She blinked at him. “Huh?”
His smile was stern, but charming. “House policy. It helps us all concentrate. You will have one half hour period every day to answer messages and phone calls. Don’t worry. Jared will keep it safe for you.”
She passed it over, with fingers that shook. Last hope lost.
“Come along, Mina. I’ll show you the rest of the facility. We’ll see you at dinner, Jared,” Dr. O said.
Jared blinked at the dismissal, turned, and hurried out. Cindy was crushed to see him go. With her cell phone, too. Her last two allies.
Dr. O led her down a long breezeway, down a path through towering trees towards another building complex. Down several flights of stairs, into an underground building that had been cut right into the slope of the hill. They went in. The corridor seemed incredibly long.
Their footsteps echoed in the silence. Dr. O swiped a card, and put his eye up to a machine that shot a beam of red light into it.
The door hissed, clicked, opened. He led her into a big room with no windows, shut the door, and looked into the retinal scan thingamabob again. Big bolts slid, deep into the heavy door. Ka-thunk.
“My lair,” he said, in a joking tone.
She tried to smile. “Uh, wow. It’s an amazing place.”
He perched on the edge of a table. “Welcome to the Haven, Cynthia.”
The words sank in. She had to fight to keep from passing out.
Davy didn’t bother to knock on Beck’s door. He just turned the knob and yanked it open, using a tissue he’d gotten out of the car.
It struck Miles as strange that it wasn’t locked, but the McClouds just pushed on into the house. He scurried after them. Davy stopped, turned, waved his hand at Miles to go back outside. Like hell. No way were they cutting him out of the action now. He sidled along the wall after Con, ignoring the squinty glares and the frantic hand gestures.
They rounded the corner. Marble steps led down into a vast sea of pale beige, with couch and chair islands adrift in it. The main island had a huge black coffee table. A vase was knocked over on it, pointy red flowers scattered across the light-colored rug—oh. No. Oh, shit.
A foot stuck out from behind the coffee table. Bare. Bluish.
They circled the room in absolute silence, and stared down at what had once been Professor Beck.
His head was half gone, and part of his face. His blood and brains were scattered in a dramatic, fanlike arc behind him.
Con let out a long, careful sigh. “This, we did not need.”
“No,” Davy agreed. “I don’t think things could get much worse.”
Miles swayed on his feet. This was the second violent, bloody death he’d seen that day. The first one, on tape, had been bad enough.
But at least he hadn’t had to smell it.
His stomach lurched. He bolted out of the place in a stumbling run. Out the door, across the grass, and he tumbled onto his knees, heaving coffee-flavored gastric juices onto the ornamental shrubs.
He was trembling and tearful and embarrassed when his gut finally stopped spasming. He dragged himself up onto rubbery legs, wiped his eyes and nose on the sleeve of Sean’s Armani. His phone chimed, in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the text message.
mina went 2 meet mindmeld. sorry.
haven in arcadia. took a beacon. code 42BB84 follow the bread crumbs if u feel like itwish me luck pretending I have a brainyrs cin
The world spun. Darkness slopped up over his mind.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump and shriek.
“If you’re done depositing genetic material on Beck’s lawn, could we get the fuck out of here?” Con said. “Before they haul us in?”
Miles straightened up, and held out his cell. “Davy. You know how you said you didn’t think things could get any worse?”
Davy’s eyes sharpened with dread. “Yeah?”
He passed over the phone. “You were wrong.”
Pain, pain, and more pain. White hot screaming stabs of it, slicing right through him like a hot knife through butter. He was strapped into some sort of chair. Pain was everywhere, but the molten epicenter was in his right shoulder. A guy with a bloody lab coat was holding a scalpel and tongs. He went at Sean’s shoulder with it. Gouging and rending.
“Fuck,” Sean hissed, bucking and straining.
The guy displayed a dripping bullet clamped in his tongs. “Just a flesh wound,” he said, his tone reproving.
Sean stared at the guy, baffled. “I’ve died and gone to hell?”
The guy grinned. “Not quite yet. Think of me as a preview, if you like.” He moved to the side, displaying the room with a flourish.
Sean’s chest clutched around his heart. Liv lay there, inert, hands and ankles fastened with tight leather straps to the frame of the gurney.
T-Rex stood there, fondling her. He licked his thick lips as he ran his hand up the inside of Liv’s thigh. “Nice,” he said. “Warm and soft.”
“Not yet, Gordon,” Lab Coat said sternly. “I have other plans for her. You can play with the other one. After we’re done, of course.”
Other one? What the hell? Sean could turn his head just far enough to make out a slender girl curled up on the floor. Her hands were fastened to the radiator, her hair hanging over her face. She looked up.
Cindy. That poor, silly chick. Fresh sadness welled up inside him. “Aw, shit, honey. I cannot tell you how sorry I am to see you here.”
“M-me, too,” she stuttered. “Right back atcha.”
Sean strained in his bonds, rattling the chair. “So, then. You must be Osterman. The shit-eating maggot who killed my brother.”
Osterman tipped a gallon bottle of alcohol, letting it glug out onto a cotton swab, and swiped the soggy thing, urgently, over Sean’s arm. Sean convulsed with a fresh bolt of agony. “Yes, I am Osterman,” the guy said. “Hold still while I stitch this up.”
Sean struggled with that. “What’s the point of stitching me?”
“I’m not killing you yet,” Osterman explained. “I’ll keep you alive as long as I can. I don’t want you dying of a stupid infection.”
That sounded ominous. “What the hell do you want from me?”
“Your brain.” Osterman jabbed his needle through torn flesh. “I’ve refined X-Cog so much since I experimented on Kevin with it. He was remarkable, you know. He forged new neural pathways to bypass the nerve induction, right on the spot, just to spite me. Unbelievable.”
Sean gasped with pain. “Before you murdered him?”
Osterman stabbed the raw meat of Sean’s shoulder again. “I’ve been trying to duplicate those results ever since. And here you are, an identical genetic copy of Kevin McCloud, on a silver platter. The genes must have expressed themselves very differently in you. I hear you’re quite a low achiever, compared to your twin brother.”
Sean’s teeth dug into his lip at the next savage poke. “That’s a…a matter of opinion. I survived, right? Until now, anyhow.”
Osterman chuckled. “Perhaps you’re right. You might have a certain low cunning that Kevin lacked.”
“What did you do to these kids?” Sean demanded. He was queasy with pain, and terrified out of his freaking wits, but so damn curious.
Osterman peeled off bloody latex gloves. “I got the idea years ago, trying out therapies in a mental health clinic. Controlled electrical stimulation to certain parts of the brain, coupled with a drug I’ve named the X-Cog series, produces what I call an interface.” He put a silver helmet on. “This is the master crown. You’re wearing the slave crown.”
Sean realized that he was wearing a helmet, too. His head itched.
“With these, I suppress the part of your brain that governs motor control, and send my own impulses directly from my brain to your body. I can make you do absolutely anything. You watch, conscious, but helpless. Hijacked.” He stopped, his face expectant. Like he though Sean would exclaim in admiration at his brilliance. Sean just stared at the guy, struck m
ute. Dread swelled up, monstrous inside him.
“Anyway. You’ll see soon enough.” Osterman yanked an IV rack over, and slid a needle into the back of Sean’s hand. “Let’s get started.”
“With what?” He didn’t want to know, but he couldn’t help asking.
“At first, I just thought that enslaving Ms. Endicott and having her perform degrading sexual acts with and upon Gordon would be entertaining, but it’s been done, and sex gets so tedious, you know?”
“Chris prefers a good mindfuck to any other kind,” T-Rex said.
Osterman’s smile froze. “Keep your editorial comments to yourself, Gordon.”
“Do whatever you want to me,” Sean said. “Just don’t hurt her.”
“Oh, I won’t.” Osterman’s smile looked almost jolly. “You will.”
Sean’s throat clamped down over the words. “I what?”
“You, Mr. McCloud. You will be the one to torture her. What better way to demonstrate what the X-Cog can do? I want to to see how far I can push the interface. If I can smash through all moral and ethical boundaries. Imagine the applications, if I can compel you to do something which is morally repugnant to you. I’ve never tried that.”
Sean tried to shake his head, but it was clamped ruthlessly into place. “No,” he whispered.
The phone on Gordon’s belt rang. He picked up. “Yeah? I’ll check on it.” He clicked it shut. “Brice needs help wiping his ass. A car turned onto Schuyler Road, but didn’t come out.” He grabbed Cindy’s hair as he passed, yanking it. “I’ll be back, honey. Don’t go anywhere.” He swiped a card, peered into the retina scan machine, and left.
Osterman swatted Liv’s cheek. “We’ve waited long enough.”
“Yeah, I see. I’m handy when you guys need to borrow a car or do your computer shit work, but if anything important’s happening, it’s ‘go suck your thumb in the closet ’til it’s safe to come out, Miles.’”
“We don’t have time for this argument,” Con said. “You don’t even have a gun. If we don’t come back, you have to bring reinforcements.”
“So that’s when I can help,” Miles snarled. “When everybody else has croaked, and it doesn’t matter anymore. Just great. Thanks, guys.”
“You can get over it and be of actual use to us and to Cindy, or you can get clubbed over the head and stuffed into the trunk.” Davy’s voice was steely. “Those are your options. Choose quickly.”
Miles slumped down against the trunk of the cedar tree, defeated.
The two McClouds melted into the trees with the Specs handheld monitor, off to track down the signal from Cindy’s cell while he sat here with his thumb up his ass. It didn’t matter how hard he worked. No amount of training would ever get him up to par. And he was having a pity party, while Cindy chatted up a serial killer. Bat-brained, beautiful Cindy.
He wanted to howl like a chained dog.
He stared down at the grounds. The beacon in Cin’s cell had been stationary, bleeping from the far edge of the complex. It made no sense for him to lurk up here. He should at least get closer to the main house.
There was a hedge down there. Good cover. Sean always talked about the importance of trusting your instincts. His own were biting his ass, with long pointy teeth, telling him to move, move, move.
A troll was looming over her. Blood-spattered, fanged, horrible, red flames flickering in the empty black sockets of his eyes.
Someone smacked her face. She blinked startled tears out of her eyes. The face was handsome, smiling, human, now, but the bloody coat he wore was the same. “I’m so glad you’ve woken up,” he said.
Liv tried to lift her aching head. Memories drifted back. The clinic. Her mother’s taunting voice. The needle. The monster. She peered around. “Where’s T-Rex?” Her voice was a cracked whisper.
The man looked blank. “You mean Gordon? He’ll be back. Gordon lives for my experiments. I let him participate, and in return, he cleans up my messes. It’s a perfect symbiotic relationship.”
“How did he know…where I was?”
“He’s been monitoring your parents,” the guy explained. “Gordon planted bugs in your mother’s purses. We were sure you’d be foolish enough to contact them. They made our work so easy, reeling you in like that. But I won’t wait for Gordon, though. I’m too eager to proceed. He can play with the other girl later. That should content him.”
Other girl? Liv heard a whimpering sound. She craned her neck, saw the slender form huddled on the floor at the far end of the room.
She turned back to the man. “Proceed with what?”
The man rubbed his hands together. “With the experiments, of course,” he said, his voice gleeful. “On your lover. I’m so excited.”
“Sean?” She looked around wildly, pulling against the straps.
“Hey, my love. This shithead is Osterman. The guy who offed Kev.” The voice came from behind her. She craned back, looked at him upside down. He was strapped into a chair, streaming with blood.
“Oh, Sean,” she whispered. “Sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”
His eyes were full of grief and pain. “Liv? Baby? Whatever happens now? I love you. Remember that.”
The guy he’d called Osterman laughed. “I will be curious to see if she manages to remember it, after what you are about to do to her.”
He grabbed a rolling cart piled with objects, and pulled it to the gurney. “Instruments of torture, gleaned from my kitchen and garage. Pliers,” he displayed each item, “a scalpel, a handsaw, a nut-cracker for fingers, a tire iron for breaking the larger bones, and this.” He held up a bronze device that she didn’t recognize until he flipped a switch. Blue flame hissed out of the curved pipe. “A blowtorch,” he said proudly.
She started to shake. Thought of Tam’s ring. If all else fails, you can open a vein with it. Well and good, if your hands were fastened together. Hers were strapped on either side of her. The worst she could do would be to stab a hole in the pad of her thumb.
Osterman peered into Sean’s eyes. “Are you still able to speak?”
Sean’s mouth worked. “Go fuck yourself.” The words were slurred.
Osterman adjusted the knobs on Sean’s helmet. He turned Liv’s gurney around. “So you can watch,” he said, as if conferring a treat.
Sean’s face stiffened into a mask. Osterman stared, licking his lips. “He’s mine. I’m command central of his brain. Isn’t it incredible?”
“You sick fuck,” Liv whispered.
He giggled. “Sean, you will feel an impulse to hold up a certain number of fingers.” He leaned down, and whispered into Liv’s ear as if they were playing a party game. “I’ll tell him three. This is a direct impulse, from my brain to his hand. Watch carefully!”
Sean’s hand twitched, clenched. The plastic tubing leading into the needle twisted around his wrist. He held up three shaking fingers.
“Very good,” Osterman said.
Sean’s hand kept moving. His index and fourth finger trembled, and curled down, leaving his middle finger sticking straight up.
Liv wanted to cheer at his desperate defiance. God, she loved him.
Osterman turned to the IV rack, adjusted the drip. “Most subjects would be in convulsions at this point. We’ll try this again, Sean.”
Sean’s hand shook. Tears trickled from his eyes. A thread of blood ran out of his nose. Liv bit her lip, trying not to whimper.
“You learn more about the choreography of mental domination by working with the strong ones,” he said smugly. “It’s more complicated than you might think. But I’ve been practicing for decades.”
Liv tried to moisten her cracked lips. “Why do you hate him?”
Osterman looked surprised. “Oh, but. I don’t hate any of my test subjects. I just…happen to them. Like a stroke. If I want results which translate into rapid advances in medical treatments, and defense applications that contribute directly to the security of my nation, a price must be paid. And I sincerely believe the price is w
orth it.”
“But you’re not the one paying it,” Liv pointed out.
Osterman blinked, and cleared his throat. “Ah. Well. Point taken. However, you can’t get out of being tortured to death by your lover. Besides, I have a meeting later, and I’ll need time to clean up. Let’s see how Mr. McCloud is coming along.”
Liv looked, and cried out involuntarily. Sean’s nose bled from both sides now. His mouth and jaw were a gleaming crimson mask.
“Observe, if you will.” Osterman had a lecturing, professorial tone as he unbuckled the straps that held Sean’s arms. “He can’t move a muscle, other than breathing, swallowing and suchlike, unless the impulse comes from me. Watch this.” He picked up the tire iron.
“No!” Liv shrieked, as he whipped it down, smacking hard right against Sean’s blood-drenched, injured shoulder.
Sean didn’t move. Fresh blood streamed down his arm, dripping off the ends of his fingers and onto the floor. His eyes burned wildly.
Osterman dropped the tire iron, hands opening and closing. “See?” His voice shook with excitement. “He didn’t even flinch, and that had to hurt. There’s nothing wrong with his nerve receptors, you see.”
She wanted to scream, but once she started, she wasn’t going to be able to stop. If the blade on Tam’s ring were longer, she would spare them what was about to happen. Without hesitation.
Osterman was undoing the restraints that had fastened Sean into the chair; wrists, ankles, arms, the belt around his waist. Sean began to move. He got slowly to his feet, and shuffled towards Liv’s gurney.
“Good boy,” Osterman crooned. “You’re doing wonderfully.” He glanced at Liv. “Just think of the applications for weapons defense.”
“Stop,” Liv told him, her voice cracking. “Just stop.”
“Oh? Really? Should I?” His mouth stretched in a hideously cheerful smile. His eyes were utterly mad. “I don’t think so. Let’s start with the blowtorch, hmm?”
She shrank back. Sean awkwardly picked up the blowtorch. He flicked the switch several times before he managed to turn it on.
Edge Of Midnight (The Mccloud Series Book 4) Page 40
