Rebel and Soul

by Anna Kyss

  “Well, in many cases, it’s hard to find good evidence.” She thinks for a moment. “If they can’t find out who was involved, it’s hard to make arrests unless someone becomes an informant.”

  “But in our case…” I can tell what’s coming. There were so many outsiders present: news crews, photographers, and the loggers.

  “They have video footage, photographs, newspaper articles.” Lizzie shakes her head as she ticks off the evidence. “What the fuck were you thinking? Nobody invites a news crew when you’re planning on blowing something up.”

  Unless you had no idea people were planning on blowing things up. Poor Maddie. I have to make sure she’s okay. “Are you sure you can’t check on my friend?”

  “We need to focus on you,” she snaps. “Your interview’s scheduled for tomorrow morning, and if I’m going to keep you out of prison, we need a solid plan.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “My sources tell me they’ve focused on a particular group member for the explosions. Several group members have provided vital evidence to convict this person.” Lizzie leans back. “The informants’ charges have been lowered to misdemeanors. They’ll have steep fines and community service but likely won’t serve jail time.”

  “I don’t want to turn on anyone.” I couldn’t live with myself if I backstabbed another group member.

  “I love you, dear brother, but you’re too noble for your own good. The person’s going to be convicted, with or without your testimony. The feds have too much evidence. Save yourself.” She pauses for nearly a full minute then whispers, “If they find out that you had motive, you can kiss the misdemeanor goodbye. Take the deal.”

  “Motive? Lizzie, will you stop giving me cryptic messages?” I cradle my aching head in my hands. “My head hurts way too much to deal with puzzles.”

  She places her mouth to my ear. “How did you find out that a CML driver was responsible for Mom and Dad’s accident?”

  Lizzie never mentions our parents. I slowly take in her words. Accident. Responsible. CML driver. “What are you talking about?”

  She studies my expression. I can almost picture my gaping mouth and face drawn with lines of confusion.

  “You didn’t know. Really?”

  “How would I know anything when you’ve never said a word about that day?” I breathe deeply and try to control myself. I can’t lose my temper when I’m surrounded by guards, but I can barely hold it together. How could she keep this from me?

  I never asked her. All these years, and I still can’t bear to talk about my parents. No jury will ever believe the topic never came up until now.

  “I’m sorry.” She takes my hand and grasps it tightly. “You have to take the deal. When they find out about the alcohol and negligence that led to the accident, it’s going to look like an act of premeditated revenge.”

  Alcohol was involved? Their death was preventable? No wonder Lizzie protected me from this information for all those years. Now that I know, I want to blow something up.

  Cold fear races through my body as if somebody shot an ice-water infusion into my veins. Lizzie’s right—if I don’t take the deal, I might live out my life behind bars. No one’s going to believe that my environmental work coincidentally paired me against the company that killed my parents.

  Coincidence. There’s that crazily confusing word again.

  “So tomorrow, I just share information in exchange for reduced charges?” I don’t want to rat on anyone in the group, but someone took things too far. I can guess who’s responsible for the explosives.

  Lizzie nods. “Listen, I’m sorry—”

  “What if I don’t know anything?” When I’m finally free, we can talk about family shit, but right now, I just need to get through the next few days.

  “Evidence suggests you may know this person better than anyone.” Lizzie drops a photograph onto the table.

  Maddie’s newspaper friend must have snapped the shot as Maddie leaned over to kiss me. “They think the photographer set off the explosives?”

  Lizzie rolls her eyes and points to Maddie. “Their chief suspect is Maddie LeRebeller.”

  I’ve heard people use the expression “time stops” before, but I’ve never really understood what it meant—until now. I’m frozen in the moment. How could anyone believe Maddie was responsible for those explosions?

  If the FBI’s involved, her father is definitely involved. I’m responsible. I caused this. I brought Maddie to the tree. I brought her to the meetings. I encouraged her to write her story. I dragged her to the damn protest. I even asked her for the kiss in the photograph. This is all my fault.

  If the case goes to trial, it’s going to be a huge, ugly deal. I foresee nationwide news coverage. Maddie will be blacklisted by everyone she knows. Even worse, she could go to prison.

  I tried to free Maddie. I thought I was rescuing her from pointless rules, but I led to her self-destruction. She could lose so much. Friends. Family. Her social standing. Career options. Her freedom.

  I try to picture Maddie in prison. She would never survive.

  Our relationship is over. I tried to help her, but I messed up. I failed Maddie. I failed Grandmother. That beautiful tree will be cut down for sure now that nobody’s left to protect her. I even failed Sage. It’s crappy enough that he has cancer. He should at least be able to count on his closest friend being around to support him through the treatments.

  “You can arrange a plea deal?” I know exactly what I want to do.

  “Your testimony in exchange for reduced charges?” Relief flows across her face, wiping away her stress lines and relaxing her lips.

  I’ve failed my sister, too. “No. My testimony in exchange for all of Maddie’s charges being dropped. Completely dropped. No misdemeanors. No community service. No record of her even being here.”

  Lizzie grips the table and breathes for a moment. “Who are you planning on testifying about?”

  “Myself.” I close my eyes because I can’t bear to see the pain in hers. “I’m going to plead guilty to all charges.”

  Maddie

  A FEW hours later, I wait in a smaller, private room. I still haven’t seen my lawyer. My father hasn’t been in, either. After he saw to it that I was properly situated, he left without saying a word. The guards were nicer once they realized I was the daughter of the district attorney. They even brought me food and water.

  There’s no clock in the room, and I don’t have my cell phone. My head is growing heavy, and my eyes want to close, so I can only assume it’s nighttime. Agent Wilcox walks in as I rest my head on the table.

  “Madison Bentley, it’s your lucky day.”

  Today has been about as unlucky as they come. “It doesn’t feel that way to me,” I mutter.

  “You’ve been cleared of all charges.” He holds out his hand. “Thank you for your cooperation with our investigation. You’re free to go.”

  Daddy sure worked quickly. He left only hours ago. “I don’t understand. You were so sure…”

  Agent Wilcox smiles. “Mistakes happen. Especially when you were set up. We identified the actual offender, and he made a full confession.”

  Set up? Who would set me up? “So I’m free to go?” It seems too easy.

  “That was part of the deal.” Agent Wilcox nods. “He was quite clear about that particular criteria.”

  “A deal my father made?”

  The agent shakes his head. “A deal the offender made.”

  I know only one person who would care if I were cleared. There’s only one person in this jail who would watch out for me. A shiver passes through my body. “Can I ask who the suspect is?”

  I know before he answers, though.

  “Solomon Prescott pled guilty to four felony charges. He took full responsibility for the crime and stated that he acted alone.”

  “Can I… can I have a moment?” The words barely make it out before the tears rush down.

  Agent Wilcox fiddles nervously bef
ore excusing himself.

  I let my head fall into my arms and sob. I cry out of relief. Thankfully, this nightmare is nearly over for me. I cry out of disbelief. He actually set me up. I cry out of betrayal. I let someone get close enough to hurt me, yet again.

  Before I walk out of this jail, Soul needs to know how badly he hurt me.

  I walk over to the door and knock gently. Agent Wilcox enters. “Um, I believe I have a tissue. Here you go.”

  I take a moment to wipe the tears from my swollen eyes and dry my runny nose. As I clean myself up, I gather my thoughts. For once, I want to use my father’s position to my advantage. “I have a request.”

  “Yes?” Agent Wilcox glances around the room but avoids making eye contact.

  “I would like to meet with Soul, um, I mean Solomon, before I leave.”

  “That isn’t our typical procedure,” he begins.

  I sniffle loudly.

  “But in light of the circumstances and since we have his signed confession, I suppose I could allow it.” He opens the door and gestures for me to come. “We need to head to the other side of the jail.”

  As I walk past the cells, the open toilets, and the dejected-looking prisoners, I repeat my new mantra in my mind. Thankfully, this nightmare is over. Thankfully, this nightmare is over.

  That’s only partially true, though. It’s over for me. Soul’s nightmare is just beginning.

  I try to remain tough, but I can’t help feeling for Soul. If my flaw was not knowing myself, his is caring too much.

  Agent Wilcox brings me into yet another room, identical to the one we just left. When I walk into the room, Soul is staring into the metallic reflection on the table.

  “Can we have a minute alone?” I ask the agent.

  He nods but gestures to a one-way mirror. “I’ll be watching, though.”

  I sit across from Soul. He says nothing.

  “Soul, you owe me an explanation.” I’m trying to be strong, but my voice cracks mid-sentence. “Did you play me the entire time?”

  He finally looks up. “Everything was real. I meant every word and every action.”

  “None of it makes sense.” I glance at the mirror, wondering what Agent Wilcox thinks of our interaction. “How did we end up here?”

  “I don’t know,” he mutters. “I keep asking myself the same question.”

  Something in his voice stops me. He sounds exactly like I felt for so long: lost. “Soul. I’m going to ask you something, and you need to promise to be honest. Okay?”

  “I would promise you anything, Maddie.” A tear rolls down his cheek. “But no promise is big enough for how badly I messed up.”

  “Did you know about the explosives?” I whisper.

  He meets my eyes. “No,” he says.

  I believe him. He’s always been adamant about nonviolence. I know Sage’s illness has weighed on him, and the loss of the trees has affected him, but neither would change his belief in pacifism.

  “Do you know who set the explosives?” I ask.

  “No,” he says again.

  “Why did you plead guilty then?” I whisper, glancing at the mirror. I want to scream, punch him, and tell him what an idiot he is.

  “I am guilty. I brought you to the tree, to the meetings, to the protest. I pushed you to not follow the rules, and that almost ruined you.” He rubs more tears from his eyes.

  “You feel guilty,” I hiss. “That doesn’t mean you are guilty of felony charges.”

  Soul grips my hands. “For once in your life, you deserve for someone to do something absolutely selfless for you.”

  How could I have ever doubted him? He’s willing to give up everything to ensure that I walk out of here scot-free. Nobody has ever sacrificed anything for me. Not my father. Not my mother. And definitely not Andrew.

  I can’t let him give up everything—his career, his future, his life—for me. “You have to tell them the truth. I can’t let you do this.”

  He runs his fingers over my hands then squeezes them tightly. “I cherish you, Madison Bentley. Remember that.”

  Nobody should martyr himself for another person. I might need to leave soon. But I am going to work tirelessly to identify the real bomber so that Soul’s name can be cleared.

  Agent Wilcox opens the door. “You’re ride is here, Madison.”

  I give Soul’s hands one last squeeze. “I cherish you, too. And I’m going to find a way to prove it.”

  Maddie

  I’VE SAT in front of my laptop screen for the last two hours. The screen turns to black—again—as the energy-saving mode kicks in. I can’t decide what to do.

  When I was released seven short days ago, Daddy drove me straight to his Denver home. His rules were clear: Absolutely no more newspaper articles. Zero contact with any environmental groups. His final demand was the worst—end my relationship with Soul.

  If I’m going to blatantly disregard his last rule, I might as well ignore the others. The response to my last article was incredible. Students flocked to the forest. I’m not sure if they were moved by my words or intrigued by the crime, but after seeing Grandmother, they’ve maintained a candlelight vigil to protect her.

  The Oxygenators were presented with restraining orders. Members aren’t allowed within one hundred feet of Colorado Mountain Lumber workers or within the Arapahoe National Forest while the logging company maintains a presence in those woods. That means it’s up to the CU student body to protect Soul’s tree. If Maddie LeRebeller disappears, their interest will fade. I type in my password for the umpteenth time then study my screen.

  I’m at a crossroads. My words are the only way that I can thank Soul. Terrorist suspects are held within federal facilities and are not allowed the same visitation options as other prisoners.

  My words are also a sure way to sever my relationship with my parents. Am I really ready to lose everyone I care about?

  “No,” I whisper.

  Financially, I will be okay through the end of the summer. I checked in the financial aid office, and my tuition, housing, and meal plans have been paid through the end of the summer term. I even looked into the fine print. No refunds are allowed for any reason. I still have a few weeks to file for financial aid for next year. The lady in the office said that based on my grades, I should qualify for scholarships, too.

  But emotionally… even though my father and mother haven’t been supportive and focused on my well-being, they’re still my parents. How can I purposely ostracize them?

  I reread my article, which focuses on the differences between the more radical environmental groups who favor explosives and arson, and the more moderate groups who advocate for education, outreach, and a little civil disobedience.

  My piece begins with a bang. The bang. The explosion that led to chaos and loss. The first paragraphs focus on my hopefully riveting story, including my near arrest. My name is Madison Bentley, and this is my story of a boy and his tree.

  Nothing I say can change Soul’s written confession. He was stupid for taking full responsibility—stupid, selfless, and so very sweet.

  I inhale deeply before placing my fingers to my keyboard. A few taps later, the file is attached to an e-mail to the newspaper editor.

  If I can’t free Soul, the best way to thank him is to save his beloved tree. “Thank you,” I whisper, as I hit Send.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Books by Anna Kyss

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Contact Info.

  About the Book Designer

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