Faded Flare Read online

  “N—” Buster cut himself off at Jen’s “Eh!” He didn’t try again, to Henley’s dismay.

  There was a silence.

  “Pull into this hotel,” he announced, pointing at a run-down motel with missing letters on the sign and a lot of dirt on the walls.

  There was only one car in the lot, as it was barely noon, and it wasn’t an SUV.

  Henley relaxed. She was actually tired. Their escape had been in the middle of the night and she’d barely been able to sleep before their meeting time out of nerves. Her boat nap was far from restful with the nightmare and rude awakening, and very short.

  Once Jen parked next to the other car, which logically most likely belonged to the employee they could see staring at her phone through the broken blinds in the window, Buster turned in his seat.

  A slight sheen dotted his forehead. He hadn’t been as collected during their car chase as he’d seemed. He pointed at Jen. “You go get us a room.”

  “Woah, buddy. Keep the belt on. Okay, just because I complimented you doesn’t mean I’m interested that step.”

  He spoke over her. “You two wait here and then go straight to the room.” His finger jabbed at Sirena then Henley. “I will get us some food.” He pointed at the fast food joint across the street, the only other building nearby.

  “Does BTI supply those tellers, too?” Henley worried.

  “Maybe you and your fist should go with him,” Jen joked, opening her door to slide out. The sound of traffic on the freeway they were supposed to be on was loud.

  Buster got out, turning to lean in with an adamant and serious look. “No—I’m outside the car,” he argued with Jen’s “Ah!” then carried on. “You are not to be out in public. It jeopardizes everything.”

  “Us?” Henley was incredulous. “This coming from the guy who wore a lab coat around the harbor.”

  “Stay.” He treated her like a dog again and left.

  “So, what do you need me for?” Henley called after him.

  Jen chuckled. “You two sharing a bed will be fun.” She slammed her door on Henley’s appalled protest.

  “I am not allowed too close to people. Especially men,” Sirena excused herself before Henley could ask to switch bedmates. “I’m a danger.”

  Henley huffed out a breath, deciding to sleep in the car. She unballed her hand. It wore on the material to keep flexing it so; she hadn’t tested it for long durations of stress and wear.

  Henley was going to be a danger to Buster if he didn’t start answering her questions.

  ∆∆∆

  The room felt much like the cheap motel Henley’s family had moved to after the fire, those seventeen years ago, after she’d left the hospital. A motel was a motel. The faint aroma of smoke was from old cigarettes, and it was faintly covered with that chemical scent of flowers. That was different.

  The lingering fumes of smoke, like she’d sat too close to a bonfire, had permeated off their clothes, their belongings back then. It hadn’t been enough to overshadow the stench of disbelief, of shock, of outright denial that something so terrible and life-shattering had happened. The grief didn’t come until after they’d found a new house, when the emptiness sunk in, hollowing Henley from the inside.

  The wood paneling on the walls, the generic flower photography, even the deep maroon bedspreads were identical.

  “That’s to hide the bloodstains,” Jen said, grinning evilly, nodding at the two full-sized beds. “Less to clean.”

  “Doesn’t look like they clean so much as tidy,” Sirena commented as she wandered around, opening drawers.

  Henley cringed and turned away. She went to explore the bathroom, but the rust-stains, calcium build-up and water rings left her consigned to further filth.

  Mama had scrubbed the one they’d moved to, since Bromley had been at the age where she crawled all over and shoved anything she found in her mouth. That’s what she’d said. Henley had suspected it was more for something to do, to keep her mind occupied.

  Henley had done something similar, making lists of all the things she needed to replace, reading her book repeatedly, telling Doggy it was safe now that the fire had gone… Anything to ignore the loss of her hand and the bigger loss of the hand that used to hold hers to dance.

  “Where are we anyway?” Jen wondered aloud, staring out the window as Henley moved back into the main room.

  “West of Boston,” Henley retorted, the resurrection of her ancient feelings slithering up her throat and onto her tongue, sharpening it with sarcasm.

  Jen turned with raised brows.

  “Shouldn’t we close the blinds so no one sees us?” Sirena asked, eyes round.

  Jen snorted, shifting her attention to her lab experiment. “Like that’d stop anyone if they got this far.” She flipped around again, spread her arms wide, and did a little dance before the glass.

  “Or any thing,” Henley agreed in a mumble. Sight wasn’t a necessary sense. Humans relied on it, but they could modify if it was lost like adapting to a missing limb. Technology could be programmed to rely on whichever sense best benefited, to the extent of the proficiency of the engineer, of course. BTI did not cultivate poorly skilled engineers. And that was neither compliment nor ego.

  “I miss my bed,” Sirena mourned, eyeing the one between her and Jen with trepidation.

  “I miss my bedmate,” Jen said, momentary pain twisting her mouth. Then she grinned. “Lucky duck, you get to be it today.” She belly-flopped onto the furniture in question. It would’ve been more fun, Henley surmised, if this one was a water-bed. As it was, the firm mattress barely gave, and Jen gave a groan, then rolled onto her back. “My nose,” she complained grabbing it.

  Sirena laughed. “You needed a nose-job anyway.”

  Jen rolled onto all-fours and growled at Sirena, eyes squinting in threat.

  It wasn’t true. Her aesthetics were well-proportioned and strong, her features defined but soft, with high cheekbones, bright eyes, red lips, and sleek pale-blond hair. A perfect human.

  Henley flexed her fingers.

  Jen snatched up a pillow and walloped Sirena with it, who shrieked playfully, her hair flying, and pulled it away. Jen sat back on her hands, satisfied with her retaliation, crossing her legs demurely along the bed, one foot seemingly accidentally kicking Sirena’s thigh. “This is almost like the old days.” Her eyes flicked to include Henley in her comment. “Like a sleepover. A fun adventure.”

  Henley couldn’t agree. For one thing, with Sirena and Jen bunking together, she’d be sharing the second bed with Buster. “How much farther do we have to go?”

  Jen shrugged, settling further back onto her elbows, watching Henley from under her long dark lashes.

  Sirena sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Jen’s feet, hugging the pillow. “That’s what I was wondering.”

  “I bet Buster knows. You’re gonna have to worm it out of him,” Jen suggested making childish kissy faces.

  Henley let out a cough of a laugh. “Like he’d ever divulge his knowledge.” She turned to scour the pamphlets on the desk for any mention of a location. “The office didn’t have a map or anything?”

  “Didn’t look. I was under orders, remember?”

  Henley came across a WiFi code. “Shame we can’t just look it up online.”

  “Oh,” Sirena gasped.

  “What? Don’t tell me you forgot about the Internet as well as blocking out all memories of me,” Jen joked.

  “I forgot,” Sirena tittered excitedly, “about this.”

  Henley dropped the TV channel list and spun around, watching the girl pull a phone from her borrowed pocket.

  Jen sat up and edged forward, turning stern instantly, her eyes fixated on Sirena’s hands with fear like she held a rattlesnake. “How do you have that? You were in a hospital gown.”

  Sirena shrugged. “It was in the car.”

  “Give me that.” Jen whipped it from her palm, standing, struggling to snap it in half, her face screwed up. When
that didn’t work, she threw it on the floor and stomped.

  “Here, let me.” Henley swiped it from the floor between bashings and turned away while she easily crushed the device, making reasonable grunting sounds to accompany the movement.

  “Sure, but I’m not sure you can—” Jen’s sentence trailed off when Henley presented the pieces, chucking them in the trash.

  “Technology is easily traceable.” Henley knew her tone was harsh, but now was not a time for gentle teaching.

  “But it was in the car. If they can trace the car, they can trace the phone. What difference does it make?” Sirena said.

  “Something with a signal is easier to find by satellite,” Henley explained, pulling on her innermost cache of patience. The girl had grown up in a lab. It wasn’t her fault. She was essentially programmed; it was the fault of the scientist behind her development for not including that information in her programming. “Didn’t you tell her not to bring anything?” Henley shot at Jen.

  “She didn’t have anything to bring,” Jen exclaimed.

  “I didn’t bring this; I found it,” Sirena argued. “It’s not tied to me.”

  “It is now,” Henley disagreed.

  A knock sounded at the door, and they all froze, their blame-tossing halted. Three pairs of wide eyes shot to the trash can, and then the door, and then each other.

  They were too late. As much as Buster had accused Henley of endangering them, it was the one they were all trying to protect who got them caught. And while he was out getting food. He wouldn’t be wrangled with the rest of them.

  But BTI wouldn’t knock, Henley reasoned. Her voice was high and too weak when she called out, “Who is it?”

  There was no answer. She hadn’t been loud enough to be heard. Or else someone who didn’t want to answer stood on the other side of the door.

  Henley swallowed as Jen slowly got to her feet, still watching the entrance. She whacked Sirena in the face again with the pillow. Thankfully the girl was good at staying silent. Henley made shushing eyes at Jen.

  “It’s me,” came a masculine voice when no one said anything further.

  Buster. Probably. Right? “Who’s me?”

  “Buster.”

  BTI couldn’t fake the loathing and impatience in that tone. It was him. “How can I trust you?” Henley couldn’t help but enjoy making him wait outside.

  “You call me the Bus,” he threw out as evidence.

  Henley grinned. She had managed to hold up the Bus. That was impressive, she allowed privately in thought to herself. “BTI would know that. It was common gossip. Do you think I’m stupid?” The last question came out a little slicker than intended. It had been bothering her since he started ordering her around and refusing to explain things, inferring she couldn’t handle it or understand what was going on. Perhaps he believed women weren’t as capable. She glared at the door, insulted.

  “You punched me in the stomach a few hours ago.”

  Henley felt immediately better.

  Jen stifled a laugh, slapping a hand over her mouth.

  Sirena gave a thumbs up.

  The feeling of kinship rose again. “Don’t mention the phone,” she mouthed at the other girls, pointing toward the bin.

  They both nodded back.

  “That was on video,” Henley retaliated at the Bus. “Tell me why I’m here and maybe I’ll let you in.” She finally had something to use as bribery. He wanted to get in. She wanted information.

  “I’ll eat all this food myself.”

  “Shrimp,” Sirena mumbled. Henley didn’t know if she was just announcing what she lusted after. Henley wasn’t sure seafood would be prevalent at a fast-food joint.

  Henley screwed up her face, annoyed he’d worked around her tactic. He had something to withhold from them in return. So much for that attempt. Her eyes darted to the papers on the desk she’d been sorting through. “I can order room service.”

  “Risky.”

  “Oh, let him in,” Jen whispered to Henley. “He’s a sitting duck out there and the only one who knows where we’re heading.”

  “And I’m hungry,” Sirena piped up.

  So was Henley. It was clear he was outmaneuvering her stalling efforts anyway.

  With an eyeroll, Jen shoved in front of Henley, unlatching the door.

  “No, don’t. I need—” Henley darted back over, relatching it so they could open it only ajar first, to check.

  “Oh, get out of the way, I’m starving.” Jen pushed Henley aside.

  Stumbling back, Henley’s gaze fell to the second bed. Disquiet and discomfort battled within her, a much squirmier feeling than the dread of being discovered by BTI. Henley remorsefully and unceremoniously watched the door open to her bedmate, anger at him flaring to cover the distaste for her newest predicament.

  Chapter Four

  Ace chose an array of items on the menu outside the drive-thru that looked the most caloric and nutritious. It was uncertain when next they could detour for food. This stop was merely incidental.

  When a woman in a small car pulled up, also observing the screen, he leaned down to her passenger window. “Excuse me.”

  The woman gave a startled shriek, and her hand shot out to cover the baby carrier he hadn’t noticed below his chin.

  “Ace Acton.” He held up a badge.

  She squinted at it only briefly, warily, then asked nervously, her eyes dropping to the sleeping baby, “What can I do for you? Uh, sir?”

  It was clear she hadn’t actually read his credentials. Most people didn’t investigate the world around them with enough detail; they accepted facts too readily and moved on because it was easier than using their brains—unlike Henley, who was too curious for his own good. He could see why BTI had accepted her into their ranks readily.

  “I need you to put in an order for me and bring it back to me here when you’re through.” He passed over one of the bills Jen had stolen from her mother with the BTI badge they’d ditched with the truck back in Boston.

  The woman flinched, hesitated, then snatched it from him quickly, shoving his hand away from her child.

  It was a shame Henley couldn’t do all the interactions. However, he was the only one who he was confident he could conceal from any actually observant eyes.

  “I know your plate number,” he warned her to dissuade her from any asinine notion of taking the money and running.

  She nodded jerkily, eyes large. He handed her his list and stepped back to allow her to advance to the teller. He remained in the shadows, around the corner yet within sight of the woman’s mirrors.

  While she waited for his food, he considered their next step.

  It would take at least a day for his mailed note to reach its destination. He had allowed for that in specifying a pick-up time and location. Physical mail impeded his urgency but was much harder to trace and hunt down. Therefore, they had that long to reach the next check point, which was, by his estimate, an eighteen-hour drive. With their pit-stop, he was going to have to recalculate. They couldn’t afford more than a few hours’ wait, just scraping the beginning hours of night. It wasn’t ideal. That distance could easily be made up in seconds with BTI’s resources. That would put them at the check point about an hour late. With Jen’s driving, they could easily make that up with slight speeding, not enough to alert the authorities.

  “Here’s your food.” The woman was handing it to him on foot, having parked her car nearby. He assumed it was an attempt to distance him from her offspring even if she believed his identification enough to acquiesce to his request.

  “Thank you. Keep the change,” he told her, thinking that would assuage her. It wasn’t as disarming as Henley’s smile had been at the post office.

  However, the woman gave a timid quirk of a lip and a faint, “Welcome,” before hurrying to her car, casting furtive glances over her shoulder.

  He waited a few moments for her to get in and feel safe in the metal box, which was, essentially, filled with explosi
ve equipment and had the windows rolled down, before moving. He walked around the building to cross the street farther away.

  Their car was empty when he passed it. Pleased they’d followed his orders, he walked to the door with the necklace on the doorknob that matched the one Sirena had been wearing, assuming it was a signal. Too obvious, but he hadn’t been gone long enough for them to truly siphon attention to their location. He knocked.

  No one answered.

  “It’s me.” He checked over his shoulder, ensuring all was still.

  “Who’s me?”

  “Buster.” He rolled his eyes. Precaution was necessary. However, he doubted BTI would simply knock.

  “How can I trust you?” It had to be Henley with so many questions and mistrust.

  He sighed. “You call me the Bus.”

  “BTI would know that. It was common gossip. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  Well, that was unflattering. He hadn’t realized it was universal. “You punched me in the stomach a few hours ago.”

  “That was on video,” she retaliated. “Tell me why I’m here, and maybe I’ll let you in.”

  She definitely wasn’t stupid. Buster tamped down his temper. She was leaving him in the open on the doorstep with her silly game. If BTI didn’t notice, the motel security might wonder at his intentions. “I’ll eat all this food myself,” he countered, toying back. She had to be hungry. He’d observed her appetite in the cafeteria on occasion.

  “I can order room service.”

  “Risky.”

  There was a pause and some mumbled voices. “No, don’t. I need—”

  “Oh, get out of the way, I’m starving.” Jen popped open the door, un-muffling their disagreement. “Get in here with that grease. There better be enough, or I’m sending you back for more even if you get abducted by BTI-funded aliens.”

  Ace handed Sirena the locket as he passed her and set the bag on the desk next to the old television. It smelled of mothballs and too much deodorizing fragrance. His allergies perked up, suggesting a heavy presence of dust as well. BTI had kept that suppressed with its penchant for sterilization. He hadn’t missed it. His eyes began to water and his nose ran.