Read Fake: The Scarab Beetle Series: #3 (The Academy) Online
Authors: C. L. Stone
Fake: The Scarab Beetle Series: #3 (The Academy) (44 page)
Marc twisted his hands at the wheel again, and then sped up well over the speed limit. “But if he got picked up and didn't talk to the police and lied about his name, they'd put him in a shelter until they can figure out where to put him. That is, he’ll be there until he can find a way to leave.”
“He can leave?”
“You can't keep a kid still if he really wants to leave.”
“How do you know all this?”
Marc pursed his lips, turning to look out the side window. The intersection he stopped at was dark and he looked like he wasn't sure which way to go. He made a left, heading along a street that looked run down, with trees on either side and potholes in the asphalt. “Because I ran away a lot as a kid. I've been through the system. Several times.”
He did seem to know where we were going. I swallowed, checking outside to see where we were headed.
The potholes were plentiful. The truck careened forward and I grabbed onto both Marc and Raven before smacking my head into the dashboard. The lane was small, like it only fit one car at a time, so there was no way to avoid the bumpy ride.
A house sat at the end of the lane, surrounded by thick trees. It was wide, one story and brick with a circular gravel driveway. Marc stopped the truck close to the entrance and shut off the engine. The house had shuttered windows, bushes pruned until they were almost sticks and a few dried leaves still attached. “This looks like someone's home,” I said. For some reason, a local government run shelter felt like it should be more institutional looking. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting at the word
shelter
, but this wasn’t anywhere close to what I would have dreamed up.
“Yup,” Marc said. He opened the door, hopping out and reaching a hand out for me. “Raven, stay here. No offense but one look at you and they’re going to have their guard up.”
“Just hurry,” he said. He slid over, taking up position behind the wheel.
Gravel crunched under my feet as we headed for the front door. The place gave off a forgotten feel.
Don’t look at us. Nothing to see here.
We stood on the tiny concrete porch. Marc pushed the doorbell.
“Let me talk to her,” he said.
“To who?”
The door rattled as locks were being undone then cracked open just enough to reveal a shadowy figure behind a still-linked chain. She was older, with wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Her blond hair was pulled back sharply and her eyes were critical.
“Who are you?” she asked in a tense voice.
“Mary,” he said. “It's Marc.”
She tilted her head to the side, like she was trying to get a better angle. “Marc Weiland? What are you doing here?”
“Sorry to just show up like this,” he said quietly. “We're looking for someone.”
“Hang on.” She shut the door and released the chain and opened it again, stepping back to give us room. She reached over and flicked a switch.
Harsh florescent lights shone in the nearly empty hallway. The tiles were utility, like what you’d expect in a hospital or a school. Walls were bare except for a security keypad beside the door. There was a single bench, a door to the right and the end of the hall extended to the right and left, not revealing anything else about the interior. It was surreal that, like the outside, while poorly illuminated, it looked like a regular, everyday house and the first step inside had the feeling of an institution.
Mary’s wrinkles extended to her neck and her hands were bony. She had a small frame, and wore jeans and a light sweater. She turned to Marc after she shut the door. “Who in heaven's name...” She trailed off, as if losing her train of thought.
“Did anyone new show up here in the last few days?” Marc asked. “A guy, almost seventeen, glasses?”
“We've had an influx of kids,” she said. “Some left and others...”
“Do you still take Polaroids of the intakes?” he asked.
“I've got a digital camera now,” she said. “Come on.”
They headed to the office. I lingered in the foyer for a moment. Somehow I felt like if I stared hard enough through the walls, I would see the rest of this house. I wanted to, because if Wil was here, I wanted to get to him quickly. I couldn’t imagine being brought to a place like this. Mary seemed nice, but it still felt like a cold institution. Did anyone actually live here?
As if in answer to my curiosity, a young girl popped her head out from around the hall corner. She was a little black girl with apple cheeks and rows of short braids along her head. Her eyes were big and she stared at me.
I did a short two finger wave.
She continued to stare.
“You lost?” I asked quietly.
Her stare continued, and I got the feeling she wasn’t curious about me as much as she was looking for Mary and she supposed to be poking her head down here.
I pointed to the door where Mary was. “She’s in there. You want me to get her for you?”
Still the stare continued. She wasn’t going to tell me to do anything.
“Kayli,” Marc reappeared in the doorway. He gestured to come in.
I pointed toward the girl. “I think Mary is being requested elsewhere,” I said.
Marc peered down the hallway at the little girl. He squinted at her and then leaned back into the office. “Mary, you’ve got a straggler.”
Mary emerged, and the little girl pulled back, disappearing behind the corner. Mary shook her head. “Go ahead into the office,” she said, encouraging me. “I left the pictures on the desk. I’ll see what she needs.” She walked down the hallway, disappearing after the girl. There were murmurs, mostly Mary, and it sounded like she was disciplining the young girl to be patient and wait and not to go down the hall unless it was an emergency.
I joined Marc inside the small office. It, too, was very sparsely furnished. A simple desk sat in the middle of the room, with a single computer on it. There was a file cabinet, and a chair in front of the desk. The walls were dingy and bare.
The desk contained a tablet. Marc was swiping through a photo album on the illuminated screen. He curled his fingers at me. “Come take a look.”
I hovered over his shoulder, looking through the array of pictures, some girls, but mostly boys. One I recognized as the girl from down the hallway.
None looked like Wil.
Disappointed, I nudged Marc aside, going through each picture one by one. There weren’t many. Some were marked as having been taken in, but then left. One looked sort of like Wil, but his hair was too long, and the glasses weren’t his. Plus, the jawline wasn’t right.
“No,” I said, pointing to the look-a-like. “I can see why you’d think this one might be him but...”
“What about him?” he asked, pointing to another boy, who had a similar haircut and glasses but didn’t resemble Wil anywhere else.
I shook my head, feeling some relief. Part of it was I couldn’t imagine Wil living in a place like this. No that it might have been horrible, but that it didn’t seem all that comfortable from my perspective.
The other part was that I didn’t have to confront him yet. I preferred the idea of him approaching me when he was ready. It was torture to think of what I’d say to him if I did run into him again.
I was going to explain to Marc that I appreciated his help, when a phone rang. I looked at Marc expectantly.
Marc took his phone out, looked at it and then shook his head. “Not mine. Must be yours.”
I blinked, surprised. I wasn’t used to having one. I took it out, noticed an unknown number, but answered it just in case. “Hello?”
“Kayli-Bayli!” cried a shrill voice, male. Sort of. “God, tell me you’ve got a nice club or casino in this town.”
I had a flash of a memory: a dark-skinned, bubble-butt crossdresser in yellow spandex and a blue halter. “Future?”
“Did you forget your old friend already?” she asked. “Look, I’ve got a favor to ask you.”
I looked at Marc, who shrugged. I wasn’t sure if he could hear, but I must have looked confused. “How did you know this number?”
“I asked your boyfriend,” she said, and left it at that, leaving me to wonder who she meant. “I need you to meet me at the pier. The one off of...where are we?” she asked to someone on her end. There was a voice, but I couldn’t understand what was being said. She came back. “Palm Island?”
“Isle of Palms?” I asked. “You’re in town?”
“Sure,” she said. “There’s a pier here, and you have to come see this boat. It’s striking. I’d almost give up my boobs for one of these. Maybe if I show my boobs to enough guys I could afford it.”
I checked the window; it was dark outside and the wind was sweeping through the nearby trees. “You want me to go right now?”
“It won’t take five minutes. After everything I did in Florida to help you out, could you come hang out with me for a bit?”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” she said and then hung up.
I made a face as I put the phone down.
“Something bad?” Marc asked.
I shrugged and then put the phone away. “Future is calling in a favor. She’s in town.”
Marc stared blankly at me for a minute, and then his eyes widened and his mouth popped open as he seemed to remember who I was talking about. “Oh my god. She’s back? Tell me we don’t have to. What favor? What...” He pressed a palm to his cheek, rubbing. “Wow.”
I was feeling the same way. I couldn’t guess the sort of favor Future would ask, but I had a feeling it was going to be something beyond my wildest imagination.
ABOUT C. L. STONE
Certification
- Marvelour of Wonder
- Active Participant of Scary Situations
- Official Member of F.A.M.E.
Experience
Spent an extraordinary number of years with absolutely no control over the capping of imagination, fun, and curiosity. Willingly takes part in impossible problems only to come up with the most ludicrous solution. Due to unfortunate circumstances, will no longer experience feeling on a small spot on my left calf.
Skills
Secret Keeper | Occasion Riser | Barefoot Walker Strange Acceptance | Magic Maker | Restless Reckless | Gravity Defiant | Fairy Tale Reader | Story Maker-Upper | Amusingly Baffled | Comprehensive Curiousness | Usually Unbelievable
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