by Victoria Sue
Sam followed Cryer down a corridor and into another open room that reminded him of a hospital.
Except in this one, all three beds were full. He didn’t recognize the man asleep or maybe unconscious in the first bed, but the second one with his eyes closed and all sorts of tubes and IVs running in and out of him was Gus Owens. When he looked over at the third bed, his heart bounced uncomfortably. Aaron Dunn. The boy who had supposedly run away.
“You can’t do this,” Sam protested. “Gus and Aaron have people searching for them.”
“Yes, I understand so,” Cryer agreed in an irritated voice, “but until we have access to the database your team is compiling, I have no choice but to find test subjects where I can.”
“And how are you planning on getting that?” Sam blurted out, as if he didn’t know. He wanted to help his mom, but she had effectively made her own bed. Nothing Cryer could threaten him with would make him risk innocent children.
Cryer turned around, and a gun in Sam’s back made it clear he was supposed to follow. They returned to the office, and Cryer sat behind the desk. He indicated Sam was to take the chair in front of it. His mother was nowhere to be seen.
“As I said, I have a proposition for you,” Cryer started.
Sam just managed to bite off the emphatic no, knowing he was going to have to use his wits.
“I need someone on the inside,” Cryer carried on. “I need access to the database, and all you have to do is provide me with suitable subjects. Particularly the ones no one cares about.”
Sam mustn’t have had his poker face on, because Cryer’s affable manner vanished. “If the millions you would be successfully paid aren’t enough of an incentive, I have another.” He looked to the door, and Sam’s stomach dropped, fully expecting them to drag Vance through.
Sam stared openmouthed at the little boy who accompanied his mother. He was clasping her hand as if he mistakenly thought it was a lifeline. Tears streaked down his face, but all the tears in the world weren’t enough to cover the jagged scar on his left cheek.
“Angel,” his mother purred, “meet Luis.” The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she turned the little boy to face Sam. “Luis, meet your brother.”
Chapter Seventeen
SAM STARED at the enhanced boy. He was young. He knew most transformations didn’t typically happen until adolescence, but he would be surprised if the boy was seven, eight at the most. Luis, his mother called him. He glanced at Cryer and realized the question must have been on his face.
“Ah, no,” Cryer answered. “Neither I nor Ramirez have biological ties to the boy. And don’t bother asking your mother, as I doubt she can remember that period of her life at all. We didn’t meet until three years ago.”
Sam regarded Luis suspiciously. Even if his mother had given birth to a son, the likelihood of her actually managing to keep him was less than zero. “He has only been recently returned to your mother,” Cryer continued, as if picking the questions out of Sam’s brain. “He was addicted to opioids at birth, premature, with a corresponding low birth weight. He has been fostered out unsuccessfully three times, all before he was four years old. His ADHD made a successful placement problematic. Any placement further became impossible when he transformed. Your mother wanted to visit him for some reason, and quite as a coincidence we saw him for the first time one week after his transformation. Of course, we pretended to be rightfully horrified at such a prospect and simply returned and helped ourselves a week later.
“I imagine, apart from the official notice to the police, the home was suitably relieved when he went missing from their play area.”
Sam processed that, all the while watching Luis, who simply held himself still and quiet and looked as if Cryer wasn’t talking about him at all. Perhaps he didn’t understand any of it? He was calmly holding his mother’s hand but displayed as much interest in her as she did in him. Sam had known two kids with ADHD in group homes, and neither of those would have just stood quietly like that.
“And to our further disappointment, he has displayed no interesting talents, despite what stimulation we provide.”
A flicker. Sam caught it as it moved almost imperceptibly over Luis’s face. A flicker of what, he didn’t know, but he would bet he was more aware than they thought.
“How old are you, Luis?” Sam asked, wondering if the boy was sick of being discussed like he wasn’t there. He was right. Surprise registered in the blue-gray eyes so like his own—nearly identical—but Luis didn’t speak.
His mother frowned and yanked on his arm. “Your brother asked you a question, Luis.”
Sam didn’t wince, despite him hating to be responsible for the way Luis was spoken to. “I’m seven” came the whisper. His mother giggled, going to ruffle his hair, but the boy moved at the last second, and her fingers barely grazed his head. Sam wondered if the action had been deliberate.
Cryer sighed, sounding bored. “He’s nine. It was his birthday last week.”
“It was?” His mother clapped her hands delightedly. “Oh, but we must have a party to celebrate.” She seemed to realize what she had said and glanced fearfully at Ramirez. He just grunted noncommittally. So even though Cryer looked like he was in charge, his mother was definitely nervous around Ramirez. Although that made sense if he had been her contact while she was on the street, and Sam was careful not to let the disgust show on his face. She had once fooled Sam that a birthday party would happen as well when he was going to be six. Right up to the day when he had dared to ask who was coming and she had cuffed him sharply because she had forgotten, not liking the reminder. His dad had thought it hysterical, though, and told him his birthday had been two months ago and who cared anyway.
Sam actually thought that was the last time he had cried.
Cryer grunted again. “We were hoping his abilities might make up for the heroin et al. that has clearly addled his brain, but I doubt he will be good for anything except research.” Cryer looked distastefully at Luis. “We need to set drug parameters for enhanced. There is scant information on how long they can be kept comatose, for example, or a ratio of sedatives to body mass.”
A guard suddenly came into the room. “Problems with the new admission, sir.”
Sam’s head shot up. Vance? He would be here. Then he realized Cryer was watching his reactions. “Did you know your partner was here?”
Sam glowered. “He’s not my partner now.”
“Yes.” Cryer nodded. “Ramirez said you seemed to find him tiresome. I understand he’s not very intelligent.”
Sam shrugged. “He’s very… pliable, easily swayed.” He was also the kindest man Sam had ever met, generous and loyal to a fault, and intelligent. Anyone who made the mistake of thinking Vance’s brawn outweighed his brains made a huge error. But he couldn’t say any of that. The impression Sam had created accidentally in Baton Rouge of the other officers thinking Vance wasn’t capable by not explaining why he didn’t want Vance involved was actually paying off.
Cryer stood up, bored. “Very well. Lock the boys up together.” He smiled at Sam’s mother. “I think it would be good if your sons can get acquainted.”
She nodded, looking relieved, and he lifted her hand to kiss it. “Why don’t you go rest, my dear? I’m sure this has been very taxing for you.” Her eyes slid to the black box still on Cryer’s desk, and he noticed.
“Greedy,” he said, amused. “Even you need to show a modicum of restraint.” He nodded to his men, and one of them hustled the boy in front of him. The gun behind Sam’s back gave him all the encouragement he needed to follow.
THEY WOUND through another two rooms and ended up in a smaller room with a couch and a small table and two chairs. Luis automatically went to one and sat down. Sam followed. The guard grunted and nodded to the toy box in the corner. “He likes those.”
Sam followed the guard’s stare to the child’s Legos and the three or four jigsaws sticking out of the box. He glanced back at Luis, who made no move to
go to them, and Sam wasn’t surprised. The thought he might just accept the situation and calmly play, with everything that was happening and with an adult he had just met, sickened him. The thought that this was Luis’s reality sickened him even more.
The trouble was he didn’t know what Luis’s normal was. He knew Gael and Jake were adopting a severely disabled child. And just because Derrick was enhanced hadn’t suddenly cured him of the challenges he faced. That they all faced. Maybe this was a similar situation? Cryer certainly seemed to think so. Not that Sam believed a word Cryer said. Nine sounded young, but Sam had learned to survive around his mother considerably younger than that.
“Do you know who I am?” Sam asked gently, taking a seat at the table after taking a quick scan around the room for cameras and satisfying himself there weren’t any. He also had no idea how he felt at all and could soon be facing the fact he was going to die unless he could convince Cryer he agreed to be a double agent. Luis looked at him.
“Mamá said you are my brother.”
Sam nodded. It was a start.
“Is that why you are here?”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. That was quite a fair question. “No. I only just found out about you.”
“Do you have a dad?”
Sam shook his head. “He died a long time ago.”
“Everybody dies,” Luis agreed, then stood up and walked to the corner where the toys were. He dug right down and pulled out a small car.
Sam knew it was a copy of a Mustang Shelby in an old Nicholas Cage movie. “You like cars?”
Luis regarded him steadily. “Some.” He shrugged.
Sam heaved a sigh. He was no good with kids. Older ones, teenagers sure, but with younger ones, he didn’t know where to start. Vance would have.
Sam almost grunted out loud at the physical pain the thought brought him. Vance. God, what he wouldn’t give for a bit of his strength now. And he didn’t mean the bashing-down-doors kind. He meant the wrapping strong arms around him or the big hand that covered his own.
And never caused him a second of pain. Never tried to take what Sam hadn’t wanted to give. Never once thought to make him do anything he didn’t want but just supported whatever choice he had made.
“I’m a fucking idiot,” Sam whispered.
“Are you?”
The voice brought him back to earth with a bump. He looked at Luis, who was regarding him questioningly. “Yeah.” Sam rubbed his head.
“Why?”
Why? “Because I’ve spent months pushing someone away who wanted to help me.” He didn’t necessarily expect Luis to understand. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure he understood it himself.
Luis nodded. “But sometimes people say they want to help you when they really only want to help themselves.”
Sam gaped a little at the nine-year-old in front of him, who just sounded a good twenty years older.
Luis colored a little under his stare and started making car noises and pushing it around. “Do you wanna do a jigsaw?” he said brightly.
For a second Sam almost agreed, but something held him back, and he watched Luis playing with the car. When they’d come in, Luis had looked scared, but then he became almost detached. The mixed signals were confusing but completely understandable from what Luis had gone through. He reminded him of someone, almost as if….
He was playing a game.
If Sam was right, he was doing pretty much whatever he could to survive. Like Sam had done for years. Playing a part. Doing what was expected and keeping what Sam guessed was a pretty clever brain hidden behind dumb statements like getting his age wrong, but that didn’t tie in with the perceptive comment he had made.
“Why would you want to do that?” Sam asked.
Luis shrugged. “It’s something to do.”
Sam took a chance. “I’d rather figure out a way to get out of here.”
The flash of surprise and longing wasn’t masked quickly enough for Sam not to recognize it, but the accompanying drop of disappointed shoulders told him more. “Don’t you want to play?”
Sam immediately realized his mistake. He had basically just told Luis he was trying to get out without giving him any indication he meant both of them. Because about ten seconds ago, he’d just worked out he had something more important than being independent. And that was someone depending on him.
Vance would never leave without Luis, and neither would Sam. And somehow, he needed to get his mom into rehab. Both those tasks at the moment were impossible, and the last completely floored him. Especially that he would have any interest in doing so. He needed to think, and fast. This might be his only chance of getting out, and there was no way he was leaving Luis. “We need to work out a way of getting out of here.”
“She won’t come with you if she has a choice.”
Sam knew exactly what Luis meant. “Where is it you actually live?”
“A big house, but I’m not allowed in most of it.” Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to take apart that answer. “And we move a lot.”
“So did we,” Sam agreed.
“Did you run away?”
Sam gazed at Luis, hearing the hopefulness in his voice. “No,” he replied honestly. “She was the one to run.”
A small smile played on Luis’s lips. “She wouldn’t now, though.”
“No,” Sam agreed. She didn’t need to chase the dragon when she lived with monsters already.
“Will you work with them?”
“I would never work with them,” Sam said emphatically.
“Then will you go?”
The question was asked lightly, a casual inquiry, as if Luis didn’t care about the answer.
“Don’t you want to get out of here?” Sam asked. “You heard what Cryer said. I wouldn’t want to hang around for ‘research purposes.’”
Luis looked up. “You would take me?”
“Damn right I will.” Sam stood up. He had to work out the best way of getting out of here.
Sam started a little as Luis threw the little car into the box with such force, it rattled. He looked at Sam. “Are you really my brother?”
“I have no idea,” Sam answered honestly. “I guess it depends on if they are sure Estella is really your mother.”
“They did blood tests. I heard Raymond telling someone it was definite.”
Sam smiled. “Then I guess so.”
Bright intelligent eyes looked back at him. “Do you promise?”
God help me. Sam wasn’t especially religious and certainly didn’t think that some higher power played with them all like puppets, but at that moment he would have gotten on his knees for some sound advice, especially as how he had just become responsible for someone other than himself. A situation Sam had avoided for all of his adult life.
Vance would have known exactly what to say to Luis, and the thought that Sam might be around to hear it, even encourage it, wasn’t as scary as he had always thought.
“I promise I am going to do everything I can.”
Chapter Eighteen
VANCE SHUFFLED back to his cell, his mind careening along a million miles faster than his feet, hoping like hell Daniel understood his vague comments. If he repeated the name to Talon, Finn, or Gael, they would recognize it instantly, so he had to hope that it worked. As he moved through the door into the common area, he noticed the female guard from last night was back on duty and jogging down from the podium just as he walked past.
“Connelly,” the other guard said, and Vance stopped obediently while he took the cuffs off his ankles and wrists. Eduardez—according to the name on his uniform—stood up. “You have free time now.” He pointed to the cart in the corner, where there were a few books and another with covered jugs of water and some plastic glasses. “We don’t allow the television on during the morning while the boys are studying.”
“Yes, sir,” Vance replied automatically. Lawrence and Kit were sitting around another bench in the corner, and a woman—he assumed it was their teacher—sa
t next to them, and they were listening to what she was saying. The two older boys he hadn’t met yet, and interestingly, another he hadn’t seen at breakfast, were in a separate room, all huddled around a table covered with textbooks. There was a man standing at the end of the room who also looked like some sort of tutor. Vance glanced toward the cells and spied a couple of boys in them, and he was especially glad to see the younger one he had noticed last night in the cell by the stairs, which brought the number up to seven including Jamie, tallying with what the records showed. Eduardez must have followed his gaze. “You are allowed in the other cells, providing the individuals don’t object.” He hesitated and narrowed his eyes. “Connelly, these are just kids. I get so much as a whiff you aren’t being appropriate around them and you’ll spend every day locked in your cell.”
Vance nodded respectfully and watched Eduardez climb up the podium. The fact that at least one of the guards seemed to want to protect the children here was the best news he had heard all morning. He walked over to the stairs. The boy who had seemed terrified last night was on his bed reading. Vance knocked on the open door. The blond-haired, blue-eyed boy looked up at him, and before Vance could so much as say hi, fear had washed the prettiness from his face and he had scooted up to the other end of his bed.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Vance held up his hands and stepped back. “This is completely your space. I just wanted to say hi.”
The boy stared, obviously undecided. Then the book was lowered. “Hello.”
Vance beamed and looked at the Rays poster on the wall. “You a Rays fan? I have one at home.” He chuckled. “About ten years older than that one, though.” That was the 2017 season.
The boy glanced at it and relaxed a little. “My name’s Dominic.”
Vance did a silly half bow. “Nice to meet you, Dominic. My name’s Vance. May I come in?”
He nodded carefully, and Vance sat on the chair by the desk. He winced as it creaked rather alarmingly and moved to the floor, putting his back to the wall.
