Eve and Adam

– 15 –

I’m seeing an interesting side to Solo. He’s not the blushing boy in my hospital room, rendered speechless by Aislin’s antics. He’s totally in control, coolly pushing my wheelchair through maintenance areas and unused kitchen facilities and darkened labs.

As we move, he provides muted commentary. Things like, “This room hasn’t been used probably ever, so I turned off surveillance cameras…. The camera on this part of the stairwell is broken…. I can delete tape of this later—no one will notice…. The scientist who works in this space is a paranoid so no camera…. Infrared is off here so as long as we don’t turn on the light…”

What I’m coming to think of as “Escape from Spiker” involves about sixty different, distinct steps, all inside Solo’s head. The building is massive, but he has it memorized—every door, room, and camera angle.

We reach a set of steps. “How do we get down those?” I ask.

“I carry you. Then I come back up and get your wheelchair.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You want out or not?”

“You don’t look that strong.” I say it, but it’s a lie. He does look that strong.

Another text from Aislin. Maddox in trubble.

Spelling is not Aislin’s favorite thing.

“Lean forward,” Solo says.

I do, and his hand goes behind my back. I feel his arms slide over the clasp of my bra.

“I’m going to lift The Leg.”

“I’m afraid it will hurt.”

“It won’t,” he says, and I wonder what makes him so sure. His palm slides under my thighs and with barely a grunt he has me up and out of my chair. My face is close to his, close enough that his hair brushes my cheek and my nose and I have to fight an urge to sneeze.

I ask myself what I ate at lunch. I ask myself why I didn’t bother with deodorant this morning.

I ask myself whether that’s the smell of his shampoo or just the smell of him. Either way, I like it. In fact, whatever it is, and I’m not saying I know, I find it strangely fascinating.

He carries me down the stairs, kneels, places me on the next-to-bottom step, and runs back up to grab my wheelchair.

I don’t turn around to watch him climb away, because that would be me checking out his butt. Which is not something I would ever do.

But his jeans fit. No sagging for Solo.

I insist on climbing into my chair on my own. It’s easier than it should be. We’re back in gear, and a few minutes later, we arrive at an underground garage.

Solo touches my shoulder. “We have to be careful here,” he warns.

We wait just inside a recessed doorway in a corner of the garishly lit concrete-plus-more-concrete space.

“Do you have a car?” I ask.

“I have a dozen cars,” he replies. “Oddly enough, they’re all identical.”

He points to a sort of car corral where a dozen or so electric cars are parked. Each one has the Spiker logo on the side.

Solo checks the clock on his phone. He looks up and within a few seconds a guard comes walking by. We hear the footsteps. Coming, then going, fading altogether.

“Yep,” Solo says. He pushes me out into the garage. The cars aren’t locked. The “keys” rest on the dashboard.

Solo pushes the passenger seat back as far as it will go and I hoist myself in. He folds my chair and pops it into the trunk. The car starts without a sound.

“Do you know how to drive?” I ask.

“Do you have six dollars in cash?” Solo asks, ignoring my question.

“I don’t exactly have my purse with me.”

“Check the glove compartment. See if there’s a roll of quarters.”

I dig under some maps and find two rolls.

“Good. We have to use cash at the bridge.”

I point to the automatic toll-road transponder mounted on the windshield.

“Yeah,” he says. “Pull that down and put it in the glove compartment. We don’t want to be tracked. I don’t want to have to try to hack the toll system.”

“But you have no problem hacking into Spiker?” I ask.

An annoyed look, maybe even an angry one, clouds Solo’s eyes.

“Seat belt,” he says tersely.

I click my belt and we’re off across the garage with an almost silent whir of electric motors. The tires on the painted concrete floor make more noise.

“Lower the sun visor and put your head down,” he orders. “Cameras.”

There’s an automated checkout. Solo pulls a plastic ID card from his pocket. I can see the picture is not of him. The name on the ID is Wanda Chang.

“Funny, you don’t look Chinese,” I say.

He swipes the card past the reader. The gate goes up.

And for the first time in forever, I am outside.

“They’ll never know?” I ask, looking anxiously back at the receding outer gate of the campus.

He shrugs. “I can’t guarantee that. They know I escape from time to time.”

“Escape?” Even though I’ve been feeling the same way, it seems overly dramatic.

“What else is it when the monkey gets out of his cage?”

“You’re not a monkey,” I point out. “You’re strange, but you’re human.”

“Mostly,” he says with a slim smile.

“But you can leave, right?”

“Yeah. But where would I go, exactly? I don’t have wheels”—he takes a sharp right—“not unless I get them this way. And Spiker’s out in the middle of nowhere.”

It’s twenty minutes to the Golden Gate Bridge, which, as usual, is shrouded in fog. I call Aislin to tell her I’m on my way, but she doesn’t answer.

When we reach Aislin’s townhouse, I text her that I’m outside. She appears a moment later, running down the steps. She’s upset. Her nose is red and mascara rings her eyes. But she still has time to do a double take when she sees Solo behind the wheel.

“Sorry I couldn’t pick up when you called. I was talking to Maddox.” Aislin slides into the backseat. She sighs dramatically, but the effect is ruined by the fact that she’s really worried, not just playing at it.

“Thanks for coming.” She manages a smile for Solo. “And you brought me a toy to play with on the way. How thoughtful.”

“So what’s wrong?” I ask.

“Maddox. Of course,” she says. “He’s trapped.”

“Trapped where?”

“In the park.”

“And he’s trapped there why?” I ask.

“Some guys. They think he owes them money. He’s in the park and they’re after him.”

“Can’t he call the police?” Solo asks.

“That would be… embarrassing.” Aislin digs through her purse and retrieves some lip gloss. She slides it on expertly, no mirror required. “They might decide to search him.”

“Ah,” Solo says. “He’s carrying…?”

“Some weed. He has to sell it to get the money he needs to pay off the dudes chasing him.”

Solo stares at me, expressionless. I smile feebly. Shrug.

He’s going to turn the car around and take us straight back to Spiker, and I don’t blame him.

Solo pulls into traffic. “I can’t believe your mom thinks Aislin’s a bad influence,” he says. “I think she’s kind of fun.”