Chapter Eleven

Aiden

Early the next morning, Jamie takes me and Elena to an auto parts store to buy a new starter relay. By the time we get the car working, we’re on the highway by noon, but only for a few minutes before I see the line of traffic backed up. We’re still a mile away from it, but the long stream of cars spirals in the distance, small as ants.

“Is there another route?” I ask from the passenger seat.

“The closest exit is still a couple miles away.” She sighs. “Traffic almost never gets this backed up on the highway. Not with four lanes, and especially not on a Sunday.”

Then I see the glass LED sign overhead. Judging by her expression, Elena sees it, too. The signage is used to display important messages when needed. Now, in huge black lettering, the sign reads: Mandatory checkpoint being enforced, prepare to stop.

“Mandatory checkpoints are used for emergencies, like a missing child, or some other unimaginable disaster,” she says.

Dread weaves its way through my veins as quickly as a released dam spewing water. “They’re looking for me. Just like last night at the subway.” Damn it, why didn’t we consider this?

“We—we can’t go through a checkpoint!”

“But if we can’t get off the highway, how can we avoid it?”

She digs her nails into the material covering the steering wheel. “We can’t. We can’t turn around. And we can’t just blow past the checkpoint like they would in an action movie.”

Minutes creep by, and neither of us voices the glaring truth: we’re utterly screwed. We finally come to a stop behind the long line of cars.

“So what do we do?” I ask, even though I don’t expect an answer.

Still, she says, “Nothing. We can’t do…fucking anything.”

I watch the dashboard clock change numbers while we sit in silence. We may as well be fish trapped in a jar. No way to escape. Easy prey. As the line of cars creeps forward, I attempt to see what’s going on up ahead. It doesn’t show more than I expect. Officers are checking IDs. Scanning them. That’s all I can tell.

Elena looks at me, her eyes wide, voice low. “This is worse than almost being caught on the subway.”

“Try to stay calm,” I say.

Elena shoots icicles at me. “Are you kidding?”

“If you look freaked out, they’ll know.”

“They’ll know anyway,” she says, making an awkward gesture with her hand. “It’s not like they’ll be able to smell my fear or whatever. They’re going to ask for your ID, too, and you can’t fool anyone by showing them an ID that doesn’t exist. Plus, the car might show up as stolen.”

For the past few minutes, I’ve been trying to come up with a solution. I’m grasping the thick, polluted air for something to hold on to, and I keep coming up empty handed. “I’ll lie. Tell them…something, anything. It’ll be okay.”

Her hands tremble, her knuckles turning white. My breaths burst in and out of my lungs. A giant boulder has made a home out of my stomach, growing bigger with every passing second, but I can’t let my fear show. Not now.

A tall guy saunters toward our car. Elena takes a deep breath before rolling her window down.

The man in the dark-blue sunglasses leans down, giving us both a quick once-over. “Can I see your ID, please?”

She reaches into her small purse and pulls out the card, handing it to the officer. He takes it and runs the scanner over it. A moment later, the machine beeps, and he pulls it away, still examining her ID.

“Dayton, eh? What’re you doing up here in Columbus?” the officer asks, raising his gaze.

Elena’s hands clutch the steering wheel tighter—didn’t think that was possible. Her voice is a pitch too high, but hopefully it’s only me who notices.

“Visiting my sister,” she says quickly. “She goes to OSU.”

He nods, handing the card back to her. Then the man looks over, narrowing his gaze at me, and I wait with my heart in my throat for him to ask for my ID.

Elena speaks first. “What’s with the checkpoint?”

He gives her a small smile but quickly looks back at me. “I need to check your ID, too, please.”

I smile hesitantly, faking normal. “I actually left it at home. I’m sorry, I didn’t even know it wasn’t with me until a few minutes ago.”

The officer’s forehead creases. He frowns and shifts a little closer to the car, leaning one arm against the side. “All right. What’s your name, then?”

“Adam,” I lie.

“Last name?”

I swallow. “Niels.”

An almost inaudible gasp escapes Elena’s lips.

“Spell that, please.” I do, and the officer types something into the device between his hands. He frowns again. “Where are you from?”

“California.” Another lie.

His eyebrows inch up his forehead, his eyes examining my face like I’m a specimen beneath a microscope. “There are only two Adam Niels listed in California.” Uncertainty clouds his tone as he looks back down at the book-size machine.

I know what he’s thinking—my face doesn’t match either of the identification photos.

“Wait here a second. I’m going to check something,” he says before backing away and walking off.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Elena turns to me. “He’s not going to find your face matching that name, and then he’ll…do who-knows-what.”

The fish bowl we’ve been swimming in just got a whole lot smaller.

“You’re not very good at lying,” Elena says, rubbing her hands together. “You said Adam, which is fine. There are plenty of Adams in the world. But Niels for a last name? Isn’t that the name of one of the doctors? Don’t you think they’ll put two and two together?”

“What was I supposed to say?” She’s right, though. It was fucking stupid.

Elena stares straight ahead and doesn’t respond.

I rub one hand down my pant leg as the grains of sand fall through the hourglass. My stomach twists and rolls, and my mouth is desert dry. The officer is in sight again, heading toward us. Cold fingers curl around my knee as if gripping it will make us disappear. He’s feet away now.

Tick, tick. Time is up.

“Tell them I forced you into all of this,” I whisper to Elena. “Tell them I held a gun to your head and made you do all of it.”

“What?” Her voice squeaks. “No, Aiden, I won’t—”

“Tell them.” A sour taste fills my mouth. Heat creeps up my face.

“Step out of the car, please,” the officer says from my side of the vehicle. His hand hovers near his hip—over his gun.

Pushing the door open, I swallow, the sour taste burning my throat. A glance over my shoulder shows another officer on Elena’s side.

“Place your hands on the car.”

My icy, numb fingers touch the hot, hard metal, and I take one more look around, branding the surroundings into my brain. I hear Elena’s voice—my name. No, don’t.

The officer tugs one of my arms back, then the other, and the handcuffs smolder against my frozen skin. A latch and a click later, he pulls me away from the car, shoves me forward, and starts barking at me. But I don’t hear his words. All I hear, all I see, is Elena.

Her hazel eyes glisten against the sun. They’re filled with a fresh round of horror, and that look—God, it crushes me.

Thick fingers clutch my arm tighter, and the officer pushes me again, commanding me to move. Elena shouts my name. Aiden. I’ve heard it thousands of times, but only she can make it sound so damn special, like it’s her favorite word.

The desire to never lose this feeling—that I might matter to someone—is a bulldozer to my heart. A spark ignites inside me, creating a blaze so intense it could burn the world away. It singes every ounce of my being until I fear I might literally be on fire.

One step further and I spin on the officer. Here goes nothing. I yank my wrists and the metal of the handcuffs slices my skin, but they break apart as if they’re made of yarn. I spare a moment to glance at my stronger-than-steel wrists, ignoring the pain, and I slam my fist into his cheek. He stumbles back and falls, crashing into the pavement. Out.

I whirl, and the second officer is mid-stride, releasing his gun from the holster. He shouts, and I dive at him. Muscle and flesh collide, and a fraction of a second later, his back meets the ground. We roll across the sunbaked cement. It grates my skin. The gun skids away, and his fist flings through the air. Pain rages in my jaw, but I barely blink. I elbow his gut, and the sound he makes is feral and loud. My arm draws back and I punch him, catching his jaw. He stops moving.

There’s a crowd of onlookers, most of them hovering near their cars, watching with shocked expressions. I only spare a moment to look at them. Rolling away, I remember there are two more officers. My eyes find them by the time I’ve gotten to my feet. Elena screams as the two men stand in front of me, guns drawn and pointed at my face.

“Freeze!” one says.

And I do, for a moment. They inch toward me, and I put my hands up. More screams from Elena—my name and the word “no” repeated over and over. Now the officers are closer, almost within reaching distance.

I lunge at them. My left hand slams against the first one’s arm. The crack of bones breaking has me wincing, but I don’t hesitate. The gun flies out of his hand, and he stumbles, cradling his limp arm against his chest.

Then a gunshot splinters the air, a blast detonating in my ears. Fire spreads through my shoulder, but I don’t stop—can’t stop. I hurdle my body toward the last officer, and another boom sounds from his outstretched arm. He misses. I punch his nose, my body on autopilot now, and a heartbeat later, he crashes against the cop car and slides to the ground.

The world turns quiet, and I spin around, my eyes searching for the only thing left that matters. Elena.

I run toward her, and she pushes out of her crouched position. Her pink cheeks are wet from spilled tears. Her lips quiver.

I look down. My stomach drops. “You’re bleeding. They shot you.”

“I’m fine.” She grips my hand and tugs me forward. “Come on.”

We start running.