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And Paigelynn goes through something worse than death if I die.
Butter’s leash is easy to click on him, and I go back to my desk to grab a small bag, for dog dirt. A small packet of treats is there, which I stuff in my front pocket. I have no idea how in the hell the next hour of my life is going to go down, but having extra dog food is going to help.
Just as I head out, I’m stopped by Lauren, who glares at me as if I’ve offended her.
“It’s my turn,” she snaps.
“For what?”
“To take Butter for a walk.” Crouching down, she takes the dog’s face in her hands, the beast giving her face a lot of licks. “I would do anything for this sweet boy.”
Aha. A reprieve.
“Go for it,” I say, handing her the leash. “I was going for a run anyhow. He slows me down with all the squirrels he tries to chase.”
She frowns, one pierced eyebrow going high. “Run? In jeans?”
“Debbie’s orders.”
“She’s so weird.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re weirder!” Newman calls out from behind a wall of monitors. As I head for the door, my heart thumps out a bass line.
Now or never.
I look back at Butter, Lauren’s words giving me some comfort. If she’ll really do anything for him, he’s in good hands if I don’t come back.
And I don’t think I’ll come back.
A flash of my parents being hauled away from the Gaia compound knocks the wind out of me, the memory so visceral and real it’s like it has physical form.
Shoving it aside, I push the front door hard and race out, pretending my run starts now, knowing it’s all for show.
Debbie will figure out my actions don’t add up. I’m playing a dangerous game now, on a tightwire with each end on fire.
Soon there will be no way out, but there is still a chance for me to succeed.
As I climb in my car and start the engine, I pull out of the parking lot, mind calculating. Pushing all emotion into a tiny box that locks, I become nothing but a robot.
A robot with a program to execute.
Save Paigelynn.
Save Paigelynn is all I am, all I need to be, and all I will be until I succeed.
Driving away is more a function of needing a car because she’s only two blocks away. I park around the corner from her house, but out of sight from the backyard. As I get out of the car, I realize I have no cover.
I’m wearing jeans. People don’t run in jeans.
I have no dog to “walk” and pretend to be a good owner.
In the trunk of my car, there’s a duffel bag. I open it and sigh with relief.
My extra clothes. There’s a pair of sweatpants in there. No one runs in sweatpants in L.A., but this is less conspicuous than jeans. I grab the pants, climb in the front seat, and do my best impression of a contortionist as I put them on.
A beep from my console makes my gut tighten.
