I step out into a hallway and peer down its expanse. The texture is different here. Rather than concrete, polished marble covers the floor, walls, and ceiling. A deep thrumming moves like prickles across the soles of my feet, more felt than heard. The hallway is lined with potted plants that look exotic, with a few chairs scattered here and there. It reminds me of a fancy, elongated waiting room. There are no doors that I can see, and the far end of the hallway is another flat, marbled wall.
“Hello, Mira.”
The voice comes from behind me, and I spin instinctively, my right hand moving in a flash into the pocket of my pants, through the hole I’ve cut there, and to the blade strapped to my thigh. I have it out and against the neck of the newcomer before I even realize it’s Damian.
“Sorry to startle you, dear,” he says calmly, despite my blade against his throat. “I meant no harm.”
“Habit,” I say, gritting my teeth against the new flash of pain budding through my back and limbs from the sudden movement. I take a deep breath, and lower the blade back to its hidden sheath, allowing the pain to subside to its tolerable form.
Behind Damian, a section of the wall has opened inwardly, so quietly I never heard it. I would have sworn there were no cracks there a moment before to indicate any type of entrance.
“You’re up a bit late, aren’t you?” Damian says. “Trouble sleeping?”
“You could say that,” I respond. He knows I'm snooping, and I want to kick myself for getting caught, but he has to be the one who let me in here in the first place. I hold my head high and meet his gaze evenly. “I’ve seen your handiwork before,” I say. “I have a feeling there’s a lot more going on here than what we’ve seen so far. I’d like to know. You could save me the trouble and just show me instead of making me spy this place out in the middle of the night.”
I expect him to get angry and lash out at me, or to threaten me for sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong, but in the end he does neither. After a moment of silence, he smiles charmingly, his bright teeth sparkling in the darkness.
“Of course,” he says. “These are my personal quarters,” he says glancing at the open doorway. “If you’d like to come inside, there are many things I would like to discuss with you.” When he sees my obvious hesitation, he adds, “I’ll leave the door open if you like.”
I'm tempted, but I don't want to show any weakness. Besides, even as bad off as I am, I can still take him if it's just the two of us. "No need for that," I say, giving him a pointed look.
He smiles again, and turns to move into the room beyond without waiting for me. I follow, and as I round the corner from the doorway, my breath catches in my chest.
The room is one of the most stunning, ornate places I've ever seen. The suite Cray and I are staying in looks like one from a five-star hotel, but it pales in comparison to this. An expansive white marble fireplace sits across from two decadent black leather sofas with dark burgundy stitching. A blazing fire crackles melodiously. Several high-arching hallways lead off of the great room in various places, and directly in front of me with no barrier between it and the imposing space, is a kitchen with a ten to twelve foot island, it's top covered with sleekly polished, hard wood, probably mahogany. The walls are adorned with magnificent paintings, each of varying themes and eras, but somehow flowing together in harmony. The entire floor, like the fireplace, is white marble. It’s so polished that it mirrors everything above it
He turns and must notice the expression on my face.
“Extravagance is one of the indulgences I allow myself without reproach,” he says. “I seldom, if ever, leave this place, and since that is the case, I prefer to live as comfortably as possible. Please don't think less of me if it is a bit garish.”
“Not at all,” I say honestly. “It's beautiful.”
He smiles like he’s genuinely pleased with my good opinion before directing me to one of the sofas and sitting on the other one facing me. I sit down and notice immediately the luxurious warmth of the leather, heated by some internal device. The floor too is warm on my naked feet, heated from underneath somehow. The softness of the sofa seems to rise up to meet my body, and I resist the urge to moan with pleasure. Instead, I force my senses to sharpen and remember that I'm in the lair of the wolf, alone, at night, and grandma may very well have some big teeth. Despite my earlier protest, the door remains open. I guess this is his way of showing good will.
Damian looks perfectly at ease. He hardly even glances at me as he leans forward to a small tray on the table in front of us and pours an amber liquid into a glass from one of several decanters.
"Would you like a drink?" he says without looking up.
"No thank you," I say. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Perhaps something to eat? I have a wonderful stash of delicacies that I keep in supply. I would be happy to whip something up for you. I don’t mean to brag, but I like to think I’m a pretty good cook."
Again. "No thanks.” I'm careful to be polite, but I try to flavor my words with just enough ice to let him know that I still regard him with caution. “So what do you want to tell me?"
He leans back and crosses his legs while taking a sip of his drink. "You're much like my son in that way," he says, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "Straight to the point."
"Are we referring to Cray or Jonathan?"
He smiles with genuine amusement.
"Of Cray," he says. “I'm sure by now he has told you the truth about Jonathan.”
"And you know Cray well?" I ask, again taking an intentional jab at him, but this time he doesn't take the bait, and he sits there calmly, an easy grin now creasing his face.
"Better than you might think," he says. "You know, Mira, I must apologize. I'm afraid I've kept you at somewhat of a distance since your arrival here. To be frank, it's difficult for me to look at you." He glances down at his drink and swirls it in his glass. "You see,” he continues, “you remind me of someone I once cared a great deal about. When I see you...I see her, and that's not altogether pleasant. Though I must confess, it was a very long time ago."
I feel confident that he's speaking of Ilana, but I’m not about to let on that I know anything about her. It's safe to say given the history, that he doesn't know she's alive, nor she him for that matter. And even if she did, I don't think she would reveal herself. She's obviously angry and hurt over whatever happened between them. But I am curious about what he might divulge about her.
“Who was she?” I ask.
“Someone wonderful,” he says without hesitation. There’s no mistaking the admiration in his voice. Whatever happened between him and Ilana, he still thinks very highly of her. “Someone very strong, like yourself. That’s only one of the reasons you remind me of her. There was a time – a brief time – that we spent together in the most unexpected of circumstances. It was terrible and wonderful and all too short. I loved her deeply, but I didn’t realize that until after.”
“So what happened?” I would love to keep him going, to find out anything he’ll tell me about Ilana, the island, the operation there, the history of my own creation.
His eyes take on a distant expression. He appears to be looking through me, and I think he’s about to continue, but in a flash he snaps back to attention and takes a quick swig from his drink.
“She had a misunderstanding,” he says unceremoniously.
“Meaning…?”
But he’s done talking about it. “It’s not important, Mira. She’s gone now.”
I try another tactic. “What about Cray’s mother?”
He clears his throat and smiles. “Are you asking if I loved her? No. I was certainly fond of her, but the feeling didn’t extend beyond much more than animal passion if I may be so crass.”
Ew.
“You’ll forgive me if I confess that in my youth I lacked a certain amount of discretion and self-control when it came to the fairer sex. Alas, as surprising as it may seem, she didn’t want a child and I did. We were tog
ether a few times before I found out about the pregnancy. She wanted to give him up for adoption, but I was insistent that I would take full responsibility of Cray after his birth. She was well-compensated.”
But that doesn’t ring true to me. “If you wanted him so bad, what happened? You haven’t been around, no matter what you say your feelings are for him.”
“You’ll understand soon enough, Mira. I want you to know that I'm not what you may have been led to believe. History has a way of creating legends that are not always based in fact. I don’t mean to make it sound trivial, but that is the nature of the world. To that end, I'm prepared to tell you everything you want to know. No secrets, no charades.”
So you claim, I think.
“Why now,” I say, “after all these weeks?”
“Simple. I needed time to see if you both could be trusted. It was never my intention to keep things from either of you indefinitely. I’m certain you have many questions, not the least of which was my relationship with Benjamin Eckert.”
A fresh stab of pain hits me at the mention of my adoptive father, but not physical pain. Emotional. I choke back the unexpected tears. I refuse to cry in front of this man.
“And there’s another reason for the delay. One that will take some considerable explaining,” he continues, his demeanor completely relaxed. We may as well be old friends having a polite dinner conversation. “I believe that you care deeply for my son, and he, in turn, for you. That is why, in some ways, it is far more imperative that I earn your trust than his. If I can convince you, you can convince him.”
“Convince him of what?” I ask, not liking the implications. He’s kept us at arm’s length for weeks and now he wants my trust?
He considers for a moment before responding. “It's not as simple as that, Mira. That is why I need to show you everything first. So you will understand the magnitude of the truth.”
“For somebody who says he doesn’t want to keep secrets, you sure beat around the bush a lot.”
He laughs easily, genuinely, a deep baritone that softly echoes through the room. “Patience,” he says genially. “It’s often best not to reveal all of your secrets at once. But you'll get the answers I promised.” He rises and offers me his hand. “If you're ready, we can begin our tour.”
I ignore his outstretched hand. I still don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, which is actually a long way. Instead I stand up quickly, biting my lip to keep from grimacing at the pain the quick movement causes. I know he’s perfectly aware of my injuries, but again, I’m not about to show weakness right now.
“Lead away,” I say.
Chapter 4
There have been a few times in my life when things took such an unexpected turn that I found out what I believed I knew was only a miniscule portion of the truth. This tops them all, and that’s saying something. I’ve definitely had a world rocking, mind blowing experience. But regardless of that, I'm not on board with what Damian wants from Cray.
“You can't ask that of him!” I rail, not even bothering to keep my voice down. I'm sure no one else can hear us anyway, and I’m angry enough to want to punch him. But I don’t. Not yet.
“And why not, Mira? You must see the logic behind it, the potential repercussions if it isn't done.”
“Because he's not a monster. He had a chance already and didn't take it. Why would he voluntarily do it now? And even if you could convince him, I'm not convinced it's the right path. Not to mention you'd be destroying part of his humanity.”
For the first time since our night began, I see the slightest ruffle of frustration in Damian's demeanor as his human emotions peek out from beneath that annoyingly stoic facade.
“Oh come now,” he says. “Do you really think after all of the things he's done this is really any different?”
“It is different,” I say angrily. “Doing something out of ignorance or lack of understanding is one thing, but this is different and you know it! I won't be a part of it. I can't, and won't, convince him to do that.”
“Please.” He’s almost pleading now. “He’ll listen to you.” He takes a deep breath, and I see his composure return. I don’t fear the man, but his ability to control his emotions is disconcerting. “I don't deny that it's distasteful, Mira. But it is a necessary evil.”
“Sure you would say that,” I argue. “You’re the classic example of the end justifying the means, if the end really would be beneficial to the human race, and there’s no way to know that for sure. Do you think any of that excuses the island, the things you did there, your other secret labs?”
“I've already explained that. I would think that you of all people would feel justified in what I'm suggesting.”
I stare at the wall, trying again to let the information sink into my brain. I've just spent the last two hours touring parts of the facility I had no idea existed while Damian gave me a dissertation on everything from the beginning until now. My head aches with the unreality of it all if he can be believed.
“And if I refuse, what will you do to me then?”
He watches me with the calm demeanor of a monk, his arms crossed easily behind him, convinced of his rightness. He’s utterly persuaded that his cause is righteous.
“I'm giving you all of the information, Mira. Take the time you need to process it, analyze it, and think about it. But ultimately, I give you the choice. If you aren't completely convinced, he won't be either.”
There's a sick sort-of logic to it all, and I wonder if he's genuine about giving me the choice of what I will do with the information and proposition he's given. But even if I could justify it, it still leaves me feeling nauseated.
“Let me show you one more thing,” he says before I can speak again.
He leads me back to his apartment and into the luxurious main room. I see no movement of any kind other than his walking, but this time the door slides silently closed behind us. I feel a trickle of apprehension crawl up my spine, but I keep walking as he leads me down a short hallway obscured from the view of the main living space so that I didn’t notice it when I was here before.
Like the larger hallway outside, this one is smooth marble on every surface, except at the end of this one are two large metallic doors that remind me of the doors into the control room of the lab on the island. I’m really starting to feel like this is a bad deal now, unable to shake the cold chill that sweeps across me despite the room being considerably warm. I slide my knife silently from its sheath as Damian plods ahead toward the doors.
He suddenly stops and turns on me, but his move is not aggressive, his posture relaxed. He takes in the knife without concern and returns his gaze to my eyes.
“You don’t need that, Mira, but please feel free to keep it out if it makes you feel better. I promise no harm will come to you.”
I’m not as confident, and I stand waiting for his next move.
He turns back to the doors and says quietly, “Damian. Access protocol alpha two five.”
“Confirmed,” a computerized voice chimes elegantly, and the large doors slide open to reveal a darkened room. There’s something ahead, but the lighting is muted and Damian is blocking my view. Instead of going inside, he turns to me again and smiles easily.
“You see Mira, as I told Cray, I'm nearing the end of something wonderful. It's time to eliminate anything that stands in the way of my progress.”
Before I have a chance to respond, he steps aside clearing my view of the room beyond.
I step cautiously forward. The room is far larger than it first appeared, but pretty empty given its size. In each opposing corner, strange looking machines surrounded by computer monitors stand guard over an elongated tube in the middle, wires and cables running from it to them. I inch closer until my eyes are able to focus better in the near darkness and I can make out a shape in the tube. Realization crashes into me, and I absentmindedly notice the clank of my knife as it falls to the floor. I don’t remember dropping it, but I’m too stunned to care.
>
After a short while, I find my voice again and speak to Damian without bothering to turn around. My question comes out barely louder than a whisper.
“Is that a clone?” I ask.
He walks up beside me and places a warm hand on my shoulder, but keeps his eyes straight ahead at the tube. He says nothing.
Nausea consumes me like a wave.
"What have you done?"
Chapter 5
Cray
“Alex?” My mom yells from the other room, and I set down the toy soldier I’ve been playing with. His battle of life and death with the evil Gorgons will have to wait for now.
“Coming mom,” I shout back.
Emerging from my room, I sprint down the hallway as fast as my legs can take me, narrowly avoiding tripping over Cara, my chocolate lab and best friend. She cuts her eyes at me as if to say, “There he goes again.”
Mom calls me her little lightning bolt sometimes because I run everywhere I go. I can’t help it. The world just seems to be standing still and I want it to catch up. Maybe if I run fast enough, it’ll chase me. I know that makes no sense, but I like to think it anyway. There’s no fun in being logical all the time. That would make me a robot, and robots are dull, lifeless things.
I round the corner at top speed, barely managing to stay on my naked feet as they slide across the tiled kitchen floor. Mom looks up and throws out her arms for me, and I run and jump into them. She crushes me to herself in a bear hug, laughing at my silliness.
“You need to slow down, sweetheart. You’re going to hurt yourself one of these days,” she says, plopping me into the chair next to hers at the kitchen table. Cara trots into the room and grunts as if to punctuate mom’s warning. She crawls under the table to the foot of my chair to lie down, and I rest my feet on her warm back, digging at her soft fur with my toes and giggling all the while.
The Night Sweeper: Assassin: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 2) Page 4
