Malice, page 15
“Not for lack of opportunity.” He touches my cheek, one of his fingers lingering on the corner of my mouth. I almost scream. “With the right incentive, I could get over my fear. I just haven’t had the right incentive yet.”
“I don’t blame you,” I babble. An army of ants is trying to push its way out of my skin. The red fire kind, which create a burning sensation when they sting. “I mean, I heard that a person’s mouth is dirtier than a toilet bowl.”
He raises an eyebrow, in that annoyingly superior way of his. It just makes me want to press my lips to his brow.
“Alice.” His voice is stern. Faintly amused. “Are you trying to dissuade me from kissing you?”
“Is it working?” I whisper.
“Nope,” he says. “If you don’t want me to kiss you, you’re going to have to be a little clearer.”
“I want you to kiss me,” I say, so fast it’s almost embarrassing. “With every beat of my heart. With every breath that I take.”
He rewards me with one of his hard-earned smiles. “Now, that’s the right incentive.”
Chapter 27
Bandit doesn’t lower his head, though. He just stands there, hesitating.
Clearly, I need to be more proactive.
I tug him down so our foreheads are pressed together and splay a hand on his chest. Underneath those well-defined muscles, he goes completely rigid.
Great. He’s in shock. Can’t say that I blame him. Because I’m scared, too. Scared my not-so-expert kissing abilities will disappoint him. Scared to open up my heart to this sweet, complicated boy.
Still, I have to try. I brush my lips against his in the lightest contact. A monarch butterfly would exert more pressure. Once… Twice… Three times. His lips are soft. His warmth, enticing.
But obviously, I’m not going to make him do anything he doesn’t want.
I begin to pull back, but his hands wind around my neck, keeping me in place. And then his mouth moves against mine.
Wow. Oh wow. I forget about the weapon in the backpack. I blank on the Voice that’s been appearing in my head. A different kind of electricity shoots through me. So this is what a proper kiss feels like. It’s light-years away from the tongue Marcus stuck down my throat under the gym bleachers.
Bandit angles his mouth until it fits against mine like adjoining pieces of a puzzle. His lips caress mine with infinite care. He tastes good. Really good. Like cinnamon toothpaste. I’ll have to ask him what brand he uses.
He moves his hand to either side of my face, and my heart swells to twice its normal size. So full that it might burst.
He makes me feel…cherished.
And that’s a feeling I’d travel to the end of time to find, over and over again.
Minutes or hours later, Bandit eases back and snuggles me against his chest. No pillow has ever cradled me so comfortably. No blanket has ever made me feel safer. I would gladly stay here until the sun sinks behind the trees, enveloping us with the night, but a particularly strong breeze buffets us, reminding me of where we are…and what I was supposed to do.
“I think I’ll be able to face the disaster inside now,” Bandit says.
“If a mess was all it took for you to kiss me, maybe I should lose our broom,” I tease.
His lips twitch. “I could forget to put away the dishes after they’re cleaned.”
I raise my eyebrow. Is that the best he can do? “Don’t shower for a month.”
“Leave rotten fruit on the counter until it’s crawling with ants.” A smile spreads across his face.
Challenge accepted. “Let your baby cousin take off his poopy diaper and smear it on the walls.”
“Oh, man,” he groans. “I’m getting light-headed again.”
Giggling, I pull him into another hug. I like this guy. I really, really do.
He laces his fingers through mine, and for a moment, we just stand there, grinning at each other. “Thank you for being here with me today,” he says.
“Anytime,” I promise. Is that really my voice? Since when did it get so low? So husky?
He kisses me on the cheek, and we head inside, hand in hand. But not before he picks up my backpack—with the gun inside—and slings it over his shoulder.
My heart stutters. He’s just being chivalrous. Right? He didn’t try to carry my bag before, but maybe that’s because I was clutching it so tightly. I shouldn’t overthink it. I won’t overthink it.
Still, anxiety replaces the glow in my stomach as we speed-walk through the living room and into Charlie’s office.
It’s warmer in here, probably from the wood furnace that’s burning in the corner. Less messy, too. Three neat stacks of documents line the top of the massive oak desk, with only a few loose sheets on the floor.
Dropping both my hand and the backpack, Bandit picks up a piece of paper. “The only thing Charlie is meticulous about is his research. He asked me to take home the pile on the right.”
Casually, I nudge the backpack to the wall with my toe, just as “Cat’s in the Cradle” blares from Bandit’s cell phone.
He grimaces. “That’s my dad. I should take it. Sorry.”
He lets go of the paper and strides out of the room. Idly, I pick up the sheet. It appears to be a letter from Charlie.
I bite my lip. Should I read it? I don’t typically snoop, but if Charlie is my target, then the Voice—the very future—made his correspondence my business.
Decided, I skim the text, my eyes snagging on words like “contagious” and “infected.” Swallowing hard, I start at the beginning.
Dear Chubbs,
Allow me to share my vision with you. Imagine, if you will, an invisible agent that can infiltrate the human body.
I suppress a shudder. I can just imagine Charlie’s voice, smooth and strangely melodic. I wouldn’t be any more creeped out if he were standing next to me, whispering in my ear.
In the first stage, the agent interacts with your cells, changing them thoroughly and irrevocably, but with little symptoms, little harm. Creating exactly zero alarm. The victim experiences what they consider to be a mild cold. This highly contagious, airborne agent passes on to the next victim and then the next. Until most of the people in the state, the country, maybe even the world, are infected.
I’m vibrating like a timer. Holy Christmas flaming monkeys. He’s describing the virus. The one that will be invented ten years from now. And this letter is addressed to Bandit. Why? What can it mean?
This dormant period lasts anywhere between six months to a year. In the second stage, the virus alters the body’s cell, so that the victim is allergic—no, damn near defenseless—against a substance that used to pose little danger. A substance at once ubiquitous and necessary for our survival: the very sun. Chaos will ensue as people begin to drop like flies.
By the time the world’s leaders understand why, it will be too late. Half the world’s population will already be gone.
My lungs won’t fill. My breath comes faster and louder, like an ocean wave gaining momentum. I hoped for a clue, a subtle piece of information.
I didn’t expect an outright confession.
Of course, the crime to which he’s admitting has yet to occur. It won’t be committed for another ten years, by someone other than Charlie.
Someone who goes to my school.
Someone who could very well be the boy I was just kissing.
I sink to my knees next to the scattered papers. No, damn it. Bandit can’t be the Maker. He’s terrified of germs. Why on earth would he invent a virus?
Unless this very obsession leads to a study of viruses, something inside me whispers. Unless this research leads to the breakthrough that turns Charlie’s vision into reality.
I shake my head, trying to knock the voice out of my thoughts. Instead, electricity zaps across my skull.
Trust my older self to choose this moment to come back.
Chapter 28
“I’m mad at you,” I blurt. “So mad. But there’s no time to yell right now.” I glance over my shoulder. Bandit will be back any second. “What do you want?”
“Burn Charlie’s research,” the Voice says, jittery energy coursing through her words. “The paper in your hand. The stacks on his desk. Destroy them all.”
My jaw drops. “You think they won’t be able to invent the virus if we get rid of these papers?”
“That’s the plan. Charlie’s old-fashioned. He hasn’t backed up his research anywhere. Now move, Alice, move!”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. Half a second later, I’m sweeping up the sheets and shoving them into the furnace, one by one. The embers catch the edge of the papers and light up, spreading instantaneously. Turning Charlie’s equations into ash. I have no idea if these documents contain his research about the virus or a precursor to it. All I know is that watching his genius go up in smoke—literally—makes me feel like I’m finally getting somewhere.
Plus, now that I’m killing Charlie’s research, maybe I won’t have to kill him.
One stack down. Two more to go. From the next room, I hear the mumbled garble of Bandit’s words. He’s still talking to his dad.
Come on, come on. I feed more paper into the furnace. Hurry up and burn.
Bandit’s voice gets stronger. Either he’s raising it in excitement or he’s walking closer to the door. I move faster, shoving the sheets four or five at a time into the fire.
One stack left.
His voice gets louder still. He’s got to be right outside the office. I stuff the rest of the papers inside.
OWWWW. The flame singes the side of my hand and several fingers. At least all the documents are burning now.
I slam shut the furnace door just as Bandit comes into the room. “Hey,” he says, taking in my flushed cheeks and my position by the furnace.
My stomach tightens. Here we go.
But instead of hurling accusations at me, he looks at the now-empty desk. “Where are the papers?” he asks, confusion ringing in his voice.
I lick my lips. He hasn’t so much as glanced at the furnace. Maybe I’ll actually get away with this duplicity. “I don’t know. Didn’t you take them with you when you left the room?”
“Maybe. I can’t remember. I have no idea what’s going on anymore.” He shoves his hands into his hair, eyes wild. “Charlie’s in the hospital. The car came out of nowhere, ran straight into him.” The sentences come out haltingly, as though he’s speaking words from an unfamiliar language. “I don’t understand why he left the house in the first place.”
A series of emotions rolls through me—shock, excitement, relief—none of which I can reveal. I move forward and touch his arm. “I’m sorry, Bandit. I know he means a lot to you.”
His eyes find mine, loss and confusion swirling in their depths. “My dad says he’s in critical condition. He might not make it through the night. Alice, he might…“ His voice cracks. He takes a deep breath and tries again. “Uncle Charlie might…die.”
I tighten my grip. My mind spins with a million thoughts, a million conclusions. This car “accident” is highly suspicious. No doubt, a person with a mission similar to mine lured Charlie out of his home when he had an appointment with his nephew. That same person probably plowed their car into Charlie’s.
Bandit looks dully at my hand. “I’d better go look for those papers,” he mumbles and trudges out of the room.
I watch him leave, my triumph growing with each departing step.
“We did it,” I whisper as soon as he’s out of earshot. “We stopped the virus from being invented. And I didn’t have to kill anyone!”
Charlie’s in the hospital. He’s in critical condition. He’ll probably even die.
Whee! I whirl around, my hair flying out in an arc, my lips taking over my cheeks.
Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t be feeling so victorious at the thought of someone in the hospital. But Charlie’s out of commission. I contributed to the future by destroying the research. I probably just helped save millions of lives. How else am I supposed to feel?
“Not so fast, little girl,” the Voice says. “You haven’t earned the right to celebrate yet.”
“Why not?” I demand. “I stopped the virus, and I didn’t have to hurt anyone. Instead, I chose to get to know Bandit, to earn his trust. And that led to him bringing me here, where I could burn the papers. So, you see? Killing is not always the only way to make a difference. It’s not even the best way.”
“Oh, please.” I can almost hear the Voice rolling her eyes. “You’re so young. So idealistic.” She says the word like she’s eating an umeboshi sour plum. “Changing the future is not that simple.”
“It is this simple,” I protest. “You just don’t want to admit that love is more powerful than hate—”
I break off as Bandit comes back into the room. His hands, predictably, are empty. “Did you find the papers?” I ask brightly, knowing full well that they’re nothing but ash at the bottom of the furnace.
He shakes his head. “Where could they have gone? I know I’m distracted, but this is ridiculous.”
I scoop up the backpack and link my arm through his, guiding him to the door. “I’m sure they’ll turn up. Were they important?” I ask with an impressively straight face.
“I guess not.” He turns and surveys the office once more. “Last week, Charlie asked me for instructions on backing up his research on his hard drive and the cloud, even though he’s never been interested before.” He looks at me as though I’m from another planet. Another time. “It’s like he knew this day was coming.”
I stumble on nothing. Backed up his research? Last week?
My brain explodes with keyboard symbols, and I’ve lost all semblance of speech. Doesn’t matter. The Voice articulates my thoughts for me.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” she says. “The Virus didn’t disappear from my future. You’re not off the hook yet. You still have to kill someone.”
Chapter 29
An hour later, I stare into the distorted “mirror” in a gas station bathroom. In fact, it’s not a mirror at all but a piece of warped metal with a faintly reflective surface. Still, I can glimpse the lingering shock in my eyes. I can make out the slump of my shoulders.
Did Charlie know? About me? About the mission? He must. He backed up his research last week. When he’s never been interested before. The timing, once again, is too coincidental.
The Voice said there are several missions occurring simultaneously. Does the Virus Maker also have voices traveling to the past? Did one of them warn Charlie? What does this mean? Who am I up against?
I take a deep breath, and my sneaker squeaks against the concrete floor, sticky with unidentifiable liquids and darkened with dubious stains.
If only I had someone to discuss these questions with—someone smart and insightful, like Bandit. But not only might he be a future mass murderer, but we haven’t even spoken for the last forty-five miles. Me, lost in my thoughts. Him, in his grief. The only reason we stopped was because the Tahoe needed gas. Where our silence before was soft and comforting, like a beloved bathrobe, it now resembles a scratchy turtleneck sweater.
Electricity skates across my consciousness. I gulp, instantly on edge. Two visits in a single afternoon? This can’t be a positive sign.
“I’ve got bad news,” the Voice announces.
My stomach sinks. “Of course you do. Not once have you ever come to me with anything good.”
“Well, excuse the future for being so dreary,” she snaps. “You know, none of us like living in a world surrounded by death and despair. That’s why we’re trying to prevent it. This isn’t a game, Malice. Millions of lives are at stake.”
Maybe it’s the disgusting smell of gasoline mixed with urine. Maybe I’m sick of only knowing bits and pieces of the truth. Whatever the reason, my temper flares. “I know that! Why do you think I’ve done everything you’ve asked? Even though you never bother to tell me anything!”
“You want information? Fine. I’ll give you information.” Her thoughts get louder, too, as though we’re having a shouting match that spans two decades. “You were right. Charlie’s accident was caused by one of our people. But as you know, it didn’t stop anything. The virus was still invented.” She takes a big breath that fills up her lungs and mine. “The person whose mission was to crash into Charlie’s car? He’s maxed out on trips to the past. So have all of our other travelers. Which means you’re our last hope. You’re the only one left.”
This stops me. I lower my arms, which are somehow on my hips, just as the door opens and another patron comes in. I skirt around the heavy door and slip outside onto the lawn.
The sun is good and buried behind the trees now, but the blaze of the gas station lights means that no stars peep out of the sky’s inky blackness. Thirty feet away, Bandit pumps gas into the Tahoe, his profile granite, his jaw precisely chiseled.
My heart bumps, and I’m not sure why.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “I’m just a high school girl. How can the future depend on me to save millions?”
“Because you’re smart,” the Voice says, her tone soft. It’s not lost on me that she’s talking about her younger self. But there’s no arrogance in her words. No pride. Just a simple affection for the girl she used to be. “You’re more resourceful than you know. You figured out that Charlie has a voice coming to him, too, preempting our every move. That’s why he backed up his files. That’s why he wrote clear and explicit instructions to his successor. He had to ensure that his life’s work would pass on to someone else. A brilliant young man whom Charlie looks upon as a son. A man who will go on to complete what Charlie started.”
She pauses, as though she has to gather the strength to continue. “I wanted you to figure it out on your own, but we only have a limited number of trips to the past, and we’ve run out.” The words are regretful, resigned, and chock-full of sorrow. “Your target’s not Charlie. It’s Bandit. It’s always been Bandit.”
