Grounded

Chapter 23

Chapter 23 

"Jameson!" I stare at the familiar face first in utter surprise and then, as I notice the Green Republic emblem on the folder in his arms, accusation.

"Jameson was my cover. My real name is David, David Snow." He looks at me expectantly. "We have so much to talk about, Lydia."

The pieces of the puzzle snap together. "You're with them. You're working with the Green Republic."

"Yes. Invite me in and I'll explain everything."

"You betrayed the Stuarts."

"Maxwell had it coming. Be thankful I got you and Jeremiah out of there before the Greens raided Stuart Manor. If I hadn't, you'd be in far worse shape. Now, come on. Sit down. Let's talk." He nods his head toward the table.

"And if I don't?"

He says nothing, but with the way he tilts his head, I know I don't really have a choice.

"Come in. Let's talk," I say cynically, turning my back on him.

"You are so like your mother," he says.

I whirl in his direction. "So now you knew my mother?" As the words come out of my mouth, I remember how he said I reminded him of someone. Was that who he meant? My mother?

"I knew your mother quite well." Hastily, he sets the folder on the table and pulls a picture from it.

I snatch it from his fingers. Four women and four men dressed in military uniforms stare back at me. The woman in the middle could be my twin. The man over her right shoulder is a young version of Jameson... I mean, David.

My mouth opens but nothing comes out.

"The man on her left is your father," he says. "He was my best friend."

With the picture pressed between my fingers, I lower myself clumsily into the chair across from him. "You were one of the Alpha Eight."

He pulls the chair out and takes a seat.

My fingers hover over the picture of my mother. She looks strong, determined. The man behind her has a similar countenance. "What were their names?"

"Your father was Michael Fawn. The best and the bravest soldier I've ever known. Your mom, Laura, was a medic. That's how they met. She treated his wounds in the Northern war."

I'm not familiar with the Northern war. The history we learn in Amish school ends with the Great Rebellion when the wall went up. I don't ask though. It's not important to me. "What happened to my parents?"

David's eyes sweep toward the window. "They died."

"Trying to escape." My jaw snaps on the last word.

David shakes his head. "The situation was complex. They weren't in their right minds."

The couple next to my parents is olive-skinned and familiar. "Korwin's parents?" I ask.

"Yes. Jordan and Sicilia Villanueva."

"Also dead?"

"Yes," he says. "In the same way."

"And these two?" I ask.

"Charles and Rebecca Stone. Assumed dead." David's attention shifts to the folder.

"Assumed?"

"Their bodies were never found."

"Who is this on the other side of you?"

"My wife." His voice cracks, and his expression morphs into hollow misery. She must be dead, too.

I scour every inch of the picture, looking for answers the photograph can't give me. "I want to know the truth."