Criminal Destiny (5 page)

The traffic cop speaks to the driver. “Tell them to call a shrink who works with kids.”

The rear door locks engage with a loud click.

“No!” I cry. “I'm not crazy! It's the truth!” I yank at the handle but it clicks uselessly.

The black-and-white makes a wide U-turn and heads for the police station. The last thing I see before we roar away is Eli, Tori, and Malik, their faces pressed against the front window of Bites and Bytes.

They don't look grateful. They look very, very scared.

The sight of that police car driving away with Amber is one of the most awful things I've ever seen. (And I've seen a lot of awful things lately.)

Malik is pacing on the sidewalk in front of Bites and Bytes. “We begged her not to do anything stupid! And what does she do? Something stupid!”

“You can't blame her,” I defend my best friend. “None of us understand how things work in the outside world.”

“Which is why it makes sense to do
nothing
!” Malik insists. “But that's not good enough for Laska! She knows better!”

Eli takes off down the block in a futile attempt to keep up with the car. His desperation triggers the same response in Malik and me. If we lose track of Amber in this huge
city, we'll never lay eyes on her again.

It's all my fault. Amber's my best friend. I should have been keeping an eye on her. She took the news about Project Osiris harder than any of us. Why didn't I know that if she believed she had an easy fix for our situation, she'd jump into it without thinking?

We can still see the squad car, but it gets harder to spot as it pulls away, and traffic fills in the street behind it. To make matters worse, the sidewalks are crowded, and we're scrambling around an obstacle course of pedestrians and dogs and mailboxes and fire hydrants. Malik gets stuck behind two guys carrying a couch and loses ground. I avoid them, dance around a garbage can, and catch up to Eli.

“We lost her!” he pants.

Not me. I've trained myself to notice details other people miss (back when I thought my future would be as an artist, not a fugitive). The police car is distant, but I've got it in my sights—it's sandwiched between an SUV and a city bus. Lacking the breath for a verbal answer, I point.

We're just about to blast through the next intersection when a big semi lumbers right out in front of us. Eli and I practically run into it, but manage to pull up mere inches from the trailer's vast paneled side. We have no choice. We stand flat-footed, waiting for it to inch into the main road.

Malik catches up to us, shaking his fist at the driver. “You got a gas pedal on that thing?”

The driver yells back a word I've never heard before, although I'm pretty sure it's rude. (Malik might fit perfectly into the outside world.)

And then the truck moves on, opening up our view of the road ahead. The police car is obviously gone, and Amber with it.

I'm running again. “Hurry!” I call back. “We can't lose her.”

Eli shakes his head sadly. “We already have. That car could have turned down any one of these side streets.”

“She's history,” Malik confirms.

I'm normally pretty levelheaded, but this is too much. “You mean that's
it
? Bye-bye Amber, nice knowing you?”

“We can maybe hang around Bites and Bytes,” Eli suggests lamely. “On the off-chance she gets loose, maybe it'll occur to her to look for us there.”

“How's she going to get loose?” I demand. “She isn't lost; she's under arrest! The Purples are obviously in touch with the Denver Police, and they're going to hear that a thirteen-year-old girl got picked up by the cops in District Six! They'll scoop her up so fast, she'll be back in Serenity by nightfall.”

“District Six?” Malik repeats. “Where'd you get that?”

I'm upset. “It was printed on the door of the squad car! If you stopped stuffing your face long enough to open your eyes, you might see something!”

“District Six,” Eli repeats, and you can almost see the wheels turning inside his logical mind. “The city must be carved up into police districts!”

I struggle to contain my surge of hope. We haven't found Amber—not yet.

But at least we have something to go on.

Back at Bites and Bytes, it takes Eli just a few seconds to find the website of the Denver Police Department. Turns out, we're right about the districts. Better yet, each district has its own separate police station.

“Where they take pinheads who get themselves arrested!” Malik exclaims.

“Here's the address of the District Six precinct house.” Deftly, Eli copies the information, calls up a map program, and pastes the details into the search field. According to the computer, it's only 0.9 miles away, on North Washington.

“So now what?” Malik challenges as we head over there. “We can't exactly knock on the door of the station and say ‘Give us back our dimwit.'”

“We'll just have to wing it,” Eli decides. “We don't even know how much trouble she's in. Maybe they'll just ask her a few questions and cut her loose.”

“Maybe,” I agree. (But deep down, I'm thinking:
We couldn't get that lucky.
)

We know we're in the right place even before we see the police station itself. There are squad cars parked on both sides of the block, and officers coming and going everywhere. We're from Serenity, where the only uniforms are worn by Purples. So we're already on edge by the time we reach the door.

For some reason, I'm struck by a random flashback—dress-up party, my fifth birthday, or maybe even my fourth. I'm Ariel from
The Little Mermaid
, fishtail and all. I forget which of the princesses Amber's dressed as.

And now we have to spring her from the police.
How times have changed.

Malik swallows hard. “Who knows what Laska told the cops about us? We could get arrested too.”

I nod. “Good point. Only one of us should go in. That leaves two more on the outside just in case we need to do a double rescue.”

“I'll go,” Eli volunteers. “What do I say?”

I mull it over. “If Amber told them anything about
Serenity, Purple People Eaters, or clones, they might think she's crazy. So say she's your sister. You brought her into the city for a psychiatrist's appointment and she took off on you. It's a big mess—you're looking everywhere, your parents are worried sick, and if you don't get to the doctor's right away, you'll miss the appointment. Make up a name. Dr. Reiner. His office is on Main Street—I'm pretty sure every big city has a Main Street. Got it?”

They both stare at me.

“What?” I ask.

“I don't know about harmony and contentment,” Malik says with respect, “but it didn't take you very long to unlearn honesty.”

“You're kind of good at this,” Eli agrees.

“There's obviously nothing to be good at,” I tell them. “You just think about the result you want and the result you don't want, and figure out a story that'll get you the good thing and avoid the bad one.”

“You should do it,” Malik concludes. “You're the best liar.”

In Serenity, we were always taught that nothing is worse than being dishonest. “It's not lying. It's strategy.”

“Don't take it personally,” he shoots back. “It's not your fault you got cloned from some crook who wouldn't know
the truth if she tripped over it. Look at the bright side. At least she's not a murderer.”

“You'd better hope,” I seethe.

That's how I end up being the one who marches into the police station to try to talk Amber out of custody. (I suppose it's only fair—she's
my
best friend.)

I don't know what I expect—rows of cells, prisoners staring out through the bars, and one of them Amber. But inside I find a dreary waiting room with a desk sergeant at the front.

My first thought is:
Who decorated this place?
In Serenity, everything is brand-new and really nice: tasteful colors, rich fabrics, stylish furniture. This looks like the place old desks go to die. Everything is beige, and you can tell most of it didn't start out that way.

I march right up to the sergeant. She ignores me, so I clear my throat. “Excuse me, I think my sister was brought here.”

She looks interested. “Your sister got a name?”

I hesitate. Amber might have given them a fake name, but I doubt it. Her whole purpose was to bring the law down on Project Osiris. She said it herself:
we're
the evidence.

I chance it. “Amber Laska. I'm her sister, Victoria.”
Malik might be right about me and lying. It's kind of scary how totally easily the whoppers trip off my tongue as I launch into my story about the psychiatrist's appointment, and how “Dad” drove us in from Pueblo just that morning.

The sergeant leans back in her chair. “Don't suppose you've got any ID? Student card? Bus pass?”

“Uh—no.” The question throws me a little. I've never had any identification—none of us have. What's the point of ID in a town where everybody knows everybody else?

“How come it's you who came for your sister instead of your folks?”

“So she's here?” I probe.

She nods. “Squad car brought her in half an hour ago. I can't release her, though.”

“Is she under arrest?”

“No, but she's a minor and so are you. Your parents will have to come get her.”

That would be a neat trick. “I don't know where they are,” I plead, inventing rapidly. “Everyone panicked when Amber disappeared. We split up to look for her.”

The sergeant hands me her cell phone. “Call them.”

With the officer watching me, I have to punch in
numbers, but I never place the call. “Nobody's picking up.” I “try” again, without pressing dial. “Mom, if you get this message, I found Amber. She's at the police station on North Washington, but they won't let me take her. You have to come right away or we'll miss the appointment, and who knows when they'll have another one . . .” By this time, I'm actually crying, and it isn't part of the act. How are we going to get Amber out of this place? We can't produce parents out of thin air.

“Kid—” the desk sergeant tries to soothe.

“Aurora,” I blubber aloud.

She frowns. “Thought your name's Victoria.”

“Princess Aurora—from
Sleeping Beauty
. That's who Amber was at my dress-up party.” It occurs to me how ridiculous this must seem. “Forget it. It was a long time ago . . .”

The desk sergeant looks a little alarmed at the prospect of having two crazy sisters to deal with instead of just one. “I see you're upset and I want to help if I can. We're taking your sister to see our psychologist at five o'clock. This is his office.” She scribbles a name and address on the back of a business card and hands it to me. “Maybe your folks can meet you there. If you have any trouble finding them, you come straight back here, you hear me?”

“Thanks,” I say, and I'm honestly grateful. I don't have Amber, but I have the next best thing.

We know where she's going to be and when.

Now we have to go get her.

A few months ago, this would have been science fiction. We were living in Serenity, 100 percent convinced it was the best place on earth. Even Malik, who complained about how boring it was, was just blustering when he talked about leaving one day. What little we knew about the outside world centered around the fact that we didn't want to go there—it was lawless; it was dirty; it was horrible.

Now we're right smack dab in the middle of that world, and most of the lawless, dirty, and horrible things we've seen here are being done by
us
. And don't think it doesn't haunt us that this makes perfect sense. After all, we're supposed to be exact copies of some of the worst criminals the human race has to offer.

Haunting or not, though, we don't have time to worry
that we might be living up to the evil in our DNA. We have to get Amber back. Period.

Finding the Medical Arts Center isn't so easy. Everyone we ask assures us it's not far, and then launches into a long, complicated series of twists and turns, complete with instructions like “at the third light,” and “there's a shoemaker on the corner.” Hey, we come from a town where there are no traffic lights, and the shoes we wear are made someplace else.

Eventually, we start to get nervous, because Amber's appointment is at five. If we miss her there, we might never catch up with her again. The smart move would be to go back to Bites and Bytes and look up the address on a computer. But by this point, we're so turned around that we can't figure out where that is either. We're just about in a panic, when Tori stumbles on a kiosk that gives away tourist maps of downtown.

A few frenzied minutes later, we run up to the Medical Arts Center on Delaware Street, which we must have passed and ignored at least five times. I guess that's to be expected when you're used to a place where the total number of roads falls in the single digits.

It's a four-story brick building with a flat roof, not as old and run down as the police station, but nowhere near as
new and nice as anything in Serenity.

“Why does everything in the outside world have to be so blah?” Tori wonders.

“I have a theory about that,” I tell her. “Serenity wasn't a real town, so they could concentrate on making it look good. But out here, everything serves a real purpose. A medical building doesn't have to be an architectural masterpiece. It just has to be a place where you can see your doctor.”

Malik snorts impatiently. “We'll ask them to put up streamers and balloons for our next kidnapping.”

The building is nicer on the inside, but not much, with painted cinderblock walls and fluorescent lighting. It's clean, though, and the elevator works. None of us have ever been in an elevator before, and we're a little embarrassed by how excited we get by it. We even go up to the fourth floor so we can come down to the third. It's a pretty big deal. Malik and Tori have a little argument over who pushes the button.

The third floor features a long hallway, each door leading to a different medical practice. There are several doctors, a dentist, a chiropractor, and something called an aromatherapist, whatever that is. But our center of focus is the office marked:

306

DR. EMIL HERZOG

GENERAL PSYCHIATRY

“So what do we do?” asks Malik. “Hide in one of these doorways, and when we see Laska, grab her and run down the stairs?”

I shake my head. “That won't work. They're not going to send her by herself. She'll be with a cop.”

Tori scans the third floor with an appraiser's eye. She walks to the ladies' room, a few doors past 306, peers inside, and motions us to join her.

“We can't go in there,” I hiss. “It's for girls.”

Malik favors me with a smile. “If you're too chicken to set foot inside the girls' bathroom, I kind of doubt you're ready to jack a prisoner from police custody.”

He has a point. We're done with the sweetness and good manners we learned in Serenity. It's a jungle out here. If you can't climb up the food chain, something's going to eat you.

Tori opens the bathroom door and makes us go inside. There are four stalls and two sinks, but she immediately moves to the large window at the far end. We join her and peer down into a shaded alley at the back of the building.

“We're on the third floor,” I remind her. “How do we get down?”

“We could buy a rope,” Malik suggests. “There must be a hardware store around here somewhere.”

Tori consults her watch. “No time. It's quarter to five. How high up do you think this is?”

“High enough to break our legs and probably our necks too,” puts in Malik.

“There must be something here we can use to climb down . . . ,” Tori muses.

We follow her back out of the bathroom. She walks briskly down the hall looking from side to side.

Malik is impatient. “It's a building full of doctors. What are we going to do—make a ladder out of tongue depressors?”

She stops in front of a large glass case built into the wall. Inside, wrapped up in a tight coil, is the third-floor fire hose.

I'm standing in the Medical Arts Center's glass lobby when the squad car pulls up to the curb. The sign says
No Parking
, but that doesn't seem to apply to police. A big cop opens the rear door and Amber gets out. My heart soars at the sight of her familiar face.

As they start up the walk, I slip out the front door and move toward them. The instant Amber spots me, I shake my head no. She can't acknowledge me, or the cop will get suspicious.

I jostle her arm as I pass by. “Excuse me.”

“Watch where you're going, kid,” the cop growls.

“Sorry,” I apologize, and manage to whisper into Amber's ear,
“Third-floor bathroom.”

I'm scared to death that the cop heard me—or that Amber didn't. But I won't know that until she shows up in the ladies' room. Or doesn't.

I dart around and reenter the building from the parking lot door. From there, I fly up the stairs and hit the third floor just as the elevator doors rumble open behind me. I turn on the jets and blast into the bathroom, where Malik and Tori are waiting anxiously.

“She's here?” Tori asks.

I nod, panting. “With the biggest cop you've ever seen. Considering she's not under arrest, they're sure treating her like a prisoner.”

Malik and I hide in two stalls, standing on the toilet seats so our feet won't show. If somebody else needs to use the bathroom before Amber gets here, the last thing we need is some lady screaming the third floor down.

Five minutes pass. Then ten.

Tori's getting antsy. “Maybe they won't let her go.”

“They have to let her go.” But what if she didn't receive my whispered message in the first place?

Before I can express this to the others, I hear the door opening. A deep voice rumbles, “I'll wait outside.”

When Malik and I exit the stalls, we find a very silent hugging reunion in progress between the two girls.

“I'd kill you if I wasn't so glad to see you,” Malik whispers.

Amber reddens. “I screwed up. I should have known that they wouldn't believe me.”

Tori is all business. “We can blame each other later. Let's get out of here.”

“How?” rasps Amber. “That cop's right outside.”

Tori reaches under the closest stall and pulls out the fire hose. One end has been firmly knotted to base of the metal divider. “Help me with the window.”

Malik flips the latch and lifts. The sash doesn't budge.

I move in to give him a hand. We heave with all our might. Nothing.

Amber examines the frame. “It's painted shut.”

“We'll smash the window,” Malik offers.

“No!” Amber hisses. “That cop will hear it.”

Tori pulls a barrette out of her hair and begins to break through the thick layer of dried paint with the metal clip. It works, but it's slow going.

There's a rap at the bathroom door. “What's taking so long in there?”

“You want details?” Amber shoots back.

The knocking stops.

Sweat forms on Tori's brow as she uses the barrette to saw all the way around the frame. At last, she steps back and Malik and I try again. The window resists for a moment and then rises in a shower of paint chips.

Tori tosses the nozzle out the window and we watch the hose unroll down the side of the building. But instead of dropping all the way to the alley, the length plays out and the nozzle hangs there, ten feet off the ground.

“We're short,” I report.

The others peer outside at our dangling mode of escape.

Malik is furious. “Didn't you bother to make sure the rope was long enough?” He looks like he's shouting, but it comes out an agitated snarl.

“We'll have to climb down as far as we can and jump the rest of the way,” Tori decides.

“I don't know,” I say nervously. “With a drop like that, at least one of us is bound to sprain an ankle or worse. If
that cop chases us, we'll be dead meat.”

“If we don't get out of here now, we're dead meat anyway,” Amber argues.

Tori leans over the sash. “See that Dumpster off to the left? When you get to the bottom of the hose, try to swing toward it. At least it's a soft landing.”

“But it's
garbage
,” Malik complains.

We all know that his real concern is rappelling down a three-story building, swinging like Tarzan, and then jumping into what we hope is something soft. Yeah, we're all a little worried about that.

The cop is knocking again. “Hurry up, Amber. The doctor's waiting.”

My mind forms the connections—the officer, the Purples, my dad. The thought of Felix Frieden is all the motivation I need. “I'll go first.” I scramble out the window, clinging to the fabric of the hose.

“Let me just wash up,” Amber calls in the direction of the door. I hear one of the toilets flushing.

I don't know what's worse—the climb itself or the fear that the slightest slip will leave me dashed to pieces on the pavement of a Denver alley. The simple act of letting go to lower myself is a stomach-churning terror. To make matters worse, every time I bounce back to the wall, the rough
brick rips my knuckles to shreds. When I finally reach the dangling nozzle, it's a shock how far up I still am, and an even bigger shock how far away the Dumpster is.

I turn beseeching eyes up to the third floor.

Tori mouths a single word: “Swing!”

I wriggle my body in an attempt to get the hose in motion.

“Sometime today would be nice,” comes from above. Malik.

It's no use. I'm swaying a little but the Dumpster still looks out of range. I'm going to have to leap for it. And if I miss—well, we won't go into that.

I can't do it. Dangling from a fire hose may not be the most comfortable position, but at least I'm attached to something solid. How am I going to work up the courage to let go?

I manufacture an image of Dad, a smug, superior expression on his face, and I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

Jump!

I extend my legs like a trapeze artist and fling myself at the Dumpster. For an instant I'm in midair, uncoupled from earth, falling. Then I'm rolling in the garbage. It's not the softest impact, but it's a lot softer than the pavement. I lurch to a stop with my face in a half-eaten pizza,
disturbing a squadron of feasting flies.

There was definitely a moment when I was in free fall, not knowing if I'd survive it, where I'd have traded my situation for a return to Serenity. I'll never admit it to the others, but it was definitely there.

I get up, battered but not broken, to see Tori headed down the hose, moving with an ease and skill that I could never match. In no time at all, she's at the bottom, swinging like a pendulum out over the Dumpster. She lands on her feet beside me. High above, Malik throws a leg out the window and begins his descent. That means Amber will be last, probably because her police escort is getting antsy and needs to hear her voice through the door.

“How's that cop?” I ask.

“Mad.” Tori's nervous. “And getting madder. The minute he doesn't hear Amber's voice anymore he's going to barge into the bathroom and see the fire hose going out the window.”

“We'll have to run for it. We should have a little head start while he leaves the building. But the minute he gets in his car, the advantage is all his.”

Malik is the strongest of us, but he's also carrying the most weight. He's climbing cautiously, his style closer to mine than Tori's.

“Why's he going so slow?” Tori murmurs under her breath.

“Maybe he's afraid of breaking every bone in his body,” I tell her. “I know I was.”

And then he's crashing into the Dumpster beside us, practically bowling us over, landing flat on his face.

He rolls over in the trash, groaning. “It stinks in here!”

“What do you expect the garbage to smell like?” I retort. “Roses?”

Now Amber is on the way down, moving almost as quickly as Tori, her arms working like pistons. Her expression is wild as she mouths an urgent message without making any sound.

“You're doing fine,” Tori calls.

A minute later, the cause of her distress becomes clear. The big cop is leaning out the window. He takes in the sight of Amber on the hose and us in the Dumpster and bellows, “Freeze!”

And when we don't freeze, he does something even Tori hasn't anticipated. He grips ham-like hands on the fire hose and begins yanking Amber up. Panicking, she descends faster. But the cop is strong as an ox, and she actually starts to rise.

“Jump!” yells Tori.

Amber is petrified. “It's too high!”

You'd better believe it's too high, but we can't let her be hauled back into custody.