From the Journal of William Kidd

Entry #7

Journal,

Woods was here again.  She took over for Hughes while he babysat in the infirmary all day.  Still no news on Maggie.  No visitors either.  I’m writing this in the hallway now.  Bill’s here, too, and it doesn’t look like he got a wink of sleep last night.  That’s the thing about Bill.  He’s so damn empathetic.  He feels everything to an extreme and most of the time, it’s not even his own emotions he’s feeling.  It’s usually someone else’s. 

But anyways, back to Woods.  She pulled me aside today and asked me about Maggie.  She wanted to know if there was any funny business going on.  I told her that some of the boys poked fun at Maggie, but none of them were stupid enough to actually take her on.  For the most part, they were all starting to get along.  Actually, a lot of the boys even listen to her most of the time.  None of them would be hitting her hard enough to do that kind of damage.

I couldn’t tell if Woods believed me or not.  She never really looked like she believed anything, but then again, she never really looked like she didn’t either.  The perfect poker face—oh, they’re letting us inside.  I’ll be back in a minute.

So, Maggie’s fine.  Pretty much the whole team showed up to see her—Woods and Hughes included—but Miss Alex kicked us all out.  Bill and I stayed behind though.  They couldn’t see us as long as we hid behind the curtain.  “I told you that you were pushing these kids too hard, Blake,” the doctor snapped.

“This one isn’t really my fault,” Hughes defended.  “If some little girl would eat her veggies, she’d probably be alright.”

I already knew that Maggie would protest before she even started.  “I’m not a little—”

“What is it?” Woods cut her off, probably vastly uninterested in hearing the predictability of Morgan Goode.  “Why is she so banged up?  You know, Alex, I’m the one who has to answer to Joe Solomon when his granddaughter looks like this.”

Miss Alex tsked, scribbling something across her clipboard.  “Malnutrition,” she answered.  “A deficiency of certain nutrients can lead to easier bruising and since she’s getting beat up every day, it’s really not that hard to do.”

 “So what, then?” Woods asked.  “You’re not eating your vegetables?”

Miss Alex answered before Maggie could.  “She’s not really eating anything, Charlotte.”

I could practically feel the guilt seeping in through the curtain, but from who, I didn’t know.  Maggie, probably, guilty of the crime they spoke of.  Woods and Hughes, maybe, for pushing her so far.  Miss Alex, for not catching it sooner.  Whatever the source, the guilt was overwhelmingly thick and the silence that came with it was even thicker. 

It was Woods who broke it off.  “I’m calling your father.”

“No!” It was Maggie and I’m pretty sure she hadn’t meant to say it.  After all, no one went against Charlotte Woods, but, then again, I suppose Maggie has always been the exception to that rule.  “I mean, you can’t.  He’s in Bulgaria with Bex.  He’s having a good time.”

“Having a good time?”  Hughes said, an audible disgust in his tone.

Maggie’s voice dropped this time.  “He’s happy.”

These words seemed to hold a bit more meaning to the adults, but it was Woods, again, who spoke up.  “Your father’s happiness is not prioritized above your safety. If we don’t call him, he’ll kill us.  Not only that, but he’ll recruit the near entirety of the CIA to kill us, too.  And then if they don’t get the job done, Rachel and Joe are the next in line.”

And Journal, that was the first time I really realized what it meant to be enemies with a Goode.  Aren’t you glad we picked the right side there?

“It’ll be my fault,” Maggie muttered.  “It’ll be my fault if he has to stop running.”

I still don’t know what she meant by that, Journal, but she sounded pretty upset by it.  Evidently, no one else in the room knew what it meant either or, if they did, they weren’t telling.

“I’m calling him,” Woods said again, this time tearing through the turquoise curtain on her way out.  She caught a glimpse at Bill and I.  For a moment, I think my heart actually stopped beating.

But then a funny thing happened, Journal.  Woods looked the other way.  It was almost as if world-class spy Charlotte Woods hadn’t seen us standing there.  She had, of course, but she had really made a purposeful effort not to.

Anyways, Maggie has to spend another night in the infirmary.  Hughes says she’ll be back training with us by sunrise and you know what that means.  Yes Journal.  Sunrise drills.  I’d better get to sleep.

Regards,

Will