The Masked Truth Part 4

"Come on, Miss Riley." X-Files moves forward, waving the gun, and my gaze locks on that.

My blood rushes in my ears, voices coming as if from a mile away, barely penetrating, and Aaron's telling him to stop, leave me alone, and X-Files makes some mocking reply and then Max says, "You can't kill Aaron."

"What's that, Maximus?" X-Files swings the gun from me and a hand squeezes my arm and I jump to see Maria there, giving me a strained smile.

"You can't let us go," Max says, "because you need someone you can kill. It can't be Aaron. So we're cannon fodder."

"What the h.e.l.l?" Gideon scrambles to his feet and looks ready to go after Max until Aaron grabs his arm. Gideon throws Aaron off and says, "Did you hear what he said? You're trying to get us out of this, and he's trying to get us killed. Giving them ideas."

Max rolls his eyes. "Yeah, mate. I'm giving them ideas, because that's not what they're thinking at all."

"Max is right," I say as I rise. "They need us to be the stick and the carrot. If things go well, they can release one of us."

"And if they don't, we shoot you," X-Files says. "Well done, Maximus and Miss Riley. At least we have two kids with brains. Which is more than I can say for Mr. Highgate, but that's what one expects of rich brats, isn't it?"

As we sit, I whisper to Aaron, "Thank you. For trying."

He frowns as if the suggestion that we be released was so obvious it doesn't require comment. It does, though. He offered to take this all on himselflet eight strangers leave him to bear the brunt of the kidnappers' wrath and frustration if their plan doesn't go well. It's not what I expected from him.

"The next thing" X-Files begins. Then his cell phone rings. He takes it out and smiles at the screen. "Well, well, it seems we've made first contact." He clicks the speaker b.u.t.ton and answers the phone with "Good evening. To whom am I speaking?"

"Agent William Salas," a deep voice says. "I'll be working with you to resolve this matter."

"Ooh, I score the hostage negotiator from the first call. Excellent. That will save us some time. I'm the party host tonight, and that's all you need to know about me. My guests are far more important. Let's get them to say hi. We'll start with you." He points to Maria. "State your name for the nice policeman."

"Maria Lawrence," she says, and we continue across the room.

CHAPTER 5.

Everything's going fine. At least, as fine as one might expect from a hostage negotiation. Outwardly, I think I seem calm enough. Inwardly, everything's equally quiet ... if you don't count that little girl at the back of my brain, running in circles, shouting, "We're all going to die! Die!"

I'm a little concerned about how well I'm ignoring that girl. Just like I've been concerned about how well I handled the Porters' deaths. I suppose the fact that I'm spending the weekend in therapy camp suggests I'm not handling it well at all, but I think I'd feel more normal if I spent my days huddled in bed, sobbing and seeing their bloodied bodies every time I close my eyes. This emptiness feels callous. The anxiety and the depression feels selfish, as if a horrible tragedy befell Darla and her parents and all I can think is "me, me, me." I can't eat. I can't sleep. I jump at every noise. It's all about me.

Now, having been kidnapped, I should be a wreck. Instead, after I managed to rouse myself a couple of times, I only feel more numb than ever. As if tragedy is my new life. As if it's all I can expect. The temptation to giggle at that is almost overwhelming. First my father gets shot in the line of duty. Then I'm in the house when my babysitting clients are shot to death. Finally I get taken captiveby armed menin the therapy camp that's supposed to help me deal with all that trauma. Ironic, huh? Not p.i.s.s-my-pants terrifying. Not even but-it-isn't-fair self-centered. Just ironic.

As for the others, all I know is that they've gone quiet, and with nothing to break through my numbness, I don't rouse myself enough to look around. They're in shock or they're silent with terror or they're calmly waiting for the next step, because that's all they can do, all anyone can do. At least they aren't causing trouble anymore. That's what counts.

The hostage negotiator is asking questions. X-Files takes the phone off speaker and walks out of the room. Before he goes, he says, "You kids get a little more comfy. Talk about cute boys and cool movies and hot music and whatever else teens natter on about these days. Just don't let the word 'escape' leave your mouths. My guys have good ears and itchy trigger fingers."

After he leaves, there's two minutes of silence. Then Aimee stands and clears her throat and says, "I think we should"

"Oh, wait," Brienne says, rising. "Are you still here? Didn't they drug you guys or something?" She looks from Aimee to Lorenzo. "I was sure you two must have been sedated, because otherwise you'd have taken charge. Calmed us down. Told us it would be okay. Got in Max's face when he started mouthing off."

"I told Max" Aimee began.

"You said his name. That's not exactly taking charge. Riley had to handle it. Then Aaron had to handle Gideon. You two just kept your mouths shut and hoped no one noticed you. I think there are some blankets in the corner. Should we grab a couple so you can hide under them?"

My hands begin to shake. I watch her telling them off, and all I can think about is that afternoon at the Porters', how I did exactly that. I kept my mouth shut and prayed that the intruders wouldn't notice me. I let them kill two people and did nothing, because it kept me alive.

Coward.

That's what Brienne was calling Aimee and Lorenzo, for doing exactly what I'd done. No one says that to me. No one dares. But I want them to. I dream that someday I'll meet Darla again and she'll do exactly what Brienne is doing: call me out as a coward. It's a nightmare, but it's a fantasy too, and in the dream I break down in a puddle of regret and self-hate and relief. Thank G.o.d someone finally said the word. Thank G.o.d someone finally saw me for what I am.

Not a hero. A coward.

I clench my fists, trying to stop trembling. Then I glance up to see Max, right beside me, watching.

I turn away fast.

"Brienne," I say, and my voice trembles too.

Luckily, Aaron takes over, saying, "That's not helping, Brienne. If those two aren't taking charge, screw them." He turns to me. "So your dad really did stuff like this? Hostage negotiations?"

I nod.

"Can you walk us through it? What to expect?" He shoots a look at Max. "You can leave out the part about what happens if we mess up. I think we all get that."

"Except you," Gideon says to Aaron. "They won't kill you."

"They will if my dad doesn't pony up."

"Can we stop this?" It's Sandy. She hasn't said a word until now, and she looks like she's about to throw up. "Can we stop bickering?"

"Riley?" Lorenzo says. "If you can walk us through it, that might calm some nerves. Tell us what to expect."

"But you don't have to," Brienne adds quickly. "I know this must be harder on you than anyone else."

"How do you know that?" Gideon says. "It might be easier for her. At least she's been through something like this."

"Which is why she's here, jerk-off. Dealing with it. She watched people die. That doesn't just go away. It's called post-traumatic"

"I'm okay," I cut in. "I'll explain for anyone who wants to listen. If you'd rather not, just move over there, and I'll keep my voice down."

No one leaves. I explain that there will be two main people out there: the commander and the negotiator. The commander is in charge of the SWAT team, leaving the negotiator to deal with our captors. The first thing Agent Salas will do is gather information. Some of that comes from X-Files and some from the officers on the team, trying to get a sense of the building and where we're located inside it and so on.

With X-Files, we aren't dealing with a mentally ill guy who randomly grabbed some kids. He knows what he is doing, so negotiations will proceed rationally, meaning there is little danger he'll suddenly start shooting us for no reason. He'll make his demands and Agent Salas will chip away at them while the team tries to figure out if there is a safe way to infiltrate the building.

I'm still talking when X-Files returns.

"All right, kiddies," he says, in that smarmy, I'm-such-a-clever-boy way that grates on my nerves. "Remember how Miss Riley said we might let a few of you go, as an act of goodwill? Wrong. Well, okay, not entirely wrong. One of you lucky children gets to go home in time to enjoy your evening. Negotiator Will is playing nice, and so will we."

Gideon jumps to his feet. "I have asthma."

"And I'm sure you didn't come to sleepover camp without your inhaler. Sit down, boy." X-Files paces in front of us and stops at Max. "I'd really like to let you go, because you're a pain in the a.s.s. But if I do that, then all your therapy buddies here will give me grief, hoping it'll buy their ticket out. You stay. However, you are on the top of list number two: kids I'll shoot if Negotiator Will misbehaves."

Max doesn't seem the least perturbed. h.e.l.l, he doesn't seem to have even heard. He is paying attention, though, watching X-Files, studying the man, frowning slightly, as if he needs to read lips and he's not quite managing. It's enough to make me wonder if he has a hearing problem. It might explain the lack of attention and the smart-a.s.s comments to cover it up.

"Who's the lucky one, then?" X-Files says.

There's a moment of silence, and I want to say Sandy. She looks closest to breaking, and given that she just survived a suicide attempt, she really doesn't need this. But before I can suggest her, Brienne says, "It should be Riley. Like I said, this is going to be harder on her than anyone, after what happened with ... well, before."

"She's right," Aaron says. "Plus it looks good. People know who she is. She's, like, a local hero."

I flinch. Only Max seems to notice, but he just looks thoughtful. Or bored. With Max, it's impossible to tell the difference.

Lorenzo clears his throat. "They both have a point. Additionally, it will seem you're being considerate, releasing the most affected hostage."

"Which is exactly why I'm saving her as a special reward," X-Files says. "For this round, let's go with Welfare Sandy."

Sandy looks up, mortified, then stammers, "M-my dad's a seasonal worker. It's not welfare. We"

"Really? You're arguing against getting to go home?"

I catch her eye and force what I hope looks like a smile as I whisper, "Go."

She closes her mouth and X-Files chuckles. "No argument, then? I didn't think so. Mr. Highgate has pointed out that most of your families would struggle to sc.r.a.pe up ten grand. Yours would be lucky to find a hundred bucks. But your luck just changed, Sandra. You've won the only lottery that counts: the one that keeps you alive. It helps that your little dress and sweater are adorable, in a thrift-shop kind of way. It'll play well for the cameras. See if you can squeeze out a few tears as you exit."

He waves for the Predator guy to take her. I catch her eye and give a little wave. Maria mouths something I don't catch, but Sandy does and her lips twitch in a smile. Aaron shoots her a thumbs-up and she nods, ducking her head shyly before turning away to leave.

We all sit in silence, listening to their fading footsteps. The front door is at least a hundred yards down a twisting hall, and soon we hear nothing. When I close my eyes I catch the barest sound of an opening door and a man barking commands. The door shuts. Silence falls again.

It's so quiet in here that it's easy to forget the building is surrounded by a team of professionals, all focused on getting us out alive. I think of my dad, and grief surges, but it calms me too, imagining a dozen of him out there.

When my dad was on the SWAT team, he couldn't speak highly enough of the negotiators. He said that when they were used, the rate of injury dropped to near zero. I have to remember that. As horrifying as our situation seems, it isn't nearly as dangerous as an actual kidnapping. This crime was organized and our captors are obviously professionals. Sandy is fine, and we will be too. It's just a waiting game.

I think of Sandy. Is her family out there? Has it been long enough for them to arrive? I've been trying very hard not to consider that, not to think about Mom getting that call.

Will she get a call? Or are they keeping this quiet, notifying only Aaron's father initially? X-Files said he wants money from everyone, but Mr. Highgate is the big fish. To keep the confusion to a minimum, they might not have contacted the other parents yet.

Maybe Mom is home, finis.h.i.+ng a dress design, papers and swatches of fabric spread over her worktable, as she looks forward to a quiet night alone, with me here and Sloane out with her friends. I hope that's what she's doing. I hope they haven't told her and won't until they need to.

"Brienne was right." It's Max, his voice startling us out of the silence. "It should have been Riley. Letting her go early sets the right tone. Holding her hostage will turn the press against you even more."

"Umm, h.e.l.lo?" Brienne waves her hand in front of him. "Nice of you to join us, Max, but next time? Chime in before it's a done deal."

I lift my hand to back her down and say to Max, "I appreciate that, but I'm fine."

"I know it's too late for this round, but I'm saying ..." He turns to X-Files. "You should send Riley home sooner rather than later."

"She's cute, isn't she?" X-Files mock-whispers. "You're a little slow, but you finally realized it may be in your best interests to support the cute girl's cause. Improves your chances ofwhat's the word you Brits use?s.h.a.gging her?"

Max's response is remarkably calm. Measured, even. "Given that I'm the least likely to leave this building alive, I doubt that's an option. Even if I do get out, something tells me none of us are going to want to see each other again. This is hardly a bonding experience. I'm only pointing out that the others are right, and there's more advantage to releasing Riley than to keeping her."

"Riley, Riley, Riley," Gideon says. "Everyone's so worried about Riley. The local hero who saved two people from Oh, wait. No, she didn't. She was under the bed when they got shot. And now you want to give her another free pa.s.s?"

I feel everyone's gaze on me, and there's no impulse to hang my head or avert my gaze. That comes when they lie and call me a hero. This is truth.

"She did save someone," Brienne says. "That little girl. She did the smart thing. If she'd interfered, they would have both been killed, along with the girl's parents."

"Brienne is right," Aimee says. "Riley's response was the correct one. She didn't panic. She didn't foolishly interfere. She did what the Porters would have wanted by protecting their daughter and"

"I think we can skip this," Max says.

Brienne turns on him. "G.o.d, you're such a jerk. You say one nice thing, and then you have to follow it up with a.s.sholery."

"Don't believe I said anything nice. Not really my style. I just pointed out you were right that Riley should be released. Now I'm saying Riley doesn't need you to defend her. She's heard it in therapy. Over and over. It hasn't helped then. It won't help now."

And that just might be the nicest thing he's ever said, even if he doesn't mean to be kind.

"If you want to pa.s.s the time," he continues, "may I suggest a game of cards to take our minds off this?"

"Do we have cards?" Maria asks.

"Are you joking?" Gideon says.

"No," Maria says. "We have to pa.s.s the time, and we're just getting on each other's nerves otherwise."

I look at the counselors. "She's right. Do we have cards? Board games?"

"Uh ..." Lorenzo says. "There's a deck in the desk over there, but I don't think anyone's really in the mood ..."

"I am," Brienne says.

"Sure, I'll play," Aaron says, and Maria goes to get the cards, and with that, we have our distraction while the waiting continues.

CHAPTER 6.

Over the next hour, X-Files takes two more phone calls outside the room. We're all trying to gauge his reaction when he comes back. We whisper and compare observations. It's Maria, Brienne, Aaron and me playing cards. Max is watching. He occasionally offers advice, which has a fifty percent chance of being useful and a fifty percent chance of totally messing us up. In other words, he's amusing himself by s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with us. No one seems to careit's not like we're taking the game seriously, and there are even a few chuckles when someone follows his advice and loses the hand ... or fails to follow it and loses.

Gideon is pacing. I've got my back to him, because that pacing certainly doesn't settle my nerves. Aimee and Lorenzo are playing counselor. By that, I mean they're sitting between us and the men, alternately looking at one group and then the other, as if they're keeping the peace and ready to run interference. If anything happens, though, they'll be the last ones I turn to for help.

There's a weird feeling in that. I've never thought of myself as someone who pays undue attention to authority figures. I even helped organize a couple of protests at school, which is how I ended up on the student councilthe vice-princ.i.p.als were trying to redirect my efforts away from reforming student policy, which only gave me a better platform for it. But I guess I still look to the adults in a room when things go wrong, and now here are two who are supposed to be keeping us safe this weekend, and at this point I'd rather rely on Max, which is saying something.