The tall, handsome one extended his hand as he drew near.
"Welcome," he said in a deep baritone that belied the reediness of his chest.
He was projecting, Theda realized. For an instant, another face layered down over his like a Photoshop trick, blending his features into the broad nose and beady eyes of another man she'd known in a time before the god came, when the religions of the world thought theirs was the correct belief. She shook that image away, even as she understood the underlying threat that it warned her of. Don't be fooled, it told her. It was an easy enough thing to project kindness. Authenticity, however, was a different matter, a lesson she'd learned from that man a lifetime ago.
She refused to lift her hand from her side. "Thank you," she said, putting as much genuine gratitude in the words as he'd put in his welcome.
"I'm Dr. Hurte," he said.
"Interesting name for a doctor," she said.
"I once had an accountant named Crook," he said, shrugging. "We pick our vocations, but not our family."
"True enough," she said, wondering if he was fishing for information. She'd be damned if she'd even flinch at mention of her family.
He indicated the man standing next to him. "This is my assistant, Chuck."
It was an interesting combination, and Theda had no doubt that the pair known as Chuck Hurte would make her afternoon most interesting.
"I hear pretty incredible things about you, Theda," Dr. Hurte said.
"I'm not so sure incredible is the right word."
"Oh, indeed it is." He turned to get the attention of the women at the table who, during the exchange, had stepped around it to line up in front. She did a quick scan of the room and realized that what had looked like a simple common room for inmates, was cleverly set up to appear so innocuous. If she looked beneath the surface of furniture, the telltale signs of lab were all there.
"So, are you the head zealot?" Theda asked him.
He chuckled. "I never liked that word." He stepped closer. "What we do here is very simple, and very scientific. We leave the zealots to the fanatics and the religion mongers."
"Like me," she said.
"Perhaps." He quirked a smokey brow. "Would you call yourself a zealot, Theda?"
She shook her head. "It's what I've been telling everyone all along."
"Well, no one seems to believe you. I can fix that."
Her spine itched. "Is that so?"
"Indeed." He turned briefly, facing the women. "Ladies?"
The women came forward in a line, halting next to the good doctor. There was something missing in their expressions, as though they had been molded from clay without virtue of a good model as an example. Everything about them was slack. Their eyes held no luster.
"Now," he said pleasantly to the first woman. "Show Theda your arms."
Obediently and without hesitation, the woman extended her arms so that her wrists were pointing forward. The jagged worms of newly healed cuts that stretched up the forearms made Theda gag.
"She did that with the sharpened end of a toothbrush." The doctor put his hands on the woman's arms and pressed gently down so that they rested again next to her sides.
He nodded at the second woman. "Show her."
The second woman pulled aside her collar and twisted her head so that her neck was exposed. The wound there was more recent than the first woman's, with neat stitches knitting closed. Even so, there were small traces of blood, as though she had picked at it. The good doctor moved to the third woman. This time, he reached for the woman's waistline and Theda realized that no matter what was beneath the woman's clothing, she didn't want to see it.
"Stop," she said. "What does all this have to do with me?"
He pivoted on his heel ever so nicely. "Everything. These women were part of Henrik's harem."
"They were lovers?"
Both brows lifted in surprise. "You know the term."
She nodded. "I've heard it."
"Then you know they are here for re-education."
Theda ran her gaze from woman to woman, taking in the docile expressions and obedient demeanors. "They must have been tough students for you to lobotomize them."
"You're a smart girl," the doctor said. "I'm impressed."
"Smart enough to figure out that you're trying to scare me."
He picked at his shoulder as though it was full of lint, but it was immaculate. Everything about him was immaculate. "And now you've disappointed me. After all you've been through I wouldn't expect to be able to frighten you with such a small threat."
"Damn straight," she said, but she had to lock her knees to keep them from shaking. "So, why are you showing me?"
Before Theda understood what he was doing, he had grabbed the first girl's hand and sliced a small blade across the palm. The woman gasped and recoiled in pain, but she did nothing to protect herself. The doctor watched as the blood welled and then, just as Theda began to suspect what he was doing, he had pushed the woman's palm against Theda's lips.
She wrenched her head away, taking a hasty step backwards, but not fast enough. The other women had clamped their hands on her shoulders and elbows, holding her steady. They were nothing more than automatons, and no matter how much Theda twisted in their grasp, she was still too weak to manage more than a strangled protest.
"Anything?" the doctor asked pleasantly.
The woman shook her head, and Theda raked her gaze over the doctor, wiping the blood from her mouth as the hand was pulled away.
"Tough luck," she said. "Seems your little surgery took away all of their spirit, if you don't mind the pun."
"Oh, I don't mind. Actually, I'm really pleased at the outcome." He nodded curtly at the women and all three shuffled off to the place they'd been standing when Theda entered, in almost precisely the same positions. She couldn't help but shiver at the sight.
"Now," he said. "Why don't you come see how I can help you, Theda." He turned on his heel, heading for the courtyard without turning to see if she was following. He opened the door, holding it for her, like a gentleman.
He settled into a lawn chair, indicating she could have the lounge, then waited for her to get settled.
"It isn't working," she said.
"What isn't?" he asked. "Do you really think there's some ulterior motive? All we want is for you to understand what it is you're doing."
"What I'm doing?" she scoffed. "What I'm doing is suffering some sort of post-apocalyptic witch hunt."
He had the grace to chuckle. "Good analogy," he said. "I'm here to help you shake that stigma."
"And how do I do that?"
He shrugged. "Simple. You cooperate."
"I'm not cooperating with you. The Beast had his own son murdered," Theda said. "He had Ezekiel kill him."
"Is that what Ezekiel told you?" Dr. Hurte wore a look of paternal sympathy. His hand covered Theda's and patted it lightly; she winced, trying to pull away.
"Oh, right," he said, giving the top of her hand a light stroke with his thumb. "The showers. Your skin is probably still very raw." He smiled crookedly. "We're sorry about that. But it's necessary."
She chose to ignore that comment and returned to his earlier statement. "It's the truth," she said.
"What is? You mean about Ezekiel?" His hands returned to his lap where his fingers tangled with those of his other hand. "I'm sure that's the truth you believe," Dr. Hurte said.
"What makes you think any differently?"
"Because it was his son, Theda." The doctor leaned back. "He's been devastated by Henrick's death."
She snorted. Imagine, the serpent trying to sell her such a rotten piece of apple. "The Beast doesn't feel."
"Doesn't he? Do you know what the Beast's name is, Theda?"
"Beast with a capital B?"
"John," the doctor said. "His name is John. A simple, North American name." He stretched his legs out in front of him, studying the tips of his shoes. "Henrick was all he had. John rescued his mother from a human tra
fficking ring in Russia. They fell in love. She died giving birth to Henrick."
"That's an awfully sad story."
"Indeed. And now Henrick is gone, too. I'm afraid it's nearly undone John."
"You know an awful lot about the Beast."
"John."
"I know what you're doing, you know," Theda said.
He lifted a brow in innocent query.
"Propaganda," she said. "You want me see the Beast as something human. You want me to feel sympathy for him."
"Your sympathy is better placed with John than your General, Theda," the doctor said. "So far it seems your trust has been misplaced when it comes to him."
She shook her head. "You know nothing."
"Don't I?" The doctor shifted in his chair, twisting around so that he faced the Promo. He glanced down at his watch and tapped it twice. "Just you wait a few seconds more. We'll see how misplaced your trust has been."
Theda watched as the still image of her face flickered away off the Promo to be replaced by static. "Fancy proof, that," she said.
He lifted a finger, indicating she should wait. Moments later, a wavering image made its way onto the screen. It was such a shock to see Ezekiel there that she gasped involuntarily. She knew the doctor heard her, but he made no comment even though the corner of his mouth twitched.
"There's no sound," she complained.
"No. We haven't got that fixed yet. But we do have subtitles. I trust you can read."
She let the insult go. After all, it wasn't every day a girl saw the man she loved on a 40 foot screen... And she loved him, didn't she? It was the conclusion she had come to, wasn't it? And she trusted him. She had to. What was happening here on stage was really all about trying to make her question her own beliefs, doubt herself, and everything she knew. She had to keep reminding herself of that. That she was here because of the beast, because Ezekiel had no other choice if he was to keep her safe.
A 40-foot-high Ezekiel was arresting enough to make the women clustered inside the room come over to the windows behind Theda and peer out. Theda found herself licking her lips, thinking about how close she had been to him, how separated she was now. It was strange seeing him so colossally lifelike on the broad screen, his mouth moving in speech, those green eyes never once flicking toward her, but they wouldn't anyway, would they? He had no idea she was watching him. It was merely an image that was being broadcast over the entire super-city. Maybe even across the continent. Nothing more.
She wrapped her arms about herself as she noticed for the first time all of the baby fine wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, the few extra gray hairs that seemed to have sprouted in the charcoal hair. He hadn't shaved in days. The blood he'd been soiled with when she'd last seen him, was washed away from his skin, but it didn't change the ruddiness of his complexion. She wanted to reach out and touch the jaw. And she felt her fingers digging into her triceps as she tried to keep calm.
"Are you reading?" the doctor said.
Theda shook her head.
"I can't hear you."
"No," she said. She was watching Ezekiel's face. She was watching every movement of his eyes, every small twitch of his chin. She didn't care what the words said. They could say any damn thing the Beast and his minions wanted them to say. She would know better. She told herself they didn't matter.
"Well, you've missed the introduction," the doctor said. "But wait long enough and it will repeat."
A few heavenly moments, then, before she would have to tear her eyes away from Ezekiel's gaze. Maybe she wouldn't even read the words. Maybe she would just memorize the way his face looked, the way his shoulders squared back. She would tell the doctor to go to hell. She tittered to herself at the joke.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing," she said.
"There," the doctor said, pointing.
Reluctantly, Theda's eyes dropped to the words scrolling across the bottom of the screen. If seeing Ezekiel 40 feet high in front of her was a shock, the words were worse. He was calling her a worthless spitter. A filthy religion monger. He was promising the world that if she did not comply and recant her dangerous beliefs, he would wring the breath from her lungs himself, just to the point of unconsciousness, before he impaled her and set her alight. That he would put her execution on the Promo for the world to see. That the world had no tolerance for the dangers of religion, and that the murderer of their illustrious leader's son had but three days to amend her ways.
"I'm especially afraid of the last part," the good doctor said.
Theda barely recognized her own voice. "You mean the part about using my death as an example for anyone who treats me as a martyr?"
"Precisely. It begs a person to pause, does it not?"
She couldn't even squeeze her eyes shut against the atrocity; every muscle in her body seemed paralyzed.
The speech ran on repeat half a dozen more times, and Theda read it each time it scrolled across the screen, and each time her stomach knotted up more and more.
"Now you see what he truly thinks," the doctor said.
"No," she said, shaking her head. It couldn't be. This wasn't the same Ezekiel she knew.
"It was John who saved you, Theda," the doctor said. "He forced his Pale Rider, his lead executioner, to bring you here in the hopes that you could be re-educated. It wasn't the other way around."
Theda whirled on him. "You have no idea," she said. "You weren't there." She flew to her feet. "I know what you're doing. It won't work."
The doctor sighed and put his palms on his thighs, getting heavily to his feet. "Then you leave us no choice, Theda," he said. "Most people don't understand the soft sell is often the most insidious. They assume that re-education will be a long, torturous event so when they're brought here, and given an opportunity to see the world for what it truly is, most of them are so relieved that they're willing to comply. They realize we're not quite as bad as everyone believes."
"And the ones who see through the ruse and recognize manipulation when they see it?"
He smiled at her. "Well, then, those get to experience the long agonizing degradation and torture of Stage Two. And since the General has left us--you--no alternative, it seems yours will have to be accelerated."
Chapter 7
They came for her well before dawn. It had taken hours to fall asleep in the tiny cramped room they'd given her, and when she finally did slip into unconsciousness, it was an uneasy, fitful rest, so that when they came for her, she was almost resigned to getting up anyway. Get the show on the road, so to speak. It was nurse nasty who came for her, and she didn't wait for her to pull on the booties, but rather gripped her by the elbow and led her, bleary-eyed, down the hallway.
Emergency lights cast an eerie glow on the industrial walls, making the shadows stretch into disproportionate lengths. She was too tired to care how many hallways they went down, but her subconscious registered at least three different turns without her meaning to. She couldn't imagine how big the complex must be, and even though she had managed that small amount of time in the courtyard, doing so had revealed nothing concrete in the way of location.
She'd play along for now, though, waiting to gather as much information as she could about where the complex might be, but rest assured, she would find a way out. Her discussion with the doctor proved that she didn't have that kind of luxury of time. She simply couldn't stay here very long.
As any good therapist would say, the best indicator of future behavior was past behavior. She wasn't fooled into thinking the Beast or his good doctor had any illusions about how she would handle herself. They wanted something and she knew what it was. The only real question was whether or not she could find a way out before she gave it to them. It simply wouldn't do to surrender Henrick's vision before she had secured an escape; because then, she would be expendable.
It would take more than a few walls and a maze of hallways to keep her imprisoned. That was something neither the Beast, nor Dr. Hurte, knew about her pas
t. It was something she kept to herself. It was something that had gone forgotten with her mother's ascension. It was something destroyed when the god came and the digital information was destroyed. It was something that she could use.
The lack of sleep was what allowed the memories to surface without trouble, and although they bubbled to the surface unwanted, the very recollection of them steeled her backbone. All of those foster homes, the juvenile detention buildings. All those blocks of months separated into compartments of memory when a pre-believer father spent his every earned dime on crystal meth. When her mother was too much in love with him to even think of giving up on him, electing instead to enable a home life that was unstable and unfit for a child.
Even at eight, Theda had known exactly who had squealed on them. And when she got free of the first foster home, she made sure to visit the old biddy in the apartment next door and show her all of the scars delivered at the hands of the so-called mother of the foster home she'd been sent to.
Oh, yes, Theda knew how to escape. She'd escaped that hellhole half a dozen times before she was 12 and when her father finally found God and became the fanatic who showed her what religion truly meant, Theda had escaped him too.
Now that the godspit was out of her system, and she could think clearly, she almost looked at these walls with contempt. They wouldn't hold her. Not for long. So let them drag her wherever they would.
"Where is Sal this morning, nurse nasty?" Theda asked the woman.
Blanche twisted her elbow in response, making it hurt. "Funny," Blanche said. "I hope you can still laugh after your session."
Theda stumbled as Blanche pulled her arm. "You've got me all wrong," she protested. "I wasn't making a joke."
"You spitters are all the same," Blanche mumbled. "All full of piss and vinegar at first."
"Now that you mention it..." Theda said.
"Well, you'll have to hold it."
They stopped in front of a door very much like the one from the day earlier. Like cafeteria doors in a school, they were doubled, with glass windows, and a bar lever that Blanche pushed open. Once inside, Theda realized the double doors were either unnecessary or intentionally deceptive because they stood in a small alcove lined with lockers. Opposite them a single door sported a DISINFECT BEFORE ENTERING sign. Blanche yanked a locker open, pulling out a mask, HAZMAT pants, a plastic apron, and a pair of gloves. She eyed Theda up and down.
Theta Waves Box Set: The Complete Trilogy (Books 1-3) (Theta Waves Trilogy) Page 23
