Cracked Open

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  Aaliyah nods. “It’ll be all right, Zeph. And you let me know if I need to lean on Mr. Tiller to get him to do the right thing.”

  I’m certain Aaliyah does not understand how horrible her friend Mr. Tiller is. And there’s little guarantee that everything will be all right.

  I give her a nod anyway and hurry out the door.

  The autocab drops me in front of Tiller’s estate.

  I swallow—hard. There are so many ways this can go wrong. I started thinking them through on the ride over, then stopped. Otherwise, I would lose my nerve.

  I hesitate. I haven’t even climbed the broad, granite steps. The regular guard detail is gone, replaced by the night crew. Tiller’s massive estate is lit up everywhere, from the spotlights on the thick white columns to the footlights along the garden path to the tiny twinkling bulbs that trim the arches over the entrance. A million watts of light.... and nothing but darkness inside. Yet, I’m going to walk straight in.

  I work up a suitably panicked and angry state and pump it into my secondary mind. I’ve already switched over to my reader simulation—everything hinges on keeping up the pretense. If Juliette’s skill at lying has failed under pressure, Tiller may already know. In which case, I’m walking into a one-way ticket to his jacker-conversion program.

  I brace myself. Once I get inside, I should be fine—if I’m past the shield, I can jack my way through anything. Almost anything. Unless the security inside is wearing anti-jacker helmets like the night crew. The fact that they haven’t charged down the steps to shoot me already is reassuring.

  Okay, I’m stalling. And too much of that will be suspicious.

  I force myself to march up the steps and punch the button that rings a silent alert throughout the estate. I’ve got a mad as hell expression fixed on my face, but my true nervousness has to be showing. Fortunately, that works for the situation. It takes a long time, but Richards finally answers the door. He had to have seen me coming—I know he has cameras everywhere.

  We’re still on opposite sides of the shield, so talking out loud is required. “I want to see Juliette,” I demand. “Let me in.” Because it’s obvious by his body language that he’s not even entertaining the idea.

  His inscrutable expression doesn’t change. Worse, he’s got an anti-jacker helmet on—inside the house. So Tiller thinks he’s got a mole, and he’s not taking any chances. That does not bode well for jacking my way out if things go sideways.

  I continue to glare at Richards.

  He speaks softly into his cuff mic. “He wants to see her.”

  My heart spasms. I wait while Richards listens to his mindware-translated earbuds.

  Then he lifts his chin. “Come on. The boss wants to have a chat.”

  Oh, crap. But I nod sharply, as if I expected this, and brush past him through the door. I still have to speak out loud due to Richard’s helmet. “Where is she?” I glare toward the staircase. “In her room?”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, junior.” Richards looks half bored, half disgusted. “This way.”

  I have no choice but to follow, and he’s not heading toward the stairs. Instead, he strolls with that ex-military precision through the main house, toward the back, then veers to the left. We walk in silence down a couple corridors I’ve never been in before, then he stops in front of an elaborately carved wooden door. It’s covered with tangled scenes of ancient warriors with spears hunting down animals. Above the door is another scene, only set in stone—it’s like a reproduction of an Aztec carving. Or maybe it’s real, given Tiller is insanely rich. It depicts a long, undulating serpent being slain by several warriors. Near the serpent’s head is a man whose head has been severed and held up, like it was used to lure the serpent to its death.

  Completely disturbing.

  I drag my gaze away from the violence frozen in stone to where Richards is keying in. A small panel in the wall has slid back to reveal a plate. Richards presses his hand to it. A small flash says something is being read—palm print, vascular pattern, something. The door opens to a short entranceway. As we step through, an electric buzz slides up the back of my neck.

  Shielding. We have to be passing into the north wing, the one Juliette said was shielded separately from the rest of the house and where her father kept his office. And his top secret tech. And maybe a jacker prisoner—not me, at least not yet, but possibly Sammi.

  The walls of the short hallway are covered with more ancient scenes, only these are painted, not carved. The colors are vivid, like they’ve been restored to whatever they might have been thousands of years ago. They look vaguely Egyptian. And horrifying. There are columns and columns of slaves being whipped as they build some giant structure—not a pyramid, but something that size. The whipped slaves are the lucky ones. Several larger scenes depict gruesome punishments for the unlucky. The paintings cover every square inch of the walls and the ceiling. Only the floor is a muted terra-cotta-red tile.

  The effect is to create a harrowing tunnel of death.

  This is how Tiller welcomes people to his office?

  At the far end is another door. Richards uses his palm to gain access again but also speaks his name into the panel. So, voice identification. Unusual for mindreaders. But, then again, Tiller’s super rich and paranoid and creating cutting-edge anti-jacker technology in his estate. Richards gestures for me to go first when the door slides open, and I pass through another shield.

  Tiller sits behind a massive desk in his usual minimalist clothes. He’s shaved his head since the last time I’ve seen him, which spooks me. Plus the room is like a museum for weird death art. Beheadings, disembowelments, and one painting where it appears a bunch of Renaissance guys are killing babies. It’s all really old, probably originals—a visual buffet of all the ways people kill each other.

  I can’t even begin with this.

  It’s a struggle to keep broadcasting thoughts about Juliette when I’m surrounded by her father’s Temple of Death. I hastily link into Tiller’s mind—he’s just now putting his screen down and paying attention to me.

  Where’s Juliette? I manage to scowl while I broadcast that thought, but goosebumps are still rising up on my skin. Richards said you came and took her. I play a snippet of the scene when I arrived at Aaliyah’s—just the part where I called out for Juliette and when I found the broken doorframe. What’s going on? I figure playing dumb is still my best bet.

  Juliette stole something from me. He’s surprisingly calm about this, and I wonder how often she’s been caught. Or maybe he knew but never let on. Tiller’s leather chair creaks as he rises. That doesn’t concern me as much as who she stole it for. As he comes around the massive desk toward me, he replays the scene in Aaliyah’s. I can’t tell if it’s through Tiller’s own eyes or a replay shared by Richards, but I wince as the scene unfolds. Juliette and Sammi caught half-dressed on the couch in the reception room. Richards’ men swarming in and firing a device that shoots through the air and catches Sammi in the face. It’s shaped like a butterfly, but it plasters against her cheek and shocks her so badly, her body keeps convulsing long after it has fallen. Juliette is screaming and crying.

  I can’t help the horror on my face. What… what is this? Who is that? When Sammi stops convulsing, her eyes are still wide open. I can’t tell if she’s dead. My stomach is churning, but at least I know Tiller has her.

  I’m sorry to have to show you this, son. He’s facing me now, standing calmly before my horror-stricken body—shoulders hiked up, mouth open. And don’t hold it against Juliette. This jacker got hold of her before—that’s why I moved my daughter away from that two-bit school.

  I shut my gaping mouth. She’s a jacker?

  Tiller nods. And she jacked Juliette into stealing some of my technology.

  I frown. Does he really think Juliette had nothing to do with it? I broadcast some appropriate thoughts about how horrible it must be to be jacked.

  I know it’s hard to see this, son. And I’m not a fool—
I know this girl’s got some kind of hold on her that goes beyond jacking. Something about the exotic allure, I think. Plus a little rebellion is to be expected. But a girl like Juliette doesn’t know what I know—there are monsters out there who will kiss you one minute and devour you the next.

  I give him a horrified look. And I really regret the necessity of being in his head because the way he looks at that frozen, curled-up image of Sammi is the way I’d regard a bucket of sewage.

  I feel slimed just being near those thoughts.

  Is Juliette all right? It’s the only thought I can manage to broadcast.

  Tiller smiles. She’ll be fine. What she needs right now is one of her own kind to show her the wholesome benefits of being a reader.

  I can’t help the confusion and the frown because he can’t possibly mean… Sir, I—

  Come on, now. Tiller lays a heavy hand on my shoulder. My daughter’s a beautiful woman, son. Surely you can forgive a little dalliance especially given the circumstances.

  I… sure. Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t her fault.

  That’s what I’m saying. He squeezes my shoulder. Painfully. I’m glad you understand. Now, Richards will see you up to her room. I expect she’ll need your comfort most of the night.

  My mouth is hanging open again. Are you… are you sure she’ll want to see me? I can’t believe this. Tiller’s basically sending me upstairs to seduce his daughter. To keep her away from the “allure” of her jacker girlfriend. It’s so messed up, I’m struggling to keep my broadcasted thoughts coherent.

  Well, now, that’s your job, isn’t it? Tiller releases his grip on my shoulder.

  I reflexively move away, stumbling a little as I go. I realize he’s sending me out—like now—so I quickly scan his recent memories. I can’t dig in and search because Tiller would feel it. And that kind of mental pain would give me away for sure. But even with just a quick sweep, I get a flash of Sammi—she’s lying on the floor of a bright white room. It’s empty. She’s not moving. But there’s nothing in Tiller’s thoughts that says she’s dead. And she’s definitely here, somewhere, in the estate. I pull back before he gets suspicious.

  And one more thing, son.

  Yes, sir?

  Tiller’s standing in front of me with his feet planted, hands on hips. The backdrop of death art makes his slim, athletic build and shaved head appear like a modern-day pharaoh, his divine right ready to mete out death to those who disagree with him.

  You do this for me—get Juliette back on the right side of things tonight—and I’ll make sure we get your mom back to you.

  I straighten as alarm trips through my body. My mom? You know where she is?

  He nods, but his eyes narrow. I’ve got more bad news for you, Zeph. Turns out your mother’s one of the fallen. A jacker. I hate to be the bearer of such a terrible thing.

  I don’t have to fake my surprise, but I struggle mightily to contain the utter terror that comes with it. And to broadcast a thought that makes sense. Are you… are you sure about that? How does Tiller know my mom’s a jacker? And if he’s talked to Wright about her, how does he not know I’m one?

  I’m afraid so. He gives me a look of sympathy that makes my stomach want to heave out its meager contents. I know—it’s a terrible thing. First your sister, now your mother. But these things run in families. That’s why Juliette needs to find herself a reader to carry on the line. But it’s all right, son—I’ve been working hard to perfect that technology we spoke of before. The one where we can drive out the devil jacker and bring our folks back to human again. I’ll make sure your mother gets right in her head before I bring her to you. She’ll be just like before, I promise you.

  I’m speechless. And terrified. And I have an urgent need to spin the tumblers of Tiller’s mind, jack in, and kill him right here amidst his orgy of death. But Richards is helmeted and armed, there are three levels of shielding I’d have to escape from, and none of that will help Juliette, Sammi, or least of all, my mom.

  My thoughts are empty and hollow in my secondary mind. Suspiciously so. Are you sure she’ll be okay, sir? My mom, I mean. I don’t… I don’t want her hurt. That must be a reasonable thought in the middle of all this insanity.

  Don’t worry. Tiller waves me off in Richards’ direction. He’s already opened the door of the office again, leading out into the hallway of torment. You take good care of Juliette. I’ll take good care of your mom.

  And there it is. The threat a man like Tiller can just toss out like it’s nothing. Understood, sir. And I understand exactly what he wants and what he’s offering… only what he’s offering is to shock the jacker out of my mother, something I can’t let on that I would die trying to stop. And I have no idea how to get out of the dark box he’s putting me in.

  Good. I’ll see you in the morning. With that, he turns his back on me and saunters back to his desk and his screen.

  I stagger out of the office, catching myself on the doorframe to stay upright. Thankfully, I don’t have to broadcast anything more once the shield is back up because Richards is still helmeted. He escorts me back out of the north wing, through the main house, up the stairs, and toward Juliette’s room. Somewhere along that path—really anywhere once I was out of the shielded north wing—I could have made a run for it. Catch Richards by surprise, grab his gun, or just yank his helmet off and jack him before he can shoot me. I might make it off the estate.

  Or I might get shot by the night crew.

  Instead, I let Richards march me up to Juliette’s room, swipe it open without a knock, and slide the door closed behind me.

  The loud click says I’m locked in. Just in case I changed my mind.

  Juliette’s on the floor, curled up in a ball, face mashed into her deep, luxury carpet.

  I can’t risk getting caught, so I can’t talk out loud.

  Which means I have to link thoughts to Juliette, even though her mind’s a vortex of grief.

  At least, I can help somewhat with that. I think Sammi’s alive, I link to her.

  She jolts where she’s curled up on the carpet, then she slowly blinks open her eyes. They’re red and puffy, and a small puddle of tears remains on the carpet as she lifts her head. How do you know that?

  I just came from your father’s office. I cross the expanse of her room, which is darkened except for the walls—they’re lined with screens which display an endless sky of stars. Her neon-pink bed takes up half the room and competes with the soft glow of starlight. The bed itself is huge and round, but Juliette didn’t make it that far before collapsing.

  She’s blinking now and sitting up.

  I kneel next to her.

  Did you see her? Juliette’s mind is fuzzed with too much panic, stress, and emotion, but the topic of Sammi is bringing her quickly back to sharpness. Is she all right?

  I picked up an image from your father’s mind. At the last second, I decide not to share it. She’s in a white room. She’s alive. And she’s somewhere here in the estate. I figure it has to be the north wing.

  But if he… if he didn’t kill her… then why? Why is he keeping her? Her mind is ramping up to panic. Images flash through her head of all kinds of torture. Sammi’s beautiful face twists in agony.

  I grip Juliette’s arm to stop that line of thought. You can’t think that. We’re going to get her out.

  How? It’s an anguished cry. She recoils from me, retreating to curl up next to her bed. My father’s going to hurt her, and it’s all my fault. She covers her face with both hands and sobs.

  I can’t deny any of it. Tiller’s got his new jacker-conversion therapy perfected, apparently, and I’m sure he will use it on someone—my mom, Sammi… me, if he finds out what I am. The truth is that her father has been tormenting jackers for who knows how long. And I’m sure Juliette knows this at some level. I don’t need to remind her.

  And I have no idea how we will save any of us.

  I scoot across the carpet and sit next to her, both of us leaned up against the bed
. Her thoughts are just a swirling mess of pain and more pain. I could jack calm into her, but I’m afraid that might make things worse—like a volcano that’s capped, building pressure under the surface until finally, it blows.

  I can’t think of anything decent to say. I just link in, He’s got my mom, too.

  I can hear her gasp, even with her face buried in her hands. She drops them and stares at me with a horrified expression. He found your mom? And he’s just now told you? Oh, my God… She balls up her fists and slams them into the carpet, again and again. I hate him! I hate him so much!

  I know. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have your dad be the one doing these things. My mom’s a jacker, too. So whatever he’ll do to Sammi, he’ll do to her.

  That snuffs out her rage and leaves her with a blank horror. The kind where something is so awful, the mind just rebels against it. Can’t see it. Can’t believe it. Can’t take it in because it’s just so bad it simply doesn’t compute.

  We sit in silence for a while. I keep my thoughts to myself. Juliette’s mind is filled with static, almost like Ethan coming back from his hard reboot. We both just sit on the carpet, side by side, and stare at the mesmerizing field of stars her walls are playing for us.

  I stay linked into her mind, just in case this is the beginning of something really bad.

  I’ve been to dark places like this before. When the nightmares had seeped into my soul, after locking and unlocking too many minds—minds that got torn apart after I laid them bare. It seemed like the horror would never end. That I could never get clean of it. I couldn’t imagine life could ever differ from that state of perpetual fear. Then the next time would come, and I’d have to do something horrible to someone else. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and staring at the ceiling for hours, thinking it was all a trap that I’d never get out of, and that the night would never end. But then the sun would come up, and the room lightened to gray and then pink and then bright sunshine yellow… and somehow I got up and brushed my teeth and went to school, anyway.