Breaking Out: Part II

by Michelle Diener

  "I know it." Hart reached out a hand and put it on Simons shoulder. "But I got to tell you, Simons can't go into that room. There is no way."

  "How about I go in, see what he's up to?" She had to go. Had to keep up the good girl image.

  "Sure. But how would you let us know? Not like you could call us on our cell phones." He pronounced cell phones as two very separate words, drawing each one out sarcastically.

  "No. But what can I do in this situation? And if they really want us, any of us, they don't need to grab us in the canteen. That's the last place they'd do it. Or am I the only one who gets locked into their room every night?"

  Hart conceded her point with a quirk of his lips. "I'll just say this. You don't want to go in there. I was with Simons. Before. Same place. I know this guy. He's not someone you want in the same room with you, and that's a fact. I don't know if he's waiting for me in there, or Simons, or even you. Or just playing with us before he takes his victim.” He paused, scratched his arm. “Come to think of it, playing with us is just his style. And given we're the only special cases here, I have a good idea the guy is not on a social call." He leaned back against the wall, spread his arms wide. "Do you want to take the chance?"

  She thought it through. Really thought it through.

  "Likely, it's not me, because I've deliberately kept myself on the straight and narrow since I got here. I don't know why he would go after Simons again, he obviously succeeded in what he wanted to do there. But you?" She tapped her lips, and decided to lay all her cards on the table. "You're not okay. You haven't played it safe and that throwing-the-table thing might have made someone nervous. If its any of the three of us, it's you."

  His eyes, when they met hers, were cool. She shrugged. Turned and started down the passageway.

  Behind her, she heard Simons make a choking sound and she glanced over her shoulder. He was leaning forward, arms hugged tight around him, forehead resting against the permanently cold pale grey of the corridor wall.

  She forced herself to keep going.

  Even if they were in trouble, she couldn't help them. She was just as much a prisoner as they were.

  And chances were it was Hart they were after.

  She was halfway down to the canteen when she slowed. Stopped.

  Turned.

  Hart was watching her.

  She strode back, anger in every step.

  "What can I do, dammit? I was minding my own business. Biding my time. Waiting for a chance. But you? You had to throw tables. Act out. You idiot."

  His eyes narrowed. “Don't hold back. Tell me how you really feel.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and at last, he looked away.

  "You're right.” It sounded like Hart was forcing the words across his lips. “We have to go in to the canteen. Every door out is locked, and the cameras might not be pointed this way yet, but if we're less than a minute later than we are now, they will be."

  He started walking back to the lab, and she followed, leaving Simons rocking against the wall.

  "You're going to find some weapon to use in the lab?"

  Of course he was. Of course.

  He gave her a sidelong look, and she knew, even though she'd work with him on this, probably die with him today, she didn't like him. Actually hated him.

  He picked up a glass stirrer, and slipped it into his pocket.

  She went to her table, lifted a beaker and tapped it hard against the table top. Then she took out a rubber stopper and carefully pushed a shard of sharp, thin glass into the end.

  "You've been thinking about this," Hart said.

  She gave him a look of disdain.

  It was the only decent weapon she was going to get out of this lab, and she watched Hart follow her example, do the same with a beaker from his table.

  "Tick, tock," she said.

  She started for the door, and he was right behind her. They walked to Simons, and in unspoken accord, she took his right side, Hart his left, and they simply hustled him along the corridor with them.

  He seemed to be completely out of it. He didn't resist and she hoped he was catatonic enough to simply go with the flow.

  They were close enough to the canteen now to hear the bang of trays and the murmur of other staff as they ate their meal.

  Everyday sounds.

  Sounds Nina had enjoyed because back at Doc Greenway's she'd eaten in her room. There was no canteen, no sign of other life. Here at least she had the semblance of normality, the illusion of freedom.

  Perhaps that was part of the way they controlled her.

  It was a hurtful, breath-squeezing thought and she forced herself to let it go as she followed Hart and Simons through the door.

  Hart's gaze flicked to the right and she turned her head casually.

  The new maintenance guy was in his usual place. He'd been here three days in a row now, and just like every time she came in, his gaze met hers. She jerked away instinctively.

  He unnerved her. No one here had ever looked at her so directly before. It was well known that management did not tolerate fraternization and no one had so much as glanced her way.

  They had explained it to her in nice, easy to understand words when she'd first got here. She could eat in the canteen with the staff who didn't know she wasn't here willingly, but if she said anything, did anything, to ask for help, or let someone know her situation, they would kill the person she told and she would be eating in her room from then on.

  They'd said something to the staff about her, too. And about Hart and Simons. Told them they were volunteers with mental issues, probably, because no one wanted to make eye contact.

  Maintenance Man was different, though. Even in the way he looked.

  He was tall, broad-shouldered, a little on the thin side, as if he'd been recovering from a serious illness. His dark blond hair fell across his forehead, and his brown eyes seemed to miss nothing.

  He took up room, lounging as if he were at home, rather than in a sub-basement company canteen.

  She looked up again, this time careful to avoid Maintenance Man. Hart kept going, his hand gripping Simons' upper arm, and Nina let him pull her in his wake, her own hand still holding Simons' other side.

  And then she saw him.

  Seated at the table toward the back of the room was a man who stood out because he was in a black suit, spiffy tie and white shirt, rather than the white lab coats or green overalls of the other staff. His legs were stretched out and his black shoes gleamed brighter than the stainless steel counters.

  Simons stiffened under her hand, and her grip on his arm tightened.

  They kept moving though, over to the short line at the counter.

  Sweat trickled down her back, and she had to regulate her breathing.

  The suit was a scorpion in the room; lurking, dangerous.

  Even if Hart hadn't warned her before she'd come in here, she would have known. The stink of enforcer wafted off him, the hard eyes and easy pose of a man used to making people terrified.

  She'd been fooling herself.

  She'd gone into some form of denial while she'd been here.

  Of course they had some plan for her. She'd half-convinced herself they hadn't, but that was so much wishful thinking.

  Whether the man in the black suit was here for Hart or not, someone, some day, would be coming for her. Or she would wake one morning, and find her life was no longer the undemanding calm of her current existence.

  It would be something infinitely worse.

  Chapter Three

  Nina tried to shake off the crushing sense of defeat and concentrate.

  They were at the front of the queue now, and Hart had to take Simons' tray for him, he was too unresponsive to be trusted with it.

  Hart took the lead, choosing a table in front of Mr Black Suit. Nina approved. It gave them unobstructed access to the door. They sat Simons down with his back to the man, while both she and Hart took chairs opposite, looking straight at Mr Black Suit'
s face.

  Maintenance Man gave her another of those direct, intense stares as she settled Simons, and she turned her back to him and sat with more relief than she could really explain.

  Even though Hart was just as focused on Mr. Black Suit as she was, Black Suit didn't appear to notice either of them. He finished his meal, scraped back his chair.

  Simons had started eating his spaghetti as soon as they sat down and she watched him carefully. He didn't pause, eating as if it were his last meal. But he always ate like that.

  He was so thin, a tall, bony, beanpole of a man, that she had long ago decided they had starved him wherever he'd come from. Starved him and hurt him.

  Hart went tense beside her, and she lifted her head.

  The suit was staring at them, not aggressively, just a blank, uninterested look, and something in Nina sparked.

  If he'd done whatever it was to make Simons like this, she was looking into the face of evil, and she wanted to take the rough glass knife in her pocket and rip him open.

  She looked down slowly, like she'd trained herself, so he wouldn't see anything in her face. But she kept track of him, the way he went to the counter and got another napkin, slowly wiped his hands.

  He turned to the door, walked toward it, and halfway there, changed direction and came to stand right next to Simons.

  Simons kept eating, shoveling the food in his mouth like he was about to be pulled away from it.

  Maybe he was.

  But before he came to the last couple of mouthfuls, with the tomato sauce pooling at the bottom of the plate, he did something, too fast for Nina to see exactly what, but in a single, smooth move, he lifted the plate, angled it and threw, so that it hit Mr. Black Suit directly in the face.

  Tomato sauce sprayed everywhere, in the suit's hair, his shirt, his tie.

  Nina and Hart jumped back, but neither the suit nor Simons moved, one sitting, looking down at the empty place setting in front of him, the other standing, covered in tomato and pasta, holding the plate easily in one hand, where he'd plucked it from the air.

  She heard the drip, drip of the sauce over the murmurs of the other workers, most of whom hadn't noticed what had happened yet.

  Simons winced, his body shuddering and he hunched over in his chair as if expecting a blow at any moment.

  For the first time since she'd met him, she felt more than just pity. She felt a deep, overwhelming respect.

  She decided that no matter how much she distrusted Hart, how much she disliked him, she'd help Simons.

  If she went down, if she died, that wasn't fine, but she was at peace with it.

  She lifted her eyes to the suit, making no effort to hide her interest.

  His eyes met hers, and she couldn't help drawing back in shock.

  They were empty.

  Something in the way he stood altered subtly, in the way he held the plate, and she felt the adrenalin hum in her blood, moved her weight forward to the balls of her feet.

  Beside her, Hart did the same, moving his makeshift weapon from the lab out of his pocket to his hand.

  There was a change in the atmosphere of the room. A few people stopped talking as they slowly worked out there was a man covered in food standing without reaction in their midst.

  He took a step forward, and something in the way he moved spoke of sharks through cool water, or tigers through the jungle. Wholly predatory.

  She was suddenly frozen, eyes wide and body paralyzed.

  No.

  No way.

  She shook herself out of it. If she couldn't be a good girl any more, she'd be as bad as they got.

  Hart seemed to come to himself at the same time. "It's him doing it," he murmured. "He has some way of immobilizing you. Hypnosis or something."

  It figured.

  She stepped away from the table and toward the suit, wondering if he'd deliberately dropped Hart and her from his hold, or if he simply hadn't had the strength to keep it up.

  "What are you doing here, Barker?" Hart asked, his voice low.

  "Just passing through, Mr. Hart. No need to get excited. I hear you're mostly doing well here. Just the odd little hiccup, am I right?" The way he spoke, icy calm, even though sauce plastered the dirty blond of his hair to his head, and a piece of spaghetti was stuck to his cheek, made her more afraid than she could ever remember being.

  Hart didn't answer and Nina took the last step to bring her in line with Simons.

  "You must be Ms. Calvados.” Those cold eyes rested on her again. “I've heard you have an impeccable record. It would be a pity to mar it now."

  "I don't want to cause trouble." Nina gave a little shrug. "But you don't always get what you want."

  "Indeed. I would have thought you would know a bit more about that than most." Barker's smile was tight.

  She felt her anger flare. That he would throw what had been done to her, her very captivity, in her face——it was a mistake he'd regret.

  She reached down, got a grip on Simons' shoulder, and kept her gaze on him.

  He dropped like a stone.

  There was one single flare of panic on his face before he crumpled.

  Simons seemed to shake himself out of his stupor and he stood, looked down at Barker lying on the floor.

  "What the hell did you do to him?" Hart breathed.

  A few of the worker bees in the canteen got up and approached, and Nina was glad there was still a bit of room between them and the prone body.

  No one would associate his collapse with them. Not until the white coats arrived.

  "Let's go." She started to pull Simons toward the door, and he went with her easily.

  "What did you do?" Hart hissed the words as he took up Simons other side.

  "Doesn't matter. I've bought us some time. Let's use it." She didn't look at Hart and kept her hand firmly on Simons' arm.

  His pain and suffering made him a formidable weapon in her hands. Formidable.

  They got into the corridor. There were no sirens, no running feet. Not yet.

  Barker had gone down quietly and without a fuss. There was no reason to alert anyone but the company nurse.

  But once she was in, the game was up.

  Nurse Blackwell knew why they were here. She knew it all.

  She wasn't comfortable with it. Nina had seen the way her hands trembled, the way her eyes searched Nina's face when she took blood or gave her a checkup, hoping to find some happiness there, or some sign that would ease her conscience, but Nina never gave it to her.

  She stared back with all the rage, all the sorrow, all the confusion in her eyes and little Nurse Blackwell didn't like coming down to see her any more.

  Tough luck for Nurse Blackwell.

  No doubt she was paid very well to keep her mouth shut.

  They moved out into the main thoroughfare, and then hesitated before the doors to the main offices.

  "What do we do?" She didn't want to ask Hart for advice, but he'd gotten her into this.

  "You're asking me?"

  There was a whiny tone to his voice, as if he was sulking, and she wanted to keep her hand on Simons and reach out and touch him. Visual transference like she'd used against Barker was hard on her, but skin to skin? No problem.

  He must have seen the need to hurt him in her face, because he stumbled back, hands raised.

  "Let me think, okay? I didn't expect us to get out of the canteen. Just hold fire."

  The sound of footsteps coming toward them from the main office stopped their argument, and without a word, Hart turned and led them back toward the lab.

  The only way out in that direction was the big warehouse where the supplies were delivered, but what little of it Nina had glimpsed at was well-guarded, and covered in cameras.

  Like every exit in this place.

  When it came down to it, what did it matter which one they chose?

  As they passed the lab, Nina looked through the windows into the room and felt a strange pang. She'd marked time there, an
d for the first time in years had felt relatively safe. There had been no overwhelming fear, no trouble. And while she wouldn't miss the nothingness of it, it had been a respite.

  Hart stopped at the door to the back bay, and looked through the tiny glass window cut into it. He turned and shook his head.

  "Can't see anything."

  She peered in herself, but he was right, the area looked deserted. It was a warehouse with a concrete floor and massive roller doors which were open, letting in the the harsh glow from the searchlights attached to the fence outside.

  "Let's go." Hart tipped his head.

  She nodded.

  Hart pushed on the door and it swung open, and Nina let go of Simons and went in low, glass knife raised.

  There was no one there and she took the three short steps down to the warehouse floor.

  Hart stepped in after her, pulling Simons with him.

  She sent Simons a quick look, but he was still passive, going where he was led but otherwise unresponsive. His eyes kept landing on her and lingering.

  She started forward, looking left and right, but there was no sign of anyone, and yet she simply couldn't believe it would be as easy as walking out.

  "Nina." Hart called her name low and urgent, and she swung back, knife at the ready, looking beyond him for the danger.

  It took two beats before she focused on him. On the way he had Simons behind him, the way he was holding a gun on her. A very familiar dart gun.

  She went still, adding it all up in her head. "Why?"

  Hart's face twisted. "You know why."

  Her body sagged. "Why go to all this trouble?"

  "They wanted to see what you can do, I'm guessing. What you did to Barker in the canteen." He shrugged. "They put Simons in front of you and waited for you to use him, to try to escape, but you didn't. They had to force the issue, in the end."

  "Is Barker really the one who worked Simons over?" She didn't think Simons could fake that kind of fear. "Or did you just tell him he was."

  "No, it was Barker. Half what I say to Simons doesn't go in, anyway. No, his reaction had to be believable. They brought Barker out specially."

  Well, that was okay, then. Barker would never be the same again.