"If our men have been watching you," Lindel says, "it's only for your protection. "
None of us believe him. Really, what else is he going to say?
"Let me get this straight," Elzie interrupts. "You're seriously pretending you had nothing to do with Josh getting grabbed?"
"I can assure you Ms. ...?" He lets the question hang until he realizes she's not going to answer and then goes on. "We had nothing to do with it his abduction. The Bureau doesn't operate like that."
"Oh sure," she says. "Just like you didn't pretend to snatch Danny."
Lindel pauses. "I see why you feel that way, but apparently, Reed asked us to. It was a bad judgment call—especially in light of what happened today."
"We didn't know those men at the school," I find myself saying. "But they identified themselves as FBI."
"Why are we here?" Elzie breaks in. "And don't give us that bull about trying to help each other. Twenty minutes ago, Danny Reed said he was arresting us."
Lindel glances at his agents. "Solana?"
"Reed did say that to them," Solana tells his chief. "He seemed to think he could get them to give up information. He also tried to recruit this young woman," Solana adds, motioning toward Elzie.
Lindel nods. "I'm going to want a full report on that."
"Screw you and your reports," Elzie says. "Either be straight with us and tell us what you've done with Josh, arrest us, or let us go."
Lindel rubs his face with his hands, then looks at us again.
"I think we need to start over," he says. "As I said, my name is Jason Lindel and I've been hired to lead the FBI's Santa Feliz field office. Either the brass think I'm good at what I do and can get things under control here, or I've pissed somebody off and this posting is my punishment. I've been here a week and I'm still playing catch-up. The men by the door are Special Agents Matteson and Solana.
"The Wildlings problem—" He holds up a hand, palm out, before Elzie can protest. "Okay, issue. Can we just accept for the sake of argument that there is one?
"The Wildlings issue has become a problem," he goes on, "because it's escalating out of control. We've got kids being shot, suicides, a population that's getting more antsy by the day, and pressure from various political and religious groups to put a fence around the whole place, lock it up tight, and throw away the key.
"And now we've got some unknown party abducting a kid from right in front of his school—which, I have to tell you, is probably just the start of a whole new mess of headaches."
"Josh isn't a Wildling," Elzie says.
"Fine," Lindel says. "To be honest, from the evidence I've seen so far, it could go either way. What hasn't changed is that he's been taken by persons unknown and we need to find him. I wanted to have this meeting with you to see if we can put our heads together and figure out what to do next."
I hear Matteson's small grunt of disapproval, but I like the way Lindel levels with us and doesn't talk down. Maybe he's telling the truth. The guys who Tazed Josh weren't wearing FBI vests. But for the moment, I'm reserving judgment. I don't know who to trust.
Lindel studies us for a moment before he says, "So now you know who we are …"
He lets his voice trail off. I wait a moment to see if anybody else is going to speak.
"My name's Marina," I say finally. "Desmond and I are in a band with Josh."
Desmond holds up a hand when I mention his name.
"Thank you," Lindel says.
His gaze turns to Elzie. She gives a theatrical sigh.
"I'm Valerie," she says.
Lindel waits a moment. He knows she's lying. We all do. But he doesn't call her on it. Instead, his gaze goes to Auntie Min.
"I'm no one," she says. "Just an old homeless woman who happened to be nearby when all this excitement began. But you may call me Señora Mariposa."
Just for a moment, I think I see something shimmer in the air behind her as she speaks. It's a ghostly image of a giant moth, its wings a mottled brown and black with startling bands of white, and tiny iridescent turquoise highlights appearing here and there like stars in the night sky. It's there and gone so quickly that I think I've imagined it.
Lindel is looking right at her, but he doesn't seem to have noticed. Neither did the others on the sofa beside me. But I hear Agent Solana shift his feet. I turn to see that he appears pale and uncomfortable, though Matteson has the same bland expression that Lindel wears.
Mariposa means butterfly, but the shape behind Auntie Min was a moth. I wonder if it's some kind of projected aura of her animal shape and why Solana could see it.
Señora Mariposa. Mrs. Butterfly.
I sort of remember a movie or something with that name. Madame Butterfly. But that's an opera, isn't it? Then something else comes to mind.
When I was really young, before Mamá tried to reshape us into brown-skinned gringas, she would tell Ampora and me stories that her own mother had told her. Old folktales from the desert peoples of Sonora, where Mamá's family originates. There was one about a butterfly. A scary one ...
And then I remember. Mariposa de la Muerte. The black witch moth. Depending on who was telling the story, they were either harbingers of death, or the souls of the dead. In Mamá's story, they were the familiars of a powerful brujá.
I look at Auntie Min, then glance over to Agent Solana again. Is that who she's saying she is? I have no idea why I've even thought of that old story of Mamá's, but I can tell that Solana saw what I did and he doesn't like it. Has he heard the same stories from his own mamá? He sees me staring at him, so I turn away.
"Chief?" Matteson says.
Lindel nods to him.
"Reed says the old lady's a Wildling—'old school,' he called her."
Lindel looks back at Auntie Min.
"I thought it was only teenagers who had been changed," he says.
It's hard to figure out who he's talking to. Matteson? Auntie Min? Himself?
"That's what we've been assuming," Matteson says. "There've been no been no reports of adults having changed."
Solana nods. "But there've always been stories about animal people—long before this Wildlings business came up. Werewolves, Navajo shape-shifters, Kikimi crow people."
"Right," says Matteson. "And Santa Claus lives at the North Pole and flies around the world delivering presents on Christmas Eve."
Lindel sighs. "But if kids can turn into animals, who knows what else is hiding out there?"
"Just because one impossible thing is true," Auntie Min says, "that doesn't mean everything is."
Lindel studies her for a long moment. Finally he nods.
"So why did you agree to come here?" he asks.
She smiles. "Because the nice Señor Solana asked me to."
Lindel's gaze goes to Solana, who can only shrug.
"She was there when Reed approached the others," Solana says. "You told us you wanted to question anyone who might know something. And as Matteson just said, according to Reed, she's one of them."
"This arrangement with Reed needs a serious revisit," Lindel says, before he returns his attention to us.
"So here's where I stand," he tells us. "I've got the media and my bosses on my case. Everybody's demanding answers when all I've got are questions, but the longer I don't come up with some results, the worse it's going to get.
"But that's not what's important at this moment. Right now, persons unknown have grabbed your friend Josh, and I don't care if he's a Wildling or not, we need to get him back. Safe and unharmed. So if there's anything you haven't told us, anything you can do to help, now would be the time to step up and be heard."
"You're seriously saying you want our help?" Desmond asks. "Dude, we're just a bunch of kids. What're we supposed to do?"
"Exactly my point," I hear Matteson mutter under his breath.
Lindel spreads his hands across the desk. "Yes, you're just a bunch of kids," he says. "But this is all about kids, isn't it? Adults aren't affected by whatever it is that
remakes an ordinary teenager into a Wildling." He glances at Auntie Min before adding, "At least, so far as we know."
"Okay," Desmond says. "Just saying you guys aren't responsible for what happened to Josh—and to be honest, I still don't buy that—the question you've got to answer, dude, is this. Who's got the most to gain from you taking the rap for it?"
"I highly doubt that anyone's trying to frame the FBI," Lindel begins.
Desmond shakes his head. "Come on, dude. Seriously?"
I've never seen Desmond quite like this. Calm, sure of himself, disarming and just a little bit cocky. Usually he's the one who gets hot under the collar.
"Kid's got a point," Matteson says. "Why else would they pull a stunt like that in the middle of the day with all those school kids around? They had to know that someone was going to record it, throw it up on the Net and we'd take the heat."
"Okay," Lindel says. "So who could it be and why would they do it?"
Matteson shakes his head.
"The other thing we have to work out," Solana says, "is why they took that kid. It's one thing to bring in a tame Wildling like we did with Reed, but this is a whole other ball game. I've watched the footage. I don't think Josh is that good an actor. He looked scared. And those men were violent. You don't Taze someone who is compliant."
"And he's not a Wildling," Elzie puts in. "None of us are. Danny Reed is full of shit. He's just a loser who wants to act like he's some big important cop."
Matteson rolls his eyes, but Lindel nods.
"We're not here to debate who's what," Lindel says. "Our priority is to get Josh back and find the perpetrators so that this doesn't happen again.
"Now, if no one has anything to add, you can all go. But please, if something comes to mind, even the smallest detail, call us immediately. Agent Solana will give each of you his card."
"So we can go?" Elzie says. "Just like that?"
"You were never under arrest," Lindel says. "We're not your enemy."
Agent Solana hands each of us his card and escorts us down to the back door.
"I'll have someone drive you to wherever you need to go," he says.
Auntie Min pats his arm. "Oh, that won't be necessary. I'm not that feeble."
"Yeah," Elzie says. "We want to walk."
Solana nods. "Try to avoid the press out there. The guard will let you out the back gate. Think about what Chief Lindel told you. We want to get Josh back as much as you do."
"We will," I say.
"But if you send Danny after us again," Elzie adds, "you'd better make sure he's got an army with him, because the next time I see him, I'm going to pop him one."
Solana tries not to smile. "It's not wise to make threats, young lady. But by the time the Chief gets through with him, Reed is going to have a lot more on his mind than you."
"Just give him my message," Elzie says, undaunted.
Auntie Min takes her by the arm before she can go on.
"Help an old lady home," she says.
"I thought you just said you weren't feeble."
Auntie Min looks at Solana and shakes her head.
"Young people," she says.
Then she sets off, not so much leaning on Elzie for support as walking her away from the building. Desmond falls in behind them. I would follow, except that Agent Solana touches my shoulder.
"Back in the office," he says. "What happened there? When she said her name, I thought I saw ... I don't know. Something. And I know you did, too."
I hesitate for a moment, then nod. I know I shouldn't trust him, but I find myself liking Solana, so I decide to be honest.
"I don't know," I tell him. "It was weird. Like there was a big moth behind her." I wait a moment, then add, "You've heard the stories."
"Of course I have. I grew up in the barrio—not here in Santa Feliz, but the stories don't change."
"Mamá told me that Mariposa de la Muerte can pull aside the veil between the worlds."
"In the ones I heard, she was the Angel of Death." He looks down the street. "You don't think she's really ...?"
He can't bring himself to say the words and I don't blame him. It seems so implausible.
"Maybe she just did it for effect," I say. "To freak us out."
"If that's the case, it's working. I felt like I was seven years old again and listening to Tía Margarida's spooky stories."
I see that Desmond has stopped and is waiting for me, looking mildly annoyed.
"Your partner doesn't like us," I say to Solana, before I go to catch up to Des.
"Agent Matteson takes his job seriously," Solana says. "To serve and protect are more than just words to him. In the Bureau, we know that the kids who've changed aren't evil, but ever since it began, there's been a hell of a lot of collateral damage. It's our job to keep people safe and that includes Wildlings. And your friend Josh."
"Then why are you harassing Wildlings?"
"We're not. We're simply trying to protect everyone from harm. Sometimes that means taking dangerous people off the streets and doing what we can to teach them not to hurt anybody, or themselves."
"I don't know ..."
"Just think about it."
I want to defend Wildlings, but that would risk exposing my secret. So I leave it at, "I will," and hurry off to join Desmond.
"Getting all chummy with the fuzz, are we?" says Des as I get to him.
"I don't know," I say. "Maybe it really wasn't them who took Josh. I mean, three guys Tazed him even though he was surrendering. He's just a kid. Even with all the bad cop stories you hear, that seems way over the top."
"So if it wasn't the cops, then who the hell was it?"
"I don't know, Des, but we've got to find out and we've got to save him."
Josh
I wake up disoriented. I'm lying on my back. On the other side of my closed eyelids, everything looks white—like I'm under a bright spotlight. I have this vague sense of déjà vu.
My mouth is dry, my throat is really sore, and my tongue feels swollen, too big for my mouth. There's a dull ache in my head, just behind my eyes. My whole body is tingling with that pins-and-needles feeling you get when your foot or your arm goes to sleep. I smell strong cleaners and antiseptics, glass and steel. I'm lying on some kind of thin mattress. I can hear the soft murmur of machines but there's only one person close by. A little ping of recognition tells me it's another Wildling. It's no one I know.
I have a vague recollection of hearing screams, and another of being strapped to a table, but the last thing I remember with any clarity is getting an injection in the van. I can't even begin to guess how long ago that was, where I am, what's going to happen next. I'm thinking I should play dead a little longer. Just because I can't smell or hear anybody close by, doesn't mean I'm not being watched.
I decide I don't care.
I open my eyes and sit up, and immediately wish I hadn't. Everything goes spinning around me and I think I'm going to hurl. I put out a hand to the mattress to regain my balance and my whole arm feels clunky—like it belongs to someone else. I manage to get it in place before I topple over. I find if I don't move, the spinning and nausea finally start to go away. The pins-and-needles feeling takes longer. The headache sticks around.
The other Wildling is in the cell behind me. His breathing is so even, I think he's asleep.
The cell I'm in—I don't even know if I can call it a cell. It's more like a glass box. I can't tell where it opens, or how. There's a row of them in the direction I'm facing. Five more, all empty except for mattresses and stainless steel toilets. No pillows or sheets or even a blanket. No taps, no sinks.
That reminds me that I'm thirsty. Wanting something to drink makes my stomach rumble, but the nausea's too recent for me to want any food.
Beyond the glass cubicles, the rest of the room seems to be some weird combination of a science lab and a hospital operating room. It's all gleaming steel, the walls white. Rows of fluorescent light above leave no chance of shadow anywhere exce
pt for under the operating tables.
I take the chance that moving won't give me vertigo again and turn around to find the Wildling sitting up on his mattress, looking at me. He's like me—just a kid—dressed in some kind of white cotton pants and a shirt. I'm dressed the same, I realize. That's kind of creepy. People I don't know and never saw took off my clothes and put me in these. That's even creepier.
He's a skinny white kid with a fading tan, sharp angular features and big blue eyes that have a world-weary look that doesn't really go with his age. It's hard to tell, but I think his hair is blond—his eyebrows certainly are. His hair is cut so short it might as well not even be there. It's not until I see his shaved head that I realize my own head feels light. I lift a hand and all I find is stubble as short as his. My dreads are gone.
I hear a growl. It takes me a moment to understand that it's coming from me. It's not my stomach. It's the mountain lion under my skin, reacting to my anger. I remember what Chaingang told me.
If the Feds pull you in, don't let them see you change. Not even if they lock you up. Don't ever change where they can see.
I push the mountain lion away so that it's not so close to my skin.
"Whu—" I have to stop and clear my throat. "Where are we?"
"I don't know. I'm Rico."
"Josh."
"How do you feel?" he asks.
"Like crap. Dizzy. Nauseous. Thirsty."
He nods. "That's the drugs."
"Drugs? What kind of drugs?"
"I don't know. Some kind of tranquilizer."
"I don't feel very tranquil."
"That's 'cause they're wearing off. They shot you up so that you wouldn't bust free."
"Do I look like I could take on a bunch of grown men?"
"They think you're a Wildling."
"Well, I'm not."
He gives me a thin smile and nods. "Yeah, me neither."
"How long have you been here?"
"I'm not sure. A few weeks. There've been others, but I don't know where they are now. A girl was locked up in your cell for awhile, but they took her away yesterday and I haven't seen her since. She ... she wasn't doing so good. They'd taken a lot of blood from her."
Under My Skin (Wildlings) Page 19
