I WANT TOscream.
I want to run.
I want to throw up on the tile floor.
Maybe that last one would be a good idea. If I vomit, it will look like I’m sick too, and they’ll take me into Emergency. I’ll find April and we’ll run away.
We don’t actually have much of a discussion. Tom asks me if I attacked the border guard and my “technically, yes” is all he’s willing to listen to. He sets me up with a guard and leaves.
“Keep her here while I find Mr. Charles. This is a bloody mess.”
And just like that, I’m back in the dark room, only this time no one is pretending to be friendly. I sit in silence with the armed guard, watching the sun shift across the lone window. More than once, I consider fighting him for his gun, but I know he’s not the only person who could attack me while I look for April. Plus, I’ve never fired a gun.
So, against my every impulse, I wait.
Finally, there’s a commotion and the door flies open.Desk Lady’s voice rings out, “You can’tallgo back there,” along with Tom’s rough reply of, “Do you want me to bring the judiciary down, too?”
My guard straightens to attention, getting his gun in position.
Three people burst inside. Tom leads them, limping on his bad leg, face red as his hair. After him comes Pat, flapping her hands in dismay. At the back of the pack, barely fitting through the low frame of the door, is Sid Charles. And he lookspissed.
“So Charles, is this the girl?” Tom asks.
Sid looks me over, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Yeah. I guess that’s her.”
“And you didn’t apprehend her?” Tom barks. “A hostile party attacked you, and you didn’t—”
“It was a slingshot. She posed no threat to us.”
“There could always be more than a slingshot. Peopleplanthings out there.” Tom gives me a sideways glance. “Did you check the area? There could have been an ambush, or—”
“Of course we checked the area! They were alone.”
“Well, if you had written a report, I would have known that!” Tom fires back. The more they argue, the less room there seems to be between the walls. Everything constricts around their rising voices. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that leaving it out was the only way to avoid this bullshit!” Sid thunders. “Look at her, Tom! She’s starving. Are you seriously going to throw her in jail when her kid sister is sick?”
“People are more than their appearances, Mr. Charles,” growls Tom. “Maybe you saw a damsel in distress, but the moment we turned our back on her, she started running around the hospital. She isdangerous. And leaving that out of your report was reckless.”
“It’s a scrape on the hand,” says Sid. “I’m fine.”
“I’m not worried about you! How am I supposed to place her with a sanctuary host if the moment she’s left unattended, she starts firing projectiles or running away? You might be willing to risk someone else in our community, but I’m not. It isn’t safe, and I won’t do it!”
There’s silence. I can’t look at these men anymore. I’m a cornered animal. There’s no hope of escape. I’m already on their island. Guns behind me. Guns ahead. And somehow, they’ve convinced themselves thatI’mthe dangerous one? The level of delusion is staggering.
An ugly gasp works its way out of my mouth as I struggle to breathe. My lungs are nothing but filmy bubbles, popping as they crash into my ribs. My throat is salt. The waves of their words won’t stop pounding against my head.
I’m a hostile party. Sid was supposed to apprehend me, but he didn’t. He just fudged some paperwork and figured that would be enough, but he should have told me. He should have left me safely in Crofton, where they couldn’t do this to me. Now, this bearded bastard wants to send me to jail while they’ve got April helpless in a hospital room and won’t let me see her.
I have to run. There’s no other choice. Who cares if a bullet comes with it? But when I take a step, my knees buckle, and I barely make it onto a chair without falling over.
Panic attack. I haven’t had one since my mother’s death. There were things Mum used to get me to do to stop them, but I’m already inside the storm, a trembling mess struggling for air or even to hold myself upright.
Through the haze, I feel hands against me. I swat them away instinctively, but a soft voice manages to cut through my terror. “It’s okay, hon. You’re okay. You want a sandwich? Doctor said you’re supposed to eat.”
Pat. The Desk Lady is attempting to shove a sandwichinto my hands. I gulp for air, coming to enough to murmur, “I don’t want it.”
“It’s not poisoned. We don’t execute people here,” says Sid.
