Treen could hear Mrs. Wellbay crying inside the computer room. However, when she peeked inside the cracked door, Russell wasn’t there. The medics spoke quietly with Dr. Moresky while Mrs. Wellbay sat next to the bulging white sheet that covered her husband’s body.
Suddenly Treen heard faint music from a room at the end of the hall. The trumpet stood out most. She jogged towards the sounds, stepping on and around bits of metal and plastic, left over from the Ecnal limbs that Sheridon had severed.
When she’d reached the open door, she could see Russell sitting at the side of his bed, face in his hands. A rotating disco light flashed a rainbow of colors around the dark room; as the trumpet continued, Treen recognized the song: Miles Runs The Voodoo Down, a 1969 musical masterpiece featuring Miles Davis. She was more than surprised to find Russell listening to it.
However, as Treen shut the door and moved deeper inside the room, she could see that Gail Blue was right: there was more to Russell Wellbay than just a desire to be a rock and roll drummer. Of course, posters of Helmet, Nirvana and Hendrix adorned the walls, but right next to them hung the Bee Gees and John Coltrane. A Bible and several books about Picasso and Van Gogh lay scattered on the bed and floor.
Russell had lowered his head so much that Treen could see only the back of his leather jacket and, for the first time in a while, the counselor didn’t know what to say. She sat on the bed, put her arm around him, and just listened to the music.
Russell raised his head a short time later. He glanced at Treen, who took both his hands and quietly said, “Talk to me.”
“I didn’t get a chance to tell my dad — tell him it wasn’t me...”
“What did you need to tell him?”
“About that stupid street fight that happened a long time ago — the one that started all our problems.”
“Your mother had mentioned the fight. She said that you had seriously injured a boy.”
Russell sprang from the bed. “That’s the problem Treen — I didn’t hurt anybody! I couldn’t have — I left before the fight even started!”
Treen stood and grabbed Russell’s hands. “It’s all right,” she said, guiding him back to the bed. “Take a deep breath, then tell me what really happened.”
He exhaled. “Somebody had slashed somebody else’s bike tire — really stupid stuff. I hung around for the trash talk, but when they started shoving each other, I got outta there. I’d promised my parents to stay outta trouble.”
“On the way home, I stopped to wait for the light to change so I could cross Mallyview Main. There was a lot of cars goin’ by — a lot of cars. Over all the noise, I thought I heard somebody screamin’. I looked around and didn’t see nobody ‘til I looked up Davagard Lane. This girl — she was runnin’ down the hill — straight for the intersection...”
Treen’s heart began to gallop. Her hands trembled. She started to sweat and stood to remove her headband and jacket. Russell kept talking until she walked over and glared at the wrinkled newspaper headline tacked above his dresser: Local Girl Struck and Killed. A smiling photo of Shainy Billerson led off the article.
“You all right?” Russell asked, stepping over to her.
“Yes,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “Could you, please finish your story.”
She continued to stare at the headline. When she glided her fingers down Shainy’s picture, Russell realized that Treen had known her.
“I couldn’t figure out what Shainy was runnin’ from. There was nothin’ behind her — no stray dog, nothin.’ I was sure she’d stop but she didn’t. She ran right into the road...”
“After she got hit, the cars just kept coming. Those stupid people. I ran into the street, wavin’ for ‘em to stop. Almost got hit myself. I ran up the street where she was lying by the curb. She was in real bad shape, but when I got down next to her, she looked at me and tried to smile.”
Treen turned towards Russell and grabbed his arms lightly. “You mean, she was still alive?” she asked, voice cracking. “Shainy was still alive?”
“Yeah. But all I could do to help her was hold her hand and pray.”
“Russell, how much longer was she alive?”
“A couple minutes. Last thing she said was, ‘Tell her I love her, and don’t forget — ’ ”
“The rain,” said Treen, lowering her head. “We once spent a rainy afternoon inside a cave — best day of our lives...”
After Treen had gathered herself, she immediately apologized to Russell. Even though the accident was still fresh in her mind, it happened five years ago; Russell’s father had died less than two hours ago, without knowing that his son never threw the stone that had partially blinded a neighborhood boy.
To save their own rears, the other kids swore Russell had thrown the rock and all the parents — including his own — believed them.
The blood on Russell’s hands and clothes didn’t come from the injured boy, but from a dying girl named Shainy — a girl he didn’t know until now.
Tsara had arrived back at the Grevelton Hills lab and hurried to inform Lance of her encounter with Treen Alee. Lance didn’t handle the news well, hurling a chair through an office window.
“If you wouldn’t have shortchanged my programming, I could’ve shot that little winch.”
“Shut up, Tsara! I provided the quickest update I could, given the amount of time I had to work with. What really matters is that you killed Walter Wellbay. I’ve been unable to interface with the Ecnals I sent with you, which means I cannot find out if that bonehead is actually dead — ”
“He’s dead all right,” said Mr. Blue, surprising them when he marched inside the office with two huge guards, “But who authorized you to kill him?”
“Well, well, if it isn’t the mighty Mr. Blue,” said Lance walking over to him. “Are you a depressed person?” He asked studying his clothes, “You seem to prefer gray suits. Perhaps you wear them because they match your hair?” I think I’ll call you Cobweb — but only because you’ve been in business so long.”
“Be quiet and listen carefully. I flew up here because Blue Neptune security found something extremely disturbing on our surveillance cameras — two mangled droids tossed on the steps of my building by Treen Alee’s thugs. I suggest you get serious.”
Lance turned towards Tsara, his video eyes as wide as quarters. “You let those nitwits destroy my Ecnals?” he shouted.
“I’m sorry Lance I — ”
“They are not your Ecnals,” said Mr. Blue.
“Listen, Cobweb, as long as I have half the Merafuel formula stored in my memory, they are mine.”
“Yes, but don’t forget who has the other half — and all the money to build them. You’ll cease to exist without Merafuel. However, I’ll just keep on breathing money — with or without you droids.”
Lance chuckled and stepped closer to Mr. Blue, until the burly bodyguards blocked his path.
“Out of my way!”
Lance’s shouting, didn’t faze them, nor did the insane glare in which his neck swelled and his face vibrated. The bodyguards would’ve rolled their eyes if they hadn’t snatched out guns and aimed at his head so quickly. Mr. Blue then stepped from behind his wall of protection and stared at the arrogant Ecnal-4.
“I don’t always use droids for protection. These are real men, trained to dispose of artificial attitudes such as yours.” Lance looked away from the barrels, glared at Garrison Blue, then laughed.
“Let’s talk about money”, said Lance, who’d turned his back and stepped away like a college professor in mid-lecture. “Of course, I don’t give a kangaroo’s butt about your cash. However, I have scanned your financial reports and it appears that you can barely afford the parts for the droids — or even lunch for that matter. Without us building ourselves, working in your factories — and selling Merafuel pills, there would be no Blue Neptune Electronics!” Face it Cobweb, you need me and I need you.”
Mr. Blue stepped right up to him. “I am in charge, Lance. Get that through your malfunctioning microchips — fast.”
“Yes sir,” he said, saluting him and stomping a foot on the floor.
Tsara giggled.
Although Mr. Blue had admonished Lance for sending Tsara on an shooting assignment, he realized it was the best thing to do — especially when Tsara showed him the damaging information she’d found on the hard drive, ripped from Mr.Wellbay’s computer.
“What would you like me to do with the Alees?” asked Lance. “Oh, and let’s not forget the other hostages: My ex-girlfriend, Detective Redworc, and Natalie Newberry — all locked up somewhere downstairs.”
“Keep them here until you find that Treen Alee bunch. Then take them all to the Grevelton Bookstore and