by John Rector
Tyler frowned. “Where did you get these?”
“One of the neighbors had them hidden,” she said. “Have you seen anything like this up there? Do you know—”
“One of the neighbors? Who?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “But I’m not the only one who’s seen things. Everything that happened with Rachel . . . it all makes sense if she’s part of whatever experiments they’re doing here.”
Tyler looked down at the pages, then reached for another file. He studied it, shook his head. “These have to be fake. They’re a joke. They can’t be real.”
“What are they doing at the Institute?” Megan asked. “You have to know something.”
“Nothing like this,” he said. “They have a department that designs medical equipment, but they’re all engineers. They have a high-clearance R & D department in the main building, but they can’t possibly . . .” Tyler’s voice trailed off. He flipped through the other files, shaking his head. “These can’t be real.”
“They are real.” Megan picked up Mercer’s file. “This is who showed me where to find these files. His wife worked at the Institute from the beginning. She told him everything, and now they’re watching him.”
“Watching him? Why?”
“Because he remembers.” She opened the file, pointed to the page. “Cause of death, suicide. He tried to kill himself, or he did kill himself. He has the scars on his wrists. But somehow they—”
“Saved his life?”
“Or brought him back.” Megan frowned. “At least that’s what he thinks, and that’s what this file—”
“Megan, you can’t believe all this.”
“They did something to him.” She pulled a chair away from the table and sat close to him. “Tyler, I saw Rachel die. Her neck was broken. A few days later she was outside, and she . . . she wasn’t right.”
Tyler didn’t speak.
“That night when I fell asleep on the couch, I saw a team of people go into her house and take her away.”
“You what?”
Megan waved the question away. “The next day Roger was home, and he told me she left town. Then a couple days later she’s back, completely normal, and with no memory of any of it.”
“Megan, this is crazy.”
“After Mercer told me about these files, we were supposed to meet again, but when I went by his house, he was gone, out of town for some car show. Left without a word.”
“So?”
“So if they were watching him—”
“You think the Institute took him?”
“Yes.”
Tyler looked away.
“There’s a pattern here, Tyler.” She held up Mercer’s folder. “Suicide.” Picked up another. “Metastatic breast cancer.” A third. “Myocardial infarction. All of these are listed as a cause of death, and I know for a fact that two out of these three people are still up and walking around out there, and I’m willing to bet the others are, too.”
Tyler didn’t say anything.
“Something is going on around here,” Megan said. “Have you seen anything up there that—”
“I’m a systems technician, Megs. I work with numbers and databases. I haven’t seen anything like this.”
Megan sat back in her chair and stared off into the kitchen. For a while, they were both quiet. Then she looked over at him and asked, “What do biological technicians do?”
Tyler shrugged. He started to explain, but then the look in his eyes changed, and he shook his head.
“I guess I don’t know exactly.”
Megan sat up. “Is it possible—”
Tyler held up one hand. “Megan—”
“Something is happening here, and this is proof.” She set her hand on the stack of files, then motioned toward the street. “Rachel is proof. Tyler, I know what I saw, and you have to believe me. Something is—”
Tyler put his hand on top of hers, squeezed.
Megan stopped talking.
“Okay,” he said. “I believe you.”
30
Megan wrapped her arms around Tyler’s neck and held him for a long time. He rubbed her back, whispering, “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
When Megan let go, she tried to read his face, tried to see if he meant everything he was saying.
“What do you want to do?” he asked. “Tell me what will make you happy, and that’s what we’ll do.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she wanted to leave, tonight, but she was scared to say the words, and they caught in her throat.
What if he says no?
Instead, she said, “You really believe me?”
Tyler looked down at the files on the table and picked one up. “I can’t explain this. Any of it.”
She reached out and touched his chin, moving his eyes gently back to her. “But you believe me?”
He stared at her for what seemed like a long time. “I can’t say I don’t have questions, but—I trust you.”
“Then I want to leave.” The words came in a rush, and once they were out, Megan felt clean. “I want to get in the car and go, tonight.”
“Go where?” Tyler asked. “It’s already so late.”
“Home,” she said. “But I don’t care. As long as it’s far away from here.”
Tyler looked away and shook his head. When he turned back, she could see the sadness in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“This wasn’t how I thought things would go,” he said, his eyes wet. “I wanted to help, and I failed you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” She reached out, her hands on his cheeks, and kissed him. “It’s going to be fine. We’re going to be fine once we’re back home. You didn’t know what they were doing out here; how could you?”
He watched her, silent.
“They lied to us,” she said. “But it’s not too late to get out.”
“What about the house? All of our things.”
“We’ll figure it out later,” Megan said. “I’ll go up and pack a bag to get us through the next week, and we’ll worry about everything else once we’re back in Chicago. I don’t want to stay here.”
Tyler looked around the room and nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “You pack.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I need to think for a minute.” He held up his drink. “Finish this.”
Megan wrapped her arms around him again. If it’d been possible, she would’ve let herself melt into him. When she let go, she ran upstairs without another word.
Megan opened the closet and took the suitcase off the top shelf and set it on the bed. It was the second time that week she’d packed, but this time, instead of fear, there was only joy and relief.
She divided the suitcase in half, filling both sides with underwear, T-shirts, and jeans. That would get them by for a while, and that was all that mattered.
Megan went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. She started gathering everything they’d need, and it didn’t take long before her hands were full. On her way back to the bedroom, she heard a noise downstairs, and she stopped to listen.
Tyler was talking to someone.
Megan crossed the room to the bed and dropped everything on top of the suitcase. Then she walked out to the top of the stairs, holding her breath, trying to hear.
She was too far away to make out the words, so she crept down the steps, moving quietly. When she got to the bottom, she walked down the hallway toward the kitchen.
She could see Tyler’s shadow on the floor, and she stopped just outside the doorway, listening.
“That’s right,” Tyler said. “No, I don’t think so . . .”
There was silence, and at first all she heard was the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the living room.
Then Tyler spoke again.
“She’s upset, but not dangerous . . .” He paused. “Calmer . . . Yes, I think so . . . No, I understand . . . Okay, fifteen m
inutes.”
Megan heard him hang up the phone, and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. She listened as he turned on the faucet and rinsed his glass.
Then the anger came, hitting her hard.
She walked into the kitchen as Tyler was shutting off the water. He saw her over his shoulder and smiled. Then he reached for the dish towel above the sink and leaned back against the counter, drying his hands.
“Are we packed?” he asked.
Megan went to the phone and picked it up. She hit the redial button and held it to her ear, staring at him.
“What are you doing?” Tyler tossed the dish towel behind him and reached for the phone. “Megan, give me—”
“You lied to me!”
The phone rang and the line clicked.
At first there was nothing. Then a soft melody followed by three chimes and a light female voice.
“Hello, you have reached the admission office for the Hansen Counseling Center. All operators are currently busy. Please hold for the next available representative.”
A pause.
Then the voice repeated the message.
“Hello, you have reached the admission office for the Hansen Counseling Center. All operators are—”
She looked up at him, the rage building.
“What did you do?”
“Megs.” Tyler reached out and took the phone from her, and she let him. He slid it back into the cradle. “There are people at the counseling center who we can talk to. They’ll work with us, and they’ll help us figure out what’s wrong. All I want to do is help you—”
Megan swung, hard, her hand closed in a fist.
She struck Tyler just in front of his ear. He made a sound that was more shock than pain, and stepped back.
She charged him, still swinging.
A few more blows landed, but this time he was ready for them, and they didn’t do much damage. Eventually, he managed to get hold of her wrists, and she stopped swinging.
“You lied to me!” she screamed at him, her throat ripping. “How could you lie to me?”
“Megan, stop it.”
Tyler still had her wrists, but Megan jerked back and pulled free. She tried to run out of the kitchen, but he caught her from behind and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off her feet and bringing her down hard against the kitchen counter.
Megan’s head struck the cabinet, and she cried out.
For an instant, her vision faded, and the room swam behind her eyes. Tyler seemed to realize what he’d done, and his grip loosened.
It was just enough.
Megan pulled her arms free and tried to hit him again, swinging back with her elbows. Tyler stepped in, squeezing her around the chest, making it hard for her to breathe.
“Megan, stop,” he said. “I’m trying to help you.”
Again, she tried to spin out of his grip, but he was too strong, and he wouldn’t let her turn. He put one hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, and pushed her down flat against the counter, pressing his weight against her, holding her in place.
“No one is going to hurt you,” he said. “You have to calm down.”
Megan tried to move, but he had her pinned tight.
She looked up and saw the phone in the cradle. It was close, and she grabbed for it. When she did, Tyler took his hand off her back and reached out, trying to stop her.
“Goddamn it, Megan, stop.”
With his hand gone, Megan stood up and pushed herself off the counter. The back of her head struck Tyler’s face, and she heard a soft crack. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw both his hands go up, covering his nose.
This was her chance.
She looked around for something she could use.
Anything.
She saw the knife block next to the stove, and she moved quickly, grabbing one of the handles and pulling a steak knife from the line, blade down. She turned, swinging the knife hard, wanting to drive him back, to scare him long enough for her to get out of the house.
But Tyler was too close.
The blade struck him just below his right armpit and slipped between his ribs, sinking in up to the hilt.
All noise stopped.
Tyler’s hands came away from his face, showing his bent and bloodied nose. He was making a ragged, wheezing sound, as if the air inside of him was being sucked out.
His eyes never left Megan.
He stepped away from her, his right arm half-raised, and looked down at the knife. Then, slowly, he reached over with his left hand, grabbed the handle, and pulled it out.
The blood came in a rush.
It poured out of him, a deep, nightmarish red, turning his white shirt dark and dripping wet on the floor.
He stared at the knife in his hand. Then he dropped it and looked up at Megan.
She stepped closer, tears running freely down her cheeks. “Oh, baby.”
For a second, his eyes seemed to clear.
Tyler reached out to the counter for balance, missed, and slid down. He eased himself onto his back and lay there, his mouth opening and closing, as the blood swelled around him and pooled silently on the polished wood floor.
31
Megan watched the blood inch across the kitchen floor toward her feet. The room was strangely silent; even the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room seemed to have stopped.
Then it all came rushing in.
Loud, like a scream.
She backed out of the kitchen and ran down the hall to the front door. When she got there, she stopped and paced the hallway, back and forth, her hands pressed against the sides of her head. She was talking to herself, but the words seemed to come all on their own, spitting out in an untethered rush of panic and jumbled thought.
Then, slowly, one thought rose above the others.
Fifteen minutes.
It was the last thing she’d heard Tyler say when he was on the phone.
Fifteen minutes.
Megan ran back to the kitchen and looked at the clock on the stove, but the numbers meant nothing to her. She didn’t know how long it’d been, and the more she tried to figure it out, the more it slipped away from her.
She looked down at Tyler—motionless, his blood reflecting the light of the room—and tried to figure out what to do. Eventually, she walked carefully around him to the counter and picked up the phone.
Fiona would know what to do.
Fiona would help.
She put the phone to her ear and dialed Fiona’s number.
The line clicked, and she waited.
But the phone didn’t ring. Instead, a metallic buzz sounded, followed by a deep mechanical voice.
“Confirm. Grid nine. Unit seven. Access code: beta-one-seven-one. Confirm.”
Megan dropped the phone on the counter. She stood there for a moment then turned and ran out of the kitchen and down the hall. Whoever Tyler had called, they were coming, and she had to hurry.
When Megan got to the door, she reached into the bowl for Tyler’s keys, but the bowl was empty. Panic ripped through her, and she stepped back, looking around the room, trying to think of where his keys could be.
She didn’t know where to start.
Megan closed her eyes and tried to clear her head. But all she could think about was the slow, relentless pulse of the grandfather clock reminding her that she had to hurry.
Reminding her that they were coming.
His keys are in his pocket.
The second the thought came to her, Megan knew it was right. She ran back to the kitchen, but it wasn’t until she stood over his body that the reality of how she had to get them sunk in.
Tyler was on his back, surrounded by blood.
Megan paused, then walked around to his left side and crouched over him, feeling her feet slip slightly in the blood.
She reached into his left pocket.
It was empty.
She moved closer, twisting to get her hand inside his right pocket. When her fingers
touched the metal key ring, she sighed with relief.
She grabbed the ring with two fingers and tried to pull them out, but the keys caught on the fabric, and Tyler’s body rocked back and forth with each try.
“Come on,” she said. “Please.”
Megan inched closer and reached deeper into his pocket for a better grip. This time, she got one finger through the ring, and she leaned back, pulling hard.
The keys moved.
Then her feet slipped out from under her and she fell backward, landing flat and hard.
The blood felt like warm oil under her hands.
Megan pushed herself up, fast, but it was too late. Her hands and legs were dripping red, and she could feel the blood soaking through her jeans to her skin.
She made a soft, wounded sound and stepped over Tyler toward the sink. As she reached for the faucet, something touched her leg, and she jumped back.
Tyler was looking up at her, his eyes clear and aware.
A scream caught in her throat, and Megan turned, almost slipping again, and ran out of the kitchen.
Out of the house.
Into the night.
Megan did her best to avoid streetlights, and whenever she heard a car or saw anyone, she would duck behind a tree or a hedge and keep out of sight until it was safe to move.
Slowly, she made her way to Fiona’s house.
The blood on her clothes was already starting to dry, and Megan could hear the stiff, creaking sounds it made as she walked. She tried not to think about Tyler, but she couldn’t quiet the voice inside her head, screaming at her, telling her he was still alive and that she needed to go back and help him.
But Tyler wasn’t alive.
Tyler was part of the experiment.
Megan’s ears were ringing, and she could feel the adrenaline running through her, making it impossible to think clearly. She focused on each step, concentrating only on reaching Fiona’s house. Nothing else mattered.
Fiona would know what to do.
Fiona would help.
As Megan came around the corner, she saw the edge of the forest along the foot of the ridge. Farther up, she could see Fiona’s house in the middle of the block.