It’s two o’clock in the morning when he finally gleans enough from his musical memory to understand. Lev Calder had once been given sanctuary by the Arápache Nation. No one searching for him will know that, which means he has the perfect place to hide. But Cam knows. The heady power of that knowledge makes him dizzy—because if it’s true that he’s traveling with Risa and the Connor, then the Arápache Reservation is where they’ll be—a place where the Juvenile Authority has no authority.
Had Risa known Connor Lassiter was alive all along? If she had, it would explain so many things. Why she could not give her heart to Cam. Why she so often spoke of Lassiter in the present tense, as if he were just waiting around the corner to spirit her away.
Cam should be furious, but instead he feels vindicated. Exhilarated. He had no hope of battling a ghost for her affections, but Connor Lassiter is still flesh and blood—which means he can be bested! He can be defeated, dishonored—whatever it will take to kill Risa’s love for him, and in the end, when he has fallen from Risa’s favor, Cam will be there to keep Risa from falling as well.
After that, Cam can personally bring the Akron AWOL to justice, making himself enough of a hero to buy his own freedom.
It’s three a.m. when he slips out of the town house, leaving his semblance of a life behind, determined not to return until he has Risa Ward under his arm and Connor Lassiter crushed beneath his heel.
Part Four
The Scent of Memory
“FOUNDLING WHEELS” FOR EVERY ITALIAN HOSPITAL?
By Carolyn E. Price
Feb 28, 2007
Italy tests out the “foundling wheel,” a concept first introduced in Rome in the year 1198 by Pope Innocent III.
A well-dressed, well-looked after three- or four-month-old baby, maybe Italian, or maybe not, and in excellent health, was abandoned on Saturday evening in the “foundling wheel,” a heated cradle that was set up at the Policlinico Casilino. The foundling wheel was created for women to put their infants in when the child is unwanted or is born into seriously deprived conditions.
The baby boy is the first to be saved in Italy thanks to an experimental system that was devised to stop babies from being abandoned in the street. The baby “foundling” has been named Stefano in honor of the doctor who first took charge of him.
For health minister Livia Turco, the project is “an example to follow.” Ms. Turco’s colleague, family minister Rosy Bindi, wants a modern version of the foundling wheel “in every maternity ward in every hospital in Italy.”
The head of the neonatology department at the Policlinico Casilino, Piermichele Paolillo, notes: “We wouldn’t have been surprised to find a newborn in the cradle, but we didn’t expect to see a three- or four-month-old baby . . . . Who knows what lies behind this episode . . . ?”
Published with permission of
DigitalJournal.com
Full article at:
http://www.digitaljournal.com/article/127934
The Rheinschilds
Finally a time to celebrate! Tonight the Rheinschilds dine at Baltimore’s most expensive, most exclusive restaurant. This splurge is long overdue.
Sonia holds Janson’s hand across the table. They’ve already sent the waiter away twice, not wanting to be rushed with their order. Bubbles rise in their champagne flutes while the bottle of Dom Pérignon chills beside them. This night must not pass too quickly. It must linger and last, because they both deserve it.
“Tell me again,” Sonia says. “Every last bit of it!”
Janson is happy to oblige, because it was the kind of meeting worth reliving. He wishes he had found a way to record it. He tells her once more of how he went into the office of the president of BioDynix Medical Instruments and presented to him what he considers to be “his life’s work”—just as he had presented it to Sonia a few days before.
“And he had vision enough to see the ramifications right away?”
“Sonia, the guy was sweating with greed. I could practically see fangs growing. He told me he needed to speak to the board and would get back to me—but even before I left the building, he called me back in to make a deal.”
Sonia claps her hands together, having not heard that part before. “How perfect! He didn’t want you to show it to his competitors.”
“Exactly. He made a preemptive bid on the spot—and he didn’t just buy the prototype; he bought the schematics, the patent—everything. BioDynix will have the exclusive rights!”
“Tell me you went straight to the bank with the check.”
Janson shakes his head. “Electronic transfer. I confirmed it’s already in our account.” Janson takes a sip of champagne; then he leans forward and whispers, “Sonia, we could buy a small island with what they paid for it!”
Sonia smiles and raises her champagne glass to her lips. “I’ll be satisfied if you just agree to take a vacation.”
They both know it’s not about the money. As it was once before, it’s about changing the world.
Finally they order, their champagne flutes are refilled, and Janson raises his glass in a toast. “To the end of unwinding. A year from now it will be nothing but an ugly memory!”
Sonia clinks her glass to his. “I see a second Nobel in your future,” she says. “One that you don’t have to share with me.”
Janson smiles. “I will anyway.”
The meal comes—the finest they’ve ever had, on the finest evening they’ve ever shared.
It isn’t until the following morning that they realize something’s wrong . . . because the building in which they work—which had been named for them—is no longer the Rheinschild Pavilion. Overnight the big brass letters above the entrance have been replaced and the building renamed for the chairman of Proactive Citizenry.
30 • Hayden
Hayden Upchurch cannot be unwound. At least not today. Tomorrow, who can say?
“Why am I at a harvest camp if I’m overage?” he had asked his jailers after he had been deposited there along with the rest of the holdouts from the Communications Bomber at the Graveyard.
“Would you rather be in prison?” was the camp director’s only answer. But eventually Director Menard couldn’t keep the truth to himself—the truth being so delectably sweet.
“About half the states in this country have a measure on this year’s ballot that will allow the unwinding of violent criminals,” he had told Hayden with an unpleasant yellow-toothed grin. “You were sent to a harvest camp in a state where it’s sure to pass and will go into effect most quickly—that is, the day after the election.” Then he went on to inform Hayden that he would be unwound at 12:01 a.m. on November sixth. “So set your alarm.”
“I will,” Hayden had told him brightly. “And I’ll make a special request that you get my teeth. Now that you good people have had my braces removed, they’re ready for you. Of course, my orthodontist would suggest you wear a retainer for two years.”
Menard had just grunted and left.
It boggles Hayden that he’s been labeled a violent criminal when all he tried to do was save his life and the lives of other kids. But when the Juvenile Authority has a grudge against you, it can spin things any way it wants.
A year and a half ago, when Connor had arrived at Happy Jack Harvest Camp, he was paraded before all the Unwinds, a humbled, broken prisoner. They thought it would demoralize the other kids, but instead it practically turned Connor into a god. The falling, rising Unwind.