

Clean Slate Complex

**clean slate complex (a daynight story)**

by Megan Thomason

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

If you downloaded this ebook during a free promotion period, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, entities, events, portals, alternate worlds and the like in the daynight series, including clean slate complex, are fictional and products of the author's overly active imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright (c) 2013 by Megan Thomason

ISBN: 9781301811939

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

_Dedicated to Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center and non-profits like it—_

who truly give people a second chance at life.

_Table of Contents_

Title page

Copyright information

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Author's Note

Acknowledgments

About the Author

" _Isn't it the moment of most profound doubt that gives birth to new certainties? Perhaps hopelessness is the very soil that nourishes human hope; perhaps one could never find sense in life without first experiencing its absurdity."_

—Vaclav Havel

CHAPTER ONE

**My mom's going to croak in the back of our beater van. It's bad enough to live in it, but dying in it...that's no way to go.** She's been shaking so bad that she woke me up, being that we're all cozy like sardines in this tin can. Or maybe more like two sardines (my mom and me with our small frames) and three sharks (my older brothers who are built like NFL linebackers).

I wonder if Mom's going through withdrawals. Every time she forgets her meds it gets really ugly. Her doc warned me that her body can't handle going cold turkey off of them. That she could up and die. I feel her forehead. She's burning up from a fever. Oh no. My poor Mom. Being sick's the last thing she needs. She's got it hard enough. In the dark I rustle around until I find a half empty bottle of water and a packet of aspirin my brothers lifted from the emergency station at their last short-lived warehouse job.

"Mom, take this." I'm begging her. I open her mouth and pour the water down her throat. She chokes on the pill and starts hacking something awful. The moonlight's pouring in through the windows and making her dark skin look white. I'm not liking what I'm seeing. "You okay?"

She grabs ahold of my shirt. Her throat's so swollen she can barely whisper. "Alexa, my pretty girl. You gotta keep your brothers in line. I—" Her words are cut off as she coughs up everything I just got down her. She keeps on coughing and I know I've got to get her help fast. I feel around for a flashlight. Once I turn it on I see that it's blood she's been hacking up. What do I do? I'm no doctor.

"It'll be okay, Mom," I tell her, but my lips and hands are trembling. I grab the first thing I can find and wipe up the mess. Then I shove Trey who's on the other side of me. "Trey. Bryce. Lol. Wake up!" I'm loud enough to get all three of them to sit up fast. Trey and Bryce smack heads and Lol catches an elbow on the back of the van. They're like black-skinned versions of The Three Stooges. Bunch of goofballs. Trey's 21. Bryce and Lol (I mispronounced Oliver when I was little and it stuck) are twins at 19. I arrived ten months after the twins.

"What the hell, Alexa?" Trey yells back. He's rubbing his head and looking between Mom and me. You'd think the sight of Mom trying to cough up a lung or two would give him a clue. I love him—love all my brothers—but they're a couple cans shy of a six pack as far as their brains go.

"We have to get Mom to a hospital. She's not doing too well," I say, my eyes filling with tears. "You drive while I take care of her." I wipe more blood from her mouth. The sight of her being in such bad shape's killing me.

My mom shakes her head. She's having a lot of trouble sucking in air but manages to get out, "No hospitals. Clinic." Normally I'd smile since I know she's got a huge crush on her doc there. But she's asking because he's the only one she trusts. She's always making excuses to go to the clinic and dragging me along. Less than a week ago we'd been in when they had free blood screenings and flu shots—and to refill Mom's meds. She's been "mentally unstable" since my dad ditched us three years ago. Things got so rough that she couldn't hold a job. I quit school at sixteen to take care of her full time. Sad because I'd been on the college track, but family comes first.

"I'll get you there, Mama." Trey promises. He gets his supersized butt in gear and kisses Mom on the head before climbing to the front of the van and taking the wheel. Lol and Bryce each take one of Mom's hands. I say a quick prayer asking God for our van to behave enough to make it to the clinic. The sky's starting to lighten so I can watch our progress out the window. Trey's taking a shortcut through a sketchy neighborhood of LA to save time.

The piece of crap, white box on wheels only makes it a few blocks before the engine sputters and chokes on the side of the road. Apparently God's too scared to come around here and listen to prayers. Trey slams his hand against the wheel and curses a foul string of garbage. If my mom wasn't so sick she'd be slapping him upside the head. He keeps turning the key to try to restart the van but the engine's not even turning over.

"Hand me the phone," I say to Bryce. "I'll call 911."

Bryce responds, "No go, baby sis. We're out of minutes." I look outside. This is no neighborhood to be knocking on doors and asking for help. The windows are boarded up, siding's falling off. Junk's all over the yards. The only people brave enough to live in these parts have sold their souls for a quick fix of nothing good. My mom's coughing's getting a whole lot worse, so much that she can barely get a breath in between the fits. And she's choking on all the blood that's coming up. She's going to die. I know it and start sobbing.

Lol speaks up. "Don't worry Lex. I think there's a market not too far up the road. We can go get Mom something for her cough and use their phone."

"Run," I demand. I practically shove them out the door. The moment they head off, I lock the doors up tight.

All the coughing's got my head rattling. I pull my long black curls away from my face and into a messy bun. Then I push up the sleeves of my hoodie and get to work getting my mom cleaned up and more comfortable. She coughs a little less when she's on her side.

"Read to me," my mom whispers.

"You bet," I say, grabbing a book we started a couple of days ago. She loves it when I read to her. It's the one thing that calms her down when she's having an off day or not feeling well. I love it too—keeps my mind from turning to mush. So I pick up used books whenever I can. We go through them fast. Mom has a lot of off days.

Living in the van sucks. We used to have a decent apartment before my dad took off. After he left, we sold off our TV and furniture to pay the bills, but when we ran out of belongings to sell, we got kicked out of our apartment. With no relatives to lean on, and no friends to take us in, we ended up camping in the van. Weeks turned into months. Every once in a while my brothers'd make enough to get us a short-term place, but it never lasted. My brothers don't seem to be able to understand that work involves _work_. So they're always chasing after some get-rich-quick scheme that ends us putting us into a deeper hole and right back into the van. The cycle's been going on three years now.

I press my cheek against my mom's forehead. She's still burning up. Her fever's gotten out of control and it's so hot with the windows and doors closed, that she may well ignite. In my mind, I know it's a risk, but I'm not letting my mom die just because I'm a little afraid of the neighborhood.

"I'm going to get you cooled down," I tell her. I see the worry in her big, brown eyes, but she nods.

I throw on my boots, grab a knife and open the back doors to the van. Then I jump out to see if anyone's around.

Trey'd freak if he knew I was out here without him there to, "protect my sorry girl parts." Besides the junkies, this area's known for the pedophiles—or peds as we call 'em. The sheer size of my brothers would scare off most people, but there's some messed up guys around, crazy enough to take them on in order to get to me. Surely has happened before. Around me, my brothers are as sweet as my favorite blueberry pie. But they'd fight to the death for their little sister if my life was at risk. I should've had one of them stay, but I wasn't in my right mind at the time.

I look around. No one's in sight, but that doesn't mean no one's there. This neighborhood's just like our van...on its last legs. There's garbage everywhere. Smells like sour milk. Clenching my knife tighter, I climb back in to tend to my mom. She sounds like she's already coughed up a lung and is working on getting rid of a kidney as well. It's hurting my chest just listening to it. I've got to do something to help her.

One second I'm stepping into the van, and the next I'm slammed back against the cement, seeing sky. My knife clatters away. I can hear my mom say, "No" before she gives into another coughing spell. My back hurts like hell, but I clench my teeth and fight away the pain. There's no way I'm letting anyone take the van. They'd dump Mom who knows where and she'd be done for.

To be able to help my mom I have to defend myself. Thank goodness my brothers taught me to fight. No choice but to learn with the way we live.

My attacker leans over me. Thin, patchy blond hair. Bad teeth. Saggy, yellow skin hanging off his bones. The dude's twitching and gasping for breath. While I'm trying to figure out a plan he pulls me upwards and into a headlock. I retch. He smells like he slept in a cow pasture. Worse he's muttering something about how he's got to defeat the aliens and steal their transport ship. Which means he's either hallucinating or paranoid. Ice addict.

There'll be no reasoning with him. He's in this to the death. I'm scared out of my mind, but it's as if I can hear Trey telling me, "No fear. Just action." Same thing he's told me a hundred times.

Remembering what my brothers taught me, I immediately tuck my chin and stomp my attacker's solar plexus with my heavy work boot, while simultaneously grabbing his hands and pulling downward.

With the pressure lessened a little, I drop my right hand. I grab one of his fingers with my left hand, jerking it back and breaking it. Then I punch his inner thigh with my right hand. I'd aimed for the groin but missed.

Bastard's still got a grip. I jerk my body up and down. Then I lurch forward, causing us both to fall. I twist to the left and tuck my arm. This time he takes the brunt of the impact direct to the elbow.

He howls in pain, but that only strengthens his resolve. Dude's determined to win.

We're both on the ground, but sitting upright. He locks his legs around my waist. I use the weight of my upper body to slam my head backwards, connecting with his chin.

That hurt like hell. I'm seeing double.

Works though. He unhooks his legs and rolls away.

Before I can get up, he's hovering over me. Trying to mount me.

Hell no will I let him do _that_.

As he lowers himself I kick hard against his hip and groin. But I can't push him far enough to break free.

He fights the backward momentum and falls onto my lower legs. I sit up while twisting my legs, in an attempt to dislodge him. Doesn't work.

Psycho starts pounding on my knees with his right hand, left one useless with his broken finger.

The pain's starting to eat at me and I'm breathing heavy. I'm not sure I can win this one. But, I have to keep trying.

Out of the corner of my eye I see something large and silver, but I can't afford to lose focus and check it out. A car perhaps? Unlikely they'd stop and help. Or if they did, they'd add to the problem, not help it.

The perp creeps forward, so that he's sitting on my waist. About the worst position I could be in.

Before he can pin me down further, I slam my palm into his nose. Blood starts gushing.

The man screams a string of curses and wraps his hands around my neck, cutting off my air supply.

I claw at his fingers, drawing blood and putting pressure on the broken one.

It'll take an act of God to get out of this mess. The freak's face begins to spot and darken, and I know I don't have long before I pass out. I try to focus on a palm leaf swaying in the breeze, but it's brown and dying just like me.

My air's gone, but I'm not giving up. I've got to save my mom. Can't die...not like this. In a last ditch effort, I jab my fingers into his eyes and then rake my nails down his face. He wails at the contact which gives me hope.

I hear a loud crack.

Suddenly, Ice Man slumps into me.

The pressure around my neck's gone. I suck in a lung-full of air.

Looking up, I see an angel. My savior. A white boy with a baseball bat.

What? No angel's going to be packing a bat. There's no way I'll be able to fight this guy off. I've got no energy left.

"You ok?" the bat-wielding angel asks. He offers me a hand. I wait a sec to figure out his game, but finally accept. There'd be no reason to offer me a hand before beating me to death with his bat. Spots continue to cloud my vision, and I'm a little unstable, so I lean back against the van, clutching the edge while I try to get my breathing under control. First things first though. I need to make sure my mom's okay. I'd left her lying atop a sleeping bag, head towards the front of the van. She's now in a heap near the back. I reach out and grab her hand, feeling for a pulse. Thank goodness. She's still alive and sleeping peacefully—at least for now. The boy remarks, "Looks like she was coming to your rescue, but her strength gave out."

I turn and look at him. His light-brown hair's been buzzed close to his head and he's got forest-green eyes. I'm guessing he's about six feet tall to my five foot seven. He's checking out the inside of our van, but if it bothers him, he's not letting it show. The van reeks of body odor, blood, and leftover fast food. Looks like unorganized closet floor, meets camping trip. The smell alone would scare most people off. I prefer staying at the shelter, but it's just not worth spending every afternoon standing in line to get a spot. Plus, my brothers hate it there. They don't trust sleeping in a room full of strangers.

"He dead?" I point to my attacker.

"Nah, just taking a good, long nap," the boy responds. "By the time he wakes up, he should be in a holding cell. Driver called the cops."

I strain to speak, my voice hoarse from nearly being choked to death. "Look, I'm grateful for the save. Really I am. I wish there was some way I could repay you, but as you can see we've got nothing other than this piece of junk van. And well ..." I pause, looking at him. Guy's dressed in a white Henley and neatly pressed jeans. "You don't much look like you're in need of it for sleeping and it's gone and died on us. It won't do you a bit of good. And my brothers should be back soon so you can be on your way. Though maybe one of you has a phone to call for an ambulance?"

The guy cocks his head to the side and his smile reaches up to his eyes. "I know you don't know me from Adam. But, I actually am Adam, and I'm with The Second Chance Institute. Heard of us?" I nod my head. Who could miss all the SCI's billboards about "second chances" and "clean slates?" Plus, they're the do-gooders that run the free clinic and the shelter next door to it. My mom and I stay there when my brothers have overnight jobs and we don't feel safe by ourselves in the van.

Adam continues, "We were passing by in our bus, when we saw the commotion." He points to the large silver bus with a giant Second Chance Institute logo on it, stopped in the middle of the street. What a contrast. Boy in his fine duds and with his shiny bus. Me in blood soaked thrift store rejects and a dead-as-roadkill van. "The SCI's got a free clinic pretty close. Happy to give you a ride there. We planned to stop there next. They should be able to help your mom."

While Adam's trying to talk me into going with him, my brothers show up. Trey reaches the van first and freaks when he sees the scene. Drug addict down. I'm covered in blood, with what are sure to be large bruises around my neck. Trey's got Adam disarmed of the bat, face-down and pinned to the ground in seconds.

"You're a dead man," Trey threatens Adam. Lol and Bryce join us, and they look like they're ready to take on the whole bus.

"Stop it Trey. He saved my life—from that guy." I point to the guy who decided to trade his sanity for a high. "Let Adam up _now_. Or do you want Mom to die, while you play action hero? You're a little late to come to my rescue." As Trey lets Adam up, I beg for forgiveness. "I'm so, so sorry for my brothers. Will you still help us? Help my mom?"

Adam wipes the dirt from his shirt and runs his hands through his short hair. He doesn't look too happy about meeting my brothers. "Yeah, but if I help you, you've got to help me. Price of the ride." He insists on taking a couple snapshots of me and my brothers with the van. "We're going to get your mother the very best care. And in turn, you can help us with our Project Liberate rally. I'll explain that later, but for now, let's get your mom to the clinic."

"Fine." But as soon as my mom's in a capable doctor's hands, Adam'll be explaining why he feels like making fun of us is a good trade for taking my mom to a doctor.

My brothers haul Mom onto the bus, and I lock up the van. As I enter the bus, I'm surprised to see it's nearly full of homeless people. The bus looks brand new. It's fancy with high backed grey leather seats, video screens and a bathroom in the back. I take the only seat available, next to Adam and across from Trey and Bryce. My mom's sprawled out across them. In her sleep, she's hacking again. The bus jerks forward, and we're on our way. Adam's on the phone, with the cops it sounds like, giving a run-down of what happened. Sounds like the police'll want a statement from me later today. When Adam finishes he tells me, "It'll all be fine. There were a whole lot of witnesses to what went down." Credible ones, too, as I think as I look around at the bus.

"Care to explain?" I gesture toward my fellow rejects of society.

"Well, we basically drive around certain areas of town...looking for folks who could use a meal or place to sleep or—" Adam pauses before finishing with, "—medical attention. We bring them back to the center. Some have a bite to eat or get fixed up and go on their way. Others decide to stay on. Live at the Clean Slate Complex. That's what I decided to do." I shoot him a look that says, "Yeah, right." This boy looks like he's never had a hard day in his life. Henley and pressed jeans. I'm betting he's like those door to door magazine salesmen, weaving tales of woe to get people to cave. My brothers swindled many an old lady doing that gig.

Adam rolls his eyes at my glare. "I ran away from home at sixteen. Got into some...trouble. Ended up squatting with a couple of buddies in an abandoned warehouse, until the SCI picked me up. The SCI gave me a room at the Clean Slate Complex, a job, electronics, and clothes. Everything's provided. Sweetest deal ever."

"Sounds too good to be true," I mutter. "There's got to be a catch."

"Maybe so, but I figure I'm earning my keep."

We keep to ourselves the rest of the ride. My voice is shot, my neck's throbbing and my legs feel like they've been through a meat grinder. I reach across the aisle and stroke my mom's hair. Upon arriving, everyone's told to wait on the bus. Adam rushes in to get the medical staff, who promptly take Mom off of the bus.

I'm allowed off the bus for a bit while a nurse collects information about my mom and then checks me out to make sure the druggie didn't do anything to me that'll need a doctor's attention. Other than some nasty bruising around my neck and non-permanent damage to my vocal cords, as a result of being strangled, I'll survive. A supervisor joins us and snaps some pictures of my injuries for the police. Checkup finished, I attempt to go find my mom, but a wall of Henleys and Femleys (the only way I can describe the females wearing identical shirts to the males) prevent me.

Adam comes over and gives me a quick hug. "Thank goodness you are okay. And relax about your mom. She's in great hands. The clinic has my cell number so they can call with updates. You need to let the doctors and nurses care for her while you pay up. So get back on the bus. We've got a date at the Project Liberate Rally."

" _In a country well governed, poverty is something to be ashamed of. In a country badly governed, wealth is something to be ashamed of."_

—Confucius

CHAPTER TWO

**I wake up when the bus comes to a stop. Feels like I've been asleep forever.** I don't recognize my surroundings. We've traveled straight from hell to paradise. Outside my window lies the world of the "haves." Rows of BMWs, Mercedes and sports cars. Shops with security guards at the entrance. Women sporting jewelry that'd fetch a price that could feed our family for life. I take in my appearance. Ill fitting, frayed knit shirt with dried blood, threadbare yoga pants with holes at the knees, and torn zip-up sweatshirt, destroyed in the fight with the druggie. Strike one. Wild, unwashed, unruly black hair, and instead of makeup, I've got a hefty layer of dirt and grime. Strike two. Twenty-five percent Caucasian (grandma on my dad's side), and seventy-five percent African American...I'm not sure the folks around here have seen anything darker than a spray tan gone wrong. My shade's reserved for their high priced coffee. Strike three. I'm afraid I've struck out of whatever the SCI has planned for me. There is no way I am letting _those_ people out there see me like this.

We're at some fancy mall, one I've surely never been to. The average Joe and Jane shopping here...they'll probably spend more today than I'll see all year. Designer shoes. Designer clothes. Designer handbags. Designer haircuts. You'd think these people would look overjoyed to be so blessed, but they all look unhappy and hurried, as if their life won't be complete until they get the next best thing.

"Listen up." Adam's standing at the front of the bus, talking into a microphone. "Here's the deal. You'll be handed a sign. You'll be shown where to go. You will sit where you are told and hold the sign. That's it. There will be no touching the shoppers. No speaking, unless addressed. This is a peaceful demonstration. The average shopper here...they go about their daily lives, living in their bubble, without any sense of what it's like to live without...anything. On a rare occasion, they may travel to places where they'll see people living humbly. But they naively assume, or don't care, that the same thing is happening in their own city...a mere mile away from them. So today, we're going to educate the privileged on what it's like to be shackled by circumstances. And, we're going to ask them to step up and help liberate all of you by helping support their local Clean Slate Complex. SCI staff will be on hand to do the collections."

"You want us to be a poverty exhibit." I'm disgusted.

"Yes," Adam says, without a hint of sorry. "In return, all of you will receive food and shelter. Those who wish may apply to have permanent shelter at the CSC."

"We have to apply?" someone shouts.

"Standard stuff," Adam replies. "Drug, mental and health screenings and a background check. Plus, you have to agree to work for your room and board. There are no free lunches folks and this is what you've got to do to earn yours." I think I'd rather starve.

"Won't we get kicked out?" I ask. "Those people aren't going to want us here. I need to get back to my mom, not end up spending the night in a cell."

"A California senator approved the events himself. We're fully permitted. Best part is, the same thing's happening at every mall in Los Angeles and Orange County." Adam sets the microphone down, telling us that he's done answering questions and that it's time to get this show on the road. A senator approved this? Parading homeless people through every mall in the area? Crazy. Adam whispers to me, answering the question I'm thinking. "The senator's sister runs the Clean Slate Complex." Ah, well that explains it.

We're each handed a sign. My brothers and I get ones with a picture of us in front of our run-down van. Mine has the words, "Abandoned by father. Has lived in family van for 3 years. Attacked by drug addict this morning." How'd they find out about my father and how long we'd been living out of the van? I look at my brothers and Lol frowns. "Sorry, Lex. I didn't know what they were using the information for. They've got some sort of portable printer up front." Seeing my life summed up in such a cold fashion—one that doesn't even begin to tell my story—pisses me off more than the thought of being a living example of failure to the wealthy.

I glare at Adam. "Chill," he says. "Those people out there, they won't see _you_. They'll see a harsh reality that they've tried hard to ignore. I'll have you back to your mom as soon as I can. Clinic called. She's stabilized." He then pushes past to hand out the rest of the humiliating banners.

We file out of the bus, and a warm breeze washes over me. Even the air here's better. There's several silver buses, all carrying the homeless, except one I think. That one brought a fleet of the SCI Henley/Femley-attired clones. Once everyone's off the buses, we're lined up behind "staff," and then marched through the wide, outdoor walkways to our respective spots. We pass several kiosks set up with SCI representatives, ready and waiting to talk about the SCI's "Clean Slate" campaign. And to take donations, of course. Eventually, we come to a stop and I'm parked between a Neiman Marcus and a Tiffany's. Awesome. Couldn't I set up my slop shop near a store that might attract a more normal crowd? Target? Forever 21? All I want to be doing is taking care of my mom. I know this day will feel like forever.

A mom and her daughter sit to my right. They're keeping to themselves, holding up their sign. However, I've got a really chatty fellow about my age on the other side of me.

"Hey lovely. You're quite the fighter. I thought for sure you'd take that Icer out. I'm the one who told the bus driver to stop. You should thank me."

"Uh yeah, ok. Thank you then," I respond. He scoots a little closer. Lucky for him, I've reached my quota of fights today. I take in his appearance. The clothes: ratty, worn and oversized. Scruffy face. But everything else about him seems a little off. He smells _clean_ , as if he just showered. His teeth are straight and white. His hair is chestnut-brown and mostly covered by an oversized hat. The layer of "grime" looks more like makeup than dirt. He's cute. Throw on some different clothes and he'd look more like a model than a street dweller. And his eyes are the lightest shade of blue I've ever seen, almost as if they're colorless.

"Nice to make your acquaintance." He reaches out to shake my hand. I quickly shake and release. Even his hands feel too soft. "And you are?"

"Alexa Knight," I answer.

"Alexa. Alex. Lexie. Lex. Bee-autiful brown-eyed girl," he rattles off. "I'm Joshua, Josh, JB."

"Nice to meet you, Joshua, Josh, JB." I chuckle at the way he introduced himself. "How long do we have to sit here? My mom's super sick and I want to get back to the clinic to see how she's doing."

"No pain, no gain. Just be glad there's no rain. It's a glorious day for a sit-in don'tcha think?" He rambles on and on. When he's not talking, he's drumming a beat on the ground and singing wacky lyrics about the SCI. _"Better watch out or else you'll die. At the hands of the SCI. Don't think you'll end up in the sky. Where you're going, you'll surely fry. But it don't matter, don't matter. Because you won't remember, remember."_ Guy's crazy, but entertaining. Good singing voice. His antics make the time pass faster. Helps me to ignore the stares we're getting.

Just as I'd figured it'd be, the shoppers don't want us here. Most are trying hard to avoid the lot of us. There's many looks of pity and "I'm so much better than you." Some people walk by slowly, reading each sign and murmuring comments to their friends. "Oh, well that one looks like they deserved what they got." Or, "See what happens when you don't get a good education. Nothing good comes out of it." My personal favorite: "They don't have a single good thing to offer society. They've got nothing of value." I think that's where they're dead wrong. They can go about collecting every material thing of worldly value, but they're missing everything that truly counts. When you've got nothing else, family means everything to you. Far as I'm concerned, funny jokes, sharing the good and the bad, and supporting each other's better than all the fancy cars, houses, and clothes in the world.

There's a few of the homeless folks who don't like the running commentary of the shoppers and decide to talk back. SCI workers are quick to make the peace and get the "rebels" out of the mall. No free meal for them, I guess.

A thin lady, about my mom's age and wearing a purple suit with fur collared trim, stops and gasps at me. She looks like she just walked out of a beauty salon, every bit of her shoulder length, blonde hair in its perfect place.

"Your neck, young lady. It's terrible. Were you really attacked?" she asks.

"Yes ma'am," I respond softly and politely. It's a strain to get anything out.

"You really have no home?" So many who've come by have made rude remarks, that I'm surprised to see tears in her blue eyes.

"Used to, ma'am," I answer.

She points at my picture. "You've been sleeping in that van?"

"Yes, ma'am. Just until we get back on our feet." I repeat the words my mom's been saying to me every day for the last three years.

"Oh, sweetheart. That's just not right. The people at The Second Chance Institute—they're helping you?" A tear cuts a line through her thick makeup as she speaks.

"Well, my mom's sick and they're tending to her at their clinic. I'm really grateful for their help, ma'am. She could've died." Still might. I can still see her coughing up blood and hear the horrific sound that went with it.

"I'm going to march over there and contribute," she tells me. "In honor of you and your mother." She gives me a sweet smile and then heads over to a kiosk. I see her talking excitedly to a couple reps, one being Adam who seems to have purposefully positioned himself at the closest kiosk so he can keep an eye on me. And, hopefully to deliver news about how my mom's doing. Eventually, the rich lady pulls out her cell phone and passes it to Adam, who reads off some information on a piece of paper before handing the phone back to her. Once she leaves, Adam makes his way over to me.

"That lady just donated a small fortune to the Clean Slate Complex. She specifically asked that your mother's medical expenses be covered, and for you and your brothers to be offered a home at the CSC," Adam says with a smile so big you'd think the lady'd offered to take in all the world's stray puppies.

"And if we don't want to stay at the CSC?" I've never seen the place, so I'm not going to commit to living there just on Adam's word. Or because a complete stranger felt sorry for me, so she decided to make a donation.

"Why wouldn't you?" Adam asks. He's looking at me like I'm a crazy person for not jumping at the opportunity. "Wait until you see it. You'll want to stay forever. Besides, they're taking awesome care of your mom. She's sleeping peacefully. No coughing." Thank goodness. My stomach's been churning with worry. Plus, I feel less guilty sitting here knowing she's resting. If she were awake, I'd want to be there.

"Thanks for the update, Adam," I reply. Joshua starts drumming and humming loudly, to which Adam tells him to "be quiet." The silence only lasts as long as it takes Adam to get out of earshot, and then Joshua's back at it. _"Never, never, never count on forever, forever, forever. Get cozy and you'll be re-al-lo-ca-ted. Like cattle, you'll be crated. Won't even be sedated. Boom. Off the planet, and then you're mated."_ He inserts a hand drum solo and then continues with, _"Why, why, why, not deny the SCI? Bunch of crazies own the pie, dictate to subject you and I, to rules and tests, and then Exile."_

"Got a grudge against the SCI?" I finally ask.

Joshua shrugs. "Why would you ask that? I'd never speak out against the SCI. I'm just bored. And trying to keep your mind off your mom."

"Well, thanks. You're pretty good actually. Your voice I mean. The lyrics could use some work." I comment with a laugh. "Unless the next big thing in music's all about conspiracy theories."

"Just singing what comes to mind. And my mind's full of creepy tales." He winks at me and then starts to sing again. _"Oh, Thera, Thera, Thera, I can't a'bear ya bear ya bear ya ..."_

By mid-afternoon my stomach's rumbling. A few shoppers offer food, but I politely decline. I don't want a handout. Especially after hearing the things they said about us. Finally, the SCI gathers us unwanted folk back up, loads us onto the buses, and we're taken back to the complex. I sit by Joshua on the bus, which seems to annoy Adam. Since I plan to rest anyway, I'm not sure why it matters. Joshua hums to me until I fall soundly asleep.

" _When you jump for joy, beware that no one moves the ground from beneath your feet."_

—Stanislaw J. Lec

CHAPTER THREE

**Upon my return, the cops take my statement and let me know they've towed our van.** We apparently have expired tabs and some outstanding parking tickets. Great. Now where are we supposed to go? When something's the sum total of what you've got, you're really hesitant to let it go. Adam assures me that the SCI will make room for us at the complex. That's very kind of them, but what happens two days or a week from now, when they need to use our spot for someone else? Will we be sleeping on the streets with not even a blanket to keep us warm?

As soon as the cops finish with me, my brothers and I head to see my mom in the clinic. For an inner city clinic, the place is nice. The waiting room's decorated with pictures of cute kids from all over the world. A multi-colored glass wall separates the "sick" from the "healthy." We stop in at reception and a sweet nurse that reminds me of my grandma takes us back. Back behind reception are two large rooms. The one on the right's the lab where they draw blood and give shots. On the left's a couple dozen beds the doctors use for exams that can be curtained off for privacy. That's where we're usually seen so I'm surprised when we keep walking past the exam room and nurse's station.

My mom's in a small private room toward the back of the clinic—one of a dozen or so. An oxygen mask has been strapped to her face, medicine's going in her by tubes, and they've given her a breathing treatment and a heavy sedative so she can rest. Not much I can do to help. I give Mom a kiss on the forehead, then the staff leads us to the main exam area. Mom's doc wants to make sure we're not showing any symptoms. Guess I hadn't even thought about catching Mom's bug. I'd be the first to get it. She coughed all over me. The doctor insists we stay onsite so they can keep an eye on us.

We're not sure where to go when we're finished, but the same kind nurse that showed us in tells us to follow her. She takes us through the back door of the clinic, down a long corridor, and into a large dining hall. Different one than we're used to at the shelter. While the shelter's done up in plain white, everything in this part's gold with dark doors and wall trim. Even the floor's done in a gold tile, with dark diamond cut-outs.

I scan the room. Joshua's nowhere to be seen, but Adam waves us over to a table. He hands us each a boxed dinner: sub sandwich, bottle of water, apple and a chocolate chip cookie. Better than the granola bars we all split yesterday, so I eagerly dig in. After watching all those rich folks indulging at the mall all day, I'm starving. I inhale the sandwich and apple, but take my time with the cookie. It's homemade, absolutely delicious and I moan with pleasure. My mom used to make cookies like this before my dad left. Adam chuckles and slips me his.

"I'm stuffed. Take mine." Ok, maybe I'll forgive him for making me hold that sign at the mall. Chocolate can heal a lot of wounds.

"This part of the shelter?" I ask between bites. His cookie has an even better chocolate chip-to-dough ratio. Yes, he's definitely forgiven.

Adam responds, "Nope. This is the central assembly hall for the Clean Slate Complex. It's typically only open for lunch, but today's Reallocation Day." He says it like I should know what it is. "The ceremony will happen on stage." He points to a raised area in front of us containing a podium.

"Reallocation Day?"

"The Clean Slate Complex houses about a thousand. But the need in LA is a whole lot greater than that. So, every week, a number of people are transferred out. Some have finished up their education and leave for college. Others get jobs outside the SCI. Many get invited to serve in other SCI locations. Typically foreign. LA's been the pilot for the Clean Slate Complex program, and it's been so successful that they're taking it worldwide." Wasn't Joshua singing something about Reallocation?

A man and woman walk out onto the stage arm in arm. They look like middle-aged versions of Brunette Barbie & Grey-haired Ken. Each are in black suits with crisp white shirts. She's got a scarf—with SCI logos?—wrapped around her neck. And he's got a matching one tucked into his front pocket. As they approach the podium, I feel like their eyes must be on me and my brothers. Dried blood's all over my sweatshirt, and my last shower was a couple days ago. I can't even remember the last time we did laundry. Week? Ten days? So, not only do I look like crap, I smell like it, too.

Tapping on the microphone catches my attention. "Welcome, everyone." Barbie's speaking. I can't help but stare at her bright-red lipstick. She seems to stare right back when she says, "If I haven't had the chance to meet you yet, I'm Violet Black. And this is my husband, Victor. We're in charge of the Clean Slate Complex project and have been absolutely overwhelmed by its success. I think everyone who has participated in the program can agree it is truly groundbreaking. We're getting the homeless off the streets and working. The poor are being fed and clothed. And, we're giving those without hope a second chance at life." Ah, she must be the senator's sister.

Everyone in the room claps and stands up. Well, except me and my brothers. I'm wondering if they're going to start singing a round of Kumbaya, given how excited they are. It's cool that the SCI's doing what they can to help, but I still see a lot of people out there on the streets. Particularly old folks. The average age here and at the rally today...pretty young. When the SCI's driving their fancy bus around town, do they pass on by anyone over the age of 30? At least they don't appear to be racist, since there's all colors and kinds here.

The crowd settles and Victor Black steps up to the microphone. "As my better half has mentioned, we've seen great success with the Clean Slate Complex program. So much so, that we have secured real estate and built complexes by all our SCI locations, near and far. In this fight against poverty, deprivation, and discrimination, we need willing soldiers to valiantly battle for the SCI causes everywhere. It's a great honor to be chosen for Reallocation. Whether serving in Africa, or at some of our even more remote locations, know that you are needed. Valued. As you reap the benefits of having a second chance at life, you'll be helping others do the same." There's more clapping.

Adam looks nervous.

"So, who's headed out?" I whisper, leaning over.

"We won't know until they make the announcement. They'll call people up one by one."

I turn to him. "You could be called?"

"Yes," he responds with a forced smile, before turning his eyes to the stage. The Blacks begin to call one name after another. Soon a large group of men and women, mostly young, have gathered on the stage. Some are shuffling and fidgeting—they're probably nervous—but most are excitedly chattering.

"Can you believe Matt and Brian got chosen?" Adam's talking to a friend he'd introduced to us as Perry. "They've been total slackers. Not to mention the fact they were caught trying to pawn off some of the standard issue tablets and watches."

"Maybe they're being sent to an electronics-free zone, where they'll be digging water wells or something," Perry says, chuckling.

I frown, not liking the sound of that. I ask, "Why would they be rewarding people who're stealing from them?" From the looks they give me, I can tell that they didn't intend to include me in their conversation.

Adam finally answers. "The SCI's pulling people off the streets. Sure, they screen for drug use and do background checks for serious criminal behavior before accepting people in. But, I think petty theft comes with the territory. After all, the SCI's all about second chances. So they'd be hypocrites if they didn't practice what they preach."

Perry interrupts. "Adam, your girlfriend's up there. I wonder where she's headed." I follow their line of sight up to a pretty, petite Hispanic girl with long, gorgeous hair. Adam grimaces.

"We're not _together_." Adam's trying to act like he doesn't care, but I can tell he's annoyed. He keeps glancing up at the girl, who seems to be avoiding his glares. Adam shifts his attention back to Perry. "Besides, Terryn's up there too. Guess there'll be no more late night booty calls for you." In response, Perry lightly punches Adam's arm. Apparently there's no rule against hooking up with the people you work with.

"How can all those people just up and leave? Don't they have families? Do they keep in touch?" I ask the questions, but I don't get a response due to what I hear next.

"Perry Walters," Violet calls from the podium. Perry looks like he's been slugged in the gut. Clearly he wasn't expecting to be reallocated. Perry and Adam share an awkward bro hug moment. They both seem a little choked up. Apparently, Perry was last on the list. Perry rushes to join the others on the stage.

Once all the names have been read, Victor Black starts pumping the SCI's "amazing" and "life changing" program again. My brothers seem to be hooked. Less by Victor's words and more by the bunch of electronic devices a table-mate is showing off to them. All that donation money from today has got to go somewhere. But, if my brothers buy into the SCI's promise of a happily ever after, then will they take off, leaving my mom and me alone? This could easily turn into their next get-rich-quick scheme. Particularly if the SCI's offering up free stuff that they don't actually have to work for—I'll never get my brothers out of the SCI's clutches. I ask Adam again whether he stays in touch with those who leave.

Adam answers this time. "Nah, can't say I've talked to any of them, though I'd like to keep up with Perry. Most people seem to fall off the radar once they leave. Must be too busy to mess around online and keep us posted on their awesome new jobs. The SCI has all the social networking sites blocked here at the CSC though. Interferes with productivity and all that. It's not like my buddies who are still on the street are tweeting. Why, you got an internet hot spot in your van?"

I roll my eyes. "Hardly. My brothers and I share a pre-paid phone, which we only use for emergencies. I was just wondering what would happen if we joined and got...separated. Whether we'd be able to stay close or not."

"Ask the Blacks," Adam suggests. I'll do just that if I get the chance.

The ceremony plods on for another twenty minutes before we're all invited out to a back parking lot to see the Reallocated off. Three shiny silver buses wait, and depending whether they are in group A, B or C, the Reallocated climb aboard one or the other. The sun's come out and I'm now hot in my sweatshirt. Great, I think. Now I'll smell even worse.

Something's bugging me about this whole deal, but I can't pinpoint it. "What's with the A, B, and C groups?"

He responds, "I don't know. Probably just heading to different airports or something."

"Huh." Then the light bulb goes off. These people are packing awfully light. "Well, why don't they have any luggage?" I ask.

Adam rattles off, "No need. The SCI'll provide everything they need at their next location, specific to that location."

"What about personal items?" I ask, thinking about the one picture I have of my dad and me before he took off. I can't imagine ever leaving that behind, though the picture's currently in the possession of the Los Angeles Police Department.

A voice from behind me says, "Welcome to the Clean Slate Complex, Ms. Knight." I turn to face a smiling Violet Black, who gives me a big hug, despite my horrid appearance. Up close, I notice her brilliant green eyes. Everything about her feels like an upgrade from me. Crisp, clean clothes. Fruity smell. Not a hair out of place on her head and that lipstick's still so flawless that I'd almost think her lips were dyed that color. She runs a state of the art facility and electronics, while I didn't even get to finish high school. Violet continues, "Perhaps I could offer you a tour of our facility and answer any questions you might have? We'd like to at least offer you housing while your mother is undergoing treatment, and we're monitoring your health, as well as your brothers'."

Adam congratulates Violet for another great Reallocation ceremony. Then tells me I'm in great hands, gives me a quick hug and says he'll catch up with me later.

Violet invites me to follow her. She gives me the VIP tour, showing off the place like a proud mother shows off her babies. Apparently the complex isn't just for the homeless. They'll take in families who're having trouble making ends meet. Or victims of abuse. Anyone who needs a "clean slate" can apply. Even I have to admit that Violet's quite the salesperson and the complex is pretty snazzy. Everyone gets their own room in a small suite. The bedrooms aren't fancy, but each have their own bath. Everything's done up in the same colors as the assembly hall. There's a living and kitchenette area that folks share with their roommates. Adam wasn't kidding when he said "everything is provided." Food, bathroom supplies, clothes...as long as you stay, the stuff's yours. The jobs don't look too bad either. All the residents pitch in—from working on their campaigns, to office work, to cleaning and laundry.

I nod and smile at all the pleasantries and inviting surroundings, but I just can't shake the thought I shared with Adam earlier...that it all sounds too good to be true. There's got to be a catch. I remember back to my apartment and the one plant that we had. A Venus flytrap. I thought that was awfully pretty, too. Until I saw it catch and eat a fly.

" _Camouflage is a game we all like to play, but our secrets are as surely revealed by what we want to seem to be as by what we want to conceal."_

—Russell Lynes

CHAPTER FOUR

**Violet takes me to one three bedroom suite while Victor takes my brothers to another.** My suite's on the top floor of the six story building and needs a special key card for entry.

"Despite the Reallocation, we're at capacity. So, I'm putting you in with my children on our personal floor. You'll like my kids. They're around your age. Will that be okay?" She asks hopefully. "You'll have your own bedroom and bath, of course." I've never had my own room, or bathroom. Even before my dad left, I shared a room with my brothers in our two bed, one bath apartment. I'm not sure whether I welcome or fear being alone.

"I'm very thankful that you're making space for us at all," I answer.

"We're happy to have you, dear. Welcome to the SCI family," she says with a warm smile as she leans in and pats me on my arm. I look at her scarf up close and it is indeed dotted with SCI logos. Way to be dedicated to the cause.

Violet's kids aren't in the suite, so she shows me around. It's just like the ones I saw on the tour, including being fully stocked. Violet goes over "house rules," to which there are many, though nothing that seems that unreasonable. Curfew. Don't take electronics off site without permission. No drugs (weekly tests administered). Be on time for your job. If you're under twenty-one, you've got to do three hours a day of online classes.

"We got your measurements from the clinic, so the clothes should all be the right size," she informs me. "I'll leave you to get situated." She hands me a key card that'll allow me to get to the floor and into our suite. I'm impressed that she never once tells me I should "shower," or "get cleaned up." I guess she's used to being around people in my situation. But the simple kindness she shows still surprises me.

After she's gone I head to my room. I don't dare touch anything until I'm clean, even though I'd love to climb on top of that fluffy, gold comforter and sleep for a couple days so my wounds can heal. First things first. I head straight into the bathroom. I'm quick to peel off my filthy clothes and climb in the shower. Despite how glorious it feels to have the warm water wash over me, I don't want to be wasteful. So I scrub the grime from my body, wash my hair, and shave the forest from my legs with the coconut-scented products that've been provided. It's evening, so I don't bother to put on any makeup, choosing to rub lotion over my dry skin instead. The bruises around my neck look terrible, but no makeup in the world could hide them.

Once back in my room, I go through the drawers to look for clothes. I think I'll throw on a white tank top and shorts. I'll wait to be Femlified until tomorrow. My stomach's still growling after only one meal. I decide to hunt for snacks in the kitchen, and hopefully meet my roommates.

The kitchen's full of food. I grab a banana and an energy bar. There's enough to make myself a feast, but I don't want to be greedy, nor do I know how long the food's supposed to last us. The front door opens and in come Violet's kids. Girl child Black steps forward first. She looks like a blonde-haired clone of her mother. Same green eyes.

"Jenny," she says. She shakes my hand as if I'll pass along a disease. "My mom's told us all about you. Welcome to the CSC." Her voice is sickly sweet, but she's frowning. I can tell she's less than thrilled to have me here. She scoots off to her room to scrub off my germs or whatever and slams the door. Alrighty then. I guess she won't be my new BFF.

"Wow." The boy looks me up and down like I'm a shiny new toy that he can't wait to get his hands on. He's dressed in standard attire. It takes me a minute to recognize him. The clear blue eyes give him away. Clean as a hospital room, and no longer "homeless," the crazy singer stands before me. I was right, clean him up and he looks like a freaking model. "I'm Joshua, but my friends call me JB," he says with a wink. What kind of game is he playing? Why would he pretend to be homeless when he's Violet and Victor Black's son?

"You don't say," I respond with a grimace. I don't like to be played. "Well then, I'll call you Joshua. It's remarkable how much you look like someone else I met today." He shakes his head and gestures zipping his lips shut. Then he points to his ear, as if to tell me that we're being listened to.

"I'd surely never forget meeting you," he says. He walks into the living room and turns on some music. I follow him.

"Or perhaps I look different when I'm clean. It's funny what a shower and some fresh clothes'll do to a person's appearance."

"Indeed," he states loudly. He turns the music up a notch. Then he steps forward, putting his hands gently on my shoulders and leans in, causing my heart to race. His lips brush against my ear. "I'll expect your complete discretion about my extracurricular activities. I have my reasons, which we won't be discussing here with them listening. OK?" Before he pulls away, he whispers, "I thought you were beautiful before the shower, but after...stunning."

He steps back and stares at me with those gorgeous eyes. I'd say that I'm feeling butterflies in my tummy but I'm thinking they're fireflies—some terrifying combination of excitement and a fear of being burned. A wide smile breaks across his face and then he speaks in a normal voice. "Make yourself at home. Everything here is yours for the taking." He winks at me and heads towards his room humming.

**I settle into a routine** at the CSC quickly. Violet kindly gives me a job in the clinic office, so that I can spend breaks with my mom. They have her under heavy sedation, but I take my tablet and read my assignments to her aloud, hoping she can hear my voice and know she hasn't been abandoned.

My brothers were assigned the security night shift so they come by the clinic every afternoon and I spend my break with them in Mom's room. Half an hour a day with them's not nearly enough. I really miss them. But they're loving their jobs for the first time ever and it's awesome to see them so happy.

The clinic work's boring, but fills the time. I scan the medical history forms for the patients and enter information from the medical charts into the computer. Every single patient gets a blood test to screen for issues and shots. I have no idea what all the terms mean. WBC, RBC, DNT...there's so many of them. The system automatically flags things that are out of range, and alerts the doctors.

Maybe my mind's playing tricks on me, but it seems like every patient that gets flagged with a high DNT level ends up getting a spot at the CSC. I ask Joshua about it, but he shuts me up. Could be it's some issue that the doctors have to keep an eye on, like they're doing with my brothers and me. Thankfully, none of us have shown any symptoms of Mom's bug. Regardless, the SCI's keeping us on at the CSC while they treat her. I've gotten used to sleeping in a real bed, so it'll be tough when they send us on our way.

There's one patient in a private room at the clinic. Some VIP who is getting long-term treatment here. Strange that they'd pick this place if they could afford something better. None of my business, but I'm curious nonetheless. The only exciting things in the clinic seem to happen in that room.

Lunches I take in the assembly hall. The SCI buses typically bring people for lunch and for dinner, so I eat with Adam during his break between shifts. He's there every day waiting, boxed lunch in hand. And he _always_ gives me his cookie. Today he's got _two_ extra cookies. Our friendship's all about the baked goods—at least on my side.

Adam dangles the round mounds of chocolatey goodness in front of me. He cracks a wide grin. "I made friends with the kitchen staff."

I grab them from him. They're still warm. This may be one of the best moments of my life. I bring them to my nose and inhale deeply. Lunch can wait. "You're a lifesaver, Adam. I need a major sugar fix right now."

"I thought you might. You were seriously dragging yesterday." I don't mention that I'd been up late the night before listening to Joshua make up tunes about the "dangers of office work." His lyrics were so over the top hilarious that I've still got a cramp in my side from laughing. Adam continues, "And besides, you're going to want to hear about my awesome morning."

Adam has an awesome morning _every_ day because he's doing the Lord's...I mean the SCI's work out in the field. I keep myself from rolling my eyes and stuff a bite of cookie in my mouth. After all, he's my only friend. No one else has stepped up. Joshua's...well...he makes me too nervous to call a friend. And Jenny hates me. So I vow to do a better job listening to Adam's stories. He tells me, "We were back in that same neighborhood we found you in and happened upon a bunch of teenagers who were squatting in a condemned house. They're all foster kids who were with an abusive bastard and his wife and ran."

I wipe some crumbs from my mouth. "Is the SCI going to let them stay?"

Adam's so excited that he may well launch right off his seat. "I texted my supervisor and he had me bring them right in to go through screening and get a meal. They looked like they hadn't had a meal in days. Have I told you how much I _love_ my job? The SCI's absolutely amazing. It just blows my mind how many people they help." He keeps going but I tune him out. Not intentionally, but I'm focused on my second cookie which tastes like it must've been baked in Heaven. The SCI baker—he's who blows _my_ mind. Adam can be a walking, talking SCI advertisement all he wants as long as he keeps delivering these tasty treats.

Adam's staring right at me as I lick the last bit of chocolate from my lips. He asks, "Are you listening to anything I say?"

I smile without showing my teeth, in case I've got cookie bits stuck in them. "Of course I am. You love your job because you get to save people and the SCI's awesome. They're going to save the world."

He shakes his head at me and smirks. "You and your cookies."

"I could live on these cookies," I say with a straight face.

Adam chuckles. "I could live on watching you eat these cookies. But, I have to get back to the bus. Same time tomorrow?" I nod and he reaches over to give me a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. He's big on hugging. Which reminds me of another one of Joshua's songs: _"A hug a day keeps evil thoughts at bay."_

I think about how different Adam and Joshua are. Adam's looking out for me and my chocolate obsession, which is super sweet. But beyond that I don't feel much, probably because all he ever talks about is the SCI.

Joshua does more singing than talking. When he looks at me with those clear-blue eyes though? I admit it. I melt. The fireflies perform an electrifying air show in my tummy. But I don't trust him. There's something weird about him posing as a homeless person and muttering conspiracy theories one moment, and then shutting me up with claims of Big Brother listening in the next. I've got to wonder if he's got a couple of screws missing. Despite this, I can't seem to stay away from him either. My brain's telling me to stay away, but my body's telling me to cuddle up.

I chat with my mom's doctor after my clinic shift, asking when she might wake up. "We just don't know. The high fever caused a lot of damage and there are no guarantees she _will_ wake up. The longer we keep her under, the more time she has to heal, though."

She has to come to. I stumble out of the doctor's office, broken hearted. A girl's not supposed to lose her mom before she's ready to be a mom of her own. The more I think about it the more the tears build until they're blinding me. By the time I reach our suite I'm ready to drown my grief in my pillow.

I wait to enter until I have my sobs under control. Then I take a deep breath and open the door, tears still streaming down my face. I quickly turn my face and wipe away the evidence of my breakdown when I see that Joshua's got company. They both stand to greet me.

Joshua speaks up first. "Oh, hey Lexie. This is Jax Christo. He's a friend from...back home." I wave to Jax, wondering if he and Joshua belong to some model's guild. Jax's decked out in a shimmering white button down top, white trousers and loafers. He's a pretty boy through and through. Definitely not for me, though. Jax shakes my hand.

Jax mumbles under his breath something that sounds like, "Indeed not," before saying loud and clear, "Nice to meet you, Alexa. I won't intrude for long. JB and I have some business to discuss."

"You just popped in, and you're already planning your departure?" Joshua asks Jax. "What's so important that you have to get back right away?"

"I have a pretty lady waiting on me," Jax responds with a smirk. "Bodyguard gig."

"You, a _bodyguard_?" Joshua laughs heartily. "Demotion?"

"Hardly. I'd say this girl's about the most popular person on the planet. Unfortunately, she's going through a rough spell. Actually, that's an understatement. I'd say it's more of a complete mental breakdown. But, I'm hopeful she'll pull out of it soon." Hmmm... Celebrity bodyguard? That'd be a weird job. There's an awkward silence, and I can tell I'm in the way of whatever they've got going.

"I'll leave the two of you to your business discussion. I'm wiped." I excuse myself, go into my room and close the door, but I can still hear them talking through the thin walls. I press my ear to the door.

"Just because you've got a crush on her, doesn't mean that you can or should drag her into any of this," I hear Jax say. Is he talking about me? Not likely. That's just wishful thinking. Joshua'd flirted with me that first day, but since then...nothing.

"So I should just let my parents use her like they do everyone else? They're already lording her mother's health care over her head. Besides, she's got enough DNT in her system that you and I both know they have plans for her. She may be able to help our cause. I could use the help." Now they've really caught my interest.

"What about the brothers?" Jax asks.

"They'll be up for Reallocation soon. Security track," Joshua answers. It takes everything to keep from barging back into the room, but I know they'll stop talking if I do. My brothers are being reallocated? Security track? What does that mean? They'll be guards at one of the other facilities or something? They're going to leave me. My mom may leave me. I'll be all alone. I sink to the floor, but keep my ear pressed to the door.

"Well, JB. If you want her on board, you're going to have to show her. Telling's just not going to get it done. She'll just think you're a nut job. Which you are to be taking this on, by the way," Jax states. "Anyway, I really do have to be going."

"Sounds like you have a crush on _your_ assignment, Jax."

"She's...important to me. But, her heart's elsewhere."

They lower their voices, and I'm unable to make out anything other than a couple of names, including "Blake" and "Ethan." "Hey, what's up with Ethan these days? Isn't he finishing up law school or something?" Joshua asks. Jax mumbles something, to which Joshua responds, "What? It's not like we're close. I see him at the occasional fundraiser for Uncle Henry, but that's about it. So, I'm not quite caught up on the latest and greatest with him."

"Well, you should get caught up. A whole lot's happened on Thera since you left. Some seriously crazy stuff," Jax tells him. Where's Thera? Is it some town they both grew up in together?

"Why don't you catch me up then?" Joshua sounds annoyed that he's out of the hometown gossip loop.

"One, because you need to make peace with Ethan. And two, I have to dash. I'm afraid I'm leaving you to do damage control," Jax says with a chuckle.

I've had it. They both have some explaining to do. About the SCI. About whatever this DNT thing is. About the SCI's plans for me and my brothers. And about whatever harebrained scheme Joshua has going that he could use my help with. I stand up and storm out of my room. I'm surprised to see Jax gone, given he just spoke mere seconds ago and I didn't hear the front door close. Joshua's already got some music blaring.

"You. Explain. Now." I jab Joshua in the chest. He puts his hand over my mouth and whispers in my ear. "While I could talk freely with Jax here, I no longer can with him gone. So, you, my pretty friend, will have to exercise patience. After the next Reallocation, if you want, I'll show you. But honestly, you're going to wish you never asked."

" _All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another."_

—Anatole France

CHAPTER FIVE

**Three days I must wait to get answers. I'm restless and bothered over the conversation I heard between Joshua and Jax.** Clearly there's something not quite right about what the SCI's doing. They're probably skimming funds from the donations, or money laundering or something.

I ask Adam to go on a walk with me outside the complex at lunch, something we've been doing pretty often lately. He always seems pretty happy to get one on one time. I ask him whether he's seen anything strange going on, but he says everything the SCI does appears to be on the up and up. "They are a charity who help millions." His forest-green eyes are full of sincerity. "They're taking care of your mom. Giving you and your brothers food and shelter. They're all good."

I mutter under my breath. "Unless they're not ..."

"Come here," Adam says, pulling me into a tight hug. "Whatever's going on that has you so upset...I'm here for you. Always."

More than anything I want to believe that he'll be my rock and cookie pimp for as long as I'm stuck at the CSC. It's been a long time since I've had a real friend outside my family. Grade school maybe? One of the neighbor girls and I spent a lot of time together when we were little. But when my Mom and Dad started fighting around the clock, I stopped asking friends to come around. Once my Dad left and the rest of us moved into the van, all I had were Mom and my brothers to talk to. So being able to hang out with Adam means a lot to me.

I'm too afraid to voice what I'm thinking—that one of these days he's going to get reallocated. I look up at Adam. "I just have a feeling there's more to the SCI than their fancy buses and Clean Slate Complexes."

"Of course there is. They've got all those medical research divisions. And a whole branch focused on education."

I cut him off. "You are _sure_ you haven't seen anything shady?"

He lifts up my chin and gives me a dazzling smile. "I swear. They're good people. Everyone except JB. There's _definitely_ something fishy going on with him. You should totally stay away from him." He's saying it in a joking tone, but he sounds jealous. I guess I shouldn't have mentioned that I think Joshua's a really talented musician. That led to Adam asking me _how_ I know that and I told him about my roommate situation and the nightly concerts. It hasn't helped that Joshua's been showing up to lunch a couple times a week and sitting with us either.

I give Adam a playful shove. "I share a suite with the guy and his sister. It's pretty much impossible to avoid him." Though he's been doing a really good job avoiding me.

Suddenly Adam's all serious. "Try harder. I don't like the way he looks at you."

"And how exactly does Joshua Black look at me?" I try not to let on that I'd really like to know the answer.

Adam clenches his teeth. "Like he's been watching you sleep every night ..."

**On Reallocation Day there's** some kind of huge deal with the mystery patient. People keep going in and out of the room. There's yelling and screaming. Sounds like they have their hands full.

"You _will_ take care of it. And I won't accept failure this time. Understand me?" a man is shouting.

"They're on the run and it's not working to track them the traditional ways," a second man replies. I guess the mystery patient is a man, though I'm not sure which voice is his.

"Well you better figure it out, or you'll be spending some quality time in the desert with the Exilers," the first man threatens. Exilers?

The yelling gets bad enough that Violet arrives. "Leave now," she commands the visiting doctor. He rushes past me red-faced.

"Take a break. All of you," Violet says to the rest of the doctors and nurses. They're quick to head to the break room but Violet stops me.

"Alexa. You don't belong back there." She's referring to the break room. I'd been told day one that it's for doctors and nurses only, so I had actually planned to hide out in the bathroom until the drama-fest was over. Her voice is gentle but firm. "Get the filing done at the nurse's station." I've never seen her lose her cool but she's really close. Even her suit's looking all messy.

"Sure thing." I turn and practically run to the nurse's station. There are loose files everywhere. I groan. This'll take forever to organize.

I hear voices. Violet's voice. And the mystery man's voice. The door to his room's shut. They can't be talking _that_ loud.

Then I realize the intercom button's on at the nurse's station. I can hear everything.

I know I should turn it off. But I don't.

Violet's saying, "I've been more than accommodating having you here. I've kept it from both my brother and sister, something that will come back to bite me. Don't make me regret it."

"I do believe I'm family, too. So it's lovely of you to _accommodate_ me, Violet. My apologies for raising my voice. I'll try to contain my fervor in the future. Surely you understand that my presence and business here is for the greater good. When I succeed, you'll benefit just as much as me. Never forget _that_." I can identify the voice now. The mystery patient was the one barking orders...probably to that visiting doctor.

"I haven't and I won't. But I've got others to answer to besides you," Violet responds. "The Reallocation's my top priority."

"And, I'm fully behind it. Hell, it was my idea. Now more than ever we have to increase our numbers. I think the _way_ you're doing it's risky ..."

"It's more humane than the way you've approached the matter in the past." She chastises him. "We take people with no hope and no future and give them a second chance at life."

"Save the marketing spiel for your donors. Maybe they'll nominate you for 'Humanitarian of the Year.' But, I think we both know that would be a sham."

"I think it's time we move you to a private suite in the complex until you're ready to leave us for good. I'll assign a private nurse. Your outbursts put us all at risk." Violet's voice is raised and angry.

"As soon as I'm fully recovered, I'll be out of your hair." He snaps. "I have much to attend to back home. Your _brother and sister_ have made a mess of things."

I'm seeing red flags all over the place. Obviously the mystery patient's involved with the SCI. This whole Reallocation thing's really important to the SCI. And Mystery Man said any humanitarian element of it's a sham. I turn off the intercom, not wanting to be caught listening in. The staff's starting to come out of the break room, freshly amped up with caffeine and ready to get back to work.

Violet nods at me as she passes on her way out. I smile and wave, acting like I see her as the Supreme Do-Gooder she pretends to be.

**Joshua avoids me until** the Reallocation ceremony. He comes in late and sits clear across the table from Adam and me. He doesn't so much as glance my way. Instead, he watches his parents do their song and dance routine. They've done their opening spiel and have started calling off names of the Reallocated.

"Adam Caster," Victor calls. Tears spring to my eyes. I knew there was a chance, but I didn't think he'd get sent away. Adam clamps his mouth shut and kisses me on the forehead.

"I will _never_ forget you, Ms. Alexa Knight. In fact, I _will_ find a way to stay in touch with you. Because, you see, our story's not over. We have unfinished business." He reaches into his box and pulls me out a stack of cookies. "I got them just in case." This time I hug _him_ tightly.

"Thank you, Adam. And not just for the cookies. For saving my life. For being my friend. You are...the best." He whispers a "thank you," and then walks the short distance to the stage. I brace myself, worried my brothers will be next. But shockingly—and thankfully— their names aren't called. Adam stares at me from the stage. I wish I knew where he would be stationed and how to keep in touch.

Joshua moves over to take Adam's empty seat. He puts a hand on my shoulder and asks, "You okay?"

"Not really." A tear escapes down my cheek.

He grabs hold of both my hands, and leans his forehead against mine. "Do you still want to ..." His words trail off, but I nod my head. Whatever it is, no matter how bad, I need to know. These people have plans for me and my brothers. They're watching over my mom. I can't protect them if I don't know what I'm up against. "OK. As soon as my parents are done rambling, head straight to our room. Drop off your watch. It has a tracking device. Then, go see Adam off at the buses. The moment he gets on the bus, go back inside through the main doors, down the hall to the left and out the far door to the parking lot. I'll be waiting for you there. If my parents or anyone stops to talk to you, say you don't feel well and want to go rest. You can't take longer than five minutes from the time Adam gets on that bus until the time you meet me. Understand?"

I feel like I'm walking to my own execution as I leave the assembly hall and stop by my room to drop off my watch. Then I head towards the parking lot. My stomach's in knots as I approach Adam in the parking lot. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight.

"It'll be ok, Lex. I know the SCI has something great in store for me. Working for them has been the best thing that ever happened to me. They're my family and I love them. But, I don't feel right about leaving you behind."

I don't feel right about any of it. But I do the only thing I can. I lie. "Everything'll be fine. I'm sure it'll be an amazing adventure. You'll get to go to Paris or Rome, or some other awesome place and help tons of people."

Adam pulls back slightly, staring at me as if he's committing me to memory. I do the same. He spends a long time studying my lips, before mumbling, "Screw it," and presses his lips to mine. There's no fireworks or church bells or electricity jolting through my veins. Not that I'd recognize any of those things with the nervous jitters I've got going. But, it's sweet...just like the cookies he brings me.

All too soon, Adam's ordered onto the bus. He gives me one last peck on the lips, before sighing, trudging up the stairs, and onto the bus. I'm in tears already, so it can't be too shocking to anyone when I head inside. I see the Blacks watching me intently, but I don't stop to chat.

Once through the doors, I head left and out the opposite doors. Joshua's behind a small fleet of black SUVs, which obscure us from view of the buses.

"You'll need to be silent in the car. They're bugged," he tells me. I nod.

He leads me to one of the SUVs and insists I get in the back seat and lay against the floor, covering myself with a blanket. Then he climbs in the driver's side.

It's a surprisingly short, smooth, quiet ride. Joshua doesn't put on music, speak or even hum a single line of a tune.

He parks the car and finally speaks. "I'll be right back. Whatever you do, stay down." He's gone for a few minutes and then returns and tells me to get out. He holds his finger to his lips and invites me to follow him. We walk a couple city blocks through a dense industrial area. Joshua stops abruptly. "I need to make sure the coast is clear."

I immediately see the SCI bus. It's sitting in front of a large warehouse. There's a couple guys hanging out, but they disappear around the side of the building. Joshua tells me to follow him and he enters a code to get us through a side door. He takes us down a short hallway and into a small room that has a single flat screen monitor. Displayed on the monitor is Adam and everyone from his bus. They appear to be in a locked, dark-walled room.

"What's going on? Where are they?" I ask.

"They're here in the warehouse," Joshua says.

"But why? I thought they'd be headed to the airport or something."

Joshua cocks his head to the side and grimaces. "No, beautiful. They were never headed to the airport."

"Are they being trained?" I ask, my voice full of hope. He solemnly swings his head back and forth.

"Lex, you've got to do me a favor. You have to promise me you're not going to scream. Otherwise, we may be joining them in there. Understand?"

"Why would I scream? What's going to happen to them?"

He grabs both my hands urgently and pulls them up to plant a brief kiss on them. Such a tiny little kiss, not even on the lips and my body's humming from head to toe. Joshua looks so sad that I want to comfort him.

I surprise myself when I wrap my arms around him. "It can't be that bad."

He says softly, "Please believe me that I've got nothing to do with this. I'd never be a part of this." He turns his head to the video screen, so I do the same.

I'm watching Adam.

The room turns a molten red.

Despite there being no sound, I know Adam is screaming.

I could swear he's screaming my name.

His hair and Henley are first to ignite.

And then skin's melting off his bones.

Skins melting off everyone's bones.

Even the bones can't withstand the heat.

Joshua grabs my mouth to muffle my scream. He doesn't realize the scream's stuck in my throat. Suffocating me.

Adam's dead. Gone.

Dozens of people have been transformed into an angry swarm of dust.

Tears pour down my face. How could they? How could anyone? Why would anyone?

Joshua holds me tight to his chest, pressing his head to the top of mine. His tears soak into my hair.

He whispers, "I'm so sorry," over and over, and I wonder if he's sorry he showed me, sorry his parents kill people, or both. I hope it's both.

A giant vacuum like instrument descends from the ceiling and sucks up the ashes.

And then it's like Adam was never here. That he never existed.

" _R_ e _member that mindsets can not be changed through force and coercion. No idea can ever be forcibly thrust upon any one."_

—Pervez Musharraf

CHAPTER SIX

**A cloud has settled on my brain. I feel a memory trying to surface...swirling and swirling like a whirlpool, but being sucked farther and farther away.** I'm sure I had the most horrible nightmare, but I can't remember it. I feel a hand pressed to my head, voices whispering just out of earshot and then nothing. The hand and the voices have vanished. I struggle to move, to wake up.

I. Can't. Move.

My eyes shoot open.

I'm tied to a bed. A hospital bed. Am I at the clinic? Why am I tied down? I struggle against the restraints, but they're tight.

The door opens and a perfectly polished Violet and Victor enter. Each dressed in black suits, with crisp white shirts and those SCI scarves. In the harsh lights of the hospital room they look older than they usually do. Both look like they've had a little bit of work done to fight the aging process, but it looks fake. They look exhausted and unhappy. Despite the fact they're looking a little under the weather, Violet's bright-red lipstick still looks freshly put on. For some reason that annoys me. I watch as a large, burly man, dressed in the Henley-form comes into the room.

"Raul, get her restraints off and then wait outside the door," Violet says. Her expression stays soft, but her bright-green eyes look upset. "We need to have a conversation with Ms. Knight."

Raul adjusts the bed so I'm sitting up. He unties me and gruffly tells the Blacks to signal if he's needed and then exits the room. I rub my sore wrists.

Violet starts the conversation. "Hello, dear. What a mess we find ourselves in." I'm so confused. Victor has his arms crossed and taps his foot impatiently.

"What happened?" I ask. "Why...these?" I point to the untied restraints.

"I'm afraid you stuck your head where it doesn't belong. You were found in a most _compromised_ position, so we had no choice really ..." she explains, gesturing back to the shackles.

"I was at the Reallocation ceremony. And then ..." I fight against the block in my brain. I'm able to pluck a thought from the shadows. "Adam. Adam got called up." I pause. What happened next? I went to see him off at the buses. He _kissed_ me.

Violet decides to help jog my memory. "You followed Adam's bus." Her simple statement unlocks the cell holding the unwanted memories. The floodgates open, and I gasp for air. I begin to dry heave. It's impossible, too terrible to be real. Surely I dreamed it. Imagined it. But I remember that Joshua offered to _show_ me. He told me I'd regret asking.

I want to push the rewind button. Unlearn what I know. Fifty people were killed before my eyes. Why would the SCI be murdering innocent people? Reallocation's supposed to be about _increasing_ the SCI's numbers, not decreasing the world population a busload at a time.

"I see that your memory has returned." Victor sneers. I look over at him. He's got slate-blue eyes and he's using them to glare at me. "What were you doing there?"

Getting answers, I think, but I don't say it out loud. Why isn't Joshua here? What has he told them? How did they find me? Catch me? Did Joshua turn me in to save himself? Was this part of his plan all along? Get me to trust him? So many questions, but I'm afraid to ask any of them. To say the wrong thing. To be burned and melted like the others. My body involuntarily shudders at the thought. How fast did they die? How much pain did they feel? My heart feels like it has been put through a shredder.

"Adam," I say softly. "I wanted to find out where he was going. I didn't know... I didn't think ..." It's horribly ironic that Adam defended the SCI—his killers—until the very end. No betrayal could be bigger.

Victor gives me a murderous look that chills me through and through. I've spent most my time with Violet and haven't really gotten to know him at all. His wife puts her hand on his arm, as if to say, "I've got this."

"Here's what's going to happen, Alexa. We're going to keep this little incident between us. I am _hoping_ you understand the precarious situation you find yourself in. We have your mother. We have your brothers. And well, we have you. Your understanding of the things you saw is...limited...by your narrow view of the human condition. I assure you that Adam and all his bus mates continue to be in the care of The Second Chance Institute."

She just called _mass murder_ , "a little incident." Threatened my family.

Something in me snaps. I don't think. I just act. I lunge at Violet, knocking her back and pinning her to the ground.

I wrap my hands around her neck like the drug addict did to me. Let's see how much she likes _her_ dead body being in the care and keeping of the SCI.

"What did you do? Put the suctioned up ashes in a giant urn?" I spit at her. She needs to—they need to—pay for what they did to Adam and the others. And those who were "reallocated" before them, like Perry.

Tighter and tighter I squeeze. A brute force yanks me back, but my grip's so tight on Violet's neck, that she comes with me. For the first time perhaps ever her lipstick's smeared. I consider that a personal victory.

Victor's pounding on me, while his gargantuan sidekick peels my fingers off her neck. Muscle Man's quick to slam me back onto the bed and get me back into shackles, while Victor screams for medical staff to tend to his wife.

Raul takes no chances. In addition to the shackles, he gags me. When I wrestle against my restraints, he points a gun at my head. I stiffen. What have I done? Are they going to hurt my family because of me?

While Violet's being attended to, I'm given ample opportunity to think through my short list of alternatives. I can go along with whatever they have planned, which may result in my death and my family's death. Could I get to a phone? Call the police? The FBI? Who would handle something like this? How could I prove what I saw? I don't even know how to get to that warehouse, as I rode the entire way on the floor of the black SUV. Violet's brother is a _senator_. Does he know what his sister has been up to? Is he involved?

I think about Joshua. How does he fit into all of this? It seems a bit convenient that I ended up as his roommate. His friend. Something more? I never trusted him, but that didn't stop me from crushing on him. Enough so, that I kept Adam at arm's length. How many evenings did I make excuses to hang out on the couch with Joshua, listening to him sing and chatter? What if it was all a setup? Joshua showed me the warehouse of horrors. And now suddenly he's nowhere to be seen.

My mind's at war with itself. Joshua's a traitor. Joshua tried to warn you. Didn't he sing the lyrics: _"Better watch out or else you'll die. At the hands of the SCI?"_ I go over everything Joshua's ever said in my mind, searching for clues, for answers.

Eventually, Victor and Raul return, with sheepish looking Joshua in tow. He's not tied up, nor does his father look the least bit upset with him. Sigh. I really didn't want to be wrong about him.

Victor slaps me harshly across the face, causing nasty vibrations to ring through my head. Then Victor speaks slowly and purposefully, so that I have no choice but to process each word he utters. "Luckily for you, my wife will recover. If there is _ever_ another incident like that, I will not hesitate to end your life, your mother's life, and your brothers' lives. Do you understand?"

I definitely speak the language of "threat." So, slowly I nod.

"In return for your family staying alive, we have some expectations of you. You will be the 'face' of our Clean Slate campaign. Yours is a remarkable story that the press will eat up...a girl who lived in a van with her family off and on for three years. Was almost killed on the street, but was saved by one of the SCI staff. Then, taken in and offered a second chance at life. I couldn't have planned it better myself ..." He chuckles, his slate-blue eyes flickering with triumph. "Oh wait. I did plan it."

My eyes narrow. What does he mean he planned it? Now would be an awfully good time to have the gag out and restraints off. This man could use a ring of bruises around his neck to match his wife's. Mine've faded.

"Yes, young lady. We singled you out as the perfect candidate to represent our campaign when you came in for flu shots and screenings a while back. You have some unique qualities that makes you of great interest and importance to us. Of course we had to make sure you'd return, so we gave your mother a little something extra in her shot. Put a tracker on your van and while we were at it, did a little work on it to make sure it'd break down. It wasn't hard to get that drug addict to lay into you either. We timed the save perfectly. Got you here and under our thumb. Put your mom in a medically-induced coma. Brilliant really."

Blood rushes to my face, and I once again struggle against my restraints. I don't care that they're cutting into my wrists and ankles, causing me to bleed and swell. There's nothing I want more than to see this man go down. He's a monster.

"Oh, and I forgot to mention...we've transferred your brothers to another SCI location where we were in desperate need of additional security. They stopped by while you were sleeping to say goodbye," Victor says. I can't keep the tears from coming. Did they kill my brothers, too?

"Now, now, now. There's no need to get so upset. Your brothers are alive and perfectly safe. And will stay that way as long as you cooperate. So, what do you think? Do you agree to my terms? Joshua here will be at your side at _all times_ to make sure you don't make any more mistakes. There's just no room for error in this business."

Joshua subtly nods his head towards me. He thinks I should take the deal, I guess. Do I take what's behind door number one: certain death? Or what's behind door number two: being the face of a campaign designed to lead other people to _their_ certain death. My mom always told me that when you're picking between two bad options, pick what you can live with, while actively looking for option number three.

I can't figure out a way to help the others if I'm dead. So, I nod and say a prayer, asking forgiveness for what I'm about to do.

" _Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler."_

—Friedrich Nietzsche

CHAPTER SEVEN

" **Alexa, you're up in five," the photographer says to me. "Has makeup touched you up yet?"**

Did makeup touch me up? I can't even remember. I'm in a foggy haze of nothingness. "Yeah." I finally respond in a monotone voice. It's not like I care if my makeup looks good. "I'm about ready. I just need a minute to psych myself up. It's not like I'm a trained model."

It's only acting, I remind myself. The SCI can make me the face of their "Clean Slate" campaign, but they can't get me to believe in it.

To take care of my recent "bad attitude," the doctor at the SCI clinic put me on a whole slew of mood stabilizers and anti-depressants. Hate to break it to the SCI, but there's no meds they can prescribe to make me forget what they did. On top of the pills, they've got me doing "counseling" with _Violet Black_. The woman I nearly killed. She claims it'll be "healing" for both of us. Aren't therapists supposed to have you talk about your feelings or something? Violet lectures. I keep my mouth shut. She should keep her day job. Actually, she should ditch that, too. Retire. I know a cozy little warehouse that'd be perfect for her. I'll build a fire and everything.

When I'm not in fake therapy or choking down pills, I'm being brainwashed to answer any question that may be asked of me by the press in my role as "Chief Liar" for the SCI. The SCI's really good about changing history. I don't even recognize the life they've trained me to say I had.

Rage. Grief. Depression. Disbelief. Horror. Fear. Terror. The desire for revenge. It's all still there, just buried beneath a cloud of medically induced zombieism. I can see every emotion, as if each one is an impeccably kept, first edition novel in a grand bookcase—but one that's been encased in solid glass to keep me from accessing any of them.

Joshua fetches me from the dressing room. He gently guides me toward the studio, his hand hovering behind my back, but not touching. Never touching. Forgiveness is caged up with everything else.

"You remember what to say?" he asks.

"Yes. I remember the lies," I say. He frowns, but says nothing. He's tapping his fingers on his legs, but withholding the tune. I wonder what song goes with the rhythm and if they're words I'd want to hear.

The photo shoot takes hours. "Show me happy," the photographer demands.

"I can't. I'm not," I respond. When the doctor played mood stabilizer roulette, the ball landed on "solemn," and it stuck there. To get the shot the photographer wants, they have to hop me up on laughing gas. And even then, my smile never reaches my eyes. Hopefully if anyone looks close they'll see fifty dead bodies reflected in 'em and run as fast and as far away from the SCI and their Clean Slate Complexes as possible.

Following the shoot, I return to my dressing room. The stylists tackle my hair and makeup to get me ready for some big fundraiser I've got to attend with Joshua. Then I'm placed in a long, black gown. I'm one of those mannequins they dress up in the stores. That's what they've turned me into. I can't even appreciate my all-dolled-up appearance when they show me it in the mirror, since it's not me I'm staring at, but the face of the Clean Slate campaign. The "after" shot, that is. They'll need to see my "before" picture...the money shot of me with a bruised neck and covered in blood to get the full effect. Little will the public know that both were manufactured by the SCI.

Joshua enters my dressing room. His eyes drink me in, starting at my five inch heels and moving up. When he sees the blank look on my face he says, "You're not yourself at all." I stare into his eyes and think of glaciers. Giant slabs of ice, tinted blue.

"If I was your parents would be dead." I whisper as coldly as his eyes appear. There are some benefits to having my emotions blocked. One would be not getting picked up for first degree murder. The other'd be not having to feel the full extent of the pain Adam's death and my brothers' departure has caused.

"I see you're still blaming me," he says in a hushed voice. "How many times must I apologize?" He has been telling me he's sorry often. At least a dozen times a day.

"You turned me in," I whisper. He turns away and squeezes his forehead.

He finally turns back to me, leans forward and presses his lips to my ear. "As I've told you a hundred times, the security guard caught us at the warehouse and I told the only story that he'd believe—that you followed the bus and I followed you. I did what I had to, to keep us both alive."

"Is that what I am?" I don't wait for a response. I walk away, even though I know he's telling the truth. He follows a safe distance behind.

A limo takes us downtown to the big fundraiser. Several bigwig politicians'll be here to talk up the SCI's latest campaign. I'm forced to stand in a meet and greet line for an hour next to Violet and Victor Black. They introduce me as the SCI's "penultimate success story." Yeah, a real rags-to-royally blackmailed tale.

My feet are as numb as my brain by the time we're seated for dinner. I'm stuck between Joshua and his cousin, Ethan at one of a hundred tables in a giant ballroom full of sparkly chandeliers. From what I remember from Joshua's conversation with Jax, Joshua and Ethan aren't close. After a few moments of awkward silence, Joshua introduces me to Ethan. Joshua's sure to give the "party line" about my role with the SCI to Ethan.

"So, you're a model?" Ethan asks me. I can tell he's making polite conversation, as he doesn't seem to be the least bit interested in my answer. In fact, he looks as downright miserable as I know I am, but can't feel.

"A model? Only of restraint." My response earns me a sharp jab in the ribs from Joshua. I ignore Joshua and focus on Ethan. "So, are you following in the family footsteps and working for the glorious Second Chance Institute?"

Ethan seems to think over the question carefully before answering. "I'm just finishing up law school. But yes, I have been appointed a permanent position with the SCI." He looks about as thrilled about his assignment as I do about mine. His word choice surprises me, as he didn't say he'd been "offered," or that he'd "accepted," but that he'd been "appointed."

Ethan and Joshua look a bit alike, but where Joshua's eyes are a so-light-they're-barely-there blue, Ethan's are a dark, twilight-blue. Their hair's similar in color, but Ethan's got the whole five o'clock shadow thing going. Joshua's more rugged, where Ethan's a pretty boy like Jax. Something—whether word or song—is always coming out of Joshua's mouth, where Ethan seems quieter. Like he thinks before he speaks.

"Lucky you," I say with zero excitement.

"So Ethan, how _are_ things back home?" Joshua asks. "I heard things have been interesting."

"I wouldn't know," Ethan responds coldly. "I've been here."

"Jax said—" Joshua starts, but is immediately interrupted.

"You've seen Jax?" Ethan asks. "When?"

Joshua shrugs, "Couple or a few weeks ago? I don't exactly remember."

"Was he alone?"

"Yeah, he was alone," Joshua says, but doesn't give details. Jax had mentioned a bodyguard job, but I don't care enough to tell him what I know.

Ethan looks furious. He's strangling his napkin in his lap. "If Jax happens to pop up again, can you tell him that I'd like to see him? Immediately."

"I thought you guys were the best of friends?" Joshua says, obviously looking to make Ethan angry.

Ethan looks like he's going to say something, but then shuts his mouth tight.

As if his mere mention made him appear out of thin air, Jax struts over to our table, grim look on his face and motioning for Ethan to follow him. I watch them head out of the ballroom. The door's still open so I can see them chatting. They look like they're having a real doozy of a talk. Nothing friendly about it based on the body language. I'd love to be a fly on the wall...

I see Ethan slam his fist into Jax's jaw. Jax's upper body swings backwards but he stays standing. Rather than retaliating against Ethan, he puts a hand on Ethan's shoulder and speaks into his ear.

Ethan collapses to the floor and sinks his head into his knees. Even at a distance I can see his body convulsing. Jax goes down on one knee and speaks to him. After some time Ethan gets up off the floor and walks away, still sobbing. Jax watches him leave, then shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Joshua whispers to me. "I bet you thought there wouldn't be good entertainment tonight." I continue to stare in Jax's direction and ignore Joshua.

Jax returns to our table rubbing his jaw and sits in Ethan's seat.

Joshua turns to Jax. "What happened to Ethan? I don't think I've ever seen him get violent. Ever. What did you do? That's going to be one hell of a bruise."

"He received some tough news. I don't think he'll be back tonight," Jax responds. "In any case, I'm not here to talk about Ethan. I'm here to have a few words with Alexa."

I'm bugged by Ethan's sudden meltdown and exit, but like with everything, my reaction is blasé.

"What brilliant piece of wisdom do you have for me?" I ask Jax.

"You can trust Joshua," Jax tells me. Joshua's trying hard to act like he doesn't care what Jax is telling me.

I narrow my eyes at Jax. "And why would I do that? Why would I believe anything you say? Weren't you the one that suggested Joshua show me that...place?" My words fail me. An emotion's caught in my throat, but short of shoving my fingers down there and making myself vomit, it's not going to come up. "Should we really be talking about that here?"

"I assure you that no one will hear us. The thing is, Alexa. You can maintain the status quo, which you seem to be doing such a remarkable job at...or while _working_ with Joshua you can achieve an objective you seem so very set on," Jax says.

I stare into his gold and blue eyes in search of the deeper meaning behind his words. "What objective do you think I am so set on?"

"For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction." Jax muses. I want to shake him. Hurt him. Why can't he ever just say what he means? But my hands stay neatly folded on my lap. There's a disconnect between my thoughts, my desires and what I actually do. I fear for what'll happen when those are in sync again.

I'm pretty sure he's suggesting an eye for an eye kind of deal. "Adam's dead. All those people are dead. If you're suggesting we get revenge more people will die. My mom...my brothers. Me. Whether by electric chair or that oversized melting pot the SCI likes to use to get rid of people."

"You must see these," Jax insists. He opens a folder of pictures on his tablet and hands it to me. Pictures of Adam. In an ugly orange jumpsuit. Every picture has a date on it. Yesterday's date. I shove the tablet back at him. "How could you? You think you can trick me with a bunch of faked pictures?"

Jax shakes his head at me. "They're not doctored. Look at the last one." I take the tablet back. In the last picture, Adam's next to Jax, holding up a tablet with a note that says, "Alexa—I haven't forgotten our kiss. XOXO, Adam."

I can feel the tears as they fight to be released. It's physically hurting my eyes to withstand the buildup, but my body won't let them go. "Impossible," I whisper. "I watched him die."

"Whatever you saw doesn't properly reflect the reality of what's happening _now_. It's another one of those seeing is believing things. You'll just have trust me when I say Adam's working _against_ the SCI," Jax says. "There's a right way and a wrong way to be going about the business of giving people a second chance at life. And the SCI...they're on the wrong path. It's my job to help get them back on the right path."

" _Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle. And so we must straighten our backs and work for our freedom_. _A man can't ride you unless your back is bent."_

—Martin Luther King, Jr.

CHAPTER EIGHT

**Joshua Black's the head of the "Deny the SCI movement." That's just beautiful.** Violet and Victor Black don't suspect a thing. To them, he's the obedient son—as Joshua says, "beyond reproach." Hasn't he kept me in line? By day I'm doing everything the SCI wants. I speak to the press. Attend the rallies. Allow myself to be videoed and photographed at every turn as I spread the SCI's fairy tales. By night when I'm not with my mom (who is still in a Victor Black-induced coma), I'm huddled together with Joshua on the couch of our apartment. He sings, while we write up our plans on paper and then commit the ideas to memory, before soaking them in water and putting them down the garbage disposal. We're careful to "work" only when his sister's out of the suite. She'd be happy to blow the whistle on us, as she's disgusted that her brother pays any attention to the "trash" her parents brought in.

Thankfully, my head's clear again; free of the happy pills. Joshua managed to wean me from the drugs, by slowly replacing the pills with fake ones. I'm channeling all the anger and despair I feel over the SCI's actions and threats into fuel for one emotion...revenge.

Despite the pictures Jax showed me, I'm not convinced Adam's alive and well. Granted I wasn't in the warehouse with Adam when it turned into the fiery inferno of hell, and I _did_ watch it by video feed. There just wasn't enough time to doctor up a film like that. The people in the video were the same ones on that bus. _I watched them die._ Jax told me that I can't possibly understand, but that one day Joshua will show me things that'll make me question a whole lot more than the SCI.

Joshua and I decide to take some calculated risks. Today we'll start putting our plans into action. I'm driving Joshua crazy as I switch between chewing my fingernails down to their stubs and pacing the room. He's strumming on his guitar and humming _"Crazy lady...needs a chill pill. Makes no sense to...eat her fingers. Zombie's pacing...wants a victim. Save me. Save me. She'll slurps my 'testines."_

I stomp over all crazy like I'm going to snack on his brains but flop down next to him on the couch. "You're disgusting."

He laughs out loud and holds up my hand. "I'm disgusting?" His touch turns my pile of nerves into a pile of goo. I feel the impression of his hand long after he lets go.

"I'm just worried that I forgot to get all my laundry out of my room. I hate having dirty things in there." We have a homeless person in each of our rooms. They're going to play an important part in our scheme today.

"Chill. We'll deal with your dirty laundry later." He goes back to playing his tune which is interrupted by the doorbell. I answer and am horrified to see Violet. We've been caught. Someone must have seen us sneak our "stand-ins" upstairs.

Instead of calling me on the carpet she gives me a huge hug. She reeks of a floral perfume. "Alexa dear. I've brought you letters from your brothers." She hands me a stack of opened letters. I see that a Sharpie's been used to black out some parts, but I don't show emotion. Far as she knows I'm still all hopped up on the happy pills. "Even though the SCI's fully paperless I made an exception so that you could see that the notes are indeed in your brothers' handwriting."

It's true that I wouldn't have trusted emails from them. They could easily be faked.

Violet passes by me to go chat with her son. Despite the fact we have two stowaways in the suite Joshua doesn't miss a beat. He stands up to give her a hug. She kisses him on the cheek and leaves a red lipstick impression.

"Hey Mother. We all set for the Reallocation? Anything you need me to do? We were just about to head down."

I tune out their conversation and scan the letters. Trey assures me that they are all fine and enjoying their new gigs as security guards at a newly opened Clean Slate Complex facility. I have no idea _which_ location they are at thanks to the Sharpie censoring. Lol has a crush on one of the laundry girls. Bryce's working the night shift and hasn't quite adjusted to his new schedule. They miss me and Mom and send their love. Trey closes his note by mentioning that the (name blackened) head of their CSC has taken a personal interest in each of them and will be keeping a close eye on them.

Violet invites us to walk down with her. Once in the elevator I set us up for an early exit from the ceremony. "How old was that tuna casserole you heated us up for lunch?" I ask Joshua. I clench my stomach.

Joshua starts to squirm and turns away like he's embarrassed. "Not sure. A week maybe?"

Violet scrunches her face in disgust. "Joshua, I taught you better than that. I don't want you guys interrupting the ceremony. Sit near the back and you take her straight back up to your suite if you think she's going to be sick."

Perfect.

All goes as planned. Midway through the Reallocation announcements I start dry heaving. Joshua's holding his stomach too. He gestures to his mom that we're heading out.

We rush back upstairs and swap clothes with our guests. Joshua flashes a wad of cash before handing them the equivalent of the fictional week-old tuna surprise—a little syrup of ipecac cocktail. That'll keep them busy until we return. We can't take the chance that Jenny'll see them, but we surely want her to _hear_ them puking and back our story about us being sick.

Despite having lived in filth for three years, I have to say it's a whole lot easier wearing your own filth than someone else's. I'm gagging at the stench of my double's clothing and for the first time since I got here, I'm wishing I could put back on my Femley-form. Joshua applies some extra touches to our getup to better disguise us. We've both got hats that cast large shadows over our faces and eyes.

Joshua whispers, "Let's get out of here." We high tail it out of the suite, down the stairwell and out the back door of the complex. Everyone's still caught up in the ceremony so we've got time to get to our destination: the warehouse of death.

Not being able to trust taking a car, as it could be tracked, we jog the whole way, cutting through some back alleys. Turns out our destination's only a couple miles, so we make it in twenty minutes. The weather's unbearably hot and muggy today, the smog blanketing the city like a brown blanket. We watch from an alleyway between two empty buildings for a few minutes to see how much security's around the warehouse. Thankfully this isn't a populated part of town. The only traffic's out front of the building and we're back behind the parking lot.

It's rare that we're able to have a free conversation, so I take advantage of the opportunity. "You've never really explained to me _why_ you're going against your parents and the SCI."

Joshua frowns, and I can tell I've hit a nerve. It's a good thirty seconds before he replies. "When my parents took over the shelter and built the CSC, they warned me not to make friends with the 'locals.' I didn't listen. I was seventeen, bored and wanted to spend time around other kids my age. My parents decided to turn my disobedience into an object lesson by putting my friends on the 'A' bus and bringing me here to see them off."

I want to be strong, but I'm off the tear stopping meds, so my eyes fill with the salty water. "I'm so sorry. My mom's not perfect, but she'd never do something so horrible." There'd been times where I resented having to move out of our apartment and into the van, not to mention quitting school to play caretaker to my mom. I took out my anger on her sometimes, but that's nothing compared to what Joshua's parents did to him.

"I figure what goes around, comes around," Joshua says. "And what we're doing will help speed up that process."

His comment reminds me that it's the A bus that is headed here. "Where do the 'B' and 'C' buses go?" I ask. "Do they go to other buildings like this?"

"Nope. The B's get reallocated to some remote SCI locations. I was born at one of those spots. One of these days I'll figure out how to take you there so that you can see how it works. And, the C's head to the airport...and out to all the various locations around the world," he says.

"Wait, so the B's don't go to the remote locations by plane?" I ask.

"It's complicated. Another one of those things you have to see to believe. You'd surely never forget the trip," he says with a concerned look on his face. "To be in the B group, the person's got to have something in their blood called DNT that allows them to adapt to these remote spots. You've got enough in your system to be able to go—it's why my parents are so interested in you—but I just don't know how to pull off taking you there."

Well, I guess that answers my questions about why the people that got flagged for having high DNT always got offered a bed at the complex. "It's time. You ready?" he asks.

"Yep."

The slacker security guards round the side of the building for a smoke break. Joshua points me to where I need to go, and I head over and hide behind a dumpster, leaving the more difficult job to Joshua. He inserts a key card and ducks through the side door and into the building.

Doesn't take long for the familiar silver bus to roll up and unload its victims. I snap shots of the bus, of the Reallocated being unloaded and of them entering the warehouse. Joshua picked us up some honest to goodness spy gear at a local shop. My camera looks like an ordinary pen, but takes high quality pictures with time stamps. Joshua got us a combination lockbox a couple blocks from the complex, to store the evidence we gather. He's currently doing the far more dangerous thing...which is filming the executions. Whether faux or real, the footage is like a gold mine. If possible, Joshua's going to try to get a direct feed off the video link. If not, he'll video the video and it'll have to be good enough.

Security triples with the arrival of the bus and with the original rent-a-cops off their extended smoke break. Once the Reallocated are less-than-safely inside, I wedge myself back behind the dumpster and wait. I'll want to get some more shots of the buses leaving empty, but until then I'm staying out of sight. Joshua's situation worries me though. He thought there'd only be a couple extra stiffs here watching the doors, but the SCI must have upped their security after our last visit here.

From my vantage point, I can keep an eye on the door Joshua went in.

After fifteen minutes the four extra guards exit the building and head to the buses. I snap a couple shots of the bus leaving with just the guards and drivers. Security's back down to the two slackers now.

The bus gone, I try to slip back behind the dumpster, but Rent-a-Cop 1 catches sight of me and radios Rent-a-Cop 2 for backup. My heart's pounding in my chest as I try to think up a story that'll fly.

"What do you think you're doing here?" Rent-a-Cop 1 is tall, skinny, has carrot-colored hair and cigarette-stained teeth.

"Napping." I pretend to stretch. "Good one, too, until all that racket a bit ago."

"This is private property. I'm going to have to hold you here until my boss gets back. You picked a bad spot for your nap." He attempts to look scary and menacing. Given I'm female and look pretty harmless in my getup, he hasn't reached for his gun.

I pull my cap down to hide my eyes and pretend to be a little tipsy. "Scored a fifth last night. Not sure how I ended up here. Where is here?"

I sway. Play the damsel in distress. Rent-a-Cop 1 buys the act. I stumble and he grabs me, wanting to keep my upright. But, I use my dead weight to sink into him. This catches him off guard. He has to use two hands to steady me.

"You've got some fine curves under all them layers," he says. The creep actually cops a feel. Bad move.

Flashing him a smile, I pretend like it's his lucky day. While I reach around and grab his gun.

His eyes go wide. Knows I tricked him.

Then I bring my knee to his balls without mercy. He clutches his groin to protect his package from a second assault. A string of curses, that'd even make my brothers blush, stream out of his mouth.

I release the safety and point the gun at his head. Wipe sweat from my eyes with my left hand. Guns make me nervous. This one's heavy and feels awkward. I'm shaking.

"Drop it." I look up to see a second gun pointing at me from a dozen yards away.

Fabulous. Rent-a-Cop 2 has arrived. He's overweight and gasping for breath. But unlike his partner, he knows what he's doing. Seeing a gun pointed at me has me feeling like I'm going to pass out. But I swallow and push down the fear.

We've got a bit of a stalemate going on. I wonder who's more motivated? The person holding evidence that could bring down the SCI? Or the guy who's likely making minimum wage to keep watch on a warehouse where people go in, but never come back out?

Joshua's a wild card in this. I don't want him caught in any crossfire. I slowly shift my direction and Rent-a-Cop 2 follows my lead. This puts his back to the door that I know Joshua'll be coming out of any time now.

"Missy, I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have'ta. So, put the gun down nice and slow," he demands.

I shake my head. "No thanks. I rather like it. You know how much this baby'll make me? I'll be eating pretty for a month." Weapons are easy to hock for some great cash on the streets. When the hired slugs go to report back to the SCI, I want there to be no question in their mind that they ran into a couple of street kids.

Rent-a-Cop 2 brushes his greasy blond strands out of his eyes and glares at me. "You'll be sitting in jail long before that happens. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll take care of you myself. Self-defense and all. I bet I get a promotion."

His finger's getting itchy on that trigger. Bastard's really thinking about shooting me.

I'm raining sweat. This guy doesn't care if his partner dies as long as he gets to play hero.

Please God. Send something to distract this guy.

The side door opens and creaks loudly. The Almighty's working fast today.

Joshua's out. About time. The gun's getting slippery in my hands I'm sweating so bad.

Rent-a-Cop 2 glances over his shoulder to see if help's arrived. His gun's no longer trained on my head.

I'm worried he's going to shoot Joshua. So, I aim for Rent-a-Cop 2's kneecap and shoot. Graze his calf instead. Hell, I'm lucky I hit him at all.

The dude stumbles. His gun goes off and nearly takes off Rent-a-Cop 1's head, who'd been trying to lunge for me and failed. Instead, Rent-a-Cop 1's on all fours and hyperventilating.

Joshua rushes Rent-a-Cop 2 before he can do more damage. He grabs the guy's arm with one hand and then punches him in the elbow to get him to drop the gun.

Rent-a-Cop 2 knows his chances without the weapon aren't so hot. So he dives for his gun. Joshua tackles him. They're exchanging blows, tit for tat.

I can't get off a clean shot. Besides, I've got to cover Rent-a-Cop 1 who's recovered from the near miss and wants in on the action.

"Get down on your stomach. Now," I yell at Rent-a-Cop 1. He wisely does as he's told.

Rent-a-Cop 2 manages to get out of Joshua's clutches and stand. He's circling Joshua, trying to get closer to the gun, but his bum leg's slowing him down.

Joshua's faster. He kicks the gun under the dumpster.

"You think I can't take on a couple of drunks without a weapon?" Rent-a-Cop 2 says as he tries to ram Joshua with his shoulder.

Joshua deflects the hit and rolls behind Rent-a-Cop 2. Then jumps to his feet and pulls him into a stranglehold.

All efforts on Rent-a-Cop 2's part to shift momentum are worthless. He's shorter and has got a whole lot less muscle to work with.

Joshua's got his left arm wrapped around Rent-a-Cop 2's neck. He's pressing his head into the hold with his right hand.

Rent-a-Cop 2 slumps forward. He's out cold. That's a dangerous move Joshua used. One I refused to have my brothers teach me. If you don't do it right, it can kill a man.

Rent-a-Cop 1 panics, thinking his partner really is dead and he's next. He figures he better take me on before Joshua gets over here.

Being on his stomach, his options are limited. So he tries to roll. Wants to take me out at the feet.

Idiot. There's no slope and he's got zero momentum.

I slam my heavy boot into his shoulder.

He twists and tries to grab my foot. Gets enough of a hold to twist my ankle, but I shift my weight and crush a finger.

My blood's pumping. I'm not losing another fight. Never again. I lean down and slam the butt of the gun into his temple.

Hopefully my move only causes a concussion and not brain damage. Either way, Rent-a-Cop 1's out of the game.

Joshua's by my side and barking orders. "We need to move, now. I'm sure they called for backup. Even if they didn't, someone was bound to hear the shots." I can hear tires screeching close by. He grabs the gun from me, wipes it and tosses it in the dumpster.

"Follow me." I trail behind as he breaks into a run.

Joshua winds us through several alleys. My adrenaline fuels my speed. While looking back to see if we're being followed, I clip the side of a jagged brick building rounding a corner. The impact tears my jacket and leaves a gash in my arm. I push the pain away and keep going.

Joshua must see the blood dripping because he stops us between two dumpsters.

"We're not being followed. So let's hold up a minute," he says.

I sit down and catch my breath. "Oh thank goodness. These don't make good running clothes."

"Take off the jacket so I can get a look at your arm," he instructs. I pull it off and Joshua strips a piece of fabric from his undershirt—the only mildly clean thing on him—and wraps my arm. It's not much more than a glorified scratch, so I'm not worried.

I smile up at him. "Thanks. I'm good."

"You shot the one guy. And bludgeoned the other one," Joshua points out. Until now, I hadn't fully thought about what I'd done. I definitely wouldn't have done it if I didn't think my life was at risk. Rent-a-Cop 2'd been daydreaming a little too realistically about being a hero. And Rent-a-Cop 1...well he'd been trying to defend himself. I'd have done the same thing. Just not in such a stupid way.

I take a couple deep breaths to slow my breathing. "The fat one told me he was going to shoot me to get a promotion. I wasn't trying to kill him."

"It was seriously hot. You with the gun, protecting us from the evil SCI security goons," he says. He's smirking and then breaks into song about a _"bum with a gun on the run; hotter than the sun, and a hell of a lot of fun."_ He takes my hand and starts drumming a beat on it, setting my nerve endings on fire. I stare at him in awe. I was wrong about him. Despite growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth, he's as down to earth as it gets...as comfortable in ratty, stinky street clothes as he is in his SCI-approved uniform. A few minutes ago, he disarmed a security guard with the precision of a professional. And now, he's singing silly tunes in a dark alley to calm my nerves, despite the fact we just ran away from the scene of a crime and are in possession of some rather damaging material.

"Like something you see?" he asks, stopping his tune, but continuing to drum the beat on my hand.

"Yeah, I do," I say. "I mean, you smell as bad as these dumpsters, but ..." My words trail off as he reaches over to push a strand of hair away from my eyes and then runs his thumb around the outline of my lips. His near colorless eyes flood with emotion and my breath hitches.

"Ms. Alexa, Alex, Lexie, Lex Knight. Would you do me the great honor of allowing me to kiss you?"

I'm speechless. All I can do is nod. He moves in and presses his lips lightly to mine, whisper soft. The electrifying sensation ends too quickly as he shifts his attention to my ear, gently nibbling. It tickles and I giggle.

"This is hardly a laughing matter." He whispers directly into my ears and it gives me the chills. Turning to my neck he covers every bit of real estate.

Every kiss, nibble and lick builds the tension and anticipation. I moan happy sounds. My hands dig into his hair, tugging him towards me.

"That's better."

I mumble. "Uh huh."

"I'm going to kiss you harder now." Oh thank goodness. He crushes into me, parts my lips with his tongue and deepens the kiss. I whimper, not being able to get close enough.

Joshua must feel the same. He pulls me onto his lap and the world around us disappears. We could be atop the Eiffel Tower in Paris, or on a secluded beach in Hawaii. It wouldn't matter. The fact that he doesn't care that we're surrounded by trash, that we're wearing other people's filthy clothing, or that we smell like dead fish, is about the most romantic and sexy thing I could ever imagine. Nothing else registers, but the feel of his lips on mine as we explore each other.

Unfortunately, the siren of a passing police car brings us back to reality.

Joshua pulls back for a moment. "Wow. Even better than I've been imagining."

"And how long have you been imagining?" I ask, wondering if he's been crushing as long as I have.

"Since the moment I first saw you from the bus...fighting that ice addict. There really is nothing hotter than a girl who can fight," he admits. "I had to warn off a few other guys to get that spot behind you in line at the rally."

"What took you so long then? To kiss me?" I whisper. He'd flirted with me that first day, but then backed off, despite my efforts to spend as much time with him in our suite as possible.

"I thought you were into Adam, not me. You spent so much time with him. You kissed him," he says, wincing. I didn't realize he'd seen that.

"He kissed me. I...cared...care about him. But, as a friend," I say. "My interests were...are...elsewhere."

His lips curl upward. "Is that so? Where are your interests?"

I press back into him and proceed to run my lips across him, using the same path he'd used on me. Lips, ear, throat and back. He murmurs, "It looks like our interests are aligning on all fronts."

**After the warehouse "heist"** Joshua and I feel better about being able to succeed. We steal Victor Black's tablet and copy the data onto another device. The most interesting thing we find amongst the data's a list of "Daynighters." From what I can tell, these folks are the inner circle of the SCI, and there's some big name folks on that list. One of my projects will be figuring out what each of their ties are to the SCI and how much they might know about what the Blacks are up to.

All told, we've got a whole bunch of damning evidence against the SCI, but I'm reluctant to blow the lid off the place until we figure out the right way to play it. Do we trickle it out little by little, hoping to damage their reputation? Or do we pull out the nuclear bomb and show the executions? Wouldn't the SCI just claim that the tape is doctored? The SCI continues to gain support and numbers throughout the world. So, I know it's going to be an uphill battle. We need to increase our own numbers. Right now we're David vs. Goliath—and Goliath's huge army. I'm not liking the odds.

Joshua and I keep our relationship hidden. We can't let his sister or parents think he's doing anything other than controlling my every action. We're thieves. Stealing the SCI's lies and stealing moments together as we do. The only label I can give what we have is incredible. Maybe it'll grow into some textbook definition of love. Perhaps it'll turn into something even better. Or it could dry up and become hard and ugly. All I know is that I'm going to enjoy the ride.

As I'm getting ready to head out to a "Clean Slate luncheon" with some top donors to the SCI, I overhear Joshua and his mother talking in our kitchen.

"I don't trust the girl, Joshua," his mother's saying. I assume she means me. And she's right—I can't be trusted.

Joshua responds with "I have an idea. One you won't like, but hear me out. Alexa's got enough DNT in her system. Let Ethan and I take her home to Thera for a visit. We'll work on getting her on board to the cause. He'd be the _perfect_ salesman, don't you think? If it doesn't work, it'll have the side effect of scaring her into permanent submission." I hear him chuckle, which pisses me off. I guess Joshua finally figured out how to take me to his hometown. His tone worries me a bit, since it sounds like taking me there will be helping his mom in some way, instead of doing it to show me what happens to the people on the "B" buses. I just have to remember that Joshua's got to perform for his parents just like I do, so I bury the nagging feeling that I can't trust him.

"Fine. But only if Ethan supervises," she says. Why would she trust Ethan to supervise us? Ethan seemed as thrilled about the SCI as Joshua and I are. "And steer clear of my sister while you're there, will you? We wouldn't want her to try to keep Alexa there for herself. Alexa's _mine_." As if.

I've done a lot of terrible things in my life. Lying. Stealing. Even my fair share of manipulating. I've got a pile of regrets, that's for sure. The list of things I'm going to have to do moving forward will be way worse than what I've done. But, I haven't yet and am not going to, regret a single one of the things I have to do to take down Violet and Victor Black and the entire SCI.

Every one of the means will be justified in the end.

Author's note

If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review (no spoilers unless marked as such) on Amazon.com and/or Goodreads. Reader reviews help spread the word about new authors and books. I appreciate your support!

_clean slate complex_ is part of the _daynight_ series, but was written so that you could enjoy whether or not you'd already read daynight. If you haven't read _daynight_ , you can purchase it here. If you have, the sequel to _daynight_ , _arbitrate_ is expected to be released in late summer 2013. Alexa, Adam and Joshua will appear again in _arbitrate_.

Follow me on Twitter here.

Follow the _daynight_ series on facebook  here.

My personal blog (where you can sign up for notification of new releases in the series) is here.

I'd love to hear from you! You can email me here.

Acknowledgments

This has been a really fun project for me. It's the first project where I used a professional content/copy editor and I'm so glad I did (I used professional proofreaders for _daynight_ , but not a content editor). _clean slate complex_ went through three full editing rounds, alpha and beta reads, and a proofread round. A big thank you to Jill Marie Swanson for her sharp eye. If you're in need of an editor you can contact Jill Marie by email here.

I had fantastic alpha and beta readers for _clean slate complex_. They gave spot on feedback that shaped my rewrites and helped make the final product something I'm happy with (after many, many rewrites :)). Three of the beta readers are excellent authors in their own right who took time out of their very busy schedules to give me feedback. I encourage you to check out their excellent dystopian novels:

\- Katie French, author of  The Breeders and  Nessa (a Breeders story)

\- SK Falls (writing as Adriana Ryan), author of  World of Shell and Bone

\- Gretchen Powell, author of  Terra

I'd also like to thank bloggers Sydney Campbell (Rattle the Stars) and Isabel Gomez (Sab the Book Eater) for beta reading clean slate complex. And Nancy K, Ashley B, Breanna B, Alyssa T, and Jon T for their alpha and beta reads. A big thanks to fellow author and friend, Nicole Grotepas (Blue Hearts of Mars-a fun scifi romance) for her support and encouragement throughout the project.

I love my family dearly and am so grateful for their support. They read whatever I'm working on, give me feedback, help me promote, and don't complain when the house gets untidy, when they're fed fast food because I forgot to go to the grocery store, or when I'm working long hours.

Finally I'd like to thank _daynight_ 's supporters:

\- Those who were early "adopters" and helped spread the word.

\- Early critics who pointed out some flaws I'd missed so that I could get them fixed before others read.

\- The bloggers who have helped promote the _daynight_ series, whether as part of the official daynight blog tours or out of the goodness of their hearts and their love of books.

\- Kathy from I am a Reader, Not a Writer and Laura from Prism Book Tours for their tireless efforts setting up my blog tours and book blasts.

\- The professional review houses (Kirkus Reviews, BlueInk Review, ForeWord Clarion & Self Publishing Review) for their prompt and positive reviews.

\- Everyone who has taken the time to write a positive review on Amazon.com or goodreads, follow the series on facebook, or follow me on Twitter.

\- All who have written me personal messages, tweets, and emails full of support and encouragement (there were days when those notes kept me going!).

\- Everyone who has downloaded and read _daynight_ —I know there are so many reading options out there and I'm honored and humbled that you'd read mine.

_About the author_

Megan Thomason lives in paradise aka San Diego, CA with her husband and five children. A former software manager, Megan vastly prefers writing twisted tales to business, product, and marketing plans. When she isn't typing away on her laptop, she's reading books on her phone—over 600 in the last year—or attending to the needs of her family. Megan's fluent in sarcasm, could potentially benefit from a 12-step program for road rage, struggles with a Hot Tamales addiction, loves world travel & fast cars and hates paperwork & being an insomniac. _clean slate complex_ is Megan's second published work (after _daynight_ ), but fifth written one.
