She said nothing. She was too shocked to speak.
His smile vanished. “I see. Then I must advise you that you are under arrest for suspicion of conspiracy to deceive the course of justice; to deliberately carry out acts of terror by means of device or devices designed to cripple our top thinkers, and forcing minors to act as instruments of terror. I trust you understand these are serious accusations, and should sufficient evidence be found, will lead to charges which we will prosecute at the highest level.”
She felt the tears welling up. Apart from deliberately carrying out acts of terror, he was right. She had done those things. But it was only to try to save her friend. And get rid of a nasty creature. Then save the world at the same time. Hopefully. But explaining any of that to the Inspector would fall on deaf ears. They’d probably declare her insane, and that would mean another trip to Stratfords—
The Inspector was speaking again. “... will of course be charged with the same offences. But if you speak now and assist us, then I might be able to lessen your charges.”
She realised he was talking about the Professor. The kids! They were about to send Valkrog back. She had to stop the police going to the lab. “I’ll talk. At the police station. I’ll tell you everything.”
He smiled and nodded. “I thought you would be interested in saving your own skin. We’ll have Mr Harrison brought in as well.”
Noooo! She’d meant to delay them, not speed things up. Now what? Time to be quick-witted. “Actually he had nothing to do with it. This has been my plan all along. I’ll tell you everything when we get to the station. I’ll come clean.” She looked him in the eye, willing him to be convinced.
He stared back at her, then relaxed. “You’ll tell us the location of the explosive device first.”
She nodded. “It’s ah, in a safe place. And it is not activated. That was where I was going. Part of my master plan.” She hoped she sounded cunning and intelligent. Though with the rem-loss, anyone with half a brain was having trouble with that. She peered at the Inspector.
“What are you looking at?” He frowned at her.
“Ah. I was wondering, as a prime example of one of our top thinkers, if you’d experienced any ... problems.”
He shook his head.
She nodded and tried to look wise. “As I said, the device is inactive, and will stay that way.”
“Then tell us where it is.”
“Not until I have explained everything to you at the station. And when you have guaranteed me the safety of Professor Harrison and the children.”
He grunted and faced the front.
Phew. She silently exhaled the breath she’d been holding. She had bought the Professor some time at least. If the creature was banished to its own world, then at least one thing was taken care of. After that, who knew?
Within minutes they drove into the police car park and the gate clanged shut behind them. She looked around. Only twelve years old and she’d already been taken to the police station in the back of a police car. Twice.
She was marched into an interview room and left by herself. She was still wearing the headshield and vaguely wondered what would happen now the machine was back in the lab, and if the creature was sent back using the machine. Would the blackouts still come? She vowed not to test that theory.
The door opened and a policewoman came in and actually smiled. “Would you like a drink and something to eat?”
She realised the gnawing pit in her stomach was part-hunger, part overwhelming anxiety. It would be good to reduce the hunger part. She nodded. “Yes please. Just some water and a sandwich would be great.” The woman nodded and left.
Sarina sat back in the chair and looked across the table to the other side and the two empty chairs. A microphone sat on the table between them. How was she going to explain all this and not get the Professor involved?
First things first; eat and get her energy back. She needed to avoid trying to come up with too many new ideas—the rem-loss would put a stop to that. She told herself to rely on memory and her existing skills. But what could she remember now that would help?
What she did recall was the last time she had been here. With Nathan, in this very room. She remembered the Inspector slapping the severed hand on the table and her fainting. She’d woken up in a cell with Nathan, where he’d said they had no reason to hold them any longer. But they’d done some pretty serious things? Why couldn’t the police keep them?
She wracked her brains. It was because the police had arrested them on suspicion. Suspicion was not enough to detain someone, without evidence or a confession. She remembered that much from Nathan’s explanation later. As minors, the police had only been able to hold them until they were collected by their parents, but this time her mother may have only just got home from Paris and had probably gone straight to bed. Though knowing her mother, she would have trouble sleeping with her worry about Sarina. If she only knew.
Well she wouldn’t give them a confession, but she’d have to stall.
And she was certain evidence would be very hard to come by. After all, the world’s experts still couldn’t explain the mystery brain disease and the nightmares. She was sure Inspector Bolton was no expert.
She sat back and put her hands in her pockets, and felt the tin. Rona.
She remembered Rona’s friend from the shop. The one who had helped her get her life back. Who bought her art. Who helped her with her legal issues. He was a lawyer; he’d given her mother a business card.
Nathan had joked around with her once. “I want a lawyer,” he’d said. “That’s what you tell ’em. Then they have to let you call someone.” He’d looked smug that he knew something she didn’t.
Well he’d be pretty smug now, because that is exactly what she would do.
She frowned. But she didn’t have the man’s card, her mother did. Could she call her mother? Should she call her mother? If she did, it wouldn’t help, and it might even make it impossible to carry out her plan.
She had to delay and then try to get hold of this man.
She pulled out the tin of pastels and turned it over. On the underside was the address and phone number of Rona’s shop. And a mobile number. Please let her be available. She put the tin back in her pocket.
The door opened, and the policewoman delivered her a massive sandwich and a bottle of water, which she sat down on the table. “Alright, miss? Do you need anything else?”
Sarina looked up at her and smiled. “I want a lawyer.” The woman’s smile dropped. She stared at Sarina for a moment, then left.
Sarina made the most of the giant sandwich while she waited for the inevitable.
Inspector Bolton strode into the room. His glare could have sliced metal, but she just smiled sweetly and finished her mouthful, then repeated her request: “I want a lawyer.”
He didn’t say a word, and beckoned her to follow him. Which she did, to a small room with one table and a phone. He picked up the receiver and pressed a button. He held out the receiver. “I am required to be present during this conversation. Anything you say can and will be taken down and used in evidence against you. Do you have the number of your lawyer?”
She smiled again and reached in her pocket. She took out the tin, turned it over and started dialling the number, mentally crossing her fingers and toes.
The phone rang and rang.
Please be there!
And then a sleepy voice answered. “Rona. Who is calling this late?”
“Hello, Rona. It’s Sarina—you know, you gave me—”
“Sarina, yes. What’s wrong, dear? Are you in trouble?” The voice was instantly alert and Sarina wondered how Rona had known she might be in trouble.
“I’m, er ... yes. I need a lawyer, and I thought your friend ...”
“Simon? How urgent is it, Sarina?”
She thought furiously. How could she convey ‘end of the world’ urgent without giving anything away to the Inspector glaring at her. “It’s quite urgent, actual
ly. Um, it’s a leg emergency, if you know what I mean?”
The voice was quiet for a moment. “Then I will call Simon immediately. Where are you?”
“I’m in Chelton police station. I’ve told the Inspector I want a lawyer. I’ve been arrested under suspicion.”
“Okay. We’re a good 40 minute drive from you, but I’ll leave now—”
“No, Rona! You don’t have to come! I just need your friend’s help. Maybe he knows someone local who can—”
“Didn’t you just tell me it was a life-or-death emergency?”
Sarina nodded, then realised Rona couldn’t see her. “Er, yes.”
“Then say nothing else until Simon and I get there. Find your courage, Sarina. The same courage you express in your work.”
“Okay. Thank you.” She handed the phone back to the Inspector and started crying.
He only glared at her some more. “Don’t try the sob-story on me, young lady. I’ve seen too many of them. You can wait in a holding cell.” He nodded to the policewoman, who gave Sarina a suspicious look, but offered her a tissue, which she took.
In the holding cell she sat down and thought about Rona’s words. Find your courage. She’d had plenty of it, up until now, but maybe it had just been bravado. Now, as Agent Smith had said, she would have to dig deep. She’d just involved two people she hardly knew. She hoped she had good reason.
The holding cell was less prison-like. The police must have had some advice about showing a friendlier side of themselves, because next to the bench she sat on was a water dispenser and paper cups, and a small table with some tatty magazines scattered on the top. She pulled the top one off and flicked through it. It was an old copy of Time Magazine, with a big feature article on oil supply. She only looked at the pictures, which were mostly of the desert, though one was a close-up of a man with an oil-streaked face and wearing a hard hat. He was grinning at the camera and pointing to a plume of smoke in the distance behind him. She tried to read the text, but it was dryly-written and only made her drowsy.
She closed her eyes and tried to reach the tiny core of strength she had once had. It was there still, but delicate. Like a butterfly on a finger. She meditated on the image and, exhausted from the intense activities of the day, fell asleep.
And woke with a start when the cell door clanged open.
Sergeant Crawford stood there with his arms folded and a tight jaw. He jerked his head to the corridor. “‘E’s sprung you, ain’t ‘e. You’re free to go”—he leaned down and thrust his face into hers, with his arms still folded. His eyes blazed—“but I’ll be watching you. Fancy lawyer or not, if you’re guilty, you’re going dahn.”
She swallowed hard and followed the big sergeant out to reception, where Simon, now dressed in a smart pair of pants and an open collar shirt, stood next to Rona, who smiled at Sarina, then screwed up her face, peering at Sarina’s head.
Sarina touched the top of her head. She’d forgotten she still had the headshield on. She’d told the police voices from God had ordered her to wear it, and screamed when they tried to remove it, so they gave up trying. She hoped it would add to the long list of ‘She’s a nutter’ charges. “Yes, it’s weird, I know. I’ll explain later.”
Rona held up the Intensifier. “This is yours too, I believe? The constable here”—she pointed to the policewoman behind the counter—“said it belonged to you?” Sarina nodded.
Simon held out his hand. “I’m Simon Warburton. Pleased to meet you again, Sarina. The police here have no grounds for holding a minor, even on some bogus terrorism suspicion charge. But you’d better tell us what’s been going on, as we will have to explain ourselves at some point.”
She shook his hand. “Thank you. I don’t know—”
He shook his head. “Later. Right now, Rona tells me we need to have a very private discussion.” His gaze flicked to the policewoman behind the counter and back to Sarina.
“Oh. Yes. Of course. Let’s go er ... somewhere then.”
Rona wheeled herself around and the three of them left down the ramp.
They had driven in Rona’s car, so Simon helped Rona into the driver’s seat; folded the wheelchair away and held the rear door open for Sarina, who got in.
“Where to, Sarina?” Rona looked back, her furrowed brow giving away her concern.
“This is going to sound strange, but I’d like to go to a park on the other side of town. It’s quiet there anyway, but I can tell you everything on the way. Would that be okay?”
Rona’s eyes narrowed. “Only if I can call your mother. Surely she will be worried?”
Sarina nodded. “After I’ve explained, if that’s alright. And yes, that would be good, for you to call her once I’ve ...”
“Once you’ve what?” Simon sounded curious.
“Ah ... well it’s a long story.”
“I’m a lawyer. I’m supposed to know the story, remember?” He smiled.
“Yes. Well the thing is, telling the whole story might take longer than we have.”
Rona flicked her gaze up at Sarina in the rear view mirror. “You make it sound like the world is about to end.”
“I’ll give you the short version. That way we might get to the park before it does.”
Simon and Rona exchanged a quick glance, and he looked back at her. “Then you’d better give us directions. While you talk.”
Sarina nodded and started to explain her unbelievable story. When she came to the part about the rem-loss and the connection to the other world; the crazy blackouts and the nightmare epidemic, Rona gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. “Then it’s true. I too, have had these very issues. I thought I’d picked up some kind of virus, until I saw the news. And those stupid bumbling experts they keep featuring? None of them have any idea what the real problem is.”
They stopped at a traffic light. Rona turned back. “But you do. Now I can see why no-one would believe you. But I do.” She glanced at her friend, who was looking through the front window and deep in thought. “Simon?”
They pulled away from the lights.
He breathed a huge sigh. “Sounds more real than anything I’ve seen on the news. But what’s the answer? I’m a very good lawyer, but I’m no scientist.” He twisted around to look at Sarina. “You have a plan, don’t you? It’s why you made us drive you to this park.”
Sarina nodded. “I’m not even sure it will work. There’s no time to explain either, you’ll just have to trust me when I say it’s the only thing I can think of left to do.”
She looked at Rona. “I think you know what it means to sacrifice a dream. I had a dream; to win the national Young Artists Breakthrough Competition and to be invited to attend art school in Paris. My life’s ambition was to be an artist. It’s all I ever wanted.” She sighed. “I think it was all fanciful. Life is not like that, is it—full of fields of flowers and fluffy clouds?” She looked at Rona.
“It might not seem that way now, Sarina. I had a very similar feeling after my accident. But I found my way. You will too. You are too full of talent and stubborn persistence. You have to accept this is your journey. No-one else’s, just yours.”
Sarina gave her a wry smile. “Thank you. Just the motivational speech someone needs before they head off to save the world. And their best friend.”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “In a park?”
Sarina smiled. “Come and watch.” She leaned forward and pointed through the windscreen. “You see that large castle-shaped cubbyhouse?”
Rona nodded.
“Can you please drive as close as possible and leave your lights shining on it?”
Rona gave her a strange look and moved the car.
“Thanks. Now follow me. And leave the lights on.”
Simon unpacked the wheelchair and pushed Rona over the grass to the structure.
Sarina had the Intensifier in her hand and reached up for the headshield. Would doing this bring back the dizzy spells and blackouts again? She hesitated, looked at the oth
er two, and held up the silver headshield. “If I faint, please put this one on my head.”
She lifted it off, replaced it with the Intensifier and switched it on.
She reached down into her pocket and pulled out her tin of Rona’s pastels. She looked at the woman in the wheelchair. “These deserved better, sorry.”
Rona looked up at her. “Better than saving the world? I couldn’t be more proud. But what are you doing?”
“This.” She pushed the slider on the Intensifier to full power and felt the energy start to course through her. She willed it to reach her hands, and reached to the wall with the first pastel.
Her job was to recreate—exactly—the same portal she, Paolo and Nathan had made the day they’d all returned to Paolo’s world. The picture was etched in her memory and no rem-loss would interfere with this one. Doing it in pastels would be more of a challenge—after all the last time she’d used a spray can—but there’d be no prizes for the drawing. It just had to work. She only hoped Rona’s pastels had staying power.
She’d been working for a few minutes when she saw the flaw in her plan. To recreate the portal exactly, she would have to draw up at the height she’d drawn before when Paolo had lifted her up. And he was huge in their world. Try as hard as she might, she couldn’t reach to the top.
“Having trouble?” Simon offered his help.
Sarina turned to him. “I need to reach up there.” She pointed to the top of the side of the oversized cubby’s castle wall.
“Sarina.” Rona rolled up to her. “Stand on this.” She pushed herself out of the wheelchair and flopped onto the ground. “Go on. What do you think I am, a useless invalid? Go to it.”
Sarina stared a moment, then jumped up onto the wheelchair, and balanced one foot on the highest part of the back. A bit unsteady, but it would work. She felt a hand steady her foot and looked down to see Simon smiling. “Go on,” he said, “do what you need to do.”
She finished the drawing of the top of the portal and jumped down. Now for the tricky part. She looked at the others. Could they help? She guessed they could. It was worth a try anyway. Rona was hauling herself back into her chair, with Simon’s help.
The Dreamer Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set Vol I - III: A Sci-Fi Parallel Universe Adventure (The Dreamer Chronicles - Science Fiction For Kids And Adults) Page 57
