Cut Me Free (2 page)

I stop and face Cam. A million instincts tell me to keep walking and ignore him. He'll give up eventually, but something about him makes me reluctant to leave. “Because you were late.”

“I was here before you were.”

“No.” An image of every person who was in my section of the park when I arrived flashes through my head. “You weren't.”

“May I?” He grins wide and then steps carefully behind me. Raising an arm, he indicates a small break in one of the hedges on the other side of the statue. It would be nearly impossible to see from where I'd been waiting, but from that spot he could see this entire section of the park. I release my breath. Very smart.

“Fine.” I turn around to face him and immediately take a step back. The smell of soap, mint, and something warm and woodsy overwhelms me—too close, way too close.

“So, am I rehired?” He leans forward and grins wide.

“To be that, you would've had to be hired to begin with.”

“Then why are we meeting?”

Lifting the suitcase, I walk to a nearby tree and sit on the grass. When he sits down, he's again too close.

I squirm for a moment before scooting a little farther away from him. The guy has no sense of personal space. “This is the interview,” I say.

He looks down at the now slightly larger gap between us and I'm surprised by how irritated I am when the corner of his mouth twitches. “Okay. An interview then. Shouldn't you ask me some questions?”

“What's your fee?” I toy with a single blade of grass by my knee that is longer than the others around it.

“Straight to money. You don't mess around, do you?”

“No, I don't.” I meet his eyes. “And if you do—”

“I get it, I get it.” He raises his hands and gives me an easy smile. “You're extremely strict and serious. I can handle it.”

His sarcasm comes through loud and clear. Somehow he thinks he's in control of this situation, this conversation. I don't like it. He seems nice enough, but I don't know what to do with “nice.” All I
need
is someone who will get the job done and then leave me alone. I only met him two minutes ago and already Cam doesn't strike me as that kind of guy.

“This isn't a joke to me.” Brushing the grass off my hands, I shift my weight to my feet and begin to stand when he grabs my forearm. Panic and adrenaline slam through my system and I can't breathe. I can't see him anymore. He's a shadow, a remnant of the Father. With one move, I twist my wrist, jerk it back, and break his grip. He shouldn't touch me. He has no idea what I'm capable of. Gasps of air escape my chest. I see Cam's eyes widen as fear and anger clash inside me, but his words cool them both immediately.

“Okay, slow down and breathe…” His voice brings clarity and eases my panic slightly. It's strong and firm like the Father's, a man's voice, but without threat or malice. “I understand. You want a new identity. That's what I can provide.” Cam's tone is low and steady. He raises his hands in surrender and leans back a few inches. His gaze holds mine, and any trace of humor is gone. “I'll give you a different past and you can turn it into any future you want. I'll help you live under the radar—to live invisibly. I'm the best. My fee is seven thousand and I guarantee it's worth every cent.”

His confidence sets me at ease. I relax back onto the grass and stare at the park around me. Like so many times since I escaped, I feel like someone is watching me. But it's not possible. Even if he survived, the Father couldn't have followed me—no, I have to ignore the feeling and instead focus on what I can control, on the decisions I have to make … on Cam.

Three different sources told me he was the clear choice and the only one to go to. That Cam was my best option. I'd only waited this long to contact him because I don't like taking the obvious path. It makes me feel predictable and vulnerable. But his connections and hacking skills are supposedly unmatched.

Plucking the extra-long grass blade from the ground, I run it across the back of my hand. He was here first, watching me and waiting. He seems to pick up on cues that I don't even realize I'm giving him. I'm beginning to see why he, even at his age, is the first name they gave me. Without looking his way, I give him my answer. “Fine. Meet me here tomorrow morning at ten. We start with a new identity, then an apartment. My hotel sucks.”

It's getting dark. The nearby walkway lights up as the power to all the streetlamps comes on at once. The city prepares to fight off even the coming night. The light casts a strange glow in Cam's eyes as I get to my feet.

“Wait,” he says.

“What?” I stare down at him, already impatient to leave. I don't like holding still for too long. Stillness reminds me of the attic. Unsurprisingly, I'm not a huge fan of small spaces either.

Cam sits forward and wraps one long arm around his knee. “I have questions for you.”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean?” His expression is incredulous, but I'm not going down this road. The sooner he understands that, the better.

“Did the meaning of the word ‘no' change recently?” I keep my voice light as I rub my hands together, the chill of the evening coming faster than I expected.

“You aren't going to answer any questions? An interview goes both ways, you know.” His eyes are piercing. “I haven't decided yet if I'm willing to help you.”

The people who'd recommended him had suggested something like this was a possibility. Apparently, in the last year, he'd become very picky about the kind of clientele he was willing to take on.

“Two questions.” I nod and try not to show how tightly wound this one concession makes me. “I'll answer if I can.”

“Do you have a record?” His expression is grim.

“No. Last question.” That was easy. Hard to have a record when no one knew we were in the attic in the first place. I wait for him to speak.

“Is anyone after you?”

“No.” I shake my head and study the sidewalk around my black sneakers. Most of the time, I'm pretty sure no one is left. A shudder escapes, but I try to cover it with a shrug.

“What if I need to know more?”

I lower my chin. “If it's about anything that happened before I met you five minutes ago, then no. Call it the five-minute rule. It's unbreakable.”

Cam hops to his feet so fast I take two steps back and tug my suitcase between us like a shield. Then he freezes, holding perfectly still until I relax my stance.

“Fine,” he says. With his back to the streetlamp, his face is hidden in shadow. I can't see his expression, but there's a roughness in his voice that makes me uneasy. “We'll discuss it tomorrow.”

He pivots on one foot and walks away. I know he can't hear me, but I respond as much to reassure myself as anything else.

“No. We won't.”

 

2

Cam is sitting beside the fountain in Rittenhouse Square when I arrive the next morning. I'm only five minutes late, but I'd planned to be early. It had been harder than I expected to get moving this morning. Someone played music too loud in my hotel half the night, and I had nightmare after nightmare of the Father showing up and dragging me back to the attic. I can almost feel the circles under my eyes when I blink.

In the late-morning sunlight, the park smells like warm grass and chlorine from the fountain. It reminds me of the dirty swimming pool outside the motel on the outskirts of Cincinnati, where I'd stopped for a few days to sleep in a completely stationary room before boarding another bus. I watched families swim in it, but I don't understand the appeal of swimming pools. They're like giant chemical bathtubs that you have to share with other people. Besides, the idea of being immersed in water deeper than I am tall just sounds like another method of torture.

Cam leans forward and smiles when he sees me. His white shirt is unbuttoned with a gray T-shirt underneath, and for some reason it makes me nervous. Why must he appear so relaxed when my every nerve is being fried by the glare bouncing off his sunglasses?

“And I thought being punctual was important to you.” He stands up and lowers his glasses until I can see the swirls in his hazel eyes. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, and self-consciously shift my suitcase in front of me. Like that will help cover up my oversize T-shirt and faded jeans. “How kind of you to mention it.”

“Come on.” He pushes the glasses back up, and I wince when the glare blinds me again. He reaches down to the ground beside him and brings up two steaming cups that I hadn't noticed before. “Coffee will help.”

I inspect his offering for a moment. I don't want to offend him, but avoiding risk is more important. “You first.”

His brow lowers, and his eyes stay on mine as he takes a sip from the cup and then hands it to me. “Not afraid of germs, I see.”

“They're less scary than other things you could've put in there.” This isn't about Cam, and it bothers me that he's making it sound like it is. Trust is something I've learned to live without. It's better this way—safer—for both of us. I watch the steam rising from the cup. I've never had coffee, but I have to get used to trying new things. The scalding, bitter liquid coats my insides with warmth and I do my best not to sputter. “Thanks.”

Cam laughs. “That bad, huh?”

“Horrible.” I take another sip and can't resist making a face. “I guess it's an acquired taste.”

A beautiful girl with long black hair and eyelashes to match walks around the fountain and stands next to Cam. She's close to him in age. A girlfriend maybe? If this is a girlfriend, I'm gone. I don't have time for silly distractions. She waves and I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain.

“This is my associate, Lily.”

“An associate was
not
part of our deal.”

“You will want me to be.” Lily winks at me.

Cam takes a sip of his coffee and grins. “She's going to help us find the new you.”

*   *   *

It's been an hour since we got here and Lily hasn't stopped squinting at me the entire time. We're in a back alley in an abandoned barbershop that somehow still has running water—hot water, however, appears to be too big of a request. Everything in the room is covered in a layer of dust. The air smells like it's been drenched in hair dye and left out to mold. The only thing keeping it breathable is the fact that Lily put on too much perfume. Every other breath is filled with a hefty dose of vanilla and spice. My nose tingles in a chemical daze and I rub the tip of it with my hand. Five baskets of scissors, brushes, and combs are spread out on the table near us like a bizarre assortment of medieval torture devices.

Lily raises her scissors, snips another section of damp hair, and I try unsuccessfully not to flinch. If there is any hair left at all when she's finished, I'll be amazed. The floor around the lumpy old barber chair I'm sitting on is covered with long dark strands. They look so foreign even though I know they used to be my own golden hair. I'd convinced Lily to let me wash my hair myself, after she dyed it. It's still difficult to sit motionless when she's touching parts of me, even if I can't exactly feel it.

I hear Cam's voice softly from another room. Whoever he's talking to, he doesn't sound happy with them. The only word I've been able to make out clearly is “no.” After a few more minutes, I hear “ciao” and an electronic beep before Cam walks through the door holding a white sheet and a large paper bag. When his eyes meet mine, he whistles.

“Brunette suits you.” He nods. “Now I might actually believe you're seventeen.”

My hand flies up to where my long blond hair used to rest across my shoulders, but there's nothing there. Lily shakes her head and spins my chair to face the mirror.

For the first time in months I'm too shocked to be reminded of Sam's lifeless eyes by looking in my own. Only the reflection is not me—or, at least, it doesn't feel like me. My hair, which has never been dyed and has only been cut a handful of times in my life, is gone. In my place is a girl I'd never recognize as myself in a million years. She blinks her wide blue eyes at me and they're the only thing I recognize about her.

My new hair is so dark it's nearly black, and it's cut in a jagged line above my shoulders. It's confident, daring, and I love it. This is what I want: for the old me to disappear. I will no longer see the blond hair like the Father's that made it seem like he'll never truly be in the past. I can't look at everything I've already done wrong, only the things I can choose to do right from here on out.

“It's perfect,” I say.

Lily dips into a little curtsy. “What can I say? I have mad skills.”

She reaches into a white bag and pulls out a long silver tube. I don't know what it is, but the way she squints and walks straight up to my face makes me squirm. When she bends down close, I can count the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. I hold my breath. I know she's trying to help me, but I don't remember the last time I felt this uncomfortable.

By the time Lily separates the tube, reveals a mascara wand, and brings it toward my eye, I can't sit still anymore.

“Wait! No, no, stop.” I make my body go limp and slide down out of the chair, scrambling around her on my hands and knees. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to get to my feet.

Lily jumps back to avoid falling on me. “Hey! What are you doing?” She stares at me like I'm the weirdest thing she's ever seen.

I've seen mascara in makeup commercials. It's fine if other people want to wear it. I just don't appreciate it zooming toward my eye like some sort of weapon.

Cam's voice comes from behind Lily and startles me. I've almost forgotten he is here. “Don't worry, Lily. She doesn't need it.”