I kept taking huge gulps of air, trying to calm my stomach and failing miserably. At the last possible moment, I stumbled out of bed to the small sterile bathroom, exactly where I knew it would be, and almost fell face down when my legs didn't fully cooperate.
I managed to position myself accurately over the bowl before I emptied my guts. There were only dry, nervous heaves, causing my stomach muscles to cramp. Over and over, for an eternity. When I managed to get up, I flushed and began rinsing my mouth, face, neck and hands with freezing-cold water. A minute passed. Then two. When I felt more or less stable, I braced my trembling hands on the sink and looked out at the familiar room: a narrow, hard bed covered with thin, cheap white sheets, a small, barred window and nothing else.
Third floor, east wing, I concluded after confirming the position of the barred, fist-sized window and reinforced metal, smooth door.
I'd been to a room similar to this—if not the same—countless times when I had rebelled in the past.
My stomach roiled again, but this time I managed not to start heaving. There was nothing there but my stomach lining.
I took three steps to the window and looked through it. What I saw chilled me to the bone, though it was what I expected to see. Below, angled to the left, was what remained of a four-story building.
Nothing but a pile of dust, rocks and bent metal, a few support beams where Building B should have been. I had done that. There were guards everywhere, some with long tools, some empty-handed, some with leashed dogs. Among the guards, scattered between them were firemen in full regalia… all searching the piles for survivors they wouldn't be finding.
I had felt it, the total destruction I had sent toward the guards that had been closing in on us. I had felt that power come from inside me, join with the bracelet.
And destroy everything in its path.
Including Building B.
I shuddered at the memory, cold sweat breaking all over my body.
I crossed to the heavy metal door next and began pounding on it, but knew from previous experience how useless that would be. After a few minutes, I spun around and searched the small room. The bed was bolted down, the mattress nothing but a thin sponge. There was nothing I could throw around to make a racket.
So, I paced infinitely, and then sat for a very long time. There had to be something I could do. They hadn't taken the bracelet away, the beautiful blue stone now black and dull, its humming power spent. I was also still wearing the spandex suit instead of the puke-green, striped cotton uniforms to keep us preternaturals easily distinguishable. Apparently, they were still too busy to deal with small details yet.
All they had done was slap the blocking bracelet around my left wrist, thrown me on the bed, and left. Too busy taking inventory of the damage and counting the bodies we left behind.
Think, Roxanne. How could I use the chaos to my advantage?
I studied the familiar reinforced metal door closely. Previous experience had taught me that no amount of banging or shouting would open that door. There wasn't even a handle or knob on the inside. No, it was smooth all the way.
What could I do or say for the guard to open the door?
“Bloody murder!” I roared at the top of my lungs. With renewed energy, I began pounding and kicking at the door, the bed, even the small sink in the bathroom, though I had no idea what I was doing. I knew for a fact that no amount of huffing and puffing would open that door.
But I did it anyway.
I kicked and pounded, roaring at the top of my lungs, until my feet were sore, my knuckles bled, and my voice became hoarse.
Then I heard it.
The soft click of tumblers.
Chapter Sixty
I didn't let disbelief cost me my one chance out of there. I rushed at the door, talons out, reaching down for that boiling rage inside me. The rage I kept suppressed inside, afraid to let go. I was smart enough to know that if I wanted out, I would need it.
It was a hot, boiling red, a monster with tentacles that reached and reached closer, closing needle tentacles around my neck, my arms, my legs, my eyes. I poured it all out, holding nothing back.
The door clicked. It began to open.
Just a crack and I jumped the guard, pushing the tranquilizer gun that preceded him inside away with my left hand, narrowly avoiding the dart. Striking his face with my right talons and opening a couple of gashes on his right cheek, I didn't give him any time before I was on him again, tearing his shoulder and clothes like ribbons. He grunted, stumbling back and letting go of the gun, which I deftly slung around my neck. I pushed myself through the door, spinning the guard around and taking cover behind his body. Three thumps hit him almost instantaneously, and the guard slumped, though I kept him upright easily enough. Ahead, someone swore viciously. Running footsteps approached, followed by hard breathing and the scent of dust, sweat and fear.
I laughed long and wildly, the sound foreign even to my ears. I was pumped full of adrenaline.
My conscience screamed to me that the man I held could bleed to death and that it was wrong, but I didn't heed it.
I didn't care.
I was angry. I wanted to kill and dismember every single person who had dared to encage me. I wanted to keep filleting the guard, to bathe in his blood.
I had nine years of pent-up anger and another year and a half of paralyzing fear, my motivational fuel.
I placed my index talon over the unconscious guard's pulse, careful not to give the guards any opening at me.
“Get back,” I called in a cheerful tone.
“Miss Fosch. You don't need to do this,” one of the guards called.
I chuckled, a harsh sounding noise. “I said move away.” I flexed my talon a bit, breaking the skin for emphasis.
There were muttered curses, but they complied.
“You shouldn't have pissed me off,” I said in a singsong tone.
“Miss Fosch, that was never our intention,” the same guard said tactfully.
I chuffed, letting a drop of blood well up under my talon.
“Miss, you don't want to do this.” another guard said in a harder tone.
“Really? And how the hell do you know what I want or not? When did you start caring?”
There were more footsteps approaching. I knew that talking in a situation like this was a tactic for distraction. I'd watched too many movies and read too many books to recognize what they were doing. “Tell me where my friends are,” I said, but only silence and heavy breathing answered me. I could almost see the guards eyeing each other, communicating silently with one another.
Maybe they just needed some incentive to cooperate.
“I'll count to three,” I told them and began, “One.”
“Miss Fosch, there is no need for this. Let the guard go and we'll talk,” the same guard said.
“Roxy. Don't do this,” a familiar voice called, one I had thought I'd never hear again. “We'll work this out. If you let him go now, I promise we'll find something workable to our mutual satisfaction.”
“Dr. Maxwell,” I said flatly. “Wondered if you'd be joining us. What took you so long?”
“I was a little busy. But I'm free now. What can I do for you? Why don't you let the guard go so we can talk? We'll go to your previous suite and close the door behind us. Just you and me. No guards.”
“How brave of you,” I mocked. “And if I promise to behave, will you bring me chocolate and cookies too?”
“Of course. Anything you want.”
“And experiment day will be only once a week?”
“We'll work something out,” he soothed.
My sarcasm seemed to be bouncing right off of him.
“How nice of you. And over the next fifty-seven months you'll be such a nice and warm friend, you'll visit me and sneak me magazines and junk food—”
“Yes, of course, anything—”
“And,” I raised my voice in anger, “turn your eyes in the other direction when I get unexpected e
xcited visitors in the middle of the night?”
There was a shocked silence as the meaning of my words sank in.
I laughed hysterically.
“Come on, Dr. Maxwell, don't act so shocked. You were aware of Dr. Dean's nightly escapades. You just weren't man enough to confront him and risk the possibility of losing your wonderful job.” Inside, I was horrified with the open revelation.
“Where is he now? Dr. Dean?” the guard asked, recovering fast.
“Ah, Well, aren't we the concerned employee? I'm afraid Dr. Michael Dean's meeting with Remo Drammen didn't go as he had planned.”
“He was heading the operation for the attempt in your rescue. All the guards that had accompanied him were killed in the process. Dr. Dean never returned. His body was never found. Did you kill him?”
“And you'll never find him. He got what he deserved. Did you know he was in league with Remo Drammen? You know about him, Dr. Maxwell. I've heard you talk about him before. The black sorcerer? Yes? Anyway, Dr. Michael Dean made a bargain with him. He got to have that old man you had in lock-up, in exchange for me. Except he broke a rule, took me to the Low Lands when he had no permission to. Did you know that, Dr. Maxwell? That traveling through the paths without permission warrants the death penalty?”
My comments were followed by a thick, heavy silence. I could practically hear them thinking I had lost it.
“Did you kill him?”
“I didn't have to. He broke a rule by taking me along to the Low Lands without permission.”
“You say that this Remo Drammen killed him?”
“No,” I replied. “I say that Dr. Michael Dean broke a rule of the other worlds when he dragged me—unauthorized—to the Low Lands. But what do you know? I might not be telling the truth. I might just have gone mad and this whole thing is just a project of my imagination.”
“This Low Lands, where is it?” he asked, still in that soothing tone.
I rolled my eyes. He was obviously just trying to buy time. I was definitely not letting go of the guard.
And their time just ran out anyway. “Time is up. I want you to send someone to go get my friends. I'll count to three and began killing each one of your guards every time you delay. One.”
“Roxy! We can work this out!” Dr. Maxwell half shouted frantically.
“Two.”
“Miss Fosch, three seconds is not enough time.”
“Three,” I finished cheerfully and retracted my talon from the guard's pulse to adjust my hold on him… then raised the tranquilizer gun I'd slung around my neck and began firing in the direction of the guards. Clearly, they had forgotten about it. A few darts hit home, their faint thumps followed by startled grunts before heavier thumps hit the floor. Chaos broke as everyone began trying to dodge the darts. There were muttered curses and name calling, but all I listened to was the blood lust that urged me on. My raging otherness wanted every single one of these guards and their comrades dead. Agonizingly so.
I risked a peak from behind the slumped guard I held and, sure enough, the corridor ahead was empty, save for four unconscious bodies on the floor.
I began making my way forward, pausing to pick up another gun and snarl at the heavy breathing of a few guards hiding on the left side—the side of the elevator. Blocking my escape path.
“Unlock the elevator and move to the other side. Take cover inside the emergency stairs.” No one moved.
My talon made a cut on the guard's neck, deep enough that blood trickled down.
“Crazy bitch,” someone spat in a tone full of venom.
“Do as she says,” Dr. Maxwell urged the guards from where he hid on the right side.
There was a brief hesitation before the guards began shuffling ahead and to the right, towards the emergency stairs.
The elevator door dinged, and, protected in front by the guard, on the back by the wall, I moved toward the open elevator. The alarms began blasting as soon as the emergency stairs heavy door opened. The blasting klaxons were like spiked lances spearing through my brain. I clenched my jaw tight and waited until the last guard left, the emergency door closing behind him.
I made it as far as the lobby downstairs before another group of guards stopped me. It was Johnson himself, the head of security, who addressed me next.
“Ms. Fosch, please release the guard you're holding hostage and surrender,” he said calmly. “This building is secure. You are only making things worse for yourself and your friends.”
I raised the gun and began shooting wildly. Left to right, right to left. Until the gun clicked empty. I snarled in frustration.
“Ms. Fosch, this is your last chance. Will you surrender?” Johnson asked, unimpressed.
I chucked the empty tranquilizer gun in the direction of his voice.
In response, I felt the impact of the bullet on the slumped guard I was holding even before I heard its discharge.
I chuckled darkly, but my humor was short-lived as I realized the unconscious body I was using as my shield had stopped breathing.
They had killed the guard—one of their own—so I couldn't use him as my shield anymore.
To what end?
No limits.
There were no limits to what they were willing to do.
Roaring in outrage, I reached even deeper into that boiling otherness inside and charged ahead, a whirlwind of fury, talons and teeth. I reached the first guard to my right and ripped into his throat with my talons before he realized what was going on, simultaneously throwing the body of my dead shield at the one beside him, unbalancing him with the unexpected weight and kicking his head into an awkward angle the moment it was level with my foot. I was reaching for the third guard, hiding behind a riot-gear shield when the first dart hit me. I had enough time and momentum to pull him upright, spin him around and slash his throat open before the tranquilizer began to pull me under. As I watched the ground rush up to meet me, I wished someone would just kill me and end my misery.
Chapter Sixty-One
I woke up in a cage, one I also was familiar with from the inside out. Like I once told Logan, I was acquainted with about every small room and corner inside the PSS's headquarters, in as much as a prisoner like me was allowed to see. This time, I was in Building C, fourth level, the first room on the right.
I could hear the hum of the magnetic fields on the bars of the cage that prevented me from escaping.
I looked around at the sterile empty lab. I was alone and would probably stay like that for a while. Even if someone came in I wouldn't be able to get to them—for the simple fact that I was inside a cage.
I didn't regret trying to escape or hurting the guards, however. It didn't even surprise me that they had killed one of their own to prevent me from using him as my shield, to take down the obstacle between us.
What bothered me was the thrill I felt when I had relinquished control—still did. At the knowledge of what I could do, the power and strength I could command. No matter the debilitating headache that followed it, the one currently spiking inside my skull some three or four hours later.
Was this why Logan emptied himself before a kill? To keep from losing himself to it?
What was happening to him at the moment? What were they doing to him? How was he reacting? How bad had his injury been? Were they torturing him? Or, because werewolves were common guests in the PSS, had it diminished their curiosity about him? Or did the fact that he was a free guest, an unclaimed subject like me, give them the liberty to pursue whatever dreadful things they couldn't do to a willing volunteer?
Just then, the door of the lab opened with a hiss and a swoosh.
I was sitting in the middle of the cage, my back to the door with my chin resting on my drawn knees and I didn't turn to look around to see who had come in. I heard two pairs of footsteps, one lighter than the other, and one stopped by the door—no doubt a guard—while the other approached the cage.
“Miss Fosch,” the closest one said, his voice a rich, deep rum
ble.
I didn't acknowledge him.
“Miss Fosch,” he repeated. “My name is Roland Mackenzie. And this is my second, Vincent Vagner.”
Childishly, I had the urge to stick my fingers into my ears. Instead, I just sat there and ignored them. The names were familiar, but I couldn't yet place them. No doubt important scientists I've had the displeasure of meeting before.
“Miss Fosch. We have a proposition for you. Will you please turn?”
“My answer is no to both,” I told him, not bothering to raise my head.
“Miss Fosch,” he began again.
“I said no,” I snapped without any heat. “I'm not interested in cooperating with anything you have to offer. I am not, will not, help you exploit me or my differences no matter how you try to sell it. And if you try a situation where I either will have to comply or die, rest assured I won't be furthering your cause. Now go away.”
My words were met with heavy silence as they were processed. I knew I sounded tired, though my voice held conviction and determination, enough to be carried out loud and clear.
“You'd just give your life up?” he asked, his words quiet.
I wouldn't. Not without a fight. I would take with me as many as I could.
“No,” I told him, “but since you can't coax any reaction from me unconscious or with an obedience spell, you'd have to approach me.” I got up and turned to face the man and said, “And when you do, I'll take you down and as many as I can with—and if you tranq me, there will be a next time, and a next, and a next.” I let my talons out for show—knowing he could see the useless bracelet—and examined it back and front before meeting his eyes again, “and one day you will either run out of men, or someone will have enough and just shoot me, but I won't let you get any satisfying results to write down and discuss with a bunch of young scientists who think they are supreme just because they have an IQ above a hundred and fifty.”
The man I faced studied me curiously. I had the impression that my answer pleased him.
Dressed in a dark business suit, he struck the figure of an imposing, successful businessman. It was odd that despite the fact he seemed to be in his late forties or early fifties, a veteran scientist, he wore no lab coat. Perhaps he was someone higher in the food chain, a supervisor, a donor maybe. One of those who wanted to make sure he was getting his money's worth.
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