Because as we race down the hall, down the stairs—all of us in stunned silence—I know there’s nothing left for us, either.
Nowhere left to go. Mason told Casey he called the authorities. We don’t have much time.
But time for what? What next, June? She doesn’t answer. She never has. The only one who’s been here, this whole time, is me.
We race down the stairwell out into the night, and we stumble across the grass, across the road, to our hidden car.
Casey wordlessly yanks the keys from Cameron’s hand, as he’s leaning against the side of the van, bleeding and coughing underneath the willow tree. I pull him into the back with me, and Casey begins to drive, despite the sirens. But they’re coming from everywhere. I don’t know whether it’s the police for me, or the fire trucks for the building. Cameron rests against the inside of the van, his head in his hands.
Casey idles at the end of the street, then randomly turns down an alley. We’re still on campus, and there are only so many ways out. She stops for a moment, pulls something out of her bag, and extends her arm to the back without looking at me. It’s Mason’s phone, the one he had in the office. I don’t know what she intends for me to do with it, until I see that she’s already set it to video recording.
Cameron raises his head, looks at me, and takes the phone. He points it in my direction, and the red light flashes, recording. “Talk,” he says. “Make them believe.”
I’m covered in blood and soot in the back of a stolen van, in clothes that don’t fit, with a bag of hard drives and a notebook that belongs to June—and this is all we have. Nothing else. There’s nothing left to do. Action, nothing. Words, everything.
I look straight into the screen, but I have no idea how to make them believe.
I guess this is the part where I trust in myself and humanity. That the words, the truth, will be enough. Please, let them be enough.
I begin to talk.
“My name is Alina Chase,” I say, and my voice is still raspy from the smoke. I clear my throat and begin again. “My name is Alina Chase, and seventeen years ago I was placed in containment because of a lie. June did leave me something, but not the way into the database. She left me the truth, the reason she was killed.” I hold up June’s notebook, now tattered and crumpled, and I say, “She discovered that the study on violent souls was a lie. Fabricated by a woman named Ivory Street, and potentially others, to control people in power and affect public policy and laws. And when that didn’t work, she used it for money and power, blackmailing others with this information and framing June. June wasn’t innocent, but she wasn’t guilty of that. We’re here on the campus of Elson University because this is where the information is. Mason Alonzo is a professor here now, and he left himself access to the database at Ivory’s request. There’s a portal he can access through his office, and he stored the data they accessed in his computer lab.” I hear the sirens, getting nearer. “His lab is on fire now.”
This story I’m telling is not just mine and June’s, but everyone’s. It’s Casey’s and Cameron’s and Ava’s, and it’s the story of the others who have been kept silent.
“Ivory Street is locked in the cellar of her home. Dominic Ellis is the third person involved in breaking me off the island. He was once a guard. He wanted access to the database, and he thought I could give it to him.” I think of telling about his soul, about Liam White, but that is not mine to tell. “But it’s bigger than blackmail. They’ve been using people. Moving people into positions of power to give them whatever they want. I was contained because Ivory Street saw me as a danger to her scheme. Not for any other reason. But I am not the danger. I am not the threat.”
Casey stops the van, backs up, turns it around. My heart picks up speed. Faster, I will need to go faster. And do better.
“The other people who rescued me …” I reach for the phone, and Cameron hands it to me. I point it at him for a moment, and then to Casey as she drives. I hold the phone myself, and turn it around, facing me. “Cameron and Casey London. They’ve been looking for their sister, Ava. She was approached by these people—blackmailed because of who they said she was in her past life and the inheritance she had just accessed—and when she wouldn’t do what they said, she ran.” I take a deep breath. “June ran, too. But you’re not allowed to run.”
Casey slams on the brakes and turns around. “We can’t get out of here in the van,” she whispers, but I’m sure the camera is picking up her voice. I nod, and I speak into the camera once more.
“They’ve done nothing wrong, other than seek the truth to help the sister they love. They are the most selfless people I know. My name is Alina Chase, and this is the truth. I’m tired of running. I’m going to get out of this van now, but before I go, this is what we have.” I show June’s old hard drives, and I methodically flip through page after page of the notebook for the camera, committing them to the memory of this machine. “June replicated the study, with all the data. The results are not the same.” I take the gun from Cameron, open the back doors, and toss it outside. “We are unarmed,” I say, and then I hit End.
Casey takes the phone, and though she’s still sucking in air—from crying, I think, and not the smoke—her fingers move effortlessly across the screen. “Posted,” she says.
“Where?” I ask.
“Everywhere,” she says. “It’s been e-mailed to news stations and uploaded directly to video-sharing sites in its entirety.”
We get out of the van where the alley dead-ends, and Casey says, “Are we running?”
I’m not sure if Cameron could run, even if we wanted to. Even if we had somewhere else to go. I picture June and Liam’s hole in the ground. I picture June, alone, for over a year. I understand why she came out of the woods. Why she risked it all.
“I’m done running,” I say. I gesture toward the phone in her hand. “That will have to be enough.”
Casey drops it to the ground as the first red-and-blue lights pull up the street and stop in front of us. Two more cars soon follow. And the helicopters circle above. I look up, and I see several have the symbols for different news stations. For once, I hope this will keep us safe. We have no weapons. The police are here, shouting instructions through a loudspeaker. I hold my hands up, straight over my head, and I turn around like they tell me to. And I place my hand on my collar when they tell me to, lifting my shirt so they can see I have no weapon, slowly spinning around. I do everything they tell me to, and I hope that Casey and Cameron do as well, but I’m scared to look, to turn—I’m scared if I make even one misstep, they will see some element of danger. I walk backward, like they instruct, and the shouting grows. I drop to my knees, like they insist, and the footsteps race toward me.
I feel hands on my arms and metal on my wrists and a knee in my back. I cannot see Casey or Cameron as I’m yanked to my feet and led to the back of a police car. Someone guides my head so I don’t hit it on the roof, and then I’m tossed across the seat, no free hands to brace my fall. The door shuts behind me.
I can’t see what’s going on outside, through the chaos of the people. I can’t hear what’s happening, through the static of the radio. I can’t do anything more.
I close my eyes, and I picture my mother out there somewhere. I wonder if she sees the news. What she thinks of this. Of me.
Chapter 27