The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

Well, she’d have to get a grip. This was no time to freak out. She looked around the street, where random kids were still racing to join the fun. Word must have got out. She took her phone from her bag, intending to check Twitter, and see if the alert was being spread. But then, looking around at the turmoil, she decided she’d better wait until she was out of here. She slipped the phone into the pocket of her cotton dress, intending to grab Shelby on her way through and take her somewhere for a proper talk.

  As she started down the street, she heard sirens approaching. She picked up her pace, holding the strap of her bag across her body. But as she got near the corner where she’d seen Shelby turn, a fight broke out in front of her, young guys pushing and shoving and giving each other lip. She backed off, looking for a way through. More of them were coming from every direction, their shouting and clamoring combining to make a constant kind of roar that seemed to bounce around between the buildings on each side of the street. Then there was a sickening smash, and she looked across to see the glass from a storefront window falling into the street. A teenager ran off, zigzagging wildly with a black bird on a pole that he’d managed to get a hold of.

  Okay, now it was getting serious. She turned to run back in the direction she came from, but found herself facing a line of police in dark uniforms, their faces blank and grim behind their visors as they descended on the crowd. Oh, hell. If she was arrested, that was the end of her visa for sure. She made a split-second decision, and turned and ran toward the mass of rioters, forcing her way through the gaps in the churning crowd, letting the force of other people’s lurching bodies propel her along. Something—an elbow? a fist?—hit her in the side of the face, but she ploughed on, her heart pounding, adrenaline keeping her moving.

  As she struggled out the other side, holding her cheek, something caught her eye on the other side of the road. She could see Gavin off to the side, and then two of the three weasels, and Reid too, in the thick of a tussle on the sidewalk. As she watched, Reid grabbed hold of a kid who was flinging himself into battle—he must have been only a teenager, although he was enormous—and in one smooth move swung him around, his feet almost leaving the ground. Two thoughts flew into Cady’s mind: damn, he’s crazily strong—and then, what the hell is he doing? The kid hit the window behind him, and the sheet of glass cascaded down, showering the people nearby and scattering like uncut diamonds onto the sidewalk. Amazingly, the kid got up and ran off, seemingly unhurt.

  She’d seen it in countless movies, but in real life the shock of it made her heart leap practically into her throat. Right then, she knew she didn’t want Reid to see her. She turned and ran down the side street, not looking back, trying to process what she’d just seen. Who was this man, really? She knew almost nothing about him. Where he lived, his family, why he would give up so much of his time to hang around with Kyle the trust fund kid and his followers instead of working on his business. If that so-called business was a real thing at all. He had a bunch of pictures, but none of them had ever seen him in action.

  Distracted, she stumbled as a trio of youths ran past her toward the rabble, one of them knocking her shoulder as she sped in the other direction. She grabbed at the nearest lamp-post and stopped herself, puffing. Back where the flash mob had fallen to pieces, half a block behind her, she could see the rioters running around, and hear the occasional smash. She couldn’t see any of the team.

  Or Shelby. She looked back up the street. Hadn’t she come this way? There was no sign of her, but maybe she’d already gone back to the bus. She took one last look at the riot. Wait. There, in the middle of everything…was that her? Damn it, she couldn’t leave her there. Shelby might be determined to live, but getting arrested and deported wasn’t the way to do it. She adjusted the bag hanging across her body, and set off toward the chaos again.

  Hitting the edge of the crowd, she could just see Shelby on the other side of the road, arguing with someone…Kyle. Of course. Behind her, kids in low-rise jeans and oversized t-shirts were jumping on top of a car as the driver sat helplessly inside with the windows rolled up, his hands over his ears. Another kid stood by, taking photos on his phone. Shelby shouted some last thing at Kyle, then turned to walk away, throwing her arms up. Cady strained to keep track of her as she disappeared into the throng.

  “Shelby!” she yelled. “Shelbeeee!”

  But there was no way Shelby could hear her. She tried to step back out of the way as a wave of young guys ran at her, some holding their hoodies to cover their faces. Forced to turn and run in the same direction, or be bowled over, she found herself right in front of a policeman. In other circumstances, she might have stopped to admire the figure he cut in his uniform, but faced with a long baton and a deadly serious expression, she knew she was in strife. This new start of hers was coming to a crashing halt, right here.

  Thirty

  Squished into a corner of the paddy wagon, Cady veered from nauseating fear of what the other hyped-up occupants might do, to stressing about where Shelby was now. Every time she thought about the Wodarski-Ebner, the acid panic rose in her chest again, so she pushed it out of her mind. She had enough to think about in the here and now.

  The image of Reid flinging the guy into the window kept replaying in her head. How could it have come to this? The positive vibe they’d established with the Rownville flash mob was swept away. Okay, Kyle needed money—more than she realized, apparently. But choosing TierraChem as a sponsor, and presenting the event as a celebration of nature? That kind of blatant commercialism and sneaky manipulation bulldozed over the good they could be doing. They’d talked about commercial reality versus credibility—but that was what you called selling out.

  At the police station, it took forever to process everyone who’d been arrested. They seemed to deal with the rowdiest ones first, so it was hours later by the time Cady had her turn at being booked. She was starving. They’d taken her bag, and it sat on the desk in front of the policewoman. Alongside was arranged her passport, makeup bag, and all the other things she had jammed in there. If she wasn’t so scared right now, she’d be embarrassed about the amount of junk she carted around with her. No wonder she couldn’t find her phone in there half the time.

  Her phone. She felt in her pocket, but it was empty. Where was her phone? It must have fallen out of her pocket in the street. In all the confusion, she would never have noticed. Suddenly, she felt utterly adrift. She’d never learned the numbers of any of the Flashpointers, just entered them into the phone. And although she knew Shelby’s English number, they’d both bought SIM cards with local numbers for their US trip. Shit. She tried to think. Okay, this was the age of connectedness, it wasn’t a problem. First, buy a new phone. Then she could try and reach them via Twitter or Facebook…

  “Okay. Cady Morrow,” the policewoman began. “Arrested at flash mob riot.”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t rioting. I was going to be part of the flash mob.”

  She sighed. “Miss Morrow. It’s been a long night, and you don’t want to know what I’ve already put up with from your friends.”

  Cady started to protest that they weren’t her friends, that she was with the flash mob, not the rioters. But the policewoman raised her hand.

  “If you were part of the flash mob, why weren’t you wearing a white t-shirt like the rest of them? I’m advising you now that silence is your best course of action.” She fixed Cady with a fearsome look. “Unless I’m asking you a question.”

  Cady nodded, cursing Reid again for keeping her up so late and making her so tired she forgot to wear the right outfit.

  “I suggest you think very carefully about what you say to me from here on,” she said, making a note on the paperwork. “You can discuss your defense with your lawyer, when you call them,” she added.

  Lawyer? She didn’t have one of those…who could she call instead? Her first thought was to ring Shelby, but without her phone there was no way to reach her. Then it occurred to her that there was someone better equipped to help
. Embarrassing as it was, she knew she had to phone Holt. His number would probably be listed. Well, he’d said he wanted to be a parent—nothing like diving in at the deep end.

  As she listened to the policewoman read her rights—the right to remain silent…anything you do say…if you cannot afford an attorney—then had her fingerprints taken, and stood for mug shots, she felt encased in a bubble of unreality. It was surreal to go through the same procedures she’d seen on innumerable cop shows.

  Then the policewoman showed her to a phone. When he answered, Holt sounded so pleased to hear from her that she hated to admit why she was calling, especially after they’d left in a rush, in a huff. There was more to talk about there. But, first things first. She gave him the bare details of what had just happened.

  There was a long silence at the other end. Was he too mad at her? He may have had his own wild youth, but she had no idea how disapproving he’d be faced with this kind of situation. Maybe this was a line crossed, in his book.

  “I’m not sure who else to ask for help,” she said simply. “I’ve lost my phone, and all the contact numbers for the Flashpointers, and Shelby too.”

  “It’s okay. I was just sending my attorney a message,” he said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. Where is Shelby?”

  “I don’t know, and I can’t call her without my phone. I’m worried about where she ended up.”

  Hopefully she was safely back at the bus, plumping up Kyle’s ego and determinedly justifying everything in her own mind. The test result revelation made Cady look at her sister through a new lens. How had she coped all this time, carrying that knowledge? It hadn’t seemed to make her more empathetic, just more determined to live on the edge. If she stopped to think of Cady, would she worry about where she was? Would she be calling the lost cellphone, wondering why there was no answer?

  “I’ll try and reach her,” Holt said. “Just don’t get in any more trouble until we get there.”

  * * *

  A couple of very long hours later, a new police officer came and got her from the holding cell, where she’d been trying not to get to know any of her fellow occupants.

  “Your lawyer is here,” he said shortly, indicating that she should come out.

  She followed him to a small room, feeling like an extra on Law and Order. He waved her in, and the door closed behind her. A man was waiting, his mouth a straight line as he stood behind the table with his hands on his briefcase, fingers spread. His sharp, dark suit and sleekly combed hair looked as perfect as if it was his first appointment of the morning, not a late-night emergency call-out.

  “Thank you for coming,” Cady said. It wasn’t like any of this was her fault—she was only trying to get her stubborn-assed sister out of the trouble she was surely heading for. But she still felt shamefaced as the lawyer stepped forward and shook her hand.

  “Preston Bridges,” he said introducing himself. He had the direct gaze and bracing handshake of a man who made things happen. “I’ll do what I can. Your father is waiting outside.”

  It was still jarring to hear him referred to as her father. “Thank you,” she said again, grateful that someone was here to help.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he said brusquely. “You need to tell me what happened. Every detail.”

  Cady nodded. With this impressively efficient man on her side, she felt a tendril of hope begin to emerge. Maybe she wouldn’t be flung into jail, only to emerge months later with an unwanted tattoo and a new, all-too-intimate understanding of ‘sisterhood’. But what would happen? Surely she’d be out of the country, at least. Could she hope for a voluntary exit, instead of an ignominious departure with a revoked visa? The thought of arriving back in London with her tail between her legs was too depressing.

  She took a breath, and told him everything. He asked a few questions, and quizzed her particularly about Kyle. She gave him all the information she could, leaving out the meth pipe in the bathroom. She couldn’t decide whether that detail would help or hinder things, so she skirted around it. It made her realize how little she knew about the enigmatic leader of their little band. She had no idea what he’d been like during the days they were away at Santa Almendra, but after today’s flash mob disaster she suspected he must have gone seriously downhill, aided and abetted by the three weasels. And all the positive results from their Rownville event would now be overshadowed, probably erased, by today’s drama. She was desperate to get online and see what was being reported and discussed, but she tried to focus on the questions Preston Bridges was firing at her.

  After some time, he decided he’d heard enough. “Wait here,” he told her. Then he left the room, leaving her sitting at the bare table with no idea what would happen next.

  He was gone long enough for her butt to go numb in the hard chair. When he came back she stood up with relief, and hope, waiting to hear what he had to report. His face gave nothing away, but then a police officer followed him in.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “You’re free to go,” the police officer said. He handed over her bag, and she took it, resisting the urge to break out a little jig of relief right there in the sterile room. Taking her cue from the serious faces, she nodded somberly instead.

  But when the police officer left, she turned to Preston Bridges.

  “Oh my God, thank you,” she said. She wanted to hug him, but the suit, combined with his upright bearing, deflected any kind of frivolity. She settled for another handshake, and he nodded, a glimmer of humor showing in his eyes.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, smiling at last. “Come on, your father’s waiting.”

  She followed him to the building’s main doors, where Holt was waiting, pacing. When he saw them he stopped and said a brusque hello, looking every inch the serious and disapproving father. The he looked at his lawyer. “Well?”

  “The charges have been dropped,” he said.

  “Good. Thank you. I knew you could do it.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Cady felt she could hardly say it enough times. “And thank you, too,” she said, turning to Holt. “I really appreciate it. Really.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, a smile finally lightening his expression. “This man knows his stuff.”

  Preston took the praise as his due. “I do.”

  They went out of the building, emerging into a chilly night. Cady pulled her light denim jacket out of her canvas bag and put it on. She needed something warmer. And, more importantly, they needed to find Shelby.

  Preston paused at the top of the steps. “Holt, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes. Thanks again,” Holt told him, and they shook hands and clapped each other’s shoulders.

  “Any time,” he replied. Then he looked at Cady, a little of his businesslike manner slipping now that the job was done. “Nice to meet Holt’s daughter.” He smiled, the older-than-his-years demeanor replaced by an appealing warmth. “Goodnight.”

  Holt’s daughter. As she wished Preston goodnight, she thought about that whole world that she and Shelby could be part of, if Holt invited them in—and if they wanted to. But Mrs. G’s story had changed everything in their minds. And the thought of her dad, at home in England unaware of all this, still made her feel awful. How had her mother carried the guilt all these years, without going crazy? Now Cady had inherited it, along with the money, and probably a genetic time bomb. Anne, or Adrienne, or whoever she was, had left her daughters with a bequest more complicated than cash.

  Holt opened the door of his truck for her, and she clambered in. As he started the engine, she shivered. Despite the jacket, she was cold in the summer dress and sneakers she’d put on that morning. Apart from the canvas bag she wore across her body, containing a few essentials, everything else was on the bus.

  He turned up the heating. “The seat warmer should kick in soon.”

  “Thank you.”

  She rubbed her thighs vigorously, hoping to warm her hands and her legs at the same time.
The last time they all saw each other, none of them had any idea the girls would be making an abrupt exit from Santa Almendra. The truth about the original Cady and Shelby had come as a shock, but part two of that shock—the abortion—had detonated like a depth charge under their fragile father-daughter relationship. It was probably better that they’d let it sink in away from the farm. But it had been an awkward departure.

  “Um…about what happened. When we left…”

  He took his foot off the gas, letting the truck idle in the empty street so that he could look right at her. “Bee told me why you left. It’s not true, you know. I was a screw-up, but I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  Her face was obviously unconvinced, because he carried on.

  “Look, you girls have had a lot to deal with lately, and that was just one more thing. But some things in life are way more complicated than anyone can know, looking from the outside.” His voice was thoughtful. “Let’s just cut each other some slack for now, and see what happens.”

  “Well…okay.” She sighed, a long, weary breath that left her sagged in the seat. She was so tired. “I appreciate your help.”

  And the selfish truth was, she needed that help right now. She was exhausted, hungry, and lacking one sister. Figuring out the truths and untruths—whether Mrs. G’s story was a revelation, or only an accusation—would have to wait. She just couldn’t deal with everything at once.

  “That’s okay.” He put the truck back in gear. “Family, right?”

  She managed a smile. “Yeah. Did you talk to Shelby?”

  “She wasn’t answering her phone,” he said. “Where do you think she might be?”

  “I don’t know really. Back at the bus, maybe.” She looked around the night-time streets, with no idea where they were. “It was parked back near where we had the flash mob.”

  “That was no flash mob,” he said dryly, indicating a left turn.

  She sighed. “I know. It was a disaster.”