If there was anything to take away from all this stuff with the Morleys, it was that Detrick couldn’t let the Union destroy Conner and him the way they’d destroyed the Morleys.
Additionally, he’d have to find a way to tell Conner the truth.
“I’ll fix this, Conner. I swear,” Detrick whispered aloud.
And the magpies flew away together.
CHAPTER 13
ARREST
Rebecca’s suicide soon made waves around town. The most prevalent rumor Detrick heard attributed it to the false narrative of her husband’s betrayal. Naturally, this was reigniting their desire to see James brought to justice, and it was probably doing nothing to help the man cope with his wife’s passing. Detrick was shocked at the town’s lack of sympathy. It wasn’t enough that James’ only family left in the world was his child, with whom he couldn’t even communicate the depths of his grief?
* * *
The next night, Detrick and his parents made their way into town for night church. Detrick was hoping to catch Conner before the two of them were in the Temple surrounded by people. He very much wanted to explain things to him, to really explain as much as he could. He’d come to the decision that if Conner knew, it would be stupid for Detrick to continue to deny it. And out of everyone he knew, Conner was the last person who’d give him up to the Union.
He hoped it wasn’t too late.
But the moment Detrick spotted Conner, he knew his window of opportunity had closed. The Lismores entered Edgewood proper and saw the commotion happening at a nearby shopfront. A man, accompanied by a paladin, was yelling and point at…
Conner’s mom? Detrick ducked behind a parked car, with both his parents tugging at his jacket and imploring him to keep walking. He tried to wave them off as he watched.
“I’m tellin’ ya,” Detrick heard the man say. “She propositioned me! Said if I slept with her, I wouldn’t have to pay for the table. I have a wife, you tramp!”
The paladin was attempting to maintain order while he heard both sides of the story.
Conner stepped between his mother and the man, holding up a fist. “You’d better take back that slanderous bullshit, or so help me—”
“Hey!” the paladin interrupted. “Keep your distance, Mr. Wicklow. Do you really want to add to your record?” He turned back to the man. “Continue.”
“I went into the shop looking for a table, and I kid you not, the minute I said I was short on cash for the one I wanted, she was up in my face talking about ‘paying for it another way.’ We all know what that means. You do know soliciting sex from a married man is punishable by death, lady?” He was wagging his finger straight at Gwenith, who looked at a loss for words. She could only cover her mouth at the constant verbal attacks on her.
“Are you threatening her?” Conner had stepped back in front of his mother, and it was clear that he was ready to fight, despite the paladin’s warnings.
“You bet your knee-high ass I’m threatening her!”
Conner shoved the man backward, and the paladin immediately apprehended him. Detrick moved to intervene, but his dad hissed at him to stay put. The man continued to taunt both Conner and Gwenith, the paladin barked at him to shut his mouth, and Gwenith pleaded with Conner to control himself. Things were unraveling fast.
Conner took advantage of the paladin’s distractedness and freed himself. In a flash he was upon the man, landing blow after blow to his face. It took both Gwenith and the paladin to remove Conner, and Detrick was trying even harder to get to him. He was almost surprised that none of them could hear how loudly he was arguing with his parents to let him go, since he was outright yelling by this point. His dad eventually had to resort to using the entire weight of his body to pin Detrick to the ground to keep him from leaving their hiding spot behind the car.
“I’m not letting Conner get arrested, Dad! Let me go!”
To his surprise his dad obeyed, but it was too late. Conner had been restrained with handcuffs and was being forced into the back of a patrol car. As the car drove past Detrick, he locked eyes with Conner. But Detrick could do nothing but watch as his friend was stolen away.
* * *
They drove for what seemed like hours before they arrived at their destination. Somewhere along the ride, they’d stopped, and the paladin had thrown a bag over Conner’s head. He didn’t even have a guess as to where they were. The farthest Conner had been outside of Edgewood was Pine Ridge out west to visit family a handful of times.
Conner had had a lot of time to reflect on what had just happened. There was no doubt in his mind that the man was lying. He knew his mother too well to think she’d proposition a customer. It just didn’t make sense. Especially since the store needed all the shell it could earn. No, that man had an agenda all along. Bullying was unacceptable on Conner’s watch. Just wait ‘til he got out of…wherever he was being driven to.
Conner was pulled from the back seat and led into a building. It was cold and quiet. He wondered if he and the paladin were the only two people in there.
“Who’ve we got here?” a disembodied voice asked.
“Conner Wicklow. Little shit is on strike two. One more, and you know what that means.” The distant echo from the voices told Conner that this building must have been massive.
Both paladins laughed, and Conner frowned. “Something I should know about?” he asked.
“Youths get three chances. Adults get one. You did time for that little exploit of yours a few years ago. When you turn eighteen, you—well, I guess either way you’ve only got one strike left.” The paladins laughed again.
“The first cell is open. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Wicklow,” said the second paladin mockingly.
And with that, the first paladin removed Conner’s handcuffs and hastily threw him into a room, locking the door behind him. Conner tore the bag from his head, expecting to see four walls surrounding him, but he saw nothing. It was just as black as it had been with the hood on. The air was thick and warm and damp, the darkness like a viscous black oil that Conner struggled to draw into his lungs.
He felt along the wall, following it around, and concluded that it was quite small, no larger than his own bedroom. There was no handle on the door. He also felt that there was a smaller door near the ground—he could, very faintly, hear activity through it. He called out but got no response in return.
With nothing to do but wait, Conner sat down and leaned against the wall, listening to the far-off voices. He swore he could hear barking and wondered what purpose dogs might serve here.
Minutes, or maybe hours, passed. The voices were gone, and the dark was growing more invasive by the second.
Eventually he began to question whether the room was actually dark or if he’d gone blind. It had been so long since he’d seen anything; how could he be sure?
More time passed. Conner was speaking aloud just to keep the deafening silence at bay. He recited poetry, recalled the names of everyone he’d ever known, and then counted to one thousand.
His eyes strained to pick up on any hint of light as he reexamined the exterior of the room with his hands. He banged on the large metal door, but the thunderous noise made his ears ache. He made for a corner and slid down the wall, sitting on the floor.
By and by, his thoughts drifted to his family. He’d allowed his temper to get the best of him, and now he was paying for it. It was humiliating. As usual, Conner was the one with the good intentions, and yet he was suffering the consequences. Why was it always that way?
Nevertheless, because of his outburst, he’d been imprisoned. He owed his mom a serious apology…if he ever got out. He would always defend her, and anyone else who needed it, but maybe there was a better way to go about it. Losing his temper had gotten him nowhere, except thrown into a dank old cell.
Conner drifted out of sleep a half dozen times over the next hours. Soon he realized how hungry he was. When had his last meal been? He tried to focus on remembering, but now his memories were starti
ng to slur together like a drunken anecdote.
“Stay alert, Conner. Don’t lose it. That’s what they want…ughhh.” He pulled at his hair to steady himself. “Maybe counting again would help me stay focused. One, two, three, four, five, ahhh, five…six…four…no, damn it!” And then he began to sob as he struggled to count properly. He felt outside himself. It wasn’t him crying, it was… Who was it?
He rocked in place, his arms wrapped around his knees, then stood up to pace around the room. It was a mere five steps from one side of the room to the other, and it was so aggravating to keep turning around.
He paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Step after step after step.
Dizzying, repetitive motions that were driving him mad with their blasted monotony. So he cried out and slammed his fists on the wall.
He screamed until his voice was hoarse. Until blood trickled down the back of his throat. He spit out a mouthful of the stuff before struggling to catch his breath.
Time continued to creep past, mocking him, chaining him to this one moment that was lasting forever, never ceasing. Was it time? Or had time been suspended? His heartbeat reassured him that time was still there, somewhere outside the room. He rubbed his eyes, trying to rid them of the darkness that had permeated them.
When he withdrew his hands, his eyes were met with a blinding light. He was surrounded by people, a crowd that stretched past the horizon in all directions. All of them had blurred faces. He reached out and felt their clothing. It was soft, crushed velvet, and brilliant purple. He couldn’t believe how vivid it was; he had no doubt it was real. But then it started stinging his hands like nettle. He jerked his hand back, only to see that it was covered in blood. He tried to wipe it off, but it just got worse. A deep, low laughter rose out of the silence, and he saw that all of the figures were staring at him. They had eyes now. Or rather, deep, endless pits that grew and grew and eventually consumed their entire faces.
“Avoid…avoid…” a guttural whisper said, rising from the crowd.
They reached out toward him, their hands and arms covered in open, festering sores. One of them grabbed his throat; its hands were white-hot. Conner screamed, but no sound escaped his lips, though he could feel his throat burning as though he was.
He slumped to the floor and fell asleep.
* * *
Conner jolted awake when the small door near the floor suddenly began to rise. Ear-splitting barking from somewhere beyond the door filled the room and threatened to deafen Conner. Gripped by instinctual fear, Conner backed himself into a corner. The massive beast was viciously fighting to get into the room with him. Conner’s sanity came rushing back like a lost soul being sucked back into its host.
“Just so you know, kid, this dog hasn’t eaten in three days. Maybe you could help him out!” a voice called over the noise.
And then, in a blur, the door was opened and the massive dog was upon him, primed for attack. In the total blackness, Conner fought for his life against this rabid beast, his cries only driving the dog to greater heights of rage. Not a breath escaped his lips that wasn’t accompanied by profound misery. Saliva-drenched fangs dug into Conner’s skin and tore themselves away. Fear suffocated him. Pain clawed its way to every recess and corner of Conner’s body, desperate to make a corpse out of him.
When he had the opportunity, he’d throw out an elbow or a knee, but he was fighting against an unstoppable wall of muscle that was crushing him deeper and deeper into the ground. At one point he was able to break free, but there was nowhere to run and so he was jerked back down to the cold floor. His head smacked the ground with so much force that he felt as though it had shattered.
After endless minutes of agonizing and fruitless resistance, and with his mind fading to oblivion, he knew he was at the end of his life.
A vision of Detrick peeking out from behind the car manifested itself as he lost consciousness.
CHAPTER 14
WESTON
Conner woke up when his body hit the ground with a thud, and he lay there in the dust as it choked his lungs. The sudden bite of cold stung his entire body. No thoughts occupied his head other than the embrace of the void that was supposed to cradle him to his end, for death was surely just around the corner. But as he lay there, death wasn’t coming. Ever so slowly, he came to, and finally he opened his eyes. He was outside. Outside in the cold, quiet night. He was able to pull himself up to a sitting position, but as he did so, a dozen searing wounds demanded his attention. He inspected himself and saw that he’d been sewn up in various places on his arms, shoulders, and neck.
And then he remembered everything.
The dog.
The crippling fear for his life.
He’d almost lost his mind in there. In retrospect, that was almost more frightening than the dog. And now, his sentence over; he’d been set free in the middle of nowhere. Great.
Hugging himself for warmth, he made his way down the dirt road. A sliver of cobalt mist hung against the horizon as he walked, and he was thankful that he’d soon have the sun to aid his journey.
He now dreaded the night, for fear of what lay within.
* * *
Walking until the late afternoon, Conner eventually made his way into a small town. He was weak with hunger and exhaustion, and each step grew increasingly difficult. He took a seat against the side of a white building. He was grateful for the rest but desired a warm blanket and perhaps even a seat in front of a fireplace.
A loud gasp snapped Conner away from his thoughts.
“You…you okay?” a cloaked man asked.
“Still trying to figure that out,” Conner said.
“Well, you certainly don’t look it.” The man stooped down beside Conner and cursed aloud at the sight of his injuries. “These are new. Very new. What happened? Were you attacked by an animal?”
“Look sir. I’m not—I’m not really ready to talk about that just yet.” He stood up, with some difficulty, and aimed to continue walking, but the man stopped him.
“Please, you need to rest. You must’ve walked pretty far, considering this is the only town for miles around. Come on upstairs,” he insisted. “And I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Ned.”
Conner accepted Ned’s offer after admitting to himself that he wouldn’t have made it far in his current condition.
Conner followed Ned around the front of the building and saw that it was a quilting shop named Weston Quilts and Pillows. Around him were only a dozen or so more white buildings—a butcher, a grocer, a post office, an inn, and a handful of residences. He’d always considered Edgewood small, but this town proved him wrong. Surrounded by plains in all directions, this place was an oasis of civilization. A sign over the post office read Weston Post. Conner had heard of Weston in passing but had never known anything about it. Now he understood why; there wasn’t much to talk about.
Conner and Ned ascended a flight of stairs on the left side of the building and entered an attic room two stories above the quilting shop. It was a simple home; a makeshift wall had been constructed, dividing the attic in half. In the far corner of the first room, there was a small kitchen and table. A cast iron fireplace in the other corner cast an inviting orange glow over the room. Through the doorway in the far wall was a small bedroom and bathroom. The only window was a small circular one on the door they’d come in through.
Ned hung up his cloak by the door and gestured for Conner to take a seat at the table. He then brought over a large pitcher of water and a couple of glasses. Conner downed two full glasses of water before thanking his host for his hospitality. The cool water filling his parched stomach made it ache, but he didn’t care.
“Where do you come from, Conner?” Ned asked as he served up a small dinner of roast chicken and vegetables.
“I’m from Edgewood,” Conner said quietly.
“Edgewood,” Ned repeated. He seemed to be studying Conner’s face, but then dismissed it quickly and changed
the subject. “Haven’t been through there in years.”
“How far am I from it?”
“I’d say about a day and a half’s walk—if you keep a good pace. It’s too bad cars are so rare these days. It seems only well-funded businesses and the Union have them anymore.” Ned noticed Conner’s injuries again and frowned. “I’m surprised they fixed you up as well as they did.”
Conner shot his gaze up from his plate. “What?”
“I know what happened to you. Seen it hundreds of times. What’d you do? Or rather, what did they accuse you of doing?”
“I was defending my mother against— Wait. How do you know what happened to me?”
Ned’s face was somber. “Let’s just say the Union and I have a history.” He ran a hand through his blond hair, and then glared into the distance, as though recalling something.
Conner forgot all about his hunger and stared wide-eyed at Ned. He’d never met anyone else in his life who had a history with (let alone a negative view of) the Union. “A history?”
“Let’s not get into that now,” said Ned, swallowing a mouthful of food. “You already have enough to worry about. So…you said you were defending your mother?”
“Yeah, against this asshole who was accusing her of soliciting him for sex. That lying little… If I ever see him again I’ll…” Conner squeezed his hands together under the table, trying to calm himself.
“I’m sorry that happened.”
“Me too. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Nobody does that to my family without consequences.”
“Now, Conner, that’s what got you into trouble. You can’t just jump at every opportunity to attack someone. Remember, and I’m sure you know by now, the Union always wins. Always. The best any of us can do is try to survive and be thankful for what we have.”
Powerless: Aeos Book One Page 10