Luke flopped into a recliner and gestured to the overstuffed couch. "You guys can sit. What's up?"
The freshman shook his head once and stood in the middle of the modest room, twitching as though a bug had crawled up his pants. His friend stood next to him with his eyes shut and lips pressed into a tight line.
Lucy leaned against the couch and cleared Luke's dirty clothes off it, but didn't sit down. Her stomach grumbled loud enough for the whole room to hear.
The freshman spoke to the floor. "I'm Gary. This is Greg. Umm... well, a few of us were wondering... since, like, you were, like, best friends with Sam—you know, the girl who escaped—that maybe you'd like to join us in a Freedom Fighter meeting tonight." Only after he'd gotten all those painful words out did he finally attempt eye contact, albeit briefly.
Luke's face hardened and he shot Lucy a warning look.
She nodded. Best play it safe. "You know our rooms, everyone's rooms, are under surveillance."
The boy smiled and nodded to his friend. "Greg disrupts electrical waves and can manipulate surveillance equipment. Right now, anyone listening will hear a loop of silence until we're done. They'll also see an empty room."
Lucy was impressed despite herself. "What are the Freedom Fighters?"
Gary's voice dropped to a barely perceptible whisper. "A group of students are coming together to, you know, fight back, and... escape."
The last word floated on the air so gently, Lucy wasn't sure whether she'd really heard it or only imagined it. How could they possibly escape with the campus under heightened security? If it was impossible before Sam and Drake got away, it was even less likely now. No, they weren't stupid enough to get involved in something that crazy. It would be suicide.
The boy's brown eyes turned into saucers, pleading with Lucy. "Will you at least come to the meeting and see what it's about?"
She looked at Luke, whose face had an odd expression of rage and mania. Did he want to do this? Not happening. No way, no how. She crossed her arms and held her ground.
Which was why she was so surprised when later that night she found herself sitting in the middle of a group of Freedom Fighters planning their great escape. Suicide mission indeed.
Chapter 33 – Sam
The police station did not match the image I'd conjured from my mind. Maybe too many Law & Order reruns had corrupted me. The attractive Spanish style structure with warm honey tones reminded me more of a country club.
Brad took the lead when we walked in, telling the clerk whom we were there to see. Drake and I sat on a bench against the wall and waited.
'Are you nervous?' he asked.
"Yes. What if they don't believe us? What if they lock us up?"
He squeezed my hand. 'Even if they don't believe us, we aren't committing any crimes. Don't worry, we'll be fine.'
Brad sat down on the other side of me, sandwiching me between the two of them. "My contact is on the phone right now. It'll be a few minutes."
I clutched at my purse. Despite the class of the building, the police station still teemed with some interesting characters.
A guy dressed as an attractive woman sat across from us, tapping his—her?—foot impatiently and holding a bag to his chest.
A woman wearing nothing but an elastic, red body suit, with so many holes it revealed more than it covered, walked by in handcuffs, escorted by a young officer in uniform. She stumbled on her stilettos, but I caught her arm and helped her back up.
She gave me a blank, glassy-eyed stare. 'Need some... gotta get some... body aches... hurts... burning... pain... need to get out of here....'
Her sunken cheeks and emaciated form made me shudder. Before, I might have passed judgment, but now I understood what it was like to come off something like that. Granted, my addiction had been forced on me, but detox would have been very hard if I'd had access to the drugs my body craved.
"Oh shit!" The guys exclaimed in unison. Two elbows jabbed me at the same time.
"Hey, watch it!"
Drake's face fell. "Look at the television, Sam. We've got to get out of here."
I looked, and immediately wished I hadn't. My face stared back at me from a picture taken at Rent-A-Kid earlier that year. A perky newscaster smiled as she read from the teleprompter. "Sam is a troubled runaway who escaped from an institution early last week, and is mentally unstable, delusional, and considered dangerous. She is in need of medication and treatment immediately. If you see her, please call this hotline at 1-800-555-1211. There is a $10,000 reward for any leads that result in her apprehension."
Drake grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the building. The Southern California heat hit me hard after being in the air-conditioned office. My stomach lurched, and I spun toward the manicured lawns to empty it. God, I hate throwing up.
Brad cleared this throat. "We've got to go. Can you walk? We need to get to the car before anyone sees you."