Sydney

I sighed and kept a straight face as the guard half shoves-half forces-half escorts me down this long dirty brick hallway.

We head straight for the ugly beige door that seems to be getting closer and closer.

Keep your cool.

Keep your cool.

But the assurance just feels like lies as my sloppy bun chops against my neck. My bangs and other locks of rebelling hair stick flop against my chin.

I'm sorry, Iggy. I think. I never meant for either of us to go this way.

The guard pulls out a set of keys and picks out a knobby brass one and shoves it in the keyhole and twists it till a satisfied click grants him the right to enter.

He shoves the keys back into his pocket and forces me in.

A large machine sits on a steel table in a average square room. It looks like it's half computer other half MRI.

I swallow.

Here goes everything.

Another officer shuts the door and locks it behind us. The guard escorting me takes off my cuffs, I'm so relieved I let out a heavy breath and thank him. He nods grimly, but keeps a firm grip on my wrists.

I look around the room as the escort pushes me into my metal fold out chair. There's a woman operating the machine with straight short copper hair. She smiles nicely. I give an attempt at smiling back. But the stains on my face push the muscles back. Around her are more police officers. Wow, really am I that much of a wanted dead or alive criminal?

I'm just so flattered. Accompanying the woman sitting in the chair across the table is two other men dressed neatly in suits. One adjusts his tie and nods courteously. The other one, however, sticks out his hand for a shake.

"Good morning Miss Falcon. I'm Paul Tremolo, and these are my associates. Landon Barton and Debbie White."

Landon simply nods again, watching his way with me, thinking that if he crosses me I'm going to kill him in the night.

Debbie holds out her hand as well.

"Good to meet you, Miss Falcon," She says smiling. I can tell by the pink shades on her ears that she almost said 'pleasure to meet you' but considering I am a gothic teenage serial murderer in the police station, that might not fly with the officers.

I stare into the mirror across the room. I look past myself and the guards. Their watching me. The others.

They've surrounded me. Their all going to know.

"Sydney," I manage to choke out.

"Please, just call me Sydney, or Falcon. No miss, I beg of you," I manage to stick in a little chortle at the end. Debbie smiles and says, "Of course, Sydney."

"Hands on the table," The escort suddenly orders, and I hold up my hands in a surrender position and then smoothly lay them on the table.

"Okay, Sydney, so do you know what this is?" Debbie asks, me gathering some metal and cables from behind a computer monitor.

"A Polygraph machine?" I ask. She nods, "Yes, we are using this to test to see what really happened the day of the Saint Chavers incident."

I almost want to spit at incident.

Yeah, I'm sure.

"These," Debbie starts again, are to put on your fingers." She holds up five finger braces all attached to colored cables.

She puts them on and sets me up for the test.

"This isn't the kind that's going to shock me is it?" I ask, to be sure.

"Oh no!" Paul laughs, shaking his head. This little metal piece will just move and based on the height of the wave it makes it will beep or-"

"I don't meant to be rude, Mr. Tremolo, but I know how this works."

He raises his eyebrows, but Landon Barton doesn't look surprised.

"Oh really?" Landon Barton asks, unbelieving.

Oh really! I want to spit back, dripping thick with sarcasm, but I zip myself shut till I have a better thing to say.

"Yes sir, my brother interned at the police station once, they showed me how everything works, when I dropped by."

"What's his name?" A guard by the mirror asks, but is waved off by Debbie.

"Wait! Wait! I haven't fired up the machine yet!" She flicks on switches double checks herself then presses a button. A light vibration bounces through my fingertips.

"Okay so real quick, what's your real name?" Debbie asks, gazing at the screen.

"Sydney Ryan Falcon."

"Alright, now I want you to lie to me okay?"

"Yes ma'am."

"What's your age?"

"Sixty two."

A large beep erupts. And Debbie smiles.

"Good, and your parents? What happened to them? You can tell the truth now."

My heartbeat slows and I feel sick.

"Dead," I whisper quietly.

The machine doesn't yell.

She nods, the look on her face wishing she hadn't said anything.

"And lastly, can we get the names of your closest friends and what you were doing before you came home to find yourself arrested?"

I list off my friends, and the machine stays calm. "We have our own little YouTube thing. We uh, make covers of song, produce our own, make our own music videos. You see, Jude is a huge camera guy, and he got some new equipment, and he wanted to try it out. So I went to his place with my other friends to make some music videos, record a song or two… Stuff like that."

"Fun, now sorry Sydney we have to do the sucky stuff." She half smiles.

"Okay, have you ever been pressured to do any drugs drugs, smoke, or drink any alcohol?"

"Yes, some people have tried to."

"And you refused to take and are not currently under the influence of any kind?"

"No ma'am."

Landon looks at the machine like it's broken.

"Good," She says writing stuff down on a yellow notepad.

"And do you have any previous criminal records?" I shake my head casually.

"Just TP-ing a house on Halloween one year, and I once got into a fight at school."

"Did you do any serious damage to the other?"

"No, not in the time it took me to pin her down and my friends to pry me offa her. Just a couple of bruises and scratch marks.

"What was the fight about?" Landon cuts in.

I stay silent and rock in my chair for a bit, my free hand playing an invisible piano on my knee.

"Sydney?" Paul asks.

"She called my friend a fag, and called me a lesbian and said that my parents must have been glad to die with a child like me."

The words burn on my tongue. Singeing my taste buds like burger patties.

Debbie bit her lip.

"Right, sorry."

I don't say it's okay. It's not.

"Okay so your brother interned for the police department?" Paul re-asks immediately changing the subject.

I nod my head.

"Yes sir."

"And his name?"

"Duncan Falcon."

The officer in the right hand corner, gives a hearty laugh. "Good kid, has lots of potential. How's he been doing?"

"He's good," I say, "Good, good."

"Anyway," Debbie intercedes. "Time to get to the real stuff. Now that we know the machine is working all in good time. Okay so, why were you in New York City, at the time of the explosion?"

"I had been going through a tough break and my birthday was coming up, so my friend, Maya, offered to take me and the friends out to New York to have a little fun, you know, to cheer me up for my birthday."

More writing from behind the machine.

"Okay, and how was Maya able to offer you the trip?"

"Her aunt and uncle work for some very top notch people and they are pretty rich and had invited us up anyway."

"Now, how did you get into that gala event?"

"Same thing, Maya's relatives."

Machine stays stable, scrawling ensues.

"Alright… Well, uh, according to a source's records, you stayed inside later than your friends did?"

"Yes ma'am."

"And what exactly were you doing?"

"Getting people out…"

BEEP.

"Well part of the time I was."

Silence.

"Okay, um, well I-" Debbie doesn't know what to say.

"What were you doing out besides helping people leave?"

My fingers begin to cramp, my foot twitches.

"Fighting out on the ballroom battlefield," I whisper.

The quiet stings my ears.

"Fighting?" Debbie, repeats, eyebrow raising.

"Okay then, and um, wait now… according to your interview on CNN you said that you "Started to feel sick, and blamed it on PMS," and that was why you and your friends left so soon to the takeover. Is that correct?"

I haven't even said anything and the machine screeches LIAR!

Now Debbie looks at the machine like it's broken.

"So your alibi…" She says slowly, staring at the Polygraph machine. "Is not true?"

"Yes," I mutter. "It's not."

I hate that brutal silence.

"Did you know there was a bomb in the building as you ushered your friends out?" Paul says, stern now.

"No."

The silence becomes a little more lovable and Paul's face twists. Landon checks to make sure it's all in order.

It is.

"So, why did you make them leave?"

Damn, if my tongue didn't make such a freaking stupid nasty habit out of lying I would be better off wouldn't I?

"The fight was coming."

I almost wait for the machine to beep. But it doesn't.

"A fight?" Paul echoes, walking around the table and sitting on the corner, a manila folder with my name, prison number, cell number and picture of me in front of a large measuring poster, holding my sign and looking naturally into the camera, in his tight grip.

"And you participated in this "Fight"?"

"Yes sir," I mumble, staring at my shoes.

"What kind of fight could you possibly have to ask your friends to leave?"

"The kind that gets real bad."

Landon leans back in his chair. Whatever.

"Between who and who?" Debbie asks.

"People."

BEEP.

Shit, machine 'people' counts!

"Between who and who?"

"Between my boyfriend's family and other men, I don't know their names."

The machine zips its lips.

"Your boyfriend?" Debbie asks, now looking genuinely confused. Yep, their definitely going to postpone my trial. "Your boyfriend was at the incident?"

I nod.

Here it was.

It was coming.

"Yes,"

"What's his name?"

"James. James "Iggy" Griffith."

"Why was he there?" Debbie asks.

I take a hard swallow.

"Like I said, he was there to fight. He was with his family."

"Who is in his family?"

"His brothers, Fang and Gazzy… And his sisters. Nudge and Max… and Angel… She died in the explosion."

"No parents, or aunts or uncles or any form of legal guardian there with them?"

"No, no ma'am."

She slaps then pen down on the pad. And says to Paul, "I just don't understand…"

"Now wait a minute! This is getting nowhere!" Paul exclaimed, obviously a little frustrated, now.

But Landon held up a hand and finally stood.

He smiles at me.

It comes back crooked.

"Listen, Falcon, when did you learn their was a bomb and who told you?"

"Halfway through the fight."

"And who told you?"

"Fang."

I glower back at Landon's stupid little face.

"He knew about the bomb?"

"Yes." I spit.

"How did he know?"

"I don't know…"

BEEP BEEP.

F you machine. F. U.

"How did he know?" Landon repeats as giggly as a girl in a candy store.

"His family made it," Seething through my teeth, my face gritted.

"Why did he make it, now? Little Falcon?"

"To stop something."

"To stop what? Exactly?" His face is still giddy, the dang bastard's actually enjoying this.

I glare at him.

Then down at my hand.

"I think we're done here!" I start to say frantically. Trying to rip the finger braces off of me, so I can leave.

"Okay cop man, take me away-"

"Not so fast!" The escort growled and pushed me back down in the chair.

A trickle of sweat ran down my neck and dripped down my back.

I look down and watch a glistening bead of sweat slide smoothly down the bridge of my nose and drip off the tip.

I squint my eyes shut.

There's no way to get out of here.

It's time.

I look up, my bangs sticking to my forehead. I knew I must look greasy and dirty.

"You wanna know everything?" I start to growl, "Fine. But you'll never believe what I'm about to say."

Landon pats the machine and smiles, smug little sonofa-

"We'll have to, as long as the machine doesn't beep."

"You won't."

"Sydney," Debbie's kind voice whispers.

"I promise we will, if it's the truth. I'll believe it."

I left a silence echo around the room.

"Prepare yourself."

I warn, face grave.

"This is something utterly terrifying."