"Oh, fuck," I whispered, reaching for my shorts and coming up empty. Where the heck had Jenny tossed them? I sat up, searching frantically.
"What?" Jenny asked.
A rustling in the woods indicated the whereabouts of the missing CHP officer. Footfalls crunched the leaves and a tall, dark specter loomed above us, his features cast in shadows.
"Afternoon, Officer," I croaked, while Jenny groaned, rolling to one side reaching for her halter top half-submerged in the leaves.
"Stop," the officer commanded. "Both of you. Keep your hands where I can see them."
Jenny and I froze. The cop stooped and hefted my missing shorts on the end of his nightstick. He tossed them in my lap.
"I heard someone scream. It sounded like a woman."
"That was me," Jenny moaned.
The officer regarded her for a few moments. "All right, you two can go ahead and get dressed. And then I'll need license and registration."
I'd never been so happy to pull on my clothes in my life. And I'd never seen anyone dress as fast as Jenny. It was like a magic act: one second she was naked as a jailbird – I hoped that was only metaphorical – the next she was dressed and patting down her hair.
Jenny's terrified expression as we handed over our licenses snapped me back to the chilling reality that I was a minor. Which made Jenny a felon. I'd always thought that if someone made a complaint we could just say we were friends. Who could prove otherwise? Not really an option now. What were the odds a highway patrol cop would be driving by at the exact wrong moment? This was insane.
The officer took his time checking out our licenses.
"You're Jennifer Green?" When she nodded he turned to me. "Aiden Stevens?"
"Yeah."
"Ms. Green, I'm placing you under arrest for statutory rape. Please lie face down and place your hands behind your back. Mr. Stevens stay right where you are."
"Officer," I pleaded, "I know it's hard to believe, but I've been granted an exemption from the age of consent laws by the Reproductive Safety Agency."
"Huh." He released a low chuckle. "Can't say I've ever heard that one before."
"But it's true!"
"Save it, Aiden," said Jenny. "They'll only believe it when you bring in the document."
The officer hauled Jenny to her feet and paused, looking between them. "Are you two serious?"
"It's true, officer," said Jenny. "It's part of an...um...experimental program, you could say."
"Some experiment. You can tell that to the judge."
LATER THAT night at the Sacramento County jail Kayla and I waited. Bail had been set at $25,000 – only fair to protect society from such a savage criminal. Kayla had been about to hand over $2500 – non-refundable! – to a bail bondsman, but I stepped in and put it on my bank debit card. The woman at the front desk was skeptical, but raised her brow in surprise and grudging respect when the charge went through.
I called the CellEvolve lawyer who'd helped me with my own legal woes, Malcolm Coldwell, who sounded irritated by the late call and not terribly happy to hear from me. He said he'd check in with CE in the morning and cautioned me and Jenny to say as little as possible. He was far from sure that CE would be willing to intervene in my behalf. Not all that encouraging. On the plus side, I hadn't been arrested yet and could afford to hire a good attorney.
After begging the front desk lady to rouse some police captain from his office, I showed him the RSA exemption form. He just shook his head and said it meant nothing to him. The judge would need to rule on that.
They released Jenny. She walked out into the lobby hugging herself, staring at and then past me with haunted eyes, her beautiful, vibrant face now set in plaster of Paris grey. In the parking lot, she thanked me for the bail money and gave me a sad hug and a promise to talk later before climbing in with Kayla and driving away.
I watched her go with a sinking sensation. I couldn't see any possibility that she'd be willing to continue being with me now. Worse, there was always the possibility of a felony conviction and jail time. The RSA waiver's application to our circumstances was obviously a stretch. Hard to argue that what we'd been doing had anything scientific about it, and obviously no CE scientists had been "supervising" us. Still, my exemption had to mean something. If nothing else, you could argue that she believed it was legal. Also, the highway patrol cop hadn't actually seen us doing it. Maybe we'd just been conducting some pagan rite in the nude or something? I tried to recall if we'd said anything damning, something that might amount to a confession, but came up dry.
As long as my mom didn't find out, this might work out okay after all.
MY OPTIMISM was dashed three days later when two Jefferson police officers showed up at our door and arrested me. It was déjà vu all over again as I was hauled down to the local PD and photographed, fingerprinted, and "Mirandized." My crime, as before, was a violation of Statute 144 of the Human Reproductive Safety Act. And this time, instead of being allowed to leave "on my own recognizance," I was required to post a thirty-thousand dollar bail. Lucky I had my debit card with me.
After no one said anything at the Sacramento Police Department I'd started to believe that no one would notice my hyper status, but I guessed someone had eventually run my file.
Neither my mom nor Melanie were there when the police arrested me at 4:45 Friday afternoon, but there was, sadly, no way I could avoid telling them after I jogged back home two hours later. The worst part of my punishment so far.
"I just want to be clear about this," said my mom, red flecks peppering her cheeks as she appeared to be restraining herself from strangling me by some momentous act of will. "I want to make sure I'm not misunderstanding. After all you went through last year with your escapades, after serving time in juvenile jail, after seeing time and time again the negative consequences of your actions and facing certain imprisonment if you violated the law again, you, you..."
My mom's voice broke up as she shook her fist at me. I supposed I should be grateful she didn't finish. For once, Melanie – standing with her arms folded and glaring at me with such ferocity that I swore I could feel her eyes cutting into my skin – nodded in tempo with Mom's words, urging her on.
"Fucking idiot?" Melanie suggested for an ending to my mom's last sentence.
My mom's eyes flicked at her, but the protest or admonition I thought was forming on her lips never came.
"Yeah," I sighed. "I know."
"Did I not tell you to stay away from that..." My mom seemed reluctant or unsure of her word-choice for Jenny as well.
"Slut?" Melanie supplied.
My mom's breath growled out through her teeth. "I don't think that's an unfair assessment. Clearly someone utterly lacking in moral character, not to mention good sense."
"Come on, Mom, you know she doesn't deserve this."
"I don't know that at all. I gave her a clear warning, which she disregarded. And now she and you will probably pay the price."
"The cop didn't even see us, uh, doing it."
"So are you going to deny doing it with her?" Melanie asked.
"Why not? How could they prove I was lying?"
My mom was staring at me with sudden intensity, her homicidal look fading.
"Are you saying the highway patrol officer didn't actually witness you in the act?"
"No. We were naked, but..." I shrugged.
My mom breathed out, this time without the Rottweiler growl. The burn marks faded from her cheeks. Her eyes were narrowed in thought.
"You say Malcolm Coldwell hasn't returned your calls?" she asked.
I shook my head. "I think he's avoiding me."
"And you didn't mention this to our new research director?" Her unsurprised tone suggested she understood why.
"No. I have a feeling she wouldn't be all that sympathetic."
"I suspect your feeling is accurate."
My mom paced in the living room before me, going into "war situation" mode. It was a beautiful sight – not only be
cause of how reassuring it was to have her in full logic mode but because it also distracted her from condemning me.
"I also suspect that Dr. Eberhart already knows about your arrest," she said. "Or will shortly. Malcolm Coldwell would let her know. He's a company man to the core, from what I've seen."
"He probably called her after I first contacted him three days ago. I hadn't thought of that."
"Foresight isn't exactly your strength when it comes to this kind of thing." Her evil eye was partly back as she paused to regard me.
"When it comes to his 'thing,'" my sister piped in, "his brain loses pretty much all its strengths."
"IT SEEMS you've gotten yourself into a rather sticky situation," said Dr. Eberhart, sitting at her desk eyeing what appeared to be a police report of my arrest.
The expected call to her office had finally come during my noon "break."
"And the person I was with," I said.
Dr. Eberhart rested her red-lacquered fingernails on the police report. I imagined them puncturing the papers and drawing blood. "We would've strongly preferred that your RSA exemption, which you apparently told anyone who would listen about, hadn't become a public item."
"I thought it might stop them from arresting us."
"I'm not sure why you would think that since the exemption clearly does not apply to your circumstances."
I lowered my head, starting to clench my jaw against this bald truth which I'd been hoping the authorities and CE would gloss over. I did have an exemption, after all. Surely that could be stretched a little?
"I know it was dumb." I swallowed. "You're saying there's nothing you can do? Or will do?"
Dr. Eberhart regarded me without expression. Or maybe that was her default expression. Today she looked more like a porcelain sculpture than a wax figure with her flawless ivory skin and unmoving features, her silver-blond hair waving down to her shoulders just as still and artificial-looking as the rest of her.
"I didn't say that," she said. "But if we're going to help you, we'll want something from you in return."
"What?" I found myself channeling Melanie. "You'd let them imprison your prize stud horse?"
A tiny fissure hinting of a smile inched out from one corner of the research director's mouth. Somehow that made the rest of her face even more expressionless. "You're rather full of yourself, aren't you? But practically speaking, you're correct. It would be disadvantageous to lose one of our lab animals. Yet sometimes a little discipline is required for an unruly animal to make it understand its place."
I was beginning to regret the stud horse analogy.
"You really aren't going to help me?" I asked.
"Perhaps we could put in a good word for you. That is, if you're willing to sign this minor amendment to our agreement."
She slid a thin stack of papers across to me that I'd thought were part of the police or court report. The top page revealed it to be a contract. The top line of that page stated that I'd be extending my original contractual agreement to my twenty-first year.
"No way," I said.
Dr. Eberhart smiled and said nothing.
"I can afford my own lawyer," I pointed out. "Plus, the cop didn't actually see us doing anything, except, you know, lying there naked."
"You might've just been getting a tan?"
"Something like that."
"Good luck."
She reached for the papers.
"I don't believe you'd really be willing to risk me going to jail," I said, my confidence nose-diving. "Think of what it would do to your research program!"
"Aiden, you seem to be under the impression that you're indispensable. But you're not the only hyper in the world. And frankly, you're beginning to prove something of a liability – not only unreliable but costly to keep around. Second – and I understand this may be surprising to you – it's not always all about profit. There are people involved, and human nature being what it is, people sometimes get angry and take things personally. Some people might, for example, resent handing over truckloads of money to some snot-nosed, self-entitled pretty-boy punk who can't be troubled in return to keep his pants zipped up and behave in even some remote semblance of an adult."
Dr. Eberhart spoke without inflection, as if she were reading a really dull weather report. My face was burning so hot that I feared breaking out in blisters. I could feel whatever negotiating ground I had slipping out from underneath me.
"So..." I attempted to exhale some of the heat dangerously building in my face. "I guess I'll need to hire my own lawyer."
"If you're unwilling to sign the contract extension, it would seem so. Perhaps you might be willing to spend up to five years in prison, but I'm guessing your girlfriend wouldn't feel the same way. You might want to Ogle the penalties for what you've been accused of if you haven't already."
I already had. More than once. I focused on not holding my breath, on breathing in and out. I hadn't expected the ice-veined new director to bend over backwards to help us but I hadn't expected this hardcore smack-down, either. Still, I thought I still had a card or two I could play.
"Then I guess I won't be attending your Ellsworth conference..?"
"Why would you say that?"
"Well, I mean, considering you're not going to help us..."
"We're not contractually obliged to help dig you out from whatever dung heap you choose to crawl under. You, on the other hand are contractually obligated to fulfill the terms of your agreement."
"I can't do that if I'm locked up!"
"True. But it will be some time before that happens, if it does. In the meantime, you will continue to honor your contract."
"And if don't?" I knew I probably shouldn't push this lady any more – that she had a point about the dung heap – but her acting as if she owned me was really pissing me off. "What will you do, put me in debtor's prison?"
"As it stands, CellEvolve will remain neutral in your case. We might even allow that a misunderstanding could've occurred regarding the exemption. However, should you refuse to honor your agreement we can go from a neutral to a negative statement. In addition, we would sue you for violation of contract and monies lost during your incarceration." She paused to smile. "You might be surprised how fast that two million and change in your bank account could disappear. And of course as a cosigner on your original contract, your mom would be liable as well."
I slumped in my chair. I'd thrown out my best shots and she'd batted them back in my face without even breaking a sweat. I had to hand it to her – she made Dr. Blumenthal seem like a sissy. But then he might've liked me. I had the feeling Broomhilda might actually hate me.
Dr. Eberhart reached for the new contract again.
"Hold on a second," I said. "If I sign this, can you guarantee that they'll drop the charges?"
"We'll tell them it was an authorized field lab exercise for which we have legal authorization."
"Can I think about it? I'd like to talk to my..." I stopped myself from saying "mom." I'd reached my humiliation quota for the day.
"Certainly," said the not-so-good doctor. "You may talk to whomever you wish. But once you leave this room, my offer will be withdrawn."
"But...this is a big decision. I need some time to think about it."
"You've taken more than enough of my time as it is. Sign it now or leave. Those are your choices."
This was insane. But what choice, really, did I have? I was willing to take my chances but I could never live with myself if Jenny was convicted. Dr. Everfart probably knew that.
I signed the contract.
Twenty-one really wasn't that far away...was it?
Chapter 28
IT WAS A HAPPY ending, I told myself on our drive up to the Trinity Alps in Meredith's thirty-two seat Mercedes "party bus." The police had dropped charges twenty-four hours after I'd signed the contract. Jenny was free. I was free. Then why did I feel like a slave?
Driving over to San Francisco I'd had plenty of time to fill Meredith in on m
y latest adventures, including my conversation with Dr. Eberhart. Meredith had done her best to appear sympathetic, but she couldn't stop a smile when I groaned about Jenny and I being "history." Jenny had made that clear in our last conversation, even while sounding sad and thanking me for my "sacrifice." Meredith said it was for the best.
She wasn't even a tiny bit shocked about Dr. Eberhart's negotiating tactics.
"Martha Eberhart's known around the business for being a bitch's bitch," Merry laughed. "She's totally hardcore. Knows where most of the players' skeletons are buried and doesn't hesitate to use them or any other advantage in a negotiation. People fear her. You're lucky she kept her gloves on with you."
"If that was her keeping her gloves on I'd hate to see her take them off."
"Yes, you would."
We picked up fifteen people, including Max Emanuel, at Max's palatial home north of San Francisco. Couples and singles young and old, with Max Emanuel – as always – at the center of it. I expected some tension from the CE founder, but Max just slapped me on the shoulder and said, "It's really great you could make it, my brilliant young friend" before joining the other would-be and current investors in the center of the bus.
I sat up front with Meredith, replying politely when spoken to, which wasn't often, and mostly zoning out. They didn't have much to say to Meredith, either. She told me that assuming the duties of driver reduced her to hired help, and these people didn't have much to say to mere employees. She got to chat with me and focus on her driving while her guests sipped expensive wine and dined on hors d'oeuvre.
It wasn't exactly a scenic drive up through the heart of Northern California on I-5, but surrounded by wall television screens, WIFI terminals, a full bar – and the swirling dark clouds of a rare thunderstorm outside – the Mercedes bus was a world in itself.
The day darkened as we continued northward through Redding and then west in a climb through tall pine and scenic mountain vistas to the Marion Ellsworth Retreat deep within the Trinity Alps. We were ushered in through a tall electronic gate past a security station where men wearing earpieces and bulky suits waved us on.
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