Smead stared him down. “Don’t you see I’m trying to help you? But when we get back to town, you’ve got some serious explaining to do. Or yes, you’re exactly right. I have no choice but to turn you over.”
The remainder of the short trip to county lockup was silent. Trey played over every scenario he could imagine describing to Smead, each, as true as they were, sounded more outlandish than the prior.
* * *
Heavy steel doors slammed shut on the small, closet-sized holding cell, isolating Trey from Zach and Smead. The foul smell of body odor and excrement filled the air, and the poor hose-job performed on the cell between suspects added a dampness that only ripened the odor.
Another door slammed nearby, followed by Smead’s bellowing command. “I’ll let you boys simmer a while and think about what you want to tell me.”
Trey pushed up to the small window centered in the reinforced glass. “We’re losing time. I’ll tell you everything you need to know right now.”
Smead turned his back and started down the hall.
“Seriously! Everything! Carl, Dale, your fishing nightmare. All of it.”
Smead stopped in his tracks. The big man turned with a flame in his eyes. “Who told you about that?”
“Nobody! Honest to God, Sheriff. I was there.”
Smead looked to his deputy. “Take them to the interrogation room. I’ll be there in a minute.” He slowly stepped away, rubbing the nape of his neck. He paused to turn back. “Remember, they aren’t here till I say they’re here.”
* * *
The dank interrogation room smelled significantly better than the holding cell, and aside from the ominous mirrored-glass window, it felt far less criminal.
Trey turned his face from the camera in the corner, awkwardly twisting in his chair with both hands cuffed behind his back.
Zach sat quietly staring at their reflections in identical restraints.
The door creaked open and the sheriff stepped inside. “You have a right to have an attorney present.”
Trey eyed the hallway. “I’m good. Close the door.”
Smead complied and twisted the lock.
“Who’s back there?” Trey asked, head motioning toward the mirror.
Smead flipped a wall-switch. “Nobody.”
The room lit up behind the glass, barely revealing a dim, empty room.
“Lose the camera,” Trey demanded.
Smead nodded. “We’re off the record. For now.”
Trey straightened and glanced at the lifeless camera.
“It’s just the three of us,” Smead added. “Unless that’s a problem.”
Trey made brief eye contact with his best friend.
“I’m good,” said Zach, adding a nod.
Trey took a deep breath. “Sheriff, there’s no other way to explain this than to say I’m not like anyone you’ve met.”
That got a smile out of the hefty sheriff.
“I’m serious here. I have certain . . . talents that have drawn the attention of some really bad people. Thugs like Carl and Dale who tried to exploit me to get rich.”
Smead’s smile faded, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You mean, like getting into people’s heads and messing with their dreams.”
“Yes, but there’s much more to it than that.”
“Go on, then.”
“I can take on the appearance of anyone I want.”
“Ah, yes,” the sheriff said, “it was in the rap sheet. Master of disguises.”
Trey had reached his limit on dialogue. Without telling the lawman, he burst into a full-blown projection, mirroring Sheriff Smead from head to toe.
Bombshell
TREY RECLINED ONTO the springy cot inside his musty jail cell. Zach sat against the opposite wall, facing him with a piercing stare.
“Did you have to be so brash?” Zach asked.
Trey folded his arms and stared at the ceiling. “How was I supposed to know the man would freak out? I thought he was a tough-guy and could handle it.”
“Why couldn’t you have shown him a poor helpless girl instead of shoving his twin in his face?”
“Yeah, well, I screwed up. It doesn’t matter now. He ratted us out, and I’m sure those phony FBI creeps are already on their way.”
Zach scooted to the edge of his bunk. “Do you think they’ll kill us?”
Trey shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m actually more afraid of what happens if they don’t.”
“Great,” Zach grumbled. “You could’ve lied to me.”
Trey rolled to face him. “If it makes you feel better, I think they’ll kill you right away, quick and painless.”
Zach narrowed his eyes. “Are you being serious right now or patronizing me?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry, okay? That’s it. That’s all I can say. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Trey rolled onto his back. “Dylan had the right idea. I should have run away with Livy when we had the chance. At least you and Amy would be safe.”
“Don’t give me that crap. We knew what we were up against. We could have stayed away. But we didn’t.”
“And maybe you should have.”
Zach got quiet. “It was worth the risk.”
Trey pointed to their cell walls. “Worth all this?”
“Yes,” Zach answered quietly. “And God knows Amy would agree.”
Trey turned to Zach, stunned by the resentful tone. “What does that mean?”
“I think you know what that means.”
“No, Zach. I don’t.”
Zach rolled into his cot and faced the ceiling. “She’s in love with you.”
Trey was dumbfounded. “Uh, you mean, like . . .”
“like . . . yeah. Get a clue, bro.”
Trey was left speechless, but the revelation served to open Zach’s flood gate. “She doesn’t think I know, but you can’t hide something so obvious. I almost broke it off with her when I figured it out, but with us going to different schools this fall, I figured I’d just let everything fizzle out without a fuss.”
Trey found his tongue. “Don’t be so sure. You’re reading too much into something that’s not really there.”
“No, I’m not as blind as you are.” Zach huffed nervously. “Not that it matters now anyway.”
Trey flopped onto his back. He and Zach were screwed, but Livy and Amy still had a real shot at getting safely out of town. Concrete walls couldn’t prevent him from knowing if the girls were in danger.
He relaxed, readying his projection to take him on a journey across town. “Quiet down now and let me concentrate.”
High overhead, long rust-stained cracks stretched across the plastered ceiling. Trey’s eyes widened with the recollection of his freakish dream days earlier. He rose onto his elbows to scan the small cell around him.
“What?” Zach asked.
Trey’s eyes shot to his cellmate. “Do you have something to write with?”
Zach mockingly patted his pockets. “No, why?”
“I think you’re supposed to write something.”
Zach stared crossly. “Write what? A confession.”
A loud metal latch opened, echoing through the hallway leading to their cell.
Trey spun to a sitting position and stared through the iron bars. In the distance, two thin men in black fitted suits walked toward him with Sheriff Smead bringing up the rear.
Trey froze in utter disbelief. Something in the recesses of his mind had lied to him, telling him Smead would reconsider.
In perfect sync, the two men removed dark sunglasses and tucked them into their jacket pockets.
Side-by-side, the men stepped closer. Polished shoes clicked steadily against the hard tile floor as Trey rose to face his doom.
Two clean-cut and smooth-shaven men peered through the cell bars.
The one on the right spoke dully, “Trey Collins?”
�
��That’s right,” Trey admitted.
Both men lifted smartphone shaped devices from their pockets and shoved them between the bars. Trey cringed, bracing himself for the lightning bolt that was about to kill or incapacitate him.
A series of camera shutter-clicks erupted. The men turned their lenses toward Zach and the rapid shutter-fire continued.
Trey’s heart fluttered at the fact he was still standing upright, still breathing. He focused on the men. No vibrations rippled from their fully human faces.
He stepped closer. Still nothing!
The men studied their phone displays with small beady eyes. The man on the left pointed to Zach. “Keep him here overnight, then release him.” He looked to Trey. “You’re coming with us.”
Smead stepped forward to unlock the cell. “What about the charges?”
“They’ll be dropped by morning.”
The latch flipped with a heavy clunk, and the steel hinges squealed open.
The agents coldly waved Trey from the cell, one at each side of the door. Trey cornered his eyes to Zach and stepped between the two men, relieved his best friend was off the hook.
He glared at the sheriff. “Did you run a check on these guys?”
Smead didn’t answer, avoiding eye contact to pull the bars closed.
The men nodded over their shoulders, signaling Trey onward. With no cuffs or strong-armed grip, Trey started cautiously up the hallway, the men closing in on each side. Behind him, the sheriff locked up the cell in a jingling frenzy and trotted after them, breathing hard to catch up.
The men stopped Trey at the interrogation room and peered inside.
“This will work,” one man said, inviting Trey inside with one hand and directing his partner into the viewing room with the other.
As Trey entered, the man spoke behind his back. “Thank you, Sheriff. We’ll let you know if we need you.”
“But, I’d like to—“
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t let you inside.”
Trey turned to see the agent close and lock the door.
The sharp-dressed man studied Trey, then smiled.
“Have a seat.”
Trey pulled up a chair on the far end of the table, keeping an angle on both the agent in the room and the one lurking behind the glass. Without the handcuffs, he freely leaned forward and slid his elbows onto the table.
The dim silhouette inside the viewing room gave an all-clear signal, and the other man stepped toward the table. “I’m agent McDonnel.” He motioned toward his partner. “That’s agent Graff.”
Trey nodded.
“Let me get right to it. We’re willing to offer you the protection of the United States Government in exchange for your full cooperation.”
“Cooperation with what?”
“Intelligence, for starters. We need to know everything you can tell us about who you are and where you came from.”
Trey sensed that the clowns in fancy suits were just as clueless as the late Carl and Dale gang. “And who exactly would you be protecting me from?”
McDonnel woke his phone display and punched in the longest security code Trey had ever witnessed. He spun the screen and showed a full-color picture of one very ticked-off black-eyed alien.
Trey forced out an unconvincing laugh. “Aliens? You’re kidding, right?”
The agent smugly cycled through the photos on his phone and produced an image of Trey inside the jail cell. Trey’s huge, blue, startled eyes were undeniable.
McDonnel pulled back the phone and spoke peacefully. “Work with us here.”
Trey ran fingers through his hair. “And if I don’t?”
“We’ll turn you over to the CIA on charges of espionage.”
Trey straightened. “I’m not a spy.”
“Now listen, kid. We know you have eyes and ears inside the bureau. If you provide us with names we can corroborate, we’re willing to offer full immunity.”
Trey shook his head rigorously. “Immunity from what? I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just a high school student from a nowhere town. I don’t know anything about your spies.”
“Then what exactly is your connection to Dylan West and Nigel Livingston?”
Trey bit his tongue, not sure how to answer. After a moment’s thought, he bounded for the door.
The agent reacted swiftly and caught Trey’s arm, whipping him to a halt before he could reach the latch. Trey threw a leg forward and planted a kick against the center of the steel door. “Sheriff, get me out—“
A sharp blow to the back forced the wind from Trey’s lungs. An instant later, McDonnel had him immobilized, his mouth covered tightly.
“You’re only making it difficult for yourself, kid.”
Pounding erupted from the other side of the door. A muffled voice barely penetrated the thick steel. “What’s going on in there?”
McDonnel gestured toward Agent Graff, sending him from the viewing room into the hallway.
A hard object pressed against Trey’s back, tweaking a rib. McDonnel spoke in a seething tone. “Bite my hand, you half-breed freak, and I’ll have every reason to pull the trigger.”
The door-pounding stopped and silence prevailed outside the interrogation room.
Trey breathed heavily through one nostril, whistling air against the man’s hand.
An eternity passed as they stared at the locked door.
Agent Graff returned to the viewing room donning a wide smile, flashing okay symbols in each hand.
McDonnel shoved Trey toward the door. “You will cooperate.”
For the second time in just a few hours, Trey had handcuffs slapped onto his wrists. He stood silently as McDonnel unlatched the door and peered out into the empty halls.
The agent grabbed a fistful of t-shirt and dragged Trey through the doorway. Moments later, Graff stepped into the hall to greet them.
“Where’s the sheriff?” McDonnel asked.
Agent Graff lifted his pistol and pointed it directly at McDonnel’s face. “Right behind you.”
A gun hammer locked into position, confirming the sheriff’s presence.
Graff wriggled out of existence, and in his place Dylan stood at dead aim, eyeing Agent McDonnel fiercely. Strapped to his chest, baby Pearl faced Trey, blissfully unaware of the serious circumstances taking place around her.
Dylan looked to Trey and grinned. “Wassup?”
Flee
JUST OUTSIDE THE interrogation room at Longwood County Jail, Trey spun away from Dylan and Baby Pearl to find Zach nervously pointing a revolver at Agent McDonnel. Sheriff Smead was nowhere in sight.
Dylan stepped to McDonnel and lifted the pistol from inside the agent’s jacket. Even without his Captain Scarface impression and toting a baby on his chest, the burly blond commanded respect. “To the jail cell.”
McDonnel turned to face Zach head-on, sending a clear message the criminal charges had just skyrocketed.
Zach steadied his aim. “Go.”
The agent stiffly turned away and stepped toward the door to the jail cells. Dylan set off in close pursuit, wielding a gun in each hand and a baby on his chest.
Trey eyed Zach. “Welcome to FBI’s most wanted.”
Zach sighed tensely. “Gotta keep up with my pals.”
“And we better keep up with Dylan. Come on.”
With hands cuffed behind his back, Trey picked up the pace and followed into the open cell block. At the end of the long narrow hallway, Agent Graff and Sheriff Smead waited behind iron bars.
Zach waved the revolver haphazardly in one hand and fumbled at the lock with a bundle of keys in the other until the door swung open.
Dylan shoved McDonnel inside the cell and waved his gun at the sheriff. “Find the keys to these cuffs.”
Smead checked the agent’s pockets and pulled out a single key. He tossed it to Zach. “You boys are making a big mistake. It’s not too late to turn this around.”
Graff and McDonnel remained silent as the bars slammed in
their faces, their unflinching calmness oddly unsettling.
As soon as Trey’s cuffs dropped to the floor, the boys broke into a run and flew from the cell block into the corridors of county lockup, their sneakers squeaking on the waxed tile floor.
Dylan screeched to a halt. “Watch out,” he said, pointing to a large pool of clear liquid on the floor. He quickly stepped over it and pointed to the small holding cell. “The deputy had a little accident earlier.”
A bewildered face stared back through the wire-reinforced glass door of the holding chamber.
Seconds later, the gang of fugitives burst out onto the front steps. Dylan’s hastily parked beater sat with one wheel up on the curb. A shiny black SUV sat across the street, illegally parked in front of a hydrant.
Zach dangled a set of FBI car keys. “Do we dare?”
Everyone eyed one another devilishly.
“No,” said Trey. “There might be a way to track it.”
Zach stuffed the keys into his pocket and darted toward the faded-gold four-door sedan.
Dylan lifted Pearl from his chest harness and leaned into the back seat with his ass in the air, the butts of two pistols sticking out of his jeans.
Trey tugged on the tail of Dylan’s t-shirt. “Come on. Let Zach buckle her in.”
Dylan waved him off, taking his precious time.
Trey pulled open the passenger door and flopped inside. He looked back to see Zach settle in beside the car seat as Dylan checked the snugness of the straps. Satisfied, Dylan lifted the pacifier that dangled from a ribbon pinned to Pearl’s chest and popped it into her mouth. Only then did he kick into high gear and race around the car to the driver’s seat.
With a puff of white exhaust, the car tore away from the county jail and barreled at high speed up the quiet city street.
“Which way?” Dylan asked, gripping the wheel like it were the one trying to escape.
“Left at the light,” Trey said quickly. “Give me your phone?”
Dylan shook his head. “Don’t have one.”
“What?”
“I was trying to disappear.”
The car lurched to the side as Dylan cut the sharp turn without slowing down, ignoring the light that had freshly changed from yellow to red.
Misplaced Trilogy Page 19