Deserted

Chapter 1

Kara

December 21, 7:00 AM PST

Blurry eyed and half awake, I poured milk into my cereal. It splashed from the bowl onto the black marble counter and seeped under the coffee maker. I studied the spill and decided its resemblance to an exploded head was uncanny. Rorschach certainly would’ve guessed from my interpretation that I had daddy problems and a lack of coordination.

He’d be right about both.

Consuela pushed me out of the way with a wet rag.

It’s fine, I got it, I said to dad’s maid as I reached for a sponge.

Consuela muttered something in Spanish and kept on wiping. Not learning a language during my years as a homeschooled high schooler had been a mistake. So had a lot of other things, starting with ever working for dad.

Footsteps creaked down the stairs. I stood under the recessed lights that barely attacked the morning darkness and slurped my cereal in a way I knew dad wouldn’t like.

Good morning, Kara, he said, marching into the kitchen in his polished wingtips. He assumed he looked all-important in the shiny mahogany shoes. It was more like he was trying too hard to impress people. He should’ve learned from the guy who started Facebook in jeans and sneakers.

I chewed my last bite of cereal then tipped back the bowl to finish off the sugary milk. Dad cleared his throat and tried to hide his distaste for my lack of table manners. Meanwhile, I tried to hide my distaste for his distaste.

What dad didn’t try to hide was his hatred for my outfit: a low cut purple top with skulls across the back, and a dark blue denim skirt that hit a good three inches above my knees. He gave me a once over and shook his head, undoubtedly deciding that I was sporting too much skin. Funny, that had never bothered him when I used the same style to manipulate guys into giving me information he wanted.

Anything interesting going on at school today? he asked.

I dropped my bowl in the sink. Consuela, who had switched from mopping up my counter spill to scouring the stovetop, immediately put a sponge to the remnants of cereal bits.

No, I said.

Any exams coming up? he asked, like he was reading from a script.

Already had most of them. Got a couple midterms after break, I said, backing out of the room. If he wanted to talk to me, he’d need to show up for dinner on more than a bimonthly schedule. Otherwise I’d be late for school and didn’t feel like dealing with the principal’s secretary for the fourth time this semester. The reality of attending school, even a private one, compared to being homeschooled was not as much fun as it appeared on primetime television.

There was a benefit, though. I had a commitment that had nothing to do with dad. For that alone I could put up with the late passes, bells, and teachers who didn’t know the difference between John Edwards the politician and John Edwards the psychic. Yeah, my jokes had fallen on deaf ears.

Christmas is next week already? dad said. He was loud enough for me to hear from the front hall, though he was probably talking to himself. He thought of holidays as ridiculous forays into the world of slackers, a very Scrooge-like disposition that fit perfectly with his overall personality. I hadn’t noticed the Scrooge similarity as a kid when I’d watched A Christmas Carol since my mom had been alive then, but now it was obvious in the way he put money above all else.

My mom had been totally into the holiday spirit, something I liked to think I would’ve retained if she’d beaten the cancer instead of the other way around.

Christmas is Sunday, I said, stating the obvious while tying up my boots. I’ve got to brush my teeth –

Kara, hold on a minute.

What?

He walked away from his coffee in the kitchen to talk to me face-to-face. Has anyone asked you about me or my work recently? Or what happened in Thurgood?

I froze and when I could finally speak my voice shook, which pissed me off. I’m done with this. I told you. Find someone else.

Dad frowned. Kara, I can’t trust just anyone. You know that.

Well I can’t trust you. I crossed my arms to hold myself together. "You totally lied to me about what you were doing – what we were doing – in Thurgood."

I never lied to you. It was a command.

I didn’t follow his commands anymore since I was off his payroll. I’d forced him to agree to leave me out of his ventures after an entire month of my stony silence. We’d only been on speaking terms since Halloween, which was a good thing because right now I had a lot to say.

What do you call it when you ask your only daughter to spy on two other people and find out if they remember what they saw one night, but you won’t say what it is they might remember? I felt my cheeks getting red and hot. Thinking about Leo and the pain I’d caused on behalf of dad amped up my anger. And then you also don’t tell me that the people I’m spying on have been drugged to forget something related to your work and that they’re sick from the drugs!

You did your job and you did it well, dad said. The answer was no, the Heggins kids didn’t remember anything, just as you’d reported. They still wouldn’t if it hadn’t been for their father.

Yes, I’d been good at my job. Dad had trained me from a young age about the art of manipulation. That’s not the point, I said.

Dad continued like I hadn’t spoken. The problem lay in their father leaving too many other clues from his drug’s side effects. I never should have trusted him with that job. But it had nothing to do with me and it was not my information to tell you, Kara. It was between me and Thomas Heggins. I never lied about anything. Never accuse me of lying to you.

It’s close enough, I said, and he knew it despite his CEO semantics even if he would continue to deny it. I’m done working for you. My voice was smaller. I was so tired of all of it. I need to get to school –

Someone wants me dead, Kara.

The cereal I’d eaten turned to acid in my stomach.

Dad stepped closer, his shoes clicking across the stone tiles, and he took my shoulders in his hands. Death threats against me were emailed to three of my engineers.

I swallowed until I was sure I wouldn’t puke. I couldn’t lose my father. I couldn’t be an orphan. Why? I choked out.

We’re pretty sure a radical environmental group discovered that we were using nuclear power in Thurgood.

Of course they discovered his project. There’d been an explosion, for god’s sake. The clean up must’ve been half-assed or not fast enough to eliminate all of the potential witnesses. More people than just Leo and Jenny Heggins had seen, remembered, and grown curious about the fallout, and Leo’s father didn’t have enough staff or serum to block everyone’s memory. Of course he didn’t; it was impossible and had been a ridiculous plan to begin with. It was also proof that dad’s every decision was not the best one, or even a remotely good one.

But you said the government had OK’d your test site for the solar-powered plant, I said. My stomach kept churning and I couldn’t believe I was defending his work.

They did, dad said. That doesn’t mean the environmental extremists aren’t mad about the…unforeseen consequences and want to stop me from continuing my research. Kara, they’ve tracked me to Las Vegas.

How? The only person I’d told about Vegas was Leo and there was no way he’d say a word, not with his own father in the precarious position of working with mine. Leo didn’t think much of his father and may have turned him in if there had been no other casualties, but his sister Jenny would be crushed if anything bad happened to Mr. Heggins.

We’re not sure how right now, dad said. It may have been someone who has an inside connection at the Rochester airport and belongs to a national network.

There was a national network of violent environmental extremists?

Look, Kara, I’m not asking you to do anything specific, dad said, the closest I’d seen him to begging, but keep your eyes open and tell me if you see anyone new at school, see anything out of the ordinary, or hear anyone asking about us. And keep this to yourself.

Again, it was a command, but who was I to argue when dad could be killed? He was the only family I had and no matter how much he pissed me off, I had to protect him.

I wiped my eyes and wished he’d never gotten into his stupid energy business, never put himself in danger, and never put me in the position of having to agree to his every demand. Still, I said what I always said when pushed and pushed and pushed. OK.

Good, dad said. Have a good day at school. He turned back to the kitchen and his coffee.

The reality of my life hit me: I was stuck in the loop of obeying my father’s wishes and there was no escape. With my stomach returning to acid, I hurried upstairs to the bathroom and breathed deeply until I could think for a full thirty seconds without sweating and swearing. I needed to talk to someone who understood what I was going through. Someone who knew me and could talk me down. I pulled out my cell phone and texted a number I hadn’t dialed since September.

S.O.S.

Chapter 2

Leo

December 21, 2:30 PM EST

The final bell rang. Winter break was now officially in full swing.

I swung my Schechter onto my shoulder and headed for the exit. The snow stung my face as I barreled ahead to my ride. When I reached the SUV, I clawed at its door handle until I broke through a layer of ice. The engine coughed before chugging to life. I hated to subject my ax to these winter temps but I’d needed it for band. I heaved it into the backseat, cranked up the heat, and hunted around the floor for my ice scraper.

The passenger side door opened. This sucks, my sister Jenny said as she clambered into the passenger seat. Why do we live in Rochester again?

Better than Siberia, I said, and braved the wind once more. I scraped a big enough hole in the windshield to get us home and got back into the car.

Leo, Jenny warned.

I turned the windshield wipers on high. They smeared around the ice. I shifted into drive.

Leo! Jenny pulled her scarf away from her face.

I can see out my side fine, I said but put the car into park. While we waited for the heat to melt more of the ice, I fished my cell phone out of my backpack. I had a text.

Holy shit. It was from Kara. I’d texted and called her a bunch of times right after she left Rochester, but she never wrote or called back.

It’s not Dad, is it? Jenny asked.

No, I said. It’s Kara.

What does she want? Didn’t her father ruin our lives enough?

That’s not Kara’s fault, I shot.

Jenny snatched the phone from my hand. S.O.S.? What kind of game is that? Did her father put her up to this?

My body heated up in the frozen car. Kara didn’t play games. She’s in trouble.

Yeah right, Jenny said, but she handed back the phone. You’re in love with her.

I wanted to deny it, but how else could I explain why I thought about her every day after only knowing her for three?

It’s OK if you are, Jenny said. She’s a cool chick. Even if her father is a crazy genius.

And ours isn’t?

Jenny rubbed her mittens together. Her father controlled ours. It’s why Dad won’t call me now and why he doesn’t want to remember what happened on the mountain. Because Dr. Ellison told him not to.

Dad doesn’t want to feel guilty about what he did to us, I said.

That can’t be all of it, Jenny said. Dad’s too smart to not want the truth.

I believed her. It wasn’t Kara’s fault either. She’d been a pawn in our fathers’ power schemes as much as we had. Neither of us could trust anyone. It was something we had in common. It’d bonded us more than our shared fandom for The Shanks, Blue Falcon, and alt rock music in general.

Are you going to call her back? Jenny asked.

She’d sent it around ten o’clock Rochester time. Over four hours ago. The Titanic had sunk in less time than that after its S.O.S. I texted her back: R U OK? and tucked the phone into my jacket pocket. She’d better be OK.

The windshield wipers squeaked. The ice was melted enough. I shifted into drive and pulled onto the road.

Where do you think Dad is? Jenny asked after some torturous miles over the icy road.

No clue.

Do you even care? she asked.

Yeah, I said, defensively, but Aunt Laura will tell us when she knows anything. There’s nothing we can do about it.

Jenny sighed, puffing out a cloud of vapor.

I coasted to the corner of our street and made a slow turn. My phone buzzed in my pocket. An incoming text.

I miss him, Jenny said.

I couldn’t reach my phone through my gloves and pocket. I know, I said. I was dying to check my phone.

We pulled into the driveway as the car temp barely rose above freezing. Inside the house, Jenny dumped her coat in the kitchen and put a mug in the microwave for hot chocolate. You want some? she asked.

Nah, I said. Thanks. I fled upstairs with my cell in one hand and Schechter in the other. I set the guitar on my bed and opened the text message.

Returned mail. No such number.

What the hell? Her number had just disappeared in a matter of hours? I scrolled back to make sure I replied to the right text. Of course I had. It was Kara’s number, still linked to her name from when she gave it to me in September. I hit CALL.

"We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again."

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Kara needed to be OK.

Chapter 3

Kara

December 21, 3:00 PM PST

There was no way I was going home after school, not when dad would grill me about everyone who’d so much as exhaled in my direction and then check me for traces of their spit to run through his lab. This was an extra annoying proposition because I wasn’t certain that dad’s death threat story was serious – or even real.

I walked to the public library, read some trashy magazines, and then headed to Cuppa Love. Today was the shortest, darkest day of the year, which fit my mood fabulously. Good old winter solstice, the perfect holiday for those who were too atheist to celebrate Christmas but wanted to exchange gifts in the true spirit of the market economy. I smiled a bit, remembering my mom. That was what she’d always said about the winter solstice. I missed her sarcastic sensibility that I’d definitely inherited.