Criminal Destiny

by Gordon Korman

  My first thought is: Who decorated this place? In Serenity, everything is brand-new and really nice: tasteful colors, rich fabrics, stylish furniture. This looks like the place old desks go to die. Everything is beige, and you can tell most of it didn’t start out that way.

  I march right up to the sergeant. She ignores me, so I clear my throat. “Excuse me, I think my sister was brought here.”

  She looks interested. “Your sister got a name?”

  I hesitate. Amber might have given them a fake name, but I doubt it. Her whole purpose was to bring the law down on Project Osiris. She said it herself: we’re the evidence.

  I chance it. “Amber Laska. I’m her sister, Victoria.” Malik might be right about me and lying. It’s kind of scary how totally easily the whoppers trip off my tongue as I launch into my story about the psychiatrist’s appointment, and how “Dad” drove us in from Pueblo just that morning.

  The sergeant leans back in her chair. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any ID? Student card? Bus pass?”

  “Uh—no.” The question throws me a little. I’ve never had any identification—none of us have. What’s the point of ID in a town where everybody knows everybody else?

  “How come it’s you who came for your sister instead of your folks?”

  “So she’s here?” I probe.

  She nods. “Squad car brought her in half an hour ago. I can’t release her, though.”

  “Is she under arrest?”

  “No, but she’s a minor and so are you. Your parents will have to come get her.”

  That would be a neat trick. “I don’t know where they are,” I plead, inventing rapidly. “Everyone panicked when Amber disappeared. We split up to look for her.”

  The sergeant hands me her cell phone. “Call them.”

  With the officer watching me, I have to punch in numbers, but I never place the call. “Nobody’s picking up.” I “try” again, without pressing dial. “Mom, if you get this message, I found Amber. She’s at the police station on North Washington, but they won’t let me take her. You have to come right away or we’ll miss the appointment, and who knows when they’ll have another one . . .” By this time, I’m actually crying, and it isn’t part of the act. How are we going to get Amber out of this place? We can’t produce parents out of thin air.

  “Kid—” the desk sergeant tries to soothe.

  “Aurora,” I blubber aloud.

  She frowns. “Thought your name’s Victoria.”

  “Princess Aurora—from Sleeping Beauty. That’s who Amber was at my dress-up party.” It occurs to me how ridiculous this must seem. “Forget it. It was a long time ago . . .”

  The desk sergeant looks a little alarmed at the prospect of having two crazy sisters to deal with instead of just one. “I see you’re upset and I want to help if I can. We’re taking your sister to see our psychologist at five o’clock. This is his office.” She scribbles a name and address on the back of a business card and hands it to me. “Maybe your folks can meet you there. If you have any trouble finding them, you come straight back here, you hear me?”

  “Thanks,” I say, and I’m honestly grateful. I don’t have Amber, but I have the next best thing.

  We know where she’s going to be and when.

  Now we have to go get her.

  6

  ELI FRIEDEN

  A few months ago, this would have been science fiction. We were living in Serenity, 100 percent convinced it was the best place on earth. Even Malik, who complained about how boring it was, was just blustering when he talked about leaving one day. What little we knew about the outside world centered around the fact that we didn’t want to go there—it was lawless; it was dirty; it was horrible.

  Now we’re right smack dab in the middle of that world, and most of the lawless, dirty, and horrible things we’ve seen here are being done by us. And don’t think it doesn’t haunt us that this makes perfect sense. After all, we’re supposed to be exact copies of some of the worst criminals the human race has to offer.

  Haunting or not, though, we don’t have time to worry that we might be living up to the evil in our DNA. We have to get Amber back. Period.

  Finding the Medical Arts Center isn’t so easy. Everyone we ask assures us it’s not far, and then launches into a long, complicated series of twists and turns, complete with instructions like “at the third light,” and “there’s a shoemaker on the corner.” Hey, we come from a town where there are no traffic lights, and the shoes we wear are made someplace else.

  Eventually, we start to get nervous, because Amber’s appointment is at five. If we miss her there, we might never catch up with her again. The smart move would be to go back to Bites and Bytes and look up the address on a computer. But by this point, we’re so turned around that we can’t figure out where that is either. We’re just about in a panic, when Tori stumbles on a kiosk that gives away tourist maps of downtown.

  A few frenzied minutes later, we run up to the Medical Arts Center on Delaware Street, which we must have passed and ignored at least five times. I guess that’s to be expected when you’re used to a place where the total number of roads falls in the single digits.

  It’s a four-story brick building with a flat roof, not as old and run down as the police station, but nowhere near as new and nice as anything in Serenity.

  “Why does everything in the outside world have to be so blah?” Tori wonders.

  “I have a theory about that,” I tell her. “Serenity wasn’t a real town, so they could concentrate on making it look good. But out here, everything serves a real purpose. A medical building doesn’t have to be an architectural masterpiece. It just has to be a place where you can see your doctor.”

  Malik snorts impatiently. “We’ll ask them to put up streamers and balloons for our next kidnapping.”

  The building is nicer on the inside, but not much, with painted cinderblock walls and fluorescent lighting. It’s clean, though, and the elevator works. None of us have ever been in an elevator before, and we’re a little embarrassed by how excited we get by it. We even go up to the fourth floor so we can come down to the third. It’s a pretty big deal. Malik and Tori have a little argument over who pushes the button.

  The third floor features a long hallway, each door leading to a different medical practice. There are several doctors, a dentist, a chiropractor, and something called an aromatherapist, whatever that is. But our center of focus is the office marked:

  306

  DR. EMIL HERZOG

  GENERAL PSYCHIATRY

  “So what do we do?” asks Malik. “Hide in one of these doorways, and when we see Laska, grab her and run down the stairs?”

  I shake my head. “That won’t work. They’re not going to send her by herself. She’ll be with a cop.”

  Tori scans the third floor with an appraiser’s eye. She walks to the ladies’ room, a few doors past 306, peers inside, and motions us to join her.

  “We can’t go in there,” I hiss. “It’s for girls.”

  Malik favors me with a smile. “If you’re too chicken to set foot inside the girls’ bathroom, I kind of doubt you’re ready to jack a prisoner from police custody.”

  He has a point. We’re done with the sweetness and good manners we learned in Serenity. It’s a jungle out here. If you can’t climb up the food chain, something’s going to eat you.

  Tori opens the bathroom door and makes us go inside. There are four stalls and two sinks, but she immediately moves to the large window at the far end. We join her and peer down into a shaded alley at the back of the building.

  “We’re on the third floor,” I remind her. “How do we get down?”

  “We could buy a rope,” Malik suggests. “There must be a hardware store around here somewhere.”

  Tori consults her watch. “No time. It’s quarter to five. How high up do you think this is?”

  “High enough to break our legs and probably our necks too,” puts in Malik.

  “There must be someth
ing here we can use to climb down . . . ,” Tori muses.

  We follow her back out of the bathroom. She walks briskly down the hall looking from side to side.

  Malik is impatient. “It’s a building full of doctors. What are we going to do—make a ladder out of tongue depressors?”

  She stops in front of a large glass case built into the wall. Inside, wrapped up in a tight coil, is the third-floor fire hose.

  I’m standing in the Medical Arts Center’s glass lobby when the squad car pulls up to the curb. The sign says No Parking, but that doesn’t seem to apply to police. A big cop opens the rear door and Amber gets out. My heart soars at the sight of her familiar face.

  As they start up the walk, I slip out the front door and move toward them. The instant Amber spots me, I shake my head no. She can’t acknowledge me, or the cop will get suspicious.

  I jostle her arm as I pass by. “Excuse me.”

  “Watch where you’re going, kid,” the cop growls.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, and manage to whisper into Amber’s ear, “Third-floor bathroom.”

  I’m scared to death that the cop heard me—or that Amber didn’t. But I won’t know that until she shows up in the ladies’ room. Or doesn’t.

  I dart around and reenter the building from the parking lot door. From there, I fly up the stairs and hit the third floor just as the elevator doors rumble open behind me. I turn on the jets and blast into the bathroom, where Malik and Tori are waiting anxiously.

  “She’s here?” Tori asks.

  I nod, panting. “With the biggest cop you’ve ever seen. Considering she’s not under arrest, they’re sure treating her like a prisoner.”

  Malik and I hide in two stalls, standing on the toilet seats so our feet won’t show. If somebody else needs to use the bathroom before Amber gets here, the last thing we need is some lady screaming the third floor down.

  Five minutes pass. Then ten.

  Tori’s getting antsy. “Maybe they won’t let her go.”

  “They have to let her go.” But what if she didn’t receive my whispered message in the first place?

  Before I can express this to the others, I hear the door opening. A deep voice rumbles, “I’ll wait outside.”

  When Malik and I exit the stalls, we find a very silent hugging reunion in progress between the two girls.

  “I’d kill you if I wasn’t so glad to see you,” Malik whispers.

  Amber reddens. “I screwed up. I should have known that they wouldn’t believe me.”

  Tori is all business. “We can blame each other later. Let’s get out of here.”

  “How?” rasps Amber. “That cop’s right outside.”

  Tori reaches under the closest stall and pulls out the fire hose. One end has been firmly knotted to base of the metal divider. “Help me with the window.”

  Malik flips the latch and lifts. The sash doesn’t budge.

  I move in to give him a hand. We heave with all our might. Nothing.

  Amber examines the frame. “It’s painted shut.”

  “We’ll smash the window,” Malik offers.

  “No!” Amber hisses. “That cop will hear it.”

  Tori pulls a barrette out of her hair and begins to break through the thick layer of dried paint with the metal clip. It works, but it’s slow going.

  There’s a rap at the bathroom door. “What’s taking so long in there?”

  “You want details?” Amber shoots back.

  The knocking stops.

  Sweat forms on Tori’s brow as she uses the barrette to saw all the way around the frame. At last, she steps back and Malik and I try again. The window resists for a moment and then rises in a shower of paint chips.

  Tori tosses the nozzle out the window and we watch the hose unroll down the side of the building. But instead of dropping all the way to the alley, the length plays out and the nozzle hangs there, ten feet off the ground.

  “We’re short,” I report.

  The others peer outside at our dangling mode of escape.

  Malik is furious. “Didn’t you bother to make sure the rope was long enough?” He looks like he’s shouting, but it comes out an agitated snarl.

  “We’ll have to climb down as far as we can and jump the rest of the way,” Tori decides.

  “I don’t know,” I say nervously. “With a drop like that, at least one of us is bound to sprain an ankle or worse. If that cop chases us, we’ll be dead meat.”

  “If we don’t get out of here now, we’re dead meat anyway,” Amber argues.

  Tori leans over the sash. “See that Dumpster off to the left? When you get to the bottom of the hose, try to swing toward it. At least it’s a soft landing.”

  “But it’s garbage,” Malik complains.

  We all know that his real concern is rappelling down a three-story building, swinging like Tarzan, and then jumping into what we hope is something soft. Yeah, we’re all a little worried about that.

  The cop is knocking again. “Hurry up, Amber. The doctor’s waiting.”

  My mind forms the connections—the officer, the Purples, my dad. The thought of Felix Frieden is all the motivation I need. “I’ll go first.” I scramble out the window, clinging to the fabric of the hose.

  “Let me just wash up,” Amber calls in the direction of the door. I hear one of the toilets flushing.

  I don’t know what’s worse—the climb itself or the fear that the slightest slip will leave me dashed to pieces on the pavement of a Denver alley. The simple act of letting go to lower myself is a stomach-churning terror. To make matters worse, every time I bounce back to the wall, the rough brick rips my knuckles to shreds. When I finally reach the dangling nozzle, it’s a shock how far up I still am, and an even bigger shock how far away the Dumpster is.

  I turn beseeching eyes up to the third floor.

  Tori mouths a single word: “Swing!”

  I wriggle my body in an attempt to get the hose in motion.

  “Sometime today would be nice,” comes from above. Malik.

  It’s no use. I’m swaying a little but the Dumpster still looks out of range. I’m going to have to leap for it. And if I miss—well, we won’t go into that.

  I can’t do it. Dangling from a fire hose may not be the most comfortable position, but at least I’m attached to something solid. How am I going to work up the courage to let go?

  I manufacture an image of Dad, a smug, superior expression on his face, and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

  Jump!

  I extend my legs like a trapeze artist and fling myself at the Dumpster. For an instant I’m in midair, uncoupled from earth, falling. Then I’m rolling in the garbage. It’s not the softest impact, but it’s a lot softer than the pavement. I lurch to a stop with my face in a half-eaten pizza, disturbing a squadron of feasting flies.

  There was definitely a moment when I was in free fall, not knowing if I’d survive it, where I’d have traded my situation for a return to Serenity. I’ll never admit it to the others, but it was definitely there.

  I get up, battered but not broken, to see Tori headed down the hose, moving with an ease and skill that I could never match. In no time at all, she’s at the bottom, swinging like a pendulum out over the Dumpster. She lands on her feet beside me. High above, Malik throws a leg out the window and begins his descent. That means Amber will be last, probably because her police escort is getting antsy and needs to hear her voice through the door.

  “How’s that cop?” I ask.

  “Mad.” Tori’s nervous. “And getting madder. The minute he doesn’t hear Amber’s voice anymore he’s going to barge into the bathroom and see the fire hose going out the window.”

  “We’ll have to run for it. We should have a little head start while he leaves the building. But the minute he gets in his car, the advantage is all his.”

  Malik is the strongest of us, but he’s also carrying the most weight. He’s climbing cautiously, his style closer to mine than Tori’s.

  �
�Why’s he going so slow?” Tori murmurs under her breath.

  “Maybe he’s afraid of breaking every bone in his body,” I tell her. “I know I was.”

  And then he’s crashing into the Dumpster beside us, practically bowling us over, landing flat on his face.

  He rolls over in the trash, groaning. “It stinks in here!”

  “What do you expect the garbage to smell like?” I retort. “Roses?”

  Now Amber is on the way down, moving almost as quickly as Tori, her arms working like pistons. Her expression is wild as she mouths an urgent message without making any sound.

  “You’re doing fine,” Tori calls.

  A minute later, the cause of her distress becomes clear. The big cop is leaning out the window. He takes in the sight of Amber on the hose and us in the Dumpster and bellows, “Freeze!”

  And when we don’t freeze, he does something even Tori hasn’t anticipated. He grips ham-like hands on the fire hose and begins yanking Amber up. Panicking, she descends faster. But the cop is strong as an ox, and she actually starts to rise.

  “Jump!” yells Tori.

  Amber is petrified. “It’s too high!”

  You’d better believe it’s too high, but we can’t let her be hauled back into custody.

  “We’ll catch you,” I promise.

  Malik casts me a look that plainly says nobody’s going to be able to catch anybody. But he’s holding out his arms. For Amber, jumping is a bad option, but also the only one there is.

  She’s at least twenty feet up when she kicks toward us.

  The cop stops pulling. “Don’t do it, kid!”

  It’s too late. Amber lets go. It’s almost a swan dive. We scramble to guess the point of impact, because she’s going to snap her neck if we don’t catch her. I have an awful flashback to my last sight of poor Hector, clinging to the back of the cone truck right before it plunged off the road and down into the steep valley.

  Please don’t let us lose anybody else.

  Despite her toughness, Amber is screaming all the way. We all know we’ll be crushed like bugs if she lands on us, but she’ll be crushed if we just let her drop. We reach up, and suddenly she’s there, coming down between us. We each get a hand on her before the force of her fall slams the four of us into the refuse of the Dumpster.