You will put aside your feelings, whatever they may be, and learn to be kind to him.

He takes his frustration out alone on the basketball court, and when that doesn't calm him down, he takes it to the source. He searches the sprawling manor for Risa. He finds her in the kitchen, making herself a late-morning sandwich. "I get tired of being served all the time," she says casually. "Sometimes all I want is a PB&J that I make myself." She holds out the sandwich to him. "You want this one? I'll make another."

When he doesn't take it, she looks at his eyes and sees how off he is. "What's the matter? Have a fight with Mommy?"

"I know why you're here," he tells her. "I know all about your deal with Roberta, and your friends at the Graveyard."

She hesitates for a moment, then begins to eat her sandwich. "You have your deal with her, I have mine," she says in a peanut-b.u.t.ter-m.u.f.fled voice. She tries to walk away, but Cam grabs her. She quickly pulls out of his grasp and pushes him against the wall. "I've come to accept it!" she yells at him. "So you might as well too!"

"So was it all just pretend? Was being nice to the freak just a performance to save your friends?"

"Yes!" snaps Risa. "At first."

"And now?"

"Do you really think so little of yourself? Do you really think I'm that good of an actress?"

"Then prove it!" he demands. "Prove that you feel anything but contempt for me!"

"Right now that's all I feel for you!" Then she storms out, hurling her sandwich into the trash.

Five minutes later, Cam swipes a pa.s.s card from an inattentive guard and uses it to get past the security door into the garage. Then he steals a motorcycle and takes off down the winding path out of the estate.

He has no destination, just a burning need for acceleration. He's sure there is at least one speed freak in his head, maybe more. He knows several of his const.i.tuents drove motorcycles. He takes every turn too fast until he finally gets to the town of Kualapuu, giving satisfaction to every self-destructive impulse that resides within him. Then he takes a turn too sharply, loses control, and flies from the bike, rolling over and over on the pavement.

He's hurt, but he's alive. Motorists stop and get out of their cars to help him, but he doesn't want their help. He gets to his feet and feels a sharp pain in his knee. His back feels shredded; blood from beneath his hairline clouds his eyes.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?" yells some tourist. Then he stops short. "Hey! Hey, it's you! You're that rewind kid! Hey, look, it's that rewind kid!"

He hurries away from them and gets on the motorcycle again, riding back the way he came. By the time he arrives, there are already police cars out front. Roberta sees him and runs to him.

"Cam!" she wails. "What did you do? What did you do? My G.o.d! You need medical attention! We'll get the doctor right away!" Then she turns angrily to the house guards. "How could you let this happen?"

"It's not their fault!" yells Cam. "I'm not a dog that got off its leash, so don't treat me like one!"

"Let me look at your wounds. . . ."

"Back off!" he yells loudly enough for her to actually back off. Then he pushes past everyone, goes up to his room, and locks the world out.

A few minutes later there's a gentle knocking at his door, as he knew there would be. Roberta, trying to handle her volatile boy with kid gloves. But it's not Roberta.

"Open up, Cam, it's Risa."

She's the second-to-last person he wants to see right now, but the fact that she came surprises him. The least he can do is open the door.

She stands at his threshold with a first aid kit in her hand. "It's really stupid to bleed out just because you're p.i.s.sed off."

"I'm not 'bleeding out.' "

"But you are bleeding. Can I at least take care of the worst of it? Believe it or not, I was the chief medic at the Graveyard. I dealt with stuff like this all the time."

He opens the door wider and lets her in. He sits at his desk chair and allows her to clean the wound on his cheek. Then she has him take off his torn shirt and begins cleaning his back. It stings, but he bears it without wincing.

"You're lucky," she tells him. "You have lacerations, but none of them need st.i.tches, and you didn't tear any of your seams."

"I'm sure Roberta will be relieved."

"Roberta can go to h.e.l.l."

For once Cam agrees with her. She takes a look at his knee and tells him that whether he likes it or not, he's going to need to have it x-rayed. When she's done a.s.sessing his wounds, he takes a good look at her. If she's still angry at him from before, it doesn't show. "I'm sorry," he says. "Going out like that was stupid."

"It was human," she points out.

Cam reaches out and gently touches her face. Let her slap him for it. Let her rip his arm out of its socket, he doesn't care.

But she doesn't do either of those things. "C'mon," she says. "Let's get you over to your bed so you can get some rest."

He stands but puts too much weight on his knee and almost goes down. She holds him, giving him support, the way he once gave her support on the first day she walked. She helps him all the way to the bed, and when he flops onto it, her arm is looped around him in such a way that she's pulled down onto the bed too.

"Sorry."

"Stop apologizing for everything," she tells him. "Save it for your more important screwups."

Now they lie side by side on his bed, his aching back stinging even more pressed against the blanket. She could get up, but she doesn't. Instead she rolls slightly toward him and brushes her fingers across a sc.r.a.pe on his chest, checking to see if it needs a bandage, then determining it doesn't.

"You're quite the freak, Camus Comprix. How I got used to that is a mystery to me. I did, though."

"But you still wish I was never made, don't you?"

"But you were, and you're here, and I'm here with you." Then she adds, "And I only hate you sometimes."

"And other times?"

She leans toward him, thinks about it for a moment, then kisses him. It's more than a peck, but only slightly more. "Other times, I don't." Then she rolls onto her back and stays there beside him.

"Don't read too much into this, Cam," she tells him. "I can't be what you want."

"There are lots of things I want," he points out. "Who says I have to have all of them?"

"Because you're Roberta's spoiled little boy. You always get whatever your rewound heart desires."

Cam sits up so he can look at her. "So unspoil me. Teach me to be patient. Teach me that there are some things worth waiting for."

"And some things you might never have?"

He thinks about his answer, then says, "If that's what you have to teach me, then that's what I'll have to learn-but what I want most is something I think I can have."

"What might that be?"

He takes her hand and holds it. "This moment, right now, in a thousand different ways. If I can have that, then the rest won't matter as much."

She sits up and pulls her hand away from his, but only so she can brush it through his hair. She seems to be just looking at the wound on his scalp, but maybe not.

"If that's really what you want most," she says gently, "maybe you can have it. Maybe we both can."

Cam smiles. "I'd like that very much."

And for the first time since being wound, he feels tears welling in his eyes that he knows are truly his own.

Part Six.

Fight or Flight.

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52 * Lev.

Lev is woken by a burst of ice water in his face. At first he thinks he's out in the storm again. A tornado was coming-did he get hit by a tree? He has to get up. Must keep running. Running.

But he's not in the storm. He's not outside. His focus is blurry, but he can see enough to know he's in some sort of room, looking at a dirty wall. No, not a wall, a ceiling. A water-stained ceiling. And he's lying on a bed. And his hands are tied above his head. Tied to the bed frame. His mouth tastes like battery acid, the air smells like mildew, and his head pounds, pounds, pounds. Now he remembers! He was in a van with Miracolina. Hail was pummeling the van. Then they were tranq'd by- "Awake?" Nelson says. Lev remembers his name now. Nelson. Officer Nelson. Lev had never seen the man's face, but his name was in the news almost as much as Lev's. He doesn't look much like a Juvey-cop now.

"Sorry for the water alarm. I'd have given you a wake-up call, but there's no phone service here."

On a bed next to Lev is Miracolina, still unconscious. Like him, her hands are tied to her bed frame with plastic cable ties.

Lev coughs up some water. Nelson sits a few feet away, his legs crossed, holding his tranq gun.

"You know, I've been staking out the Cavenaugh mansion for days. Just had a hunch. See, everything pointed to a major safe house in the area, but no one could nail down the location. But the Cavenaugh estate-there's that guard gate made to look abandoned that's not abandoned at all. And all those state-of-the art surveillance cameras in the trees that border the property. I didn't know the resistance had that kind of money!"

Lev says nothing, but Nelson doesn't seem to care. Apparently he's just happy to have a captive audience.

"So, imagine my surprise when I find you and your friend practically gift-wrapped by the side of the road!" Nelson pops the clip from his tranq gun, slides out the dart bullets one by one, then reloads it, snapping the clip back in. On the other bed, Miracolina groans, finally beginning to stir out of her deep sleep.

"Here's what I think." Nelson leans closer to Lev. "You were escorting this poor little AWOL girl to the Cavenaugh mansion and into the arms of your scofflaw friends, but on the way you got caught in the storm. Am I right?"

"Not even close," Lev croaks.

"Ah well, the particulars don't really matter. The point is, you're here."

"And where is here?"

"Like I said," says Nelson, waving the gun, "the particulars don't matter."

Lev looks over toward Miracolina again. Her eyes are half-open, but she's still not entirely conscious. "Let her go," he says. "She's got nothing to do with this."

Nelson smiles. "How n.o.ble of you-thinking of the girl before yourself. Who says chivalry is dead?"

"What do you want?" Lev asks, his head aching too much to dance around the point. "I can't get you your job back, and it's not my fault Connor tranqed you, so what do you want from me?"

"Actually," says Nelson, "it is your fault. If you weren't being used as a human shield, none of us would be here today."

Lev realizes how true that is. Had he not inadvertently taken Nelson's bullet meant for Connor, then both of them would have been unwound on schedule.

"So, shall we play?" Nelson asks.

Lev swallows, and his throat feels like it's coated with wood shavings. "What's the game?"

"Russian roulette! My clip is loaded with five tranq bullets and one nickel-plated lead sh.e.l.l with an explosive tip. I can't recall in what position I put Mr. Bad Bullet-I was too busy talking to you to notice. I will ask you questions, and if I don't like an answer, I shoot."

"This game could last for days if I keep going unconscious."

"Or it could be over very quickly."

Lev takes a deep breath and tries not to show any more fear than he has to. "Sounds exciting. I'm in."

"Well, it's not quite the thrill of clapping, but I'll try to keep you from getting bored." He takes the safety off the weapon. "Question one. Is your friend Connor still alive?"

Lev suspected he might ask this, so he does his best to lie as honestly as he can. "I've heard the rumors too," he says, "but I'm out of that loop. He was taken away, b.l.o.o.d.y and unconscious, from Happy Jack, and I was arrested. Beyond that, I have no idea."

Nelson smiles at him, then says, "Wrong answer," and swings the gun toward Miracolina.

"No!"

Nelson fires without hesitation. Miracolina arches her back as she's. .h.i.t, releasing a semiconscious gasp, then falls silent. Lev's heart feels like it's about to explode, until he sees the tiny telltale tranq flag sticking out of her shirt.

Nelson stands and shakes his head at Lev. "I'd better like your next answer." Then he leaves, closing the door.