Finding Honor (The Searchers Book 1) Page 9

  He leaned forward, reading, “It says to reference paragraph forty-two.”

  Skimming the page, he found the forty-second bullet point out of the two hundred and fifty Reid made. He began to read to himself and then grunted. “It’s like a philosophy textbook. I have to diagram every sentence to make sense of his assertions.”

  Reid believed people in power, people he’d identified as professors and technology giants, were brainwashing society. He proposed the masses were made to feel ashamed of themselves so they could be more easily controlled. It gave him a headache to follow Reid’s train of thought, and yet, the way he framed it, it wasn’t so crazy. If the man hadn’t shot a high school, Matisse believed he could have lectured some of the brightest minds in the world.

  A quote from a local psychologist illustrated he wasn’t the only one who read the manifesto and thought something similar. “Listen to this,” he read aloud again. “ ‘Reid had uncompromising ideals, and we should ask ourselves, Is this the path pessimists will take? I work with many individuals who have become disillusioned with society.’ ” It read as a warning, and he shivered involuntarily. “Who will tell Nora?” he asked Seok, whose face was even paler since dying his hair royal blue.

  “I will,” Apollo answered quickly.

  “It’s okay,” a soft voice, husky with sleep, spoke from the doorway.

  Somehow, Nora had managed to sneak up on them. “I want to know what’s going on. You don’t have to be afraid to tell me.”

  Striding across the kitchen, Apollo wrapped her in a hug. Matisse couldn’t help noticing the way Ryan’s gaze followed then lingered on her. Warily, as if afraid of her reception, Nora glanced around the kitchen.

  They hadn’t been very welcoming of her, he realized. Am I feeling guilt as a result of over-socialization? Merde. Brilliant, crazy bastard.

  Brushing the thought aside, he stood up and gestured to his chair. “Sit, please.”

  Seok narrowed his eyes at Matisse. What did the bastard want him to do? Make the girl stand? He held his stare. He wasn’t going to be an ass just to be an ass.

  “It’s your brother’s manifesto,” Seok stated as soon as she was seated. “It was published today. He sent it to the newspapers.”

  Her hand shook as she pushed her hair out of her face. “What’s a manifesto? Is it like a letter to the editor?” she asked. Apollo sat next to her and took her hand.

  Seok snorted.

  “What is your problem?” Apollo asked, dropping her hand.

  “Forgive me,” he bowed his head. “I forgot she was a housekeeper and unfamiliar with big words.”

  Matisse stood, as did Apollo and Ryan. “C’est tout.”

  “This isn’t how we act toward guests,” Ryan continued.

  More angry than apologetic, Seok bent his neck.

  “Besides, didn’t I just tell you what it was?” Matisse added. “Have you forgotten already?”

  Dark eyes blazing, Seok didn’t answer. He grabbed his tea from the table and went into the basement, slamming the door shut behind him. Matisse watched him go and met the satisfied eyes of Ryan and Apollo.

  Cai watched him confused, and glancing at Nora, shook his head. Later, he expected there would be a discussion about why he felt the need to call Seok to the carpet in front of everyone.

  Shrugging, Matisse turned his attention back to her. “It’s a public statement of a person’s beliefs. Your foster brother had some interesting theories about the world, and it will take someone smarter than me to figure out how it relates to what he did.”

  “Oh.” She stared at the table. Apollo cupped her nape in his hand and she gave him a wobbly smile. “What did he say?”

  Scanning the document, he hesitated. “It’s kind of hard to sum up.”

  “And there’s nothing…?” she trailed off, clearing her throat. Thinking she finished, he got ready to jump in and fill the silence, but she went on, “Does he say why he wanted to kill the kids?”

  “No. It’s like he…” He skimmed a paragraph, trying to figure out the best way to describe what he was reading. “He thought society was deteriorating, and it was because of certain forces acting on the population. He enumerates those reasons; it’s all very impersonal. He doesn’t say how those forces affect him, he talks about society in general. Almost as if he wasn’t part of it.”

  “He probably felt that way.” Nora leaned her face on her hand. “He must have. If he had a connection to other people, he’d never have killed anyone. He must have felt so removed from everyone it was like he wasn’t even the same species.”

  She managed to put into words what Matisse couldn’t. He’d read the paragraph in front of him over and over. It hurt his brain to figure out what Reid meant.

  “I wish I could have known.” She cracked her knuckles, reminding him of Apollo. “If I had sought him out, been less focused on myself. He wouldn’t have felt… It makes me worry about the other ones.”

  “What other ones?” Cai asked, leaning forward.

  “My other foster brothers and sisters. There have been a lot. At least thirty. Some stayed for months, others only a few weeks or days. Should I try to find them?” She looked at each of them, but Matisse didn’t know if that was the right thing to do.

  “I don’t know,” Apollo voiced, and she rubbed her forehead. “It’ll be okay,” the big guy continued.

  Nora nodded before changing the subject. “I’m sorry about Seok.”

  “You did nothing wrong,” Ryan interjected.

  “It’s his house. I really need to find a job and then I can move out. He shouldn’t be uncomfortable in his own home.”

  “Have you started looking?” Cai asked.

  Blushing, she answered, “No.”

  “When was she supposed to?” Apollo jumped in. “For crying out loud, the girl just started walking.” He snaked his arm around Nora’s shoulders and cuddled her closer, kissing her on the temple. Ryan’s face paled noticeably.

  Suddenly feeling claustrophobic with all the testosterone, Matisse pushed his hair out his face. “I’m going for a walk.” He shut his laptop with a snap and stood back, raking his fingers through his hair.

  He saw Nora intercept Ryan’s despondent stare and blush. Apollo didn’t notice, but Matisse certainly did.

  “Do you want to come with me?” he asked, shocking himself. The words tumbled out of his mouth as soon as the thought passed through his mind.

  Her face brightened and her entire body seemed to relax. Glancing between Apollo and Ryan, she added, “That would be wonderful. I need to walk.”

  “I can take you after I get back,” Apollo said.

  She shook her head. “No. I know you have to go to the gym. It’s fine.”

  That was news to Matisse. There was only one reason Apollo made an unscheduled gym visit; he agreed to another fight.

  “I’m sorry, Nora,” Ryan apologized. “I have my internship this morning.”

  She put her hand on Ryan’s, and then, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong, she pulled it back. “I don’t expect you to change your lives for me.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Cai shifted. He was ready to jump in, and head off whatever he was about to say, but Cai surprised him. “I work at a drop-in center in the afternoons. Do you want to come with me? I can’t pay you.” Was this a job or a challenge?

  Nora accepted either way, nodding enthusiastically. “Sounds great.”

  “Are you ready?” he interrupted. He was starting to crawl out of his skin, and needed to get out of this kitchen before he went into sensory overload. The sunlight refracted by the window distracted him, and the hum of the refrigerator vibrated through the soles of his feet. He could smell Apollo’s deodorant, and the butter melting on Cai’s toast. Beneath him, he could hear the scrape of a plane against wood. He resisted the urge to cover his ears.

  Everything quieted the moment Nora walked to him. She was slow, but she stood straight and moved with more ease than she had in the
last few days. Without hesitation, she took Matisse’s hand and followed him out the back door.

  Once they were outside, he could breathe again. Here the sunlight, smells, and noises had the opposite effect they’d had on him inside.

  He helped her down the steep wooden steps and along the small rocky path leading past the old carriage house. It functioned as a catch-all for bikes, kayaks, and in Matisse’s case, motorcycle.

  “Did Seok renovate this building, too?” She ran her hand along the shingles, before tilting her head. “Look at the geometric patterns.”

  Matisse smiled. If Seok could stop being such a dick, he might actually like Nora. She certainly appreciated the effort he put into his work. “He did. He actually lived in the carriage house for a while working on the electrical and plumbing for the big house.”

  “Wow,” she breathed. “Are these windows original?”

  “I have no idea, “he answered. “You’d have to ask Seok.”

  Lifting onto her toes, she peered into the building. “It’s really old. It distorts the images. If it’s not original to the house, it’s definitely an era-appropriate salvage.”

  She lowered onto her heels, but her head still swiveled around. “Oh!” She walked a little faster to the end of the driveway. “How did I not notice this before? It’s a hitching post!” She lifted the iron ring drilled into the heavy stone.

  “One of us inevitably backs into it.” Matisse told her. “I’m surprised it’s still standing.”

  Gently, she let the ring fall against the stone. “I’m sure it did some damage.”

  Thinking of the dent in Ryan’s bumper, he agreed.

  Once he was outside, Matisse sought the same sensory experiences he struggled with inside. He loved the noise, the students walking to class, the traffic, the foliage.

  They walked around the corner, and he glanced at Nora. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair flew around her head in the breeze, but she had a smile on her face. It grew wider when she caught his eye. “I needed to get out and I didn’t even know it. Thanks.”

  “De rien.”

  Keeping pace with him, she asked, “Louisiana?”

  Matisse stuck his hands in his pockets and kicked at a stone on the sidewalk. “Mississippi.”

  “There are a lot of French speakers here, as well. One of the towns where I lived for a while had a library built right on the Quebec border. There was a line drawn down the center of the reading room. I could read Nancy Drew in the US while dangling my feet in Canada.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I can even pronounce French last names pretty well because of it.”

  “How about mine?” he challenged her.

  “Spell it,” she replied.

  “B-o-u-d-r-e-a-u.”

  “Boo-droe.”

  He nodded. “Pretty good.”

  “Thanks.”

  As they got closer to campus the foot traffic began to increase and soon students passed them on either side. With the uptick in people, Nora got quieter, keeping her head lowered, and only glancing forward to make sure she didn’t hit a street lamp or walk over a dog.

  Matisse reached for her hand when he realized she was trying to remain anonymous. She must be worried someone would recognize her, and made herself small and inconspicuous. He gave her a light tug to the side when someone stopped in front of them. Nora untucked her hair from behind her ears and let it fall into her face, shielding her even further.

  He didn’t like her hiding away, embarrassed and scared someone would know who she was. Still, from what Apollo described, she had reason to be nervous.

  “How would you pronounce this name?” He attempted to distract her. “G-a-g-n-e.”

  “Gag-knee?”

  He scoffed and she smiled at the ground. They reached the edge of campus, and he tugged her hand again, drawing her toward the fountain sitting between the Dramatic Arts building and Ethan Allen Chapel. It wasn’t cold enough to turn off the water yet, and the force of the wind blew droplets over them. They walked around the circumference of the fountain until they found a dry place to sit.

  It was one of the most beautiful places on campus. Designed during the Civil War by an artist who attended Brownington, a woman, or a nymph, or muse, Matisse wasn’t sure which, poured water into a small pool, which spilled into the larger pool around which five seated women stared into the water. They all held their chins in their hands, watching the water fall. They were peaceful and slumberous with heavy features and sloped shoulders.

  Turning her body to mirror Matisse’s, Nora stared at the figures. “They are beautiful, aren’t they? Why don’t we make things like this anymore?”

  He knew what she meant. So much thought and time had gone into creating this fountain. It stood in direct contrast to a reflecting pool across the green. A metal pipe arose from its center and sprayed water directly into the air. Its only concession to its observers were the stone steps allowing people to dangle their feet into the water on hot days.

  While they sat in silence, she let her hand drop into the pool, her fingertips barely skimming the surface of the water. Matisse caught himself glancing at her over and over. She dipped her hand in the water and then lifted it, watching the water trail over her skin. Her hand moved gracefully in the air as she directed its path.

  “Do you go to Brownington?” she asked him.

  He shrugged. “Sort of. I audit classes, I don’t take them for grades.”

  Shaking the water off her hand, she asked, “Why not?”

  “I have my own business, I don’t need the degree, but there are things I want to learn. I’ll do the work if I think I’ll benefit from it.”

  Her eyes widened. “That sounds awesome. To take whatever class interests you at the time.”

  She got a faraway look in her eyes, and Matisse remembered Seok’s parting shot at her. “I forget you’re a housekeeper.” He felt a spark of anger ignite and burn when he realized how far off the mark Seok was when it came to Nora. She wanted to learn. In the thirty minutes he spent with her, he knew she was smart. “Have you ever taken classes?”

  She shook her head. “I started once. Employees get a discount on tuition, and they’ll withdraw a certain amount from each of your paychecks, pre-tax. But then I had to move unexpectedly, and I needed the money, so I dropped out.”

  “What class was it?” he asked.

  Nora smiled and nibbled at her nail. “Vampires in Literature.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Mon Dieu, this is a class?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “It was really good. I ended up buying some of the books so I could read them again.”

  “And what did you learn about vampires in literature?” Matisse joked. “Did they sparkle?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Haha. That book was great so you can fermez your anti-sparkle bouche, thank you very much.”

  Throwing his head back, he laughed. He saw Nora regarding him with a curious expression. “I’m surprised you laugh. I thought you were the most serious.”

  “Eh.” He shrugged. “It depends on the topic. I think Ryan is the winner of the serious award.”

  “When Ryan laughs, you really feel like you’ve won something,” she answered.

  She understood Ryan well for having known him such a short period of time.

  “If I stay out of prison,” she said, suddenly serious. “It will be due to him. He had no reason to believe me, and yet he did… does… I hope I can deserve his trust.”

  Staring into the water, he asked, “Why do you say that?”

  Why did he care?

  “I don’t know. He seems so much better than me.”

  She chewed at her nail, staring into the water the way he had been. Matisse could sniff out a liar at a hundred yards; this girl truly believed Ryan was on another level. “I’m really very grateful you all let me stay with you. I’m sorry I’m making things awkward.”

  He waved the comment away. “You’re welcome. Ryan ask
ed if you could stay, and we all agreed. However long you need.”

  Nora glanced his way, her gaze holding his.

  “Nora Leslie?” A young woman, who was vaguely familiar and not much older than her, waited for Nora to identify herself. Too late, he realized how he knew the woman. Unfortunately for both of them, he didn’t remember until a camera was shoved between them, pushing him across the stone seat of the fountain.

  “I have some questions for you, Miss Leslie. “

  Attempting to get closer to Nora, the cameraman, who apparently doubled as a bouncer, blocked his way. Matisse was tall and he was strong, but his muscles were lean, and the man before him outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds.

  “Is it true your mother has started a GoFundMe site for your defense?”

  “Nora!” He tried to push the man out of the way, but he threw an elbow back into Matisse’s stomach while still holding the camera.

  “Your mother has given interviews hinting at a less-than-platonic relationship with your foster brother. Is this true? Is it true as a teenager you seduced her boyfriend?”

  “No—” He heard her answer while he attempted to suck in oxygen.

  “Is it true, as your mother implied, you were pregnant as a teenager?”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Was it Reid’s baby?”

  “There was no baby.” He could hear her whisper.

  “What about her asserting you are dangerous? And how she went to prison because you falsely accused her of dealing drugs?”

  Matisse propped himself on his knees, straightening slowly before jumping onto the stone lip of the fountain and bounding in front of the camera man. He held out a hand, pushing away the camera and shielding Nora with his body. He heard the reporter continue to call out questions.

  She shook in his arms, breathing in rapid, choked inhalations.

  “Who are you? Are you her boyfriend? What do you think about these accusations? How can you protect someone who may have caused the murder of five people?”

  She made a small, choked sound.

  “Ignore them,” he whispered in her ear. “They want a reaction. Don’t give it to them.”