Chapter Twenty-Two

Elena

“We have to save him.” I choke on the words, my fingernails digging into the fabric of the armrest. “We can’t let my dad do this.”

“Elena,” Melanie says, voice calm but full of sadness. She leans forward in her chair and lowers her voice. “If I knew how to do that, I’d have done it already.”

“I’m grasping at straws, I know, but is there really nothing we can do? There must be something. I can’t let my dad kill Aiden.”

She sets her ComPad on the desk behind her, then leans forward again, clasping her hands. “Does he know you’re here?”

I fidget. “No. He doesn’t understand. He never will. We need your help. Please.” I shift in the chair, tapping one foot against the ground. “Aiden said you were trustworthy, which is why I just showed up here. I wanted to get in contact with you. Please help me. We can’t simply let Aiden die.”

Melanie nods, repositions her ankles, and sits straighter. Her expression remains pleasant, if not a bit sad. Must be a psychologist thing—the listening, remaining neutral, the nodding. But then her brows pinch together, as if she’s just remembered something.

“You know where they’re holding him, right? Do you still have access to AIR?”

“Oh,” she sighs, understanding taking place across her pretty, delicate features. “Elena, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” I’m surprised by the resolve in my voice, considering I’m one touch from falling apart. “If there’s anything, anything you can do to help, why won’t you?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Do you think he deserves to die?”

“Of course not,” she says, stuttering.

“Then it is that simple. Help me.”

She rubs one hand along the underside of her chin, closing her eyes. Her lips part, and I predict another protest.

“Help me get inside. I need to stop my dad, and I know he won’t come home until he’s gotten what he wants,” I say. “I know you can help. I know you want to.”

Melanie shakes her head slowly. “Your father—”

“To hell with my dad.” A stinging sensation courses through my body as those words come out. My chest heaves with unsteady breaths. I’m done being the girl who does whatever she’s told, the one who nods obediently and doesn’t make a scene. I’m done treating my dad with the respect he doesn’t deserve. “He is wrong. He’s always been wrong. Someone has to stop him. I have to stop him.”

Shock pales Melanie’s face for the briefest of moments. She readjusts in her seat, uncrossing then re-crossing her ankles. “Even if I agree and I can get you inside, how will that change anything?”

“It might not change anything, but I need to look my dad in the eyes when I tell him he’s a monster. I need for him to hear me before he follows through with the unthinkable. I have to try. I have to keep trying until there’s no one left to save.” Shutting my eyes, I focus on the blackness, forcing away unwanted thoughts—if he’s still alive, nothing is hopeless. “Wait.” My eyes pop open. “What about Dr. Niels?”

“Dr. Niels?” She frowns. “What about him?”

“Do you know where he is?” If she can get me inside AIR to see him before seeing my dad, maybe Niels will have some advice.

Her eyes search my face, but I can’t say what she’s looking for. After a few long moments, she turns, grabbing a small notepad off her desk. She scribbles something on it, then rips out the page and hands it to me. “Here’s my number. Call me tonight at six o’clock. I need till then to look into a few things.”

My eyebrows pull together. “What does that mean?”

“Call me then,” she repeats. “I’m sure you’re aware of how few people there are that believe in Aiden, how few think he deserves the life he was given.” Melanie pauses and blinks, trying to chase away the fresh moisture collecting in her eyes. “I’ve always had mixed feelings about the saying one person can change the world. However, I do believe that it’s reasonable to assume that a few of us, if given enough motivation, can save a life.”

…

“Where’s Dad?” I ask Jamie, opening a cabinet door in the kitchen.

She sits at the mahogany table, phone in hand. “Working. Like usual.”

I stare at her, turning vicious thoughts over in my head. “You have no idea what Dad does at work, do you?”

Jamie lifts her attention from her phone. “Not really. Most of his work is classified, boring, and shit.”

“Yeah. So you don’t know. You don’t have a clue.”

She shrugs. “I don’t need the details of what Dad does.”

“But what if the things he’s doing aren’t…good?”

She cocks her head, pursing her lips like I have indeed lost my mind. That, or I’m suddenly speaking a foreign language and don’t know it. “I know some major shit went down over the weekend, but what does any of it have to do with Dad’s work?”

The urge to tell my sister everything bubbles inside me. She doesn’t fully understand what happened, but by her lack of questions, I assume she doesn’t want to know. Besides, telling Jamie the truth won’t help anything—except to make me feel better for all of five seconds. “Nothing. Forget it.” Appetite forgotten, I shut the cabinet door and leave the kitchen without another word.

After I’m within the confines of my room, I shut the door, lock it, and sit on the edge of my purple duvet. I pull out my ComPad to check the time. A quarter till six. I figure this is close enough, so I dial the number Melanie wrote down.

“I can get us in,” she says on the other end, “but it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow? What if something changes and tomorrow is too late?”

“It’ll be suspicious if I show up tonight, towing a girl who may or may not be instantly recognized as the COO’s daughter. The less suspicion we draw, the better chance we have.”

“But,” I start to object before I realize I have no argument for that. She’s got a point, even if the thought of waiting sends shockwaves of anxiety through me. “Okay. Where should I meet you?”

We finish making our plans and hang up. I lie unmoving on my bed for the better part of an hour. How am I supposed to sit around for twelve whole hours and not lose what little is left of my mind?

I need to take something apart, break it into many tiny pieces, all so I can fit them back together again. That kind of repetition clears the mind.

Like an addict looking for her next fix, I hurriedly pull out the bin of supplies beneath my bed. Once I finally hold a steel ring connected to a battery, I brush my hands across the glossy metal. I’m calmer, if only a little bit. Rhythmically stroking my fingers against the slick surface is my own personal cadence that steadies and slows the world around me.

I take a thirty-second break to check my email and get a drink of water. I stand in front of the large bin of assorted mechanical stuff. This is when I’d love to have my own setup in the garage. I could finally get my hands on some awesome equipment and get to fill the space with the smell of rust accompanied by the noise of the machines. My stomach clenches as the fairytale in my head is ripped away, replaced with the memory of the most devastating noise I’ve ever heard.

The sound of Aiden screaming.