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“Oh, yeah. Sure. Why not?” Clearly he still wasn’t convinced that this was real, and that was a problem, because if he doubted her for an instant it would all fall apart.
“Listen to me,” Allie said as sternly as she could. “If you don’t do what I say, you are going to be tried as an adult—and you won’t last very long in a real prison.”
That made him squirm. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”
“Tonight,” Allie told him, “you’re going to hurt yourself. Not enough to cause any real damage, but enough so that they have to take you to the infirmary.”
“There’s security at the infirmary, too,” Seth said.
“That doesn’t matter,” Allie told him. “It’s not the guards I’m worried about, they’re predictable. But if the other prisoners figure out that something’s fishy, there’s no telling what will happen.”
“Okay,” said Seth. “Okay. So . . . how will I know you? I mean, if you can be anyone, how will I know who you’ll be?” It was a good question.
“Code word!” Allie said. “I’ll say a code word, so you’ll know.”
“Great. What is it?”
Allie thought for a moment. It had to be something no one would accidentally say.
“Hightower,” Allie told him, and shivered at the name spoken aloud in the living world.
“High tower,” said Seth. “Got it.”
“Now, I’m going to wake up your lawyer and leave. But you’ve got to act like nothing happened; as if she just walked into the room, sat down, and you’ve been waiting for her to say something. Can you do that?”
“Hey, I’m not an idiot,” said Seth. “I even had an acting class before I quit school.”
“Right,” said Allie. “Okay, then I’ll see you tonight.” Allie prepared to wake up the woman but just before she did, Seth said, “So, who are you?”
Allie was about to say that it didn’t matter, but you know what? It did matter, she mattered. She didn’t need the world to know that she was doing this good deed, but if he knew, that would be enough. “My name is Alexandra Johnson.” Then she added, “I’m not from around here.”
Allie had no idea why this was so important to her. Perhaps it had to do with that sense of helplessness she felt when she was tied to the front of the train. Wrongful imprisonment struck a very deep chord in her, especially when she knew she could do something about it. Somehow this punk represented every one of Mary’s kids—every kid denied the right to move on. Allie knew it was crazy, but freeing him would be satisfying in a way that she could not explain.
Deep down, she knew there was more to it—something tickling the back of her mind that she couldn’t get at. Right now she didn’t really want to try. It was time to act, not to think.
Now she was glad that she had been humbled by the coyote, learning that she was not all-powerful, that she could not do everything. Because this skill was enough to make anyone arrogant beyond belief. To know the truth of every situation, in anyone’s mind, to be able to dispense justice without any oversight. To be judge and jury and know absolutely that your assessment is correct. No human being had the right to have such power, and yet every skinjacker did. She had to hold on to some of that humility she experienced so that she would use this power wisely.
Allie didn’t leave the detention center that day. She waited on a deadspot, and there were no shortage of them in such a place. She watched the movement of the guards. She piggybacked on several of them just to learn the procedures of opening and closing security gates and doors.
Seth was in solitary confinement; all high-profile prisoners were. But the only way out was through the main cell block. Moving a prisoner anywhere in the detention center always required two guards. Allie could skinjack one guard, put him to sleep, then leap to the other guard and run with Seth—but that wouldn’t go over well in the middle of a crowded cell block—especially one where the inmates wanted to see the Benson Burner lynched just as badly as the public. Allie knew the only way to get Seth out was to get him out of the cell block first in some legitimate way. . . .
* * *
That night Seth Fellon broke his nose. His wails echoed in the halls of solitary. “I deed a doctor!” he yelled. “My doze! I deed a doctor!”
One of the guards on duty reluctantly came to check it out, peering through the little window into the small concrete cell. He cursed about the bloody mess that was all over the room, then went to get a second guard so they could escort him to the infirmary.
“You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” one of the guards said, as they pulled him out of his cell. “Mess yourself up, then claim that we did it to you.” Then he pointed to the corner of the hallway. “See that? That’s a security camera, moron. It’ll prove you did it all on your lonesome.”
Once they arrived at the infirmary, the doctor on call took his time in getting there. Both guards remained while the nurse took care of him, doing her best to stop the bleeding and disinfecting the gash across the bridge of his nose.
“How did you do this?” she asked.
“Fell and hit my face on the toilet.”
“Ouch,” said the one of the guards, then laughed, so that no one could accuse him of being sympathetic to an arsonist.
Then, when the doctor finally arrived, the nurse turned to him and said, “It’s about time you came down off your high tower.”
