Page 22 of Bound By Water
“Trent knows I’m not adopted. Do you think he told his dad?” I ask, even though I’m scared to know the answer.
“I don’t know. You’ve never used your power before last night, right?” he replies, asking for me to confirm.
“No,” I answer. “But I have an idea of what might have first triggered Trent.”
My fingers run lightly across my shoulder as I explain my theory. “The day I ran into him, my shirt came off, exposing my scar. He kept staring at it, but a lot of people do, so I didn’t think much of it. I told him the truth; it was an old scar from the accident.”
A line forms between Lionel’s brows, and I shrug and continue, “Trent said the mark made him wonder if I had powers. Apparently, his father keeps files on everyone who has powers, so he looked up my parents. Dad was in there.”
“It would have said adopted parents, but maybe he figured out my ruse. I don’t know anything about a mark. Neither I nor my son had one,” he says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he thinks about this new development. “We’ll pass the information on to Phoenix.”
“Who’s Phoenix?” I ask.
“That’s what we unofficially call the group led by Jack,” he replies absentmindedly. He must still be thinking about the mark. “Over the last few years, I’ve worked with them to get people to safety. That’s where I’m taking you. Phoenix will help you establish a new identity and help you figure out how to wield your powers. Until we get there, Brad created a couple of IDs for you with Greer’s name on them. They’re in the pack he gave us. Keep it close at all times.”
I nod. “It sounds like you know him.” When he raises an eyebrow, I clarify. “Jack.”
“I do,” he answers, then further explains. “We served together. And I worked with his son too. He’s a major in the Army. They’re men with integrity.”
High praise coming from Lionel. “And they’re in Atlanta?” I ask, watching the miles fly by. We’re a little over an hour outside of D.C. I grab my backpack and pull out some bottles of water and snacks for us.
Lionel grabs a bottle and chugs half of it down. “That’s where we’ll meet them. Oliver, the son, runs Phoenix.”
“If they’re supported by the government, why do I need IDs with Greer’s name on them?” I ask, confused by the whole thing.
“Tickets on public transportation require a government issued ID, and Greer’s was the easiest option to pull together quickly,” he replies. “But once you reach Phoenix, they’ll likely help you establish a new, more foolproof ID and background to keep Raven from finding you.”
“Will that mean I can return to school?” I ask softly, hoping that’s the case. I know it’s silly, but for years I’ve thought about nothing but helping others, especially kids.
I wait for him to answer, but he simply lifts a shoulder in response. For the rest of the drive, I can’t help but think about everything. There are so many emotions bombarding me, thoughts bouncing all over the place, I can’t sleep. Yes, I’m angry and scared, but a part of me feels blindsided by the truth that has been hidden from me for all these years.
My dad had the ability to control air. Even saying it to myself doesn’t make it feel real. I never remember him doing anything out of the ordinary. He was my dorky dad who told jokes and loved us. I frown. He could have at least warned me. I was a teenager, not a child, and quite capable of understanding. Now, it’s as if the past has ambushed me.
At the worst possible time, too. Twenty-three, ready to graduate, start my new life, and in a blink, everything blows up. My dreams gone. If I’d known it was a possibility, I could have done a better job of hiding or going to school far away from the Hightowers. If I hadn’t been late for work and collided with Trent, I’d still be living a normal life, doing boring things like studying, not racing to hide from the government. If, if, if.
“We’re close to the station,” Lionel tells me in a tired, gravel-filled voice. “But we’re not getting on the train. I don’t like the idea of being trapped for fourteen hours. We need to be mobile. Stay here. I’ll get us another car.”
Before I can ask questions, he’s gone. I sit in the quiet car, waiting for him to return, my eyes darting from one end of the parking lot to the other, scared someone will find me. Every time someone comes toward the car, I nervously duck down.
The door opens, and I jump, but it’s only Lionel.
He eyes me for a second. “Leave your jacket here. Red is too noticeable.” After I take it off, he gives me the navy blue one he’s wearing. “After I leave, wait five minutes. There are cameras everywhere. Pull the collar up and your hat down low. Don’t look up or around. There’s a grey Nissan Altima three rows back and five cars to your right. Grab the backpacks and make your way to it. Crouch down beside the passenger door when you get there.” He takes the red jacket and slips it on. It barely fits, but he doesn’t seem to care. He grabs my suitcase and his duffle from the back and closes the door.
I watch him cross the parking lot and enter the station silently counting down the minutes. My heart races as I wait. Five minutes is an eternity. Finally, I hit the mark. Easing out of the car, I grab both packs and make my way back to the Altima.
It's more humid in D.C. than it was in Philly but still chilly. When I find the car, I follow his instructions and crouch down beside the passenger door, praying nobody comes along. I glance at the car beside me and find peeling grey paint. It’s definitely seen some miles.
Laughter drifts in the night air but never comes any closer. I hug the packs to my chest, barely breathing, as I try to listen for footsteps. Minutes go by, and a bead of sweat rolls down my temple and falls to the ground.
A hand clamps around my mouth, and I let out a muffled scream.
“It’s me,” Lionel says harshly. “Once I start the car, get in and store the packs up front with you.”
I nod, and he disappears. Seconds later, the car light comes on, and I hear my door unlock. The car starts, and I slide into the passenger seat.
He turns off the interior light but not before I see the wires sticking out from under the dash. “Are we stealing this car?” My voice is high-pitched in disbelief. I’ve never even had a speeding ticket.
“Put on your seatbelt,” he orders me. When I continue to stare at him, he heaves a sigh. “We’re borrowing it. I’ll make sure we leave it where it’s easily found.”
