Page 4 of Castle of the Cursed
Agent Navarro doesn’t answer. She just reaches inside the paper bag and pulls out three passports. They look like they were all issued by the same country.
The letters on the covers bleed together as my vision blurs, so I can’t read them.
This can’t be happening. My parents and I are—were—bonded by trust. We didn’t keep secrets. There wasn’t space for them in the Subaru.
Except about the past, whispers a small voice in my mind.
“Argentina,” I say at last. I sound choked, like there’s something caught in my throat.
“No.”
“What?” I blink in surprise, spraying my cheeks with tears.
“You’re from Spain.”
Agent Navarro stands up, abandoning me to my stupor as she goes to confer with unseen agents.
I can barely catch my breath, but I need to corral my thoughts if I’m going to figure out what’s going on. Did they bring me in because they suspect my family? Or me? That doesn’t make sense. What was our weapon? Our motive?
They must be deporting me! I’m no longer the United States’s problem—
The door clicks as Agent Navarro comes back in. Seated across from me again, she says, “I believe you didn’t know any of this.”
“Do I have family left?” I ask, hoping I won’t wind up in some Spanish foster care program before I’m thrown out on the street.
“We’ve reached out to Spanish agencies to try locating relatives,” she answers in a lighter tone. “Until we know more, nothing changes. You will remain where you are until the doctors say you’re ready to be discharged. This country is the only home you know, and we are not about to abandon you.”
I hear my exhale, but I don’t suck in new air. She’s gone from cold to overly friendly, and the fake charm doesn’t work for her, like tasting a saccharine treat. “You want something,” I say as it dawns on me.
Agent Navarro’s eyebrows arch in surprise, and she sizes me up like she’s evaluating me anew.
“What is it?” I ask, impatience getting the best of me.
She links her hands together on the table, her gaze never straying from mine. “We need you to stand at a press conference.”
I don’t like them, but I stood at plenty of those a couple of weeks ago. Once my identity was released, the government was quick to turn me into the public face of the tragedy. “What do I have to say?”
“Absolutely nothing. You are not to speak.”
The instruction makes me a little queasy, but I don’t disagree because I prefer not to participate.
Soon after, I’m led into a space where the press is congregated in front of the FBI director and other top figures. I’m steered right to the director’s side, and he places a large hand on my shoulder, beaming.
I look around at the gathered reporters and tap into an electric current of anticipation. The government must be making a major announcement.
“One month ago today, twenty-six people boarded a subway train,” says the director solemnly. “At 4:06 p.m., something happened in one of the compartments that stopped twenty-five people’s hearts at the same time. It happened in New York, but it didn’t just happen to New Yorkers. It happened to America. It happened to the world.”
He looks down and gives me a solemn nod. His words weave wonder into the air, and the surrounding silence is so thick that camera clicks echo like bombs.
I wait with bated breath like everyone else. It feels like the whole world has been salivating for a villain, somewhere to place the blame for the Subway 25. Last week, Germany publicly offered to send their best investigators to help our law enforcement. As a third of the victims were their citizens, many countries believe them to have a strong claim. Is that why the FBI feels compelled to make an announcement now?
“Today, we can reveal what caused the deaths of those twenty-five passengers.”
Gasps erupt across the room, including my own. I can’t breathe, blink, think. It’s like every part of me just sprouted ears.
“After reviewing the evidence, we can confirm this was not a terrorist plot, nor was it an attack at all. The subway line in question is the oldest in operation, and the city of New York has been systematically decommissioning these trains over time, as new ones come in to replace them. This particular train was an older model, and unfortunately one compartment suffered a lethal gas leak.”
A gas leak? I don’t understand. Then why didn’t I die?
