The Pandora Project (16 page)

Understanding dawns and I reply, “You can’t really think my father would want me using my powers on a bunch of unsuspecting college kids.”

“Like I said, I am not sure, but where else to get a little back-up than a place that has smart, physically fit, disciplined people who are being taught to be selfless, honest and loyal leaders? No greater place to start if you ask me.” He shrugs his shoulders and lets me think about it.

It makes sense if we want to go around activating people, but I have always thought that the idea was to live in peace and do all that we can to avoid bringing to fruition the visions my grandmother had.
Of course, that could only be the plan if we manage to stay away from those who would use me. Maybe if we are pushed to extreme measures…better to be prepared.

John b
reaks into my thoughts, “We need to take a small detour before finding Asher.”

“Where to?”

“We need to ditch the car. As wonderful as it has been, Dr. Cox definitely knows what we are driving, we should have gotten rid of it right away, but we have been in no man’s land. It’s time.”

“Where do you want me to go?”

“Long term parking at the Louisville Airport.”

“We’re going to steal a car?” I gasp.

“Not steal, just borrow,” he rationalizes, “we’ll take good care of it and get rid of it somewhere so it can be returned to its rightful owner. If it will make you feel better we can leave some of the money in the car, to pay for its use.”

I want to protest further, but I don’t have any good arguments.
He continues, “We’ll park the car, grab as much as we can out of the back, and find a new car.”

I
t will work as well as anything, but once again I’m just along for the ride. I really need to start pulling my weight on this trip. We drive the final miles to the airport in silence. It is the longest we have gone without talking when both of us are awake and it is slightly uncomfortable. I don’t know how I feel about him, but even more discomfiting is the fact that I am not sure how he feels about me either.

He hasn’t been near as charming and endearing as he was before his big change.
Was he just acting in order to get in my good graces and get me to do what he wanted? Of course, I haven’t exactly been Little Miss Personality. In fact, if I am honest with myself, I have been kind of a wench. Maybe he has changed his mind about liking me. That would be understandable as well. He definitely has a lot to offer anyone, could I really blame him if he thought of me as dead weight now?

F
ollowing the signs to the Louisville Airport, I find long term parking without any problems. As I pull into a parking space, John says, “I think our best bet would be to act as if we are a couple going on a trip. It seems pretty dead this time of the morning so hopefully we won’t run into anyone, but if we do, do you think you can pretend to like me?” He says it like a joke but he looks sad.

“I don’t have to pretend,” I say as I put one hand against his cheek.
“I am sorry for being difficult. I am beyond thankful for all that you have done for me.” I shock myself when I lean over and kiss him lightly on the lips.

At first he doesn’t respond and I move to pull away but he puts a hand over mine and pulls me closer with his other hand.
We kiss gently at first and I try not to think about what is happening, to just go with it. As the kiss deepens, my heart rate accelerates. As my heart rate accelerates I feel my cheeks and my hands warm. I pull away quickly and rip my gloves off. Sure enough, my hands are beginning to glow.

T
aking a few deep breaths it is nearly impossible to calm down because my earlier excitement has turned into embarrassment. Aren’t guys supposed to be the ones with the tell tale signs that they are turned on? Could I be any worse at this? Maybe he is just really good…

“Well, I think we know how to turn you on…” I look to him, shocked that he would state such an obvious fact.
My expression must have made him realize what he said, “I didn’t mean like that,” he stammers, “I meant, how to charge you, you know…how to make your hands do their thing, you know…”

All I can do is laugh that he is finally the one put on the spot, and partially because he didn’t mean it the way I thought he did.
“Yeah, now we know,” I mumble. He shoots me a winning smile and gets out of the car. I meet him around back and we start to gather as much as we can carry.

We shove as many loose items as will fit into the duffle bags.
I don’t see the gun and have to assume John still has it. He starts to pick up both duffle bags and one smaller bag when I stop him. “I thought the idea was to look normal,” I look pointedly at the ease he is carrying such a heavy burden and reach to take one of the duffles.

He pushes the small bag to me, “No one is around.”

“Fine,” we walk toward the airport, as if that is our goal. “So what kind of car are we in the market for?” I ask.

“Something
older so it doesn’t have so many security features. We want something that doesn’t look like it has been here for very long, maybe that way we will have longer before anyone notices it is missing.”

“Boy, don’t you think of everything?” I ask, trying to hide my sarcasm.

“I have been thinking especially clearly the last few days,” he responds flashing me another smile. It’s great to be back on friendlier terms, it makes running for your life so much more enjoyable!

I let John decide wh
ich car to hijack. Why start being useful now? He pauses briefly by a really nice Mercedes but must decide it is too nice because he moves again after a quick inspection.

L
ooking around, alert for anyone watching us; I nearly bump into John when he stops behind an older model Honda Odyssey. “Perfect,” he mumbles and peeks in the back window before heading to the passenger side.

“A minivan?
Really?” I grumble, before joining him. “Why this car?”

“My mom used to drive a van just like this,” he says almost to himself as he cracks his knuckles.

“How are you going to get in?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at me before grabbing the black plastic portion that surrounds the window.
“My mom told me once that she locked the keys in the car when I was a baby and was frantic to get in. Not even the police could get in because their instruments weren’t strong enough…I’m hoping I’m stronger.”

I watch as he ea
sily pulls open a space and slides his hand in far enough to disengage the lock. He quickly opens the door and reaches for the glove box, “My mom also always kept her valet key in the glove box and hopefully…Yes!” He emerges with a victorious smile on his face, holding a grey key.

“Get in, I’ll put the luggage in the back.”

D
ropping the duffle, I scan the parking lot one last time before climbing in. All the doors unlock with a hearty snap when I release the lock so John can open the back hatch. Turning to watch him load the van, a blue booster seat with interlocking circles and squares and a pink car seat with oversize cartoon flowers glare at me in condemnation. “Great,” I mumble as John climbs in, “we’re stealing from a family with small kids, that doesn’t make me feel more guilty,” I say sarcastically.

John swivels and looks around, “We’ll leave enough money to assuage any guilt, right?”

Knowing we have no other choice I agree, “Sure.”

“Act natural,” he commands as we pull out of the parking lot.

John pays the fee while I try not to look like a criminal. The attendant smiles warmly at me and it just makes me feel worse but the relief I feel at driving away from the airport quickly dispels it.

“Now for a shower,” John proclaims.

The prospect of a shower has every filthy nerve ending tingling in anticipation. “Where are we going to do that? I thought it was too dangerous.”

“Why stop at grand theft auto?” he replies enigmatically.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see,” he says and again wiggles his eyebrows.
He has become a criminal mastermind overnight, I have unleashed a monster.

John has me navigate us to a city outside Fort Knox named Elizabethtown.
He drives around a couple of neighborhoods, searching for something.

There seems to be no pattern to his driving.
The neighborhoods range from beautiful multilevel homes on several acres all the way to trailers thrown carelessly on tiny lots. “Do you know someone else around here?” I ask, confused at why are driving around aimlessly.

“No, just looking for the perfect house,” he responds, not really giving me any more information.

He slows while driving through a huge subdivision filled with cookie cutter starter homes, John finally stops in front of a relatively small rancher with a minivan in the driveway. “What? Are we just going to walk up, ring the bell and ask to shower in their bathroom?” I ask.

“Of course not,” he says, “the van just won’t look out of place here.
We might be here for a playdate or something. Now go back and grab what you need for a shower. Put it in the backpack from the large duffle.” He pulls up the armrest and I know he wants me to climb through. I drape myself over the backseat, struggling to reach the bags.

“Can’t we open up the back?” I complain.

“We can,” he says, “but I really like the view.”

With m
y butt pointing straight up in the air, it is hard to jerk around to give him the evil eye, but I give it my best shot. He lets out a hearty laugh and gets out of the van. My angry façade slips quickly when I am unable to contain a snort.

Once we both have what we need, John takes off down the street.
We walk to the end of the block and take a left. He leads us through two more turns and walks to the end of a cul-de-sac. “Here we are,” he says as he confidently walks up the inclined driveway of a house with a ‘For Sale’ sign dug into the lawn.

Noticing the realtors name on the sign I ask, “Won’t Al Dumas’ clients mind that we are showering in their house?”

“Probably,” he says but continues to make his way up the drive. Like the obedient lap dog I have become, I follow him to the back door. Without missing a beat, John grabs the handle and slams his body against the door. Though he makes it look easy, his great strength is evident through the splintered wood surrounding the deadbolt and the doorknob. “After you,” he says, holding the door open for me.

I might have protested a little if a breeze hadn’t kicked up right at that moment and I caught a whiff of myself.
My need for a shower quickly overcame my reservations. “Don’t turn on any lights,” John says, “we don’t want to call any unnecessary attention to ourselves.”

The house is devoid of any furniture.
John must have picked this house because it could be weeks before anyone discovered we were here. It will be awkward if someone has scheduled an appointment for today to see it. They will definitely get more than they bargain for if they catch two naked teenagers squatting on the property. Naked because of the shower, not for any other reason.

“You go first,” John says, gesturing to the hall that a bathroom is sure to be off of.
“I’ll keep an eye out.”

He’ll get no argument from me.
My incredible desire to be clean outweighs any sense of balance or fairness. The bathroom is the first door off of the main room and I don’t hesitate. The hot water feels so divine I let it run over me as I take stock of the last couple of days. It is almost inconceivable all that has happened. The weight of events settles heavily on my shoulders and I realize, once again, I am exhausted.

Not wanting to use all the hot water, I shake myself into action and finish my shower.
Stepping out, I towel off, mentally sending a thank you to my father for thinking of everything and dress again. Balling my dirty clothes in my towel, I hurry to relieve John. He is standing in the kitchen, looking out the window facing the road.

“Are we safe?” I ask, knowing we won’t ever be truly safe.

“So far, so good.”

“You’re up,” I say, jerking my thumb toward the bathroom.

He surprises me by trailing his hand across my waist and kissing the top of my head as he walks past. The intimacy and the casualness of the action has my heart beating hard and my hands heating up.
Get it under control, Paige
. Taking up John’s position, I try to think of anything but the heat of his touch.

There are so many things I need to learn to control, my reactions to John’s touch being just the tip of the iceberg.
Taking my gloves off and resting my hands on the sink, I try to send the nervous energy that is forever buzzing around inside of me out through my fingertips.

While the heat always seems so close to the surface when it is inconvenient, I have no luck bringing them to life on command.
Closing my eyes, I envision all the times my hands have acted up recently. As I remember John kissing me after I gave him his powers I feel heat rush to my fingertips. I can see the light emitted from my hands even with my eyes closed. Smiling, I clear my mind and am rewarded with fading of the heat and the light.