The Evolution of Mara Dyer by Michelle Hodkin Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michelle Hodkin
quite say it out loud.
“He had the same watch as Lassiter,” I said instead. “The same one .” I met Noah’s eyes. “What are the chances?”
Noah was quiet for a moment. Then said, “You think he took Joseph.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded in assent.
Noah’s voice was low but strong. “I won’t let him hurt your family either, Mara.”
I inhaled slowly. “I can’t even tell my parents to be careful. They’ll think I’m just being paranoid like my grandmother.”
Noah’s brows knitted in confusion.
“She committed suicide,” I explained.
“What? When?”
“I was a baby,” I said. “My mom told me yesterday; she’s even more worried about me because we have a ‘family history of mental illness.’”
“I’m going to have some people watch your house.”
Noah seemed calm. Relaxed. Which only added to my frustration. “My parents would probably notice, don’t you think?”
“Not these men. They’re with a private security firm and they’re very, very good. My father uses them.”
“Why does your father need private security?”
“Death threats and such. The usual.”
It was my turn to be confused. “Doesn’t he work in biotech?”
A wry smile formed on Noah’s lips. “A euphemism for ‘playing God,’ according to the religious and environmental groups that hate his subsidiaries. And you’ve seen our house. He doesn’t exactly maintain a low profile.”
“Won’t he notice?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “They don’t all work for my father, so I doubt it. What’s more, he wouldn’t care.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “It’s amazing.”
“What?”
“Your freedom.” Even before everything happened—before the asylum, before Rachel died—my parents had to know everything about my life. Where I was going, who I was going with, when I was coming back. If I went shopping, mymom had to know what I bought and if I went to the movies, she insisted on talking about what I’d seen. But Noah floated in and out of his family’s palace like air. He could go to class, or not. He could spend money like water or obstinately refuse to drive a luxury car. He could do anything he wanted whenever he wanted, no questions asked.
“Your parents care about you,” Noah said then. His voice was soft, but there was a rawness to it that shut me up. Though he said nothing else and though his expression was still glass-smooth and unreadable, I heard the words he didn’t say: Be grateful you have them.
I wanted to smack myself. Noah’s mother had been murdered in front of him when he was just a kid; I knew better than to ever act like the grass was greener on the other side. I was grateful to have my parents, even though the hovering was out of control, even though they didn’t believe me when I told them the hardest truth there was to tell. It was a stupid thing to say and I wished I hadn’t said it. I looked up to reach for Noah, to whisper I was sorry against his skin, but he had pulled away.
He sprawled out on my bed and returned the subject to Jude. “If we can find out where he lives—”
I took Noah’s former place and leaned against my desk. “Wait, where is he living? He’s legally dead. It’s not like he could just get a job and rent an apartment.”
Noah raised his eyebrows.
“What?”
“It’s Miami,” he said, as if it was obvious.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning there’s no shortage of methods by which to acquire money and housing without a social security number. But I do wonder. . . .”
“You wonder . . .?”
“Might he have gone back to his parents? After the collapse?” Noah stared at my ceiling.
“You think they know he’s alive?”
He shook his head. “If they did, they’d have told others by now, and we’d have heard.”
My voice turned quiet. “Daniel said his hands were cut off.”
“He told me.”
I gripped the edge of my desk. “It doesn’t make any sense. How did he survive? How is that possible?”
Noah
“He had the same watch as Lassiter,” I said instead. “The same one .” I met Noah’s eyes. “What are the chances?”
Noah was quiet for a moment. Then said, “You think he took Joseph.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded in assent.
Noah’s voice was low but strong. “I won’t let him hurt your family either, Mara.”
I inhaled slowly. “I can’t even tell my parents to be careful. They’ll think I’m just being paranoid like my grandmother.”
Noah’s brows knitted in confusion.
“She committed suicide,” I explained.
“What? When?”
“I was a baby,” I said. “My mom told me yesterday; she’s even more worried about me because we have a ‘family history of mental illness.’”
“I’m going to have some people watch your house.”
Noah seemed calm. Relaxed. Which only added to my frustration. “My parents would probably notice, don’t you think?”
“Not these men. They’re with a private security firm and they’re very, very good. My father uses them.”
“Why does your father need private security?”
“Death threats and such. The usual.”
It was my turn to be confused. “Doesn’t he work in biotech?”
A wry smile formed on Noah’s lips. “A euphemism for ‘playing God,’ according to the religious and environmental groups that hate his subsidiaries. And you’ve seen our house. He doesn’t exactly maintain a low profile.”
“Won’t he notice?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “They don’t all work for my father, so I doubt it. What’s more, he wouldn’t care.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “It’s amazing.”
“What?”
“Your freedom.” Even before everything happened—before the asylum, before Rachel died—my parents had to know everything about my life. Where I was going, who I was going with, when I was coming back. If I went shopping, mymom had to know what I bought and if I went to the movies, she insisted on talking about what I’d seen. But Noah floated in and out of his family’s palace like air. He could go to class, or not. He could spend money like water or obstinately refuse to drive a luxury car. He could do anything he wanted whenever he wanted, no questions asked.
“Your parents care about you,” Noah said then. His voice was soft, but there was a rawness to it that shut me up. Though he said nothing else and though his expression was still glass-smooth and unreadable, I heard the words he didn’t say: Be grateful you have them.
I wanted to smack myself. Noah’s mother had been murdered in front of him when he was just a kid; I knew better than to ever act like the grass was greener on the other side. I was grateful to have my parents, even though the hovering was out of control, even though they didn’t believe me when I told them the hardest truth there was to tell. It was a stupid thing to say and I wished I hadn’t said it. I looked up to reach for Noah, to whisper I was sorry against his skin, but he had pulled away.
He sprawled out on my bed and returned the subject to Jude. “If we can find out where he lives—”
I took Noah’s former place and leaned against my desk. “Wait, where is he living? He’s legally dead. It’s not like he could just get a job and rent an apartment.”
Noah raised his eyebrows.
“What?”
“It’s Miami,” he said, as if it was obvious.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning there’s no shortage of methods by which to acquire money and housing without a social security number. But I do wonder. . . .”
“You wonder . . .?”
“Might he have gone back to his parents? After the collapse?” Noah stared at my ceiling.
“You think they know he’s alive?”
He shook his head. “If they did, they’d have told others by now, and we’d have heard.”
My voice turned quiet. “Daniel said his hands were cut off.”
“He told me.”
I gripped the edge of my desk. “It doesn’t make any sense. How did he survive? How is that possible?”
Noah