Beyond Wilder

by Leigh Tudor

A good thirty minutes later, perusing corridors that were new to her, she reached another door she had never been able to traverse. She pressed the button and sucked in a breath as it opened without an alarm going off or an orderly of lumberjack proportions catching her off guard and shoving a tranq in her arm.

  She was surprised to find rooms similar to those where she, Loren, and Cara had been housed. Small sterile rooms, except with the doors open and the contents empty. She spent a good part of the next fifteen minutes working her way through the compound, shocked at how quiet and deserted it all appeared.

  Something was wrong.

  Making barely a sound, she continued to work with her guard up and on high alert even though her stealth seemed unnecessary. She soon realized that this wasn’t about people going home for the day but an entire organization having been dismantled.

  Growing a bit disillusioned at finding nothing notable, she pressed a button and stood still as the contents appeared quite different from the others. Making a mental note of where she was, she figured it had to have been the west side of the compound near the parking area.

  Slowly, she entered the room with a kitchenette to one side, a variety of smaller-sized tables throughout, and one adult-sized table in the corner. Paper plates were abandoned with remnants of crusts from peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and some apple cores.

  Mercy pressed her finger into a piece of bread and found that it was still fresh. Recently eaten.

  Making a circuit through the room, she found at the opposite side a series of small desks facing a whiteboard against the wall. Identical to the ones she and Loren used in their own isolated study rooms.

  Except that she and her sisters were never permitted to study together, as their tutors claimed it was too much of a distraction.

  Too much poking and giggling going on when there were so many academic milestones to meet, like learning how to crack an Iron Mountain safe or hack into the Pentagon’s computer network.

  That said, Mercy and Loren were certainly permitted to pound the hell out of one another for sparring purposes, but that was considered a necessity as they were to work together on missions, and it made sense for them to learn one another’s strengths, weaknesses, and idiosyncrasies when in combat.

  Feeling suddenly cold at the onslaught of memories, she crossed her arms, rubbing away the goose bumps that appeared as well as the harsh memories of the cold and sterile way she and her sisters were raised.

  But what she hated most was how the place smelled. Like antiseptic wash and lost innocence.

  Pondering innocence, she thought of her younger sister. At least Cara didn’t have to learn to fight from men who were three times her size and ten times as mean.

  And for that, Mercy wasn’t the least bit resentful.

  Rather, protecting Cara from having to live their dismal existence was by design. Both she and Loren did their best to comply to Halstead’s mercenary plans, the result being to protect Cara as much as humanly possible and to give her somewhat of a better life.

  While Mercy and Loren traveled all over the globe on jobs and missions for nefarious purposes, the world-renowned Charlotte Halstead was able to travel the world playing her music and being applauded by her admirers who were fed fabricated stories as to how she learned to play and the idyllic childhood she had spent with her benevolent stepfather.

  A few stories emerged that mentioned two older sisters that Dr. Halstead had adopted as well, despite their mental incapacities, as he felt it was important for their emotional stability to keep the sisters together.

  Backing away from the miniature desks and compartmentalizing the memories, she moved toward the counter and wondered if she could get away with making herself a sandwich.

  Pulling a piece of bread from the open bag on the counter, she perused her options.

  Her meandering thoughts moved toward Alec and his sex-on-a-stick sidekick and wondered if they had retreated to Wilder as she had left them lacking in transportation, weapons, and backup support from their superiors.

  Spreading the peanut butter on a piece of bread, she considered being too hasty in her sabotaging efforts. She could’ve used some help right about now, now that Loren was pretending to be in an unholy alliance with Jasper and doing her best to shut Mercy out.

  Mercy jumped at the sound of a door opening from the opposite side of the room. She grabbed a dinner knife sitting in a tub of peanut butter, a sorry excuse for a weapon, as she instantly moved into a combat stance.

  A boy about ten years old scrambled inside, laughing without noticing her as he plastered his body to the side of the door, peering out of it with an unreserved giggle and then throwing his arms into the air with a huge growl as a younger child gamboled in after him.

  The young girl he had attempted to scare stood transfixed in the doorway, her eyes focused on Mercy.

  The boy pouted, disappointed at the lack of response, and then turned his attention to the younger girl’s gawking stare behind him, noticing Mercy for the first time, who thankfully had lowered her ad hoc weapon.

  A second little girl, a few years younger than the first, bounced through the door, pushing the girl in front of her.

  Three children—one boy and two younger girls—stared at Mercy with trepidation.

  The boy jumped in front of the girls, holding his hands to the side to either hold them back or as a protective shield. Losing his jocular attitude and giving her some pretty impressive stink-eye, the boy spit out, “Who the fuck are you?”

  Just as the expletive left his smart little mouth, a young woman walked inside with a child on her hip. A little boy who looked to be around three years old.

  “Nate, that’s enough,” the woman said, sliding the boy down the side of her body as his eyes never left Mercy. “Apologize to Miss Nancy. She’s the new nighttime nurse for you kids since you scared away Miss Chloe.”

  His eyes turned squinty, mistrust strong in this one. “Sorry, Miss Nancy,” he deadpanned with a steady glare that read, I’m totally watching you.

  “So glad you’re here,” the woman continued, helping the girls remove their coats and mittens, whose small distrustful eyes were still superglued to Mercy. “They called to say you had some family issues and might not make it. I really need to get home to my husband.” She nodded to the youngest boy. “This is my son, Cole. Having him with me was the only way they could talk me into staying overnight. We’ve been here for a week, and my husband is not very happy, to say the least.”

  Mercy remained mute as she took in the scene.

  “Kids, take your coats and hang them in your lockers.”

  The girls slowly removed their caps, stuffed the mittens in their pockets, and walked toward lockers against the far wall near the small classroom area. There they stuffed their coats in what appeared to be assigned lockers.

  “They still have their homework to do, but they’ve eaten dinner.” The woman grimaced at the remaining plates of food on the tables. “Not much of one if you ask me, but better than nothing, I guess.”

  The woman reached out her hand and shook Mercy’s. “Janice,” she said, shaking her hand vigorously.

  “Nice to meet you,” Mercy replied, refraining from advising Janice of her true identity. Then again, standing in the compound where she grew up, she became confused as to who she was. Mercy or Mara? And now Nancy.

  Janice began to clean the kitchen, talking as she threw the plates into the nearby trash can. “Can’t tell you how relieved I am that you made it. Sorry to hear about your mother.”

  Mercy frowned and then righted herself. “Oh . . . yes, thank you.”

  As the kids were preoccupied with stuffing their winter gear in their lockers, she turned toward Mercy, lowering her voice. “The kids are really great. Nate can be a handful. A bit mistrustful and mischievous, but how can you blame him, right? This isn’t exactly an ideal environment for children.”

  “No,” Mercy said with certainty. “I should say not.”


  “But I keep my mouth shut or else I’ll get fired, and the last thing these kids need is another caretaker.”

  “Totally,” Mercy said, playing along and twisting the lid on the jelly jar. “Can you tell me about them?”

  “Don’t tell me they didn’t send the profiles?” She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes as she began to run a dishcloth under running water. “I swear to God they hire morons around here.” She stopped as if catching herself. “Oh, uh, sorry. I’m sure you’re the exception.”

  “Oh no,” Mercy said with a grim smile, pointing at herself and raising her eyes. “Total moron here.”

  The woman smiled and began to wipe down the tables, turning her eyes toward the classroom area where the children sat at their desks with books open. Cole stood in the middle of the room with his coat and beanie on as he waited for his mother.

  “The older boy is Nate Halstead, twelve years old,” Janice said. “He’s quite the prodigy.”

  Mercy’s eyes widened as her neck swiveled toward Janice. “Prodigy?”

  She nodded, laying the rinsed washcloth on the sink divider. “Yeah, crazy story. He was hit in the head by a baseball, and when he woke up, he was some sort of genius. He’s also a menace, terrorizing the staff, what’s left of them anyway, and causing nothing but mayhem. But it’s hard not to like the little heathen. He’s just acting out against a living situation he has no say in.”

  “How, exactly, did he get here?”

  “Not really sure. Just heard his parents died, and because of Dr. Halstead’s research, he adopted him as he had no family to speak of.” The little girl with the curly blond hair is his eight-year-old sister, Marleigh.”

  “How long have they lived here?”

  She hesitated as if to think. “Maybe two years?”

  They were here before she and her sisters escaped the Center, and they never even knew.

  “And the other little girl?” Her hair was a dark brown with eyes the size of jar lids.

  “That’s Haley Halstead. She was also adopted by Dr. Halstead a year or so before he died, right after Nate and Marleigh. She’s five.”

  “Let me guess, she’s also exhibiting savant tendencies.”

  “You did read the profiles. Something about having artistic inclinations. But she’s extremely introverted, and the doctors believe her to be on the spectrum. Has something to do with the deficiencies on one side of her brain overcompensating for the other. And it’s undetermined whether she’s a prodigy or a savant. Personally, I don’t get the difference. But thankfully, that’s not my job. I just make sure they all follow a strict daily schedule, get fed, and have a modicum of fun.”

  “Is Haley autistic?” Mercy recalled that term being bandied about by the staff.

  Nancy shrugged. “I think she’s just shy. But just know, she doesn’t like to be touched unless it’s on her terms.”

  “Artistically inclined, you say?”

  “She’s quite something. She can view a landscape from a photo and recreate it on canvas without looking at it again.”

  “Yeah?” Mercy looked around for evidence of artwork in the room. “Where’s her work?”

  “She has her own art studio. Tutors used to show up early in the mornings to work with her, but they haven’t come around in months. I think that’s the main reason for her despondency.”

  “Doesn’t she get to work on her art?”

  “Only outside of schoolwork. All the kids used to have their own set of tutors, but now they get privately schooled by one of the retired local school teachers from town, and she doesn’t see any value in art. She’s a real peach. Picture Maleficent wearing orthotic shoes.”

  “So, what’s the deal with this place?” Mercy asked. “Didn’t this used to be a thriving research facility?”

  “That was before Dr. Bancroft took over,” she said, pulling her coat back on. “Not sure what he’s done, but this place went downhill fast. Now it’s just a few office staff members, and the kids.”

  “When Halstead passed, did Bancroft gain custody of them?”

  “He did. But between you and me, he couldn’t care less about them. Only shows up once a month for updates and is only interested in the progress of Nate and Haley. Marleigh’s a normal kid with no ‘prodigious inclinations,’” she said with air quotes. “Which literally gets you nothing around here.”

  Nancy pulled her purse from one of the cabinets and placed the strap over her arm. She opened a drawer and lifted a binder and set it on the counter. “This is everything you need to know in terms of their schedules. I don’t expect you’ll have any problems, except from Nate. He’s extremely protective of the girls and is known to terrorize new caretakers until they pass his vetting process.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” Mercy said as Nate turned his head toward her and ran his index finger from one side of his neck to the other. “I think I can handle him.”

  Loren sat at her desk, staring at the brown paper bag Louise had delivered after making a later afternoon trip to a nearby liquor store at her request.

  It was after five o’clock, and Loren was having difficulty mustering up the wherewithal to find Jasper. The thought of looking into those rheumy eyes, knowing what he had done or was complicit in, without exerting pressure on his carotid and then breaking his neck, was more restraint than she was able to manufacture.

  Pulling the bottle of clear liquid out of the bag, she checked the label. Stolichnaya Elit.

  She smiled at the memory of Vlad chastising her for buying him a bottle of the expensive Russian vodka as a present when he had said he preferred to drink the cheap stuff.

  But she wasn’t fooled. She noticed the way he would take a sip out of his jelly jar and then look at the liquid with pure reverence as he swallowed.

  She pulled the coffee mug she’d found in the break room in front of her and poured a good amount in the cup.

  Lifting the mug in the air, she murmured, “Za nashu druzjbu.” Cheers my friend. And took a long swallow.

  Staring at her phone, she had a sudden desire to contact Madame Garmond. The woman had a way of setting her mind at ease while, at the same time, providing a clear path on what must be done and how.

  Twirling the phone sitting on her desk with her finger, she allowed the alcohol to make its way through her system, providing her with a languid feeling she welcomed, given the day’s events and revelations and helping to prioritize who she should be conversing with.

  Coming to a decision, she picked up her phone and dialed the more urgent contact.

  “Loren,” the voice on the line spoke with some surprise. “You have an update?”

  “I’m not calling to provide an update.”

  “Oh?”

  “No, I’d like to readdress terms.”

  The person on the other line inhaled. “Go on.”

  “Bancroft is mine.”

  Silence, another long inhale.

  “We discussed this. It’s not within my wherewithal to give you that.”

  She was well aware of what his answer would be, but she would determine Jasper’s fate regardless. She owed that to Vlad and to her sisters.

  Her nonnegotiable term, the one she truly wanted, was next. It was always easier to negotiate a yes once a no had been established by the other party, the party who needed you more than you needed them.

  “Fine. Then as soon as this ends, I want your personal guarantee that Mercy will be sent to the finest brain surgeon in the country. Let me be clear. As soon as this ends, she goes directly to the hospital.” She took another swallow. “Promise me.”

  “What’s her condition?”

  “A brain lesion that has exacerbated and is diagnosed as terminal if not surgically addressed. I’m sending you the MRI and medical files.” She moved to the monitor and tapped on the keyboard. “You should have it now.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “That you have it? Or that you’ll do it?”

  “Both.”

  “Th
ank you.” She breathed a sigh of relief and sat back in her chair.

  “We tracked Amado.”

  “And?”

  “You’ve got nine hours, at most.”

  “We’ll be ready. Will you?”

  “Affirmative. You’ll have resources standing by. More than you could dream of.”

  “Sorry, but Armageddon isn’t at the top of my dream list.”

  “It should be. You have a lot to gain.”

  “As do you. You do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

  “Understood.”

  “One more thing,” she said, taking another drink. “If you don’t come through, I’ll become your worst nightmare.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.”

  ― Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

  Mercy walked over to the children, sitting at their desks without having been asked and dutifully completing their homework.

  “What are you studying?” she asked Marleigh.

  Blond curls bounced around her round face as she picked up her book and gladly showed it to her. “These are my sight words.”

  “What are sight words?”

  “They’re words I should be able to know just by looking at them.”

  “Not by sounding them out phonetically?”

  Marleigh looked at Mercy as if she had horns growing out of her head.

  Nate turned in his seat with a huff. “Believe it or not, the top three hundred sight words make up about two-thirds of all written matter.”

  “Really?”

  “Everybody knows that.”

  “Apparently not.”

  Mercy crouched between the two girls’ desks and looked over at Haley. “What are you doing?”

  She merely moved the paper titled “sight words” closer so Mercy could read it. Where Marleigh was pleasant and extroverted, Haley appeared to be the opposite. Quiet and closed-in. Her hair was a warm dark brown, and her eyes a greenish color. Pretty but guarded.

  “You too, huh?” She rested her elbows on the two girls' desk. “How about you, Nate? You working on your sight words?”