12. CASSANDRA

I check my phone for the umpteenth time today to see if I’ve somehow missed the ding that indicates a new message. Nope. Just like all the other times I’ve looked at it so far today. Outside the living room window, I see the night sky of Manhattan lit up like the world’s most expensive Christmas tree.

The little Netflix logo appears on the screen of my Macbook with the message: “Are you still watching Scandal?” Obviously I haven’t been paying attention – I can’t even tell you what season has been playing, let alone what the current episode is about.

Of course, Scandal isn’t the easiest show to follow at the best of times, and this is far from the best of times.

I exit the program and am greeted by the desktop photo: a beautiful beach in Bora Bora. I traveled all over the world in my job, but I never got to see a place like Bora Bora. The only sand I ever got to see was in the desert.

Sigh.

I check the phone again without thinking. My work computer is rigged to alert my phone whenever a new message comes in from the Chase’s website, but still nothing. And it’s almost midnight.

My nerves are starting to fray. I’ve been more confident hunkered down in a rathole in the Middle East than I am right now, waiting for this message. What if it’s all fallen apart somehow? I don’t think I could take that. To come so far with this, only to see it disappear like smoke in the wind…

I need a distraction.

Before I can stop it, my thumb slides around the track pad and clicks on a file folder called “Sandra’s Stuff.” Inside is a folder of videos.

I know where my subconscious is going and I’m helpless to do anything about it. Suddenly the screen is filled with the image of two awkward teens mugging for the camera. In the lower right corner is a date stamp from thirteen years ago.

This isn’t going to help me at all. This is just wallowing. But I don’t stop it. Can’t stop it.

The girl is all red curls and freckles, the boy skinny with hair that looks like it was shorn by a military barber. They’re standing beside a roll-up banner welcoming all students to the seventeenth annual high school science fair. Behind them, a contraption covers most of the white plastic table on which it sits.

The girl holds up a large gold medal to the camera. The boy nabs it from her and bites down on it like an Olympian on the podium. She giggles with delight.

So do I. Just like I did back then.

“Tell everyone what you made,” my dad’s voice says from behind the camera.

“It’s just a scale model of a nuclear reactor,” the boy says blandly, like he’s describing a mildly interesting rock he found at the beach. Meanwhile, the girl looks at the boy the way teens gaze adoringly at posters of Justin Bieber these days.

He glances over at her and catches her staring. She blushes, flustered. Behind the camera, Dad clears his throat.

“All right, that’s enough filming. Mom’s waiting for us at the restaurant.”

The boy swoops in and kisses the girl on her freckled cheek an instant before the screen becomes filled with white static and the video file ends.

Smart, my brain tells me. I’m waiting on information about the stranger who’s going to be the first man to take me to bed, so what do I do? Watch a video of the first and only boy I’ve ever kissed. The only one I’ve ever cared about.

Sometimes I wonder if all my intelligence somehow pushed the common sense out of my brain.

The sharp rap at my front door sets the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Who the hell is here at this time of night? And why tonight, of all nights?

I place the Macbook on the sofa and take a calming breath, running my hands down my blouse to smooth out the wrinkles before striding to the door. Cool and calm. Olivia Pope, that’s me.

There’s no one there.

On the hallway carpet is a slim leather travel case with the words Chase & Regent stenciled on the top.

My pulse quickens as I snatch it into the room and quickly close the door. I just assumed they’d contact me electronically, not physically. That kind of risk shows a level of confidence I wouldn’t have expected from these people. I guess I underestimated them. That’s my first lesson.

I open the case and tip its contents gently out onto the sofa: a no-name electronic tablet, a sheaf of papers, and a gold ring. Nothing else.

I hit the power button on the tablet first. It comes to life with a video of the blonde woman again.

“Hello, Cassandra,” she says. “I hope this finds you well. I trust you now have in your possession a printed file of information on your pursuers. You should also have a ring. Please place the ring on your finger now.”

She pauses for a moment, so I do as she says. It’s a perfect fit.

“Excellent,” she smiles. I get the sensation that she can see me, even though I know that’s impossible.

Right?

“The ring contains a device that will allow us to track your movements during the Chase. Please make sure you wear it throughout; a sensor in the band is sensitive to your body heat and will alert us if you remove it at any point.”

“I’m sure that would be dealt with accordingly,” I say.

“One final rule of the Chase,” she says, holding an old-style skeleton key up to the camera. “Each pursuer will carry a key identical to this one. It opens a room in the Regent Hotel. If and when you are presented with this key, it means the Chase is concluded and the presenter has won.

“You will accompany him to the Regent and complete the transaction.”

So now I know. It’s like they’re all carrying a key to my soul. And losing my innocence will be a transaction.

An image of the redheaded girl in the video flashes in my mind and I feel the hot sting of tears behind my eyes.