But there are still touchstones, vague ghosts of the past that float in and out of view, streets I walked with my parents, a corner café where I hung out with Jenna and Kara. And then, unexpectedly, a more recent ghost—the alley where Gatsbro beat me up. I’ve changed since then. It won’t happen again.
I’m expecting that we’re headed for the abandoned boarded-up buildings to the south of Boston, the outskirts where proper citizens never venture. That’s where the Network hid me and Kara the last time I was here. Instead he seems to be on a steady course toward the Commons. It’s getting dark now, and as we head down the center path of the Commons, I lengthen my distance behind him. Something about this doesn’t seem right. Non-pacts don’t congregate in public places. Where’s he leading me?
We’re only a short way in when he loops around and doubles back the way we came and heads down Tremont Street. He walks with his head lowered, not looking at the occasional passerby. I keep my head up. I’m not afraid and I want to know who I’m passing. A few look at me, quick glances perusing my appearance—or maybe they’re only noticing my coat. I’m still wearing my freebie government issue. Proudly. Let them think what they want. The black fabric billows and snaps in the breeze.
Mr. F turns at King’s Chapel and walks along its dark unlit side, then slips into the recessed doorway of the weathered building opposite from it. I don’t remember this building being here before, but I follow. It’s dark—very dark—which is the one thing that still makes me freeze up, but I don’t let him see my weakness. I strain to see and I do. I feel the rush behind my eyes, and the dim red outline of something begins to take form. I can see more than Mr. F can, I’m sure, and as we walk down steep steps, I know before he does that someone is waiting at the bottom with a bat poised to strike.
“Stop,” I whisper. “There’s someone there.”
“There better be,” he answers. “Or we’ll all end up dead.”
The Team
I sit at a table with a woman, the man with the bat, and Mr. F. They stare at me curiously, maybe suspiciously. I’m getting better at reading faces but it’s hard to read theirs, because the lighting in the room is very dim. They lean back in their chairs, capturing the shadows over their faces like they’ve done this before, accustomed to guarding their identities. We’re waiting for another man. The basement is damp and smells of mold. I hear water trickling above, maybe through old leaky pipes.
Mr. F grumbles something under his breath, almost in a dialect, mostly unintelligible. I catch enough to know that he’s annoyed with the waiting, but then, he seems to be pretty much annoyed with everything.
A light flips on, and they squint against the brightness over the table, looking away.
“He’s here! Welcome, Locke!”
A man strides across the room and holds his hand out to me. “I’m Carver.” I stumble to my feet and reach my hand out to him. His handshake is firm and I note that detail in the same way my father would have. He’s well-groomed, not rumpled like so many Non-pacts are. His clothes are cheap but laundered and curiously pressed like he’s meticulous about his appearance. He looks directly into my eyes. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I didn’t know exactly when you’d arrive. I see you’ve already met your team.”
I look at the three still sitting around the table and then back to Carver. “My team? Uh, no, we haven’t met yet.”
“No?” Carver looks at Mr. F.
Mr. F shrugs.
Introductions are made. Livvy, Jake, and Xavier. Xavier? I offer the tiniest smirk to Mr. F on hearing his name.
I turn to Carver. “I don’t know what you mean by team. To be honest, I don’t know anything about this Favor. Father Andre only said—”
“Please, sit down. We’ll tell you all the details soon, but first we need to know everything about you. And I mean everything. If you haven’t guessed already, this is no ordinary Favor. A lot’s riding on it, and we don’t have much time. We need to know all about you and everything you can do—and everything you can’t. Then we can begin your training for—”
“Hold on just a minute. No one said anything about training. I can’t be here that long. I need to get to Manchester.”
“Please.” Carver leans across the table. “Whatever you need in Manchester we’ll have others take care of it. Jake here, for instance. He’s my behind-the-scenes man. Good at details like that.”
Right. I already witnessed how good he was in a dark corner with a bat.
Carver straightens, rubbing his palms together. “Please,” he says again. “You have my word we’ll take care of it. But we need you here now.”
His eyes are as desperate as Mr. F’s were earlier. I sit back down.
“Everything,” Carver repeats. “No detail is too small.”
I look them over. Perfect strangers, and sketchy ones at that. How much detail is really safe in their hands? I glance at Mr. F. Petty criminal or not, he did hide Kara and me in a basement and give us new IDs that allowed us to escape.
I remember what I’m here for. My friends, Dot, Bone, Kara—and me—each of us trying to escape from a world where we have no value or rights. Kara and Dot will never get that chance for Escape now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make it happen for myself, Bone, and others like us. I don’t want to be hiding and running for the rest of my life, and I have a very long life ahead of me. If I live the full six hundred years that Gatsbro predicted, I’m not going to spend it on the fringes like a stray dog. I don’t even want to wait ninety years for change the way Jenna had to wait. I want it now. I’m just not sure these people are the ones to make it happen.
I lean back in my chair. “Okay, you asked for it.”
They have no idea how much detail I’ve held on to. I tell them everything, and I start at the beginning because I don’t know where else to start.
I tell them how I grew up just a few blocks from here. I tell them about my parents and their high expectations for me because I was the only good student in the family. I tell them about my brother and sister and the trouble they got into. I tell them about meeting Kara and Jenna and how they changed my life. I tell them how I even memorized poetry to impress them both. Mr. F snorts at this information. Livvy smiles.
“So you knew the Fox from the very beginning?” Carver asks.