by Shanon Hunt
“I’m sorry, Agent Malloy, but you left us no choice,” the gate guard called, his voice calm and almost sympathetic.
Malloy could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears and the sound of his own pounding heartbeat. His chest tightened, and he felt a pain shoot up his arm. He pressed one hand to his chest, and his vision narrowed to the scene in front of him.
Fucking Garcia and that Clint Eastwood attitude. How many times had he told him—
“Your partner put our operation at risk.”
The ringing in his ears seemed to be quieting, and his heart rate slowed as he became hyperaware of his surroundings. He turned from Garcia and looked through the gate.
Where had the shot come from?
The group of six. Yes, he could now see six hard-eyed men, who looked very calm and focused, given the circumstances, in a fan formation fifty feet out. No one moved toward him. They were waiting. For what?
The stabbing pain in his chest made it difficult to inhale.
“We do not choose violence here, Agent Malloy. It is important to us that you understand that. We value human life. It is you who trespassed here, bringing aggression from your impure world.”
He watched two men pick up the woman who claimed to be Allison Stevens. He couldn’t tell if she was dead or unconscious.
Malloy stood frozen. In all his years as an agent, he’d never encountered a scene like the one unraveling in front of him, and he didn’t know how to respond. This sort of violence simply didn’t happen to DEA officers in broad daylight. Garcia’s long hair splayed around him, blacker than ever as it soaked up the blood that pooled beneath him. Fucking Garcia and that hair. His gut clenched.
“But our work here is too important.”
The earnestness of the guard’s words is what convinced Malloy that his own life was over. Robbie. I love you. I’ll tell mom how proud I am of you. He didn’t believe in an afterlife, and he wasn’t sure why he’d thought that. No regrets, Pete, Suzanne had said on her death bed. But Malloy was filled with regrets. He’d failed Tyler. And Garcia. And Suzanne. And now Robbie, Darcy—he’d failed everyone he’d ever loved. A sense of anguish washed over him. He had unfinished business. He wasn’t ready to die.
“Your sacrifice is for the greater good of humanity. May you rest in peace, sir.”
As Malloy dropped to his knees under the crushing pain in his chest, he caught a glint of sunlight in his peripheral vision that his police instinct briefly registered as the scope of a rooftop sniper. The brilliant light of the southwestern sun made the scene impossibly bright. He barely caught the brief muzzle flash before the whole world turned white and he knew no more.
Chapter 96
Layla picked at the hangnail on her thumb. Then, fearful that it would start to bleed, she laid her hands gently at her sides. She didn’t want to yank the IVs in each arm. The needle in her spine was the most unsettling, and although the nurse told her it was perfectly fine to lie back, she was afraid she’d dislodge it. She wanted to ensure nothing would compromise her treatments.
She closed her eyes. “With pain comes perfection. With perfection comes purification. This is the Father’s will for me. As a pure, I am responsible for the purification of the Colony and the propagation of purity into the world. This is the Father’s will for me.”
Propagation. Spreading purity. She would spread purity into the world.
She put her hand on her stomach. Her child would be pure. He or she would be the first, the F1 generation. She would be a mother, just like the Christian fairy tale of Adam and Eve.
She so badly wanted Brother James to be her Adam.
And then he stepped into the room. She felt herself blush, as if he’d read her thoughts.
He walked to her bedside and sat on the edge of the bed, just as the Father had. He lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “You look absolutely radiant.”
“So do you. Are you getting a treatment today too?”
He laughed, and she did too. She couldn’t believe she’d said something so witty.
He turned his head slightly and looked at her oddly. Suspiciously. Then he stood up and pulled the chair around so that it faced her. He sat down but didn’t speak.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asked. She didn’t know where she’d heard that expression. It was kind of terrifying, if she thought about it. A cat taking your tongue? She wished she hadn’t said that.
He didn’t smile. Instead he looked down, as if he were disappointed in her. Maybe not. Maybe he was … nervous?
Still with his gaze in his lap, he said, “I have to tell you something I should have told you before.”
“Um, okay.” She was nervous too. He wasn’t himself.
He met her eyes. “I knew you, Layla. I knew you in your poisoned life.”
“What?”
“You didn’t know me, but I knew you. I was”—he searched for the right word—“I was enchanted by you.”
Layla’s heart thumped.
“I just wanted you to know that before the next phase of your life begins. I needed to be honest with you.”
“You knew me? How?”
“You were in college when I saw you the first time. You were so smart and so funny, and you were beautiful. Just like now.” He sat up again. “And I always wanted to meet you, I did. But our circumstances … well, I guess it just wasn’t the right time. But then when you came to us at the Colony in Arizona that first day, I realized how special you are. Even during your intake, I knew. But I had to let you decide if you were meant to stay with us. Then when we migrated the Colony to Mexico, that’s when you really blossomed into this wonderful—”
Dr. Jeremy burst through the door, his eyes on his chart. “Okay, I think we’re all set.”
Brother James stopped talking.
“Ready to get started?” the doctor asked with a grin.
She searched Brother James’s face. She needed to hear what he was going to say. She had to know if he really loved her. But he had turned his attention to the doctor.
Reluctantly, she answered, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
As Dr. Jeremy gathered several vials and syringes, Brother James pushed his chair back. “Well, I guess I better leave you to it.”
God, she didn’t want him to go. He started toward the door, and panic seized her. She might never see him again. But then her smiling dad flashed across her mind’s eye. She had his memory now, and he had believed she was special. It was enough to give her strength. Confidence.
She called out just as Brother James stepped through the door. “Will you stay with me?”
He stopped midstep as if he were thinking about it. Then he pivoted back.
“As you wish, beautiful girl.” He gently lifted her hand and wrapped both of his around it. “I’ll stay with you forever.”
Chapter 97
“What happened to the cops?”
Allison sat across the conference table while Brad set up a camera. She’d slept most of the last day, or maybe two, refusing food and water, but evidently showers were not negotiable. Her hair was still damp after being forcefully held by a guard under the hot, streaming water, and she wore a fresh pair of white pajamas. She despised white.
He didn’t acknowledge the question.
“Did you kill them?” She knew they were dead. If they weren’t, the FBI would have been here by now, possibly with the National Guard. “They’ll come looking for those agents, you know. Cops can’t just disappear.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a newspaper, folded. He pushed it toward her.
DEA officers killed in meth lab raid in Tempe.
She shoved the paper away.
“It was an unintended and unfortunate consequence of their interference. We don’t like to take lives, but our work here must continue.”
Disgusted, she turned away toward the painting over a table that held a fruit bowl. Wholesomeness was the message they wanted to impart to new recruits, wholesome goodness. The painti
ng was a goddamn water lily pond. It had to be Claude Fucking Monet. She hated Monet. They should have hung some Pablo Picasso in this house of horrors—or better yet, Salvador Dali.
“We’re ready to begin. You’ve signed a consent form to participate in this program, and we’re going to video this intake interview in the event that your consent is challenged by yourself or anyone on your behalf. Do you understand?”
“Does it matter?” Of course she’d signed the consent form. What choice did she have?
“Will you please state your full name and your date of birth?”
She looked at the red blinking light on the small recorder that stood on a tripod next to Brad, then turned and answered to the wall. “Allison Cassidy Stevens, December 7, 1990.”
“Thank you. And what are the names of your parents?”
“Michael Thomas Stevens and Rachel Leigh Cassidy.”
“Thank you.” He made some notes on her chart. She tried to read it, but she couldn’t make it out.
“How is your relationship with your father?”
“My father is deceased. He died when I was twelve.” She fingered the pendant hanging from her neck, running her index finger around the circle of diamonds. It symbolizes eternity, he’d told her on his deathbed. It means I’ll always be in your heart. And you’ll always be in mine, even though I’ll be in heaven.
“How did he die?”
“Assisted suicide. He had bone and spinal cancer. He was in considerable pain and was allergic to opioids. Is all this questioning really necessary?”
“He gave you that opal necklace?”
She dropped her hand back to the table. None of his fucking business.
“And your mother?”
She began scratching at a hangnail on her thumb. This interview was gratuitous. “My mother and I don’t speak.”
“And why is that?”
“I thought you just wanted my verbal consent.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s not always easy to discuss your poisoned life, but we’d like to have a record of why you’ve chosen to leave it.”
“It’s not a poisoned life. I don’t know why you use that creepy terminology. It’s just, you know, my life.” Her very shitty life.
“Of course.” He smiled, and she scowled at the condescension in it. “Your mother?”
“She remarried and started a new life. A new family.” A new family that wouldn’t remind her that she’d lost everything. A new daughter who didn’t tell her to her face that she wished she’d died instead of her dad. Perfect little Beth who didn’t get into trouble or attempt to kill herself all the time.
“And can you describe any other close relationships you’ve had since your parents?”
“No.”
Brad sighed. “We really need your cooperation here.”
“Okay, Brad, let me tell you—”
“It’s James. Brother James.”
“Okay, Brad, first, you aren’t my brother. You’re just some nutjob who seems to get off on controlling people. Second, I’m not being uncooperative. I don’t have any other close relationships. That’s why I can’t describe them to you.”
She grabbed two fistfuls of her hair, and a guttural cry escaped her. Except Austin. Just Austin.
Enraged, she stood up and leaned over the table. “Have you not been following the plot here? Do you think I’d be sitting at this table right now if I had anywhere else to go?” She slammed her hands on the table. “Do you think I’d be giving up my last remaining grip on reality to be brainwashed by a bunch of crazy cult scientists and poked and prodded like a goddamn lab rat?”
He remained silent.
She felt her strength draining. “You want to know who I am? I’m a basket case. When my dad died, my mom died with him. She gave up on life and left me to raise myself. I was twelve. Fucking twelve!” She looked right into the camera. “I had to steal groceries for a month because my mom wouldn’t get out of bed, even to hit the goddamn ATM machine. I quit going to school. My friends abandoned me, and I had nothing.” She looked back at Brad. “You’re a shrink, Brad. You tell me what happens to a kid who loses both her parents.”
“She becomes detached and has difficulty bonding with others.” His soft, kind voice was absolutely maddening. “And please call me Brother James.”
“You’re not my fucking brother!” she screamed. “You’re not my friend. You’re nothing but a demented, baby-torturing monster.”
He flinched at the insult, and she felt momentarily satisfied until that look of false compassion returned to his face. “How did you do it? How did you recover from that trauma? The loss of your dad and then the rejection of your mother?”
She was done answering Brad’s bullshit questions.
Brad leaned forward on the table so that he was just a foot in front of her. “You have a choice. You. Have. A. Choice. We don’t force anyone to stay.”
A sarcastic laugh escaped her. “Right.” She leaned back in her chair and returned her gaze to the wall.
He pulled out his iPhone. “Tell you what. Here.” He unlocked it and set it down on the table. “Call someone. Tell them where you are. They can come and get you.”
She picked up the phone, carefully eyeing him to see if he’d make a move to grab it back. It had to be a trick.
“Go ahead. I’m not going to stop you.” He stood up and backed away from the table to make the point. “But I should tell you that there’s currently a manhunt for you, initiated by the FBI. You’re wanted for questioning regarding a DEA agent who was killed not far from your apartment, as well as a potential charge of conspiracy with Austin Harris.” He softened his voice, again trying to appear genuinely concerned about her.
He was good, too, the slimy bastard.
“So whoever you call should be someone you wholeheartedly trust to not turn you over to the police.” He nodded at her to go ahead.
She stared down at the phone in her hands. Friends? She had none. The closest friend she had was Ryan. We probably shouldn’t hang out anymore. Family? All she had was her mom. It’s Allison. She’s calling for money.
With a cry of rage, she threw the phone at him. He ducked just in time to avoid it hitting him in the face. The phone shattered against the wall behind him, spraying glass and plastic across the suffocating room.
She collapsed onto the table, burying her face in her arms.
“Austin was your best friend, wasn’t he?” he asked softly. “He would have come for you. He loved you and you loved him, right?”
Wrenching sobs tore from her throat, making it hard to breathe, to speak. Hard to absolve herself.
“He’s dead,” she wailed. “Austin is dead. I killed him! I killed him with my own two hands.”
She covered her head with her arms and sobbed, finally embracing the grief of losing Austin once and for all. The only person she’d ever loved since her father, and he was gone from her world forever. The scene in the shed now haunted her: The vibration up her arm as the rock-filled lunch box slammed into his temple. The spray of gravel across the shed. The blood. All that blood.
Brad rested his hand gently on her shoulder.
She jerked away and sat up, wiping her eyes and nose with her hands. “Don’t you ever touch me again.”
“Do you want to start your life over again? We can give you that. Here, we can give you another chance for happiness. We can make you forget every bad thing in your life.”
He handed her a tissue from the box on the table. His compassion enraged her. What she wanted was her life back. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare and go back to her perfect world. She wanted Austin. She wanted little Jakob to walk again. She wanted to sit at Frank’s bar and drink an IPA with nothing to worry about except whether she needed to call an Uber.
But it was all over. There was nothing for her outside these goddamn walls except prison and probably insanity. This sick, unethical, biohacking hellhole for addicts and hookers was all she had left.
S
he slumped in her chair, defeated.
Brad waited.
She palmed her wet eyes. “Can you make me forget about what happened?”
The question came out like a challenge.
“Can you? Can you make me forget Austin?”
“Yes.”
Her chin quivered. “I can’t live like this. I don’t want to be so alone.” She drew in a long, stuttering breath.
“You’ll never be alone again, here. I promise.”
She felt nothing but emptiness.
“Would you like to stay here with us?”
The fight was over. She gave a slight nod and looked down.
“I need a verbal agreement from you. I need a yes.” His face was filled with pity. Or maybe it was sadness, but it didn’t matter.
“Yes.” It came out as a whisper.
Don’t you quit on me, Butch.
I failed, Daddy. I didn’t make it.
She wiped fresh tears from her eyes, cleared her throat, and looked directly at the camera. “Yes.”
Thirty seconds of blissful silence passed.
Then Brad switched off the video, his eyes shining with what might have been tears. “Well then, beautiful girl, welcome to the Colony.”
Chapter 98
November 9, 2019
“Can you hear me?”
I try to open my eyes, but they won’t open. Through my eyelids, the room looks bright. It’s morning.
“What’s wrong with her? I thought you said she was conscious.” A man’s voice.
“She’s fine. She’s just coming to.” A woman.
Finally, my eyes open, but I close them again. The room’s far too bright.
“Oh, hey there.”
I feel a gentle hand on the side of my face, and I squint to see who it is. A man I’ve never met. He’s big, with dark brown hair and black-rimmed glasses. Or maybe he just seems big next to the very small nurse standing next to him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I say, but it comes out as a whisper. My voice seems to be gone.
“Water, please,” he says to the very small nurse.