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In our house?!
“Don’t freak out.”
“Too late.Shit shit shit…”I keep repeating myself involuntarily.
“Gailo, some water! And Dr. Phillips!” Mark calls out as he carries me out into the hall that leads to his room.
“What are you doing?” I screech.
“Putting you to bed so you can get checked out.”
My mouth falls open. “I’m not getting in bed with you! I don’t want to be anywhere near you! Put me down!”
“No.”
“Take me to my room then!”
“Also, no.”
The other guy, Gailo, comes in with bottles of water and an ice pack. “Doc’s on his way.” He says to Mark as he sets me down on the bed and Gailo extends the ice pack to me. He grimaces and gestures toward my head. “Sorry about that.”
“Yeah, I’m not donediscussinghow everything went down, fucker.” Mark huffs.
“You told me to shoot her! At least I didn’t listen to you, idiota!”
“Well, as I told you, she makes me crazy!”
Gailo starts to laugh. “You’re right. She is going to get you killed. Women, man.” He slaps Mark on the back. They’re so casual. As if Mark wasn’t shot? I didn’t have my head bashed in with a gun? What the hell is happening?
I take the ice pack from Gailo and lookinto those haunted eyes. “Who are you?”
Mark grabs the ice pack and holds it for me. I shrink away but he tsks and holds the back of my head in place.
“I am…a friend. And I’m going to give you two some, uh, space.” Gailo backs away awkwardly.
I turn to Mark. “A friend? Another agent? Will you just tell me what’s going on already?”
Mark sighs. “He’s more like a brother.” He drops the ice pack and rocks back on his heels. “Shit, I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start with today, or yesterday, I don’t even know what day… we weren’t kidnapped? That was fake? What, staged?”
“Not fake. Everyone was shot with real bullets. Including me. No one died. But was it planned? Yes.”
I look down at his bloody shirt. “By yourfriends?”
“Yes.”
“Then my uncle isn’t trying to kill you.”
He moves his head side to side as if the answer to that is unclear.
“Just tell me the truth, Mark, who the hell even are you?”
He looks down on me with warmth, even with a small smile. A real one. “I’m…” His voice cracks. “My real name is Marco Guido. Or, it was. Marco Guido died. When I was five.” He gets up to grab the chair and drag it to the side of the bed.
“When you were adopted?”
He puts the ice pack back on my head and looks into my eyes. “Before. A man saved me from that fire, helped me to heal, taught me about who I was, what had been done to me. And who had done ittome. Then three years later, the Whites took me in.”
