by S. E. Meyer
Anna's heart began to pound in her chest. Her pulse quickened and the pounding from the organ behind her paced the throb in her neck. Anna blinked, and the sound stopped. She spun in a circle, eyeing the wall. It was now complete.
And empty.
Anna was alone, encircled in the impenetrable barrier.
She fought for air, holding a hand to her throat as a gate appeared before her.
Anna blinked and Billy came into focus in front of her. He turned and walked towards the gate.
“No,” Anna cried out. “Come back.”
Billy continued on to the gate, disappearing through it.
He's gone.
Anna dropped to her knees, burying her face in her hands. When she raised her head, Atticus was standing there.
“Atticus!” she called, but the man, like Billy, turned and disappeared through the gate.
Anna stood. “I can't watch this,” she said, turning around. As she placed the gate to her back Anna balled her fists, her body shaking.
A casket replaced the heart. Inside lie her mother's frame.
Anna once again dropped to her knees. “No, she whispered. I can't take it. Stop.”
She closed her eyes. “Help!” she cried.
Anna opened her eyes to find Shadow standing before her.
Help? A voice thundered through her head.
The wolf was speaking to her. Not speaking in the literal sense, but placing thoughts in her mind through telepathy.
Anna dropped her eyebrows, pursing her lips in thought as Shadow looked at her from behind kind eyes.
How can anyone help you in here with an impenetrable wall all the way around?
Anna shook her head. “How did I get in here?”
You are the only one that can answer that. This is your journey.
“But how did the wall get here?”
The person who built it worked arduously for years to fortify such a barricade.
“But who built it?”
What does your gut tell you, Anna?
“I don't know.”
That's the problem, isn't it? Your gut. Your women's intuition. That quiet little voice. It has never failed you through the years. You must always listen to your gut, Anna.
“I do.”
Do you? Like with the mushrooms?
Anna stood. “That's your fault for not letting me eat the food I found. The only thing my gut was doing was grumbling and growling.”
Shadow weaved his head back and forth. No, Anna. It was your mind and heart doing the growling. You allowed your roars of anger to drown out the quiet voice whispering inside you. The beating drums of hate, alongside the clamoring symbol of desire for revenge has consumed you, making it impossible to hear the string section of your heart or your mind's mellow pluck of the harp.
“I have every reason to be angry and hateful!” Anna roared. “Look at what Cornelius has taken from me.” She threw her hands in the air. “That man killed my mother, he stole her from me. And he took Billy too. He's stolen everyone I have ever loved.” She shook her head while wiping a tear from her cheek with her sleeve. “I'll never love again.”
'Not able to, or will not allow yourself to?’
“Not able to.”
'How can you have room in your heart for love when it is so full of hate?'
“How can I risk love when it always gets ripped away?”
Anna deflected, uncomfortable with the line of questioning. “The only thing I care about is taking down Cornelius Cromwell. I want him to die out here like everyone he's ever sent to this side.”
We are all connected Anna. Every living thing on this planet. All life is precious.
“What? That's rich coming from a wolf. You kill and take life all the time,” Anna barked.
Yes, and so have you, but do you eat what you kill? All those men you snuffed life from? How did they taste?
“Oh, so it's okay to kill as long as you eat it?” Anna shook her head.
I only take what was destined to die. The sick, the weak. To strengthen the herds of the forest and improve the colonies in the warren's is my purpose. What is yours, Anna?
“To take down Cornelius.”
Is it? What then?
“I don't know yet. I haven't thought that far ahead.”
Hmm.
Your purpose is greater than one life.
◆◆◆
David made it to the top of the stairs first and flew through the doorway. The three spread out, inspecting the kitchen and back bedrooms. “Someone's definitely been here. The cook stove is hot,” Jim called from the kitchen. David stepped across the threshold into the living room and smiled.
“There you are,” he said, looking at Anna‘s unconscious body lying on the couch.
Jim and Jane spilled out into the living room next to David.
“Is she sleeping?” Jim whispered.
“I don't know. Let's use that rope on the floor and get her tied up.”
“What are we going to do with her?” Jane asked.
David took the rope in one hand and nudged Anna's leg with the other. “Wow, she's really out. Jim, get over here and help me.” David coughed a spray of blood into his hand.
“What are we going to do with her?” Jane repeated.
The peckish feeling that gnawed in Jim's loins turned into an immediate and unstoppable need. “I'm not sure about you, but I know what I‘m doing with her.”
Jane went into a fit of jealous rage, jumping on Jim's back. “You both have me, you don't need her! Besides, the two of you can barely keep up with my needs as it is.”
David licked his lips. “Fresh meat.”
“Yes, meat,” Jane said. “We should kill her and eat her.”
“Why can't we do both?” asked Jim, wrapping the rope around Anna's legs and binding them together.
David used the other end of the rope to bind Anna's wrists and then continued to adjust her body as he wrapped the rope around Anna's torso, securing her arms to her body. “I agree with Jim on this.”
“No!” Jane yelled. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. “We eat her,” she said, still unwilling to share her men. She moved close to Anna's chest and raised the knife before bringing it down in an arc towards Anna’s heart.
David grabbed Jane's wrist, stopping the knife inches from Anna's skin.
“Oh, we’ll eat her,” David replied. “That‘s for sure. Jim, grab the hacksaw from the basement tool room. And see if you can find some twine.”
Jim disappeared through the basement stairwell, reappearing a moment later with the request. “What are you thinking David?”
David took the twine and cinched it below Anna's shoulder around her upper bicep. He pulled the string tight, cutting off the blood supply. “I'm thinking we'll start with a nice arm roast,” he said before lifting the hacksaw to Anna's upper arm.
“You're not going to kill her first?” Jane asked.
David smiled as he touched the blade to Anna's skin. “Why kill the whole cow for only a few steaks?”
CHAPTER 41
Damarion wrapped his fingers on the red oak table in the hideout's dining room. “So, everyone is here?”
Isabelle shook her head. “Everyone but Jax.”
Jax scurried into the room with a tablet under his arm, and sat down next to Wesley.
Damarion raised an eyebrow. “Any word?”
Jax shook his head. “No, nothing. Nothing from Atticus and I'm getting worried. Anna has to have made it by now.”
“We hope,” Damarion replied. “It was foolish of Atticus to have sent her out there. Now we have two of our most important team members in the wind. What was he thinking!” Damarion slapped his hand on the table.
George jumped.
“Oh, did I wake you?”
George Yawned. “It was a long night.”
“Come on, people, we have to stay focused here. Anna and Atticus are both out there somewhere and now the clock is ticking. We have to assume they wi
ll come through so we need to be ready. That means we have little time to set the explosives before they return. The timing is everything.” Damarion pressed his lips together before turning to Jax. “Where are we on the live feed hack?”
Jax scratched the back of his head. “Nearly there. I have a few more antennas to set in place but I'll be ready.”
Damarion nodded. “Good. And you've secured the charges?”
Jax nodded. “They're well hidden until we can get back and set them in place with the detonators.”
“What exactly is the plan here?” Isabelle asked.
“The plan is Atticus will send us a signal. When he does, we will take down a specific fifty foot section of the north wall, all while being broadcast on every device in the city.”
“How is that going to help anything? What's the bigger picture here?”
Damarion leaned in, placing a hand on his chin.
“Atticus will bring a surprise with him. It will prove to everyone in the city there is a cure. We need to hang on long enough and hope Cornelius doesn't find us before Atticus and Anna make it back.”
◆◆◆
“Chamber, play Damarion file ninety-three.”
Cornelius yawned while tapping his foot as he watched Damarion exit his office. The scene changed, and Cornelius now stood watching as Damarion wept at Victoria‘s bedside.
“More of the same,” Cornelius grumbled. “I am losing my patience!”
The hospital room melted away as a new scene came into focus. Cornelius was now standing behind Damarion in front of a brick wall.
Damarion pulled out a plastic bag from his pocket, removing a severed thumb as Cornelius raised an eyebrow. Damarion pressed the thumb to the jamb, and the door opened.
“That's it.”
But where is it?
“Chamber, rewind two minutes.”
The scene faded to black.
“Chamber, play file.”
The scene remained dark until Cornelius found himself once again in front of the brick wall.
“Chamber, pause.”
He looked around, inspecting every detail of what he could see. Up and down the empty ally. Back to the doorway. He tried to see the adjacent building, but the picture blurred at the edges hiding any address. Cornelius huffed with a wrinkled brow, deep in thought.
He lifted his eyebrows.
“I know how I can fix this. Chamber, save image and forward to my tablet.”
Cornelius smiled.
“Chamber. Exit.”
He leaped from the bed; excitement masking his age as he scurried the steps to the ballroom.
“I have it!” he roared, snapping his tablet from his desk before jogging back into the ballroom.
“Here,” he said, handing the tablet to James.
“I want you to take that picture and run it through all camera footage throughout the city. Use all angles and every camera we have.”
James uploaded the file into the Shepherd. “What are we looking for?”
“We're looking for anything that will overlap. The pattern in the brick, the shape of the ally, the pothole in the street. Anything the computer can identify and compare so we know where this brick wall is within the city.”
“Cross referencing all images now,” James said as thousands of images flew across the screen in seconds.
Cornelius lit a cigarette and tapped his foot.
“Sorry, Sir, this would go faster if you could narrow it down to one part of the city.”
Cornelius rubbed his chin with wrinkled knuckles. He smiled, raising an index finger. “Add in all routes of Damarion Brockman‘s car.”
James nodded. The screen continued to flash images for several minutes and then stopped. Displayed on the screen was a brick building off in the distance. “Looks like the computer picked this up from a bridge camera.” James pecked at the keys on the keyboard in front of him. “Won't be long now. Give me a second here.” He raised his hands. “There we are.”
An address displayed across the screen. '42 Railroad St.’
Cornelius balled his fist as his tongue darted around his lips. “Finally! I have you!” He turned to James. “Get my military team on the radio.”
“They are still searching the sewers, Sir.”
“I don't give a shit about the sewers. We know where they're hiding. I want every soldier at forty-two railroad street in the next ten minutes.”
CHAPTER 42
Richard Brockman turned twelve. Considered a man in some circles and religions. Most children would expect a gift, or at the very least, a modest cake. Any simple recognition by the family of another year of life, but Richard’s family was unlike most.
His grandfather was working on a new project in the basement. These were the best days. The days when Grandfather was busy with his own preoccupations instead of focusing on what Richard was doing, or not doing.
This was an opportunity to go into Grandfather's study. Richard knew it was off limits. He knew how angry Grandfather would get if he found out Richard had slipped a toe passed the threshold, but this was a rare opportunity. After all, it was his birthday, and this was a chance to see her again.
Richard crept into the study, careful to avoid the spot in front of the bookshelf where the floor would squeak. He moved around to the back of the large desk and opened the top left drawer. He slipped his hand inside and pulled out the framed picture he found there. Richard flipped the picture over and stared at the young woman facing him.
It was the only photograph of his mother in the house. He found it one day a few years earlier while sneaking through Grandfather's things.
Richard continued to stare at the woman he never knew, studying the features of the mother he never met. Thoughts flooded through him as he examined her eyes and attractive face below silken straw-yellow hair. Would she have loved him? Would she hug him tight like he saw other mothers do? Richard wondered how his life would have been different if she was still alive. Grandfather used his money and power to get full custody so he rarely saw his father. An orphan, Richard supposed. Stuck living with the angry man downstairs.
Richard traced the outline of his mother's face with his finger before placing it back in the drawer. As he slid the drawer closed, Richard noticed a bar of chocolate nestled inside between two cigars. He wrapped his hand around the chocolate, knowing he couldn't take it.
But it is my birthday.
Richard knew there would be no celebration. No presents. No cake. No acknowledgment that today was any different from any other.
Maybe just one piece.
Richard lifted the bar from the drawer.
By the time he notices the old man won't remember if he ate it himself.
Richard pulled the wrapper, tearing it open. The delicious smell of cocoa filled his nose. He raised it to his lips and took one bite.
The milk chocolate melted on his tongue. The sweet taste and creamy texture exploded his saliva glands, watering his mouth.
Happy Birthday to me.
There was a noise in the main ballroom.
Richard recoiled.
Grandfather.
He swallowed hard, tossing the chocolate into the drawer before tiptoeing through the study. Once he rounded the corner, Richard escaped to his room.
An hour ticked by, awarding Richard with a false sense of security. He let out a breath while lifting his tablet from the bed as the squawk of his grandfather's voice reverberated down the hall.
“Boy!”
Richard’s heart leaped to his throat.
Grandfather.
He clamored for the door and threw it open.
“Yes, Grandfather?”
Richard’s knees weakened watching Cornelius stomp down the hall towards his room.
“Were you in my study?” he roared through brandy-flushed cheeks.
Richard lowered his head and stared at his feet.
“You were in there. I know you were. How many times have I told you never to go in th
ere? You're a little thief. Well, you'll feel the buckle end of my belt for this, boy.”
Cornelius arrived at the doorway to Richard's room. “Well, what are you waiting for? You know where it hangs. Get it.”
Richard stood, his feet glued to the hardwood floor. “But it's my birthday,” he pleaded.
“I don't care what fucking day it is. Now, go and get it.”
Richard slumped down the hall. Like anchors moored in muck, he willed one foot in front of the other.
“Quit dawdling, I haven't got all day.”
Richard returned with belt in hand. He held it up, unable to hide the terror behind his tearing, walnut-colored eyes.
Cornelius plucked it from Richard's shaking hand. The buckle dropped, swaying just above the red oak flooring.
“Take it off.”
Richard removed his shirt, revealing the scars that filled his back.
The hallway blurred as he leaned over, placing his hands on the doorjamb.
Richard winced, awaiting the inevitable.
The buckle flew in an arc, landing hard on Richard's back.
“Fat head,” Cornelius yelled.
Another crack of the belt snapped across his back.
“Wicked child.”
Richard's fingernails dug into the door's jamb as the belt continued to find his flesh.
“There are rules. You need to get that through your fat head.”
The gold buckle jingled as it flew, stopping to stake a new claim.
Richard stood motionless with gritted teeth.
“You were in there looking at her picture?”
The belt came down, more intense with each question, fracturing the air with the crack of lightening.
Richard twisted as the pain thundered through his frame.
“That's what killed her, you know. Your fat fucking head.”
Crack! Richard wobbled on rubber legs as the belt echoed, dredging his skin.
“You killed your own mother.”
Crack!
The nail on Richard’s third finger bent backwards, tearing off in the doorjamb with the final blow.