TRAIN [FIRST DRAFT]

Chapter 22: Jane

What am I doing here?

I heard my words loud and clear, but could swear that I was thinking them. Was I dreaming? No, I was wide awake and lying with my back on cold tiles. I stood up to scope my surroundings, swift and alarmed.

Office cubicles? I thought, the words rung on the walls again. Well, this is annoying.

I sighed and strolled casually ahead of where I was. Then I heard a man's voice.

"Jane?"

He sauntered out from a cubicle, nonchalant and tilting his head to one side. He was wearing the light grey jacket that he always wore, zipped up to his Adam's apple, collar popped. I pretended not to hear him and turned to one of the cubicles, but he was nearing me, and I hadn't realised how close he had gotten. Before I knew it, he had grabbed my wrist, spun me to face him and pinned me to the wall.

What do you want? I thought to myself, momentarily forgetting how my thoughts had their own voice.

He paused momentarily and his eyes left mine to ogle the ceiling, where my thoughts seemed to come from. He glanced at me again.

"Why are you in America?"

"Wow, you're hot," I flirted to avoid his interrogation.

"Seriously?" he asked rhetorically, while I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Do Suzanne and Violet know that you're here?"

"Of course they do," I remarked bluntly.

"So when are you going back, Jane?" he queried, putting emphasis on that cursed name.

"Chérie, if I want to stay, I'm going to stay. And my name is Celeste! Can I go now, or did you kidnap me for something else?"

"I didn't kidnap you."

"Well, I don't wanna be here, so it's all the same to me. I only came because I didn't wanna cause a scene on the Griffiths' doorstep; I know how crazy you GINM agents can get," I whispered.

"Don't make me hurt you," he said.

He's getting annoyed.

I changed the topic, "How do I get out of here?"

I received no answer, but I was addressed by someone else suddenly, a woman with a familiar voice. She approached me calmly.

Suzanne.

What is she doing here? Urgh, I was reminded of my reciprocating thoughts.

"You're not really here, you can't be. What is going on?" I asked both her and Gavin.

"That is not important now. Jane, you have to tell Aimee what you know, why you are here, remember?"

How could I forget? I thought again, and hearing it made my chest feel tighter. I couldn't say it out loud – it would have hurt too much – but I still heard the words.

I stared hollowly at the tiles as the information she had reminded me of dug a deeper concavity in me. My breaths were swallowed by my lungs, as if I was forgetting how to breathe, and then Gavin placed his hands on my shoulders.

Si je lui dis, elle haïra nous tous. Même moi je déteste nos parents! How could they –

"Please don't make me say it again," said Suzanne, halting my thoughts.

I looked up; Aimee's presence had replaced hers and her plea was no more than a distant echo, a hurt-filled voice which no longer had a face.

It was unreal: Aimee, or an emotionless version of her, stared me in the eyes. She stood there, waiting for me to tell her our secret. And then it hit me; where I was and what was going on, it all made sense, and I knew how I was gonna get out. I looked to the ceiling, unsure whether it was the right place to look, but that didn't matter. There were tears in my eyes, but I refused to appear inferior. I clipped my spine and jaw in an honourable stance.

"I won't fall for this, Buckley," I stated strongly.

Gavin's hands fell off my shoulders, and within seconds a bright and blinding light hit my eyes. By the time the light dimmed and I could see again, I was alone. It was all an illusion. An enormous door materialised in the distance. The office was deserted. I was deserted. I ran to the door, to my escape, and when I came out on the other side, I was grabbed at my arm. It was Gavin, I could tell by his voice as he told me to hush.

"We need to get you out of here," he said.

He was helping me? We were in GINM. I was not scared, not in danger, but I went with him.

We drove through the night in some fancy car of his, until we were at his house: a small apartment in a quiet street. I lived there for the next week. It wasn't an upgrade from Aimee's sleeping bag; I had to sleep on the couch, but Gavin was better company, somehow. I felt almost as if he trusted me, if that was possible.

He didn't talk to me, except in the mornings. We had private interrogation sessions every day before he headed to GINM, but he seemed unenthusiastic to actually get answers. He asked about our secret, mine and Suzanne's, something so extreme I couldn't tell it to the person I came back to California to tell it to. No, I was in California to escape the secret, but I was foolish; it was impossible! I didn't even have friends in North Hills; I was only familiar with Gavin, Aimee and Stefan. What did I expect would happen here? I'd fall into a real-life rom-com, meet the perfect guy and have his babies? No. I could have fled to Paris for that. But here, the truth was bound to escape.

What I did know was that Gavin had overheard Suzanne and me talking, even if he was never really in those offices with me. I also knew that Mitchel Buckley wanted the same information I was unwilling to give. I'd never met him, but I was aware that he owned GINM itself, that he was divorced, that Stefan was his son and that I didn't have to chit-chat with him. Fine by me.

Gavin made me breakfast and supper each day, even though I could cook. Although, he was the first man I'd met who was a greater chef than I. We ate at the same table, speechlessly. I didn't try to run away, which is out of my character, by the way, but Gavin had other plans for me that Saturday. As soon as he returned from GINM, he told me that we were going back to the Griffiths' house. I wanted to protest, but I didn't.

It was a warm afternoon, and the sun was setting behind the houses and trees in the expanse. He knocked thrice on the Griffiths' door. Clifford opened the door and greeted us.

"Where have you been?" he asked me in particular, which was unexpected – at least, I found it so.

Put side by side with Gavin, I was the antagonist and he was the protagonist. He was the one who had retrieved their daughter and I was the one who had once kidnapped her. I was a mercenary and an adversary. He couldn't possibly care about me, right?

"She's been staying with me," clarified Gavin. "Is Aimee here?"

"No..."

"She's out, let's go," I said, eager to leave, but making sure not to sound it.

I was about to step off of the porch when Gavin pulled me, moving only his arm, until I was standing beside him once more. His arm around my waist, he hoisted my body and squeezed it onto his, like I weighed nothing more than the average five-year-old. I sighed miserably and didn't dare to break free.

"She should be back in the next hour," mumbled Clifford, confused by our entanglement.

Gavin sighed without sounding impolite. "We can wait," he glimpsed at me as he said that.

I was growing desperate, desperate to flee, even though I hated the feeling of fear – the feeling that was exhumed by Gavin's suggestions. I ogled him. Aimee would come home eventually, it was inevitable, and I had a feeling that we weren't going anywhere until she joined us. I thanked God that I wasn't within the proximity of GINM, because the thoughts that popped into my head were embarrassingly frail and pathetic – and I preferred having them to myself.