Chapter Forty-Two
ANGEL SINCLAIR
The rest of the week continued as usual but with the extra layer of mind games we were playing among ourselves. More classes, more psychological testing, and more anxiety as we got ready to face our final trial.
On Tuesday evening when I was reading in the library, Mike came in and asked if I wanted to play chess. We set up the board and played seven straight games. He crushed me in all seven.
“Wow, you’re really good,” I said, pushing back from the table. “I thought I was a decent player, but you killed it. That’s pretty impressive.”
He smiled and thumped his chest. “Captain of the chess team.”
“I can see why. I’m going to have to up my game before playing you again. By the way, I hear you speak Spanish.”
“Yep. My mom’s from Mexico. Tienes bonitos ojos azules.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“You can google it later,” he said, chuckling. He punched me lightly on the arm before packing up the board.
As I walked back to my room, I realized I could be friends with him…with everyone at the trials. It was a startling thought for someone like me, who had made her first two friends just over a month ago. Somewhere along the line, I had started to know and like the other candidates, and now we were going to be torn apart.
It totally sucked.
I had a huge math test on Wednesday, which I was pretty sure I aced even though I barely studied. Psychological testing was the strangest. As soon as I came into the room, Mrs. Thompson told me this would be a short session.
“Okay,” I said, cheering up. Any shortening of a class I despised was a plus in my book. “What are we doing?”
“I have just one question to ask you and, unlike our previous sessions, you have permission to think about your answer. I request only that you answer from the heart. Don’t say what you think I want you to say. I want to hear the truth. Then you’re free to go for the rest of the session.”
“Really? One question.” How hard could that be?
Ms. Thompson placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. “I want to know why you want to become an operative. It’s a dangerous, complicated job that requires a lot of work and secrecy. It’s difficult and, at times, terrifying. Why do you want to do this kind of work instead of something else?”
It was an intriguing question. Had she asked me this at the beginning of the trials, I might have had a different answer. So, why had I accepted the nomination? Was it because my friends were here? Or had I been enticed by the free education and promise of a steady job after graduation? Maybe it was the lure of excitement and adventure—the challenge it presented.
Or perhaps was it something else entirely.
Given my skills behind the keyboard, the future was mine to command. I could work almost anywhere I wanted, request a salary that would leave me quite comfortable in life, and do all the things I loved to do. So, why was I stressing out about a government job that probably wouldn’t pay half of what I’d be worth in the commercial sector and be dangerous to boot?
I considered my thoughts, and when I had my answer ready, I spoke from the heart. “It’s pretty simple, Ms. Thompson. I want my work to matter to the world, even if no one else knows what I’m doing. That’s a really powerful thing.”
She smiled and stood. “It is, indeed. Thank you, Angel. You’re free to go.”
By Thursday night, my anxiety was sky-high. I went to the gaming room to blow off some steam. It was empty, thankfully, as I felt like being alone for a bit. I loaded up a game, cleared my head, and started playing. I’d been at it for about an hour when the door opened and Jax strolled in.
“Hey, Angel. Mind if I join you?”
My mood had improved, so I didn’t mind. “Sure.”
“What are you playing?” He plopped down on the couch next to me, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
“Black Salt Kingdom. It’s a fantasy role-playing game not unlike the one we played for the trial. I’m playing the computer.”
“You need some help?”
I glanced sideways at him, my fingers still moving rapidly. “You’ve played this before?”
“Not this game, but close enough.”
Remembering his performance when Mike, Wally, and I had all played Quaver, I looked back at the game and tried to think of something he could do that wouldn’t ruin my score too badly. Then I saw him reviewing the general’s actions and sighed inwardly.
“Want to be my general?” There it was—my kind act for the day.
His eyes lit up. “I’d love to.”
We were immersed for another hour and a half when Jax starting killing it with a bunch of brilliant military maneuvers. After we handily won the kingdom, I put the controller down and leaned back on the cushions.
“You’re good,” I said. “Really good.”
“I can rise to the occasion when required.” He gave me a high five. “Way to go, Your Majesty.”
I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easy. “You downplayed your ability when you played with me before. Why?”
“I wasn’t playing with just you.” He tossed his controller on the table and didn’t offer any more of an explanation.
It took me a second to process that. “So, why do you do that? Keep so much about yourself hidden?”
“Do I?”
“You do.”
“I’m not hiding the fact I like you.” He scooted closer and wound a strand of my hair around his finger. When he let go, he pulled a small piece of wrapped chocolate from the strands and presented it to me.
I took it and shook my head in disbelief. “How do you do that? I was looking at you the whole time and I didn’t see you reaching into your pocket.”
“I told you, it’s magic.”
“Intellectually, I know it’s just an illusion, but I’m still impressed. It’s a real talent. How did you learn that?”
“I had lots of time to practice. Mostly when I was hiding in the closet from my dad.”
That made me stop, consider my next words carefully. “You had to hide in the closet from your dad? Was it hard growing up with him?”
“Hard?” He laughed, seeming to be genuinely amused by my question. “I wish it had been hard. It wasn’t hard. It was brutal. You asked me the other day at the gym why I touch the wall when I swim. It’s because of him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can swim just fine, but I need to be near a wall so I can grab it if I start to feel panicked. That’s why you always see me swimming on one of the side lanes.”
“Why would you panic? You’re a good swimmer, Jax.”
“Yeah, well, anyone can master a technique. I’m not afraid of swimming.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“Drowning.” He leaned forward, not looking at me and pressing his elbows on his thighs. “My old man was a drunk. When he wasn’t beating my mom or me, he was torturing us. When I was four, he threw me in the deep end of our apartment pool for wetting the bed. My mom tried to jump in after me, but he held her back. I could hear her screams as I kept going under. I would have drowned if it hadn’t been for some guy walking past the pool to get to his room. He jumped in and saved me. No one said anything, no charges were pressed, and it was back to life in hell, as usual. Sometimes when I’m in the water, I have unexpected flashbacks. There are fewer and fewer as the years pass by, but the wall steadies me, reminds me I’m in control.”
I had no idea what to say. “I’m so sorry, Jax,” I finally choked out. “I had no idea. Your mom…she stayed with him?”
“Yeah. She stayed with him.” He looked at the screen, where our game was frozen with our winning score. “I think she was planning to leave, but she never got the chance. One day, she was slow in bringing him a beer. He knocked her down hard. She hit her head on the bricks when she went down. Died instantly. I was six and witnessed the entire thing. My old man told the police she slipped, and they bought it. Then, when she was gone, he only had one target left.”
I was so revolted, I pressed my hand against my mouth. I finally managed to locate my voice. “Is your father still alive?”
“No. He died.”
“How?”
“I killed him.”
“You did…what?” My eyes widened in horror.
“He came home late one night, drunker than I’ve ever seen him. He hauled me out of bed and started beating me without even uttering a word. Smashed my nose, my eye, broke a rib and my arm, and almost choked me to death. He would have succeeded, but he was too drunk to hold on, and I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I got away, but I had limited vision because it was dark and the eye he’d hit had swollen shut. I slipped on the stairs and fell. I hurt my ankle and couldn’t walk, so I crawled through the living room, trying to get out the back door. He caught me at the fireplace, same place as Mom. As his fists came down, I pulled the poker from the fireplace stand and used it to protect myself.”
“Oh, no.” My voice was hardly a whisper. “How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“What happened after that?”
“No charges were pressed against me. I’d been beaten within an inch of my life. Every cop in the room knew what had happened. I had no other family, so I was placed in a state-run group home. This year, at seventeen, I was able to declare myself independent and support myself on various odd jobs while I finished up school. Then came the UTOP offer, and here I am.”
“You live on your own?”
“I did until now.”
My mind whirled from his revelations, remembering he tutored kids after school and worked odd jobs. He was alone and supporting himself at seventeen. It was staggering to imagine how hard that must be for him.
“Your father’s death—it wasn’t your fault,” I finally said.
He shrugged. “No one else held that poker.”
“You were protecting yourself. It was self-defense.”
“True, but it doesn’t change what happened.”
I tried to compose myself, but my emotions were running high. “Does Mr. Donovan know?”
“Of course he knows. They all know.”
“Well, they haven’t held it against you,” I said. “You wouldn’t have gotten invited here if that was the case.”
“Perhaps. I like to tell myself I’m here because I’m intelligent, I take tests well, and I can think on my feet. Or even maybe it’s because I have some skills that could be useful for an operative, like a hypersensitivity to people’s behaviors and body language. It’s a skill I learned from an early age when trying to judge my father’s moods. Occasionally, I entertain the idea that they’re impressed by my sleight of hand. But do you want to know what I really think is the reason I got invited to UTOP?”
I was almost afraid to respond. “Yes,” I finally whispered.
“I’m pretty sure I’m the only one among us who’s killed someone. I bet they figure if I did it once, I could do it again.” He pushed off the couch. “So, now you know my secrets, Red. Good night, and good luck on the trial tomorrow.”
Without another word, he walked out of the gaming room, closing the door behind him. I sat there in silence, shamed I had pushed him to reveal such a hidden part of himself.
Pressing my hands over my face, I wondered what dark secrets the rest of us were hiding.