Project HALO

Chapter 11

On the TV screen, Dr. Pratt and me are running through the lab in the dark.

Didn't he say the cameras were off?

The quality isn't amazing, but even through the poor pixilation our faces are recognizable. That's all they need to make a story. That's all they need to frame someone.

I bounce my foot to the rhythm of our hurried footsteps on the TV. My hands clench and unclench. I shouldn't have shot him. Of course I shouldn't have.

The clip jumps forward, and next thing I'm standing with the gun in my hand, aiming at the doctor. It's from when I aimed at his shoulder, but on camera it looks like I'm about to put a cold-blooded bullet straight through his head. A flash later, Dr. Pratt crashes to the floor, and I'm sprinting out the door like a murderer fleeing the scene.

I'm a murderer.

My stomach twists sharply.

"What... the? What just...?" Mikey slams his laptop down on the table. "Charlie?"

"I—I told you about Dr. Pratt," I stutter, struggling to get enough air into my lungs to continue the sentence, "but I didn't tell you everything."

I hesitate, wiping my hands on my pants. I can barely wrap my own head around this, let alone explain it to Mikey, but I have to tell him my side of the story and hope he believes me.

The problem is that I'm not sure if I believe myself.

"I didn't want to tell you this," I begin, rubbing a hand over my damp forehead. "He—Dr. Pratt said I had to shoot him to, you know, to make everything seem believable. His bosses wouldn't have let him live if he'd let me leave without a fight. Not a fatal shot, and I tried not to..." My voice fades and I clear my throat. "I really tried, Mikey. I did! I was gonna shoot him in the shoulder, but then the alarm disturbed me and my aim slipped and I have no idea where I hit him an—and... and... I—I don't know."

Silence.

I bury my head in my hands and pull at my damp hair.

Maybe I should try harder to convince Mikey that I'm telling the truth, but I don't think I can do that without breaking.

Mikey draws a deep breath. The couch squeaks as he moves, and I guess he leaves the room. A flash of anger and despair zaps through me. If I don't have Mikey, I have no one. Even if Dr. Pratt's people are willing to help, I can't trust them.

But Mikey is still on the couch when I gather the courage to check. He stares vacantly at the TV, biting the nail on his thumb.

"Mikey, I swear I didn't kill him," I say, but how can I be sure when I left him like that? My jaw tightens and I shove the thought away. "I had to do it to get out, I had to."

My throat tightens as my voice cracks. Before the stinging behind my eyes can develop into tears, I spread my fingers out and stare intently at my tattoo. If there's ever a time I need to be fearless, it's now.

"I believe you," Mikey says after an eternity.

My shoulders lower, and I almost run over to hug him, almost, but a sigh of relief will have to suffice. Mikey takes his glasses off and rubs them between the fabric of his white V-neck. He shakes his head.

"How do you always end up in trouble?"

His words are issued more like a dejected statement than a question, so I stay quiet. I don't think I could've answered him even if I wanted to.

"Alright, if we're doing this, you have to tell me exactly what he said. Every minor detail," Mikey continues. "Did he give you any numbers? Locations? Names?"

I shrug. "He didn't mention any numbers, just said it belonged to a storage unit in the city, but that was all he could say before..." I swallow and avoid Mikey's stare.

"Well, that's about as helpful as Superman swallowing Kryptonite." He turns the key in his hand, pushing his glasses as high up his nose as possible. "We have twelve storage units in Bergen, so that somehow limits our possibilities. Not by a lot, though."

"We could check all of them?" I suggest, expecting Mikey to roll his eyes at me. Instead, he nods slowly, like he always does when he's only half-listening.

"Maybe we should visit each storage unit," he mumbles, and I throw my arms out.

"I just said that," I say and roll my eyes.

He twists his lip. "Pics or it didn't happen."

"You're a dick," I laugh and throw the core of my apple on him. He ducks, but it hits his laptop. He gasps loudly.

"This is war," he hisses between laughing. "No one touches my preciousss."

That only makes me run over to physically touch the laptop, and he slaps my hands away while clutching the laptop to his chest. We laugh and, for a few minutes, it feels like the past three months never happened.

"So, what's your master plan?" I ask as he runs a hand through his thick hair.

"I told you, we go to each and every unit!"

I purse my lips. "Wow, how original."

"Shut up and do your job," he scoffs and smacks my shoulder.

"And what's my job?"

His mouth curves into a smirk. "Listening to me and staying out of trouble." He raises his eyebrows. "Think you can do that for once in your life?"

"Maybe?" I grin, but when he threatens to hit me again, I throw my hands up. "Okay, okay. I'll try."

"And I'll pretend I believe you," he says. "But before you do anything, you should nap. You look terrible."

"That's not how compliments work, Mikey."

He cocks his head. "Go to bed. You can have one of the guest rooms. I'll start tracking this key down digitally, so you're no help to me anyway."

At first I want to protest, knowing that we should use every waking moment to search for the key's counterpart, but the thought of crawling into a comfortable bed with thick bedcovers and fluffy pillows is too damn tempting. And Mikey is right. I can do the physical stuff like running from unit to unit, but I'm no help at digital tracking.

"Only a powernap," I agree. My body needs rest, especially if we're going to visit every storage unit in Bergen. That'll take forever. "Wake me up soon."

Mikey nods and dives back into his computer.

As I walk to the nearest guest room, my steps grow heavier and slower, and I collapse onto the bed when I arrive, silk sheets welcoming me with their cooling touch. I fall asleep with a sigh, thankful to have Mikey's help. We'll solve this.

Hope blooms in my chest and I let it linger.