The Terrorist (Lens Book 3)

by J B Cantwell

  “No, you won’t,” he agreed.

  He touched the hands that held me, and they let go, replaced by his own.

  Together like this, we walked to her. The man tried to get between us, but Jay forced me down onto the ground again, which was fine. It felt better down there anyway.

  And then we were face to face.

  “They told me you were different,” she croaked.

  “What happened?” I asked her.

  “You know what happened. They found me. They blamed me.”

  Silent tears ran down her scarred face.

  “But why? Why torture you? Why not just kill you? I mean, what was the point?”

  She laughed through her tears, as if I couldn’t have asked a more stupid question.

  “It’s him.”

  Silence.

  I knew him.

  And suddenly, and with a certainty I couldn’t explain, I knew where Alex was.

  “So do it quick, okay? You promised. You said you would.” Her eyes were pleading. “Please.”

  “They have him, don’t they.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.” She cringed as if I was going to hurt her again, hurt her for having the wrong answers to my questions.

  But I wasn’t. She was too delicate. Too sick. For the first time in a long time, I felt something for her that wasn’t hatred.

  Pity.

  “Really, Pink. I don’t know.”

  “I believe you. Don’t worry. We can talk more when you’re better.”

  “But don’t you see? They’ll find me again. He’ll just do—do more to me. It won’t ever stop.”

  “I’ll make him stop,” I said. “I can do it. I know him. I’ve talked to him. He’s tried to force me to do his bidding, too. But I can get to him. I even had the opportunity to kill him a few nights ago.”

  “Why didn’t you take it?”

  Why hadn’t I?

  “Because I wasn’t sure if killing him would do anyone any good. Surely, there are more like him in the Champions’ ranks.”

  “There are,” she said. “But no one is like him. None of them. Not even Angela.”

  “I don’t know about that. I saw what Angela did to Kiyah. Kiyah was my friend, you know.”

  “I know. She was targeted because of that.”

  “Because of me.”

  “No. That’s not what I mean. She got caught all by herself. Angela tortured her for information. It was only later that they decided to use her as an example for you. It was only at the end. They knew she was dying already, that she was past saving. At least by them.”

  “So, what happened to you, then?”

  “You can see what happened to me. They found me, and they just left me there, tied to that chair. Then he came. He damaged me for you. He starved me. Beat me. Did horrible things to me. And then he had me dumped in Brooklyn behind one of the grocery centers. She found me.”

  She tilted her head in Melanie’s direction.

  Melanie sat down on the edge of the couch and carefully pushed back a few strands of Hannah’ hair, looping it around the back of her ear.

  Hannah closed her eyes, and for the first time I heard her breathing, rattling in her chest.

  What had he done to her?

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “If I’d known … I never would have left you there. I didn’t know Damien yet. It was before all … this.” I indicated my new, flawless body. A body I was growing more and more ashamed of.

  “Well, you’re safe now,” Melanie said. “He can’t find us here. There are no signals broadcasting, right?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s how it’s supposed to work. The devices have batteries on them that should last for two years. Anyone within a ten block radius of here won’t register in the system. It’s basically like being chip-less.”

  Melanie looked from me to Hannah.

  “See?” she said. “Nothing to worry about. He won’t find you here. And even if he did, we would all protect you.”

  “Everyone except her,” the man said, staring me down.

  Was he right? How many times had I protected Hannah? Saved her, even? And had she ever done the same for me?

  I wondered if lack of action on my part would equate to her murder next time. Because there would be a next time. Hannah had a way of attracting trouble.

  Or seeking it out.

  She had been my friend once. I tried to remember a time before betrayal had become part of our connection. But it was too hard to do.

  I leaned my back up against the couch, and people started drifting away.

  They think it’s over. That she’s safe now.

  But none of us were safe. Even with the designations out of the equation.

  I’d thought I would feel joy once we were up and running. But how could I now? Damien had my mother and Alex in his grasp, and I felt farther away from them now than ever before.

  And somehow I didn’t think he’d be so happy to see me after Grant’s blow to the back of his head. I wondered if he’d been surprised to wake up to a blank field of vision.

  But whether he was or not, he was no idiot. He would’ve worked it out now, that we were the ones to plant the devices. The funny thing was, I couldn’t determine if he would be happy or angry about it.

  Angry. Probably angry. Angry, enraged, psychotic. I tried to imagine him happy, but such thoughts did not bring pleasant pictures to my mind. The things that would make him happy would make everyone else terrified. Even the thought of him made my stomach twist uncomfortably.

  What could I do? Kill him? Hadn’t I done enough killing already?

  He has Alex.

  Would I do it for him?

  Yes. Yes, of course I would.

  I turned to Hannah.

  “Do you have any idea where Alex could be?”

  She shook her head, her cheek bones making her look hollow, skeletal.

  “No. But if I had to guess, I would look close to home. He keeps his trophies close.”

  Hannah’s breathing was starting to become irregular, and her eyes closed. In moments, she was asleep.

  “I think that’s enough for one day,” I heard Jay say over my shoulder.

  I turned around.

  “Is there anything you can do for her?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding me? You just punched her in the face, and now you want to know if I can make her all better?”

  I shook my head.

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “She’s—”

  What? A liar? A traitor?

  “We have history.”

  “Yeah, I figured that much out on my own.”

  I leaned over and crawled up to my feet. Then I dug into my back pocket and pulled out a stack of credit cards. I handed them to Melanie.

  She looked down at them, confused.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “So, you’re just loaded now and supporting us? Don’t you have anything better to do with your money?”

  “Better? No. It was Audrey’s money, and she never had anything better to do with it than give it to the Volunteers. She believed in our cause. There are a few others who do, too. Not everyone with money wants things to stay this way.”

  I turned and headed for the door.

  “Wait,” Melanie said. “What are we supposed to do now?” She was looking at the stack of cards in her hand warily, like she didn’t trust the plastic to not rat her out.

  “They’re untraceable,” I said, pointing at them. “You don’t have to worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” she countered, trying to stand up a bit straighter. The truth was in her eyes, though. She wasn’t sure what to do next.

  I sighed.

  “I’ll come get you someday soon. I can smuggle you into the city and up to my place. It will be … enlightening for you.”

  She frowned.

  “Don’t worry. I have a plan. I just need some
help from a friend of mine. Then I’ll have more signal jammers for you. Together we can blackout this whole city.”

  Her eyes widened slightly, and she smiled.

  “I would really like that,” she said.

  “Yeah. I thought you would.”

  I turned and walked away.

  “Hey, Riley,” Jay said, walking up behind me. “Sorry about the punch to the gut.”

  “You don’t have any reason to be sorry,” I said. “Just take care of her, okay? Get the meds while you can in case there are interruptions in the card system. You guys should stock up on anything you might need. Just in case.”

  “You got it,” Melanie said, walking up to stand behind Jay.

  “I’ll see you guys soon,” I said, and I let myself out.

  The vase crashed onto the polished concrete floors of my apartment. I ran into the dining room, tears running down my face, and started emptying out the glass cabinets, three stems in each hand. I hurtled them at the windows, spraying glass chips all over the living room, but no matter how hard I threw them, I couldn’t get the window to break.

  My wet boots crunched against the glass shards as I ran into my dressing room and threw open the mirrored closet doors. I emptied them out. Throwing the dresses, so neatly organized, onto the floor, ripping at the fabric.

  I stood back and kicked the mirror with my boot, once, twice, three times, but it did not break.

  I screamed in frustration and started pounding on them with my bare hands.

  “No! No! No!” I yelled.

  Out in the hall, I could hear the phone to the front desk downstairs ringing. I froze, hair stuck to the sides of my face with sweat.

  Had somebody heard me? Somebody cared about the mess I was making in my own apartment?

  I stormed over the the phone and picked it up.

  “What?!” I yelled into the receiver.

  “Oh, hello, Miss Page?” A nervous voice came from the other end of the line.

  I took a breath. Then held it. Then let it go.

  “Yes,” I said, trying not to yell. “This is Miss Page. What do you want?”

  “Oh, hello, Miss. I got a report of noises coming from your apartment, and I just wanted to make sure that you are doing alright. Can I help you with anything?”

  “No. Thank you. I’m fine.”

  I gently placed the receiver back on the wall without another word and sunk down to the floor. I curled up into a ball and rocked back and forth, tears streaming from my cheeks and pooling on the hardwoods.

  Alex. He had him. He’d had him this whole time. And Hannah. What if they were doing to Alex what they had done to her?

  No. That would be very difficult to do without many strong men trying to control him. I imagined what Alex would make of Damien; he could probably kill him with one hand tied behind his back. Literally.

  So, what then? What did he want him for?

  Then it occurred to me.

  He was for me. He was preparing him … for me.

  Damien had practically gift wrapped Hannah, and she was a sworn enemy. What would he do with a mother? A friend?

  Mom.

  Jim.

  Hannah.

  Kiyah.

  Alex.

  Alex would be the ribbon on top of the box of horrors.

  I tried to sit up, and vaguely I realized that a few errant glass shards had made it into my palms. I looked at them each, the blood slowly trickling from the wounds. I got up and walked to the bathroom, my rage abating for the moment.

  Under the bathroom lights I carefully plucked out the glass from my palms. Three big gashes and a few other forgettable cuts. I ran the water and put my bloody hands under the stream. Pink water splashed down into the porcelain sink.

  I found a couple socks and wrapped them around my palms. The blood quickly trickled through the fabric, but it was the best I could do.

  I was exhausted.

  I climbed into bed, not bothering to try to clean up. I slumped down onto the mattress and wrapped myself in the huge, fluffy comforter, wiping my tears away with the fabric. But no matter how many times I wiped my eyes, the tears would return again. I closed them, closed myself. Or I tried.

  The image of Alex attached to that breathing machine haunted me, followed by Hannah’s emaciated, damaged body.

  There would be no sleep for me tonight.

  Chapter Eight

  A bell was ringing, incessant. What was that? A fire alarm?

  So be it. Let me die by the smoke. Silently. Without too much pain.

  The bell stopped, replaced by a banging.

  “Audrey!” came a voice. Whose?

  I slowly opened my eyes.

  “Audrey!” the voice came again.

  Valle.

  I groaned.

  “Open up, love, or I’m calling the Guard,” he called.

  Would he? Definitely not.

  I got up anyway, rolling to the side of the bed, my bare feet finding the plush carpet.

  “Coming!” I called. My voice was hoarse from all the yelling I’d done the night before.

  The banging stopped, and for a moment I thought I might just sink back into the bed.

  But he wouldn’t let me sleep. Maybe if I just let him in he’d leave me alone.

  I stumbled out of bed and walked carefully to the closet, vaguely remembering that I’d left glass on the floor. I found a pair of fluffy slippers and slid my feet into them.

  “Coming,” I called again.

  I scuffed over to the door and unlocked the deadbolt. He pushed the door open before I even had a chance to put my hand on the handle.

  “What is the matter with you?” he asked, his voice low and urgent. He closed the door behind him, looking spooked. His shoes gritted the glass below into the floor. He looked at my hands, and his eyes grew wide. Then, taking a look around the apartment, the look on his face changed from surprise to concern.

  He put his hands on my shoulders.

  “What happened? Are you okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

  But it wasn’t the truth.

  I looked down at the floor, trying to hide my face, hide my real emotion, because the truth was that my state of mind was a swirl of misery and guilt.

  How many people might’ve been saved if I had never joined the Service in the first place?

  Too many had died, either at my hands or because of something I’d done. My “punishments” for acting the way I had over the past couple years.

  “What happened in here?” he asked. Then he took one of my hands, still wrapped in the bloody sock and held it up for his inspection. “You’re hurt.”

  “I’m not hurt,” I said, taking my hand back from him.

  “You are. You’re going to need stitches.” He sighed. “What did you do to this place?”

  He was staring over my shoulder, taking in the destruction that was now my apartment.

  “Janeen is going to kill you.”

  “Add her to the list of people who want me dead, then. Maybe you can make bets on who it is that finally does the job.”

  He poked his head into my dressing room and gasped. “Oh, no. Not the gowns! You silly girl.”

  I turned and walked into the kitchen.

  “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

  I poured myself a cup of coffee from the automatically timed machine.

  “You want some?”

  He nodded, and I noticed that his eyes were sagging, and he had dark circles underneath them. He pulled a bag from around his shoulder and put it on the kitchen counter.

  “This one is for you,” he said, pushing it my way.

  Inside the bag was the biggest yet of the devices. And this time, along with it, a thick stack of papers.

  “What are these?”

  Valle blew on his coffee.

  “Blueprints. I’m not going to be around forever. If anything happens to me, you’ll have a place to start.”

  I frowned.<
br />
  “Is anything going to happen to you?”

  He chuckled.

  “No. That’s not the plan. Still, better to have them than not. There are three copies there. Hide them where you will. But keep them separate from one another. You’ll be their new guardian. Take them to someone you trust.”

  “What about you?” I asked.

  He shrugged.

  “I’ll keep building them. Keep moving forward. First, the city, them beyond. They’ll never be able to control it, not without taking down their own cell towers. But not yet. We need to take out the city first. Then we can regroup and figure out how to expand.”

  “You mean like—”

  “Yes! The whole country. Well, city by city at least.”

  Suddenly, I was feeling a bit better. This was war, and with it would come terrible losses and satisfying surprises, camaraderie, and, of course, stories. Because, someday, the moments that we were living now would be just that: stories.

  “Okay,” I said, a little more enthusiastic. “Where do we start?”

  Valle looked at me and smiled, then looked around.

  “Why don’t we start with cleaning up all this glass,” he said.

  I looked around at the destroyed apartment and nodded.

  Yes. A clean start.

  A week went by. Two. Together, with Valle’s devices, Melanie and I installed them all around Manhattan and Brooklyn. There came a time where nearly every street was covered under their umbrella, and designations were a thing of the past.

  But we weren’t in the clear yet. Not even close.

  Down on the streets, guards would stop anyone who looked even remotely suspicious. More than once, I saw armed men cornering anyone with a backpack, dumping the contents onto the street, searching … searching for what? Did they even know what to look for yet?

  Finally, after weeks of work, I invited the whole group to my apartment to celebrate our success. With no visible designations, there was nothing holding them back from traveling nearby.

  It would be my own party. No need to dress up, and enough food to fill every belly.

  I notified the guard downstairs that I would be having a group of friends coming over, and that they weren’t going to look very nice, that they weren’t rich. He eyeballed me for a moment, but then nodded. Maybe he understood in some way. Maybe there were times in his own life that mirrored this time in mine. I wasn’t sure, but my gut told me he wouldn’t betray me.