Red Handed (6 page)

My brows arched. Not that anyone could see my expression. “And if we don't?”

Pause.

Then, “Answer and answer honestly,” he said with an ominous edge, “because you won't like what happens if you remain silent or lie. And before you ask how we'll know if you're lying, I'll tell you the answer. We know everything.”

My stomach twisted into a thousand tiny, painful knots. “Why ask us anything, then?” I so did not want to be here, playing cloak and dagger games while answering questions about my life. And they would be about my life, my choices. I knew it. They always were.

“Since you're so eager to speak,” Roses said, “you can go first, Phoenix. The rest of you will wait here. Don't try to leave the vehicle. I've already posted guards at the doors.”

Someone reached inside and latched onto my upper arm. I was dragged out of the car and onto my feet. My boots sank into something soft. Grass, probably. The darkness of the hood disoriented me, and I wobbled. “Remove the blindfold, at least.”

“You'll wear it until you're deemed worthy to take it off,” Roses said. “Otherwise, I'd have to blind you some other way.” His harsh tone suggested he'd just go ahead and rip out my eyes.

“The hood is fine.” Logically, I knew he wouldn't hurt me. Or rather,
hoped
he wouldn't hurt me. Camp counselors weren't allowed to injure their charges, were they?

That didn't drain my fear, however. I couldn't see his expression, didn't know him and what he was capable of doing—didn't know if the law even mattered to him.

I wasn't even one hundred percent certain what type of camp this was, despite—or maybe because of—Kitten's explanation. This was like no camp I'd ever encountered before. Everything from the hoods to the laserbands to the absolute secrecy was beyond my realm of experience.

Roses ushered me inside a building. I knew the moment I went indoors because the air changed. Suddenly there was no breeze. Only sterile-smelling air, as if some kind of cleaner had been used, blocking any hint of fragrance.

We turned once, twice, stalking down a long hallway, was my guess. I didn't hear other footsteps, didn't hear other voices.

“Nervous?” Roses asked me.

“No,” I answered with false bravado.

He
tsk
ed under his tongue. “Lying already. I warned you about that.”

“What are you going to do? Kick me out?”
Pretty please with a cherry on top
.

“Is that what you want? To be kicked out?” He
tsk
ed again. “I expected better from you, Phoenix.”

He was the first to expect anything good from me then. “I expected to finish the day at school, go home, do my homework, and take a nap in my own bed.”

“That's sad. You should expect more for yourself.”

“And disappoint myself as well as my mom? No thanks.”

He didn't say anything else. A few seconds later, he stopped. He released my upper arm, only to grip both of my shoulders and guide me a few inches to the side. “Sit,” he said.

Something hard bumped into the backs of my knees. A chair, I hoped. I eased down, concerned that he'd jerk the seat away at any moment and laugh. He didn't and I was able to settle comfortably on top of it.

My ears twitched when I heard someone sigh. The sigher was a few feet away, I estimated. There was a shuffle of papers and the squeak of syn-leather.

“Welcome, Miss Germaine,” a deep, scary voice said. “So glad you could make it. Now, why don't we get started, hmm?”

“Get started with what?” I asked, even though Roses had already told me I'd be interviewed. I was nervous and stalling for time.

He answered me anyway. “Why, deciding whether you live or die.”

“State your name,” the man said only two seconds after he threatened my life.

I didn't reply. Couldn't. There was a lump the size of New Chicago in my throat. This wasn't right. These people should not be allowed to threaten me like that.

I didn't want to be here. I wanted to go home.
To what? A mom who's washed her hands of me? Yeah, good luck with that
. Anything was better than this, though.

“State your name,” he insisted.

Again, I remained silent. I found myself really missing my dad all of a sudden. Why couldn't I be one of those girls with a father who rushed to her defense? A father who broke down doors and broke the law to save his little angel? Instead I had no one who would rescue me.

I was on my own.

“State. Your. Name.”

There was such unbending command in his voice that my lips parted and words spilled out before I could stop myself—though I still didn't obey. “You already know it. This is stupid.”

“This is your last chance. State your name.” “Or suffer the consequences” drifted through the air unsaid.

“Phoenix Ann Germaine.”
Just get this over with
, I thought.
Answer their questions and get out of this hood. Get
home. I didn't like that people were watching me, judging me, especially since I didn't know how many were here or even what they looked like—or what they were doing.

Each one of them could have a gun aimed at me, finger poised on the trigger. With that thought, sweat beaded over my skin. A cold sweat that somehow heated my blood. The breath in my lungs fragmented, making it hard to concentrate.

“You're seventeen years old?” a clipped female voice asked.

“Yes.” Almost eighteen, I nearly added, but didn't want to prolong the conversation in any way. I now knew there were at least three people in the room with me. Deep Voice, Roses, and the woman. I'd give them no more than they asked for. No elaboration.

“You are an Onadyn addict,” another voice said, this one male. “Yes?”

That made four people. The entire room tapered to quiet. Not even the rustle of clothes or paper could be heard. I could feel their eyes burning into me, waiting for my answer.

My jaw clenched. “Former addict,” I gritted out.

A chair squeaked. Murmurs. “Why is she even here?” that same male said—the one who'd asked me if I was an addict. “This is ridiculous. A user is always a user.”

A minute passed; I strained to hear but he was never given an answer.

“Do you still use, Phoenix?” a hard feminine voice asked.

If I answered yes, would I be sent home or be forced to remain? Several heart-stopping minutes passed while I considered my response. In the end, I opted for the truth. “No. I told you. I'm a
former
user.”

Pause.

Then, “When was your last dose?”

“A few months ago,” I answered, once again opting for honesty.

“Why should we believe you?”

Surprise swept through me, potent and strong. Ryan was here. I'd recognize that raspy tone anywhere. He hadn't sounded insulting or sneering. No, he'd sounded expectant. Why?

And what was he doing here? Was he a counselor at the camp?

“Answer the question,” Deep Voice commanded.

I shrugged. “My own mother doesn't trust me, so why should anyone else?” Not only had I used drugs, but I'd slept around, lied, and stolen.
No wonder Mom hadn't believed me
, I thought bitterly. I'd been a nightmare.

Maybe I did deserve this place.

I'm different now. Don't forget
.

“I'd like to hear more about your mother. Do you hate her for not trusting you? Do you blame her?” another woman asked.

I shook my head. “No. I don't hate or blame her.” She'd taken care of me for as long as she'd been able. I
was
hurt, I couldn't deny that. But they hadn't asked that, so I didn't say it.

“Are you angry with her?”

I paused, then answered honestly, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because,” I said.

“Because why?” Deep Voice insisted.

“Because she should have loved me enough to keep me. Because she should have loved me enough to try again. Because I'm an idiot. Is that what you want to hear?”

Someone chuckled. Ryan, I think, because the sound of it warmed me.

Still, I ran my tongue over my teeth. I didn't want to be amusing. I wanted to be dismissed. Except…more than leaving, I found that I wanted to know what Ryan was doing here. If he wasn't a counselor, had he been sent to the camp after that fight? If so, why was he allowed to be here during my interrogation?

“How do you feel about other-worlders, Phoenix?” Deep Voice asked.

I handled the switch in topics with ease. “Which ones?”

“All of them,” was the flat response.

“Lumping every species into one category is like lumping all humans into one category. Some are different. Let's take this group, for instance. Each one of you is a bastard, but that doesn't mean the two kids in the car outside are bastards, as well.”

A girl sucked in a breath. A guy cleared his throat.

“I want her out,” someone muttered. “Finishing the interview is pointless.”

“If we let her in and the others start to act like her…”

If my wrists had been free, I might have flipped the speaker off. Something about her irked me. She was so superior. “So, how many people are here?” I asked.

“A good agent can figure that out without the use of her eyes,” a girl said. Allison Stone, I realized with another dose of shock.

She was here, too? Oh, that burned! And what did she mean, “agent”? “Why aren't I allowed to see any of you?”

“We'll ask the questions,” Allison snapped.

“Well, then, I'll decide whether or not to answer,” I replied in the same snotty tone she'd used.

“That's music to my ears, user.”

“Allison,” Deep Voice said. “Shut your mouth or leave. I allowed you to sit in because you're about to graduate and one day you'll help run this camp. Don't make me regret my decision.”

She would help run it? “This is a joke, right? You're all actors trying to bring back that practical joke show.”

No one replied.

“She has a serious attitude problem,” I heard.

Again with the mutterings. I rolled my eyes. Not that they could see me.

“She'll be too hard to control,” someone else offered.

“Yes, but she has passion.” That came from Ryan. “She's had no training. She was drinking that night, but still fought the Sybilins like a highly trained agent. If she hadn't been there, we could have lost.”

“Agent”…that was the second mention. What kind of agent?

“There's her drug problem to contend with.”

“True.”

“And it
will
be a problem. A big one.”

They were speaking so quickly and so quietly, I had trouble making out who was saying what. But I offered, “No problem at all since it's a
former
drug problem. And if one of you told my mother that I was smoking Onadyn that night in the forest, I'll kill you.”

“She's violent and bloodthirsty at least; I'll give her points for that,” that clipped female voice said. And she sounded happy about the statement.

They
wanted
me to be violent and bloodthirsty? Really, what the hell kind of place was this?

“You always pick the violent ones, Mia,” Deep Voice said. “I'm not sure this one's worth the effort, though.”

Bastard. “Who are you people?” I demanded. I pulled on the laser that bound my wrists together, trying to free myself so that I could remove the hood. But it hurt, and I stilled. Already the skin felt raw and irritated. Much more and I might lose a hand.

No thanks.

“We have a few more questions for you, little girl, then maybe you'll find out.” Roses.

My mom often called me “little girl” and it irritated me every time. Ryan had called me that, too. I wanted to call this guy “old man,” but didn't dare. For all I knew, he had a gun pointed at my temple like I'd first feared. Or maybe he had a knife balanced over my head, ready to drop at any moment.

“If she fails, kick her out,” Mia said. “I want her to have a chance, at least.”

“I've read her file, and she's got ‘problem' written all over it.” Sweet Voice. The woman who had helped bring me here. Only she didn't sound sweet anymore. She sounded pissed. “I don't want to mess with her. New recruits are always a challenge, but she's hopeless.”

That hurt. I didn't know the woman, but her words hurt. I drew in a breath, wishing once again that I could see through the fibers of the hood. As it was, I couldn't even see a single ray of light.

“Could you kill?”

Silence.

“Phoenix, could you kill someone?” the one called Mia asked.

“What, you're talking to the lowly little girl now?”

“Yes,” she said without remorse.

“I don't know,” I replied honestly. The logical side of my brain told me that no one in their right mind would want a girl to admit to violent tendencies. In the real world, that would get me placed in isolation or lockup. After the “violent and bloodthirsty” comment, though…

That night in the forest, I could have killed. Had wanted to kill. The Sybilins were evil, vile, destructive. They shouldn't be allowed to live or they'd hurt more people. But, would I be able to kill someone—something—else? A living being? “With or without provocation?” I asked.

“Either.”

I sighed. “Maybe. Probably.”

A pause.

“Are you afraid of pain?”

“What do you think?” I answered dryly.

The rustle of paper, the shift of a body. “Let's see.” Deep Voice paused. “In the tenth grade, you were in a fight with a human female double your weight. You required sixteen stitches in your neck.”

“So.”

“So, most people are so afraid of pain they would not have challenged—or accepted the challenge—of someone larger than themselves.”

“She knifed me,” I said, recalling that day. I'd been walking to class, minding my own business, and a girl I'd never spoken with had reached out and sliced my neck with a plastic kitchen knife she'd sharpened and honed.

“He's mine,” she'd screamed.

Apparently, she'd wanted the boy I'd gotten high with the night before. Rumors had surfaced that we'd had sex, and she'd gone a little crazy. The moment I'd realized what she'd done, I had jumped her. Attacked, full force, unconcerned about her size or my lack of size. I'd had only one thought: stop her. She'd been aiming for my face, I'd later learned, wanting to scar me.

I had a scar, but it stretched the left side of my neck and was covered when I wore my hair down.

“In eleventh grade, you broke three bones in your wrist,” Deep Voice continued.

“Yeah. So?”

“Again with the so,” Roses muttered. “Explain how that came about.”

My fingers were beginning to swell from lack of movement so I flexed them as I spoke. “I was in a fight. Again.”

“For?”

“A new girl at school called my friend a bitch. I reacted. It was dumb,” I added. But I hadn't thought so at the time. I'd been coming down from a high, and I'd been enraged by everything and everyone. I would have attacked anyone for any ridiculous reason.

“Any other questions for this girl?” Deep Voice asked.

I knew he wasn't talking to me.

Shuffle of feet, the squeak of wheels. I could picture these people—however many there were—huddling together and…yes, they were whispering. I heard the frantic rasp of their voices. I knew they were discussing me, my answers.

“I don't think any more are necessary,” Roses said with finality.

Even though I strained, I couldn't make out anyone's response. Several minutes passed, and the whispering session became more heated. What were they saying? Kick me out and send me home?
Please, please, please
.

“I have a question,” Allison said loudly. Her words echoed off the walls, in my ears.

“Let's hear it,” Deep Voice told her.

“It's not a question, really, but a situation. I'd like to know what she'd do.”

“Let's hear it,” I said, mimicking the authority Deep Voice used.