She only opened it about an inch to scare the creature off. The movement felt stiff and strained. She expected the flapping of fleeing wings, but nothing came, and after a moment of silence she closed the glass. The bird must have been startled by her movement.
She stepped toward her closet and searched for a dry top. The rapping came again. Frustrated, she spun around and covered the space to her window in a couple of easy, long steps. Yanking the window open enough to push her head outside, she looked around for the responsible party. It was difficult to see, but the faint light from the streetlamps revealed that there was nothing to either side of her window.
Confused and tired, Carrington strained to see in the distance. Maybe the bird was circling around, waiting for her to think the coast was clear before heading back to the glass. She was barely cognizant enough to consider that a bird probably wasn’t smart enough to devise such a plan.
“Psst,” a voice hissed.
Carrington’s eyes grew wide and she continued to search for the creature. Could it really be calling to her?
“Psst,” the voice called again, and this time some sort of clarity presented itself. That was a human voice. Her eyes dove toward the ground and she saw a man standing half shrouded in shadow. He waved up to her and motioned for her to come outside to join him.
She saw him lazily toss a small rock into the air and catch it in his palm. Had he been throwing rocks at her window? Carrington shook her head and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes, thinking maybe she was dream-walking, but when she opened her eyes again the strange, rock-throwing intruder was still there.
He stepped fully into the light and smiled.
Carrington gasped and yanked her head back inside her room. She shut her window with a bang and took a step backward. It couldn’t be. The room fell silent except for her labored breathing and she waited. A rock dinged off the glass panel of her window and she jumped.
Clearly he wasn’t going away until she went to see him.
And you should go.
The thought seemed odd—dangerous, even—but it was too strong to ignore and suddenly felt like the right thing to do.
Before she fully digested what she was doing, Carrington found herself wrapped in a long, thick robe, taking the stairs downward, straight out the front door, and into the cool evening.
She saw him tucked back out of the light just a few feet from the closest streetlamp. Her heart started to race the closer she got, and a sudden urge to throw herself into his arms was hard to fight. She lost the battle with her smile and elation filled her chest. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him until he was only feet from her.
“Hello,” she said.
His eyes were filled with a joy she remembered from the shelter where he gave her a beautiful flower, where he walked among those gathered, where he spoke of beauty and a journey, where he started the dull fire inside her chest that she had struggled to extinguish.
“I’ve been knocking at your window for hours,” Aaron said.
“I was asleep,” Carrington said. “I thought you were a bird.”
Aaron’s face broke into a wide smile. “How magnificent it would be to be a bird, don’t you think? To fly and soar and dive, tumbling through the open air. Would you like to be a bird?”
“I would like to be free like a bird.”
Aaron clapped his hands together in excitement. “Perfect—then we shall make you a bird. Come.” He started to move away.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
“To make you into a bird; I thought that part was clear.”
Carrington laughed and shook her head. “I can’t be a bird; I’m a girl.”
“Who says what you are?”
“Everyone around me.”
“I see. Well, what if I say you are a bird? Am I not someone around you?”
“I don’t have feathers or wings. How would I fly?”
“You’re right; maybe you couldn’t fly, but you could be free. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Come,” Aaron said, extending his hand. “I’ll show you.”
Carrington stepped forward to take his hand and caught sight of her feet. They were bare, and she thought for a moment that she should be able to feel the cool grass beneath them, but she didn’t. She stopped and sensed things weren’t as they should be. Then she felt warmth come across the underside of her toes and up into her heels. She remembered then who she was and who she wasn’t. This must be a dream; she knew she couldn’t actually be free, just as she knew the grass was actually cold.
“I can’t go,” Carrington said.
“Why not?”
“This is a dream; it isn’t real.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because in reality I can’t walk away from my life. Freedom is an illusion.”
Aaron closed the distance between them and placed his hand on her cheek. “Look at me.”
Carrington did and her body filled with comfort.
“The real illusion is that you are not free. The truth lies within you, within who your Father is.”
Father. The way he said the word made her chest fill with warmth. How she would like to meet this Father he always spoke of.
Carrington realized her feet were becoming cold and she quickly looked down to see that the grass was still there and cold after all. Once she saw it, the warmth returned. She couldn’t explain what was happening to her mind or body, but she suddenly felt fear strong enough to make her pull away from Aaron’s touch and wish to be safe in her bedroom.
When she looked up, Aaron was gone and she saw a tall figure moving toward her. It wasn’t the same shape Aaron had formed in the shadows. This figure was someone else entirely. Carrington grabbed a handful of her robe to keep from tripping over it as she turned to race back toward her house. But when she whirled around, her eyes landed on the monster that haunted her waking moments, and her heart sank. Isaac stepped up to her and wrapped his hands around her neck. His eyes were filled with hatred dark enough to swallow Carrington as she struggled to free herself from his grasp. He lifted her off her feet and she tried to scream for help but the words were stuck to the back of her throat.
“Don’t forget whose you are, love. You’re mine,” Isaac said.
Carrington shot up in bed, her eyes blinking hard against the light in her bedroom. She scrambled from the sheets, the feeling of being choked still lingering, and ran to her window. She opened the panel and found nothing but the silent night. A light breeze flowed in from the outside and danced over her skin. She shivered and felt that her top was actually wet from the melted ice compress. Turning back to her room, she saw the lights were still on. She glanced over to see her robe still hanging where it belonged. Her hand went to her cheek, where the skin was tight from swelling. All was as she had left it.
She gazed back through the open window and longed to see Aaron’s face under the streetlamp. She ached to be a bird, to be free. But this was real life, and in this reality she had no wings and no freedom.
28
Remko shoved his hands into his pockets to protect them from the cold. The nights had grown longer and there was an icy bite beginning to settle into the air. Winter was coming, and with its approach, a deep-seated bitterness was growing inside his gut. It had been a little over two weeks since he’d witnessed the death of his closest comrade. People continued to tell him that the pain would fade. Those people were mistaken.
He glanced up at the massive building before him. It loomed against the black sky, its corners jutting out into the stars, blocking most of the night’s natural light. The prison looked the same as when he’d been here last, holding Helms as his life slipped from him.
The scenery may not have changed, but Remko had.
Lieutenant Smith stepped out through the steel doorway to greet Remko. His breath formed a cloud as he exhaled. The man was a beast compared to most, arms as thick as posts, legs like tree trunks, tall e
nough to tower over even Remko, who dwarfed nearly everyone else.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Smith said.
Remko nodded and followed Smith as he headed back inside the structure. A shiver passed through him as he crossed the threshold of the building. Remko had sworn never to return here, but Dodson and Smith had insisted this was a high-priority matter, and he wasn’t really in a position to argue. Since nearly ending up in a cell himself, Remko had found the only way he was going to survive these next few months was to stay in line down to the slightest detail. They said jump, he said how high. They said come, he didn’t ask questions.
“Dodson was called away to other matters and he sends his apologies,” Smith said. “He wanted me to remind you that as difficult as this may be, it is crucial that you do as you are told.”
Remko hated the way Smith’s simple instructions managed to warn him that if he didn’t follow orders he was in for a lot more trouble than he could manage. He found himself hating most things these days. Basic responsibilities had always seemed to come with an unwritten explanation. The Authority leads and commands; the CityWatch follows and executes. He felt like a fool for ever believing it was that simple.
Smith continued down the dimly lit halls, his boots resounding off the stone, bringing back the nightmares that haunted Remko constantly. The smell, the feel of the air around him, even the taste—all slowly sank into his brain and yanked up memories that fueled his bitterness.
The lieutenant came to a stop and turned to face Remko at the end of a corridor that split into two narrower halls running off in different directions. “One of the men responsible for the death of Officer Helms is being held in a cell down this hall to the left. The other man has yet to be found, but we believe his accomplice can help us pinpoint his whereabouts.”
Heat flared up Remko’s neck but he remained still and waited.
Smith dropped his eyes for a split second as if regretting having to speak further and then scanned Remko, cold as ever. “He is refusing to speak to anyone but you. We need you to interrogate him. It may be the only way for us to find the second man.”
Remko nearly turned on his heel and walked straight out of the prison. He might have, too, if the lieutenant hadn’t placed his hand on Remko’s shoulder to steady him. “I know what we are asking is difficult . . . and under no circumstances are you to harm him. He is to face the Authority and they will decide his fate.”
“No,” Remko said. Not because he didn’t want to see the criminal who had murdered Helms in cold blood, but because he wanted to kill him and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist.
“Remko, this isn’t a request.”
It was an order, which meant he had no choice.
“This isn’t only about getting justice for Helms. In an earlier interrogation he claimed to have information regarding the Lint murders. As I mentioned, though, he refuses to give that information to anyone other than you.”
“Why?”
“If we knew that, you wouldn’t be standing here. Be mindful, though: he clearly has complete disregard for his own well-being. Death means nothing to him.”
Remko nodded and tried to halt the stampede in his chest. He was going to have to maintain complete focus in order not to rip this guy’s head off.
Smith nodded back and walked down the left hall, Remko on his heels. Six cells down, the lieutenant stopped and gave Remko a final reassuring glance. Remko kept his eyes hard and his jaw fixed as Smith unlocked the cell. Both men stepped inside.
The cell was identical to all the others in the building. Stone walls, no windows, steel-barred door, and a single long bench for sleeping. The rest was just space, but not enough to really move around in. It was dark and musty with a chill to rattle your bones. The man sitting on the bench lifted his face toward the CityWatch guards as they entered.
Though the light was dim, Remko could see the smirk pulling at the prisoner’s lips as he dropped his gaze back to his lap and chuckled.
“We have some more questions for you, Mills,” Smith said.
“We? Like I said, I’m only speaking to him,” Mills said, stretching his finger in Remko’s direction.
Remko could see the man’s features even when he closed his eyes—the deep scar that ran across his face, his black eyes merciless and terrifying, hair stringy and thin, hanging just shy of his chin—an image Remko feared he would never be able to purge from his memory.
“Well, you got us both, so talk,” Smith barked.
“No, see, it doesn’t work like that. I speak with him alone or not at all.”
The lieutenant took a moment to consider his options and then turned to Remko. He tilted his head, looking for approval, and when Remko gave it, Smith threw Mills a final glance over his shoulder. “I’ll be right outside,” he warned before leaving Remko alone with the assassin.
Remko took a step forward and had to remind himself that even though every nerve in his body was commanding him to charge the man before him, it was crucial that he not.
“I’d ask you to sit, but they don’t give you a lot to work with in here,” Mills said.
Remko crossed his arms over his chest and focused on taking steady breaths.
“Right. They told me you weren’t really much of a talker.”
“We need the lo . . . location of the sec . . . second man,” Remko said.
Mills chuckled and leaned back against the rock wall behind him. “So, you can speak—just seems like your words don’t work right.”
“The location?”
“Right to business with you guards, never lookin’ at all the facts, never askin’ any of the right questions. It’s no wonder sneaking into this place was so easy. You guys set your man up to be a sitting duck.”
Remko felt the blood in his veins start to boil and he ground his teeth as he clenched his jaw to retain control.
Another smirk lit Mills’s face and he nodded. “That sparked something. Bet you’d like to rip my head clean off my shoulders.” He crossed his arms, mimicking Remko’s pose, and smacked his lips twice. “I don’t blame you, but I figure you do that and they might lock you in here with me. That won’t do your dead friend any good.”
Remko sent a harsh blast of hot air through his teeth and stepped forward, dropping his arms and curling his fists into tensed balls.
Mills threw his hands up in surrender and chuckled through his words. “Whoa, whoa. I get it; I’ll stop rubbing salt in the wound.”
Remko stopped after two steps and felt his self-discipline kick into high gear. Kill this man, and he would lose his own freedom. He needed to remain calm and get any information this guy had before the violent urges became too powerful to resist.
“Your anger sits with the wrong man anyways. You blame me for the death of that CityWatch guard, but like I already told you, I was just following orders,” Mills said.
“What does th . . . th . . . that mean?”
“Means everything you stand for is false.” Mills shook his head and spit to the side. “This place we live in is filled with killers, most of them sitting up there with all the power. I just follow orders and collect what’s owed me.”
“Gun for hire.”
“Actually, we ain’t that different. I just get paid nicely to follow orders; you do it out of some screwed-up sense of duty.” Mills laughed again. “I almost feel sorry for you, but you chose this life so it seems like your problems are your own.”
“What does this ha . . . have to do with yo . . . your partner?”
“Nothing. Just thought you should know who really deserves the blame when this is all over.” Mills glanced toward the steel door and motioned for Remko to step closer.
Remko hesitated but then took a step toward Mills. A small part of him hadn’t been able to get the words from their first encounter out of his mind—the same words he was spouting off now.
“You need to watch out for the Authority you are so willing to serve,” Mills said. “Especially th
e one who claims a higher mission. The murder of your friend hardly touches the sins on his hands.”
“Why are you telling me th . . . this?”
“Because I’m a liability now. Me getting caught wasn’t part of his plan, so I figure, either way, I’m a dead man.”
Mills turned his face away from Remko and smacked his lips together again. The sound echoed off the stone surroundings and was followed by a long moment of silence.
“What about the sec . . . second man?”
“He’s long gone. That was the plan: one last good deed and then we collect and become scarce.”
“Good deed?” Remko couldn’t believe his ears.
“It’s all about the mission for him. He believes what he’s doing is good.” Mills seemed to be zoning out, letting memories take him out of the present. But what he was talking about had nothing to do with Helms anymore.
“He who?”
Mills shook his head. He sniffed a hunk of mucus back into his throat and spit it against the floor. “That’s all I got to say.”
Remko could feel his anger flaring up again. “You di . . . didn’t say any . . . anything.”
“I said plenty; you just ain’t listening.”
Remko stepped forward and yanked Mills up by his collar. The man looked stunned for a split second before he started to chuckle deep in his throat, the same way he had when Remko beat him senseless. This man was crazy.
“Remko!” Smith yelled from behind.
Remko held the dirty brute inches from his face and saw nothing but darkness in his eyes. Mills continued to chuckle and Remko threw him back down on his steel bench. He turned and marched back toward Smith, who had opened the cell door.
“You should know—I ain’t a saint, but I didn’t help kill any of those girls,” Mills said.
Remko spun around and Smith stepped deeper into the cell. “What did you say?” Smith asked.
Mills flashed a smile and pulled a small object out from behind his back. Before either guard could react, Mills jabbed the object into his neck. Smith cursed and rushed forward to catch the prisoner as his eyes rolled back into his skull and he slumped forward.
The Choosing Page 21
