Troop turned the collar up on his jacket even though the night was humid and warm. A deep chill had settled in his bones and he just couldn’t seem to get warm. He swiveled his head over his shoulder and saw nobody.
Duh. That’s because they’re supposed to remain hidden, Troop thought to himself. Chelsa (with Ghost, of course) and Paul were trailing behind him, ready to give him some back up if the need of it arose.
My dad is alive. Troop still couldn’t quite get over that fact. I saw him plunge out a sixty-story apartment and yet he is still alive and kicking.
Three hours ago, he had received an instafication from his dad. How his father had obtained his contact number, Troop had no idea. His father had insisted Troop to meet him alone tonight—he wanted to give the Revealers a list of people interested in joining the Revealers.
“Think of this as me making up for the ten years I left you and your mother,” his father had said. “It’s the least I could do.”
Troop was interested. But he wasn’t stupid either. He didn’t trust his father an inch further than he could throw him—which wasn’t very far. Hence the reason why he was still meeting his father at nine p.m. on 23 Jay Boulevard—just not alone.
Of course Tiffany had thrown a fit when he told her what he was doing tonight. She refused to allow Troop deal with this “shady business,” as she liked to call it. She’d never forgiven her husband after he tried to snitch work sensitive information from her office.
Troop turned left at the intersection, his hands jammed deep within his pockets. The time pulsed in the bottom corner of the public news-screen: 8:56 p.m. He scanned the numbered doors down the street and located number 23.
He strolled over to the address, lost in deep thoughts. I wonder why my father chose to help us now, after all those years. I don’t believe he’s had a change of heart; there must be some personal gain in it for him.
Troop lifted his gaze from the concrete sidewalk to the figure approaching him. Even though the person was too far away for Troop to make out his face, he could tell right away that this person was not his father. He—or she; the person looks like it could be a girl—was too short to be his father. And there was something almost predator-like the way the person walked.
Troop squinted his eyes, peering off in the fading daylight. That’s definitely a girl. He creased his forehead, wondering what in the world was going on. Did my father back out on his part? Did he send a representative?
“Troop, are you sure that’s you father?” Chelsa whispered from the darkness.
“No. Hush now.”
She fell silent.
The figure got closer to closer, the blurry details slowly coming into focus. Something about the girl was heart achingly familiar to Troop. Finally, the girl was no more than fifty feet away from him.
Troop heard Chelsa gasp.
He did a double take on the person standing before his eyes. “Kristi?” he whispered.
