Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
It’s empty. Not just of people, though it is, it’s empty of everything.
It’s just a big room with no tables, no chairs, no coffee bar.
And no Brose.
What the hell is happening right now?
You know what’s happening, Olive.
You failed. I’m very, very sorry, Olive, but you failed.
They’ve erased this residence.
Why?
You failed.
They can’t just… leave me here. They would never evacuate everyone, pull up roots so completely, and just leave me here.
Wouldn’t they, though?
I run back up the stairs, enter our room, and start searching for my phone. I find my purse on the floor near the couch and my phone inside it.
But when I try to wake it up, the screen refuses to come to life.
You failed.
I slump down into the couch cushions, feeling confused and lost.
He left me.
I failed and he left me.
No, he did a lot more than that. He drugged me, had the place swept clean of all evidence that anyone but me ever lived here, and then he left me.
Why?
Come on, Olive. You know why. Because someone is coming to clean you up. Just like they cleaned the rest of the place. They just haven’t gotten here yet.
The moment these thoughts manifest, I know it’s true. My training kicks in. I go to the closet, toe off my shoes, and slide my skirt and tights down my legs. Then I pull on a pair of jeans. I don’t change my shirt. I don’t have time. I simply slide my feet into a pair of boots, pull on a coat, and leave.
I skip down the stairs in a heightened state of anxiety, my heart thumping inside my chest. When I get to the empty lobby, I start heading for the door that leads outside.
But then I pause and look over my shoulder towards the stairs that go down.
Should I take the train?
Is it even there?
I laugh a little. Because it’s a ridiculous notion. Of course the train is there. Well, maybe not an actual train, but the tunnel is still there.
As soon as I think these words, I know it’s a lie.
I know there’s no train down there.
I force my feet to start moving towards the door that leads outside, but I only get a few steps before I turn around and start running for the stairs that go down.
The staircase is wide. Not like stairs that lead to a basement, but actually like stairs that lead to a subway. But I stop at the top of them, not bothering to go any further.
Because the entrance to the tunnel has been bricked up.
Bricked. Up.
This is when everything catches up to me. The drugging, the emptiness, Brose.
I have been abandoned.
I turn back to the door and walk outside. This is the front of the estate, but it’s nothing how I remember it being. The main house in my memory was always grand and well-kept.
This place looks like no one has lived here in years.
I scan the grounds, noting the dying lawn, the untrimmed hedges and… the absence of the other houses.
What the fuck?
Sealing up a train tunnel is one thing. It’s an improbable thing, but it’s certainly not impossible.
Removing entire houses on this estate while I was passed out is another thing altogether. It doesn’t make sense. I must be in the wrong place. I must be… dreaming, or hallucinating, or something.
The sound of a helicopter approaching pulls me out of my stupor and I make a run for the nearby woods. I duck under the heavy canopy of limbs just as the helicopter flies over. It doesn’t land. It’s not after me. It’s some billionaire who lives nearby. Or a senator, maybe.
As the thumping of the rotors fade, all I hear are birds and my own heartbeat pounding in my head. Get a hold of yourself, Olive. You’re a highly trained CORE operative. Act like it!
I shake my head, take a deep breath and hold it, then let it out and focus.
Whatever’s happening here doesn’t matter. What matters is my reaction to it.
I turn my back on the estate and walk further into the woods.
This is the outskirts of Leesburg, Virginia, so while it feels remote and there are certainly lots of farms and open land here, it’s all relative to the small city just over the hills and the Potomac, which separates this tranquil landscape from the nearby hustle and bustle of Maryland, and, by extension, Washington DC. Which is where I need to go.
But first, I need to pick up my go-bag.
It takes me about twenty minutes to find the marker where I buried the bag two years ago when Brose and I were assigned to the estate. It wasn’t part of protocol, but Brose insisted that I do this. “You never know, Olive. You just never know when you’re gonna need a bag.”
Which is true. It was a lesson drilled into all of us in my early academy days.