He glances over my shoulder at Duncan with a dry chuckle.
“Not normally, no. So, this is all an… illusion, then?”
“More or less. This is all taking place inside your head.”
He looks round the barren, high-ceilinged room.
“Kinda empty,” he says, deadpan.
I glance at Duncan and he nods, then the bare walls disappear and we’re standing outside. Not by the lake, because that’s mine and Scott’s place and I’d never take another man there. I love Iain, too, but not in the same way. He’s like a brother to me. So we’re standing in the middle of a field, nothing but grass and sheep for miles, with acres of wide blue sky above us, and not a cloud in sight.
“Whoa,” Iain breathes, turning round in a slow circle. “Now that’s something.”
I plop down into the soft grass, then frown, and dial up the heat on the sun. Much better. I catch Duncan rolling his eyes at me, but Iain just looks bemused. This is his first illusion – he hasn’t had months of practice tweaking them, and this is probably all pretty overwhelming for a guy who had no idea our world existed until recently. And that world has had a damned good go at chewing him up and spitting him out. The amusement drops from my face. We’re not here to play. Iain catches my mood change and sits down beside me, staring at the ground between his feet. A furrow appears in his brow and the silence stretches out. Duncan coughs awkwardly.
“I’ll leave you two t’ talk.”
“If you’re coming to me in an illusion then I guess I’m not doing so well,” Iain says eventually.
“Hey, you’re going to be fine,” I tell him with a confidence I definitely don’t feel. “The doctors are working on you right now. You’ll be back to yourself in a couple of days. We just needed to talk to you sooner.”
“No offence, Anna, but you’re a shit liar.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” I ask, because I don’t want to admit he’s right – I’ve got no idea if the doctors can cure him. But I damned well intend to make sure they try. Iain hesitates, squinting as though trying to make out a particularly foggy memory.
“I was trying to get back to the base.” He gestures to the fake world around us. “I guess all this means I made it.”
I nod.
“We found you unconscious in the woods. You... called to me.”
I watch him carefully as I say it, searching his face for... well, I don’t know. Something.
“You think if I was going to die for a talent, at least it’d be something decent, right?”
“What the hell is going on? Where did your talent come from? Where’ve you been? What were you doing in the woods?”
He chuckles and raises his hands as the questions pour out of me, seemingly of their own accord. And why the hell is he laughing when this is so serious?
“One question at a time. But it’s a long story.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. I glance around the deserted world we’re in.
“It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
The smile abruptly falls from my lips as his words sink in. Cullen’s right. He’s dying. His talent is killing him.
“We never stopped looking for you, you know,” he says. “When Pearce took you.”
I nod, feeling guilty as hell, because no-one had been looking for Iain, not really, aside from a half-hearted search of his flat.
“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t even know you were missing.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, but his words do nothing to stop the burning in my throat. He leans back and regards me for a moment. “You look well.”
“And you think I’m a bad liar?” I say with a snort, but he just stares at me with wonder. Eventually, he speaks again.
“I didn’t go back to work, not for long, anyway. I needed all my time to search for you.”
“Iain...” I know how much his job meant to him. All he’d ever wanted was to be a cop – until I’d come stomping through his life and smashed his happy little sandcastle to pieces.
“Shh, this is my story, remember?” he says, the ghost of a teasing smile playing across his lips. “And if you don’t shut up, you’re never going to hear it.”
He wags a finger at me like a teacher disciplining a student, and pulls a mock-stern face. Shit. He’s knows he’s dying, but he’s the one trying to make me feel better. That’s more than a little backwards. I banish the look of pity from my eyes. This is his nightmare, he can choose how he wants to play it.
“Please, sir,” I say, doing my best imitation of a school kid, crossing my legs and putting my hands in my lap. “Tell us what happened next.” Even though, deep down, something’s telling me I don’t want to know.
“Well, since you asked so nicely... I was following up on a lead about a guy who went missing from a nightclub in Northumberland.” He shoots me a quizzical look, but I don’t say anything so he continues. “A solid one, I think, but I never got the chance to find out. A van pulled up, three armed guys jumped out and dragged me off with them.”
“Pearce,” I say, all pretence of levity falling away as the implication hits me. Ephraim was wrong. Pearce had him – for weeks – and none of us had a clue.
“He’s every bit as charming as you told me. Though I was a little disappointed when he didn’t break out the thumb screws.”
“Funny.”
“He didn’t ask me anything about the Ishmaelians, didn’t even ask where their base was – I mean, that’s weird, right?” He looks to me for confirmation but carries on without waiting for me to answer. Weird doesn’t even come close. Pearce has been hunting these guys for years.
“He did let slip that you’d escaped though, and gone back to them. It made it easier, knowing that whatever happened to me, at least you were safe.”
“Made what easier? What did he do to you?”
“He said he had a gift for me, said I would be the first.”
“The first what?”
“The first artificially created absa. He injected me with something – some cells he’d taken from another absa.”
I don’t ask who because I already know. Pearce took blood from me dozens of times while I was in his basement. It’s my cells that are doing this to him. I’m the one who’s killing him.
“At first I thought he was mad. He fits the profile, right? But after a few days, I started to feel... different. Like part of my mind had been numbed. Almost like it was detached. The headaches were unreal. Then one day Pearce is checking in on me, asking about my pain and I’m screaming inside my skull, thinking that when I get loose I’m going to rip his throat out with my bare hands, and he tells me there’s no need for idle threats. And that’s when we both realise. I never said it out loud.”
“It worked. He managed to make you telepathic.”
“Sure, worked perfectly, if you overlook the skull-splitting headaches. He was pretty pleased after that. Even gave me some pain meds. Said if I cooperated, I wouldn’t have to stay locked up for much longer.”
My hands curl into fists. I know how much that old sadist loves his mind games. My nails carve little half-moons into my palms but I ignore the sting.
“He came to see me more often after that. Whenever I managed to use my talent, he’d give me something to take the edge off the headaches. I got the hang of it pretty quickly.”
Yeah, I bet. Pain is one helluva motivator.
“You’re good,” I tell him. “You managed to reach me over half a mile away.”
“Really? I think that’s a personal best.” A hint of pride lights up his eyes then fades. “Never managed to beat the headaches though. I lost track of how many CT scans and X-rays he did. My arm was practically a pin cushion he took blood so often. None of it made any difference. That’s how I know I’m dying. The headaches get worse every day, and the numb patch is growing. If Pearce couldn’t fix it, then no-one can.”
“I never realised you held him in such high esteem,” I say, but he ignores my feeble
attempt at humour.
“Then a couple of days ago, he got a call and left in a hurry. He shut the cage door but it didn’t lock. Maybe it broke and he didn’t notice. Maybe he figured I’d be out from the meds longer than I was.” He shrugs. “I didn’t stick around to ask. Figured if I’m going to die, I want it to be with people I care about.”
“That’s bullshit.” I finally snap, ignoring the hurt expression on his face. “Enough of this talk about dying, you hear me? You are not done yet. You fight this!”
He takes my hands in his and I fight the childish urge to snatch them away. One of his hands wipes away a tear from my face.
“Anna, it’s done. I’m not afraid. I got to see you one last time. That’s all that mattered to me.”
I shake my head. I can’t lose him. Not now. Not after everything. I just can’t. But when I find my voice, it has a defeated, pleading tone to it.
“So that’s it? You’re just going to give up? I still need you.”
“No, you don’t.” He smiles, and sadness touches his eyes for just a moment, then it’s gone again. “You never did. You’re strong, and beautiful, and you can do this without me.”
“How am I supposed to let you go?” I shake my head, and swallow my fear and hurt and sadness. I raise one hand gently to his face, and meet his eye, then tell him simply, “I love you.”
Not in the way he wants, maybe, but I do love him. His face looks pained for a moment, then he forces a look of grim determination.
“Just promise you’ll kick Pearce’s arse for me, okay?”
“We will,” I vow, and I mean it. “But I’m not giving up on you, Iain Drake, so don’t you dare give up on me.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“We’ve got a problem.”
Well, we’ve got a dozen. Hell, scratch that, we’ve got more problems than I can count, and with Scott, Alistair and Duncan all staring at me expectantly, I don’t even know where to begin. The reason Iain is lying in that bed – the reason he might never get back out of it – is me. My blood. Thank God I didn’t eat much for breakfast.
Abruptly I’m furious. Iain needs me, and I’m sitting around feeling sorry for myself. The Savage starts to hum an annoyingly chirpy tune. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then look at Scott.
“Pearce had him. He injected him with some of my cells.” From the corner of my eye I see Duncan go a shade paler, but I carry on, because that’s not our biggest problem. “Pearce couldn’t cure the side effects. They’re killing him.”
“Anna, I’m sorry,” Scott says sincerely, reaching an arm out to me, but I gently push it away. We both know that if Pearce couldn’t cure him, then it’s damned near impossible. Still not our biggest problem.
“How did he get away?” Alistair asks.
“Pearce let him escape.”
“Why?” Duncan asks. It’s Alistair who answers, his voice grim as realisation strikes.
“To follow him back here. Shit.” He gets up from his seat and barrels out of the room without another word – to tell Ephraim, no doubt. Good, let him handle that. The Ishmaelians aren’t my concern. As soon as the door swings shut, I grab a strip of rubber and a syringe from one of the supply cupboards, and tie a tourniquet around my arm. I open the syringe… then hand it to Scott.
“Take some of my blood. The doctors are going to need it.”
I know, I know. I’ve been hunted, tortured, turned dark side and fought my way back again, killed and damned near been killed – but I still can’t stand the sight of needles. I turn my head away as he slides it into my vein and draws a small sample.
I discard the tourniquet while he empties the syringe into a glass vial.
“Okay, let’s get this to the doctors,” he says, holding out the small glass container to me. I shake my head and pass it to Duncan.
“You’re going to have to fill them in,” I tell him. To Scott I say, “We’ve got to go.”
“Where are we going?” Scott asks as I virtually tow him from the room. I’m already cramming glucose pills in my mouth as we make for the surface. This is going to be one hell of a shift.
“To look up an old friend.”
*
“Are you sure you can shift that far?” Scott asks, when I finish filling him in on my plan. I shake my head.
“It might take a couple of shifts to get there.”
“And we’re not driving because...?”
“Firstly, we can’t risk being followed if Pearce has scouts watching this place.” And we have to assume he does. If he followed Iain here then there’s at least one team lying out there somewhere, and we can’t afford for AbGen to beat us to our target.
“And secondly?”
I exhale slowly and lock eyes with Scott, fighting to keep the panic from my voice.
“There’s no time. If Pearce couldn’t fix Iain, then Toby’s going to need every second we can buy him.”
If we can even convince him to help, that is. I haven’t seen much of him since me and Scott escaped AbGen – the first time – other than after I was injured on that disastrous mission with Meghan. I’ve no idea what he was doing in that med room, a lab accident I guess, but he’d looked concerned when he saw me, not hostile.
Scott squeezes my hand.
“Let’s do it, then.”
I glance back at the base, then nod. We’re far enough away that my pulse won’t affect their electrics. They need all their med kit functioning. And if Pearce’s agents are nearby and I take out their electronics, it doesn’t matter – they’re never going to expect me to shift right to their top white coat. I mean, who’d be stupid enough to do that, right?
A short while later, we’re a street away from Toby’s one bed flat. It’s a nice part of town, and the fact he has even a small flat here tells me that AbGen have been particularly generous with his pay grade. And no surprise: Toby is the best at what he does. Maybe even as good as Pearce. Maybe better. God, I hope he’s better.
The reason that we’re a street away and not inside Toby’s living room – yet – is that Scott raised a valid point in between the three shifts it took us to get here. Pearce probably isn’t expecting us to come here, but he might have left EM disruptors with all his top guys just to cover his bases. The man is like a chess master, and I’ve learned the hard way not to underestimate him. If there is a device, shifting from here should knock it offline. Plus, it apparently gives us the chance to “scope” the place – check it out for any other surprises Pearce may have left nearby. Scott’s idea, obviously. I still can’t program my mind to function that way, not even after my long months of captivity at Pearce’s hands – though of course I was really just a glorified grunt to him, not expected to do any actual thinking myself. Just follow orders like a good little soldier.
The only downside to this particular plan is that when I shift into Toby’s home, my pulse is going to knock everything in the street offline. If Pearce is even half as on the ball as I know he is, he’s not going to miss that red flag. The clock will be ticking from the moment I shift. It’s a fair trade. Keeping Scott safe is my priority, and I can’t risk shifting him somewhere I may not be able to shift him out of again. I’d have left him behind entirely if I wasn’t so selfish that I can’t bear to be parted from him. But I am and I didn’t, so caution is the next best thing I have.
I reach up on my tip toes to plant a kiss on his lips.
“You ready?” I ask.
“I was born ready,” he says with a ridiculously over the top grin and a waggle of his eyebrows. I roll my eyes and snatch up his hand.
“Let’s just get this over with before I decide to go back to working for the professionals.”
A quarter-second later, we’re inside a large, sparsely decorated living room, with light filtering in a wide window that overlooks the rest of the stylish estate. There’s a comfy looking cream leather sofa and a couple of matching armchairs, and a small table with what looks like a glass of squash on it. A
massive TV screen occupies most of one wall, hooked up to a games console with a couple of discs scattered around it. On a shelf sits a collection of superhero figures. Oh yeah, this is definitely the sort of place I can picture my favourite nerdy scientist living. Helped by the fact I can see him, standing not ten foot in front of me, turning so pale that he could almost camouflage himself against the cream walls.
“A– Anna,” he manages after a moment. His eyes drift behind me to Scott and widen. I can see he got the company memo naming us public enemy number one. Well, no big deal, we’d expected that.
“Hi, Toby,” I say, taking a step towards him. He backs away, right into the large leather sofa behind him, and narrowly manages to keep from collapsing into it. I stop. I don’t want to scare him – more than I already have, I mean.
“Easy,” Scott says. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
“Then... please leave,” he says, his voice trembling and his pupils flicking back and forth between us rapidly.
“We will,” Scott says, and I know if I look behind me his face will be calm and sincere, the same as it was that day he came to my flat and tried to convince me he was one of the good guys. This is what he does best. “We just want to talk to you first. Hear us out, and if you still want us to leave, we will. Anna?”
I nod.
“Promise,” I say softly. “Just talk, nothing else. Is that okay?” He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t run screaming for the door either, and that’s probably as close to a yes as we’re going to get. I swallow bile as I watch the man who had been a colleague, a friend, hell, the man who’d given me control of my talent, trembling in fear of me. What the hell has Pearce told him?
“Why don’t you sit down?” Scott suggests.
“Why don’t you sit? I’ll stay right here.”
We’re in my flat and Scott is just about the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen. He’s sitting on my floor, regarding me calmly like he hasn’t come to tear my life apart, and it’s taking everything I’ve got not to run screaming from the building.
Unleashed (TalentBorn Book 4) Page 19
