Project Frostbite

Chapter 3

The house erupted with a boom, the walls flying outward and the force sending me airborne, before I landed face-down in the dirt. Getting up, I cringed at the pain of my shoulder, and stood to face what was left of my home. The heat fanned my face as flames licked the night sky. My parents were dead in there. I'd just destroyed any chance of ever saving them. Though my head told me they were dead, my heart yearned to convince me it wasn't true, that this was all a crazy nightmare as a result of too many drinks with Micah.

With a heavy heart, I wiped my tear-stained face clean of any soot and dirt, and turned, fleeing to the garage. Inside I grabbed a backpack, filling it with everything I thought I'd need. All of my clothes had been destroyed, but I found a spare jacket of Kris' which I took, and raided the small fridge bare of any food and drink. After a moment's hesitation, I grabbed a pocketknife from Kris' workbench, and found at least seven wads of cash, all rolled up in a secret pocket I discovered underneath the table.

Then I pulled out my mom's car keys and jumped into her sleek silver baby. I reversed out of the garage and sped off down the street, just as sirens pierced the silent night. An ambulance and two police cars raced by, followed closely by the media's signature grey van. I wiped my red-rimmed eyes again as I forced myself to slow down as they passed me, but the tears refused to stop falling. My parents were dead, and they weren't even my parents. Why hadn't they told me? Did I dare believe what that murderer was telling me?

When I felt I was far enough from the scene, I pulled over and emptied everything out of my pockets, examining the envelope. My name was written in Jaymee's - was that even her real name? - elegant handwriting across the front. I turned the envelope over and opened it, discarding it on the floor as I pulled out a torn piece of paper and a neatly folded one. I opened the neater one first. It was a letter from Jaymee.

My dearest Tryston,

If you are reading this, it means that your identity has been compromised and the day we feared most has come.

I know that you must be feeling scared and alone right now, and I am sorry for that. When you were two years old Kris and I found you in a basket on our doorstep. Kris was on leave at the time and I had just had a miscarriage, so we gladly welcomed you into our home. Please know that we never wanted to hurt you, and planned on telling you the truth when you were old enough. You are a very special boy.

There is someone that I know who owes us a favor. Firestorm. She is just like you. I have put her number into the disposable phone you should have, but as soon as you have called her, destroy that phone. It won't take Blade long to trace it, and you must be cautious. Trust no one, not even Firestorm.

I love you, and please know that even if we are not related by blood, you'll always be my little boy.

Good luck, Jaymee

By the time I finished reading Jaymee's letter, a new bout of tears had begun, dropping onto the paper and causing it to go wet and rip when I tossed it onto the passenger seat. Even though they weren't my parents by blood, I had still loved them with all my heart. I looked at the torn piece of paper. It was yellow and ripped with age, and on the front, written in bulky letters, was a smaller letter.

Mr and Mrs Waters,

Please take care of my son. He is a very special boy, but due to unfortunate circumstances I am not able to keep little Tryston without endangering his life. I have already lost my chance at a normal life, but I refuse to lose him as well. Love and care for him as though he were your own. I cannot make any promises I will return for him, but I will be watching from afar, always.

601 West 153rd St., Manhattan, New York City

Yours truly, Martin Thorne

It was my father, my real one. I just knew it. My last name wasn't Waters, it was Thorne. Was the address where Martin was? Could he help me? But Jaymee said not to trust anyone, and to contact Firestorm, whoever the hell he was. All of this was making my head hurt, and my eyes were dry, bare of any more tears. I could feel my head getting heavy all of a sudden, and let it loll back into the headrest. Surely a few moments of rest couldn't hurt.