CHAPTER 28

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 2

TYLER

The phone’s ringing. Man, what time is it? I reach around across Ani. She’s crashed out sideways on the bed, can’t remember what time we crashed. It was late, though. Phone, phone, phone, where did I put my phone?

The desk next to the bed. I grab it. 4am? Check caller ID. And just like that I feel like I just drank three Red Bulls all at once and I’m awake, alert, alarmed.

“Tyler, son. I was hoping you’d calmed down. You seemed upset after our talk earlier, and I just wanted to make sure that you’re OK.”

“I know a line of bullshit when I hear one. I’m not OK. You’re not OK.”

“Think about what you are saying, Tyler. I see you’ve spent the night in young Miss Bagdorian’s dormitory. While I’m willing to forgive your outburst earlier, I will not do so again.” Oh shit, how does he know he can’t know now he’ll kill her for sure and it’s all my fault. Fuck, Tyler, keep it together you have to focus here focus or she’s dead. Focus or we’re both dead.

I know that I should lie. That I should play along. Play along if not for my own safety, but for Ani’s, too.

My fingers are numb. This is it. Everything that I ever hoped to be in life is about to just disappear right freaking now. Hell, my life itself is probably hanging on what I say. But I can’t fly cover for a bunch of drug runners. I just can’t. Even if I could, I would lose Ani. She would never forgive me if I went back, if I stick with the program. And I either take a stand now or not take a stand.

“I’m saying that I want no part of you, no part of this.” My throat squeezes just a little and heat flashes up quick in my eyes, and I think about flying with him and talking to him and him always being there for me. And Ani. I think about Ani and how much it would hurt to lose her how much it would hurt to keep running drugs and dropping bombs on babies. “I’m sorry, man. I just can’t do what you want me to do.”

Ani stirs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she listens, hair tangling around her as she pulls herself to sitting.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says, then his voice lowers. “Women, Tyler, are the cancer that eats at men’s souls.”

I look at Ani. Looking so sweet and smart and perfect and oh shit what if he hurts her and all I feel is rage, burning, aching, screaming up through my system and I try to keep my voice even, steady, calm. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing I want to do. But you aren’t leaving me with a lot of options here.”

He’s going to hurt me. Rick. Rick, who I always trusted even after I knew that I shouldn’t. Now he’s going to ruin my life, ruin everything. “You’re not going to hurt her, I won’t let you.”

“I don’t see how you can stop me.”

“You will see. Count on it.” My words are solid, fury making them stick, but still not able to hide the pain. I hang up the phone. Staring at it in my hand. I bang it down into the end table. “We have to leave, Ani. I’m sorry.”

“What happened, what did he say?”

“I can’t believe I brought my phone here, I’m such an idiot.”

Right. Well, that’s the look I should expect when I say something like that. Her eyes are wide and she pulls her knees into her chest. “What?”

“Cell phones. He tracked my phone, found out I’m here.” I hold up my phone. “I’m so, so sorry. You really have to pack.”

I grab her face in my hands and hold her so that my lips are so close that she can feel every breath that I take. “We’ll take my mom’s car, we’ll drive someplace and call a paper, like you said, they’ll run the story and the reporter will know how to protect their sources and it will be fine.”

“You can’t take your mom’s car, Tyler. He’s seen it. And we can’t leave the dorm together, he’ll be looking for us to leave together.”

“OK, well, we’ll ditch our phones. Meet up at Brandon’s in like half an hour, OK?” I scribble his address down for her on a piece of paper.

“I think I know where we can get a car. Before you ditch the phone can you call the Times? There’s some reporter there who wrote an exposé on Tidewater, Donovan Jones, I think. And check to see if that guy from Montreal, Brandon’s friend, called you back.”

“Be careful,” I say. Want to say more. But can’t. Don’t have that kind of time. I kiss her. Quick. On the lips, then I hit the door.

 

Ani

Is this going to be enough? The virus is in and I use it. It takes all of thirteen minutes to send Tyler’s missions off to the cloud and onto a mountain of flash drives and the two backup hard drives I was able to scrounge up, not to mention the server that I tagged the last time I was at Althea. I stare at the address Ty wrote down on a scrap of paper, it’s not too far away. Can I breathe now?

My hands are shaking. I can’t get them to stop. Drugs? Do I believe it, even? I mean, I see it, and I must have recorded hours of tape that proves it. To go through all the footage is going to take time. But I can’t be part of this. I can’t be part of a corporation that’s running heroin. I just can’t.

Still. There’s no doubt of the imminent threat. Rick was trained to kill, he’ll have no problem killing us, or sending someone else to do it. The trembling rises up through my legs and into my chest, making it constrict with fear and something else – fury. As I throw an extra pair of socks into the bag, I can’t help myself, I pick up the phone, and I dial.

“Miss Bagdorian, I hope that you’re well this morning.”

“You jerk! You lied to me to get me to sign up for this job, then you lied to me about what I was really being hired to do. I get that you get off on lying to people, but I’m calling to tell you now that if you make a move to hurt either me or Tyler-”

“Yes? What will you do? Hack into my bank account? Mess with my identity? I’m terrified. The firewalls of my little program at Haranco were all rewritten as you and Mr MacCandless slept the night away. You’re not getting our money’s worth at Yale if you didn’t expect that.”

“Listen, Rick.” I take a deep, steadying breath, restraining the urge to scream. “You make one move to hurt me, my family or my boyfriend and I swear to you that I will make your program the headliner on the evening news.”

“You know why people love the story about David and Goliath, Miss Bagdorian?” He waits. I say nothing. “People love it because the little guy wins. But that’s just a dream of the weak, Miss Bagdorian. The little guy never wins. It’s all just a lie.”

I shove my toothpaste into my bag. “I will bring you and your company down. Just you watch.”

“I don’t think you’ll have enough time to try.”

 

Tyler

Fuck. Where do I go? Need to think. Need to stop the spinning that won’t stop and the pounding in my head that won’t let me breathe. I need coffee. Need to think.

I walk into the coffee shop. Grab an extra-large, willing myself to be comforted by all the soft colors and the smooth jazz, but it doesn’t work. I take out the phone, Google the number for the news desk at the Times and call. Have to wait through a menu like light-years long. I enter the first few letters of Jones. Crap, there’s like six of them. Looking around the shop, I enter the first few letters of Donovan. I look out through the window, out onto the street. The image of the guy, strands of gray dusting his high and tight, the guy with the too-crisp turtleneck and khakis, in the sunglasses, with no hat and only a sleek-looking blazer, cuts at me right through the glass.

It’s hard to swallow. It’s just a guy going to work. Going to get a coffee, maybe, or something. But he’s watching. Watching like he’s not meaning to be watching. I look down, letting my hair fall in front of my face and I tug my hood up so far that I feel it tug at my back.

Voicemail, shit. Now what do I say? “Hey, Donovan, My name’s Tyler MacCandless and I’ve been flying drones for Haranco and they’re using them to run heroin. Email me back at tylermaccandless@gmail.com, since I have to ditch the phone. Later.” I sound like a freak, but hey, it is what it is.

Paying for my coffee, I look outside. The guy is gone. Perfect. Maybe after I have my coffee my imagination will calm down.

I head towards where I locked up the bike yesterday. It’s cold, but I know I have to walk to Brandon’s. I rode my bike over yesterday, and Rick’s seen my bike, knows what it looks like, would tell his guy to look for it. Sideswiping the side of a building, the stone feeling good and solid just for a second, I stop, absorb the impact, let it ride through me. Shit. I push my back into the building. Think. How the hell do I get to Brandon’s from here on foot?

Pushing off the column, I keep moving, checking my periphery for anything suspicious. Brandon’s. Is it really a good idea to meet Ani at Brandon’s? Rick doesn’t know Brandon personally, doesn’t know where he lives. It’s fine. B’s safe for now. Have to make sure they don’t follow me there, though. Don’t hurt B.

I look behind me, all around. Nothing weird, nothing strange, so I turn and take the footpath through the old campus. Scooting inside the bank lobby, I can feel my shoulders relax a little in the nice blast of warm air kicking out from the heaters as I roll on up to the ATM. I’m totally just being paranoid. I hit the max machine withdrawal of four hundred bucks. The worst thing that’s gonna happen is that I get mugged with all this cash. Rick likes me, dammit. He wouldn’t…

Reflected in the window is the figure of the man from the coffee shop.

All feeling gets sucked right out of my limbs. He’s on the other side of the street. I leave the building and walk south.

He follows. Still on the opposite side of the street, across four lanes of morning traffic, he’s there. I feel him. Heart beating like crazy, cars and buses and trucks roaring by, I put some iron into my stride, thinking through my mental maps of New Haven’s streets. If I go up towards the green I could maybe lose him in the alleys of the arts district, or, he could know the alleys and corner me. A red car veers too close, blowing my hair up around my ears.

Shit. Have to think. I turn left, trying to get over to York Street, but way back at the edge of High, I see him stop. He gets into a white car.

Great, see? Totally overreacting. I force myself to take in a long, shaky breath. Just some guy meeting his ride. Not true. Get out of here. I brush past a group of Yalies going to class, then turn, sprint back the way I came. Just in case. If he thinks that I’m headed over to York, then I’ll go back, go the other way, just cause.

After about three minutes, the adrenaline slowly leaves my legs and I walk like normal again. Start to feel really, really cold. The cars and noise and exhaust of Grove Street hit me like a wall. Just reaches out and smacks me in the face, but I keep my head down, waiting till I hear the buzzer for the blind people, and step out into the street.

Tires, squealing, up to my right, the white car, the white car swerves around the car in front of it and races towards the intersection, tires shrieking. Coming for me. Standing in the middle of the road.

I can’t feel anything, can’t think, for a second I can’t move, all I see is a rusted iron grill and a wide white car speeding towards me. Heartbeat wild, my legs unlock and I sprint, flying the rest of the way across the intersection. The car clips the side of the curb trying to get me, but I’m faster, running. Legs pounding into the cement, I run the sidewalk, keeping as close to the wall of Grove Street Cemetery as possible. The car keeps up with me, and my one brief glimpse into the window of the car sees a flash of something black. Something deadly. Something pointed right at me. I stop. Just pull a full stop. There is no way they can bang a U in all this traffic. No freaking way. I turn and I run back the other way up the street, along the wall.

I hear tires wail as they try to stop, but I send my feet grinding into the cement, grinding and not feeling anything but the breath beating its way into my lungs as I take the corner, part of the wall is broken, crumbling, perfect. I run right at it, wrap my arm up tight around the top, and pull myself over, landing in a flash of pain and panic and just straight up euphoria in the land of the dead.

The cemetery stretches on forever. Acres of crooked tombs, dying trees surrounded by huge stone walls.

Walking quickly, I stomp over odd lumps of grass and make my way around the tombs to the back wall. Brown stalks of grass whip at my knees through my jeans as I go, trying to not think, trying to not do anything but get to the back wall. Only one entrance in, blocked to cars, at the front. They’ll be covering that. Shit. But they’re tracking me. They’ll know I’m here.

I stop. My phone. Have to lose the phone. Damn. There’s the big stone wall to my right, I trudge over, climb up a tree, and make my way up on top of the wall. Brown leaves sticking in my hair, I wait, staring at the traffic about five feet away. I throw my phone onto the top of a Greyhound as it passes. I liked that phone. I’m going to miss it. But hey, that they are tracking for sure. So it goes. Or I’m dead.

The thought hollows out the others in my head. Sits in the middle, then I let the other gazillion things rolling around in my head smother it up, push it down. Rick will kill me. Have me killed. I need to focus.

Climbing back down, the grass nips at my ankles as I make my way through the cemetery. Should have worn socks. I jog. Looking around, no one else here, no one else lurking around the dead trees. The yard seems so still, so quiet compared to the madness of the city outside. Running through the street maps in my head, as I jog, breath freezing and splashing little chunks of ice onto my cheeks with each footfall, I make it to the back wall. Tall, stone. No trees.

Check back, anyone back there? Yes. Someone’s moving. Behind me. On foot. I duck down behind the nearest tomb, cold stone freezing my back. Shit. Have to move. Guy on foot. Walking. I peek. Can’t see much. He’s behind a tree, about five hundred yards away. How do I get over this wall? Right. Wall. Most of the tombs are too far to climb for a jump. I look right, rubbing my shoulders to keep warm. Shit, I’m going to die in a cemetery. It’d be funny if it didn’t involve me dying. Wait. About two hundred yards down to my left there’s a break in the wall, just some rubble off the top that piled up at the base in a mass of broken cement.

The guy behind me is moving. The gravel of the footpath crunching beneath his feet. I don’t stop to look to see who the hell he is or which direction he’s going, I just freaking bolt. Fly over to the wall, feet meeting jagged shards of rubble, cutting, biting, tearing my legs just over the tops of my shoes as I climb up, hands scraping as I climb, but then I’m up, and then I’m over. And then I don’t look, I just run. Don’t hear the car tires screeching as I cut out in front of traffic, don’t listen to the low growl echoing up through my throat as I run, don’t care that my hands are cut and torn and bleeding. I just run across the street and plow between the dividers that mark the beginning to the Farmington canal path. The bicycle path that’s going to take me to my brother, if I can only make it…

 

Warm water coursing over my body feels so good, so alien. Like at first I just feel the drops of water hitting my skin like the surface of an umbrella, bending it, but not feeling the impact, not really. Eventually, my skin yields, adrenaline dissipating into the steam. Safe for a minute, here at Brandon’s. I can shower and think and breathe. Scrub my hands through my hair, work through the burn that comes with the start of sensation. Think. I run through my list.

The list. The list, the maps, the possible options that I have for surviving Rick. None of it is good. None of it. I know it was real. I know what they were doing. So I have to go. Easy as that. Brought Ani into it, now it’s my fault she’s a target.

Turning off the shower after what seems like forever, I dry off and throw on the clean clothes that B left lying on top of the counter. Still smell like him. Like home. God, Mom, should I call Mom again? I used B’s phone. Did she get my message? She’s where, California? Should brush my teeth, though, Ani will be here soon. Running my hand through the stuff left on the counter, razors and shaving creams, I find a tube of toothpaste and throw some on my fingers. Better than nothing, I guess.

Looking down as I rinse, what’s that? A bag? Pharmacy bag. From the hospital pharmacy. Still stapled shut.

Unopened.

Untouched.

He left the hospital five days ago.

Ripping open the bag, I see the big orange bottle of antibiotics. Three times a day. Three times a day or he’s dead, right? Endocarditis? He told the visiting nurse to leave. Said he’d take the pills and the shots and take care of it but he left the hospital early. The doctor’s words tear through my head like steel.

It’s too much. Just too much. Everything, Rick, everything, the hit man, everything, B in the hospital. The room moves in violent, sharp waves around me.

I grab the bottle of pills and slam them into the wall. Everything, everything I’ve done for him, everything I’ve given up and he doesn’t care. Throws his fucking life away like it’s some kind of joke. He’s going to kill Mom, kill me. Slam.

Palm slapping the bottle against the wall, it cracks. Slam. Bitter orange plastic slices the skin of my hand. Slam. I pound it against the wall again. Slam. Shoving the plastics further into my hand, pills raining down on the floor.

Why doesn’t he care why doesn’t he just know I need him why can’t he see and now I’m going to fucking die and no one will be here to save him to care when he dies to cry when they put him in the ground and all I ever wanted to do in my life was see him get better and now we’re both hit.

The door to the bathroom opens with a bang. I think somebody says my name, but I can’t hear, can’t think over my heart and liver and lungs unhitching as I beat the stupid bottle.

Brandon, Ani right behind him, standing in the doorway. My face is hot, wet, nose running and mouth flopping.

Brandon’s eyes pop. Pop up and then skydive when they see what’s on the floor, what’s happening. Yeah. Yeah, asshole.

He looks at me, and even though I know that his color is totally off and that he’s too thin and that his face is starting to look older than it should, all I see is the kid who taught me to ride my bike, the kid who would sneak in my room and read me Captain Underpants at night after lights out.

That look that I’m having to grow so used to, like he’s there, inside, trapped in a body he can’t control, can’t get out of, like he wants to see me, really see me, but he can’t. Like his life, like this world, are entirely out of his control. He says nothing.

I meet his eyes. I see. He wants it. Wants to die.

All I am right now is pain.

And Brandon just stands at the door. Fighting to stay awake. Watching.

 

Don’t stare. Don’t stare. The needle marks on the back of his hand. Still open and bleeding. It’s been, what? Half an hour since I got out of the shower? He looks almost like himself again, eyes clear, voice steady. He cut his hair. Cut it like mine. Can’t ask why. Junkies do crazy shit all the time. Maybe it was annoying him being so long. Don’t know, don’t care, cause it’ll never be long enough to cover the marks on his arm.

Punch him. Just punch him right in the face. I squeeze my fingers together so tightly in the palm of my hand that I think I’m going to draw blood, to bleed all over. But I can’t do this right now. I need to think. I need to be focused or I’m dead. Simple as that.

Ani’s dead, too, if I mess this up. I can’t let them hurt her and I need to think but all I see are those little bleeding dots on the back of his hand and I…

“Tell me what’s going on, Ty,” B says, voice steady, sincere, like he means it, which, somewhere inside, I’m sure that he does.

Ani looks to me, wiping the streak of hair that’s bleached blond out of her eyes. I kiss her on the forehead, and say, “You were right about Rick. I was really flying drones for him, took his cash, didn’t say anything. He said he planned to tell the other kids, I think that there are five of us, but I’m the only one who figured it out. One of the missions, though, B. One of the missions was providing air coverage for these trucks. For a Pakistani security firm. They would bring in humanitarian aid or whatever, drive out of town, stop at a warehouse, pick up something else, and drive it back across the border.”

“Drugs?”

“Yeah, opium.” My voice is flat. Like roadkill.

“You have proof? I mean, did you record any of this?” he asks, words rising in pitch.

“Yup. Just about all of it. Ani backed it all up. She’s recorded everything from the first mission on as a safeguard in case the whole UCS program crashed.”

His pupils sort of narrow. He’s thinking, fighting through whatever’s going on inside so he can see, so he can sort through options. But he can’t do it. Just can’t. He leans back into the couch and I can see, can tell by that look, the look of euphoric emptiness, that he’s not able to help. He’s trying, but he just can’t. Now when I actually need him, really need him to help me figure a way out of this, he’s coming off of a high.

Have to think. Have to stay focused. We have to run. But that destroys Ani, her future, everything. Don’t have much time, either. The apartment here is in Kelly’s name, her parents are doctors or something in Milford and they cover the rent. Not wanting their baby to be homeless, I guess. But they’ll find us here soon enough. Have to come up with a plan.

“We have to go to Canada,” Ani says quietly. “See that guy who called you.”

“The guy from the paper?” I ask, trying to remember his name. Damn. “Tim, Thomas, shit. B, what’s the name of your friend in Canada?”

B looks at me, smiles. “Todd, Todd Sevier from the Montreal Standard. He’s a great guy,” B says, eyes off, out the window. “You should tell him everything. He’ll cover the story, for sure.”

“Ratting out Tidewater is going to help me how, exactly, B? They’re already trying to kill me.” I keep my hands clenched.

I look over to Ani, curled up around her laptop, and try not to think about how badly I’m ruining her life.

She says, “We have to get the word out there, Tyler. People have to know. This has to stop. The only way we can stop it is to go public.”

“You can stop them.” B’s voice is a shadow of itself.

“By holding a big, neon target sign over my head?” I lower my voice. “Over her head? No thanks.”

“We have to. We can get asylum.” Ani’s voice is taut, like a rubber band stretched too far.

“Asylum?” I say. “We’re not refugees who lost our homes in a flood or something.”

“No, but we are seeking asylum, Tyler. We can’t go to the cops here because the people trying to kill us can just waltz into the jail and shoot us in the head. They have our government’s permission to do whatever the hell they want and no cop in the world can protect us. We are sort of the definition of asylum seekers.”

I don’t want to go without her. Don’t want to go anywhere without her. But I wish things were different. Wish there was a way to keep her safe.

“The border is too far. They’ll catch us.”

“We need a distraction, time,” Ani says.

I say, “Can you look up how to declare refugee status in Canada?”

Her eyes widen, just a little, like a deer, then narrow, focus.

“We have to bring evidence, right, to Todd?” I ask.

“I’ve got plenty,” Ani answers from her position on the couch, eyes never leaving the screen as her fingers fly. “Already sent a teaser to the Montreal Standard and to the Washington Post, Associated Press and Reuters. They’ll be fighting over who gets the rest. Hopefully one of them will be able to figure out how to keep us alive.”

Damn she’s smart. If I live through this I am so going to marry her some day. Well, at least ask, anyway.

B closes his eyes. “Todd’s a good guy, so good, he’ll help you out if he can.”

He’s what you could have been, B.

“It’s not enough for us to go public, Tyler. We have to stop the program,” Ani says, voice quiet. “They’re killing innocent people.”

They’re killing terrorists, too. I think. Don’t think, don’t defend Rick now. Can’t defend someone who wants to kill me, who kills children. She’s right. Mind racing through different options. Different ways to get to Rick before he gets to us. Hard. “Money?”

“Working on that.” Her voice lowers. “I started looking into a way to stop the cash flow to the program a while ago. Or at least stop Rick from profiting off of it.”

“Any luck?” I ask, angling myself against the kitchen counter so I can face her while I eat.

“I’m not sure if freezing or even emptying their accounts is going to do much to stop the program from running.” Ani reaches for her glass.

“Stop the money, stop the program,” B adds, making a sick, anguished noise. Testament to the boy that’s only half here.

“No,” I say, ready to vomit. Hate this. Hate seeing him like this. “Rick’s program is just one very small piece of Haranco. Haranco itself is just an offshoot of Tidewater. Tidewater has hundreds of companies. If Haranco needed money, they would just borrow from one of their other companies to keep it going.”

Ani puts down her glass. “But if we managed to freeze Haranco’s assets then we would definitely get their attention. And freezing Rick’s accounts might trip him up enough to slow him down, keep him from finding us so fast.”

“How close are you to being able to cut off their cash flow?” I ask.

“Not very.”

“No,” I say. “There’s an easier way to stop the program, and permanently.”

They both look up at me.

“The drones,” Ani answers for me, that brilliant, sexy smile spreading across her heart-shaped face. “We can crash the drones.”

“Has he written you out yet?” I ask.

“He can try,” she answers, fingers dancing over her keyboard. “But it’s my program, and I gave it a virus. He can’t keep me out for long.”

“Why did you give your own program a virus?” Brandon asks.

“So I’ll always have access. I can’t imagine writing a program and then have someone else shut me out. I do it for everything I write, it’s like keeping a safety line open just for me. A backdoor.”

“Find an empty field, check the satellites. Just make sure you don’t hit anyone,” I add. Feeling just a little like we might survive this, it might all come out OK. “Can we do it from your laptop, though? Don’t we need to use the Universal Control System?” I walk over to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at the screen.

“I can do it from my laptop. Because I can get into the UCS from there.” She taps some more keys. “Do you think we can make it into Canada?”

“They’re going to be looking at the border crossings, right? And we need passports,” I say eventually.

“We’ll need passports,” she says.

“Shit. Mine’s at home. They’re waiting for me to go home, I’m pretty sure,” I say, trying to keep my anger down. Just scared, I guess.

“I have a passport,” B says, eyes still closed as he wraps a blanket up around his shoulders. “Need it since they keep taking away my fucking license. Take mine, get into the country, then declare refugee status.”

I shrug. We look enough alike, especially in those pictures, to pull it off, probably, but, “They’ll be looking for any MacCandless. The second I cross, it’ll send up some red flag and I’m sure I’ll be dragged out back and shot or something. Besides, they’ll be looking for her, too, and a MacCandless and a Bagdorian crossing into Canada at the same time… we’ll be toast.”

“Not if you declare refugee status at the border, man.”

“Can’t.” Ani calls in from the other room, reading off the screen of her laptop, I’m sure. “The laws have changed. You can’t declare refugee status at a land border crossing, only at a point of entry from the air or water.”

“Shit,” I say, mouth full, stomach trembling. “So that means what, we’d have to either fly in or take a boat? We can’t fly, they’ll never let us on a plane.”

“The high-speed ferries out of Maine are closed for the season,” Ani says quietly as her fingers pound the keys.

I take a swig of soda. “Can you ask for refugee status once you’re in the country, though? I mean, you just have to get in, right?”

Ani checks. “Yes, once you’re in you can, but your case will apparently be frowned upon if you enter the country with fake documents.”

“We can roll in by kayak,” I say, remembering our old family vacations in northern Vermont.

“What?” B asks.

“Lake Memphremagog, B, remember, we could go by boat. If the border patrol boats catch us, no big deal, we have real papers and we can ask for refugee status by boat, right?”

Ani’s face brightens as she Googles. “Yeah, it’s the only water crossing anywhere nearby. We can pop on a charter or something.”

“No, the pilot will phone in our IDs when we step on the boat.” I don’t like the idea of going to Canada to bring Rick down. It’s like throwing a rock then hiding behind your mom’s legs, counting on her to protect you. But still, it’s what we’ve got. Stay here and we’re hit. “Do you have a passport?”

“No,” she says quietly. “But I’ve got other forms of ID for once we get in.”

“Remember when you, me and Dad kayaked out to that island on the lake? We got pulled over by border patrol, they helped us navigate our way back to the house?” I ask B, remembering being small and afraid, sitting in my dad’s lap as he and B paddled around, water splashing up in my face.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes distant.

“It’ll be cold. But that’s how we’ll go,” I say, voice firm. “We borrow a kayak, get in, find Todd, then ask for refugee status. Blow up Rick’s program.”

“And hope they don’t catch you,” B adds, voice a little unsteady.

“Yeah, and hope they don’t catch us.” I take a big bite of sandwich. “Well, and that the lake isn’t frozen yet.”

I look at B. He looks panicked, too. Really? Shit’s coming to the breaking point and they both think that I’m the one to figure this stuff out?

“Brandon,” I say. “Does Kelly have a car?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Right, well, when she gets home, I want you guys to get into her car, OK? Go someplace safe. I won’t be able to think straight if I think that they could come after you.” I hand him my bank card. “Drive south, west? I don’t know, just anywhere but here. Find a new place, start over, someplace warm.” He needs to get away from Kelly, she’s no good. But I need him to drive far away. To get away before Rick finds him.

He stares at me. Just stares at me. Like he doesn’t really see.

“No, you know what?” I say. “Go to the train station. Buy like six different tickets on like six different trains and then take a car. Then go by car someplace far away and I’ll email you when we get across the border, OK?” He’s still just staring. “B, you hear me? You listening?”

“Yeah.” His voice floats away. “But it won’t work. That’ll buy you an hour or two, sure, but you need at least six, probably more like eight. Their technology is too good, Ty, they’ll know it’s a decoy.”

I take B’s phone off of the coffee table and walk into the bedroom to call Peanut and Alpha. Have to try. Have to at least give it a shot.

 

We head down to the street. B gave me his and Kelly’s entire savings back at the apartment before we left. I don’t want to know exactly how it came to be that they had four grand hiding in their mattress, but I take the money all the same because I have to. Ani and I are wearing like three thousand layers of clothes. Not too cold now in New Haven, but by the time we get to Vermont, out on the water, it’s going to be absolutely freezing. Ani left twenty minutes ago, going to meet her roommate Christy at a coffee shop nearby, where she arranged to pick up Christy’s car. She’s going to let us borrow her car in exchange for Ani “fixing” her grade in organic chemistry. Not a bad girl, Christy. Kinda stuck up, but it works out for us that she doesn’t really care about her stuff. Scary that Christy wants to be a doctor.

B keeps pumping me full of information, giving me more clothes, more money, shoving his passport at me just in case, telling me who to talk to, what to say.

Just for a second I forget about the marks on his arm, about the full bottle in the medicine cabinet, and he’s the brother he once was. Makes my heart feel three times as big. Then he looks up at me and we both remember and I have to push it all back down again so I can focus. So I can survive this.

But I can’t survive this, really. There’s like no chance and he’s here now and I say, “Why aren’t you taking the medicine, B? You told me, you’ve always told me that you wanted to get better, to beat this. Now you’re sick and maybe even dying and now people are trying to kill me and still you’re sticking that shit up your arm.”

His face drops, like a feather, like a boulder. “You have to understand, Ty, how hard it is. It’s like the more I want to beat it, the more I need it. I’ve tried so hard, so fucking hard, and still it’s winning.”

“It’s not a person, it’s a drug! A disease, sure, but you are the one who’s still choosing to do it. And what was that in there? I’m trying to figure out how to stop people from killing me and you’re high?” My voice rises up like molten stone, “I needed you. I’ve always needed you and you just leave me to watch as you kill yourself. Expect me to sit back and watch. There’s nothing I can do, is there? Nothing. I can’t make you better, can’t make you love me again.”

“You’re not being fair.” He shakes his head, face red, bottom jaw jutting out.

“I’m not trying to be fair, Brandon, I’m trying to be your brother.” My throat hurts, my head hurts, eyes hurt.

“I’ve tried so hard, so hard to beat this. To beat this for you, for Mom,” he says, words garbled. “But I can’t. You don’t know, don’t know what it’s like. I’m not strong enough.”

“Bullshit.”

We walk in silence. Silence that’s wound like livewire. Silence that says everything and nothing all at the same time.

We go down to the street. We walk together to where Ani’s going to pick me up. Streets are pretty empty, no sign of suits. Or even nice khakis. Should be clear.

He says, “They won’t stop, Tyler. They won’t stop until they kill you.”

“So?” I say, feeling draining from my arms, from my fingers.

“So let them think they killed you.”

And then he meets my eyes. What is that supposed to mean? My heartbeat picks up. Ask no don’t ask just walk just do this he’s still pretty high and isn’t making any sense is all.

He then turns to me, lips moving up a little in the corners. “You have your license?”

“Um, yeah. Just got it a month ago.”

He takes a deep, halting breath. “Still have a copy of your permit on you? Library card?”

“Why do you need my wallet?” I pull it out, stomach contracting. Just to see, maybe he needs some of the cash back maybe he just wants to see if I’m using Dad’s old one.

He opens it, looking at my library card, the pictures of us as kids that are stuffed in there from forever ago, the driver’s permit and the new license. He hands the license back to me, and slips the wallet in his pocket. “Take this.” He pulls out his own wallet and hands it over to me.

“No.” My throat’s tight. Like someone is grabbing onto it and squeezing and I don’t know how to stop them. I don’t like this. This is wrong. Very, very wrong. He can’t be doing this he can’t he can’t he can’t.

“Take it. Please.” His voice wobbles and I slip my driver’s license in my back pocket. My social security card is in my wallet, though, which he just took. Put in his pants. He opens the door to the car. Blue car, girly, probably Kelly’s.

“Where are you going?” I ask, I know, but I can’t. Can’t let him…

“Going home, Ty.” Tears. Tears redden his eyes.

My eyes burn, heart like a fist. “You can’t… they’ll have it staked out…”

“You need the time, Tyler. You’ll never make it to the border without a diversion.” The hair, he cut his hair to look more like me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I’ve got a diversion. My cell phone is riding on the back of a Greyhound and my bank card is about to take a trip to Florida or some shit. Ani’s, too, B, we don’t…” Hell no.

“It’s not enough. You know it’s not. But if they think that they’ve got you, then you might have enough time to get to Todd.” Tears falling, eyes begging, pleading, for what? Permission? Redemption? No no no no no. “You’ve always been the only one, you know. The only one who was there for me. You never once stopped believing in me, even after I had. You have to let me do this for you, Tyler.”

The trees lining the street, dead and twisted and stuck into pools of dirt so old that it’s gray, stuck in the middle of a sidewalk in the middle of a city where the cars and people and shops all line up to watch the world fall into itself. The trees seem to come together, hang closer, hang over where we’re standing. So close to the street. So many people walking by. And none of them can stop this.

“No.” I kick my foot into the ground and slap the wallet out of his hand. “No, fuck no I’m not going to let you do this, Brandon, you can drive out of here and find a new place and you can still get better I know that if you just…” The words come out frightened, barking.

“You have to let me do this for you.” His voice is strong. “Let me have one thing, one choice that I can be proud of. Let me be your brother again, just this once.”

“No.” Deep breath. “No, no, no, no, no.”

“Listen to me, this is not your choice, this is mine, I can’t save myself anymore, Tyler.” His hands grasp me around my face, pulling me towards him, forcing me to look him in the eyes. Blue and endless and wet. “But I’m going to save you.”

Heart stuck, caught like a fly in my throat. “No, please,” is all that comes out. Can’t talk. Three thousand things to say. One syllable is all I get. “No.”

His hands wrap around my shoulders, and he pulls me to him, hugging me. Words need to come out, I need to tell him, I want to tell him, I want to stop him but I can’t do or say anything because everything seems to be moving around in my head at once.

“You get to Canada. Get to Canada with that girl. You bring this whole thing down around them. There’s more in you than anybody ever sees, Ty. But I see it.”

Oh no. Fuck no. This can’t be happening.

Shit. Have to tell him, have to… “B,” I call, voice broken, undone.

“There’s no shame in dying for people you love, Tyler.” He looks back. We stand there, staring at each other. Crying.

Three thousand things. Three hundred thousand things flow in the air between us as I look at him, my big brother, my hero since like forever until he fell. And now, everything else, the time I caught him smashing oxy, the time I found him lying unconscious on the floor of the bathroom, all that just disappears and all I can see is that kid, my hero, one last time.

But I can’t get anything out. My eyes feel like they are bleeding and my heart is being hacksawed and my legs can’t stay steady. But I can’t get one fucking word from my head and out through my mouth. Not one.

“I know, Ty.” He smiles. “I’ve always known.”

He shuts the door and drives away.