Sidekick

by Auralee Wallace

  I shuffled on my knees back out into the hall.

  “What are you doing?”

  I looked up.

  Queenie hovered over me in four-inch spike-heeled boots. She wore a faux Dalmatian fur coat and her hair was dyed half-white, half-black.

  I mumbled something that even I didn’t understand.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Something like that,” I said thickly.

  Through the fog in my brain, alarm bells were going off. Car doors slammed outside. Next, loud footsteps stomped through the door below.

  “Do you need a ride?” Queenie asked.

  I nodded.

  She helped me up, and we headed in the opposite direction of the stairs to the window with the fire escape.

  “Why are you helping me?” I asked, blinking my eyes in a vain attempt to get my focus back.

  “I thought you knew,” she said without inflection. “We’re like best friends now.”

  I laughed a little. “You’re being sarc—”

  I don’t remember what I said after that. Darkness rolled me down.

  When I came to, I was in Queenie’s tiny and immaculately clean car.

  I looked out the window, but I didn’t recognize the street.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You tell me,” Queenie said without looking over.

  “I don’t know yet.” I lifted my hands to pat my body down for the phone I had worked so hard to get.

  Queenie’s hand flopped over. My phone rolled onto my lap.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Queenie didn’t say anything, so I turned my attention to the phone. It still worked. I punched in Pierce’s number.

  Voice mail.

  “Well?” Queenie asked.

  “Do you know where the offices for The World Chronicles are?”

  She nodded.

  I slumped back into oblivion.

  I woke when the car stopped.

  I blinked my eyes open. We were parked down the street from a building lit up with a computerized marquee.

  “Do you want me to wait?” Queenie asked.

  “Kind of.”

  “Fine. Put these on,” she said, reaching into the back hutch then tossing me a zebra-print raincoat and a Davy Crocket hat.

  “Thanks.”

  Queenie looked at me, her eyes lined with heavy black make-up. “You’re kind of a pathetic superhero.”

  “But I’m an awesome bunny.”

  Queenie turned her face back to the windshield.

  She liked the bunny.

  I hobbled down the street, tired, nauseous and in agony.

  I passed a group of kids. One of them threw a couple of coins at me. I was too tired to swear at them. I had to focus on not looking crazy so whoever was working the front desk would let me see Pierce.

  Luckily, just then, his handsome figure walked out the front door.

  Relief ran through me like cool water. Now I could let go of the horrible fear that Pierce was chained to a wall in a dungeon somewhere with the Sultana running her evil hands all over his naked, sweaty chest.

  “Pierce!” I called out.

  He turned to face me. For a second, he looked almost hurt, then it disappeared into something angrier.

  He stopped walking but didn’t move towards me.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” I called out. The words were out before I had a chance to think about them. It was for the best. It was time to tell him the truth. I could only hope that he would understand.

  I hobbled up to him.

  He took in my limp. A look of concern passed over his face, but it also turned quickly into something very un-Pierce-like.

  “Hey,” I said, not sure where to begin.

  “Bremy.”

  “I have so much—”

  Bremy. He had said Bremy. I didn’t think it was possible to feel any worse, but suddenly I did.

  “Pierce…I can explain.”

  Did those words ever work for anyone?

  “Don’t bother,” he said coldly. “Your father already did.”

  I closed my eyes. My father.

  “I must have looked like a pretty big idiot, huh?” Pierce asked. He suddenly sounded a decade younger.

  “Pierce, no—”

  “I knew you were lying about your identity, but never once did it occur to me that you were Bremy St. James,” he said, pulling something from his breast pocket. “I even had this picture of you in a file on my desk.”

  He passed me a torn page from a magazine. It was a glossy shot of me at a hotel pool party, holding a margarita glass.

  “You changed your hair…you’ve gone back to blonde.” His eyes flicked to my hat. “I don’t think you need the disguise anymore.”

  I tried desperately to think of the right thing to say, but everything in my head sounded wrong.

  “So,” he said cocking his head, “were you laughing at me the whole time?”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I would never laugh at you. I wanted to tell you. It was just—”

  “Just that you were working for your father?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry. He already told me. You were the source feeding me false information.” He wagged a finger at me, sick smile on his face. “Then you were keeping an eye on me to make sure I was on the wrong track.”

  “Oh my God, Pierce—” I reached for him, but he stepped back.

  “What I don’t understand is the craziness of your disguises. Was that to make it more fun? Prove how easy it was to make the dumb guy fall for you?”

  “Fall? Me?” Tears filled my eyes.

  “Or maybe it was to keep me off balance.” He bit his lower lip while shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You got me. I don’t have the appetite to investigate your dad anymore. Job well done,” he said throwing his hands wide. “I always knew Atticus St. James was an evil bastard…I just didn’t know how cruel his daughter was.”

  Pierce turned to walk away. I reached out to grab his arm. The motion sent pain shooting through my torso. I sucked air in through my teeth.

  Pierce turned suddenly to reach for me, but, just as suddenly, he pulled back.

  “You should go to the hospital,” he said coolly. “It looks like you’re hurt.”

  He started walking backwards.

  “And don’t worry, I won’t tip off the paparazzi,” he called out. “Unless of course you want me to?”

  I couldn’t find the breath to speak.

  “No? Okay then. Good. Have a nice life, Bremy St. James.”

  He turned and walked away.

  Every step broke a piece of my heart.

  ***

  “What was that?” Queenie asked. “I didn’t know Ken was allowed to break up with Barbie.”

  I said nothing as I lowered myself into the passenger seat of the car.

  I tried slamming the door, but the stupid Smart Car was paper-thin.

  I told Queenie where I wanted to go next, and she turned over the engine.

  “Why there?”

  “Because that’s where I’ll find the answer.”

  “The answer to what?” Queenie asked, almost sounding like a normal person with interest in others.

  I stared coldly out the window. “To how to destroy a billionaire.”

  “For Dummies?”

  “Shut up, Queenie.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Bart, Queenie. Queenie, Bart.”

  The two stared at each other in a weird, modern day western showdown.

  Bart slowly took the lollypop he had been sucking from his mouth.

  “Nice fur.”

  Queenie said nothing, just turned and stalked towards the shelves.

  I walked over to Bart. His eyes were still on Queenie.

  “Aren’t you going to try your moves on her?”

  “I have to decide if it’s worth it.”

  “If what is worth it?”

  “If the sex is worth having my head b
eing bitten off afterwards,” he said. “I’m thinking it is, but I’m going to ponder it a little while longer.”

  “Whatever,” I said groaning as new pain shot through my ribs. “We have more important issues to discuss.”

  “You look like hell by the way,” Bart said wrinkling his nose. “Did you miss a stair?”

  “I missed all five storeys of them.”

  “Nasty.”

  He turned and walked into the cave. I followed the line of old pizza crumbs trailing in his wake.

  When we got to the other room, he handed me my disposable phone. “Couldn’t help but notice your father didn’t open your suicide note.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Right. Moving on. So you thought you’d open a four thousand page document,” he said sitting on a table beside a computer. “I hope you know that covering up your shenanigans got me this.”

  He held up his right hand. On the pinky finger was about three rolls of gauze.

  “You broke your finger?”

  “Yes, I broke my finger,” he said. “I broke my finger trying to save your ass! There is a reason guys like me gravitate towards computers over contact sports. My body is a temple.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? That’s it?” Bart sounded genuinely surprised. “No smart ass comment?”

  “I’m tired.”

  “And heartbroken too,” he said nodding sadly. “I saw your break-up scene on the street. It was better than the Mexican soap operas my stepmother used to watch. I actually bought you a hot chocolate, but then I drank it.” He pointed to an empty paper cup in the trash.

  I didn’t even have the energy to glare at him.

  “Come on, don’t take it so hard. Sure, he has model good looks, and muscles that leave me slightly jealous…if not aroused, but, seriously now, he was researching your dad and didn’t recognize you? That’s pretty sad.”

  “Quit it Bart.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll lay off Prince Charming. I’m just saying, as your friend, I think you can do better.”

  Friend? I looked at Bart’s face. Not an ounce of bullshit to be found.

  Friend.

  I was surprised that he had said it…but grateful. I could still feel the sting of my sister’s words.

  “Okay, enough of the love fest,” Bart said clapping his hands together. “Do I have shit to share with you.”

  “Like what?” I asked following Bart towards another computer.

  “Okay, while it was extremely reckless of you to send that document—like riding a motorcycle with your hair on fire reckless—you did manage to send me the mother lode on this chip your father’s company has designed.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “Good is relative,” he said sitting in the chair in front of the computer. “Is it good to know the apocalypse is coming?”

  I ran a hand over my face. “Do I really have to answer that right now? My brain hurts too much for theoreticals.”

  “Hypothetical. You mean hypothetical sit—never mind. See? It’s all right here,” he said, waving a hand towards a screen full of numbers and weird schematics. “This chip is so much more than an antidepressant. At first, when I heard about it, I thought it was a glorified battery that sent jolts of electricity to under-functioning parts of the brain.”

  “And it’s not?”

  He swivelled his chair to face me. “Oh no. It’s a program.” He rested his elbows on the armrests and pyramided his hands in front of his chest. “A mind control program.”

  I suppose I should have been shocked, but all I felt was sick.

  “Your father can use this chip to turn people into robots.”

  Yup, that sounded right. It explained what had happened to the circus performers.

  “And he doesn’t even have to be at the computer to do it. It has voice recognition software, so the bots will accept commands from whoever’s voice the chip is programmed to.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “But it gets worse.”

  “Of course it does.”

  Bart tapped the screen with the back of his hand without looking at it. “This program also has what I like to call a kill switch. If it’s activated, these people will turn into raving lunatics—all the angry, primitive parts of the brain set off at once. We’re talking aggression, no holds barred violence, cannibalism—”

  I held up my hand.

  “Well, you get the idea. All rational parts of the frontal lobe would be disabled. Nothing can stop a person like that.”

  I slumped over onto some shelving. “Great.”

  “But there is good news.”

  I turned my head to look at him. “And what’s that?”

  “The kill switch can’t be activated by voice alone. That command has to come from the master administrator of the program who, I assume, is your father.”

  “And that’s good news?”

  “Well, it means that not just anybody can set if off.”

  I supposed that was a good thing given the Sultana’s penchant for crazy.

  I suddenly stood up straight. “Why?”

  “Why what?” Bart asked turning back to his computer.

  “Why? Why create this chip? Where’s the angle? Where’s the money? Where is the evil mastermindness?”

  “That, I don’t know.”

  “I’ve got to talk to Choden,” I said, already dreading travelling to yet another place that wasn’t my bed.

  “Who’s Choden?”

  “Finally something you don’t know,” I said grumpily.

  “Hey, don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.”

  “Ugh. Choden is Ryder’s…mentor-like guy,” I said.

  Bart perked right up like a pudgy dog hearing his master say treat and whirled his chair back around.

  “No way. That’s so awesome. I’m coming with you.”

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I said, wishing I had kept my mouth shut. “I have to go to some sort of secret lair. It’s probably not cool to bring friends.”

  Bart’s eyes widened. “Oh, now I’m definitely coming.”

  “You know you have about as much chance with Ryder as you do with Queenie…actually…less…much less.”

  “This is my Waterloo, Bremy. Don’t take it from me.”

  “Fine, you can come, but first, I need to run a few ideas by—”

  Queenie walked into the room.

  “A shiny woman came looking for you,” she said to Bart.

  “That would be Tonia. She likes glitter,” Bart answered. “Did you send her away?”

  “She is…gone.”

  I shuddered. Bart smiled.

  Well, at least somebody was on the path to love.

  ***

  This was awkward.

  Queenie, Bart, and I were all sitting around a table in an underground, brick room, waiting for Choden to bring us tea.

  The space itself was actually pretty comfortable. How he had managed to furnish a forgotten room in a subway tunnel was beyond me.

  We sat on wooden chairs with woven cushions. Rush mats covered the floor giving the room some warmth and somewhere there was incense burning. The cheeriness of the place, however, did nothing to dispel the weirdness. I felt a little like the three of us had been sent to the principal’s office for scaring the other children, and Choden was going to fix the situation with some herbal tea.

  “Where’s Ryder?” Bart whispered leaning over to me.

  I shot him yet another ineffective death glare.

  “What?”

  “Don’t you think you have enough on the go already?” I whispered, casting a quick glance over to Queenie.

  “You let me worry about that.”

  “Queenie is my friend.” The word sounded even stranger in reference to her, but my hair was glorious even in underground lighting. I owed it to her. “You just keep it together.”

  “Ryder is my dream woman whereas Queenie could be girlfriend
material.”

  “Fine, but I don’t think Queenie is the type of girl you want to mess with,” I said quickly. “Don’t blame me if she chops your privates into little bits and turns them into accessories.”

  “Is it wrong that I’m kind of turned on right now?”

  “Yes!”

  “So,” Choden said, bringing the tray to the table, “tell me what you have discovered.”

  Bart and I filled Choden in on what we had learned. Queenie sat quietly doing her best imitation of a creepy girl in a Japanese horror movie.

  Choden’s expression didn’t change as we spoke, but the intensity of his focus grew. Suddenly it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Choden smile fully since the attack on Ryder. Funny how that smile had been so aggravating before and now I missed it.

  “Perhaps we should go over the main points of what we have learned before we decide on a course of action,” Choden said when we were through.

  Bart and I nodded in agreement.

  “Your father has developed a chip that can turn people into slaves and also into lunatics.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your father has implanted these chips into some, if not all, prisoners at the maximum security penitentiary on the outskirts of the city.”

  “Yes.”

  “Further, you found a memo which suggests whatever your father has planned, it will be occurring tomorrow evening.”

  “Yes.”

  Choden took a sip of tea. “Hmm, this does sound quite bad.”

  “But I just don’t understand why he would want a bunch of prisoners to go nuts,” I said. “I mean, he’s trying to sell this technology as a cure for criminal behavior.”

  “And why develop the kill switch?” Bart added taking his own sip of tea. “This is fantastic by the way.”

  I slammed my palms down on the table. “Okay, you guys need to be a little more freaked out!”

  “The situation is quite serious, child,” Choden said calmly, “but hysteria will not help us. Is there perhaps something more you haven’t told us?”

  I slumped back into my chair. “I can’t stop thinking about something my father said.”

  They waited.

  “That I should know he would never think on such a small scale. Whatever is going down tomorrow night…we’re missing something. It’s bigger than we think.”

  “Well, if it’s that big, he can’t be planning to simply cure these prisoners,” Bart said. “Bad guys playing nice doesn’t interrupt your regularly scheduled programming.”