Chapter Ten - Five
I hold Rory’s hand as we walk down College Avenue. “Want to hit up Big City Burrito? I really need some real Mexican food. London, man. They have no idea what a taco is.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds.
“Not in the mood for burritos?” I say, trying to lighten up the mood. There’s no missing the fact that she’s on to me. This whole trip is weird for her too. And even though Oliver is the one who started this mess, Rory isn’t stupid enough to think this is nothing more than her little brother fixing us up.
“No, it’s fine,” Rory finally answers. “We can get burritos.”
I look both ways so we can cross the street. There’s a gap in the flow of traffic, so we jog to the middle of the road, pause between two parked cars as we wait for another break, then continue over to the sidewalk in front of Big City.
“But something else is on your mind, right?” I ask, opening the door for her. There’s a crowd inside, so we get in line and pretend to look at the menu. After a few minutes go by, I lower my voice to a whisper and say, “Is there something wrong, Rory?”
She looks up at me with those big blues and shrugs. “You tell me.”
“Have you… have you experienced anything weird lately?” I lean in close as we shuffle forward in the line.
She thinks about this. “Not that I know of. I mean, except this trip. And that was all Oliver, so I guess it doesn’t count.” And then she looks up at me. “Why did Oliver tell me to come home? Does he know why you’re really here?”
But then the guy in front of us is done ordering, and it’s our turn. I get her usual, hoping she won’t correct me and order something else, because that would mean I don’t know her anymore, and I do. And while I’m having that little debate in my head, she orders for me.
“You remember,” I say, smiling like a great big love-struck dumbass.
“So did you,” she replies.
And just for a moment—for like two seconds, maybe, but no more—everything is perfect. I am Five and she is Princess, and we are best friends, lovers, and destined to be together forever.
I pay the cashier and take our ticket, and then we shuffle off to the side and get our drinks.
“I usually eat out back,” Rory says. “Wanna eat out back?”
That’s when reality hits me hard. She usually eats out back.
When I left Fort Collins I was fifteen years old. I had a driver’s license, but I wasn’t allowed to drive without my parents. In other words, I was a fucking kid. I didn’t take Rory out on dates in a car. I never brought her to Big City for a burrito. But she’s probably been here a hundred times with her friends from high school. She’s probably got mountains of memories stacked up inside her head of sitting out in the alley at those picnic tables eating those lunches and dinners.
“Nah,” I say. “Let’s take it to go.”
We go through the moves of getting napkins and straws, then grab our food from the counter when they call our number.
“Where to?” Rory asks.
“My house?” I say. “We can eat at the park. Like we used to.” Now that is a memory that belongs to us. Me and her at City Park, watching the trolleys come and go during the summer. Sucking on popsicles purchased from the ice cream truck. And I hold on to that memory all the way back to my rental at Shrike and all during the one-mile drive down Mountain Avenue to my childhood home.
When we get out of the car I take her hand and lead her across the street. The city pool is over here too, so there’s tons of people and all the picnic tables are filled with families, but the little spot under our favorite oak tree is empty and the shade is calling us.
I’m not in a suit today. Still wearing the cargo shorts and t-shirt I put on last night. But it’s hot. I feel her relief like it’s mine when we slip in under the canopy of leaves and take a seat.
“So,” Rory says, fishing our food out of the bag. She hands me my burrito and unwraps hers. “What’s really going on, Five?”
“I told you. I’m not sure.”
“Yeah, but you have an idea. I want to hear your idea.”
I run through all the ways to possibly put this, run the probabilities of getting it right and not freaking her out at the same time, and come up with… there’s no good way to put this.
So I devise another plan.
“Did you know…” I say, liking this idea better as the seconds pass, “that my dad has a superpower?”
Rory laughs, covering her mouth so she doesn’t spit out her food.
“No, really. He told me this himself. I know he’s weird, but listen. There’s no denying that Ford Aston is a goddamned genius, right?”
“No doubt,” Rory says.
“And that’s just you looking in from the outside. You, a Shrike princess, who probably knows him as well as anyone outside his immediate family. Well,” I amend, “you definitely know more about him than the twins. But that’s because they’re too young to know anything yet. They still think our families go to Disney every year because Bombshell is obsessed with the place.”
Rory scrunches up her face. “That is why we go.”
“Sure it is.” I laugh. But then I realize she’s serious. She doesn’t know.
Jesus Christ, Spencer Shrike. How the fuck did you not tell your oldest daughter what you really do down in Florida?
“Right,” I say. Now is not the time for that discussion.
“What’s this got to do with anything, anyway?” Rory asks.
“I’m gonna show you when we’re done eating.”
“I’m done,” Rory says, wrapping her burrito back up.
But I grab her hand and say, “Be still, Princess. We’re not in a hurry. We’re sitting in our park, under our tree, on a beautiful summer day having lunch together. Can’t we just enjoy it a little?”
She relaxes and then shoots me a shy smile. “Sorry. I’m just wound up, ya know? Things feel…”
“I know,” I say, scooting closer to her. “But listen, we gotta enjoy moments like this while we have the chance. So many things are outside our control, why not take some of that control back when we can?”
She unwraps her burrito and takes another bite. We sit in silence for a little bit, just watching the kids over at the pool as they splash and play.
God. We spent so many afternoons at that pool when we were kids.
“Remember how you used to hold my hand and take me across the street to swim when were small?” Rory says.
“I was just picturing it in my head this very moment.” I sigh.
“And you’d bring snack money. So we could buy shaved ice.”
“And then we’d come out here, wet, wrapped up in towels, and sit under this tree.”
“And talk about your wild plans for world domination.”
We both laugh. “I was a pretty stupid kid.”
“Stupid, no,” Rory says. “Just a guy with high expectations and plenty of plans on how to get the most out of life. I’ve always admired you for that, Five. I mean, really. Oxford at fifteen. I didn’t realize how big that was until recently. I was telling my friend from school about you last year and she was aghast. Apparently, her father went to Oxford too. So he wanted her and her brother to apply, but neither of them got in.”
I hear all those words. Every single one of them. But the only thing echoing in my head are, I was telling my friend from school about you…
“Five?” Rory says, leaning over to try to see up into my eyes. “Woohoo. Earth to Five.”
“What?” I say, lifting up my head and looking at her. Her father went to Oxford too…
“I said, what should we do today? Do you want to go swimming? Like old times?”
Like old times. I’d give anything for one careless afternoon filled with old times.
“I’d love that, Rory. Really. Maybe not here,” I say, forcing a smile as I nod my head towards the city pool. “But we could go out to your house for a swim.”
“Perfect,” she says. All her worries fade. I do that to her. It’s me who completes her world. Who keeps her safe. Who makes her happy.
And that’s why I need to tell her the truth.
“But first,” I say, putting my burrito down and turning to take her hand, “I need to show you something.”
“What?” she asks, her smile gone now.
I hate to do it. I really do. But she’s involved. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s involved. And I respect her too much to throw away all the things she’s capable of just for the sake of ego. So I have to.
“My house.”
She smiles again. “Like… your bedroom?” She waggles her eyebrows at me, like I’m hinting at an afternoon romp in the sack.
“No,” I say, squeezing her hand. “Not that. The secrets we keep in that house.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come with me.”
She bites her lip all the way across the street, up my driveway, and then looks at me as I stand in front of our garage, my hand on the keypad, punching in the access numbers.
“You have a car in here or something?” She’s hopeful.
And I’d love to give her what she wants. But I can’t. “No, Rory. My dad’s office.”
“Your dad’s office is in the house. You guys built it during the remodel when we were kids.”
“Yeah, that’s one of them. But in here,” I say, turning the handle on the door after the code gives me permission, “in here is his real office.”
She’s been in our garage lots of times. My dad keeps a ’64 GTO and a ’69 Triumph in here. For cover. Not because he likes them or even drives them. They’re just props to explain why we have a state-of-the-art, military-grade security system on our garage.
Rory looks around, sees what everyone sees—cars, tools, things her dad also has in a much larger quantity—then looks back at me with expectation.
“This way,” I say, walking to the back of the garage. There’s a big red toolbox on wheels that slides like it weighs nothing instead of well over a thousand pounds. And underneath the toolbox is a black rubber mat. I pick up the mat to reveal a door. And when I look at Rory, she says, “Oh. Shit.”
Oh, shit is right. Because when I open the door and flip a switch, the light comes on to reveal steep, concrete steps leading down into the ground.
“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
“I wish I could, Princess. But you gotta know. Want me to go first?”
She swallows hard and nods.
So I lead, and she follows, and the whole way down into the secret dungeon-like hole under our garage that my dad calls an office, I’m thinking…This is a very bad idea Five Aston. Maybe the worst idea you’ve ever had. Spencer Shrike didn’t tell her for a reason. It’s not your secret to reveal. It’s none of your business.
And if that’s all this was—me revealing a secret—then fine. I’d blow it off and never bring her down here. But that’s not all this is.
Something is happening and my princess needs to know the truth before we fuck things up or someone gets hurt.
Ford’s office never really shuts down. He never turns the computers off. So when we get to the bottom step, there are sixteen monitors lit up on the far side of the room casting an eerie glow and making things more mysterious and shadowy than they need to be.
“What the fuck is all this?” Rory asks. Her tone is slightly incredulous. Like this is weird, but it’s Ford’s office, and we all know how weird Ford is, so is it really that weird?
Kinda like that.
But then she glances around, gets a better look at things, and notices the twelve robots lined up along the perimeter of the twenty-by-twenty space. Some of them are downright creepy. I made those ones. For fighting. I had a little robot club for a while when I was a kid. But no one else around here was interested, so my dad, ever the supportive father that he is, helped me turn them into useful little bots for the family business.
The others are special order from the military.
“What the hell is going on down here, Five?”
Now she’s catching on.
“Well, Princess,” I say, scratching the side of my face, absently thinking I probably need a shave. “Our family history isn’t exactly… history. You see, our parents are all still in the business of fucking shit up. And this room right here… is command central.”
She just stares at me. Mouth open. After a few seconds, she closes her mouth, collects herself and says. “And that comment outside? That little slip-up about going to Florida?”
I shrug. “They go to Florida every year for work, Rory. They have a private island out there somewhere. I don’t know where. I don’t know what they do. But it’s…” I throw up my hands, exhausted. Frustrated. Done. “It’s gotta be illegal. You don’t need to be a genius to understand that. They never stopped those people they were running from, Rory. The shit they were involved with all those years ago never went away. They simply learned how to manage it better.”
She looks around again. Sees more this time.
Sees what’s actually on the monitors. Live image of a dock somewhere tropical. Live image of the front stoop outside my house. Her rambling front porch outside her house. Sparrow’s house. Shrike Bikes. FoCo Theatre. A luxury hotel room, empty until…
Like this is all just some kind of predetermined plan to make her see what’s really happening… A green-eyed man walks up to the monitor and smiles. Like he can see us just as clear as we can see him.
He waves.
We both wave back instinctively. Dumbly.
And then he walks away, out of the camera’s spying lens.
I see the disappointment wash over her face. Her perfect life out on that ranch. Her golden brother and sisters. Her superstar biker dad and her bombshell of a mom. And us. My family. My quiet mother who worries about saving the planet. And my no-nonsense dad filming his stupid TV shows all these years. And Sparrow’s family. Her supermodel parents with their perfect good looks and quaint retro house. That theatre they run with annual film festivals.
All of it… is a lie.