Authentic Imposter by Hazel Jonas
Chapter 2
Lilly
hot tears run down my face. Hands gripping my steering wheel for dear life, I try to calm my breathing. Every part of my body, mind and soul screams with rage. Snot drips from my nose, mixing with the tears and cooling on my skin. My jaw aches from clenching too hard but if I open my mouth, I might scream. If anyone walked by, they’d think I was having a seizure while battling the flu.
They fired me. They fucking fired me on my first day back, at six fucking a.m. after an eight-week leave of absence. A leave my boss pushed me into. Why didn’t I see this coming?!
Sitting in the parking lot of a park halfway between work and home, I’ve spent the better part of two hours freaking out in my car. How am I going to tell Caite and Glen? Where will I find another job? Why the fuck can’t I catch a single break?! The more I think about it, the more interested I am in running away. My idea no longer sounds crazy.
My sniffles and sobs die in the back of my throat like Silver commanded me to stop.
No one expects me home until after six p.m. That leaves me with ten hours to fill. Plenty of time to figure out how to explain why I got fired from my job to them. Right now I could go for a distraction.
Breaking and entering sounds like a good idea. Well, okay. Not good good, but good in that it's a perfectly logical thing to do to entertain myself so I don't fall deeper into depression. My first time truly out in eight weeks, a day where I didn't spend most of it in bed, and it’s already fucked. Hell, at least I got myself to shower this morning. That's a win, right?
Pulling out of the park, I drive to rich people suburbia and try not to overthink my current shit show. Circling the block Caite's parent live on, I can't tell if either Bethanie or Howie is home. Whatever, I'll think up an excuse if I run into one of them. Parking in the driveway, I wave at a guard lingering along the fence. He nods at me, but doesn't approach. He doesn't look bothered by my sudden appearance.
Walking along the side of the house, through the gate I dragged Silver out of, I don't run into anyone else. All is quiet and peaceful. The basement door is somewhat hidden between two poorly maintained shrubs. The dying leaves crumble away as I slide myself between them and test the door. Much to my surprise, it's unlocked. Fuck me, what idiot is leaving the doors unlocked when there is a butcher among us?
Howie, I guess.
Slightly disappointed by how easy my burglary is going, I jog down the unfinished basement steps and pull the string light. Holy shit, Caite wasn't kidding. The space is massive, nearly thirteen hundred square feet, and most of it contains stacks of cardboard boxes and unprotected furniture. Ugh, this might take a while.
Not a peep comes from upstairs as I dig through box after box of random shit. Each one looks like someone swiped their arm over a shelf or dumped a drawer into it. When I find what looks like a laptop charger, my heart pounds. But the box is mostly shoes. I go through another five boxes before I finally hit the jackpot.
A black laptop encased in a gray tough case similar to the one on Silver's phone. A beautiful leather bag containing it and a bound journal, pages torn clean out. Damn. Someone was smart enough to destroy what might have been a password log. I dig through the bag's pockets and my hand touches something gritty and flakey, then something metalic. A gross, confusing sensation. I shake the object out and my mouth dries.
A set of keys including two passcode fobs coated in dried blood. Glancing at my hand, I wipe the flakes of blood off on my scrubs. Packing up my treasures in a box, I turn off the light and bail the way I got in. Caite said the morning was safe, but as the clock approaches eleven, I start to get antsy.
Waving goodbye to the guards, I climb into my car and drive away. Once again, none of them pay much attention to me. Either they flat-out don't care about me or I'm not as suspicious as I feel I am. I suspect it's a combination of both. They know who I am, a loyal and subservient Syndicate woman. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Driving around aimlessly, I start to feel antsy again. Skin tight and prickly, hairs on end and fingers desperate to touch the laptop in my front seat. I end up back at the park I had my morning breakdown in. Cleaning Witt's fob with window wipes first, I open the laptop and turn on my phone's hotspot. The screen blinks to life and the fans spin loudly as it boots up.
Within ten minutes, I've logged in and poked through various files. Either I'm really good with tech or the Syndicate is absolute garbage at covering their asses. Probably the latter.
It takes several clicks to find a program that looks like the right one. According to the system dates, Witt hasn't used it in over six months. I'm not surprised. He never struck me as the micromanaging type. He had others do that. The software takes forever to start. I eat my lunch while I wait. The leftovers taste like sawdust and sand, making swallowing without gagging next to impossible. I manage to get some food down by reminding myself I don't want to pass out in the middle of a random parking lot.
Twitchy fingers slip on the keypad as I type in Silver's number. Moving the mouse over the run search button sends my stomach into a tumbling fit. I close my eyes and click on it. The lurching in my body prevents me from opening my eyes. Deep breaths don't help. Every exhale brings the taste of lunch back to my tongue. The laptop fans kick into a higher gear, their buzz lulling me into a false sense of security. My eyes drift open, squinting from the bright afternoon light. I blink the pain away.
The status report before me takes my breath away.
The phone is off. But it’s moved twice in the past forty-eight hours.
Whoever has it is moving around with it. I Google the latitude and longitude of the most recent cell tower ping. A map of Newfoundland pops up. The previous coordinates show a tower twenty miles to the south. The Feds wouldn’t take his phone to Canada. Either the people who held him captive have it…
Or Silver's alive.
The cursor hovers over the ping report button. I set the search dates to start on the day of the engagement party and end with today. Clicking it feels like attaching weights to my upper body. The loading icon ticks away, each movement adding to the slowdown of time around me. When the report flashes on the screen, I jump. So focused on the circle filling with green, I forgot why it was doing that.
Using my phone, I plug each set of coordinates into Google Maps, starting with the night of the party. There are too many pings to check each one. I settle for grabbing one every day. An outline of Silver’s movements appears before me.
My aunt and uncle’s house, then my apartment the next morning, and the Oddfather's mansion on the following day. All movements I know already. The bodies weren't discovered for twenty-four hours, but multiple pings show up throughout the day of the massacre. My blood chills. I recognize one of them, my apartment.
A headache forms behind my eyes. I dig out a pen from my purse and resort to writing on an envelope. I trace the movements of Silver's phone. Right after the massacre, it heads to a residential area on the east side of town and then several hours later moves to my apartment. Then it goes back to the east side and dies for a week. Reappearing in Canada, just outside of Montreal, it hits the same towers over and over for several weeks before dying again. A pattern of weeks spent in one location followed by silence and then a sudden jump to a more northern city.
I've lost my ability to comprehend the basic facts of my life. I remember Silver saying goodbye, but that was before the meeting. That whole weekend blurs together. I remember the engagement party more than anything else. What else did I do that weekend? Based on the movements of Silver's phone, I didn't spend all of my free time with him. The more I try and grasp at my memories, the worse my headache gets. My vision dims, cold sweat dampens my scrubs. I have to be misreading these cell signals.
No. No. No. Silver is dead.
With disgusting sweat-slicked fingers, I type, delete and re-type a message to Silver’s phone. I want to say something to trigger his fear or anger or that cowardly heart of his. If he is alive. But if he’s not, I don’t want his killers to suspect I’m onto their movements.
You’re safe now. Wesley Rivers is dead. I love you.
If Silver is alive, I’m going to strangle him. But first I will scream like the Caoineag. I will make him feel the pain I’ve felt for the past weeks. For his sake, I hope some creep has his phone.
I can’t do this anymore. Slamming the laptop lid closed, I toss everything back into the box, including my own phone and the scribbled-on envelope. If Glen is working from home, oh well. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s listened to me wail into my pillow or chug a bottle of wine.
Before I actually leave the park, my responsible side slaps politeness into me. I text Caite to let her know I’m coming home early and throw my phone back into the box. Driving home is a blur of frustration and anxiety. The headache behind my eyes moves to my temples. I pop some painkillers before I gather up my box of heartbreak and head into the apartment building. Caite hasn’t responded to my text.
Unlocking the door as loudly as I can, I let it swing open and hit the wall. Kicking it closed, I pause after locking to strain my ears for sounds of whatever I might be interrupting.
Sitting down on my bed, I fire up the Oddfather’s laptop. The last message I sent Silver is still unread. When the program’s loaded, I dig right back into the tower data. Running a new search with dates pushed back five months, I compare the locations. My brows pull together. There’s a repeating set of coordinates from the east side of town. I think my eyes are going crossed. All of the numbers blur into one. Double checking against Google, I quickly discover it’s not my eyes. They are the same places.
I pull in a breath and slowly release it. Either someone close to him has his phone or Silver’s alive. A sharp tug on my gut tells me it’s the latter. My brain tells me it’s the former. I have to know who has his phone.
Grabbing my pink hard-shelled suitcase out of the depths of my closet, I toss it on the bed next to the laptop. I collect clothing with one hand and search for flights with the other, haphazardly tossing my outfits in the general direction of the suitcase. I’ll fix them in a minute when I’ve got my flight all sorted out.
A knock on my open door startles me.
“Hey, Lilly? Whooh, whatcha doing?” Caite says from the wall, her voice skipping when she notices the mess on the bed.
“I need a vacation,” I say, as if it’s obvious.
Caite pokes through the suitcase and pulls out a heavy wool sweater. “And you’re going somewhere colder?”
Sighing, I snatch the sweater back from her and toss it aside. “Yes.”
“Why are you being so snappy?” Caite’s eyes narrow, her jaw clenches.
“Uh, I got fired from my job for conflict of interests, then I stalked Silver’s phone and found weird activity,” I snap, crossing my arms as I sit down on the edge of the bed. “And now I’m packing to chase down whoever has Silver’s phone and possibly beat the shit out of them.”
Caite smirks. “An hour ago, I would have called your bluff on kicking asses. But the fire in your eyes could light up an arena.”
My posture straightens. Face falling, I take a deep breath and drop my chin to my chest. “I’m sorry, Caite.”
“Yeah, yeah. Woe is me. So, what’d you find about Silver’s phone?”
I tell a shortened version of my searching, leaving out the mess in her parents’ basement and dancing around the events happening the weekend of her engagement party. Caite pales and sits down on the other side of the suitcase.
“So I’m going to Canada to stalk whoever has it,” I finish. My fingers wring to together, eyes glancing at my phone from time to time to check if my message was read. Nothing’s changed.
“Ho-ly shit,” Caite exhales slowly.
It’s my turn to pale, stomach twisting in knots. Now that I’ve said it all out loud, I feel stupid.
We sit in silence for a moment. I pluck things out of my suitcase and start folding them into a neater pile.
Caite claps her hands together and hops off the bed. “So, what part of Canada are we headed to?”
“Huh? Wait, no. You can’t—”
“I’m coming,” she says and raises her chin. “I’ll tell Glen we’re going on a desperately needed girls’ trip. He’s so swamped, he won’t notice I’m gone. If Silver’s alive, he owes Glen just as many answers as you.”
She’s got a point. About the answers part, not the Glen not noticing. I have every intention of kicking Silver’s ass on both of our behalves. Having Caite with me would be entertaining, to say the least.
“Pack warm. We’re headed to St. John’s.”
St. John’s is easy. Getting there is not. Two layovers and nearly eighteen hours spent between the skies and airports turn Caite and I into zombies. Neither of us are good sleepers on planes and Caite has become just as interested in the read status of my texts as I am.
“Okay, next time we need to stalk someone, let’s not grab the first flight we see.” She yawns, watching the bag carousel spin. “I don’t remember what bag I checked.”
I grab our bags and send Caite off for coffee while I rent a car. Getting out of the St. John’s airport adds two more hours to our trip. Finding a hotel for us to crash in ad driving there adds another hour. The woman at the check-in counter eyes our wobbling, swaying bodies but doesn’t say anything. The second the key-cards touch my hand, we run off.
Crashing is an understatement for what happens. My eyes close to darkness and they reopen to darkness.
Rolling onto my back, my body feels one hundred pounds heavier. I get my first actual look at the plain, boring hotel room. Two queen beds, a fridge, microwave and TV. It’s nothing special. Suddenly, my bladder screams for mercy. I launch myself out of bed and bolt to the bathroom.
After relieving myself and washing my face, I return to my bed. The messages are still unread. I sigh and drop my phone onto the pillow. What if they’ve hopped to a different province again? The phone hasn’t been on for three days now.
“So, what’s the plan?” Caite yawns, her voice pushing through the fog in my brain.
“Find out who has the phone. If it’s not Silver, we bail. If it is Silver…” My stomach clenches hard enough to make me curl in on myself.
“We confront him.”
“No. I confront him,” I say, pushing the extra pillow out of my line of sight. “You’re not immune to his manipulation.”
Caite frowns. “Look, I trust you and all, but how are you sure you’re not affected?”
A silly smile cracks my stern expression. “Silver tried to shoo me away. Frequently. Never worked once.”
She snorts and slaps a hand over her nose, eyes closing tight. Her body shakes with laughter.
“And no, I don’t know how I’ll confront him or what I’ll say. I’d like to think I’d be satisfied by walking up to him in public without saying a word, slapping him across the face, and stomping off.”
“Yikes. That’s way too nice, Lilly. Assuming that alien dick is alive, you deserve answers, and he deserves the worst,” Caite shakes her head. “And I’m not suggesting you rat him out to Glen. We’re not snitches.”
“What are you suggesting?”
Caite smiles wide. She sits up in bed and leans towards me with fists clutching the white comforter. Her eyes sparkle with a level of criminal evil I’ve seen in many men’s eyes before. “Break his fucking heart. Break it harder than he shattered yours. Run up to him with love in your eyes, kiss him, fuck him, get answers, and then make a show of ditching him here.”
I swallow hard, shoulders tightening. My lips and chin threaten to quiver under Caite’s joyfully cruel stare.
“That’s downright evil,” I say quietly.
“You’re a Syndicate woman, you're supposed to be evil. Silver deserves your wrath.”
A chill runs down my spine, dragging a full-body shiver along with it. Caite is downright maniacal.
“Question, how much of this plan is anger at Silver and how much is anger with Glen?”
“Good question. Uh, seventy, forty?”
“That equals one hundred and ten.”
Caite shrugs.
I groan. Checking my phone, my heart slams to a stop. The last messages show as read. In a flurry of blankets and curses, I dig Witt’s laptop out of my carry-on and fire it up. Caite doesn’t say anything, her face morphing from confusion to understanding in thirty seconds flat.
Of course, the universe hates me. The program takes three times as long to load.
“Text him,” Caite says, watching the laptop screen over my shoulder. “See if the phone’s still on.”
“Alright. Uh, what should I say?”
“Something to piss him off or turn him on.”
My face flushes. I swear Caite whispers “prude” under her breath.
“Tell him you watched Glen and I,” she suggests.
“That is really cruel. To you, I mean, not Silver.”
“Ugh, stop caring about me and start getting revenge!”
“Fine! But I’m not saying that!”
I type out the message and hit send without a second thought.
I wish I could vent to you. Snuggle up to you and hear you tell me I did the right thing. Because doing the right thing is so painful I want to run away.
The program finally loads.
The message turns to read before my eyes.
Three dots pop up. Someone is typing a message. My breath catches in the back of my throat. Wooziness tries to drag my body down to the bed. I’m trapped in my own body, not able to look away from my phone. The dots disappear.
Caite yanks the laptop away and runs the search.
“Someone was typing back,” I say. My voice shakes. It sounds younger and shyer.
“It’s pinging off a different tower. But it’s close. Max fifteen minutes away.”
Nodding makes my dizziness worse. I close my eyes and try to swallow, my mouth too dry.
“Okay. So what, we go wandering and hope we find him?”
“No. Lilly, it’s near downtown. Lots of towers to ping off in that area. If I’m reading this right, he’s... Hold on. It’s moving. I think he’s gone out for a walk.”
I want to jump into action but I can’t will my body to move. Anxiety burns through my veins and steals my breath. I need to get up. I need to get dressed. I need to fight back. But every attempt makes the tightness and wooziness worse.
A cold, wet cloth presses against the back of my neck. It startles me, cutting away at the burning like magic.
“We can go now or we can watch and see if there’s a pattern.”
“No.” My voice comes out of nowhere. “No chances to run.”
Eyes snapping open, the dull light hurts. Everything is fuzzy. My sight, my mouth, my limbs. It’s almost as bad as being completely numb to the world.
“Let me shower and doll up. Keep an eye on Silver’s phone. We, sorry… I need to at least try today.”
“Sure thing, boss lady.”