by Ellery Kane
I turned to my father. “Dad, this is really good. I can’t believe you just gave it all up.”
He shrugged. “I lost my confidence, my moxie, but since I’ve been back here, I think I may have found it again. I’ve been thinking of—”
Max opened the door and poked his head in, interrupting my father. “Mind if I join you?” His voice was tentative.
“Come in,” my father said. “I was just showing Lex an article I wrote years ago about Zenigenic.”
“An exposé,” I added playfully. Max smiled and nodded, but his eyes looked tired, his steps slow and plodding. “One day at a time,” I whispered, as he pulled up a stool and began reading over my shoulder.
“Holy cow,” Max murmured, his eyes now wide awake. He pointed to a paragraph near the end of the last page.
“Dad, listen to this part,” I said. “Not only has Emovere been proven highly addictive in some users, other users exhibited extreme aggression while under its influence. The same anonymous source provided an anecdotal account of an incident that occurred during a clinical trial involving an early variant of the drug, a variant that was never released for public consumption. After being administered a test sample of Emovere, a female subject attacked and seriously injured two other participants. Researchers involved in the trial were strongly discouraged from reporting their findings. Though significant alterations were made before Emovere made its public debut, the source confirmed this initial variant of the drug was never destroyed.”
“Do you think…” My father rubbed his chin, distracted by his thoughts. “Is it possible that…”
“Dad, just spit it out!”
My father turned to me and Max. “What if that early variant of Emovere became Onyx?”
CHAPTER FORTY - FIVE
ONE TRUE THING
AS MAX AND I STARED open-mouthed, my father’s cell phone rang.
His brow began to furrow with concern. “Yes, I understand. Please do.” My father set the phone down on the counter. “Van Sant’s guys caught an intruder. He says his name is Sebastian.” Max drew in a sharp breath.
A few minutes later, we were standing at the front door, a heavily muscled security guard holding String up by the scruff of his collar. I could hear Artos yelping, frantically scratching on the door of my room. I had locked him in there, after he’d snarled at String.
“Mr. Knightley?” Plaintive, String looked only at my father.
“That’s right.” My father wasn’t buying it.
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Augustus is trying to kill me. Please…” String wriggled uncomfortably in the man’s large hand like the worm on the end of a hook.
“After what you’ve done, you’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here,” my father replied. “And why should any of us care if Augustus kills you?”
String was stumped. Finally, he offered an answer. “I know what I did was wrong, but Augustus lied to me too. He told me your daughter and this other guy, McAllister, were crooks who cheated him out of a lot of money.”
“I told you Lex was my friend.” Max spoke up from behind me, then pushed his way to the door to face String. “I trusted you.”
The guard tightened his grip, and String winced. “Can we at least talk about this like normal people, without this barbarian breathing down my neck?”
“I think this is just fine,” my father answered with a sly grin.
“Max, I…” String sighed, his face reddening. I almost felt bad for him. “I care about you,” he said. “That wasn’t a lie.” Next to me, Max tensed, his fists balled tightly at his side.
“Dad, I think we should at least give him a chance to explain for Max’s sake.”
“Alright, put him down.” Without warning, the guard dropped String’s slender body straight to the ground, where he crumpled in a heap. His fall from grace wasn’t entirely unpleasant to witness.
String recovered quickly, brushing himself off and repositioning his dark sunglasses atop his Mohawk. “I see you got your locket back,” he observed, as he took a step into the house.
“No thanks to you,” I countered, clutching it tight against my chest.
“Wait.” My father stopped String in the foyer. “It seems to me that you’ve told quite a few lies to get yourself into this mess. Before you come into my home, I want you to tell me one true thing about yourself. And whatever it is, I better believe it. Otherwise, you’re on your own.”
String seemed stunned by my father’s demand. I was fairly certain he wasn’t well acquainted with the truth. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “The cops probably told you that I was sprung out of juvie by my mom and dad, but that’s a lie. When I get in trouble, my older brother pretends to be my dad. We’ve been doing it for years, since our parents left.”
“What happened to your parents?” I asked. Max pretended to study his fingernails, but I knew he was listening.
String shrugged. “I don’t know. They hit the road, vamoosed, adios amigos. This may come as a real shock,” String said, his mouth upturned in a half-smile, “but my parents were con artists.”
CHAPTER FORTY - SIX
FAVORITE THINGS
STRING POSITIONED HIMSELF on the sofa, with Max sitting as far away as possible. Max’s expression was flat, so I could only guess about the tornado of confusion spinning inside his head. Freed from the confines of my room, Artos sat next to me, ears pricked, eyeing String with laser focus.
“So, Sebastian, let’s start at the beginning.” String shifted uncomfortably, preparing for my father’s interrogation. “How do you know Augustus is trying to kill you?”
“Well, aside from the hoodlum shooting at me in front of my brother’s house last night, this guy, Mick—he’s one of my business partners—told me Augustus’ men were looking for me.” String cast a quick glance in my direction, as if to say, please don’t tell your father about Mickey.
“Why does Augustus want Onyx?” I asked String.
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. That meeting with your professor was the first I heard of it.” I responded with a skeptical look. “Really, I promise. Despite what you might think, Augustus and I were not friends. But it doesn’t take a shrink to figure him out.” I rolled my eyes. “If he wants it so bad, you can bet there’s something in it for him.”
“Like what?” my father asked.
String smirked. “Money. Power. Control.”
I nodded in agreement. “Three of Augustus’ favorite things. Professor Donnelly was right. Onyx in Augustus’ hands would be devastating.”
For the next thirty minutes, my father grilled String about his brief tenure as Augustus’ employee. It started with String in juvenile hall, where he was serving a few months for credit card fraud and forgery. Augustus convinced the judge to release him, then he set him up in a fancy apartment, gave him an expensive car, and offered him a job peddling Emovere and Eupho. According to String, Augustus believed the more successful he was as drug czar—the more limited the supply—the higher the demand for EAMs on the street. In typical Augustus fashion, twisted and double-dealing, it made complete sense.
“Can we take a break?” String asked. “I feel like I’m on trial here.” I flinched at his comparison, instantly picturing George McAllister.
My father leaned back in his chair. “One more question: Where did you get your ridiculous nickname?”
String’s weary face cracked into a wide smile.
“Really?” My father guffawed. “Three hundred string beans in one minute?”
“Sonoma County Fair record,” String confirmed with a straight face. When my eyes connected with Max’s, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. We both erupted in laughter.
“What’s so funny?” String deadpanned. Max was now an arm’s length closer to him.
“Dad, would you turn on the TV?” I asked, realizing the time. “I want to watch the news.”
“Are you sure you’re up for it?”
I nodded, as he clicked the re
mote.
“Sebastian … String.” My father smiled. “I’ll let you stay a bit longer, but I’m afraid you can’t sleep here tonight. It’s just not safe for us, and frankly, I don’t trust you.”
“I get it,” String replied, nonchalant. It was Max who looked worried.
I thought I was prepared for SFTV, but the first story knocked me back, stopped my heart with a bolt of lightning. Stone-faced Barbara Blake stood in front of the Alameda County Courthouse, a crowd of protestors scrambling behind her for airtime. Before she could speak, a wild-eyed man jumped in front of the camera yelling, “Free 243!”
Ever graceful, Barbara sidestepped his antics, as her security team scooped him up.
“As you can see behind me, it’s a chaotic scene at the courthouse today. Judge Henry Blacksher has just approved the district attorney’s motion for an expedited trial in the state’s case against George McAllister.”
A brief video played, showing Quin’s father arriving in a white jailhouse van. Since I’d visited him, he had withered like a weed. Handcuffed, shoulders sagging, his head hanging low, his appearance was disheartening.
“Citing the unprecedented media attention and the public’s growing unrest, Judge Blacksher ruled that opening statements will commence on Monday, October 27. Meanwhile, jury selection is underway. In a separate decision, Judge Blacksher denied the defense motion to allow television cameras in the courtroom. District Attorney Dillard told us off-air that she is pleased with the judge’s decisions. While Nicholas Van Sant had no comment to SFTV, those present in the courtroom today described the mood of the illustrious defense attorney as outraged. And that is certainly the mood of the protestors here tonight, many of whom believe George McAllister is the victim of a conspiracy.”
As if on cue, a woman sprung from the crowd and grabbed Barbara Blake’s microphone, then started screaming, “He’s innocent! He’s been framed!” As the crowd cheered, the screen flashed to black, only the SFTV logo visible.
I let out a deep breath, as I lowered my head in my hands. “Lex, what’s wrong?” Max asked.
I started to answer him but stopped. Max and String were now sitting side by side, their fingertips touching. I groaned begrudgingly before slogging off to my room. From the door, I could barely hear my father’s voice, his words broken, as he explained to Max, “Last night … Quin … broke up…”
CHAPTER FORTY - SEVEN
@LITTLEBUTFIERCE
BEFORE DAYBREAK, my father and Max still asleep, I trudged to the garage, computer tablet in hand. I spent the next few hours typing my first research paper for Dr. Donnelly’s class, a report about the historical origins of psychology. After our bullet-riddled office visit, I knew it had to be better than good. Just a few minutes after submitting the report, I received a response. I cringed, as I opened the email, but it wasn’t at all what I expected.
Alexandra,
Given recent events, I wasn’t certain if you would be continuing in my class, but I’m thrilled to see you will be. The police have been less than cooperative in answering my questions. They would only tell me that you were the victim of a kidnapping and returned home safely. As for the matter we discussed, there is more you should know. Perhaps we should arrange another visit, this one a bit less explosive, I hope. In the meantime, be safe.
Thomas Donnelly
At least Dr. Donnelly had a sense of humor. I wasn’t surprised he knew more about Onyx than he let on, but I wondered why he was ready to reveal it now. I quickly phoned his office and set up a meeting at our house for the following day. I was hopeful my father’s interview skills and his inside knowledge of Zenigenic would loosen Dr. Donnelly’s lips.
I studied my inbox. Nothing from Quin. I tried to will him out of my mind, but it was futile. There was just too much of him in there—too many memories—latched on to every thought, as unshakeable as a shadow.
Don’t do it, Lex. Do not do it. Against my better judgment, I typed a name into the search bar: Emma Markum. Readying myself with a deep breath, I clicked on the first result, a social media page for @LittleButFierce. She had over 1,000 followers. Figures, I thought, rolling my eyes.
I didn’t have to scroll far to take the first punch to the stomach—a picture of Emma and Quin in front of the courthouse, after Quin’s press conference. I narrowed my eyes, squinting at the screen, memorizing every torturous detail: Quin’s boyish smile … Emma’s tousled, sun-kissed hair … Quin’s arm around her, each of his fingers touching her side. Emma wrote, “Supporting a friend.” Friend, I repeated to myself, both grateful and disbelieving.
I scoured the rest of her pictures for more evidence of Quin, but there was none. What was there: Emma on her motorcycle, giving a peace sign. Emma doing tricks on a skateboard. Emma getting another tattoo, a heart on her ankle. By the time I reached the last photo—Emma sticking her tongue out at the camera—I despised her completely. Attention-seeking daredevil, she was everything I wasn’t.
The screen flashed at me. A new post from @LittleButFierce! “Hey peeps, I need your help! Please show your support for Inmate 243, George McAllister, by attending a rally at the Alameda County Courthouse tonight at 8 p.m. Free 243! Be there!”
Guilt-fueled anger bubbled up inside of me. I closed my computer and headed for the door. Right then, I made up my mind. I was going to that rally.
CHAPTER FORTY - EIGHT
BLONDE VERSUS BLONDER
“STUDY BREAK?” my father asked, when I walked back inside.
“All done,” I announced. “Where’s Max?”
My father shook his head, disapproving. “I’m not sure. After you went to bed last night, String was on the news. Max left with him. I’m not sure where they went.”
“On the news? What do you mean?”
“Drug czar’s most wanted, Sebastian Croft.” My father mimicked Barbara Blake’s dramatic tone. “Augustus is looking for him, saying he’s one of Oakland’s primary Eupho dealers and has to be stopped in the interest of public safety.”
My father shook his head. “What a sham!” Then he lowered his voice, even though we were alone. “He’s also wanted in the disappearance of three security guards.”
My stomach churned. I couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. “I tried to tell you, Dad. Augustus means business.” I could only wonder what he had in store for me.
“You were right. We have to be careful.” My father peeked through the blinds at Van Sant security, still positioned in our driveway.
I hoped my next question wouldn’t sound completely premeditated. “It’s probably not the best to time ask this, but … can I go over to Elana’s tonight?”
My father’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why?” I looked anywhere but at him, as he studied my face. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Quin, would it?”
For a moment, I considered lying, but I already hurt my father enough. “Maybe,” I admitted. “There’s this rally.”
“Absolutely not, young lady.”
“Young lady?” I teased him. “C’mon, Dad. I’ll be fine. It’s in front of the courthouse. It’s not like Augustus is going to kill me in a public place. He’s got his precious image to protect.” I hoped to win my father over with sarcasm, but it wasn’t working.
“It’s not funny, Lex. You’re in serious danger.”
“Fine,” I conceded. “Then come with me.” Feeling his journalistic oats again, I suspected he would jump at the chance to be in the middle of the action.
After a long pause, he replied, “I’ll think about.” I counted that as a victory.
That evening, after forcing me to don a ridiculous disguise—a bleach-blonde wig from my fourth-grade princess Halloween costume—my father agreed to drive me and Elana to the rally, leaving Van Sant security behind to watch our house.
Elana burst into laughter when she saw me. “Whoa, Lex, you’re taking this competition with Emma to a whole other level. Blonde versus blonder!” She climbed into the backseat next to me, giving
a tiny wave to my father.
When I didn’t respond, she leaned in and whispered, “Quin’s going to love you as a blonde.”
I turned to Elana, my eyes telling the story. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Quin and I broke up.” Elana’s mouth hung open. “I just assumed Edison would’ve told you.”
Elana shook her head, frowning. “Edison doesn’t have much time to tell me anything lately. He’s so wrapped up in impressing his dad, proving himself to his dad, worrying about his dad. I’m sort of an afterthought.”
“I know what you mean,” I sympathized, launching into a recap of my conversation with Quin.
When I finished, Elana tried to comfort me. “I’m sure Edison’s right. Quin’s just confused. He’s going through a lot right now.”
I nodded, pretending to agree with her. “We’re almost at the courthouse,” my father told us. “I’ll let you out here and find a place to park.” Just before I closed the car door, my father reached out his hand toward me. “Be careful.”
“This is insane,” Elana said, pointing up ahead. The steps of the courthouse were hardly visible, overtaken by throngs of people and a line of police officers. As we approached, one of the officers bellowed into a megaphone, “Good evening, folks. We’re here to conduct random EAM searches. If you are stopped, we kindly ask for your full cooperation.”
Sitting on a nearby curb, several people were already handcuffed, awaiting transport. At the periphery of the crowd, another officer jostled with a woman who was swinging her arms wildly. Emovere, I thought to myself. Despite the commotion, my eyes found Quin with ease. He was standing at the top of the steps with Emma.