Chapter 46 #2
“After my mother and brother died, he took us away from London. Ran away from the grief. Moved us to a tiny private island in British Columbia, Canada, near the border with Washington. He’s still there. He runs a research facility. Ever heard of the Madrona Foundation?”
I shake my head.
“It doesn’t matter. He runs his facility alone, just him and an assistant or two.
It would be the perfect place to hide, for now anyway, to take stock of the situation.
Think. Being in another country will be helpful, and my father is so isolated where he is.
You could fly there without being seen and if Global does find out where you’ve gone, comes after you, well at least we have the Canadian Wall between them and us. ”
“Can you trust your father?” I ask.
“I think so,” she says. “It was my choice that we’re kind of no contact, but I know he’d welcome us.”
“You’re willing to stake all of this on that trust?”
She mulls that over, biting her lip. Then she nods and gives me a steady look. “Yes. I’m willing to. He’ll help us. He owes me.”
I want to ask her what that means but if they’re no contact, that means something went down between them. I can only hope her instincts are sharp right now, not muddled.
“Okay. Then tomorrow I’ll get the money, right before the bank closes. Then we leave.”
“Sounds like we finally have a plan.” Her face looks even more grave. “How is the voice?”
I go still, unable to speak.
“Last night, when you finally fell asleep, it sounded like you were talking to the voice in your dreams,” she goes on.
I feel my cheeks go red. I hate that she could hear that, hate that the voice was getting me even in my sleep. “It’s still there but it’s quiet. Not really giving me any commands, just…reminding me it exists. Whatever it is.”
“Well, there’s a chance that my father might be able to fix that.”
“You said he was a scientist, not a miracle worker.”
A dark look passes over her. “Oh, you’d be surprised at what he’s capable of.” Then she gets out of bed. “Time for coffee,” she says, padding away, and I’m left wondering if we’re about to make a huge mistake.
The next morning, our last morning here, Mia wakes up before I do. I find her standing on the deck, wrapped in a wool blanket, watching another round of snow fall over the lake.
“It’s beautiful,” she says without turning around.
“It is,” I say but I’m looking at her. The snow catches in her hair, melts on her cheeks. Her bruises have faded to pale shadows, and in this light, with her face turned up to the breaking sky, she looks almost peaceful. I move to stand beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For taking care of me this week.”
“There’s nothing else I would rather be doing,” I tell her and the urge to grab her hand and hold it, just hold it, just feel her, is so strong that I nearly have to step away. “If the rest of my life turns out to be this, just you and me, on a lake in the snow…I would go to my grave a happy man.”
She turns to look at me, her eyes large and liquid. We’re so close I can see the snowflakes caught in her eyelashes, can feel the warmth of her breath in the cold air.
God, I want her. God, I love her.
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe neither of us moves, maybe we just drift together like gravity, like something inevitable. Her face tilts up toward mine and I lean down and for one perfect suspended moment we’re almost there, almost touching, close enough that I can feel the ghost of her lips—
And then she pulls back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, turning her face away from me.
“So am I,” I tell her, meaning it.
We stand there in the snow, not touching, the almost-kiss hanging between us like a promise or a threat.
“We should go inside,” I finally say, clearing my throat. “It’s cold and I need to put the coffee on. Please tell me your father has good beans at his place, because as much as I love being here and playing lake house with you, I’ll be happy to never have a cup of stale swill again.”
She laughs and it’s enough to put things between us back to normal, whatever normal is.
That afternoon, we wash and put away the Thompson’s clothes that have treated us well during the week, then get back into our own clean ones.
Mia only has her pants, boots, and a shirt, so we have to steal a sweater and puffy winter coat from their closet.
When I come back to get her after the bank, I’ll make sure to leave money behind.
Then we clean and tidy the house and by the time we’re done, it’s time for me to go to the bank.
“Do you even know where the nearest bank is?” Mia asks, sitting on the porch as I step down into the slushy yard, the snow melting. “Do you even know what town we’re near?”
“Nope but I’ll figure it out quick,” I tell her. “I’ll fly over invisible, zip through the closest town, spot the bank. Find a safe place to turn visible and go inside. With any luck I’ll be in and out in a flash.”
“Be careful,” she says.
“Always am.”
She gives me a look that says we both know that’s bullshit.
I go invisible and lift off, heading south toward what I hope is civilization.
The town is called Phoenicia.
I spot it from about two thousand feet—a main street, a general store, a diner, and there, right on the corner, a bank. Small town America, complete with a hardware store that already has their Christmas decorations up.
I land in an alley behind the diner, turn visible, and walk around to the bank like a normal person. The sign on the door says they close at five. It’s 4:47.
Inside, there’s maybe six people. An old guy at the counter, a mom with two kids waiting in line, a couple of employees behind the glass. The security guard by the door is the first to notice me, and his eyes go wide.
“Holy shit,” he says. “You’re—you’re Vanguard.”
So much for keeping a low profile.
The mom turns around. The kids turn around. The old guy at the counter turns around. Within thirty seconds I’m surrounded by people who want to shake my hand, tell me their friends will never believe this, and ask me what I’m doing in Phoenicia of all places.
“Just passing through,” I say, pasting on the smile I’ve perfected for press events. “Taking some personal time.”
“Can I get a picture?” The mom is already pulling out her phone. “My husband loves you.”
“Sure. Of course.”
I pose for three photos. Sign a receipt someone shoves at me.
Shake more hands. The whole time I’m watching the clock on the wall tick closer to five, and the teller behind the counter—a woman in her fifties with reading glasses on a chain and an expression like she’s seen it all and wasn’t impressed the first time—hasn’t moved from her station.
Finally I extract myself from the crowd and approach the window.
“Hi there. I need to make a cash withdrawal.”
She looks at me over her glasses. “Card or account number?”
“I don’t have either on me.”
“ID?”
“Don’t have that either.” I give her a bashful smile, hoping it wins her over.
Her expression doesn’t change. “Sir, I can’t process a cash withdrawal without proper identification or account credentials.”
“Right, but—” I gesture at my face. “You don’t recognize this mug? It’s me. Vanguard. I’ve been on the cover of Time Magazine. Twice.”
“I don’t read Time Magazine.”
Jesus Christ.
“Look, I just need cash. What’s the daily limit for a withdrawal?” I’ve never felt like more of a civilian.
“Ten thousand dollars. But a cash transaction of that amount without identification is going to flag in our system. I’d need to file a suspicious activity report, which means—”
“A suspicious activity report. For me. For Vanguard. For America’s superhero?” I’m cringing internally as I say all that.
“For anyone, sir. Those are the rules.”
The voice comes out of nowhere.
Take the money. Kill her. She’s in your way. Kill her and take what you need.
My hands go cold. I can feel my jaw tightening, my fingers curling against the counter. The teller is still talking, something about federal regulations and bank policy, but I can barely hear her over the static building in my skull.
Do it. Hold up the whole place. You could take them all down in seconds. Take out the cameras. No witnesses. No problems.
“Sir? Are you alright?”
I’m gripping the counter hard enough to dent the wood. I force myself to let go. Force myself to breathe.
“Fine,” I manage. “I’m fine. Just—give me a second.”
Kill her. Kill them all. Take what you need and go.
“Is there a problem here?”
A new voice. I turn and there’s a man in a slightly nicer suit than the other employees—manager, probably—coming out from a back office. He’s maybe forty, balding, and he’s looking at me like I’m a celebrity and a potential PR disaster all at once.
“Mr. Vanguard, sir, I’m Tom Hendricks, branch manager. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I need to make a withdrawal. Ten thousand. I don’t have my ID or my card on me. I’m sorry.” I give him another golly-gee, how embarrassing, apologetic smile.
The teller opens her mouth to protest, but Hendricks holds up a hand.
“That won’t be a problem,” he says smoothly. “We can verify your identity through other means. Facial recognition, biometrics—we have your file on record from the Citizen Heroes program. Linda, process the withdrawal please.”
Linda looks like she wants to smite the both of us.
Five minutes later I’m walking out of the bank with ten thousand dollars in a manila envelope, the voice in my head finally quiet, my hands still shaking slightly as I wave goodbye to the security guard.
I find the alley again. Go invisible. And fly back to the lake house as fast as I can.
Mia is still waiting on the porch when I land, a black balaclava rolled up on her head like a beanie.
“Any problems?”
“None,” I lie. “Got the cash.”
I head inside and count out eight hundred dollars from the envelope—more than enough for the food and the clothes, but the Thompsons deserve it for unknowingly harboring two fugitives for a week. I leave it on the kitchen table with a note that just says Thank you.
When I come back out, Mia has pulled the balaclava down over her face. Only her eyes are visible, dark and watchful.
“How do I look?” she asks.
“Like you’re about to rob a bank. You should have come with me, maybe I could have gotten more.”
“Funny.”
“I thought so.”
I go invisible and scoop her up, one arm under her knees, one behind her back. She wraps her arms around my neck, and even through the coat and the sweater and all the layers between us, I can feel the warmth of her.
“Ready?” I ask.
She takes in a deep breath and nods. “Ready.”
We lift off into the darkness, heading west.