“Wait, a what?”
“There is a guy in my trunk,” Shannon repeated once she regained control of herself. She opened the door and walked out, and Victoria hurried after her.
When Tyler saw them approaching, he got out of the car.
“Hey, Victoria,” he said hoarsely, resting his hand on the door, as if his balance was compromised.
Victoria just gawked, and she wouldn’t move until Shannon grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward.
Shannon circled around to the back of the car. She popped the lid of the trunk and stared in shock at the grotesque sight within.
At some point during his panicked struggles, Hades’s shirt and jacket had ridden up. Ugly scars tore up his back, raised white ropes against the smooth muscularity of his shoulders and lumbar. Other, smaller marks dappled the curve of his spine, tiny dark circles that were too uniform in size and shape to be acne discoloration. They looked like burn scars, like someone had put out a cigarette against his bare skin. Like maybe after flogging him within an inch of his life.
“Holy shit,” Victoria said from behind her.
“Jesus Christ,” Tyler muttered, coming up to take a closer look.
“We need to get him inside,” Shannon said.
“Is he dead?” Victoria asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” Shannon said, but there was something definitely wrong with him. Through a screen of dark hair, his eyes were closed, his face as pale as that of a corpse. Blood congealed on his skin.
“Holy shit,” Victoria repeated. “What’d you do?”
“Just hold the door for us,” Shannon said. “I’ll explain everything once we get him in.”
Tyler grabbed the boy’s legs while Shannon took his waist. Together they wrangled him into the living room and onto the couch.
Once they set him on the cushions, Shannon rolled his shirt back down and removed the duct tape wrapped around his face. When she tugged the sock from his mouth, he didn’t stir, much less awaken. His chest rose in shallow breaths.
“Who is he?” Victoria asked.
“Hades,” Shannon said and sighed, looking down at him. While his long, sooty lashes and clear skin conjured an image of youthful purity, the sleepless shadows under his eyes and the cruelness of his mouth, even in sleep, told a different story. Not to mention the scars on his back.
Victoria blinked. “Hades? You mean like the underworld? Like Greek mythology?”
“Bingo,” Tyler said, crashing into the only available armchair. The word left him as a weary sigh.
“It’s not his real name,” Shannon said. “I mean, I doubt it is. Just a code name.”
“Oh,” Victoria said.
“Speaking of which…” Shannon searched Hades’s pockets. She found his wallet and opened it.
In the plastic folder, there was a District of Columbia driver’s license made out to an Alex Morello, age seventeen. The boy in the picture had shorter hair and a cold expression, but he was the same teen now slumped across the couch.
A few folded dollar bills and a credit card occupied one side of the billfold, but it was the other contents that caught her attention. In the inner pocket, she found four more driver’s licenses with photographs of the same boy.
Daniel Turner from Virginia. Jacob Carroll from Maryland. Luke Tucker from California. Michael Ellis from Colorado.
Two of the IDs provided his age as twenty-one. One identified him as nineteen and another as eighteen.
“You think any of those are real?” Tyler asked as Shannon sorted through them.
“They look real, but which one do you think is really him?”
“Maybe none of them.”
As she returned the cards to the wallet, she noticed a folded slip of paper wedged into the plastic pocket that contained the Alex Morello license. She stuck her finger inside and wiggled the paper free.
The slip proved to be a photograph, the kind that came from a photo booth. Hades was in each of the four images, standing next to a girl with flaxen hair. In one of them, he leaned against the blonde as she cradled a bouquet of blue flowers. In another, she made a silly expression and bunny ears, while a ghost of a smile touched his lips. The last two were the most emotional, with Hades laughing and grinning. He hardly seemed like the same boy who now groaned and mumbled “Nine” in his sleep. The boy who had picked up a gun and pulled the trigger.
“I know this girl,” Shannon said, then showed Tyler the picture. “I just don’t know from where. Have you seen her before?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, but she looks familiar.”
She tossed the wallet onto the couch but held on to the photo. She sensed the girl in the photograph was important, another piece in this mess of a puzzle.
“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Victoria asked.
“It’s a long story,” Shannon said.
As Tyler began talking about waking up in a stranger’s home with a gun, Victoria’s face drained of color. When Shannon got to the part about Hades—or whoever he was—appearing at her home, Victoria excused herself to check the locks on the front door. When she returned, she brought a bottle of wine with her.
“Sorry, but I think I need a drink for this,” Victoria said, removing the piece of foil plugging the neck. She took a nip straight from the bottle then set it on the coffee table.
“Do you think they’ll come looking for you here?” Victoria asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Whoever they are?”
“I’ve thought about it,” Shannon said, “and no, I don’t. If Zeus didn’t know where Tyler was, that means he isn’t keeping direct surveillance on us. He knows where we live. He knows where I go to school. He has our pictures, he bugged us, and he gave us cell phones, but I think we’re safe here, at least for a little while. We’ll leave as soon as we think of somewhere else to go.”
On the couch, Hades stirred. His face clenched as if in pain, and he groaned in his sleep like a dying animal caught in a trap.
“Nine,” he whimpered, his eyes twitching under his closed lids. “Where are you?”
“What are you going to do about him?” Victoria asked.
“We can’t kill him,” Shannon said.
“Oh, yeah, because he wouldn’t have shot us both in an instant,” Tyler said, but he didn’t really look like he wanted to argue. Or that he’d be willing to pull the trigger.
“He has to be brainwashed,” she said.
“What if he isn’t?” Tyler asked.
“He just has a different code, a different program—”
“What if he isn’t?” Tyler repeated.
Case Notes 36:
Hades
Hades slept. He dreamed.
Night descended over the Academy.
In the cover of twilight, he left Subset A’s barracks and followed the short brick wall to the back of the building. He counted his footsteps as he walked, being sure to take steady, even steps and not overextend his legs. At the corner, he turned and took twenty steps. On the wall in front of him, a piece of the mortar had been chipped away. He crossed at that point, swinging himself over the barrier with ease.
The bullfrogs were coming out now, wailing from their puddles. Crickets chirped underfoot. Except for the branches and dried leaves crunching beneath his feet, those were the only other sounds. Still, after taking twenty more steps, he paused, listened.
Was that a footstep he heard? Was it Nine?
He looked behind him and searched the darkening yard. Nothing. Just his imagination.
He turned left and walked five steps before encountering a tree. The bark was scraped away near the base. He turned ahead, and fifteen more steps led him to a rock like so many others. In the fading light, it looked as smooth and white as a skull. He pushed it aside with his foot, squatted down, and from his pocket took out a small trowel he’d stolen from the toolshed.
As he sank the blade into the dirt, he listened, certain he’d heard something. He glanced
behind him and again detected nothing.
The sun was a blood clot sinking into the surrounding mountains. Its ruddy light oozed through the branches and splashed across the black earth. There were too many shadows, too many places where someone might hide.
Once he reassured himself that he was alone, he began digging. Four inches. Six inches. One foot. The ground was soft, both from recent rainfall and upheaval. It took him all of five minutes to uncover the waterproofed sack.
He opened it and removed the gun, key ring, and hip holster. He was uneasy, had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, but his training was solid. He didn’t tremble or fumble in clipping the holster onto his belt or loading the gun with its magazine. Even in disquiet, he worked methodically.
He had killed one man before, bashed his head in with a brick in a panicked frenzy. He told himself that if he had to kill again, he would not hesitate. He would not sob in terror this time at the sight of a crushed skull and the tacky feel of blood on his skin.
For Nine’s sake and his, he must destroy.
He dropped the trowel into the hole and pushed the dirt back over with the toe of his shoe. He didn’t try concealing the disturbed earth. If everything went as planned, he and Nine would be long gone by the time their absence was discovered. If not, then a gardening tool stolen from the shed would be the least of his worries.
He had told her to meet him near the kitchen exit, where every week workers would unload crates of produce, great sacks of flour and beans and rice, and iceboxes filled with meat and eggs. It was also where the dumpsters were, and even before he turned the corner, he smelled the pungent miasma of rotten vegetables and flyblown meat.
When he saw Nine, he sighed, not realizing until then how afraid he was that she wouldn’t show up. But there she was, pressed against the alcove formed by the wall and dumpster.
It was almost night now. The stars and moon were out, the sun entirely absent. He didn’t see the white-haired man standing behind her until it was too late.
The moment he noticed the Leader, he reacted. He pulled the gun from its holster. As he raised his arms, he was overpowered almost instantly, blindsided by two guards. The pistol skidded across the ground, out of reach.
He bucked and struggled, kicked and yelled, but it did no good. They slammed him to the ground hard enough to knock the air from him. He yelped out in pain as his arms were wrenched behind his back, and as he tried to rise to his knees, one of the men drove a knee between his shoulder blades, forcing him down again. Two hundred pounds of bone and muscle anchored him to the muddy earth.
“I had to,” Nine said. “Don’t you see, Two? I had to. I was so afraid for you. We’d never make it on our own.”
He could only stare at her. A hundred expletives and insults roared through his mind, but his shocked, breathless silence seemed to impact her more than any words could.
Her face drained of color. Her eyes widened, flooding.
She began to weep, but he remained silent as they cuffed him and dragged him to his feet. Silent as they took him away. Silent, after a disorienting shift in dream sequence, as they gathered the others in the mess hall later that night and dragged him before the crowd.
Metal poles supported the roof overhead. On one of these poles, a steel bracket had been welded in place six feet up. A pair of handcuffs was threaded through the bolt, and they locked his hands there. The younger kids required a stool, but he was tall enough that he didn’t have to stand on his tiptoes.
He tensed as he heard the soft snick of a knife being pulled from its sheath. Seconds later, crude hands yanked his shirt back. His collar tightened like a noose around his throat, then loosened as the back of his shirt was cut open and pulled down. Goose bumps rose on his exposed skin at the frigid breath of the air conditioner.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
“Subject Two of Subset A has committed the grave offense of attempted desertion,” the Leader said from behind him. No mention of the gun.
Facing the crowd, he saw tears, smug expressions, smiles, and disappointed eyes. Most had the stupid, glazed look of slaughterhouse cows observing the summary execution of one of their own.
Where was Nine? Was she watching this?
“This is what happens to deserters,” said the Leader.
Hard shoes tapped against the concrete floor behind him, stealing his attention. He tensed, waiting for the first blow of the switch. He had been thrashed several times before but only for very minor offenses. His skin had never been broken.
He had a feeling that this time would be different.
He heard a soft twang. As a searing pain split across his back, his jaws clenched shut around a yelp. He refused to give the Leader and the others the pleasure of hearing him scream.
Stay silent, he told himself as the rod came down again. Just stay silent. Whatever you do, don’t make a sound.
To distract himself, he searched the crowd for Nine. He found her by the fifth blow and contorted his lips into a big false smile.
See? I’m fine, he wanted to say. I’m not going to cry. I can handle this, you traitor. You liar.
Nine stood near the front, held by the shoulder. Forced to watch. Good, let her see.
You don’t care about me at all, he thought, watching the crocodile tears stream down her face. Now that you have a new family and a real name, you’re done with me. Well, fine! I’m never going to trust you or anyone else again. Not for as long as I live.
His skin broke on the eighth blow. Though his fingers clenched around the pole so tightly that paint scraped off under his nails, he refused to cry out.
“Is this punishment not enough for you, Subject Two?” the Leader snapped. “Do you remain unrepentant? Is this silence your way of showing everyone that you’re too good for the rod? Fine then, let’s show them what happens to deserters who refuse to follow orders!”
He waited for the next strike but instead heard the sound of an object—the switch—clattering against the concrete, then a metallic click as a belt buckle was unclasped. Realizing what was about to happen, he took a deep breath and bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
Stay silent. Don’t you dare make a sound.
He broke his vow on the first blow by yelping out as the belt whipped across his back.
“Stop!” Nine screamed. “Don’t do this. You said you would be lenient. You promised me you wouldn’t hurt him. You promised!”
The next strike tore a scream from his throat as effectively as it tore open his back, and Nine shrieked as if she’d felt the blow herself. Blood dribbled down the hollow above his spine, burning hot. Pain consumed him.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed on the tenth blow. “I’m so sorry. Leader, forgive me. I’ll never do it again. I’m sorry. Please stop. Please.”
But the punishment didn’t stop, not even when he begged for death. By the time his agonized screams shriveled in his throat and his legs gave out, he had lost count of the number of blows. The numb, staring faces blurred, and merciful darkness rolled over him.
And from that darkness, Hades slowly resurfaced. His head ached, and everything seemed too bright and too loud. Voices came to him, hollowed and distorted.
“He’s coming to.”
“Oh, great.”
A girl’s freckled face loomed over him. Shannon. She smiled down with cold contempt. “Did you have a nice nap?”
He tried to hoist himself up and was unsurprised to find that his hands were tied behind his back. With duct tape, it felt like. When he strained against the tape, it cut into his wrists. He didn’t bother testing the layers further, just maneuvered himself into a sitting position. No shock, they had also bound his ankles. Even so, he wouldn’t have been ready to get to his feet, even if he had wanted to. Just curling his chest brought on a dizzying wave of vertigo that made his vision swim and gorge rise.
Tyler and Shannon were joined by a girl with hair like a skunk’s—black but turning blond at the roots. She st
ared at him the way someone would stare at a coiled viper on the other side of a zoo exhibit, with unease, wariness, and a twinge of morbid fascination.
“Are you going to tell us what you know?” Shannon asked as he closed his eyes, battling with his nausea and pounding heart. “Who sent you?”
Hades didn’t answer. Clinging to the dissipating memory of his dream, he understood now why the sight of Charles Warren’s belt buckle had disturbed him so much. And now Elizabeth was in that man’s company.
Hades would never let Charles Warren touch her. She might have ruined his life, but she was still his. No matter what name she went by now, she would always belong to him.
Once his nausea had receded enough to permit him to open his eyes again, he looked around.
He found himself in a sparsely furnished room outfitted in greenish-bronze wallpaper. Aside from the couch he lay on, there was a television set perched on a chipped wood stand, a glass coffee table, and an armchair in the corner. Overhead, the fan’s oversize wicker paddles rotated slowly, stirring up stale odors of mothballs and dust. Although the furniture was all worn black suede, pale wood, and glass, there was a lodge-like feel to the room. Taxidermy plaques and stag antlers lined the walls. A stuffed bobcat snarled down at him from over an unlit fireplace.
He had only stood in the foyer of Shannon’s house, and for all he knew, he could have still been there. He doubted it, though. Upon learning that the organization knew where they lived, they wouldn’t have stayed long. Or invited a friend over, for that matter.
“Olympus is rising,” Shannon said, crossing her arms.
“Pandora’s box is opening,” Hades said, though he felt no compulsion to utter the code phrase. If she thought he was under her command, he might be able to gain a tactical advantage here. His brain felt like it was crushed within the jaws of a bear trap, but the pain wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t plan or rationalize.
“Tell us who sent you,” she said.
Project Pandora Page 29
