Part .14
It had been too long. I suppose that there is some itch inside of me that wants me to keep moving. Even when I was a younger child, I couldn't contend with it. I was always running. Well, it was now officially ten weeks since I had dropped off Martin, and I had decided on which siblings I was going after next.
It was going to be perfect; it was going to be Frances. She was the closest to me, anyhow, in New Mexico. I remembered Frannie, how she had always been so silent, yet so loud at the same time. I remembered the curls that I had envied.
What made me chose Frances, aside from the fact that she was geographically closer to me than any of my other siblings? Dad found her in the system. That's it. That is your deciding factor. The big thing that made me chose which brother or sister to go after next. Silly, isn't it? Just practical. Like James had always said, "666, you are always too practical."
James.
Frances was living in a group home under the name of Francine. It was laughable, her having that name. Francine my butt. Dad once tried to call her Francine and she wouldn't speak to him but directly for months afterward. She was Frances. I don't think Dad ever really knew that we had nicknamed our nicknames. I mean Lydecker.
I'm so f**ked up.
Frannie was sweet, I remembered. Always had been sweet. She wasn't like Martin, with his quiet calmness and his hidden leadership. She was always working so hard to be the best that she could be. I remembered her athletic abilities. She was always running, that one, always trying to leave us in the dust. Many a times she had.
Mom was the one who had found the information, actually. Mom had been sitting down, looking Dad's computer while he was out with the midgets. She had happened to glance down at the pages of notes that I had dutifully copied for Dad, all scattered haphazardly around the area of the computer. She had misread my writing and typed in the information incorrectly. And found my sister.
Isn't it odd how things work? That is why I was on a train, my eyes closed, and my nose trying to keep out the smells. Trains are not exactly the nicest way of travel. Though they aren't as cheap as buses, they are still cheap enough that the common large sewer rat can buy a ticket, as long as they got the dinero.
The scenery was rushing past me. It seemed to be doing a lot of that those days. Things were traveling too fast. First I was ready for coming back and having a blast, but things got trapped up in a whirlwind that took me along with it and it was ages later and I wasn't putting any of my information to use.
It was an abomination that I had been allowed to lounge about and get my nerve up just to find my sister. The truth was, I was afraid. I remembered the first time I had seen Martin. I had been so surprised, been so scared. He wasn't all like I remembered him. Would Frances have changed so much?
I glanced through the information that Dad had given me. The notes were short and simple. They included a photograph of Frances, a report card, and information on adopting her. The pictures showed her hair, long and thick looking, and her eyes, so shockingly dark. I hadn't remembered her eyes so dark, but it must have been the quality of the black and white I was in possession of.
The soft lull of the train made me close my eyes, more from habit than from actual fatigue. I was wired on adrenaline, in all truthfulness, but I knew that once the rush was over I would begin to feel as if I had been run over several times by a semi. I opened them after a few moments.
There were lists of parents there. There were several couples in the state of New Mexico and a few in Colorado. I couldn't remember much about New Mexico, just a few things on Santa Fe and something about Navajo Indians. Colorado I knew even less of, so I would probably need to study a few maps before I attempted any cross-state trekking.
I was sitting next to a really young girl and her mother. At the beginning of the trip the girl, who was dressed prettily in a tidy little frock, had been full of questions and quite bouncy. It had been easy to tune out the sounds of her giggling and persistent questions.
However, when she got carsick and her lunch - veggie-burger with extra ketchup -- ended up all over the floor and my sneakers, it was quite a lot harder to ignore her or the smell. The mother was properly apologetic, but, sheesh, she didn't even offer to pay for the sneakers.
I was quite happy when the girl and mother left, but the next people to sit in their rather smelly seats weren't as content with the arrangement as one might think. I had washed up as best as I could, but my shoes still had a stench to them and I was certain that the dudes next to me thought I had lost my lunch. I was sulky for the length of the trip after they had boarded.
Finally, my stop came. I slinked past the dudes to the aisle and grabbed my bag out of the compartment above the seats. It was the backpack that I had owned for so many years. It was still quite good; large enough to store clothing and notebooks, which was all I wanted. I pulled my hat down lower on my face.
The bus depot was pretty crowded. I wasn't aware that there were that many people in New Mexico, much less in one little city called Lilth. I guessed that there was maybe some sort of fair going on or something that drew many visitors from neighboring cities.
That's when I saw him. It was just his profile, but it sent shivers down my back just the same. Even seeing that hint of him made me want to stand up straighter, mask my emotions, and march towards him.
Damnit, Lydecker. Always in my way. For a second, I would have acted on my instinct. Then I remembered Martin's face, and the black and white I had of Frannie, and I paused. This was not the time to go back to old ghosts, long dead and buried.
Was it really him? I couldn't be sure. To be absolutely certain, I needed to trail him. I started walking quickly towards where I had seen the man. Was good ol' Deck closing in on Frances? I would never be able to live with myself if I was just one day too late. I broke into a soft jog.
I needed an easier, quicker, and more efficient way of finding out if it was Lydecker. I took a deep breath. I needed to open the door. The only problem was, I couldn't. I was afraid too.
Back in the earliest beginning of the century, there was this show on called Fear Factor. People faced their fears and they won money. It sounded easy enough. Get into a bathtub and have poison ness snakes dumped over you? Been there, done that, immune to most snake venom. Grab onto a rope and get pulled by a galloping horse? Gosh, when I was younger, I could only hope for something as simple as that. Break down a wall and let other people's thoughts into your head again?
Okay, so I couldn't do that. I glanced left and right as I jogged, searching for people that would be with Lydecker. Your common military men dressed to kill in black, with buns of steel. You know the kind. I couldn't see any.
If I didn't find him soon . . .
I looked toward the south wall, just a little to my right, where there was an exit. It was the exit closest to where the man had been. I would stake the area around it out. It would be simple. I would find the man. I would.
What would I do to him after I found him? Tell him to stay away, my sister is here and I haven't found her yet? That would be idiotic. Would I just simply confirm my suspicions, and then melt away into the crowd and towards Frances? It seemed like a good thing to do, if I could get to Frannie before Deck did. Kill him?
Oh, that made my stomach jump.
Would I actually kill Dad? F**k, Ty, no, Deck. We're talking about Lydecker. The one who didn't have enough brass to stand up to the director and tell the bitch that his kids didn't disserve to be slaughtered like some useless animals. Well, these pigs don't have four ears, let's just get rid of them as useless, even if they are as good as the two-eared pigs.
I saw the point in that. We were useless if we couldn't use telecommunication. It was the thing that we needed. Without it, we were the X-6. Not as intelligent as the X-5s, at first glance, and not as swift as the X-7 perimeters.
Not as good as the X-7s, who they succeeded with. Or that other group, the one in all those reports that we had brought up on the computers so long ago. We weren't as good as those and so we died. We thought it would stop.
If I hadn't had been so good at it would more of them lived? I had tried to limit myself to the barest minimum and . . . I needed to find Lydecker. If I didn't find him in one hundred twenty seconds, I would break down the wall.
Even if I didn't want too.
My breathing became more ragged as I ticked down the seconds. For once I was pissed that I had an internal clock that could compete with those atomic timepieces they have. Ninety seconds to go, and I couldn't see anyone inside the building.
Sixty seconds to go; I was pushed by someone into the path of the electric eye, which controlled the door. It slid open with a soft hiss. I backed away after glancing through the door.
Thirty seconds to go. I noticed a security camera, so I pulled my hat down lower across my face. I didn't want to be a movie star; I wanted to stay out of the limelight.
Fifteen seconds to go. I was mumbling the words "Oh God," over and over again. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I needed to find him now.
Ten seconds to go. I was mouthing the words, but no sound came out. I needed to find the man, and then go for Frances. I stepped outside of the building. I needed to find him.
Three seconds to go. I found him. It wasn't Lydecker. I almost collapsed on the grass. As it was, I barely made it to the bench in time for me to sit down and let out a breath that I hadn't known I had been holding.
Jesus Christ. That was some scary sh**.
I looked down at my hands and noticed that I was clutching the address of Frances' group home. No better time than the present. I opened my bag to check that everything was still in it, then stood up and walked purposely out of the courtyard.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Frances was surprised to see me, to say the least. I had gone to her group home, where I had been told to visit P.S. 44. Given the most rudimentary of directions, I had walked into the office of the school and handed the receptionist a note, given to my by Dad. It had said that Francine was to be given a special gift from an estranged family member. Simple, easy, right? You wouldn't have been able to get away with it when Logan was a kid, but nobody cared much now.
The receptionist tag said 'Angela'. I was reminded forcibly of the old 'principal' at my first group home. Mrs. Addiego had been one odd person. She had smelled like some kind of sterilizing liquid and wore too much red lipstick.
Angela read the note, looked me over, and then shrugged. It just shows you how much money these kids were worth to them. For a millisecond, I was quite angry, but I tried to keep it down. I had to remember, always keep your emotions in check.
"Sure, I'll get her for ya, honey," Angela said. I stopped myself from raising an eyebrow. If this actually was my old principal, I was going to s**t bricks. Angela leaned over and spoke into the intercom. "Francine Knotz, please come to the attendance office. Francine Knotz, please come to the attendance office."
She had broken out into the biggest smile I had ever seen when she walked into the room. Then her face became blank and I saw her unconsciously stand up taller. I nodded at her, my own face void of emotion, while digging into my bag for another note. It was one, forged, from the group home, saying that I was allowed to take Francine away for the day. I had several variants for several situations. Dad hadn't realized how good I was with the pen until I showed him my handiwork.
She didn't say anything until Angela reluctantly signed a release form and we had left the room. Then Frances turned to me, her brows crinkled.
"PA1-666," she whispered.
I grinned. "Frances," I said, pulling her toward me. She laughed. "It's been so long."
"I thought you were dead," she said, her eyes bright with emotions. "I honestly believed that you were gone from us. How in the world did you find me? Lezli said . . ."
I stopped her there. "It doesn't matter what anyone said. I found you. Martin was first, you are second. I've got more. Right now, I need you to tell me . . . what your life is like . . ."
Frances looked at me. "Ty you are way too melodramatic." I scowled at her. I was not melodramatic. Never had been. "Okay, sorry," she said impishly. "Well, I'm a tennis player . . . and a basketball player . . . and . . . give me a sport and I'll play it."
"You play tennis?" I asked her. I couldn't imagine her in a Venus or Serena Williams outfit. Her hair wasn't bleached orange and she had too many hard lines around the eyes.
"My favorite," she turned her head horizontally to the right, I guess to get the crinks out of her neck. "Tennis is easy and you get the can hit balls really hard at people and blame it on your 'wild serve' and then make obscene gestures at whoever you beat when you sit down again." Frances crinkled her nose again. "Well, actually, I lose sometimes. You can't win everything."
I knew the truth behind that statement. I shook my head and looked over Frannie's shoulder. We were walking near a sewer system. "Phew, it stinks out here."
"Ty, stop changing the subject. Your mind wanders way too much. I can't keep up with it." Frances brushed her hair out of her eyes. I remembered how she had always done that when we were at Manticore, when her hair had grown so quickly and wildly.
I took a deep breath. "Okay, so, I'll give it to you straight, from the beginning. I got out, heard the shots, went back, but I saw bodies being taken out. I thought they were you." Frannie nodded for me to go on. "I lived in the US for a while, then lived in France for two years. A few months back, Zack came --"
"Zack?" Frannie broke in. "X5-599? Where does he come into this?" She gave me a look that plainly said she was lost.
"He's Mom's brother . . . Mom is Max . . . X5-452 . . . we met about three years ago, but I had to leave because Zack told me he saw D-Deck 'round and I didn't want Mom or Dad in danger . . . so I went to France."
"You don't make much sense," Frannie told me.
"I never do," I said. "Now, anyway, Zack came, and he brought me to Martin. I-I, eh, I got your towns and did some searches. I found most of you, but you guys keep getting bounced from one home to another. When was the last time you actually spoke to Martin?"
"About two and a half years ago. He didn't really talk much, just handed me a number. I've never used it. It is some sort of contact number that I am supposed to use when I am in trouble. I'm not in trouble, so I don't use it."
I tipped my head to the right. "Right. I've got a new one. Use it the first of each month, just to check in, understand me? If I don't get a message from you by the third, I'm coming down and kicking your ass."
Frances grinned. "So what now?"
"I take you to a foster home in a town not too far away from here. You get a mom, dad, maybe even a dog, if they have one."
"You've picked one out for me?" Frannie looked at me with her eyebrows raised.
"Well, I have a couple here that look like good prospects. I do have one I'm favoring . . . but, eh, you do have a choice if you totally hate them. Take one last look at your school, 'cuz we're leaving."
"Just like that?" Frances gasped. "I mean, I don't get to go t.p. some lockers and stencil out goat f**ker on the principal's car?"
I stared at her. God help me, she wasn't kidding. I wondered which deity would help me the quickest. I was about to reply when she turned to go back to the school.
"I'll just get my stuff," she said to me. What in the world was she doing? She had at best backpack and a locker at school and there was nothing important that could be carried there. I followed her reluctantly.
Frances jogged down to the corridors quietly, skipping the entrance to the office and just slinking into the hall marked HOME ECONOMICS, FEAST, PHYS. ED. A tone sounded seven times -- where had bells gone? -- and suddenly the doors burst open and kids streamed out. Frances ducked inside a room and came out a few minutes later with her backpack, a what looked tennis racket, and a large sports bag.
"Still following?" she called back. I nodded, silently promising myself that I'd stop behaving like a small child in the face of my superiours. She stopped at a locker, twirled the lock, took out books and put them in her sports bag. She reached in a few more times and brought out more books. Finally she took out a folder and started taking down pictures. I think my mouth closed after a minute, but I wasn't so certain.
"FRANCINE! Girl! What you doin'?" I heard somebody exclaim. My eyes must have gotten a lot bigger, but I hadn't a mirror handy to check. I walked over to Frances. She was currently being mauled by a large, dark haired girl. Please, let it be an assignation attempt, I prayed. I tapped Frances on the shoulder.
"Frannie, we gotta go," I told her. Frances gave me a cocky half grin, but I knew she would follow me. I sort of felt like 666 at that moment, not like Tyronica, and I knew that Frances would pick up on that.
"Girl, who you?" the girl turned around and I noticed an odd scar below her left eye. It looked like she'd tripped and hit her head on the stairs or something.
"Tyronica," I said, turning to leave.
"NO WAY!" the girl's voice was loud and echoed oddly in the full hall. "You cannot be my homegirl Frannie's sister!"
"And why not?" I demanded, my blood suddenly hot.
"Kim," Frances said, her voice iced with warning. I couldn't help but grin. Now Frannie was the one who was uncomfortable.
"I mean . . . I assumed . . . Tyronica . . . well . . . you aren't black," Kim explained. "Tyronica is a black name if I ever heard one, and, girl, you as white as they come."
"Did it ever," I asked, my eyes filling with tears and my nose beginning to run, "*ever* occur to you that I might be an albino." I began to sniffle. I grabbed Frannie and started jogging down the hall.
"I think you may be the first person to have ever shut Kim up so effectively," Frances said as we left the school as the last tone sounded. She paused, then added, "I didn't know albinos had freckles."
"That just earned you the foster family on the other side of the state and the little boy named Francis," I told her. We stopped at in the parking lot near a dark red car.
"Fine by me," Frannie said, getting her tennis racket out of it's jacket.
"Who's car is this?" I asked as she walked to the windshield.
"My tennis coach's car," she told me, swinging. "I don't like him."
It had been too long. I suppose that there is some itch inside of me that wants me to keep moving. Even when I was a younger child, I couldn't contend with it. I was always running. Well, it was now officially ten weeks since I had dropped off Martin, and I had decided on which siblings I was going after next.
It was going to be perfect; it was going to be Frances. She was the closest to me, anyhow, in New Mexico. I remembered Frannie, how she had always been so silent, yet so loud at the same time. I remembered the curls that I had envied.
What made me chose Frances, aside from the fact that she was geographically closer to me than any of my other siblings? Dad found her in the system. That's it. That is your deciding factor. The big thing that made me chose which brother or sister to go after next. Silly, isn't it? Just practical. Like James had always said, "666, you are always too practical."
James.
Frances was living in a group home under the name of Francine. It was laughable, her having that name. Francine my butt. Dad once tried to call her Francine and she wouldn't speak to him but directly for months afterward. She was Frances. I don't think Dad ever really knew that we had nicknamed our nicknames. I mean Lydecker.
I'm so f**ked up.
Frannie was sweet, I remembered. Always had been sweet. She wasn't like Martin, with his quiet calmness and his hidden leadership. She was always working so hard to be the best that she could be. I remembered her athletic abilities. She was always running, that one, always trying to leave us in the dust. Many a times she had.
Mom was the one who had found the information, actually. Mom had been sitting down, looking Dad's computer while he was out with the midgets. She had happened to glance down at the pages of notes that I had dutifully copied for Dad, all scattered haphazardly around the area of the computer. She had misread my writing and typed in the information incorrectly. And found my sister.
Isn't it odd how things work? That is why I was on a train, my eyes closed, and my nose trying to keep out the smells. Trains are not exactly the nicest way of travel. Though they aren't as cheap as buses, they are still cheap enough that the common large sewer rat can buy a ticket, as long as they got the dinero.
The scenery was rushing past me. It seemed to be doing a lot of that those days. Things were traveling too fast. First I was ready for coming back and having a blast, but things got trapped up in a whirlwind that took me along with it and it was ages later and I wasn't putting any of my information to use.
It was an abomination that I had been allowed to lounge about and get my nerve up just to find my sister. The truth was, I was afraid. I remembered the first time I had seen Martin. I had been so surprised, been so scared. He wasn't all like I remembered him. Would Frances have changed so much?
I glanced through the information that Dad had given me. The notes were short and simple. They included a photograph of Frances, a report card, and information on adopting her. The pictures showed her hair, long and thick looking, and her eyes, so shockingly dark. I hadn't remembered her eyes so dark, but it must have been the quality of the black and white I was in possession of.
The soft lull of the train made me close my eyes, more from habit than from actual fatigue. I was wired on adrenaline, in all truthfulness, but I knew that once the rush was over I would begin to feel as if I had been run over several times by a semi. I opened them after a few moments.
There were lists of parents there. There were several couples in the state of New Mexico and a few in Colorado. I couldn't remember much about New Mexico, just a few things on Santa Fe and something about Navajo Indians. Colorado I knew even less of, so I would probably need to study a few maps before I attempted any cross-state trekking.
I was sitting next to a really young girl and her mother. At the beginning of the trip the girl, who was dressed prettily in a tidy little frock, had been full of questions and quite bouncy. It had been easy to tune out the sounds of her giggling and persistent questions.
However, when she got carsick and her lunch - veggie-burger with extra ketchup -- ended up all over the floor and my sneakers, it was quite a lot harder to ignore her or the smell. The mother was properly apologetic, but, sheesh, she didn't even offer to pay for the sneakers.
I was quite happy when the girl and mother left, but the next people to sit in their rather smelly seats weren't as content with the arrangement as one might think. I had washed up as best as I could, but my shoes still had a stench to them and I was certain that the dudes next to me thought I had lost my lunch. I was sulky for the length of the trip after they had boarded.
Finally, my stop came. I slinked past the dudes to the aisle and grabbed my bag out of the compartment above the seats. It was the backpack that I had owned for so many years. It was still quite good; large enough to store clothing and notebooks, which was all I wanted. I pulled my hat down lower on my face.
The bus depot was pretty crowded. I wasn't aware that there were that many people in New Mexico, much less in one little city called Lilth. I guessed that there was maybe some sort of fair going on or something that drew many visitors from neighboring cities.
That's when I saw him. It was just his profile, but it sent shivers down my back just the same. Even seeing that hint of him made me want to stand up straighter, mask my emotions, and march towards him.
Damnit, Lydecker. Always in my way. For a second, I would have acted on my instinct. Then I remembered Martin's face, and the black and white I had of Frannie, and I paused. This was not the time to go back to old ghosts, long dead and buried.
Was it really him? I couldn't be sure. To be absolutely certain, I needed to trail him. I started walking quickly towards where I had seen the man. Was good ol' Deck closing in on Frances? I would never be able to live with myself if I was just one day too late. I broke into a soft jog.
I needed an easier, quicker, and more efficient way of finding out if it was Lydecker. I took a deep breath. I needed to open the door. The only problem was, I couldn't. I was afraid too.
Back in the earliest beginning of the century, there was this show on called Fear Factor. People faced their fears and they won money. It sounded easy enough. Get into a bathtub and have poison ness snakes dumped over you? Been there, done that, immune to most snake venom. Grab onto a rope and get pulled by a galloping horse? Gosh, when I was younger, I could only hope for something as simple as that. Break down a wall and let other people's thoughts into your head again?
Okay, so I couldn't do that. I glanced left and right as I jogged, searching for people that would be with Lydecker. Your common military men dressed to kill in black, with buns of steel. You know the kind. I couldn't see any.
If I didn't find him soon . . .
I looked toward the south wall, just a little to my right, where there was an exit. It was the exit closest to where the man had been. I would stake the area around it out. It would be simple. I would find the man. I would.
What would I do to him after I found him? Tell him to stay away, my sister is here and I haven't found her yet? That would be idiotic. Would I just simply confirm my suspicions, and then melt away into the crowd and towards Frances? It seemed like a good thing to do, if I could get to Frannie before Deck did. Kill him?
Oh, that made my stomach jump.
Would I actually kill Dad? F**k, Ty, no, Deck. We're talking about Lydecker. The one who didn't have enough brass to stand up to the director and tell the bitch that his kids didn't disserve to be slaughtered like some useless animals. Well, these pigs don't have four ears, let's just get rid of them as useless, even if they are as good as the two-eared pigs.
I saw the point in that. We were useless if we couldn't use telecommunication. It was the thing that we needed. Without it, we were the X-6. Not as intelligent as the X-5s, at first glance, and not as swift as the X-7 perimeters.
Not as good as the X-7s, who they succeeded with. Or that other group, the one in all those reports that we had brought up on the computers so long ago. We weren't as good as those and so we died. We thought it would stop.
If I hadn't had been so good at it would more of them lived? I had tried to limit myself to the barest minimum and . . . I needed to find Lydecker. If I didn't find him in one hundred twenty seconds, I would break down the wall.
Even if I didn't want too.
My breathing became more ragged as I ticked down the seconds. For once I was pissed that I had an internal clock that could compete with those atomic timepieces they have. Ninety seconds to go, and I couldn't see anyone inside the building.
Sixty seconds to go; I was pushed by someone into the path of the electric eye, which controlled the door. It slid open with a soft hiss. I backed away after glancing through the door.
Thirty seconds to go. I noticed a security camera, so I pulled my hat down lower across my face. I didn't want to be a movie star; I wanted to stay out of the limelight.
Fifteen seconds to go. I was mumbling the words "Oh God," over and over again. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I needed to find him now.
Ten seconds to go. I was mouthing the words, but no sound came out. I needed to find the man, and then go for Frances. I stepped outside of the building. I needed to find him.
Three seconds to go. I found him. It wasn't Lydecker. I almost collapsed on the grass. As it was, I barely made it to the bench in time for me to sit down and let out a breath that I hadn't known I had been holding.
Jesus Christ. That was some scary sh**.
I looked down at my hands and noticed that I was clutching the address of Frances' group home. No better time than the present. I opened my bag to check that everything was still in it, then stood up and walked purposely out of the courtyard.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Frances was surprised to see me, to say the least. I had gone to her group home, where I had been told to visit P.S. 44. Given the most rudimentary of directions, I had walked into the office of the school and handed the receptionist a note, given to my by Dad. It had said that Francine was to be given a special gift from an estranged family member. Simple, easy, right? You wouldn't have been able to get away with it when Logan was a kid, but nobody cared much now.
The receptionist tag said 'Angela'. I was reminded forcibly of the old 'principal' at my first group home. Mrs. Addiego had been one odd person. She had smelled like some kind of sterilizing liquid and wore too much red lipstick.
Angela read the note, looked me over, and then shrugged. It just shows you how much money these kids were worth to them. For a millisecond, I was quite angry, but I tried to keep it down. I had to remember, always keep your emotions in check.
"Sure, I'll get her for ya, honey," Angela said. I stopped myself from raising an eyebrow. If this actually was my old principal, I was going to s**t bricks. Angela leaned over and spoke into the intercom. "Francine Knotz, please come to the attendance office. Francine Knotz, please come to the attendance office."
She had broken out into the biggest smile I had ever seen when she walked into the room. Then her face became blank and I saw her unconsciously stand up taller. I nodded at her, my own face void of emotion, while digging into my bag for another note. It was one, forged, from the group home, saying that I was allowed to take Francine away for the day. I had several variants for several situations. Dad hadn't realized how good I was with the pen until I showed him my handiwork.
She didn't say anything until Angela reluctantly signed a release form and we had left the room. Then Frances turned to me, her brows crinkled.
"PA1-666," she whispered.
I grinned. "Frances," I said, pulling her toward me. She laughed. "It's been so long."
"I thought you were dead," she said, her eyes bright with emotions. "I honestly believed that you were gone from us. How in the world did you find me? Lezli said . . ."
I stopped her there. "It doesn't matter what anyone said. I found you. Martin was first, you are second. I've got more. Right now, I need you to tell me . . . what your life is like . . ."
Frances looked at me. "Ty you are way too melodramatic." I scowled at her. I was not melodramatic. Never had been. "Okay, sorry," she said impishly. "Well, I'm a tennis player . . . and a basketball player . . . and . . . give me a sport and I'll play it."
"You play tennis?" I asked her. I couldn't imagine her in a Venus or Serena Williams outfit. Her hair wasn't bleached orange and she had too many hard lines around the eyes.
"My favorite," she turned her head horizontally to the right, I guess to get the crinks out of her neck. "Tennis is easy and you get the can hit balls really hard at people and blame it on your 'wild serve' and then make obscene gestures at whoever you beat when you sit down again." Frances crinkled her nose again. "Well, actually, I lose sometimes. You can't win everything."
I knew the truth behind that statement. I shook my head and looked over Frannie's shoulder. We were walking near a sewer system. "Phew, it stinks out here."
"Ty, stop changing the subject. Your mind wanders way too much. I can't keep up with it." Frances brushed her hair out of her eyes. I remembered how she had always done that when we were at Manticore, when her hair had grown so quickly and wildly.
I took a deep breath. "Okay, so, I'll give it to you straight, from the beginning. I got out, heard the shots, went back, but I saw bodies being taken out. I thought they were you." Frannie nodded for me to go on. "I lived in the US for a while, then lived in France for two years. A few months back, Zack came --"
"Zack?" Frannie broke in. "X5-599? Where does he come into this?" She gave me a look that plainly said she was lost.
"He's Mom's brother . . . Mom is Max . . . X5-452 . . . we met about three years ago, but I had to leave because Zack told me he saw D-Deck 'round and I didn't want Mom or Dad in danger . . . so I went to France."
"You don't make much sense," Frannie told me.
"I never do," I said. "Now, anyway, Zack came, and he brought me to Martin. I-I, eh, I got your towns and did some searches. I found most of you, but you guys keep getting bounced from one home to another. When was the last time you actually spoke to Martin?"
"About two and a half years ago. He didn't really talk much, just handed me a number. I've never used it. It is some sort of contact number that I am supposed to use when I am in trouble. I'm not in trouble, so I don't use it."
I tipped my head to the right. "Right. I've got a new one. Use it the first of each month, just to check in, understand me? If I don't get a message from you by the third, I'm coming down and kicking your ass."
Frances grinned. "So what now?"
"I take you to a foster home in a town not too far away from here. You get a mom, dad, maybe even a dog, if they have one."
"You've picked one out for me?" Frannie looked at me with her eyebrows raised.
"Well, I have a couple here that look like good prospects. I do have one I'm favoring . . . but, eh, you do have a choice if you totally hate them. Take one last look at your school, 'cuz we're leaving."
"Just like that?" Frances gasped. "I mean, I don't get to go t.p. some lockers and stencil out goat f**ker on the principal's car?"
I stared at her. God help me, she wasn't kidding. I wondered which deity would help me the quickest. I was about to reply when she turned to go back to the school.
"I'll just get my stuff," she said to me. What in the world was she doing? She had at best backpack and a locker at school and there was nothing important that could be carried there. I followed her reluctantly.
Frances jogged down to the corridors quietly, skipping the entrance to the office and just slinking into the hall marked HOME ECONOMICS, FEAST, PHYS. ED. A tone sounded seven times -- where had bells gone? -- and suddenly the doors burst open and kids streamed out. Frances ducked inside a room and came out a few minutes later with her backpack, a what looked tennis racket, and a large sports bag.
"Still following?" she called back. I nodded, silently promising myself that I'd stop behaving like a small child in the face of my superiours. She stopped at a locker, twirled the lock, took out books and put them in her sports bag. She reached in a few more times and brought out more books. Finally she took out a folder and started taking down pictures. I think my mouth closed after a minute, but I wasn't so certain.
"FRANCINE! Girl! What you doin'?" I heard somebody exclaim. My eyes must have gotten a lot bigger, but I hadn't a mirror handy to check. I walked over to Frances. She was currently being mauled by a large, dark haired girl. Please, let it be an assignation attempt, I prayed. I tapped Frances on the shoulder.
"Frannie, we gotta go," I told her. Frances gave me a cocky half grin, but I knew she would follow me. I sort of felt like 666 at that moment, not like Tyronica, and I knew that Frances would pick up on that.
"Girl, who you?" the girl turned around and I noticed an odd scar below her left eye. It looked like she'd tripped and hit her head on the stairs or something.
"Tyronica," I said, turning to leave.
"NO WAY!" the girl's voice was loud and echoed oddly in the full hall. "You cannot be my homegirl Frannie's sister!"
"And why not?" I demanded, my blood suddenly hot.
"Kim," Frances said, her voice iced with warning. I couldn't help but grin. Now Frannie was the one who was uncomfortable.
"I mean . . . I assumed . . . Tyronica . . . well . . . you aren't black," Kim explained. "Tyronica is a black name if I ever heard one, and, girl, you as white as they come."
"Did it ever," I asked, my eyes filling with tears and my nose beginning to run, "*ever* occur to you that I might be an albino." I began to sniffle. I grabbed Frannie and started jogging down the hall.
"I think you may be the first person to have ever shut Kim up so effectively," Frances said as we left the school as the last tone sounded. She paused, then added, "I didn't know albinos had freckles."
"That just earned you the foster family on the other side of the state and the little boy named Francis," I told her. We stopped at in the parking lot near a dark red car.
"Fine by me," Frannie said, getting her tennis racket out of it's jacket.
"Who's car is this?" I asked as she walked to the windshield.
"My tennis coach's car," she told me, swinging. "I don't like him."