Red Handed

  Remaining in line, we filed from the room. Or rather, I tried to. Kadar grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. I blinked up at him in confusion and dread. He wore a serious expression, his eyes dark, his beard stubble more prominent. "Something wrong?" I asked.

  "I'm sorry, but you can't go with the others. You have an appointment with Angel. She's a...doctor."

  "What? Why? I'm not sick."

  He didn't explain. "She's in room eight, and she's waiting." He gave me a gentle push toward the door. "She doesn't like to be kept waiting."

  Freaking great. Another drug test, most likely. I hated that I was being put through that when I hadn't done anything wrong. I hadn't done anything to cause these A.I.R. agents to lose faith in me.

  "I'm not going to stand for this," I told Kaden through gritted teeth.

  His mouth twitched, but he didn't smile. "Just go to room eight, little girl."

  "So...how are your new classes?"

  "Good." I shifted on the plush red couch, a glass of water in hand. Angel was not a medical doctor as I'd assumed, and she hadn't given me a drug test. No, she was some sort of psychiatrist. And she wanted to probe my mind. How do you feel? Are you sad? Blah, blah, blah.

  I'd been to what felt like hundreds of this type of session, where a kind, gentle, understanding soul tried to learn all my secrets, all the reasons I did the things that I did.

  I could save them the trouble: it had seemed fun at the time. There was nothing more to it than that. Okay, maybe I'd been pissed at my dad. Maybe I'd wanted to lash out at him. Maybe I'd wanted to forget and feel something besides pain. That didn't mean I needed therapy.

  "Having any trouble?" she asked.

  "Nope." God, when would this end?

  "I'm glad," she said.

  "Yep. Me, too."

  She was a very attractive woman, though she lacked the stunning beauty of the other ladies I'd seen here. She had light brown hair that was pulled back in a twist, brown eyes, and lots of freckles. Very unassuming. Very unthreatening. And yet...

  There was something about her. I couldn't look away. Didn't want to look away. She radiated a trust-me vibe, a gentleness that was very soothing.

  "Do we really have to do this?" I asked with a weary sigh. "I'm doing good, I feel good, and I haven't done anything wrong. I even passed the drug test."

  She tsk ed under her tongue. "Regardless of how good you feel, regardless of what you've done and what you haven't done, regardless of what you've passed, we really have to do this. So drink your water, please, and relax."

  "I'm not thirsty."

  "You just left a very grueling combat class, followed by an intense weapons class. I don't want you becoming dehydrated."

  "Fine." I drained the glass and held it out for her inspection. "No more dehydration worries."

  One corner of her mouth curled. "Should I give you a gold star?" She didn't wait for my response, but claimed the glass and set it beside a cup of blue-tinted liquid resting on a nearby table.

  "Why do I need a therapy session, anyway?" I grumbled. "None of the other girls have to do it." That I knew of, I silently amended.

  "All the girls will speak with me at one time or another."

  "I'm lucky first, though, right?"

  She didn't try to deny it. "None of the other girls are former Onadyn users," she stated bluntly.

  Mia was fond of reminding me; Ryan was found of reminding me. It wasn't like I'd forget. My eyes narrowed on her. "The key word is 'former.' I no longer use."

  She shrugged, unimpressed with my fervency. "A user is a user, dear. There is no such thing as 'former.'"

  I gritted my molars.

  "To be honest," she said, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, "I'm surprised you were even allowed into the program."

  Not that again. None of them were really giving me a chance. "I deserve to be here." The complete opposite of what I'd first thought about the camp. But as I spoke, a wave of something swept through my brain. Something odd. A fog, maybe. A sense of acceptance. My shoulders relaxed into the couch, and all of my muscles seemed to melt into the soft fabric. My blood warmed and my heartbeat quickened. "I'm having...there's something wrong with me."

  "No. You're fine." Her face swam in and out of my vision. "Breathe deeply," she said. "That's it. In. Out. You're simply tired from physical exertion."

  With every breath, my strength did return. My eyesight cleared, and my heartbeat slowed.

  "Good?"

  I nodded.

  "As to your deservedness, we'll see." Her stare was intent, probing. "This is a tough place to live and sometimes severe stress can send an addict back to their habit."

  True. It had happened to me once before, the first time I left rehab. Only two weeks had passed before I'd started using again. The temptation had been too great. I'd fallen when I'd overheard my mom talking on the phone to my dad. She'd called and asked him to take me for a drive, to a movie, something, anything to get to know me again, telling him I needed a male influence in my life. He'd refused.

  I'd cried and cried and cried, and then I'd gotten high. The downward spiral had once again begun. Drugs, boys. A total lack of concern for the people around me.

  My hands clenched into tight fists. "I'm not going to fly," I told Angel. "I'm not going to drink Breathless. I'm not going to puff it or inject it. I don't like the girl I become when I do."

  Angel's chin canted to the side. "What kind of girl is that?"

  My cheeks heated, but I didn't soften the truth. "A liar. A thief. A...slut. Violent. Untrustworthy."

  "And what kind of girl do you want to be?"

  Uh, duh. "The complete opposite. Honorable. Trustworthy."

  "I'm glad to hear you say that." She tapped her bloodred nails on her bare knee. Her skirt had ridden up, revealing several inches of her thigh. "I'd really like to continue our conversation about your classes. You never answered me. What do you like about them?"

  I propped my elbows on my knees and dropped my head into my hands. Just tell her the truth and get it over with. I want to be trustworthy, remember. "I like most of it. The instructors need to do a better job of treating us like adults and some of the stupid rules need to be rescinded."

  "Which rules?"

  "All of them," I said, not wanting to single out the dating rule.

  She rolled her eyes. "Tell me about your classmates. Do you like them?"

  "Yes."

  "Even Emma? I hear she hasn't spoken a word to you."

  "She's not bad," I answered truthfully. I didn't know what else to say. I didn't dislike Emma. There was something about her that struck a cord inside me. Sympathy, maybe? I knew what it was like to be the girl everyone hated.

  Angel shifted in her seat. "I heard you fought a group of Sybilins a few days before you arrived at camp. Is that true?"

  "Apparently you hear a lot of things," I muttered. She made me feel like I'd been spied on. Hello. I probably had been. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about that night."

  "Phoenix."

  That was it; that was all she said. But I found myself sitting up, shoulders squared, spine straight. "Yes?"

  "You want to answer my question."

  Yes, I thought, a little dazed, I wanted to answer her question. "I did fight a group of Sybilins," I found myself saying. I frowned.

  "Did you feel guilty afterward?"

  I shook my head, bringing myself out of that strange bemusement. "For?" I relaxed against the couch. Thank God she hadn't asked about Ryan. If I admitted to being attracted to him, would I be ordered to stay away from him?

  "Did you feel guilty for hurting another living thing?"

  "No. I didn't." Truth.

  "Why is that, do you think?"

  "I had to stop them. They were evil and would have killed my friends."

  Again, she arched a brow. "And not you?"

  "No."

  "Interesting." She lifted a digital notebook from the table and balanced it on her lap. Typing, she m
uttered, "That's very interesting."

  "Not really," I said.

  Pausing, she glanced up. "And why is that?"

  "I wouldn't have let them."

  Slowly her lips stretched into a smile. That smile lit up her entire face and made her...beautiful. Somehow more beautiful than even the perfect Le'Ace. Her skin glowed, her eyes became alive. Liquid amber. This woman was mesmerizing. "Good answer."

  "Honest answer."

  She typed something else in the notebook. "Let's talk about your mother's rejection of you the morning after the fight."

  The bottom dropped out of my stomach. No way. I was not going there. "She didn't reject me," I managed to say. Lie. She had. She'd practically pushed me out the door and hadn't cared enough to say good-bye. That knowledge still cut deeply. She'll love me again. Once I've made something of myself.

  Angel frowned over at me. "Yes, she did and you know it. She kicked you out of her house and out of her life."

  "So?" I jolted upright, pinning the doctor with a fierce stare. A wave of dizziness hit me, and I rubbed my temples. "What do you want from me? What do you want me to say? Yes, she rejected me. Yes, she kicked me out. Happy?"

  She gave no outward reaction to my fury. "Why the hostility? I merely asked you a question."

  "And I asked you a question. What exactly do you want from me?"

  She crossed her arms over her chest, showing no mercy. "I want to hear about your mother and how you felt when she called the camp."

  Fine. She wanted to hear, she'd hear. "Like shit, okay? I felt like shit. She knew how my father's abandonment hurt me, and yet she treated me the same way." The words poured from me, and I didn't even try to stop them. "I'm her daughter, but she couldn't wait to get rid of me." Tears filled my eyes, burning. I angrily swiped them away. "Happy now?"

  "Yes," she said, surprising me. "Anger is good, Phoenix. Anger is very good."

  "Why? Aren't we supposed to let go of our anger?"

  "Only after you've dealt with it. Besides, if you'd felt nothing, that would have meant you were suppressing your emotions. If you were suppressing your emotions, you would one day have a breakdown. And when an agent has a breakdown, bad things happen, to the agent and to everyone around her." Angel dug in the pocket of her suit jacket and slapped something on the coffee table between us.

  I glanced down, and my jaw fell open. Need and fear raced through me. A tremor traveled the length of my spine. "Why are you doing this to me?"

  "How do you feel, looking at that?" she asked, remaining in her seat.

  I tried to look at her, but I could not tear my gaze from the vial of Onadyn lying so innocently in front of me. It was small and clear. Beguiling. My mouth watered. "I feel...thirsty," I said honestly, hoarsely.

  "And?"

  "And I hate myself for that thirst." The words tore from me.

  "Why?"

  "I told you. I know what happens when I use. My brain begins to malfunction and I can't think clearly. I do such stupid, horrible things." God, did I do stupid things. Sadly, that day on the school steps wasn't an isolated incident. I'd degraded my mother in front of so many people, time and time again.

  More than that, I'd once woken up in bed with a boy I hadn't known. Hadn't wanted to know, really. And I hadn't been able to remember what we'd done. I'd once stolen a bottle of scented enzyme mist from a store and was arrested within minutes.

  The list could go on and on.

  "Take it away," I said weakly. "Please."

  "No. I want you to pick it up."

  "No." Violently I shook my head. Tendrils of hair slapped at my cheeks, but didn't tear me from the Onadyn's spell.

  "Pick it up," she commanded. It was the first time she'd used such a stern, unbending tone of voice with me.

  "No!"

  "Pick it up, Phoenix, or I'll recommend that you're kicked out of the camp."

  The one thing that could make me obey. I liked this camp. I didn't want to leave yet. Still I hesitated.

  "Pick. It. Up."

  "I hate you," I hissed, finally reaching out. My fingers closed around the vial. "What kind of mind doctor are you, torturing me like this?"

  She ignored my question. "Smell it."

  My hands didn't hesitate to obey. Without thought, I brought the vial to my nose and sniffed, savoring the scent of dew-kissed rain. Hmmm, so good. So delicious.

  Poison, my mind said.

  Sweet, my body replied. One taste. One little sip. What could it hurt?

  In the end, I tossed it at Angel. The plastic vial nailed her in the shoulder. "You hold it," I snarled at her.

  For a long while, she didn't move or comment. Finally, she pinched the vial between her fingers and stuffed it back into her pocket. She gave me another of those enthralling smiles. "Under stress, and still you turned it away."

  I raised my chin. "That's right."

  "Good."

  "Bitch," I growled.

  She didn't lose her smile. "I want you to know, Phoenix, that it's not because your mother stopped loving you that she pushed you away. It's because she loves you that she did it."

  The switch of topics was jarring, but I welcomed it. The Onadyn was gone, out of my sight, out of reaching distance. I could handle anything else that was thrown at me. "I don't understand."

  "I met with her this morning, just so you know. She's terrified of watching you waste away, of watching you die, and telling you good-bye was more than she could have endured. Not after she watched your father walk away."

  The mention of my dad caused my stomach to twist painfully.

  "Your mother wants you to have the life she herself could not," Angel said.

  "How can you be sure?" I asked past the sudden lump in my throat. In my mind, I replayed the last few minutes I'd had with my mom, studying her face, her eyes. They were tortured, I realized. Her body had been stiff, as if preparing for a blow. Her eyes had been watery, as if she'd been holding back tears. I gulped. Almost sobbed.

  "You have a core of iron inside you," Angel said, "a core that scares and intimidates those who do not possess the same. They know they cannot control you and flounder with how to deal with you."

  I didn't respond. I couldn't. A multitude of emotions swirled through me: shock, doubt, hope, joy, relief, and anger.

  "Think about what I said, all right?"

  Slowly I nodded.

  "Good." Angel waved to the door. "Get out of here. You have things to do, and this session is over."

  I didn't move. "Do I--get to stay at camp, then?"

  "For now," she said, as if it had never been in question. "Just know that you, more than anyone, can never let your guard down. You have to stay two steps ahead of the game or you will always be seen as second best."

  Frowning, I stood and moved toward the door. Her next words stopped me, however. "Just so you know, there was a truth serum in the water you drank. The fact that you were still able to resist the drug is astonishing and something to be proud of."

  What? I spun around. "Truth serum?"

  "Here, drink this." She lifted the cup of blue-tinted liquid beside her, stood, and closed the distance between us. "It will combat the effects of what I gave you, so you don't reveal any secrets to your new friends."

  She could be lying, but I didn't care. I didn't want to take the risk. I drained the contents. Grinning, she wrapped her arms around me and gave me a hug.

  I hadn't been hugged in so many years I almost didn't know what to do. Almost. Tentatively, my arms wound around her, too. I wasn't sure if I liked her, but I couldn't have stopped myself from hugging her if a pyre-gun had been aimed at my head.

  "Anytime you want to talk," she said, "I'm here."

  11

  The next day, after all our classes--and another therapy session for me (sigh)--it was party time. Or rather, time to "get to know each other." We weren't to be given any beer, of course, but we had been told we'd get to listen to music, play games (video, virtual, and pool), and eat tons of food
. Good-for-us food, but that was better than nothing.

  "Get to know each other," Mia repeated when we reached the threshold of a crowded but spacious room. Already I could hear the bump, bump, and grind of rock. "Get to know the older girls and get to know the boys. But don't forget, even for a second, that we'll be watching you. You know the rules." Having said her piece, she was off, leaving us in an open doorway.

  My shock that we'd get to spend time with the male trainees--and instructors?--barely had time to register before the girls surged forward. One of them grabbed hold of my arm and tugged me inside. All too soon I was standing on the fringes of the party. The room was dimly lit, filled to capacity, and cracking with laughter and conversation.

  I experienced a shiver of nervousness.

  Everyone around me seemed to know where to stand, how to stand, and what to do. I couldn't force my brain to work right. Should I smile? Or would that make me look too easy? Should I wave or was that something only losers did?

  Should I dance or was that something only the older girls were allowed to do? Speaking of the older, more experienced girls, none of them cared to help us or welcome us.

  There was a definite hierarchy here. A tier of importance--at least in the older girls' minds. Obviously they thought they were better than us. Fine. Whatever. Maybe one day, we'd feel the same about new recruits. Until then, I considered it a stupid mind-set.

  Everything's going to be fine. I released a long, drawn-out sigh, taking in the sea of white clothing I saw. The only difference between the kids--fashion-wise--was skin and hair color. I'd fit right in, so that was one worry I could cross out.

  Why are you still standing here? Do something!

  "Ohmygod, I'm on sensory overload," Jenn said.

  "Want to, I don't know, mingle?" I asked the girls.

  "Not yet. I'm scoping," Cara said, sounding as nervous as I felt.

  They might look in control, but they didn't feel it and that comforted me. I wasn't the only one.

  "This place is delectable," Kitten said, sounding as eager for action as ever.

  Okay, she was the exception.

  The floor was black and white tile, almost dizzying. A strobe hung from the ceiling. Holographs of movie stars danced in each of the corners. Several tables were piled high with the promised food, and there were couches and plush syn-fur chairs to relax upon.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Emma stride to a far, empty corner and disappear in the shadows. I frowned. "What's Emma's problem?"