When Oliver came in wearing an orange jumpsuit, Greg tried not to react. The guy looked awful. Oliver’s thin, dark hair was uncombed, he had thick scruff along his jawline, and he looked so skinny Greg wondered if they were starving him to death.
Jamansky waved excitedly through the glass like a school girl waving to her mother through the bus window. Oliver’s eyes went from Jamansky to Greg and back. Then they hardened in anger.
Jamansky grabbed the phone receiver.
“Looking good, Simmons,” he crowed. “I just had to say hello and make sure you meet the guy who’s made tomorrow possible. I can’t wait. It’s going to be great.”
With that, Jamansky handed the phone to Greg.
“He gets five minutes,” Jamansky said to the guard. Then he walked out.
When Greg turned back, Oliver was gaping at him. But the shock on his gaunt face quickly melted into a mask of indifference. Oliver stared straight at Greg, blank and dull, like Carrie had looked yesterday. Blank. Hollow. It was the face of a survivor.
“You’re working with Jamansky now?” Oliver said into the phone. “I suppose that’s par.”
Greg held up his hands, showing him the metal restraints. “Not exactly workin’ with him. How else was I supposed to get in here to see you?”
Oliver’s brows pulled down. “So…you’re not helping Jamansky?”
Greg glanced over his shoulder. The prison guard stood watch, but the door behind him was solidly shut tight. While Greg hoped that meant Jamansky wasn’t listening in, security cameras filled every corner.
With cuffs on, Greg clutched the phone and lowered his voice. “I’d love nothin’ more than to see that guy in your place.”
It was like watching a fire grow. Oliver’s eyes lit with a spark until they were a blazing flame.
Suddenly, his words came out in a rush.
“What’s going on, Greg? What happened? Is Carrie okay? Has Jamansky hurt her? What about Ashlee? Have you seen her? Do you know anything about either of them?”
“Hold on,” Greg said. “Slow down.”
“No. You speed up!” Oliver snapped back. “I’ve been shoved in here with no word from anyone except Jamansky who comes every few days to torture me with new tales of—”
“Carrie and Zach are at Jamansky’s house,” Greg cut in again. “He’s keepin’ them there.”
Oliver’s eyes popped open. “At his house? No! You have to get them out of there. Now!”
Greg shot him a pointed look. “Would you calm down and let me talk?”
“Sorry. I just…” Oliver huffed. “Hurry.”
Cupping his hand around the phone, Greg quietly explained how he was also at Jamansky’s now, only the patrol chief didn’t know. They were just waiting for Amber’s release, hopefully this afternoon. But when Greg mentioned the other plans for getting Amber, Oliver shot up.
“Ashlee Lyon? Ashlee is with Richard?” Oliver asked. “Ashlee my coworker? How?”
“She came to Logan Pond right after Jamansky attacked her. She’s actually been helpin’ us a ton.”
“And…is she okay?” Oliver asked. “Is she safe?”
“Jamansky has no clue where she is.”
“So, she’s been with you the whole time? She didn’t get any letters?”
“What letters?”
“Never mind,” Oliver said. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m just glad she’s safe.”
Oliver’s eyes darted around the counter, seeing nothing as he thought through everything. Then his gaze snapped up.
“Carrie’s right, Greg. You need to leave Jamansky’s tonight, no matter what.”
“But Richard and the others have no way to get Amber out. They’ll be lucky if they even get to visit her.”
“Jamansky might have released Zach,” Oliver said, “but that was just the bait to prove that he could. He’ll never return Amber. Not when he can use her to keep Carrie from running.”
“Why is he keeping Carrie there in the first place?” Greg said.
“To blackmail me,” Oliver said. “To force me to retract my testimony against him and Mayor Phillips.”
Slowly, Greg nodded, putting the final piece into place. “He told you he has Carrie, so you’ll let him off the hook. Then he holds Amber over her head, so she doesn’t run. The guy is using Carrie to get exactly what he wants. From all of us.”
“Can you get them out of there?”
“Can and will the second I get back. The question is, how the heck do I get you outta here?”
That seemed to catch Oliver off guard. He sat back, shoulders falling. “You don’t. Just help me finish off Jamansky and the mayor. Actually, can you break into my house? I have a file called ‘Mileage’ that I need you to send in for me.”
“And when Jamansky retaliates?” Greg asked.
“He won’t have anyone left to hit.”
“Except you.”
In his orange, over-sized tent, Oliver studied Greg with a look of immense sadness. “Not after tomorrow. But it doesn’t matter. Jamansky can silence me, or shoot me in front of the world, but I will take him and the mayor down with me.”
Greg’s brows lowered. “Tomorrow? Shoot you? What are you talkin’ about? I thought your trial is next week?”
Oliver gave him a strange look. “What trial? You think we get trials in here? No, I was convicted the moment Jamansky arrested me. I’m to be punished for treason against the state. You know, the whole firing-squad thing. Jamansky says they’re going to televise it and everything. That should be fun. So take care of everyone, and take Jamansky down. That will be enough.”
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow was Thursday.
President Rigsby would be in Naperville Thursday. He was holding a public execution for traitors of the state.
Traitors like…
“No,” Greg said, dread spreading through him. “No, no, no.”
They were going to kill Oliver.
The door behind them burst open. Jamansky came strolling in and met them at station number eight. He leaned down to see Oliver. “Did you ladies have a nice chat?”
Greg couldn’t speak as he stared at the man who had spent six years of his life protecting Carrie and her clan—and was about to be executed for it.
“See you bright and early tomorrow, Simmons,” Jamansky said happily. Then he turned to Greg. “Let’s go.”
Greg followed Jamansky back to the door, but at the last second, he ran back to station number eight.
“What are you doing?” Jamansky yelled. “Get him!”
Greg grabbed the receiver and hissed, “Be ready.”
Oliver jerked back. “For what?”
Greg had no time to answer because the guard stormed over and grabbed his arm.
Holding strong, Greg shouted into the phone, “I hope you die for what you did to Carrie!”
Then he gave Oliver the look.
Be ready.
fifty-two
AMBER HEARD A COMMOTION IN the hallway, people shouting. Suddenly the door to the communal quarters slammed open.
“Where is she?” someone asked. A man’s voice.
Amber’s heart leaped into her throat. The man was back to torture her.
“Miss Ashworth is not available for release,” Mrs. Karlsson said. “She knows—”
“Madam,” the man growled, “if you do not move out of my way, I will have to take action against your establishment.”
Amber threw the blanket over her head. The last time the man had nearly broken her. She’d given him some names, only they were names of actors she’d seen in old People magazines. After five names, he realized what she was doing. Furious, he had started twisting her casted leg. When the pain became unbearable, she cried and pled with him.
“I don’t know anything!”
That had only angered him further.
She had screamed until she had gone hoarse. He promised he would return with a new form of torture. Anticipating pain often was worse than the
pain itself.
“Fine,” Mrs. Karlsson said. “The brat is right there. You can have her.”
The headmistress ripped off Amber’s blanket, exposing her huddled in a ball underneath. Amber stayed facing the wall, already feeling her broken leg throb in anticipation of the next round.
Tears pricked her eyes.
Mrs. Karlsson leaned over her and whispered, “Good riddance, mute.”
Good riddance? The man was going to kill her? She’d been asking for death, begging for escape in any form, but now that it stood behind her, poised to stab her in the back, it left her shaking like crazy.
For ten of the longest seconds of her life, Amber lay on her small blue cot, waiting for the man to strike.
Let it be quick, she begged him silently. Kill me quickly.
A hand went on her shoulder, tugging on her to roll her over. Her survival instincts kicked in, and she curled more rigidly into a ball.
“Amber,” the man said. His voice sounded different than last time, not like the whiny, librarian-looking brute who had twisted her broken leg. “Amber, roll over. It’s me…Dad.”
Dad?
Her blinding fear melted into blazing anger. That voice was most definitely not her father’s. After six painful years, she would recognize her father’s voice anywhere. This voice was too rough, too old for the gentle, loving man her dad had been.
How dare someone pretend to be him?
Her hands formed into rock-solid fists, ready to break another nose in this place. She didn’t even care how he might torture her after. She would not go down without a fight.
“Amber,” he said more urgently. “Just roll over and look at me. It’s Dad. I’m here to take you home.”
Mrs. Karlsson laughed. “After all she’s done, she treats you as abominably as the rest of us. Her mother really must have ruined her in the years she had custody. I feel sorry for you, sir. Are you sure you want her back? We were finally making progress with her.”
“Amber,” the man said more urgently. “Please, honey. I’ve come to take you home.”
Something finally clicked. The voice. She found a face to match it. But it wasn’t the face she first thought. It was a rugged face with a graying goatee.
Richard.
She rolled over, head twisting around before her awkwardly casted body could. She found Richard’s wonderful, amazing, and perfectly familiar face just a few feet away. She threw her arms around his neck.
“Dad?” she said.
Richard O’Brien patted her back awkwardly. “Ah, there’s my girl. Let’s get you out of here, sweetie.”
Sobs of relief erupted. Her shoulders started to shake.
“Dad,” she cried, willing to call him any name in the world he wanted. “I want to go home, Dad. Please take me home, Dad. Please, Dad. Please.”
His own voice grew hoarse. “Of course.”
“How awful that her mother hid her from you for all these years,” Mrs. Karlsson said. “I assure you that if we had known, sir…”
“It’s done. I’ve found her now,” Richard said.
With that, Richard scooped Amber up into his arms. Mrs. Karlsson set Amber’s crutches across her lap. Then Richard Best-Man-of-All-Time O’Brien carried Amber out of the blue room and down the blue hallway. Mrs. Karlsson escorted him past the guards and toward the front doors, the same ones Amber had tried to escape out of the first day. The guards didn’t stop them. In fact, one opened the door for them. And suddenly Amber and Richard were outside, under the blue sky.
Amber took in a breath of fresh air. Then another. And another.
“Home,” she said, warm tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m going home.”
“Yes,” Richard’s voice said, strained from the exertion of carrying her across the parking lot. “But, unfortunately, I don’t have any transportation, and it’s a long walk. What did you do to your leg?”
Amber looked from her fractured leg to the tight muscles of his neck. How many miles away were they? Ten? Twenty? And she would be useless because of her stupid stunt.
“I’m sorry, Richard. I can use my crutches. I haven’t tried them yet, but they can’t be that hard.”
“And here Ashlee and I were stressed about my scanty paperwork and story, but I think that poor headmistress would have paid me to take you away. Sounds like you have been quite the troublemaker here, young lady.”
Amber laughed, feeling close to delirium. “I tried, Richard. I really, really tried.”
He smiled at her. “And how did you break your leg?”
Her gaze went back to the building that was fading in the distance—and her future. “The window was higher than I thought.”
Following her gaze, Richard stopped dead in his tracks. Then he shook his head. “Let’s get you home.”
Amber laid her head on his shoulder. She wanted to thank the older man, but she could never do it justice. Besides, the farther they went, the harder the tears flowed, making it difficult to breathe normally.
One of the yard guards met them by the front gate.
“Papers,” the man said.
“Can you stand up for a minute?” Richard asked, setting Amber down.
She stood one-footed while he grabbed out her paperwork. Strangely, the first paper had “Shelton Township” stamped across the top, making her curious how Richard had gotten her released. And what was that story about her mom stealing Amber from him? Amber didn’t know and frankly, she didn’t care.
The guard scanned Richard’s citizenship card, typed something into a computer, and pushed a button. And just like that, the gate slid open.
Richard went to pick her back up, but he was already sweating like crazy, and the guy was old enough to actually be her father. Possibly her grandfather. He didn’t need to be carrying her anywhere.
“I can do it,” she said. She straightened her crutches underneath her. She had gone from a mute, to starving herself, to refusing to move at all. Her body felt stiff from a lack of use, but she started pushing herself along the hot pavement. With each hop, she felt more confident. “I can make it all the way home. We just might have to go slow.”
“Well,” he said, “I brought help.”
“Help?”
“A few people are rather anxious to see you. One especially.” Smiling, he motioned to a field ahead of them that was so overgrown with weeds it could have hid an entire mob of people. Or a clan.
Her heart jumped. “Who?”
“See that head of hair there?”
“Carrie?” Amber frantically searched for her sister’s face hidden in that field. The last she had seen, Carrie had begged her to take care of Zach. Amber had failed at that, but if Carrie was out, then maybe Zach was out, too. Amber pushed faster across the road, rushing to the field, and trying to see anyone.
It took her a second to spot the sandy blond hair that blended in with the golden weeds. But it wasn’t a woman’s head. It was a man’s. And it was bouncing as he sprinted toward them out of the safety of the field into the wide open.
“Braden,” she exhaled.
In five huge leaps, he was to them. “What happened to her?”
“Braden, get back!” Richard said, urgently glancing over his shoulder. “You promised to stay out of sight.”
“Braden!” a woman said, coming through his same path out of the field, though at half the speed. Amber startled when she recognized her.
Ashlee Lyon.
Braden didn’t seem to hear either of them. His eyes darted around Amber, from her cast, to her face. He looked so healthy and beautiful and just…there.
Suddenly he grabbed her crutches and handed them to Richard.
“Take these,” Braden said. “Amber is mine.”
No words had ever sounded so wonderful in the ears of a sixteen-year-old girl. Braden whisked her up into his arms and started to run. Across the road, down a small embankment, and into the safety of the field.
As he ran, Amber laid a hand up on his face,
somewhere in-between hyperventilating and hysterics. Between her stupid crying, and his frantic pace, his perfect face was a blurry, jumpy mess.
Finally, they reached a clearing. Several bags lay on the ground.
Braden stopped. The others caught up, too, and Ashlee Lyon started pestering Richard about what had happened inside, but Braden just stared the few small inches that separated him from Amber. He didn’t speak and neither did she.
He bent his head to her. She reached her neck to him. Their lips met somewhere in the middle.
His kiss spread life through her, starting at her head and spreading through every cell of her body. When he pulled back, she wrapped her arms up around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.
“Take me home, Braden,” she said. “I want to go home.”
“Sounds good.” Smiling, he looked back at the others. “Are you guys okay to leave right away?”
“Wait!” Amber said suddenly. The field wasn’t hiding her entire clan. Nobody was there except the four of them. “What about Zach? What about Carrie? Are they free, too?”
“Sadly, no. We are planning to get Zach next,” Richard said. “And Greg’s working on getting Carrie. But all things considered, I think we should drop you off at home first.”
“No!” She squirmed out of Braden’s arms. He set her back on her one foot. “No, I’m fine. Look. I want to get Zach out. I need to be there when you get my brother.”
“But…”
“Please.” Amber’s dark eyes filled. “I can’t go home without Zach, okay? I made a promise to Carrie that I am going to keep.”
“Amber,” Braden said.
She looked up at him. “I’m not going home without Zach. So…where are they keeping him?”
* * * * *
“What happened to the trial bein’ next week?” Greg asked Jamansky as a guard removed his handcuffs. Greg rubbed his wrists, grateful to be free. That was something at least.
“Oh,” Jamansky said. “They moved it to tomorrow. But don’t worry. I’ll still have Carrie and her siblings ready for you next week.”
Sure he would.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 125
