Chapter 3 #2
“I never wanted that,” Tobias said, low and fast, right over Jake.
“I never wanted to be one of those—a siren type. I don’t want that.
” Bad enough to be a lure for hunters, prey for the guards.
But to unconsciously make a civilian drop her guard, offer to go somewhere alone with me?
He struggled enough with Jake’s attraction—more than that: with how Jake said he didn’t want anyone else now, just Tobias, and how could that be right?
—even though it was the foundation for the best thing in his life.
But to have a similar effect on people who had no experience, no defenses against the supernatural?
Tobias didn’t want that. He didn’t want that at all.
Jake hissed. “Jesus, Toby. That’s not what this is. That’s not what you are. I know they—those fuckers put a lot of fucked-up ideas in your head, but you’re no more a siren than I am.”
Tobias snorted. Then what the hell was it? But he finally met Jake’s eyes, trying for a smile. Jake returned it, just as weak.
“Look, chicks aren’t gonna stop mooning over you anytime soon, especially now you’re—taller and stuff. I always thought flirting was pretty awesome before, but there’s ways to let ’em down easy.”
“I could just say I’ve got a boyfriend, not a brother,” Tobias offered.
Jake extended his foot under the table to catch Tobias’s ankle. “Yeah, I like that idea.”
* * *
Once they’d arrived in Burlington and confirmed that Judge Hughes and his wife were at some snooty gala in D.C., the house was all too easy to infiltrate. Jake dismantled the home security, and they quickly found their way upstairs to the library and office.
In silent agreement, they divided up the files, and the next half hour passed in silence except for the rustle of papers and the noise of the cabinets.
Tobias finally broke the quiet. “Have you actually thought about it? Finding out something you wish you hadn’t?”
Jake didn’t look up. “Not since the last time you asked me that.”
Tobias made a short noise of frustration. “You’re being stubborn.”
“Damn right I am.”
Dropping the file folder onto the desk, he gave Jake a hard look. “If you’re not taking this seriously—”
“I am, Toby. Seriously-seriously.” Jake lifted his hands in the air, palms out. “Give me some credit. I’ve basically thought about this my whole life. There’s nothing that can jump out of the closet that we can’t take down, okay? Same as any other haunted bitch of a house. Have some faith in us.”
Tobias looked away. It scared him, how obstinately Jake hung onto those blinders. There were so many terrible possibilities that would end them.
But Jake waved a folder in the air. “I don’t care what’s in these or any other papers. It won’t change who you are, tiger.”
And Tobias had no choice but to believe him. They were already here, after all, and they had just survived the worst he had imagined.
He could put his trust in Jake, who had already pulled off the impossible for him over and over again.
Then he looked down again at the folder open before him, and his breath froze.
89UI6703.
There it was. The ID number that had been his entire official identity for most of his life, that had been stamped on the collar he’d worn around his neck for eleven years. Printed on the page before him.
Tobias wasn’t aware of seconds passing or of Jake speaking until he was at Tobias’s side, sliding the page out from between numb fingertips. He swore.
Using the secondhand camera they’d bought at a pawn shop, Jake took pictures of every page in the file. Then they put it back as they’d found it before making their way out of the house.
It wasn’t until much later, after they’d gotten the photos developed, that Toby was able to begin to process what the pages said. Jake paced and hovered over him until Tobias called him a wannabe Florence Nightingale and told him he needed space.
The files showed records from the ASC, following up on case numbers the judge had overseen.
Much of it had been redacted, thick black lines swallowing up lines and paragraphs.
But there was a list of each case number, a description of the convicted monster, their newly assigned Freak Camp ID, and the date they were admitted into the camp.
Under another column titled “Legal Name,” everything had been redacted.
But across from 89UI6703 was a date: December 13, 1989.
He had never known exactly when he’d been brought inside Freak Camp.
And Jake kept asking him how he felt.
“Weird, okay? It feels weird,” Tobias told Jake later that night. He was antsy, nowhere near ready to sleep, and wanted to try meditating while listening to Chopin on his portable CD player. But Jake wanted to talk.
Tobias still couldn’t remember anything from his life before the camp. No faces, names, or sounds. He honestly had no curiosity about it. In fact, he felt an aversion to the information.
Whoever he had been on December 12, 1989 had nothing to do with him now. It wasn’t who he was. He didn’t like how invested Jake seemed in the idea, almost feverish, like they were about to discover something important.
Jake was going to be disappointed. Tobias knew it in the marrow of his bones.
Something else disturbed him from the packet of judge’s records. Several pages further on from the one listing his Freak Camp ID and date of entry, he had seen another record for 97SS7223. Date of entry: November 8, 1997.
He had looked at it twice before the ID number produced a face. Or rather one face of many. A shapeshifter girl several years younger than him who had been the only other kid he’d known to last.
He had no idea if she was still alive. Often he had tried to believe she wasn’t, but the core of him—the part that still breathed the air of Freak Camp, some days, no matter how far they were in terms of miles—felt certain she was.
Kayla was still doing what she needed to survive, exactly as he had done. Exactly as he had taught her.
* * *
Now that they had a date, they could target their research.
They dug into records for the late fall and winter of 1989, eventually narrowing it down to three states: North Dakota, Florida, and West Virginia.
All three had classified cases referring to unknown supernaturals captured in December 1989.
Posing as an FBI agent, Jake made calls to officials and families in Jacksonville, Florida. The fifth call crossed Florida off the list as it confirmed that the family detained by the ASC only had two young girls. They hit another dead end with calls to Bismarck, North Dakota.
Then Tobias found the article in The Times West Virginian.
ASC NEUTRALIZE LOCAL THREAT
December 15, 1989
Residents of Chestnut Acres in Clarksburg expressed relief on Saturday after the Agency of Supernatural Control secured and removed a reported supernatural from their midst.
“I never would’ve guessed there was a freak on my own street,” said Mary Bevins, who has lived on Addler Road for more than twenty years. “Thank God for the quick response.”
The tip-off came just weeks after a werewolf was apprehended in nearby Stonewood after killing a young boy in a park.
The Murphy family first noticed something was wrong when a minor in their household began exhibiting unusual behavior. John Murphy reached out to the ASC, who arrived on the scene in less than 24 hours.
“We appreciate citizens for raising the alarm and calling the ASC hotline,” said Derek Dixon, head of the ASC’s West Virginia field office.
“This is exactly what we hope to achieve with our public awareness campaigns. If you see something, say something. No threat is too small. Literally, in this case. The supernatural target took the appearance of a male child. Don’t ever underestimate freaks’ ability to take on the appearance of someone unthreatening, even a loved one. ”
Silently, Tobias pushed the article toward Jake, then stood up and walked out of the library.
Jake found him sitting on a nearby picnic bench, his back to the table. Without speaking, he took a seat beside him.
Tobias cut him a look. “How are you doing?”
Jake looked wary. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. You’re the one who’s been swearing up and down there was nothing to find. Me, I was ready for this.”
“We still don’t know if that had anything to do with you.”
Tobias bit back an inappropriate urge to laugh.
“I guess we have to go to Clarksburg, then. Fuck.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground, before shooting Jake a glance from under his bangs.
“Do you want to talk about how—weird this is? If I’m really from West Virginia too? ”
Jake frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t.” Tobias kicked at the dirt, too frustrated to speak for a minute. Finally he said, “If I came from anywhere near Morgantown. It’s weird, Jake.”
Jake braced his elbows on his own knees, dropping his head to Tobias’s level. “I dunno what’s weird about it. West Virginia gets a bad rap, but everyone’s gotta be from somewhere.”
Tobias dug his knuckles into either side of his temple. “Fifty states in the country, and I’m from the same as yours?”
“Well, you gotta admit, Hawaii and Alaska weren’t as likely.”
Tobias was not amused. “The ASC has stations there too. They’re everywhere.”
“Yeah, I know.”
This is a bad idea. Tobias had said it enough times before, he didn’t think there was a point in repeating it now. Jake was too stubborn to turn aside now, let alone admit that something seemed off. Which it did.
Shit, everything felt off.