The Insiders by Tijan

TWO

I wasn’t being taken to a police station.

I was told that I was fine at the hospital. But after being told I was also in shock, after being told all the big words that I knew the definitions for, like dissociation, minimization, and deflection—I could only focus on one thing now. After leaving the hospital, I was not going to the police station. I knew the maps, the geography, and that’s where I should’ve gone.

Right? But no. The hospital was behind us where the station was too.

We were heading out of Chicago, and maybe another half hour or so from the small town where my mom and I lived.

Wait. Second thought—where we used to live?

What would my mom do now? Could Chrissy Hayes remain in that house after I was just attacked, almost taken hostage? I called my mother by all kinds of names—Chrissy Hayes, Chrissy, or Mom. Or, well, a whole other kind of names too, because to say she’s a character is putting it mildly. And we have an interesting relationship to say the least.

I might be deflecting here.

Numb. I was numb. I should be pissing my pants, but instead I’m ruminating over how I refer to my mother.

Could I stay in that house after what just happened?

I’d been planning to spend time with Chrissy, helping with the house and working at the local computer store to make some extra money before I left for school. But now … fuck if I knew.

Myriad curses went through my mind as I realized Chrissy would have to move.

Shivers pierced me as I went over what had happened tonight, but then we were pulling into a driveway, next to a booth. A large gate barricaded us from moving forward.

Official police business, my tech ass.

Then again, nothing seemed official. I was told that I was being taken to my mother, but I left with two detectives. Bright and Wilson. They introduced themselves, then said she couldn’t see me in the hospital. They didn’t explain why, but I was to go with them to see her.

I went.

I was in the backseat of their unmarked car a few minutes later.

Bright’s window rolled down. She flashed her badge. “We’re expected.”

The attendant nodded, hitting a button. The gate opened, showing a campus of buildings behind it. Some made of dark red brick. Some seemingly made of reflective windows, top to bottom. Some painted totally black. A large parking lot sat in the middle of the buildings. “Phoenix Tech” was on a sign in front of the first building, but we went past, heading around it and toward a smaller building on the opposite end of the lot.

My tongue was glued to the back of my throat. We were at Phoenix Tech headquarters.

I had yearned to get an internship there every year since fifth grade, and then through college. I kept applying, but they kept denying. Some might say I was being desperate. I prefer determined. It’s a quality that I feel is honorable. Plus, I wasn’t above hoping they’d take pity on me one day. It worked, because while I might not have been good enough to walk their hallways, I was good enough for them to give me charity. They awarded me the majority of my grants for undergrad, so I’d been able to go to college debt free. I’d been expecting that to change for graduate school, but it hadn’t. Or, well, it kind of had.

I was hired as a graduate assistant, starting in the fall, which gave me a stipend, but the rest was covered by another scholarship from Phoenix Tech.

Phoenix Tech was one of the world’s leading companies on cyber security. I was going into information systems, which was close enough. A job here would be a dream.

“My mom is here?” I asked, when Bright parked, and both her and Wilson got out of the vehicle.

Neither answered.

Bright opened my back door and motioned for me, slipping her sunglasses over her eyes. “It’s time for you to find out some answers.”

“What?”

They took off for the door.

I trudged after. “I thought you were going to interrogate me.”

Her mouth went back to that disapproving and very firm line. “Not likely. We’re just the go-between.”

We were moving fast. We went down an empty hallway. When she got to the very last room, the door opened for us from the inside. Wilson was walking behind us, but remained in the hallway.

Bright took me in.

It was an interrogation room, or looked like one. Details were still fuzzy on what I was supposed to be expecting here. The only light was hanging directly over a table, pushed against the far wall. The corners of the room were dark, and as we walked inside, a security guard was standing behind the door. He ducked out; the door swung shut.

“Sweetheart?”

“Mom?”

Chrissy Hayes was sitting in a back corner, and she stepped out from the shadows. Her hair was a mess. Ends were sticking up everywhere. Her eyes were glazed, the pupils dilated. Rings of worry fell underneath them, matching the wrinkles around her mouth.

My mother was a good-looking woman. I knew this. I’d suffered the consequences growing up, as teachers or mailmen or even restaurant owners tried to butter me up to get to her. She was a petite woman, with a usually gorgeous blond mane of hair, and they always fell for her blue eyes. It wasn’t just her looks, though.

She had a personality where she was tough as nails at times but flighty and ditzy at others. She was fun, too. Chrissy Hayes enjoyed a good bargain, a good time, and a good adventure. She was clear on that motto in life, but this version of my mom wasn’t one I’d met many times.

She was wrecked. Totally and completely. Destroyed.

My heart twisted. Pain sliced through that numb wall.

I was almost the total opposite, with honey-brown eyes and jet-black hair. My hair was so dark that it had a slight tint of blue to it at times. Sometimes it was there, sometimes not. I got asked by stylists what color I used for it, but it was all natural. I used to hate it, but like the weirdness of my brain, it had grown on me.

We had the same build.

We were both petite, though the couple extra inches I had made me feel like I towered over her.

“Oh, honey.” She rushed to me, her flannel shirt enveloping me as she pressed my head to her neck. Her hand smoothed my hair down and back and then swept up to repeat. She shuddered, holding me. “I was so worried.” Her head buried into my shoulder, and she pressed a kiss to my forehead. Pulling back, she tucked my hair strands behind my ears, framing my face. Her eyes raked over me and she shook her head, biting her lip. “I am so sorry this happened to you.”

My hands came up to rest on her arms.

I noticed her jeans, tight, with sparkles intermixed so there was a light glitter dusting over them. They were her date jeans, and that flannel shirt. It was unbuttoned, with a white shirt underneath. I said flatly, “I thought you worked last night.” No. It was the same night. I corrected, “I mean tonight. Earlier.” Christ. What time was it? “You were on a date.”

She grimaced, still biting down on her bottom lip. “Yes, but is that really important now? You were almost kidnapped, sweetie.”

Detective Bright cleared her throat, stepping closer to the table. “You two can have a talk later. There’s quite a bit we need to discuss first.”

I took one of the seats closest to the wall. “You don’t usually lie about dates.” But there was one guy she would lie about. “Was it Chad Haskell?” I did not like Chad Haskell. No one should like Chad Haskell. “He beat up Simone Ainsley’s mom. Remember?”

Chrissy flicked her eyes to the ceiling and waved at me. “Oh, come on. You were friends with that girl for four months your sophomore year in high school. She was a liar. You got mad because she was only using you to get a date with that Bobby guy from your debate team.”

“Mom. Seriously.” My blood was boiling. “And it wasn’t debate team. It was the computer club, and…” I saw the look on Detective Bright’s face. “And she didn’t use me to get a date with Bobby Riggs—she used me to get an in with his brother, who I was tutoring because, unlike Bobby, Brian Riggs wasn’t the smartest guy on the football team.”

Chrissy was fighting back a smile. “And you had a crush on Brian Riggs, didn’t you?”

I jerked back in my chair. “I’m just telling you that while I was friends with Simone, she told me her mom got beat up by Chad Haskell. Don’t date him, Mom. Trust me.” I gestured to my head. “Out of our two minds, mine doesn’t forget things.” Ever.

She softened. “I know, honey.”

I heard the but coming …

“But,” she said, “he owns the bowling alley. You could bowl there for free every weekend.” She was off. We were embarking in Chrissy Hayes’s fantasyland. Sometimes I was allowed to visit. “You could bring all your friends every Friday night—or hey! You could help rewrite his computer system. I bet he’d take you on as his personal IT department.”

This was what we were talking about? Here?

My mom was dating Chad Haskell so I could have free bowling Friday nights?

I rubbed at my forehead. A headache was coming. Chad Haskell’s influence had invaded Chrissy Hayes. Chrady. That’s the name for both of them.

She should just go by Chrady now.

Chrady turned toward Detective Bright. “Do you know about my daughter? She was awarded all of these prestigious scholarships, and she got into Hawking. She’s going there for graduate school.”

“Actually…” Detective Bright waved for Chrissy to take the last empty seat by me, as we all sat. Her tone turned businesslike. “That’s why you’re here.”

Consider the mic dropped.

The guys who tried to kidnap me, the cops being so insistent and pushy, the fact that my mom was already in an interview room and not at the police station—everything started piecing together.

My mom was wrecked, but was sighing about a delusion that would never happen.

She was worried, but she wasn’t confused.

I frowned, mulling it over. “Those guys wanted me for a reason.” I didn’t know if I dared look to the side, but … “I don’t remember the whole thing, but they mentioned my father.”

Chrissy sucked in some air.

And I was tense. I was so tense. What did that mean?

I looked now. “They mentioned my dad.”

She wasn’t looking at me. That told me a whole lot, maybe too much.

My voice dropped low. “You said he was in the military, that he died overseas.”

She mashed her lips together. That was it.

My stomach flipped over, knotting. I kept on. “You had Barney tell me about him. Pike. Masteron.” There were others too, all friends of my mom at the VFW. And I was replaying some of those times when they told stories about him, all the shifting in the seats. All the looks they gave each other, not knowing I saw it too. The small tugs at their mouths, like they were uncomfortable, or how they watched my mom when she was in the room with all of us.

How she told me his name wouldn’t be in any computer database because he would be in classified files.

How he was estranged from his family.

How there were no pictures of him because she said she destroyed them in a fit of rage one time while she was grieving him.

She had a flag folded up in a display case.

Detective Bright sat back on her chair, drawing our attention. She folded her arms over her chest. She was eyeing my mom, her head turned almost sideways, then let her arms drop. “You’re very smart, Bailey.”

Before I had a second to digest that statement, she pushed forward. “You were brought here because those men didn’t want you to work on some software code. They tried to kidnap you.” She paused.

I was doing the math.

Bright was silent. One second.

A kidnapping attempt.

Bright’s eyes shifted, staying on my mother.

They mentioned my father.

Chrissy’s head lowered, her gaze falling to her lap. Bright pursed her lips together once again, in disapproval.

We were at Phoenix Tech.

“Why are we here again?” My voice was hoarse. “Why not the police station? Why not somewhere else?”

Bright was waiting. She knew I was putting it together.

All those scholarships.

The way my brain worked.

Only 2 to 15 percent of all children have a photographic memory, and an even lower percentage retain it into adulthood, but I had it. And I knew one other person who had it. His face and name were plastered everywhere—websites, magazine covers, documentaries.

He had dark hair that, in a small group of photographs, looked like it had a bluish tint to it. The details might have been missed. But I was savvy with the computer, and he was my childhood idol growing up. I was obsessed with learning as many facts about him as I could—another computer genius who worked with the government and ran a Fortune 500 empire that specialized in computer security.

There was a lock unlocking.

Click.

Click.

It connected, one last, final, and resounding click into place.

Detective Bright broke the silence. “You were taken because your birth father is—”

I spoke at the same time as her, and together we said his name. “Peter Francis.”

Peter Francis was the CEO of Phoenix Tech.