,” he says. “And we get the joy of experiencing it. And experiencing miracles.”
I am so very not in the mood. I lump past him, up the steps.
“You heard about Luke’s sister, right?” Conrad asks. “Ginger. She can do a split in the air, she’s so healthy. No more ALS.”
“What?”
Conrad twists over and looks up at me with his blue eyes. “She got it. It cured her.”
I rub my face. The air all of a sudden seems way too bright. “That’s good,” I say. And it is. ALS is bad. Cures are good. I’d rather put my feet up and share a drink with a strange devil than a familiar one. But I don’t want to rejoice in anything now.
I go inside and lie on the couch but I don’t sleep. I do the worst thing—I watch the news. Scenes of looting down at the 7-11 off the highway, farmers complaining they have no one to help with crops, citizens bemoaning the fact they’re stuck. Citizens who leave town once a year, at most. It’s different though, when you no longer have the option. One old man, with a mushy jaw and ill-defined cheeks, chews over his words. “The college— it’s gotta be Poe’s fault.”
The anchor gives a quick transition, saying there’s something to the murmurs about town. Peachy surges onto the screen. He says he can confirm that the disease originated in a lab on Poe’s campus, but nothing else at this time. “Thankfully, we have additional resources that should help us conclude our investigations.”
“What additional resources?” The reporter presses. “Is it true that the military is involved? Was this research part of a government project to create super soldiers? How did the disease leak out of a lab?”
Beads of sweat glisten at Peachy’s temples, but he has his affable smile to save him. “As I mentioned, I am not at liberty to discuss some of the specifics, but I assure you that the town is in good hands.”
Very good hands.
They also show Luke over and over. He did a conference this morning, along with Chief Erikson, after investigating Professor Livingston’s house. They say they found evidence related to the disease. They politely decline questions. Luke doesn’t speak. He stands next to the chief, staring ahead, his arms straight and hands folded, one over the other.
I want to wrap him in my arms so we can both lie to each other and tell each other everything is okay. That we are in good hands.
I have multiple messages from my parents. Multiple. That’s never happened before. I send them a long email—I’m not up to talking to them yet—thanking them for their help. I tell them what happened, well, most of it. I tell them Mandy’s missing. It crushes my soul.
I don’t like that she isn’t around to throw jelly beans in my mouth as I try to catch them, or to play a drinking game involving chopsticks and matchbooks. I want her around so she can smell perfume on my skin and tell me if it smells slutty or elegant or girly.
I stand in the door of Mandy’s room for too long, bracing myself between the doorframes. My fingers dig into the white paint. I notice things I’m not sure I want to notice.
Wisey’s little shelf is empty.
When Luke comes over as the light beams drift to twilight, I’m scarcely in a state to receive him.
He can tell.
He makes me take a desperately needed shower while he cooks up some spaghetti.
“I’m sorry I was a waste today. I should have gotten your sister a get well card.” I rub my wet hair with a towel and enjoy the tomato and basil aroma.
“She doesn’t need one. She is well. Except for all this quarantine shit, of course.” He plops noodles into two bowls.
“Yeah, but there was no ‘you beat ALS by catching an unknown disease, yay!’ card, so I figured a get well card would be the most appropriate.”
“Perhaps if they start letting sick people in, some clever businessman will fill that hole in the market.” He smiles, which allows me to smile. And to confess.
“I spit in a cup for her,” I say.
Luke sits down and starts spooning noodles on a fork. He nods to me to do the same. We eat in silence.
“I know,” he says between bites. “She told me.” With fork in midair, he turns to me, smiles and then swallows some more pasta.
“That tattletale,” I say, and laugh with my mouth full of food. I don’t know why I’m all of a sudden Miss Funny Bone. Something to do with Luke. Something to do with an odd relief. He lets out his hearty pancake laugh and it’s almost like things are back to normal. Well, normal being when Mandy and Zachary were the only ones with the strange eyes.
When we’re done eating, he pulls me onto his lap. His head nestles in my neck. “I always thought that when my sister didn’t need me anymore, I’d leave this town the next day. But now I can’t.”
“Yeah, this quarantine is really cramping your style,” I say.
He pulls back. We lock our purple eyes. His grin is slippery. “Oh, yeah, I guess the quarantine is keeping me here too.”
His hand roams under my shirt, but I can’t just move on like that. I hold his wrist.
“I’m still having a hard time with all of this.” I bow my head.
“We’ll find—” Luke says, but I shake my head and press my index finger to his lips.
“No.”
Luke furrows his brow. “What did Zachary say?”
I look away and bite my lip. What should I say? What can I say? He may not be an intimidating man in a black suit, but can I tell him that I think Mandy left the quarantine? Could I begin to explain why?
“Not much, really.” I busy myself with picking a piece of lint off Luke’s shirt.
He takes that hand, tilts his head, brow tense and eyes raised. “You’re keeping something from me.”
“No.” I rush in, but take a breath. There is no rush. I keep my voice as steady as it can be. “He really didn’t say much. But, I don’t know, maybe you can get more out of him. I’m not exactly trained in interrogation, like some people in this room.”
He doesn’t smile. “Quinn, Zachary isn’t in custody anymore.”
“What do you mean? Did he escape?” My body twitches between hope and fear.
“No,” Luke says, and I can tell it’s like with Peachy. He is not at liberty to say the black suits swooped in to keep Zachary from blabbing. Maybe when the first purple cases cropped up they thought it would all blow over, just like Zachary thought it would blow over. He thought he could cover it with some ill-conceived lie about a mystery party drug. But, just like Zachary, at some point even the NSA has to dirty their hands with cleaning things up.
Luke rests his head on my breastbone and we are silent as the antique kitchen clock ticks.
“I want you to stay with me ’til things calm down,” he says.
“There’s no need for that,” I say.
He frowns. “I think there is. This town, I love it, but people can get crazy when they’re scared.”
“Exactly,” I say. His eyebrows tense and he leans his head to the right. I sigh. “When I move in with you, it’s going to be because we desperately want to live together, not because we’re scared.”
Luke’s hands come around my waist, pulling me closer to him, which I didn’t realize was possible, considering I’m already on his lap.
“When?” His eyes glimmer and the corners of his cheeks redden.
Simmering heat moves up the skin of my neck. “If,” I say. “I meant if.”
He cups my chin and kisses me before whispering in my ear, “I liked when.”
I shake my head. I shake away the oddly pleasant thought of living with him. I get off his lap. I move the dishes to the sink. He stands, waiting.
“I’m teasin’ a little,” he says. “And I get what you’re saying, but we still don’t know who started the fire at Sally’s.” His gaze is hard. “They could be planning to do more.”
I bite my lip. I’ll be brave. I can’t just run off to Luke’s house every time things get tense.
“I’ll keep the fire extinguisher next to me. I’ll spoon it while I watch TV.”
He frowns. “They could break in. They could hurt you.”
“I’ll get some extra locks.”
He rubs his chin. “We will get some extra locks.”
We take a trip to the hardware store, which is thankfully still open. (However, the oriental carpet store next door has a hand-written cardboard sign taped to the window: Closed due to quarantine.) Luke gets six locks.
“I don’t want to insult your magnificent mathematical skills, but the house only has two doors.”
He smiles as he insists on paying for them. When we get home, he spends an hour kneeling before the doors as I sit next to him, passing him screws and tools and other manly metal things. He bites his lip as he focuses, his muscles pressing against his white T-shirt. And, voila, I have new locks. He’s handy in a lot of ways.
He gets a call. His face goes dark. “Of course, I’ll be right in.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“A lead on Sally’s fire,” he says as he grabs his coat from the hook by the door and stretches his hands and elbows and forearms into the arm holes. “Don’t let anyone in ’til I get back.”
“Okay,” I say, but I look to the side.
He brushes my cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Don’t do anything stupid, either.”
“Me?”