10. Willa
CHAPTER 10
WILLA
W hat took them minutes to descend takes me an hour to climb. Heaving myself to the top of the cliff, I lie there on my stomach, breathing rapidly while I stare down at the two bodies below. Tommy looks bloated in the mid-day sun, but Trent’s handsome as ever… Well, except for the red mark around his neck. For a second, I see the broad, blinding smile he used to throw around carelessly.
Dread coils in my stomach, and my breath catches. I didn’t check his pulse. Is it possible he’s still alive? Worried, I stare at him for several minutes. Is he smiling? I squint in the bright sun. Nothing. There’s not a single movement or twitch. He’s not smiling. I take a deep breath in and hold it, then breathe out. Obviously, my extreme guilt is trying to convince me I didn’t kill two people last night.
Unsure, I can’t help but stare at Trent as I nervously stand and quickly pull up the rope. Stupid, but I don’t trust anyone right now. Not even myself. Once it’s on top of the jagged cliff, I heave it onto my shoulder and stalk over to throw it in the back of the truck.
Hopping into the driver’s side, I pull out their phones and toss them into the passenger seat, knowing I’ll have to ditch them. Whoever keeps calling Tommy might decide to use the location app, and I can’t take the chance they’ll find him here.
The engine roars to life, and the truck rumbles underneath me. Thankfully, I’m tall enough to reach the pedals and comfortably drive this massive beast. Turning around on the driveway, I floor it. Rocks and dirt spray up under the truck and behind me. I desperately hope these ruts lead to a main road.
Fifteen minutes later, I pop out of the trees and come to a stop in front of a paved two-lane road. At least it’s not dirt. My eyes dart from right to left. There are no signs to tell me where I’m at, and there’s no traffic going by either. Leaving the truck running, I hop out and walk into the middle of the road, hoping to spot something farther down to help me decide.
I get to the center line, look down the road to the left, then swing around and look to the right. It’s road and trees as far as I can see, which means I’ll have to guess. With a sigh, I turn back to the truck, and that’s when I see the faintest impression right in front of the tires. It would have been impossible for me to see from inside the cab, but standing here, I get a clear view of the dusty tracks heading right out of the driveway.
Jumping back into the truck, I turn right and press hard on the gas pedal, hoping I’m not wrong and this is the way back to town. The road continues on and on, forest on both sides, for another twenty minutes until I hit an intersection. Stopping at the light, I see a sign for the interstate and hit the blinker. Traffic clears, and I make the turn. As I do, I see a brown sign to help visitors find the entrance for the Shanty Lake State Resort Park, and I know exactly where I’m at—only twenty minutes from home.
Breathing a deep sigh of relief, I get on the southbound interstate and head toward safety. Along the way, I use the sleeve of my shirt to wipe the phones as best as I can and throw them out the window at two different intervals, hoping it throws off their location for at least a while. Trent’s a senator’s son, though, so I doubt it will work for long.
Finally, I spot the brown house Lionel purchased long ago, and it’s as if a dam breaks inside me. Tears stream down my face. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again. Or him. Loud sobs fill the cab as I hunch over the steering wheel, unable to do anything but cry.
The truck door swings open, and a gun appears in my peripheral vision. “Hands up.”
I raise my shaking hands.
“Get out of the truck nice and slow. That’s it.”
My voice cracks as I say his name, “Lionel.”
He swears up a storm, and the gun disappears. Strong hands clasp my shoulders as he hauls me the rest of the way out of the truck and into his arms. The scent of his old-fashioned vanilla shaving cream is the most comforting cloak.
“Damn it, Willa. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you.”
Lionel rocks back and forth, his hand cradling my head. “Some fool left a note. As if I’d believe it.” He snorts, but I can hear the worry in his voice.
“I killed them,” I whisper, not wanting to say the words out loud, but knowing he needs to understand the seriousness of the situation. I pull back and stare at his deeply lined face, tears and snot running down mine. “With water.” The sheer disbelief in my voice is still there, even after the proof of the night.
He briefly closes his eyes. “I hoped your powers would never surface. Your parents did, too.”
“So, it’s true?” I ask, blindsided by his answer. That means other things could be true too. “Trent said… his father had files on my parents. On my dad. Said he could control air.” My lips stumble over the words, floundering under the weight of everything.
Lionel’s green eyes sharpen. “Trent who?”
Askance, I stare at him. “Trent. The football player I’ve been tutoring. The one I ran into that day on the lawn.”
He stiffens. “You never told me his name. What’s his last name, Willa?” From the way he’s holding his head, I’m getting the feeling he knows something I don’t.
“Trent Hightower,” I murmur with a frown. “His father is Senator…”
“Thomas Hightower,” Lionel finishes for me. “Fuck. If you’re not on his radar now, you will be. The second he finds out his son is dead; he’ll use his extremely considerable power to find out who killed him.” He reaches out and grips my elbow. “Is this his truck?”
I shake my head. “Tommy’s truck.” When he raises an eyebrow, I elaborate further. “His friend and fellow football player. Big guy with a vicious right hook.” My fingers ghost along the right side of my face.
Lionel’s fingers grip my chin as he turns my head to the left. “I don’t see anything.”
“The water healed me,” I tell him, still unable to believe it. “Killed them and healed me.”
Eyes wide, Lionel’s head dips in a sharp nod. “Tell me everything that happened.”
In a shaky voice, I haltingly explain about them kidnapping and beating me. When I get to what I thought was the end of my life, my voice is barely audible. “Trent hated me. His only thought was to rid the world of my kind. Up until then, all I felt was fear and anger at my impending death. But when I got to the very end, my anger twisted into hate, and it… triggered something inside me. The water rose up and answered my call.” I finish the story with how I got out of there and what I did coming home.
“And it healed you while you were sleeping,” he repeats, shaking his head, his tone full of disbelief. “That’s a new one, but we’ll deal with it later. Let me make some calls. Ditch this truck. Get a plan together.” He points to my apartment. “Right now, I want you to stop thinking about last night and go upstairs. Shower. Pack. Whatever you can fit in one carryon and your backpack. That’s it. Leave everything else behind. Got it?”
Numb, I stare at him, wondering why we aren’t calling the police, but how do we explain the whole ‘ability to control water’ thing.
He turns me around and barks, “Go!”
My feet automatically move toward my apartment. Once inside, more tears roll down my face as I realize the impact of what all this means. The life I’d so carefully planned, the career, staying here… it’s all gone. I still can’t believe it. Two days ago, I was living a normal life. Or so I thought. Trent already had me on his radar at that point.
My mind races to recall everything he said last night, but all I get are bits and pieces. Fear must have blocked some of it out. I grab clean clothes and turn on the shower. Stepping in, I flinch when the beads hit my skin, but curiosity has me raising my palm up to catch a few drops. I stare down at the transparent liquid shimmering in my hand. I have so many questions. Why me? Trent said my father’s power was air. Why did I not get his power? How does it choose?
The roar of the truck startles me, and I quickly dump the water and wash up. Minutes later, I’m standing in my bedroom, trying to figure out what to wear. Lionel didn’t say where we’re going. My shoulder throbs, and I lightly run a finger over it. There are no cuts or anything. Stepping closer to the mirror, I pull at the skin and squint. The mark on my shoulder looks darker with more defined edges, but there doesn’t appear to be any damage. Maybe I banged it on the cliff or pulled a muscle during my escape.
Shaking it off, I walk over to the closet and pull out a tank top, a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweatshirt, then layer them with my most comfortable and worn pair of jeans. Finally, I thrust my feet into some socks and tennis shoes. Since it’s cool outside, I grab a coat. Finally, I pull down my suitcase and backpack and stuff them full with my favorite clothes, shoes, and toiletries. My whole life in two bags. Will this be my life going forward—on the run with only these items?
Opening the front door, I take a moment to stare around the small apartment that has meant so much to me for the last couple of years and bite my lip. I loved this little place. Where will I end up now? The thought pangs me with a sense of déjà vu. I wondered the same after the accident seven years ago, but Lionel jumped in and took care of me. I know he’ll do the same now.
With a heavy sigh, I close the door on the past and trudge down the stairs toward Lionel’s house. I wonder where he took the truck.
It’s not until I’m reaching for his back door that it hits me. The mark on my shoulder. When we collided that day, Trent couldn’t stop staring at it. Then, last night, he said the mark made him look into his dad’s files. I step into Lionel’s house and find him running around the house.
“Where did the truck go?”
He waves a hand. “A friend picked it up. Took it to a junkyard.”
A small blue square comes toward me, and I automatically reach up and catch it. It’s my passport.
“Are we leaving the country?” I ask with a sinking feeling in my stomach.
He waves a hand. “I don’t know yet. Once Brad gets back to me, I’ll have a better idea.” Stalking over to the cabinet, he yanks out a drawer and sticks his hand inside the hole. A second later, the hutch swings open, revealing guns, boxes of ammo, and stacks of money.
“Brad, your golfing buddy? Why would he have a plan?” I quietly ask him, the magnitude of what he’s been hiding becoming more apparent with every action he takes. “Who are you?” Lionel doesn’t answer. I point toward the bag he’s filling. “Guns. Money. I told you I killed two people, and you don’t bat an eyelash. What the hell is going on, Lionel?”
Hands on his hips, he stops, takes a deep breath, then turns to face me. “We don’t have time for me to explain everything right now. Senator Hightower is more than just a senator. He leads a team of soldiers and scientists whose main job is to capture and study people with psychic abilities. If we don’t get out of here, you’ll become his next experiment.”
I shake my head. “How do you know all this? At least tell me that part.”
His eyes study me intently for a few seconds, then he slowly raises his finger and points to the cloth napkin lying on the table in front of me. A small flame appears. Fire. He reaches over and casually picks up the burning cloth and drops it in the sink, then holds up his hand. There’s not a burn on it.
“You control fire,” my shaky voice is barely a whisper, telling him how freaked out I am.
He thrusts a hand through his grey hair. “My ability is fire, but I’m not powerful enough to do much more than flames. The military knows, but because mine is a low-level psychic ability, Hightower has never been interested in me.”
He reaches out and grabs a framed photo on the hutch. “My son, though…” His voice breaks when he says those words. “He could command fire. Masses of flames, explosions, you name it. His abilities started showing when he was a year old. We tried to teach him how to control it, but he was too young to understand. The day they died… the fire got away from him.”
Horror at the thought of the pain he must have felt, knowing what happened, and the overwhelming guilt weighing him down because his son had gotten his abilities. “I’m so, so sorry, Lionel.” What a terrible burden to bear—for him and his son, Greer.
“Did my parents know about all this?”
He nods and thrusts the photo into his backpack.
“Why didn’t I inherit my father’s ability?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know. Nor do I know why your power waited until today to show up.” His eyes are distant for a second. “Abilities are evolving so fast, and we don’t have a good way to predict the changes. That’s the reason Hightower was given command of the task force. To find the origin of our powers and to determine if we’re a danger to society. Unfortunately, his wife died at the hands of someone with psychic power. Since then, he’s used extreme methods to capture the most powerful individuals. The powers above him know little of what he’s doing, nor do they ask. Basically, they condone his handling of the situation.” Bitterness coats his voice.
He strides over and grabs my shoulders. “I failed my son, but I won’t fail you. I promise, Willa. I’ll do everything in my power to get you to safety.”
“I know,” I assure him, patting him on the back. “Don’t worry. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.”
Tension eases from his shoulders and he heaves a sigh, his relief almost palpable. “You need a new identity, but we don’t have time to do this right. For now, I’ll have Brad use Greer’s information with your photo.” His tone is gruff as he sifts through papers in the hutch. A second later, he holds out a paper, and I take it from him.
“Greer’s birth certificate,” I say, reading the document. He was only a couple of years older than me. “Am I disguising myself as a boy?”
“Greer was actually my mother’s name, too,” he says with a small smile. “It can go both ways.” He pulls out his phone and positions me next to the white wall in the hall. “No smile.” Once he snaps the photo, he sends a copy of it and the birth certificate to Brad.
I take a deep breath. “Greer.” I repeat the name a few times. It will take time to get used to it. “I’m honored.” Tears well up, but I refuse to think of this as a permanent change. It’s temporary until I get somewhere safe.
While Lionel stuffs weapons and other necessary items into a large duffel bag, I grab food and drinks for us. We don’t know whether we’ll be traveling by car or plane, but it gives me something to do and keeps my mind from replaying the details of last night over and over.
An hour later, we back out of the driveway in my little hatchback. Once we meet up with Brad, he and another friend will continue on in my car, ditching it a few hours away from the city to throw off Hightower’s men. I bite my lip, hating the thought of putting someone else in danger, but Lionel chuckles and informs me that they’re ex-Army Rangers and extremely capable of taking care of themselves.