Alano
7:54 p.m.
I don’t deserve this life. I’ve always known it, but I feel it after surviving an assassination attempt.
How can I not when I’m afforded the privileges of boarding our family’s jet to leave New York and fly to Los Angeles to recover
(and hide out) in this gorgeous mansion in the hills with eight bedrooms, a home theater, panic room, tennis court, infinity
pool, a garage with a rotating platform, and a view of downtown that makes you feel like a god in the sky. The fact that we
don’t live here full-time is despicable, an egregious waste of resources, criminal even. This isn’t a home, not really. It’s
more of a prison preventing me from living my life when I should be behind bars in a tiny cell for the things I have done
when no one was looking.
I’m out by the infinity pool with my legs in the water and Bucky’s head in my lap as I stare out into the city. The dark hills
beneath us, the back of the Hollywood Sign miles away, the countless buildings as far as the eye can see. I’ve asked to be
alone as I try processing every horrible thing that has happened in the past forty-eight hours but I hear someone approaching.
I’m expecting it to be my parents, but it’s my bodyguard.
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. ,” Agent Dane says.
“Does my father want you to protect me from Bucky?” I ask.
Bucky perks up, and I scratch him between his ears.
“No, I’ve come to apologize for my negligence last night. I shouldn’t have left your side. You could have been killed.”
I look at my bandaged arm, reliving the burning pain of that slice and getting stabbed in my abdomen. “No one could’ve known
that boy was secretly an assassin with a blade hidden in his phone.”
“It was—is—my responsibility to anticipate any threats. I will be more diligent in the future. Even if that means carrying
around garlic and holy water and poking everyone’s gums in case they’re secret vampires.”
Any other night I would’ve laughed, but my head is too loud with all the recent chaos replaying like an unstoppable loop:
hearing Harry Hope’s cries of relief and the gunshot that took his life; telling Deckers they would be dying and the grief
of knowing they’re all now dead; catching Andrea Donahue committing crimes and getting her fired; and fighting with my best
friend and fighting off an assassin. All of it, over and over and over, enough to have me thinking about how badly I want
to climb into a dark place I’ve only ever been once before.
“Are you okay, Mr. ?” Agent Dane asks.
I can’t say what I’m itching to do because it’s in my bodyguard’s job description to protect me from all threats, including
myself.
“Not really.”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“You do enough. You don’t have to be my therapist too.”
“I don’t feel like I did enough last night. Let me make up for it.”
When I was first assigned Agent Dane as a bodyguard, I thought we wouldn’t ever talk about anything personal, only security
matters. I’m happy that’s not been the case. I know he grew up here in Los Angeles and was in a long-distance relationship
for two years before moving to New York in 2016 to be with his girlfriend, only for her to break up with him after two months.
I know he was planning on spending his twenty-first birthday in Las Vegas, but it was on Thursday, March 19, during the lockdown,
so he played poker online with friends instead. And I know he has a great ear that he uses to listen out for everything, not
just danger.
“I’m struggling with who I’m supposed to be,” I say. I’m staring out into the city as if the answer will be in one of those
buildings, or someone inside them. I’ll never know.
“Are you struggling with something in particular?” Agent Dane asks.
“You know what,” I say, turning to him. “It’s the reason you’re sworn to protect me.”
Agent Dane nods. “It’s a big responsibility. It will take up your life.”
“Even more than it already has. I really envy the children of presidents. They don’t have it easy during active terms, but eventually their parent leaves office and they get to slowly slip into obscurity again like every other former First Family. I will never have that. I’m growing up to become even more powerful, more recognizable. My father expects me to raise my kid the same way, as if I’m ever going to be able to start a family of my own when you’re being paid to tackle anyone who says hi to me.”
Agent Dane stifles his laugh, like he does when he’s on the clock, which is technically anytime I’m in his proximity. “I’m
sorry about that.”
“I deserve to have a life of my own before telling people how to live theirs before they die.”
“You’re definitely in need of some soul-searching, Mr. . This week we can hike up to the Wisdom Tree. I would go whenever
I needed to reflect. There’s even a box of journals waiting by the tree that people contribute to, but you might want to bring
your own since you lose all anonymity when writing about being the Death-Cast heir.”
I can’t even be part of a community of strangers on paper because of who I am.
Enough is enough.
“Soul-searching at the Wisdom Tree is a great idea,” I say. I won’t be going later this week, though. I’m hiking the trails
to the Wisdom Tree tonight.
Alone.