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"Teaching us to be afraid of the outside world so we'd never leave, when the real danger wasn't out here at all. It was right there. With everyone who was supposed to be looking out for us. Everyone we were taught to trust. Our teachers. Our doctors. Even some of our own parents might have been in on it. Hell, I'm not even sure my mom wasn't . . ."
He trailed off. I didn't rush to tell him I'm sure she hadn't been a willing participant. We'd already
been through this. There were no guarantees.
In Corey's face, bitter and angry, I could find no trace of the guy I'd grown up with, the one who was always grinning, always up to something, never thinking any further ahead than the next party.
I cleared my throat. "So, what did you guys find out while I was sleeping on the job?"
We'd gone to the library to research a name that Rafe's mother had given him to contact as a last resort. We had no idea if this guy could--or would--help us, but it was our only shot.
"Cyril Mitchell is an unusual enough name. I narrowed it down to the most likely guy--the others were too young. I have a phone number, but that's it." Daniel unfolded two notes from his pocket. Scrap paper from the library. He ran his finger down his notes and let out a deep breath. If Corey looked bitter, Daniel looked defeated, and it was just as painful to see.
"It's okay," I said. "We call the number. We talk to whoever answers. That's all we can do."
One of the toughest parts about making that call was picking a pay phone. Not only are they rare these days, but we wanted one a fair distance from where we'd spend the night. Sure, the risk that someone was tapping this guy's phone--or that he was working for the people chasing us--was slight. But right now we only trusted one another.
We caught the SkyTrain and found a pay phone. Then I prepared to call the man we hoped was the right Cyril Mitchell.
While Rafe had been captured the first time, he'd found information about another experiment: Project Genesis. The kids who'd been guinea pigs in that one had supposedly escaped, along with their parents. Rafe was sure Mitchell would know more. If we could find those subjects, maybe they could help us.
I pumped five dollars in coins into the pay phone and dialed.
When a woman answered, I asked to speak to Cyril Mitchell.
"Sorry, wrong number," she said.
I read her back the number I'd dialed.
"That's right, but there's no one named Cyril here."
Before she could hang up, I said, "I really need to get in touch with Mr. Mitchell and this is the only number I have."
"I'm sorry. I can't help you."
My mind whirred, trying to think of something else to say before she hung up. But she stayed on the line. As if she was waiting.
"Do you know any way to get in touch with Mr. Mitchell?" I asked finally.
"No."
So why aren't you hanging up?
If Mitchell knew about Project Genesis and Project Phoenix, both top-secret supernatural experiments, maybe he was on the run, too. Maybe this woman was waiting for something--a name, a code word.
But if he's on the run, why would Daniel be able to find his number so easily?
Maybe it wasn't the right Cyril Mitchell. Or maybe it was and she could tell I was young and I was scared, and didn't want to hang up on me.
I took deep breaths and clenched the receiver.
This was our only lead. Our only lead. I couldn't let it slip away.
"I'm going to leave a message," I said. "Just in case." I chose my words carefully. "My name is Maya Delaney. I'm a Phoenix from Salmon Creek, British Columbia."
I paused. It took at least three seconds for her to say, "I'm sorry, but you really do have the wrong number." Which told me she'd been listening, maybe even writing it down.
"Just take the message. Please. Maya Delaney. Phoenix. Salmon Creek. He can contact me at . . ." I read off the email account Corey had set up at the library. "Do you need me to repeat any of that?"
