UnWholly (Unwind Dystology #2)(94)

“It’s not always going to be like this,” Cam whispers to her. She wants to believe that, but right now she can only imagine it being worse.





49 ? Cam

There are things that Roberta hasn’t told him. Her control over Risa is more than a mere matter of wills. It’s not as simple as gratitude for a new spine, because Risa isn’t grateful at all. It’s very clear that her spine is a burden she wishes she didn’t have to bear. Then why did she consent?

Every moment they’re together the question hangs heavy in the air, but when he broaches the subject, all Risa says is, “It was something I had to do,” and when he tries to probe deeper, she loses patience and tells him to stop pushing. “My reasons are my own.”

He wants to believe that he’s the reason why she’s doing all the things she’s doing—all these things that clearly go against her grain. But if there are any parts of him that are naive enough to believe that she’d do these interviews and ads for his sake, they are outnumbered by the parts of him that know better.

Their appearance on Brunch with Jarvis and Holly made it painfully clear that whatever pain Risa is feeling over her part in all this runs very deep. The fact that she allowed him to comfort her didn’t change that. If anything, it made him feel a responsibility to get to the bottom of it—not just for his own sake, but for hers. For how could anything between them ever be real without a full disclosure?

It all comes down to the day she signed that consent form—but asking Roberta about it is a useless endeavor. Then Cam realizes he doesn’t have to . . . because Roberta is the queen of surveillance videos.

“I need to see the surveillance records from April seventeenth,” Cam tells the security guard he’s most friendly with—the one he plays basketball with—after they return to Molokai.

“No can do,” he tells Cam, right off the bat. “No one sees those without permission from you-know-who. Get her permission, and I’ll show you whatever you want.”

“She’ll never know.”

“Don’t matter.”

“But it’ll matter if I tell her I caught you trying to steal from the mansion.” That makes the guard stutter. “Allow me,” Cam says. “You say, ‘You son of a bitch, you can’t do that,’ and I say ‘Yes, I can, and who do you think she’ll believe, me or you?’ ” Then Cam hands him a flash drive. “So just put the files on this, and everyone’s life will be easier.”

The guard looks at him incredulously. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

And although Cam knows who he’s referring to, he says, “I’ve got lots of trees, you’ll have to be more specific.”

That evening the drive turns up in his desk drawer, packed with video files. He doubts he’ll have a basketball partner anymore, but it’s a small sacrifice to make. When it’s late enough to know he won’t be interrupted, he loads the files onto his personal viewer—and witnesses something he was never supposed to see. . . .





50 ? Risa

April 17. Almost two months ago. Before the interviews and the public service announcements, before the operation that replaced Risa’s severed spine.

Risa sits in her wheelchair in a sparse cell with nothing to occupy her time but her own thoughts. A consent form folded into a paper airplane lies on the floor beneath a oneway mirror.

She spends her time thinking about her friends. Of Connor, mostly. She wonders how he’ll fare without her. Better, she hopes. If she could only get word to him that she’s alive, that she hasn’t been tortured at the hands of the Juvies—and that she’s not even in their hands, but in the hands of some other organization.

Roberta comes in, as she did the day before, with a new consent form. She sits down at the table and slides the consent form and a pen toward Risa again.

She smiles at Risa, but it’s the smile of a snake about to coil around its prey.

“Are you ready to sign?” she asks.

“Are you ready to see me fly another paper airplane?” Risa responds.

“Airplanes!” says Roberta brightly. “Yes, why don’t we talk about airplanes? Particularly the ones in the aircraft salvage yard. The place you call the Graveyard. Let’s talk about your many friends there.”

At last, thinks Risa, she’s going to question me. “Ask whatever you want,” she says. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t trust a thing I say.”

“No need to ask you questions, dear,” Roberta says. “We know all we need to know about the Graveyard. You see, we allow your little AWOL sanctuary to exist because it serves our needs.”

“Your needs? You’re telling me you control the Juvenile Authority?”

“Let’s just say we have substantial sway. The Juvenile Authority has wanted to raid the Graveyard for quite a while, but we’re the ones holding them back. However, if I give the word, the Graveyard will be cleaned out, and all those children who you fought so valiantly to save will be transported to harvest camps and unwound.”

Risa can sense the rug being pulled out from under her. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I? I believe you know our inside man. His name is Trace Neuhauser.”