It took a week to build a safe haven inside of Elliot’s network, but I’ve done it.
And not just that. I’ve found Aydan and he’s fine.
My code is disguised, hidden and camouflaged, using all the tricks of the trade I know to make my hack undetectable. Maybe Elliot and his clan destroyed James’s servers and any means of communicating with IgNiTe that way, but the night Aydan came for me at the motel, he gave me another option: the computer in his car. He was using a hotspot and—even though he’s also used all the tricks of the trade to protect himself—I’ve found him. I truly have.
My heart beats hard and fast. My hands shake, knowing that everything hinges on this moment. Will Aydan talk to me? Or will he want to strangle me like James did? A million explanations pile up inside my mind, all ways to justify to the crew what I did. They’re all excuses. Garbage.
I stare at the screen for a moment. I know as soon as Aydan realizes I’ve tracked him down, he will disconnect. He won’t take any chances but neither will I. I’ve prepared a file. It’s small, just a simple text message that will take a split second to transmit. Even if he disconnects right away, he will get it and, hopefully, what I have written there will be enough to plant doubt in that thick brain of his. It’s a slim chance, but it’s all I’ve got.
I pull up the small subroutine I wrote last night. It will connect to Aydan’s computer and immediately transmit my text file.
Holding my breath, I lift a finger over the keyboard, then hit enter and say a prayer. My cursor blinks next to the word “CONNECTED” followed by an IP address.
I’m petrified in the space between agonizing hope and fatal resignation. Three seconds pass. The connection is still active. Maybe he’s hesitating, torn with doubt. Another second. I straighten, staring at the blinking cursor as if it were a life raft.
DISCONNECTED.
I let out a pent-up breath. I slump on the chair, losing the strength I’d gained during that short instant. Fist clenched, I try to hang on to what little hope is left. I knew this would happen. It’s exactly what I would have done in his place. That’s why I sent the file.
Just take a deep breath and wait.
He’s probably reading what I wrote right now, weighing all the options, trying to decide whether or not to believe me. At this instant, these are the words staring at him:
Aydan:
I know what you must be thinking as you read this message. I’ve put myself in your shoes and there’s only one logical conclusion you can reach. I’ve given you and the others all the evidence you need to think me lost to the agent, and I was. I lost the battle and, now, Oso is dead because of me. Because I wasn’t strong enough to stay in control.
So, no. You shouldn’t trust me. Not even for a minute, because I’m weak and I couldn’t stop the agent when it mattered most. It took over me. They tortured me and I couldn’t hold it back. I tried to save Oso, but I was too late. His blood was on my hands when I came to. His blood will always be on my hands.
Tell everyone I’m sorry.
Tell everyone I want to make it all right. I want to help, if they’ll let me.
I managed to convince Elliot I’m still an Eklyptor. I’m on the inside, on his network. I’ve found all kinds of valuable information that should help us fight him.
Please, I’m willing to do anything to prove myself. Please, let me fight.
Let me take revenge.
Marci.
An hour passes with me staring numbly at the computer. The letters on the screen have stopped making sense. I only know they spell “the end”.
I think of all the ways I could have died in the last two weeks, both at the hands of my enemies and friends. What good did it do for me to survive? At night, I curl up in my bed and cry silent tears. I lost Xave. I lost my brother, my only friends, my only parent.
I miss Dad more than ever—his firm, reassuring love. He made me feel safe even from the shadows and the terror they viciously unleashed into my five-year-old mind. When they attacked me, he always held me tight, stroked my hair and trained me to breathe and think of other things. He stayed with me until the shock passed, then reassured me he would figure out what was wrong with me. He was a doctor. He could have done it. I never doubted him, not even for a moment. He’d just started looking into it, running tests and asking questions to his colleagues, then he died.
I wonder what he would think of all of this. How much he would suffer over Mom’s loss? He was the reason she stayed sane after my brother was kidnapped from the NICU. He was the reason I had five wonderful childhood years. I really can’t blame Mom for never thinking I was enough to replace Dad. I’m really not.
What good would it do to continue? No one. Absolutely no one would miss me if I disappear. Or maybe Luke would. He wanted something from me, begged me to go with him, promised he would help. But it’s a puzzle—one that perhaps is best left unsolved.
So why not go out with a bang?
Suicidal ideas flash through my head. Most people die for no reason, so what better fate than to die for a cause?
Something blinks on my screen. I look up and my hope revives as if hit by a 3000 volt defibrillator.
I put a hand over my lips as they curve. My face feels strange with the corners of my mouth stretched in opposite directions. My cheeks are stiff and seem to crack like two patches of arid land. So weird that I still remember how to smile. So utterly right that I don’t care if this meeting is only a trap. I also don’t care that getting out of here will be extremely hard. My life is only worth the risks I’m willing to take to make things right.
I shut off the computer and go over the different possibilities. There are three ways I can get out of here. I just need to decide which one offers the smallest chance of detection. New ideas bounce through my head, dispelling the fog of my gloomy thoughts.
Already I feel different, decisive and eager.
But most of all, full of a kicking-and-screaming type of hope.