30. THIRTY

THIRTY

A few hours later, we depart from a small municipal airport somewhere in the middle of butt fucking nowhere. I don't know why I thought I'd be on a regular flight—maybe I would have had there been a real airport nearby. Instead, I'm on a tiny airliner with my escort, who's manspreading all over my seat, and only two other people.

I wonder what's wrong with them.

"Is there wifi?" I joke. "An in-flight movie?"

He scoffs. "What do you think? Might as well get used to it—I don't think they have internet access in the looney bin."

"They might," I say. "We've got some classy looney bins where I'm from."

He pops some earbuds into his ears. "Just shut up and sit there in your shit pile."

I snort. That's actually kind of an accurate description of what I'm doing now, isn't it?

The plane takes off, and I lie back in my seat with my eyes closed, the abandoned and shamed queen of the shit pile, soothing the ache in my chest with the same lies over and over again.

Declan didn't leave me.

Luca isn't dead.

We'll be a family again.

I'll never be alone again.

But everything dies. Whether in bloodstains and ruin or from slow-burning lies.

That's what I think is happening to me.

And when the scene through the window changes to something so uniquely California, my home both so familiar and so foreign, and I know we must be close to LAX, a pilot walks down the aisle, stopping beside our row.

"Sir?" he says to my police escort.

He removes the earbuds from his ears. "It's Boyd," he says.

"Officer Boyd, we've been instructed to make you aware of…the situation on the ground. Do you want to…" He gestures for the man to come to the front of the plane. Boyd looks me up and down, my cuffed hands and feet in chains.

"Sure," he says, then adds. "Don't fucking try anything. I'll take you all the way out."

I give him a thumbs up. "Got it."

They move toward the front of the plane; Boyd stands so he can watch me, and I watch him, too. I see the concern on his face and wonder what the fuck the situation on the ground could possibly be.

"What's going on?" I ask him when he returns to his seat. Not that I expect him to answer.

"Just don't let it go to your head, kid," he says.

"Folks, we are beginning our final descent into Los Angeles International Airport," the pilot says over the speaker. "Local time is 4:33 PM, the weather on the ground is seventy-nine degrees and sunny. We should touch down in approximately twenty-two minutes. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened."

I lean against the window and sigh.

Once we land, we deboard the small plane on the tarmac outside and then are escorted into the airport by two armed security guards.

And once we're through the terminal, I'm surprised by two familiar faces.

"Mom? Dad?"

They must see the visible shock on my face. My mom replies, "Well, yeah. Who else do you think would have gotten you out of this mess?"

I guess I hadn't really thought about it—it hadn't occurred to me that someone would have needed to put the wheels into motion in order for this to happen. But I think maybe I was hoping…

I'll make some calls.

Maybe we can share a room with nice thick padded walls.

"Oh my god, you thought it was them, didn't you?" she laughs. "You are so delusional."

"Well, hopefully, they make pills for that," I say.

"I really hope so, Teagan," she says. "Let's keep moving. There's a transport out front to take you to Rancho San Flores."

"Sounds fancy," I tell her. "How's it going, Dad?"

"Teagan, I can't even look at you," he says.

"Is it as bad out there as they say?" Boyd asks.

"It's bad," my dad says.

"Oh yeah," one of the security guards adds. "It's worse."

"What is?" I ask. "What's going on?"

But we're already at the doors now. And I see it—the masses of people lining the sidewalks and streets, police everywhere. Gods of Tomorrow songs blare from a nearby vehicle rigged with speakers loud enough that the ground shakes, and still, I can hear the screaming.

And they're cheering…for me.

"We love you, Teagan!" the crowd shouts.

"Teagan! Where are they?" someone else yells as I pass. "When are they coming back?"

I pass a couple more girls with 'D' and 'L' carved into their tits, and for the first time, I see it as Luca told me.

Imitation is the highest form of flattery.

"Don't engage them," Boyd warns. "Just get in the van."

But I don't listen. I raise my arms and wave to them all with cuffed hands, and they cheer even louder.

"Hey, look, Ma," I say. "I made it."

If looks could kill, I'd be dead right now.

Someone steps out and opens the side door of a white van about ten yards away. In pink script in front of a floral mountain mural, the words 'Rancho San Flores Medical Retreat' stretch across the side of the vehicle.

Retreat, huh?

A hand on my back ushers me toward the vehicle just before I hear screaming from overhead.

I look up just in time to see a woman jump from the parking garage and splatter on the pavement below.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

My mom screams, burying her head into my dad's chest. Police run from all sides as chaos ensues.

And then another jumps.

And I laugh. I fucking laugh so hard that I double over, not listening to the instructions they're shouting at me, and eventually, that man who opened the van door grabs my feet while Boyd lifts me from under my arms. And just before they toss me into the vehicle, I swear I see the gleam of one of those gold masks in the crowd.

But I don't have any time to process it because, even though I'm not really fighting, they stick a needle in my arm anyway and push the plunger down.

I stop laughing, and it all goes dark.