I Am Number Four - Pittacus Lore Page 0,40

arrived. Ethan turned on us and likely molded Five into the traitor he is now.

And because of that, Eight is dead.

It’s an easy line to follow, the dots almost connecting themselves and creating a direct link from me to Eight’s corpse. I take my glasses off and squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to shake the pounding that suddenly fills my head as these memories and realizations flood in. Not only did I give the Mogs knowledge of the Sanctuary, I helped them turn one of the Loric into a Mog sympathizer. Who knows what other terrible things I did while under their control—or that I accidentally set into motion just trying to help the Garde. Will I wake up tomorrow and suddenly discover that I helped plan this invasion too? How do I begin to atone for all this?

I realize Noto is staring at me. His face is steely, but there’s a hint of concern behind his eyes. Or maybe suspicion.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Just a headache.”

“Maybe you should take a break,” he suggests. “Get some air.”

I nod, but make no effort to move.

“I’m sure none of this can be easy, coming back here,” Noto says. “Walker gave me a quick overview of what happened to you. It’s kind of funny, actually. I investigated your disappearance from Paradise.” He pauses. “Well, I guess ‘funny’ isn’t really the right word.”

This is something I didn’t expect. He looks far too young to have been involved in the case.

“You did?” I ask.

“Not originally, but after the Mog incident at the high school—you know about that, right?”

“I do.”

“That’s when our team went to Ohio. I spent some time looking into your old missing person’s case. It was a hell of a puzzle. Like you just vanished off the face of the earth.” He squints a little, staring at me. “You still don’t remember what happened?”

“Nothing about my abduction,” I say with a sigh. “I’m not sure I’ll ever know what happened. I’ve tried putting everything back together. Strange things will trigger a memory. Mostly just flashes of images and feelings. But even those are difficult to hold on to or understand. There are even missing spots from years before I was taken. Whatever they did broke me. They took so much of my life away.”

“I can’t imagine.”

I think of the Greeters again, and of the video I discovered earlier where I’m drugged or brainwashed, being controlled in some way.

“That’s probably a good thing,” I say. “The Mogadorians did terrible things here—to me and to others. Still, I’d gladly remember every excruciating detail if it meant having all my good memories back as well.”

“When you put it that way”—he flounders for the right words—“it’s a lot of lost time.”

I cock my head to one side a bit. Something he said earlier isn’t adding up.

“Why were you looking into my disappearance? That was so long ago, and with everything that must have been happening after the attack on the school, surely you had more important things to worry about.”

“Your son was a prime suspect and was missing. We couldn’t rule out the idea that you were working off the grid somewhere with John Smith or the Mogadorians even. If they had only told us they had you. . . .”

He stops, realizing that he’s digging himself into a hole, reminding me that while I was in a coma a few rooms down, he and the rest of Walker’s agents were working with my captors.

“We didn’t know.” His eyes meet mine. He sounds earnest, though I can’t tell if he’s trying to convince himself or me. “All the civilian casualties and detainments, the plans for invasion . . . Jesus, we just thought we were getting high-tech weapons and medical enhancements out of helping them find some alien fugitives.”

Anger bubbles in my stomach as he speaks, not at him but at all of it: the FBI, the Mogs, my imprisonment. I try to push it down and focus on what’s important.

“Well, we’d better make up for both of our sins. Taking down the Mogs might not absolve us of the things we’ve done under their influence, but it sounds like a pretty good start to me.”

Noto nods a little. We sit in silence for a few moments before a new question comes to my mind.

“You were investigating Sam. What did you find?”

He takes a deep breath, looking a little relieved. “Solid grades. Exceptional aptitude in sciences. An understandable obsession with conspiracy theories and space. I wouldn’t want to poke around the internet history of most teenagers, but Sam spent the majority of his free time researching faraway planets and talking about potential extraterrestrial sightings on message boards. I mean, he also pirated a lot of movies and music, but all in all he seems like a pretty good kid.”

“I can’t take credit for any of that,” I say, a pang of guilt in my gut.

Noto shakes his head. “You’re telling me it’s just a coincidence that your son grew up to become an ally to the Loric? Something you did must have rubbed off on him.”

“Now, if only I can remember what that was,” I say, trying to make a joke of it but failing. “I swear, if Anu and Zakos weren’t dead already, I’d kill them myself.”

Noto’s face suddenly twists, his brow furrowing. “Who?”

“Dr. Anu. He was the first Mogadorian doctor who—”

“No, the other one,” Noto says. He’s not looking at me now but tapping on the keyboard.

“Zakos,” I mutter. “He . . . After Dr. Anu died he was the one who oversaw my captivity. He was evil. I mean, they both were, but Zakos seemed to take pleasure in his experimentation. A Mogadorian Mengele. He almost killed Adam, from what I understand. But Adam got to him first, when we escaped.”

Noto shakes his head.

“That was in the fall, right? When you escaped?”

“Yes.” Once I’d carried Adam out of the destroyed tunnels, sneaking away in the chaos and confusion, we crisscrossed the country trying to avoid being recaptured. Weeks flew by in a haze. We spent a lot of time sleeping in fields and living off scraps we found. “By the time I figured enough time had passed and I dared go back to Paradise to reunite with my family, Sam was gone.”

“Right . . .” Noto’s voice is quiet, distant, like he’s not really listening anymore. His eyes are locked on his screen.

“What is it?”

“I’ve got a recording here of Dr. Zakos.” He raises his head and meets my eyes. “It’s from earlier this year. Whatever happened to him here, he survived.”

“No,” I mutter, coming around to his screen. “That’s not possible. Adam knocked him out, and then the ceiling came down around him when—”

But he’s there on the screen. In the background his lab is in shambles, the walls cracked and floor covered in rubble. It’s obviously after Adam partially destroyed the sublevel. He looks pleased with himself, black eyes shining in the paused image.

It takes me a few seconds to comprehend what I’m seeing, but then it hits me in my chest. Dr. Zakos—the butcher, the mad scientist, the monster—is still alive. He’s still fighting against us.

Somewhere in the darkest parts of my mind, there’s a strange flash. Not joy, exactly, but something like it as I realize I might have the chance to face one of my former captors.

“It sounds like he’s been called in for some top secret project that Setrákus Ra is overseeing. Something they think will ensure Mogadorian victory.”

Before I can say anything, though, Noto’s walkie-talkie crackles.

“Noto, get up here! Something’s happening in New York.”