The X Factor

by Bella Street

  Walking out into the metal staircase and looking down into the industrial pit brought back memories of Seffy getting stabbed with the infected needle. He had to force himself to search the area while ghostly screams of the dying seemed to echo off the grimy concrete walls.

  By eight o'clock, Trent was dragging, as much from fatigue as the knowledge that the compound was so vast with so many secrets that finding Seffy this way would be nearly impossible. He returned to Fenn's residence and heard the unsurprising news that there was no sign of her. After the men had been dismissed, Fenn motioned for Trent to follow him into his living room. Trent slumped onto the couch and sent the compound leader a surly stare.

  “I'm sorry about this, Trent. I really am.” Fenn sat on the opposite couch, his blank face at odds with the strange burning in his blue eyes.

  Fiona came out of the kitchen with two glasses of ice water. Trent looked up at her. He didn't know if she lived here or was just visiting Fenn's quarters. After she handed them the glasses, she sat on the couch next to Fenn.

  “It's awful to think she's out there somewhere, possibly hurt.”

  Trent glared at her, wondering if she were baiting him. He gave the water a discreet sniff. Even though it smelled fine, he didn't want to risk being poisoned by a possible Lady Macbeth. He looked at Fenn. “Is there anything I'm overlooking?”

  Fenn sighed. “Even though I know this place well, it's possible there are some areas that have been developed without my knowledge.”

  Obviously quite a lot has happened without your knowledge, bro.

  “We need to focus on why Seffy disappeared in the first place,” Fiona said. “I mean, did she just wander off and get lost?”

  “No,” Trent ground out. “Unless she was in an altered state.”

  Fiona looked startled, her brown eyes wide. “Do you want to explain that?”

  “Seffy and the other outsiders have been drugged. The others possibly with some form of Ritalin and Seffy with hallucinogens.”

  “You're crazy,” Fiona said, her eyes sparking. “That's not even within the scope of possibility.”

  “And subliminal messages have been transmitted through their TVs to turn her friends against her.”

  Fiona sneered. “Where's the evidence for these outrageous charges?”

  Fenn frowned. “Many of the resident TVs are connected by cable to a central messaging system. It's a quick way of getting emergency messages out.”

  Ignoring Fiona, he leaned toward Fenn. “Well, someone is using it for other purposes.”

  “It would've helped to know this earlier,” Fenn said.

  “Why?”

  “I don't know that it would've helped with the search, but I need to know about these things.”

  Trent regarded the pair. “And you don't?”

  Fiona tilted her head. “Are you suggesting that we're behind such a plot, if indeed there truly is one?”

  “Someone is.”

  Fenn looked at his hands for a moment. “I know that some things...have happened that make you doubt my leadership, but you have to believe I'm doing the best I can.”

  Trent leaned back, trying to keep the contempt he felt from his expression. “I'm sure you are, but your best might not be enough. Someone is taking the advantage away from you.”

  Fenn glanced at Fiona. “I can assure you we'll look into it.”

  Trent stood, realizing he wasn't going to get anything else from them. “Seffy's been gone two days now. And this isn't the first time under your watch. You better get your head screwed on straight or you'll lose this place altogether.”

  He didn't wait for a reaction. Striding out the door and past a security officer, Trent left the area. As he walked back to his room, he decided he was going about this all wrong. He should've kept the the others hooked up to their hate-o-vision, wallowing in a drug induced haze.

  Because as soon as he found Seffy, he'd take her away from Fugere and its insanity. They could live in 1980 Anywhere-Else and be fine. Of course, convincing her might take some work. But without her flaky friends coupled with a well-deserved fear of the compound, he had a chance. Plus, he'd be on his best behavior and make her like him.

  Or else.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I don't know where else to look.”

  Trent stared up at Olga the next day through bleary eyes, pawing his hands through his hair.

  She touched his shoulder before sitting across from him in the overstuffed chair. “Trent, look at me. Look at me.”

  He lifted his head, breathing hard, but the room started to spin anyway.

  “You've tried harder than anyone else, but you need to prepare yourself for the worst.”

  He blinked hard, trying to keep the nurse in focus. “What? Why?”

  “You know why. If she's here, lost and hurt as we suspect, then the law of averages come in to play.”

  “You're supposed to give me hope.”

  “I'm a pragmatist.” She regarded her hands where they were grasped together in her lap. “There's one search option left.”

  “What?” He rubbed his face hard, dreading her answer.

  “You're not going to like it.”

  “Just tell me,” he snapped.

  “Cadaver dogs.”

  Trent swallowed, fighting a wave of nausea mixed with despair. “Oh, God.”

  “If she's not found then, you'll have to assume she left the compound.”

  He took several breaths to steady his emotions. “Both alternatives suck.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  Trent gritted his teeth. “Let's do it. I should've thought of search dogs in the beginning.” He looked at Olga. “And that's what they will be—not cadaver dogs. Not yet.”

  She nodded. “I've already talked to Fenn in case you agreed. It will take a few hours to mobilize dog teams, but we should know something definitive by tonight.”

  Trent nodded grimly and stood. As he took a step, he stumbled and fell against the coffee table, hurting his shin. “Dammit!”

  Olga got up from the chair. “When's the last time you ate, young man?”

  He righted himself and straightened a skewed magazine. “I'm fine.”

  “Sit yourself down. You're not leaving until you get something to eat.”

  “But—”

  “I'll call Fenn first. Just relax for a few minutes.”

  Trent collapsed onto the couch and closed his eyes. He heard Olga put in the promised call. A few minutes later she appeared with a steaming omelet and glass of orange juice.

  “Once you clean your plate, I'll let you go.”

  Trent sighed. “Thanks.” He ate quickly, and drained the glass. It had been a while since he'd eaten. Partly because he'd been otherwise occupied, partly because of paranoia. When he was finished, he took the glass and plate into the kitchen. “I'm going to head back to my room for a bit. When will the teams be here?”

  “Fenn said two hours. Meet at the main entrance.”

  “All right.” Trent regarded the older woman for a moment. With her blonde and gray hair cut in a bob and her half-moon glasses on a chain around her neck, she appeared more persnickety librarian than medical professional. Right now, she was the only ally he had. “Thanks, Olga. I think you've helped me stay sane.”

  She responded with a small smile. “Keep me posted.”

  Her kindness almost made him lose control. “I will.”

  Trent walked back to his room in a fog of fatigue and fear. What would the dogs find? No, he couldn't think about that. She was alive. She had to be. He would know if she wasn't. On some level, he would just know.

  When he arrived in his hallway before his turn, he noticed Seffy's door was open. Trent approached with caution and peered inside. Gareth was there, sitting on the edge of her bed, appearing ill at ease. He looked up as Trent entered the room.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Gareth seemed weary. “I could ask the same thing about you.”

 
; Trent waited.

  Gareth sighed heavily. “Any word?”

  He shook his head, not willing to tell him about the dogs just yet. Trent hadn't seen him or the others since he'd torn the cables from the walls. “You seem...better.”

  “Yeah, after about three days of all passing around some serious flu bug, I feel just great.”

  “I doubt it was the flu. Probably withdrawals.”

  He stared at him. “Huh?”

  “You don't remember? The subliminal messages, the drugged food? You know, the reasons why you turned your back on Seffy?”

  Gareth stood, his expression furious.

  “Think about it. You know it's true.” Before Gareth could respond, Trent turned and walked out, not interested in watching Gareth's pathetic epiphany. The fact that he'd succumbed to being duped disgusted him enough.

  He rounded the corner to his room and paced the floor, watching the minutes go by until the dog teams arrived. Trent suddenly realized he'd need something of Seffy's for the dogs to smell. In an effort to avoid running into Gareth or the others, he looked in his own room for an item. Seffy had changed there that night, so maybe she left something behind. Housekeeping had been through, which meant his hamper was empty.

  Trent looked in the bathroom and found one of her blouses hanging from the hook on the back of the door. He took it down and pressed it to his face. It still smelled like her. Trent held the blouse to his nose for a long moment until he realized he could be transferring his own scent to it. He found a plastic bag and put the blouse inside and headed to the entrance of the compound.

  As Trent approached the garage where pickup trucks with bloodhounds and German shepherds were arriving, he noticed his movements about the compound were no longer checked. Tucking the thought aside for the future, he met Fenn at the staging area where he was directing men into groups. Dogs barked and pranced on their leashes, sensing excitement in the pink-tinged air. Trent's mind skirted away from their darker duty. He waved to Fenn, who motioned him over.

  “Do you have something of Seffy's?”

  Trent gave him the bag, automatically checking to see that Fenn's eyes were clear.

  “There will be two groups of dogs—”

  “You don't have to explain. I just want to get started before it's too dark.”

  Fenn nodded and approached the man who was in charge of the dog teams. They conferred for several minutes, then he gave the man the bag with the blouse. The man nodded and gave directions to his group. They passed the blouse under the noses of some of the dogs, then were off.

  Trent blew out a breath, struggling to maintain some sense of calm. He checked to make sure the volume of his radio was up and slowly followed after the men and dogs heading into the compound.

  ***

  Trent sat with Olga, sipping his fourth cup of coffee in her living room. He'd already worn out her rug from pacing back and forth. The waiting and inaction were killing him. But Olga's residence was centrally located, so it made sense to wait here.

  “Do her friends know there's a search happening?”

  “Don't know and don't care.”

  Olga peered at him over her coffee cup. “Are they still under the influence?”

  “I don't think so. I pulled all their cables and stopped the drugging of the food. I saw Gareth today and he seemed more or less right in his head.”

  “He'll be furious that you've kept him out of the loop.”

  “Hey, that's what happens when you're a dupe.”

  Olga frowned. “I like Gareth.”

  “Why?”

  “He seems genuinely concerned about Seffy in a way I don't see much of these days.”

  “What's wrong with me?”

  “Obviously, you're also concerned about her, but I've heard the way you speak to her, always trying to rile her up. It's not nice.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “Can you blame me? Can you blame Seffy? What's your problem?”

  He fiddled with his radio. “I learned a long time ago that if you piss people off, they leave you alone.”

  “How's that working with Seffy?”

  “I don't know why Gareth gets a pass. You said yourself that Ritalin induces chill feelings. Why were he and the girls so hard on her?”

  She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Well, I have to admit it's disturbing. Even combined with the subliminal stuff—none of that could just turn their opinion around a hundred and eighty degrees on a person they know and love.”

  “Exactly. Those feelings had be lurking under the surface for some time.” He shook his head. “What I want to know is why.”

  Olga sat back in her chair. “They obviously have a history that goes back a ways. You're the newcomer, so your perception is skewed.”

  “I know Seffy enough to know she's not some loser deserving of their scorn. No one seems to remember what she's gone through here.”

  “You do,” she said softly.

  “Yeah, I do. And now she's going through it again.” He turned his head and stared at a framed, cross-stitched homily on the wall, struggling to control himself.

  They sat for several minutes in tense silence. Suddenly Trent's radio crackled to life. “The dogs found something. East side, psychiatric ward.”

  Trent stood, wondering what possible inch he failed to cover. “I don't get it. That's where our rooms are and I've looked everywhere there.”

  “You must've missed something.”

  He took a deep breath. “Okay, I have my radio. I'll call you when I know anything.”

  “Oh no, I'm coming with you.”

  He frowned. “You'll have to keep up.”

  “Go on, I know my way.”

  Trent rushed to the door and erupted into the hall. With a detached sense of reality, he ran through abandoned hallways, his steps echoing as he rounded corner after corner. He heard the sounds of dogs yipping and barking first, then came upon a group of men just beyond his own room. What the hell?

  The leader turned to him.

  “We were told to wait for you.”

  Trent braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath. A German Shepherd was whining and scratching at the double doors. But that didn't make sense. “She can't be in there,” he finally said.

  The other man jerked his head toward his dog. “I don't know if it's the person you're looking for, but there's something past these doors.”

  Trent straightened and approached the doors. The heavy chain and bolt still hung from the handles, which meant it didn't make sense that the dog was sniffing eagerly at the gap. He couldn't bear to ask if the animal was a cadaver dog or search and rescue. “I don't have a key.”

  The man spoke into his walkie as Trent approached the doors. He was almost afraid to look through. Even if Seffy had a key, he knew there was no way she'd return to where she'd been strapped to a table, screaming her guts out for a week.

  All he could see was the greenish glow of the Exit sign. As he backed away from the doors, his gaze fell upon the patch of wall Seffy had picked at earlier, revealing the word psychonautics. It was like a punch to the gut when he realized the word was gone. As in painted over. He glanced at the floor. The dust and paint chips were gone, too.

  The ramifications fired in his mind faster than he could process them. “Where's the key?” he demanded, breathing hard.

  The dog handler shrugged. “Nobody knows. Someone's coming with bolt-cutters.”

  As if on cue, a Fugere guard jogged around the corner holding a large pair of bolt-cutters. It took several minutes of exertion before the chain slid to the floor in a heavy pile.

  Trent jerked the door open and was nearly knocked over by the eager dog behind him. He stepped aside, allowing them to pass, and bringing up the rear. The hammering of his pulse sounded in time with his quick steps as he followed the dog and handler. Empty rooms passed by in a blur, their windows like black, soulless eyes in a gloom relieved only by the narrow beams of their flashlights.

&nbs
p; And then he saw the room where he'd found her. The leather straps still hung from the table. God.

  The handler's voice sounded from down the hall. “There's something behind the wall in this room.”

  Trent tore his gaze from the exam table and hurried to the end of the hall where the dog began to bark. They were in the very last room.

  The whining German shepherd strained against his leash, claws scrabbling at the floor. Trent's gut roiled and sweat dotted his brow when the dog started barking and scratching at the closet door.

  The handler grabbed the knob and pulled open the door, revealing a narrow passageway. “Let's get another flashlight down here!”

  Trent followed him down the passage and crouched down next to where the dog pawed at the wall. He ran his hand along the wood. “There's nothing here!”

  “There's something,” mumbled the man. The dog's frenzied barks agreed.

  Trent ran his fingers back and forth, and suddenly touched metal protruding from a groove in the wood. God. It was a recessed latch. Clenching the flashlight in his teeth, he unlatched the hidden door and pulled it open. A thatch of blonde hair spilled out into the passage. For a moment he could only stare at the light glinting from the golden strands.

  “We got her!” the man yelled.

  The words galvanized Trent into action. Frantic, he reached his hand in the hole and touched her skin. It was cool. He reached in deeper and got his hands under her armpits. As gently as he could, he pulled, gasping when Seffy's head emerged and flopped backward. He continued to pull, easing her body out and angled into the passageway. He checked for a pulse or breathing, but he just couldn't tell. He couldn't hear over the pounding of his own heart.

  Trent looked up at the man, breathing hard. “Is that a cadaver dog? Is it?”

  “No, but I can tell you cadavers don't look like that after three days. She's alive.”

  Together, he and the handler lifted up her prone form. Trent, holding up her shoulders, led the way backwards and out into the room. Olga was there, directing them to put Seffy on the exam table and covering her with a blanket. She had a medical bag and immediately began checking her vitals.