Authors: Stephanie Fowers
“No. We were doing wheelies in the parking lot. It was way fun.” Of course it was. She was an adrenaline junkie, but who was she doing wheelies with was the question? And why had she left her post?
“You dropped your cell.” I gave it back to her and she casually pocketed it without an explanation. It was very unlike her.
Byron looked from me to Tory. We were both in black. “Adorable,” he said dryly. “You match as per usual.”
Any goodwill I had for him dissolved. “What’s wrong with you anyway?” I asked him pointedly. “What was with that swat team light? And country music? Are you insane?” Because of him, I had to be treated for shell shock.
“What do you expect me to do when you take my things? Serenade you?”
I rolled my eyes and pushed away from the wall. Eric was still missing. That was odd. He must still be in my apartment. Why? I left Byron to go check it out. My hands were a little shaky from my encounter with the police, and I was beginning to worry Eric had gotten hurt. The front door was open. I thought Eric had gotten through the window, but the chain was off. I pushed the door open a crack and peered into the darkness inside. It was eerily quiet.
“Hey, guess what?”
I jumped. My head almost collided with Byron’s jaw. He was right behind me. He smiled faintly when he saw he scared me. “You can just walk in. You live here.”
“Oh really?” I muttered sarcastically. Tory and Byron had my back. I couldn’t show them I was a coward. Taking a deep breath, I stepped boldly into my own living room. “Eric?”
Tory brushed past me, making it impossible to be properly scared. She threw off her black stocking cap and hoody and threw them on our couch...on the green striped cushions. They had made it here after all. So when had the operation gone wrong? She landed next to her things, making herself comfortable.
I headed for the hall, my feet catching on the carpet. Where was Eric? Had he just unlocked the door for me, turned off my music, and after his good deeds disappeared like any good phantom should? Because of how stealthily he disappeared, I wouldn’t be surprised to find a red rose placed on our messy kitchen counter as a symbol of his presence. But we were on the third floor. There was no way to slip past us. The light from the porch outside shone through the drapes of the open kitchen window.
“This place is freezing.” Byron edged past me, flipping on the light. “They were right when they said the woman is the heart of the home.” I made a face at him. Something was wrong. I couldn’t quite place it. Byron walked past our dead plants and lingered at the dead roses. Despite Kali’s ministrations, she couldn’t save them. “You’ve got a graveyard in here.” When I didn’t answer, he glanced over at me. “So, my stuff?”
I turned from the open window. “Yeah, your favorite DVD,” I purposely misinterpreted. “AmyLee borrowed it. I hear she’s having some girl party or something with all of her really cute friends. There’s going to be a pillow fight, so you’d better go get it before it’s too late.” Byron wasn’t moving, so I tried to brush past him into the hallway. He was too close to where I hid his backpack. I wondered if he could sense it with some hidden secret power.
With one step, he blocked me. “I’m not leaving until I claim what’s mine.” My breath caught at the threat. Lizzie pushed the door open from outside and it creaked in complaint. She was covered in mud and looked exhausted. She took a shaky step inside. Byron actually looked happy to see her. “Hey Lizzie.”
She smiled faintly and collapsed face-first onto the couch. Luckily, there were cushions on it. “Did you give him his backpack yet?” Lizzie’s words were almost lost in the cushions.
Not yet. It was hidden safely away where no one could find it—not even the Nazis. Byron was standing right beneath it. He watched Lizzie pityingly and to my relief, moved away from me, sinking down into the couch beside her. He patted her leg. “If I get postcards from my backpack on some exotic vacation, you’ll be packing your own bags, Mad Dog.” I squirmed in guilt, but fought it, remembering what Byron had done to my mom. Instead of doing something stupid and giving away my best hiding place, I stalked into the back to get my toothbrush. His voice echoed where I stood in the bathroom. “Hello? There’s no use hiding behind enemy lines!”
“You were supposed to give us our cushions back!” I shouted back at him. I pulled my toothbrush from its little cup holder and stuck it into my mouth. It clanged against my teeth. I returned to the living room with it dangling from my lips.
Byron looked surprised. No doubt he thought I would bring him back his backpack. After all, he had been so charming. If he left, I could, but as of now, I had to play it cool. He lifted a shoulder. “What can I say? My men mutinied against me.”
Very unlikely. I pointed at Lizzie with my toothbrush. “You’ve put us through a lot these past months. Just look what you did to Lizzie!”
“And Thanh,” he said in a much too casual voice. I wasn’t tricked by it. Byron wanted information on her. “Why did you tell the cops someone trashed her apartment?”
“It was a mess.”
He lifted a brow in response. It was my favorite move and I was annoyed that we shared it. It was like we were becoming the same person. “So is your place,” he said wryly. “Did bad guys trash that too?” With a violent toss of my hair, I marched into the back rooms. He shot up from the couch, trailing after me. “I’m sorry. I just want to know what happened out there.” I heard him pace the hallway that separated the men from the back. “Who was that guy you were hanging out with anyway?”
I popped my head back into the living room, startling him when my eyes met his just inches from his face. I took the toothbrush out of my mouth. “Jealous?”
“Yeah, I wanna date someone who can break into my apartment.”
“Are you talking about Mad Dog?” Lizzie asked.
I made a face at her. Lizzie couldn’t resist, could she? The front door swung open and Sandra slipped into the apartment behind Byron. It took a moment to register. Sandra! We had a population problem. She unwound her silky scarf from her neck, looking gorgeous in her baby doll shirt and big flashy jewelry. She stilled when she caught sight of her ex, but her voice sounded smooth and sultry like hot chocolate. “Hey, isn’t it guys out yet?”
Byron leaned against the hall entryway that separated him from me. His tanned elbow dug into the door frame. “Nope. I’ve got five seconds.”
I glanced at the clock. He was right. Sandra smiled wickedly and counted down like it was New Year’s Eve, “5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Guys out!”
“Give me a second,” he sounded annoyed. “So, that guy, who was here…?”
“Guy?” Sandra asked. “Madeleine had a guy in here? She’s not hiding a boyfriend from us, is she?”
Byron hesitated then shrugged, taking on a resigned look as if ready for the onslaught of girl talk. But I wasn’t about to let Sandra know that I was poaching her territory…again. Eric was her guy friend. Maybe she wanted something more. Byron slanted her a sideways glance. “He can pick locks too,” he said. “He slipped into your place and disappeared like David Copperfield. Amazing, huh?”
She frowned and he nodded at her. “What did he look like?” she asked him.
I didn’t like this new camaraderie between my two worst enemies. Together they could be an unstoppable force. I tried to throw them both off. “Hot as sin,” I said. “Why do you ask?”
Byron and Sandra exchanged knowing looks. I couldn’t figure out what was going on between them. They weren’t secretly dating, were they? Holly had better not be Sandra’s code name. Byron dug his palm against the door frame and pushed off it. He retreated for the front door. “Bad things will happen if you try to keep what’s mine, Mad Dog. Just remember one false move and your name and my name ends up on a sign-up sheet...together.”
“Oh, no worries,” I said. “I’ll bring what you want...with flair.”
“You have until tomorrow morning. I have to study.”
“You have band practice in the morning,” I reminded him. I stuck the toothbrush back in my mouth for emphasis.
“Then don’t be late.” His hand was on the doorknob. “Oh, and Mad?”
“Yes?”
“You probably won’t be able to feel your mouth for the next two hours.”
I slowly drew my toothbrush out from my lips. Maximum Strength Orajel? Anbesol? Possibly. Already my mouth was getting numb. It was strange that I didn’t notice it immediately. Before I could beat Byron down, the door closed behind him.
“The guys have been in here,” I warned the others. There could be stolen pillows, hard box springs switched with our real mattresses, Vaseline on the pillows. “Sweep the rooms.”
“This is so stupid.” Sandra escaped into the back, but I couldn’t help notice she followed my advice, though very casually. Once she was done sweeping the back for any mischief, she came back out and pulled a towel from the rack in the bathroom.
I held my hand out in warning. “Careful. There could be Kool-Aid on
dat
.”
She snorted.
“Umb, you bight want to check de showerheads.” To my dismay, my voice was getting muffled. The Anbesol was kicking in, but I kept trying. “…Dere bight be someb jewwybeans…or bouweeun cubes.”
Lizzie sat up. “She means there might be jelly beans and bouillon cubes in your showerhead. Just be careful, okay?”
“
I cat feel my mouf!” To make things worse, I was drooling. Jerk! There was no way I would pull any heroic acts to get Byron’s backpack to him tonight under these conditions, especially not as the drooling fool.
Sandra dramatically swept the towel over her shoulder. “I can’t believe that I’m living with such children. I am done with all of you.” She slammed the bathroom door behind her.
I met Lizzie’s brown eyes. She just rolled them.
Tory hopped playfully to our dishwasher. “Are these dishes dirty?”
“Yeah, but there are only about four plates in there,” Lizzie slurred tiredly. Tory slammed the dishwasher shut and started it.
“Nmpphh!” I tried to stop her. It would take all the hot water and give Sandra a cold shower. That was torture. “The Gibbebba counthenthon!” I couldn’t get it out, but the Geneva Convention
had
made certain rules against torture.
It was a good thing that Tory was so closely in tune with me because she understood. The bad thing was that she wouldn’t do anything about it. “That only applies to prisoners of war,” she retorted.
We heard Sandra push the shower curtain aside, followed by a high-pitched scream. I didn’t blame her. Even I couldn’t stand an icy cold shower. The bathroom door wrenched open. “Why! Why can’t you just stop?” Sandra shrilled. She wasn’t wet at all.
Lizzie sat up in concern. “Are you okay?”
Sandra tossed our phantom dummy onto the floor. The one we left on the guys’ couch. It was a bit wet.
“A man.” It was all she could get out. “A man was in the shower!”
“It’s only a dummy,” Tory muttered. “And you killed him.” More like ripped his head off. Sandra had some good defense moves on her. Too bad she didn’t work for us. “Did you get your aggression out?” Tory asked in a dry voice.
I gave Tory a warning look. Sandra slammed the door shut to the bathroom again and I just hoped it would be for longer this time. “It was meant for you,” Tory said, calmly buttering her toast. Wait,
her
toast? I just realized who was snitching all our food.
Day 110
0942 hours
“
There was a time when Saturday mornings were lazy, when we took the time to feel the sun on our faces. Now, the world was dark and joyless, except what we provided from our own idle hands.”
—Madeleine’s War Journal Entry (Saturday, June 2nd).
“Hey you!”
A youngish-looking guy stopped to rest from his Saturday morning jog to study my car. It wasn’t because it was a diamond advertisement either. It was because he was hearing voices. After a moment of no sound, he started back on the road.
“Where are you going? I’m over here!”
He stopped again and looked around for the disembodied voice. Kali and Tory ducked down under our living room window, giggling at their latest unsanctioned hit. Tory’s pink low-tops dug into the couch. She brought her walkie talkie back to her lips. “Get me out of here. I’m stuck. Yeah, you in the black jogging shorts. Do you mind giving me a hand?”
He grumbled and set off at a brisk pace to finish his jog. Kali’s face fell. Another guy got away. The other walkie talkie was hidden under my parked car, the power button duct taped on. Ever since Tory scored the walkie talkies, she couldn’t resist messing with the minds of poor hapless civilians passing by our apartment complex.
I swept my spoon listlessly around my cereal bowl at the kitchen table, staring despondently down at the twin’s list of demands:
We want a dozen cinnamon rolls...
Blah, blah, blah. I turned the note over and picked up a red crayon in the hopes of finding something more interesting behind it. After a few scribbles, I was happy to learn that Byron didn’t disappoint me. Words formed under my crayon, revealing his hidden message beneath:
Madeleine Doggett. Not even your eyes—black and beautiful as they are—will perceive the mischief that awaits you. Meet me at your place alone and no one gets hurt. Bring the item.