by Ted Dekker
His words hung in the air between them. And their meaning had its full intended effect. Tears flooded the albino’s eyes and ran down his cheeks. His face knotted. He slowly lifted both hands, gripped his hair, and began to weep silently.
Woref smiled.
There was nothing else to say, but he was transfixed by this sight of such terrible sorrow. The albino loved the woman nearly as much as he himself did. And what could the albino say? Nothing. He was outwitted. Trapped.
He would have to find a way to convince Chelise that he no longer loved her.
“I will be listening and watching. Don’t think that you can fool me.”
Woref turned and walked from the cell.
The albino’s sobbing began when he was halfway down the second corridor.
39
HE HAD been sucked into the darkest, coldest corner of reality and left there to rot. There wasn’t a sound except for his own sobs and the long wails that he tried in vain to silence. He couldn’t see—not the walls, not the cold stone floor, not his fingers if he put them an inch from his eyes. His body shivered and his mind refused to sleep.
But all of this was like paradise compared to the hell that engulfed Thomas’s heart.
He lost his sense of time. There was black and there was cold and there was pain. How could he do what Woref had demanded? He thought about a hundred ways to save Chelise without crushing her love. His love. But not a single one could hold his trust.
With Woref or his conspirators listening, watching, the slightest advance that Thomas might make would result in her death. She wouldn’t be told, of course. She would see him and run to him for an embrace, and he would have to push her away. Woref wanted to see her heart crushed by Thomas so that she would receive Woref’s love.
Thomas was being forced to make her despise him. It was the only way to save her life.
But what could he do to make her despise him? The answer drained his body of tears.
Now Thomas wanted to do nothing but sleep. Dream. Anything to tear him away from this agony. In all of his fury, Woref had neglected to make him eat the fruit. If only he could die of the virus and never wake again. If only there was a rhambutan fruit in the other reality that he could eat so that he would never have to come back here to crush her heart.
But the more he tried to shut down his mind, the more it revolted in desperation to find one flicker of light. One thread of hope.
There was none.
He finally lay on his back, staring at the dark. For a very, very long time, nothing happened.
And then a sound reached him. The sound of boots.
“Why the back door?” Chelise asked.
“I understand that your father wants no one to disturb you,” Ciphus said, opening the door to the library. “I assume he knows that certain people would object.”
She stepped into the hall. “I don’t understand. Some time alone with the Books of Histories might clear my mind, yes, but I don’t see why anyone would object.”
“Did I say alone, my dear?”
Thomas? Ciphus wore a knowing grin. Father had arranged for her to see Thomas? No, that would make no sense!
Chelise stopped. “What’s happening, Ciphus? I demand to know!”
“I can’t say for sure. I was told only to bring you here and ask you to wait with the Books. Your father understands that you will spend the day resting in the library. You’re not feeling well enough to do that?”
“I feel fine. It doesn’t explain all this secrecy.”
“Please, Chelise, this wasn’t my doing.”
Ciphus opened the door into the large storage room and walked in. Chelise followed. The last time she’d been in here had been with Thomas. The memories soothed her like a warm salve.
Ciphus turned to leave.
“Woref knows I’m here?”
“Woref? I’m guessing he’s with your father. Your wedding day does require some planning.”
“My mother told me just this morning that I wouldn’t marry anyone I didn’t approve of. I don’t approve of Woref.”
“Then maybe that’s why your father agreed to your being here. Maybe its the safest place for you. Woref won’t take a refusal lightly. Let the peace in this room calm you. You’re as safe here as in the castle.”
Ciphus left. She’d agreed to come because her mother was driving her frantic, and the servants were gawking at her as if she’d risen from the dead. Her mind was on Thomas, and she couldn’t stand walking around the castle thinking of him.
Now she wondered if she’d made a mistake. There were no busybodies peering at her here, but this room with all these Books made her feel empty. Alone.
Chelise crossed to the desk and stared at the Book Thomas had tried to teach her to read. She couldn’t read it because it was designed to be read by those whose eyes were opened. She was surprised that she could accept that so easily now.
She had to be careful. Thomas was in the dungeon—the thought made her sick. But she couldn’t endanger his life by attempting to secure his release. Woref knew. A shiver ran down her spine and she closed her eyes. Their predicament was hopeless now. The only man who truly loved her was sealed in a tomb, and she had no will to live without him. If Thomas wasn’t imprisoned, she would simply run. She would find the Circle and dive into their red pool and find a new life.
But if she ran now, they would kill him. And if they knew how she felt about him, they would kill both of them.
Her head ached. She’d covered her bruises with morst, but the pain from the blows would take a few days to ease. Mother seemed convinced that she’d been abused by the albinos. With Thomas in the dungeon, Chelise wasn’t sure what to tell her.
She pulled the chair out and started to sit when the door suddenly opened.
Thomas stepped in.
The door closed behind him. Locked.
The blood drained from her face. They’d brought Thomas here? His face was ashen and his eyes were red, but he wasn’t cut or bruised.
She glanced around. The room was empty, of course. And the door was locked.
Tears sprang to her eyes and she hurried toward him. “Thomas!”
He wasn’t looking at her. Something was wrong.
“What have they done to you? I’m so sorry—”
“Stay away from me,” he said, lifting his hand.
She stopped. “What . . . What do you mean?” She glanced at the door. Someone was listening? “They’re listening?”
“How should I know? It doesn’t matter. I’ve been found out.”
Chelise walked up to him, took his arm, and whispered quickly. “They’re listening, aren’t they? Woref ’s up to something!” He looked so sad, so completely used up. Her heart fell. “Woref took me from the camp. I had nothing to do with it. What on earth do you mean you’ve been found out?”
His eyes moistened. A single tear leaked from the corner of his left eye and ran down his cheek. She reached a trembling hand to wipe it.
Thomas moved his head away. “Please, if you don’t mind, not so close. Your breath.”
His words ran through her heart like a sword. He couldn’t mean that! They were forcing him!
He stepped away from her and walked to one of the shelves. His steps were uneven, and he looked like he might fall. “I’m sorry, Chelise. They asked me to come here to transcribe the Books. I didn’t know you were going to be here, but I can’t hide the truth from you any longer.”
“What truth?” she demanded. “Ciphus brought me here knowing that you’d be here! They’re forcing us—”
“Stop it!” he snapped. “Of course they knew you were here. They brought you because they think it’s only fair that I tell you the truth myself. I don’t blame them.” He faced her, his expression cold. There was a tremble in his voice.
“Do you have any idea how putrid you Scab women smell to us? Did you stop to wonder how we could stand you in our camp for so long? Did you notice how the others kept disappearing for fres
h air? We used you!” He faltered. “We needed the leverage.”
“You’re lying! You’re standing there trembling like a leaf trying to persuade me that you don’t love me. But I’ve seen your eyes and I’ve felt your heart, and none of this is true!”
For a long moment they just stared at each other, and she was sure he would break down and rush to her.
“Believe what you want. Just keep your distance. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to. Even a Scab woman deserves some respect.” He turned to the shelf and pulled out one of the Books.
Chelise’s mind flashed back to their time in this very library just a week ago. To the poetry he’d recited while he thought she was sleeping. To the long days riding together on horseback. To the first time he’d kissed her.
And she knew that he was lying. Why?
Unless . . . What he said did make some sense. But she wouldn’t believe it! No man could show the kind of affection he’d shown her while pretending. He’d wept over her.
She didn’t know his game, nor why he was being forced to do this, but she decided to play along.
“Fine. You don’t love me; I can accept that. I stink to the highest heaven, and you find me repulsive. You’re speaking your mind and being plain. That doesn’t change the simple fact that I love you, Thomas of Hunter.”
She turned her back on him, walked to the desk, and sat. Even from here she could see the tears on his cheek. “Maybe we should start from the beginning. You won my love. Now what should I do to win your love?”
He turned on her, face red. “Nothing! I’m not interested in your love! Leave me. Find a Scab and love him.”
“No, I won’t go. I don’t believe you.” She crossed her arms.
“Then you’re a fool. You love an albino who you think loves you, but he doesn’t. They’ll drown you for this misguided, adolescent infatuation with a man who could never love you.”
His words were so cutting, so terrible, she wondered if he might be telling the truth after all. And even if he wasn’t, he might as well be. Any love they might have shared was now over.
“I still don’t believe you,” she said. But even as she said it, tears began to stream down her face. She stared at him, suddenly overcome by his words.
What if they are true, Chelise? What if the only love you’ve ever known turns out to be a false love, and the love you will know is a brutal love that grinds you into the ground? Then there is no true love.
Thomas continued to read the Book in his hands. He was either so crushed by his own words that he couldn’t proceed with his charade, or he truly did not care for her and was now disinterested.
Gradually her tears stopped. She wasn’t going to leave this room without knowing the full truth. He just read the Book, refusing to look at her.
A thought occurred to her. “If I drowned in one of your red pools and became an albino like you, would you love me then?”
He turned his back to her and leaned against the bookshelf.
“If I didn’t smell and I didn’t look so pale, could you stand to touch my skin then?”
Nothing.
She slammed her palm on the desk. “Talk to me! Quit pretending you’re reading that Book and talk to me! There’s a red pool on the north side of the lake, you know. I could run there right now and dive in. Would that change your mind?”
Thomas faced her. He blinked. “There is?”
“Yes, there is. It’s all that remains of the original lake. They’ve covered it with rocks so you can’t see it, but I’ve heard it runs underground. We’d have to remove the rocks. Would that satisfy you?”
For a moment he seemed completely caught off guard. Then he set his jaw. But the tears were flowing again.
She stood and walked toward him. “Please, Thomas. Please, I beg you. I can’t believe—”
“Stop it!” he snarled. “Grow up! I don’t love you!” His glare was so ferocious that she could hardly recognize him. “I could never love you after using you. You’re a spent rag.”
Chelise’s legs felt weak. He might as well have drilled her with an arrow. She couldn’t move.
He slammed the Book on the shelf, walked to the door, and turned the handle. It was locked. He slapped the panel with his palm. “Open this door! Let me out!”
Nothing happened. He hit the door again, then turned back. Chelise felt numb. She still didn’t think she could believe him, but she was left with nothing else to believe in.
He walked to the corner, sat on the floor, and lowered his head into his hands. His shoulders shook gently.
Chelise returned to the desk and sat down. You should leave now, she told herself.
And go where? To Woref? To the castle where Qurong planned her wedding? To the desert to die? Chelise lay her head down on the desk, closed her eyes, and began to cry.
They remained like that for a long time. Whether his mind was on his own failure in this plot he talked about, or whether it was on her— impossible to tell. It hardly mattered anymore. She was dead either way.
A thump on the wall pulled her from the depths of despondency. She opened her eyes.
Another thump. Then again, thump, thump.
She lifted her head. Thomas was standing in the corner, hitting his forehead against the wall.
Thump, thump, thump.
Then harder. And suddenly very hard.
The whole wall shook with the impact of his head, crashing against the wood. She pushed her chair back, alarmed. His teeth were clenched and his face was wet with tears.
He was killing himself?
Thomas suddenly spread his mouth in a roar, drew his head way back, and slammed it against the wall with all of his strength.
The wall shuddered. He collapsed, unconscious.
It was then that Chelise remembered his dreams.
40
CARLOS STEPPED into the dark cell and locked the door behind him. He flipped the light switch on. The gurney Thomas had lain on sat empty. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around this situation, but he had decided that Thomas was right: Fortier had no intention of leaving any part of the Muslim world intact.
He walked to the cabinet and unlocked the door. He wasn’t sure why Fortier had asked him to monitor the exchange from the remote feeds at the farm, but with each passing hour he grew more nervous. The Frenchman had overemphasized the need for Carlos to stay put. It was tantamount to an order. The exchange was now under way, and Carlos had finally resolved that he could wait no longer. If he was to act against Fortier, it would have to be now.
He withdrew the Uzi and three extra magazines. Two grenades.
He unbuttoned his shirt and jammed two of the clips into his belt. The rash on his belly had spread up to his neck and along his arms. The symptoms of the virus were now spreading beyond the gateway cities. In four days’ time there wouldn’t be a person alive without the red dots. In a week half the world might be dead.
He buttoned his shirt, grabbed a plastic charge with a detonator, shoved them into his pocket, and closed the cabinet.
If Fortier hadn’t ordered him to stay, he might have been able to take Svensson as Thomas had suggested. But if he tipped his hand by leaving against orders, his usefulness would expire. No chance of securing Svensson. The man would go deep.
Carlos walked to the door and slid the safety off.
As soon as he made a play to leave this compound, the Frenchman would take steps to protect the antivirus, but there was one thing Carlos could try. One last desperate act to right some of the wrong he’d brought upon his own people.
He hung the weapon on his shoulder and pulled out his pistol. Working by habit, he screwed the silencer into the barrel and checked the chamber.
The hall was empty.
He walked quickly, eager now to do what he did best. There is a reason you hired me, Mr. Fortier. I will now show you that reason.
Carlos headed up the steps. The first guard he saw was a short, thick native of France who hadn’t learned t
o smile. The man saw him and immediately lifted his radio to his mouth. Carlos put a slug through the radio— and through the back of his open throat.
He stepped over the man and walked toward the back door.
The second guard was facing the driveway by the door. The bullet caught him in his temple as he turned. He toppled sideways. Not a sound other than the familiar phwet of the gun and the dull smack of slug hitting bone.
But the sound might as well have been a siren to the three trained men by the Jeep. They spun together, rifles ready.
Carlos preferred to leave the compound without giving them a chance to call in his departure. Paris would know that something was wrong when the farm missed their next report in fifteen minutes, but fifteen minutes was a lifetime in situations of this nature. Literally.
He kept the pistol leveled, scanning through the sights. Movement. He shot two of the guards as he ran through the door. Dropped into a roll.
The third guard got off a scream and managed to squeeze the trigger on his automatic weapon before Carlos could bring his gun up.
A hail of bullets smacked the wall above him. Worse, the gun’s chattering echoed through the compound with enough volume to wake Paris.
Carlos put two bullets through the guard’s chest. The man’s finger held the trigger as he fell backwards, stitching shots into the sky. Then the gun was silent.
There was a chance the communications operator in the basement might not have heard, but the guards on the perimeter would have.
He slid into the Jeep, fired the engine, and snatched up his radio. “We have a situation on the south side. I repeat, south side. The Americans are bringing in a small strike force.”
He dropped the radio on the seat and floored the accelerator.
“This is Horst on the south side,” a voice barked. “I don’t see them. You said south side?”
Carlos ignored the question. He only needed enough confusion to slow the two guards at the gate. He roared around the corner and headed straight for them. One had his binoculars trained to the south.
