The Rogue Agent Read online

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  I opened my eyes slowly, still in the rocking chair. But something was wrong. I tried to get up, but my body wouldn't move. The room was freezing. I could even see my own breath in front of my face. I looked around, trying not to shiver or make noise. All of the walls in the room had turned dark gray, and the floor was the same. My chest rose and fell quickly, and it didn't help calm me any more now that I could see it.

  “Help!” I shouted. But no one came in. Then I heard a deep voice whisper something, but I couldn't make out what it said. It sounded like three people were thrown into a blender; high and low all at the same time. “What did you say?” I asked. Then the door to my room creaked open, and the dark fog from before crept into the room. The voice whispered again, clearer this time. When it spoke, it seemed to make the room ten degrees colder than before. I began to shiver in my seat.

  “Give up,” it said.

  Give up? What was I supposed to give up? Then it whispered again. “Give up...Luccccy Hale, or elsssse.”

  It hissed like a snake when it said my name, sending a cold chill running up and down my spine. I wanted to ask what the heck it was talking about, but my mouth wouldn't open. It was like the fog was keeping me from moving altogether.

  I struggled to move away as the fog slithered closer on the gray floor, and up the side of the chair. My body wouldn't budge. Then the fog wrapped around me, squeezing until I coughed out for a breath. It stopped short of squeezing hard enough for me to burst. My vision grew blurry. Then the fog squeezed harder.

  I could barely keep my eyes open. I tried to breathe in, but the fog opened up like a snake's mouth and sucked it right out of me. My chest felt like it was being crumpled like paper. I tried to keep my eyes open as the front of the fog faced me, and whispered one last time. “Give up.” Then everything went black.

  3. I Suck At Climbing Rope…Nah, Climbing Rope Just Sucks

  “But Dad,” Chloe whined, “I've waited a whole week for you to be not busy!”

  “Chloe, dear,” Dad responded in a (definitely fake) sympathetic tone. “That's not how it works.” Chloe sighed in frustration, as if no one seemed to be a part of the same conversation she was.

  “Dad, you said last week we would have my birthday party this week because you were busy then, so how can you still be busy this week, even—” Chloe paused to take another breath—”if you said you wouldn’t be?”

  “Now, that's not what I said.” Dad answered with a patient chuckle.

  The entire car ride had been like this. Chloe really wanted her birthday party. Under different circumstances, I might have helped her argument.

  But she'd threatened to throw me under the bus—or Dad's car, technically speaking, since he'd decided to drive us to school so we didn't have to walk in the rain.

  Which I would not have minded at all. The cold rain would have distracted my thoughts from the craziness in the park yesterday, and the nightmare about the fog that caused me to oversleep this morning. Though, I suppose if Dad didn't offer, we'd both be two periods late and soaking wet.

  Which again, I would not have minded, but Chloe's teacher would've given Dad a mountain of teacher’s notes.

  For the car ride, at least, I decided Chloe was on her own. I spent that time watching water droplets race across the passenger side window.

  “Augh!” Chloe flailed in defeat in the backseat. “Dad, you make no sense.”

  She always said that when she was giving up on an argument; her white flag waving tall. Good timing, too, since we pulled up to the front of the elementary school.

  “Tell you what, Chloe. I'll pencil you in for a 6:30 appointment tonight. We can discuss it then. How does that sound?” he asked.

  I wish I could say he was kidding.

  Any time we really wanted to talk to Dad, a scheduled meeting was usually how we got it to happen. “Okay, Dad.” Chloe answered dejectedly.

  Then she unbuckled her seatbelt and left the car. When her door slammed behind her, my heart skipped a beat.

  “That reminds me,” Dad said, backing out and pulling into the street, “I've got a 7:15a.m. with you, Lucy.” I felt defeated already. I didn't present a well-prepared argument like my 11-year old sister. I probably wasn't even all the way awake. What in the world could he want to talk to me about?

  “Chloe tells me you were...playing make-believe in the park yesterday?”

  “Chloe,” I said slowly, gritting my teeth, “didn't tell the whole story.” I couldn't believe my own blood betrayed me. Definitely wasn't going to help her with that birthday party plan now.

  “So what is the whole story?” Dad asked.

  “I took a nap at the park. I just told her what I dreamt about. Are we there yet?”

  I looked for any way to hurry the conversation along. If I could have made the car go any faster, I would have. But Dad continued, no doubt seeing this as his chance to give me his new battle plan for my non-existent schizophrenia and no-longer-existent depression. That was something I wanted to avoid that at all costs.

  “Is there anything else?” he asked, slowing the car to look at me. I felt his gaze on the side of my face, but I didn't turn to look at him. “Chloe was very specific about what happened,” he continued. “You know she wouldn't have mentioned make-believe otherwise.”

  I scowled. Just the way he said those words was enough to leave a bad taste in my mouth. “You don't have to call it that.” I said.

  Call what it is, Dad, is what I really wanted to tell him. A schizophrenic hallucination.

  But the words wouldn't come out.

  “Listen,” Dad sighed. “I know it's been a little while since we've been there, so you probably don't remember, but the psychiatrist said using placeholder words would be easier on your mind. You know, to...fix the problems.”

  I couldn't believe how he was talking to me. Did he forget who actually went through therapy?

  “It was six months ago. I remember everything that happened, Dad.”

  Only six months, since I'd been to that awful place. The methods were insane, and they treated me like a patient in an old people's home.

  And for what? The whole trip was useless, since the so-called hallucination I went in for was real that time too. My art bag was hard proof of that.

  “But it worked for a while. It helped to ease your mind.” Dad answered warily. I wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.

  “You know what would ease my mind? A little space.”

  I glanced at Dad, waiting for him to continue, but he didn't say anything. I could tell he didn't like my argument. But it wasn't like the psychiatrist, or any other doctors for that matter, were going to be able to help me with a problem that didn't exist. As far as I was concerned, telling them was where the problem started. The only prescription I needed to stay sane was silence.

  Dad pulled the steering wheel to the left, and we turned the corner I could see the high school coming up, through my rainy window.

  “Besides, Dad,” I continued, in a reassuring tone. “If something was actually wrong, I would tell you myself.” I couldn't tell you if I meant it, but I figured it would put Dad at ease.

  No such luck.

  “If that were true,” Dad said, “Chloe wouldn't have been the one to tell me what happened. And, besides,” he said in a tone to mimic my own, “I already contacted the psychiatrist and got you an appointment.”

  That was it.

  I grabbed my bags and threw open the car door, letting rain and the cold air fly through. Dad pulled the car to a stop as quickly as he could without hurling me out of the vehicle.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “We'll need to talk about this at some point, Lucy. The problem won't go away if you leave it.” Dad started to say something else, but his phone began to ring. A co-worker or something, but it made him hesitate just enough. I unbuckled my seatbelt and stepped out of the car.

  “Thanks for the ride, Dad. I'll walk the rest of the way.”


  ✽✽✽

  Between the funnel cloud from yesterday, the insane dream, and now Dad trying to drag me to the psychiatrist, my mind was a mess. I tried to cope by avoiding it all with school. On a good day, school could be a great distraction.

  Only my mind was convinced today wasn't a normal day.

  Thoughts kept drifting back into my head about the dream I had, and that cop, and if Chloe was okay. Two different teachers cracked down on me for not paying attention. On top of that, I probably bombed a test in art class; the only class I actually enjoyed!

  I was so relieved when it was time for P.E., and I got to see my best friend, Anna.

  Anna and I have been friends since forever, so any time we got to hang out, we took it. But somehow, P.E. was the only class we got together this year. So we had a lot to fit into a short amount of time, and I did not feel like keeping my crazy experience swimming around in my own head. The moment I got to the gymnasium, I set my art bag underneath the bleachers where no one could see it. Then I squeezed into the line next to Anna and everyone else waiting to participate in today's activity, the climbing rope—eww—and told her about my run-in with a twister.

  “So the paintbrushes—YOUR paintbrushes—exploded?” Anna asked, her face twisted into confusion.

  I told her the entire story—besides the crazy cop and the dream from last night—and yet, the exploding paintbrush was the part she was having trouble with. I decided it was still better progress than Dad.

  “Keep your voice down,” I stressed in a loud whisper. I looked at the students around us to make sure no one was listening. Most of them were either watching the participants on the climbing rope—eww again-or in their own little world on their phones. No one was paying us any attention.

  “And yes,” I turned back to Anna, my voice quiet, “but just the orange ones.”

  “Exploding orange paintbrushes...” Anna trailed off. “That would make a great article for the school newspaper, don't you think?”

  “What?” I asked in disbelief. Of course, that’s where her mind would go. The school newspaper was pretty much the only reason Anna showed up to school. She was always on the look for the next big scoop; the year’s senior prank, who took who to homecoming, and everything in-between.

  “Anna,” I said, “this is serious. My dad thinks I'm making the whole thing up. He wants me to go see another psychiatrist.”

  “I'm joking, Lucy,” she chuckled, and gave me a shove with her shoulder. “Real or not real, I think you should put the whole thing behind you. The smoke hasn't been back since yesterday?”

  “FOG,” I corrected her. “Smoke is black. Fog is gray. And no, it hasn't.”

  Anna put her hands up in defense, holding back a laugh.

  “Anyway,” she said, composing herself, “if it's not back, there's really nothing to worry about, is there?”

  “No,” I said, avoiding eye contact with her. “I just...” My eyes bounced around the gymnasium to find the right words, until they found the climbing rope and all of me froze.

  “Luce...” Anna poked my arm. I gave no response.

  “Lucy, are you okay?” Anna pointed with her finger, following my gaze up to the rope.

  “I hate the climbing rope,” I finally muttered.

  Did I mention that I hate the climbing rope?

  Technically, they were climbing ropes, since there were two of them. As far as I was concerned, it gave me twice as much reason not to like them.

  They went about 25 feet high, the near-height of the gymnasium. Our P.E. teacher, Mrs. Trap, was a big believer in pushing limits through competition, so she would always have two people go at the same time. Which meant everyone else watched the two people climbing.

  Most of the students fed off of the competitive atmosphere. It wasn't exactly a great self-esteem exercise for me since I never made it higher than about eight feet off of the ground. But the teacher called up the next two climbers and Anna sighed. She pushed me forward in the line as the next person went, breaking my stare.

  “You gotta stop giving everything a chance to make your day worse, Lucy. Just because yesterday was bad doesn't mean today has to be. Now come on, you're up next.”

  Under normal circumstances, I might have agreed with Anna on turning today into a good one. However, today seemed dead-set on stacking the odds against me.

  Normally, the teacher would pair students together based on their height. At 5' 8”, I was one of those odd-ball heights where I wasn't short or tall. Anna stood three inches taller than me, even though we were both 16. There were only a few other people in the school that were my height. The one I usually ended up racing was a girl named Katie Morris, and although we might have been the same height, she out-classed me in every other way possible.

  She was the fittest kid in our class, with the body of a future Olympic athlete, and wouldn’t let anyone forget it. This was due to Katie being unbelievably perky. She jumped at anything that would let her show off how in-shape she was. Every time we would race, she'd be at the top and back before I could work up the courage to make it to my stopping point. Not only that, but she was book-smart too. She might as well have had a parasol that helped her fly. She was practically perfect in every way. I stood no chance.

  Until I looked to my left at the other line and saw no Katie.

  “Ms. Morris will be sitting out today, due to an unfortunate incident with a school prank,” Mrs. Trap announced. She pointed with her thumb to the sidelines, where Katie stood with the other kids excused from the P.E. activities. On closer inspection, I noticed her right arm in a sling.

  She just shrugged with a perfect smile on her face, as if she was oblivious to what Mrs. Trap had said. Some of the other kids started to murmur among themselves.

  “Must have been some school prank,” Anna snickered behind me. “Looks like she wasn't as perfect as we thought.” I held back a snicker of my own. Perfect or not, I was just glad to be out of this dumb ritual. I let out a deep breath and started to get back in line, until Mrs. Trap stopped me.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Hale?” she asked.

  “I thought—”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she cut me off. “You’ll still get your chance to race. You’ll be against me.”

  You could hear a pin drop after her words. The entire class’s gaze focused on me, students murmuring and looking surprised.

  I’d like to say I had a different reaction, but I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor. I don't quite remember. I had to force myself just to move. Each step felt like a mile away from my safe place in line. I turned around and looked at Anna as I grabbed the rope.

  “I don’t wanna do this,” I mouthed to her. She gave me a sympathetic shrug with a scrunched face that said, “Oh, honey, I'm sorry...but you got this!”

  I don't remember much else before we started other than it was really quiet, and then it wasn't.

  Mrs. Trap blew her whistle, and we started climbing. Neither of us was on the popular side at this school, but I could hear the class behind me really getting pumped up. There was cheering and yelling, and the whole situation freaked me out.

  I was about to stop, since I had made it to my measly goal of eight feet, but when I looked down, Mrs. Trap was still below me. I listened closer to all the noise and realized the other kids where cheering for me! I felt a tingle in my stomach and decided to keep climbing. I started to think positive stuff, like “Maybe people will remember me for something this year,” and “Today might be a good day after all,” and “Oh, if only my brother could see me now.”

  Why did I have to think that last one?

  The thought of my brother stopped me in my tracks. I froze, clutching the rope, and looked down. I must have been at least twenty feet off the ground. The cheers became too loud and I wanted to panic. It got really cold all of a sudden. I decided to come down. Thinking of my brother definitely set me off. Just then, I noticed move something to my right; Mrs. Trap was closing fast beside me.
But it wasn't her I was focusing on. There was gray smoke slithering out of the vent in the wall.

  It made that same horrible screeching noise as it filtered out of the wall. It was coming down for me. It sped around the rope, sliding down to meet me. I hurried to climb down as fast as I could, but it was gaining on me.

  It brushed my hand, and I panicked and lost my grip. For a couple seconds it was nothing but flailing and screaming, my only thought being:

  Great, Lucy. In the last twenty-four hours, you've managed to free-fall twice.

  On the way down, I managed to grab the rope again, but I was too close to the ground to stop my momentum. I landed on my left foot hard. It hurt, but the initial shock was gone quickly. Then I started to lose my balance. I put my right foot out to balance myself, but it rolled and I landed on my ankle. I sucked air through my teeth and fell backwards onto the ground.

  “Are you okay?” Anna ran over and asked, but I was too busy scanning the ceiling of the room.

  The fog was nowhere to be found.

  ✽✽✽

  After Mrs. Trap made it down her rope, she told all of the students to take ten laps around the gym. (Poor Anna)

  Then she helped me up. As I put weight on my foot, pain shot up my leg. Mrs. Trap nodded and made a face. She escorted me out of the classroom, telling me to go see the nurse.

  Actually, she offered to help me the rest of the way, but I insisted that I could do it myself.

  “You have a class to teach, Mrs. Trap.” I told her. “I can take it from here.”

  “Okay then, Hale.” she said. “Be careful. That was a pretty nasty spill.” Then she turned around and went back into the gym, blowing the whistle for the next two students. I was relieved when she left. It was unnerving getting that much attention from a teacher.

  Confession time: I was not going to the nurse's office.

  The office was dirty and dimly lit, and the nurse didn't care about any of the students. All she would end up doing was turning it this way and that and put in more pain. And for what? To tell me it was sprained and send me back to class in a splint or something?