Monroe joins his side. "Mr. President, are you all right?"
Blice flicks his cigarette into the street. "I'm fine. Just thinking."
"He will recover. You know that. He's come back from two hundred bullets."
"Don't remind me. I never want to hear about a firing squad again. It still makes me sick."
* * *
As soon as Blice steps inside the white room with the mismatched chairs and faded paintings on the walls, he knows this is going to be a long night. The room is empty and for that, he is more than thankful. A woman is screaming down one of the long hallways. As Agent Monroe takes a seat next to the coffee maker, Blice's anxiety is eating at him. He paces around the room as Monroe pours some coffee and scrolls through his PDA. If only Blice could be that calm. When the female screaming doesn't stop, he decides to go investigate. Just as he rounds the corner into the brightly lit hallway lined with operating rooms on either side with medics in scrubs rushing around, he spots her.
Clara is crying and looking through the window into one of the rooms. "Isidore!" She pounds on the glass until her legs give out and she falls.
Blice catches her and sits her in a chair. He holds her to his chest. "Shh. Clara, it's okay."
"You did this to him."
"No. I didn't. He tried to kill himself. He took all of my pills and drank a bottle of vodka."
"Why?"
There's no reason to hide it anymore. She will find out eventually. "He found out what I did to him."
"What could you have done that was so bad?" Clara asks as she trembles both from the cool air and the adrenaline.
"Possibly the worst things someone can do to another person. I've been charged with fifty-eight counts of sexual assault."
"Oh my God." She pushes him away. "Don't touch me. How could you?"
"Listen, I never wanted to."
"I don't believe you. You're heartless. You're evil!" Clara screams at him.
"I care about Isidore and I will give my life for him." Blice says, his desperation reflected in his voice. "Don't you get that?"
"You don't torture and rape the people you care about."
It's useless to even attempt to explain this to her. "No one will understand. You are all blind to the truth. I did it to save him."
Clara screams into her hands.
Blice watches the tears on her face that is pink with anger. "Clara, if I sit down with you and Isidore in a private place and attempt to explain myself, will you hear me out before you pass judgment?"
"You'll just rape us both."
"Clara!"
She looks up and her normally pale green eyes are now dark and condemning. "Hell is too good for you, Blice McSage."
* * *
Byron notices Damien staring at him from across the table. Neither one of them has said a word to the other all morning. At least Byron feels more rested than he has in years and the bright sunlight filtering in through the windows that usually makes him cringe with a headache from some horrid hangover isn't the evil nemesis he thought it was. Maybe this won't be so bad after all. However, when he was in prison for five years, he felt like he was going to die without something to drink. Only time will tell. Damien's eyes are studying Byron with a deep intensity. What is he looking at?
"What are you drinking?" Damien asks as he pours more maple syrup on his pile of pancakes.
Byron looks down at his glass. "Um . . . orange juice."
"Anything in that orange juice?"
"More orange juice."
"Are you feeling okay?" Damien asks.
"Yes, why? Do I look sick or something? You've been watching me all morning like I'm an alien or something."
He shakes his head and begins sharpening his throwing knives as he eats. "No, no. It's nothing."
"Pass the syrup. These are good. Where did you get them?" Byron asks.
"Apparently someone in the Presidential Palace made way too many of them and even Rubble City had their fill."
Byron looks at the pancakes and notices something. "Are these apple pancakes?"
"Looks like."
"I bet Isidore made these. You know how he likes apples."
Damien tosses one of his short knives across the dining room where it sticks in a map of Paradise. "Since when do you even notice what you're eating? I swear, you aren't my partner. On top of that, you're actually awake before ten in the morning. What have you done with Byron Erikson?"
He stuffs an entire pancake in his mouth. "Nothing. Drop it already."
"No. I see. How long have you been sober? You haven't had a drop of tequila for at least a day."
"And I never will again."
"You're going to stop drinking?"
Byron thinks back to the only woman he has ever truly loved. He couldn't be the man she needed and now she's gone. He blames himself for that still, every day that he breathes. If his judgment hadn't been clouded by alcohol, he would have noticed the impending danger. "I'm doing it for Leena. I have to be the man she needed me to be."
"That's a noble cause, Byron." Damien types something into the gold sensor on his arm. "So, today we are going to investigate some strange rumors I've intercepted on a radio broadcast from Common Ground."
"Spying again?"
"We're the Outlander Force. That's what we do. Our titles are Chief Outlander Force Investigator. What did you expect us to do? If there's something that needs to be investigated, we have to investigate it."
Investigating? More like running headfirst into unknown dangers. "The last time we investigated something, I almost died from your crazy plan."
"You played along well, though. Good job pretending that I shot you."
"I find it difficult to trust you knowing that you paralyzed your last partner and put him in a wheelchair."
Damien's demeanor completely changes. He leans over the table and slams a knife blade into the polished wood. "Never talk about Seth. He was the best partner I could ever have and no one will take his place. What went on between me and him is private. Yes, we had our problems, but Seth deserves respect."
Whoa. Apparently Damien hasn't moved on completely. "I wasn't trying to disrespect him. Sorry if you thought that."
He sighs and pulls his knife from the table. "Never mind. Ever since his death, I can't stop thinking about him. I can't believe the police haven't caught his killer."
"Yeah . . . me either. Why aren't we investigating that case? That's what we do, right?" Byron asks. He searches Damien's face for any clues to back up the doubts and suspicion that has been culminating in his mind ever since that incident.
"I passed on that one. I was too emotionally invested and it would only get in the way."
There's something about that entire situation that really bothers Byron. Of course he trusts Damien . . . but he can't overlook it. He has to know the truth before they move on from here. "As your partner, I have already sworn to never tell anyone about our conversations, no matter how incriminating the subject."
Damien eyes him curiously. "Yes. The same goes for you. Have something illegal you need to get off your chest?"
"I actually had a question about you."
"What about me? I have nothing to hide from my partner."
"Did you kill Seth Thompson?"
Damien puts down his cup of coffee and leans back in his chair. For a few minutes, he looks into Byron's eyes and doesn't say a word. A tiny grin spreads across his lips. "Why would you ask something like that?"
"I just want to be able to trust you."
"Do you not already trust me?" Damien asks. "You agreed to become my partner, you took the vow, and you live with me. If I was going to kill you, don't you think I would have already done it when you were passed out drunk? Or I could have killed you when we were alone in that virtual combat simulator. No one would have heard you scream from under the ground and behind the soundproof walls."
Classic Damien divergence. "You're not going to answer my question, are you?"
"Ma
ybe I feel like I shouldn't have to answer you. It shouldn't matter one way or another to you what happened between me and Seth. You agreed to trust me with your life. You're in too deep to back out now."
Byron shakes his head and finishes off his orange juice. He needs a drink badly, but he knows he can't. As he looks into those cold and calculating hazel eyes on the other side of the table, he knows. The truth is undeniable. "You killed him."
"No. I didn't kill Seth. I loved Seth. You didn't know this, but Seth and I were very close . . . almost romantically close. We kissed twice."
"Don't try to kiss me, Damien."
"You're the one who kissed me, remember?"
True. Damn tequila. "Okay. Neither one of us is going to kiss the other ever again."
"Deal. All joking aside, no. I had nothing to do with Seth's death. Kazimir Dark killed Seth Thompson. I have been cleared of any involvement by the police. There is no evidence of me being involved in his death or the explosion at the Outlander Force headquarters. What a massacre. I've been working my ass off recruiting new agents to the force. Even now, we only have ten agents including us. It will take years to get back up to where we were before. You've seen me staying up all night meeting with potential contacts. Why would I go through all of this work if I was the one who destroyed it all in the first place? I wouldn't. Those agents were my friends." Damien laughs and pours another cup of coffee. "What else? You want to ask me something else, don't you? I can see it on your face. Is it about Maria?"
"You didn't have anything to do with her death, did you?" Byron asks, already knowing that Damien is going to deflect again.
"It was ruled a suicide."
"That's not what I heard from Clara."
Damien doesn't look pleased. "When have you been talking with Clara?"
"I didn't know I had to report every aspect of my life to you."
"You don't. I was only asking. What did Clara tell you?"
"Nanobots."
"Nanobots?" Damien asks as he types something into his sensor. "Is that what killed Maria?"
"Not officially, but Clara found some hidden reports in the database she hacked into."
"Nanobots . . . who would have access to that kind of technology? I'll tell you who. Kazimir."
"You really think he's behind everything?"
A loud beeping sound comes from Damien's sensor and he holds it up. "Get dressed. We're needed at the hospital."
Byron wipes the sticky syrup from his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "The hospital? What for?"
"Remember who we directly serve under?"
"The president."
Damien pulls on his thin long black coat and buckles his boots. "That was Blice. He needs us to meet him there. Something's happened to Isidore."
"Did he say what?"
"No. Just hurry up and let's get over there."
2
Byron takes a seat in the corner of the room as Damien goes up to the unmoving bundle of wool coat stretched out over a row of seats. "Blice, what's going on?"
A very exhausted and worn-looking Blice looks up from the chairs he has been sleeping on. He sits up and rubs his eyes. "Hey. Isidore overdosed on my pills and drank a bottle of vodka last night. Turns out that he didn't react to those select memories like I thought he would."
"He watched them?"
Blice nods his head. "Then he tried to shoot me in the face."
"Dear God. What are you going to do about it?" Damien asks.
"What do you mean?"
"Pressing charges?"
Blice looks hurt. "Against an android? No. I love Isidore. It was my fault. I deserved that. Honestly, I wish he hadn't missed. I know he missed on purpose. When I programmed him, I made sure that he could never kill me. It's hardwired into him to protect me so even though he wanted to kill me, he couldn't."
"How many pills did he take?"
"About two hundred."
Two hundred? No wonder he's in the hospital. "Hell. What were they?"
"Everything. Narcotics, sleeping pills, antidepressants, caffeine pills, painkillers, some hallucinogens, and some tranquilizers. There's so much more. I don't have any way of keeping up with what was in there."
"Why keep all of those?"
Blice looks down at his feet. "I have my reasons."
"You have to get clean." Damien says.
"Don't tell me what I have to do. I don't take orders from you."
"You're going to kill yourself."
"Don't you think I know that?" Blice asks. "I promised Isidore that I would stop, but every time I try, something happens and I fall back to old habits. I swear that if Isidore makes it through this, I'm stopping cold turkey."
"You know that is dangerous, too."
"I know, but I don't have another choice. He'll help me through it. If I live through the first week of withdrawals, I should be good after that. That's actually part of why I called you here. I want to ask you to take over some of the responsibility of the presidency while I detox. I will be completely out of it for a few days so I need someone to fill my spot. Usually it would be my vice president, but he will be at my side."
Damien grins and takes Blice's hand. "I'll do it. No problem. You know you can count on me, Blice. The Unified State will be in my capable hands. I have to know something. How often do you do drugs?"
"You don't want me to answer that question. I have a mix of things I take about every two hours. I should be dead, but I know my limits and I know what goes with what and what things to avoid."
Clara walks into the room with her hair messily pinned on top of her head and her mascara staining her cheeks. Her black stiletto heels click on the slick floor, never failing to draw Blice's attention. She doesn't say anything as she sits on the opposite side of the room from Blice a few chairs down from Byron.
Byron moves next to her and notices the rejuvenation ring on her finger. "You're married to him, aren't you?"
"Yeah. We had a tiny ceremony after we left that place I was being kept. Blice married us."
"That's nice."
Clara turns the ring on her finger. "I guess."
"What's wrong?"
She takes off her jacket then pulls down the collar of her shirt to reveal a large black bruise.
"Isidore couldn't have done that." Byron says. "He loves you. Isidore couldn't hurt anyone."
"Well, it happened. I don't know what to do. He was yelling at me and choking me then threw me across the room where I blacked out after hitting my head. When I woke up, he was gone."
"Do you think it could be a malfunction in his programming?" Byron asks.
Clara retrieves a tiny mirror from her purse and tries to wipe the mascara from her cheeks, but it only smears more. "No. He knew what he was doing. I didn't think he was a violent person. Now I'm so scared for my safety. What is he going to do when he wakes up and is back to normal? Will he still be angry at me?"
"What were you fighting about?"
"Where we are going to live. He wants to live with Blice, but that will never be a good idea. You know about me and Blice. We had a short-lived romance years ago and he still has feelings for me. Living in the same room as him is just asking for drama, especially after Blice tried to rape me. Oh. Never mind. You didn't hear that."
Byron places his hand comfortingly on her knee, right below her pencil skirt. "If he hurt you, I will hurt him."
"Isidore attacked him and he stopped before he went too far. It's all an assertion of power and dominance for Blice. If he isn't in control, he feels like he has to demand respect so he can be dominant. Now I've found out that he was abusing Isidore like that too. I had suspicions, but I hoped it was just a rumor."
Byron looks over at Blice who is still talking with Damien. "My brother is confused and doing whatever he can to hold onto the little he still has. Deep down, he is an honorable man who will do anything for Isidore. You've seen them together. And Isidore needs Blice even more."
Clara looks confused as she glances
between Byron and Blice. "Your brother?"
"He didn't tell you? He's my older brother. We have the same father and mother. I apparently wasn't good enough to live in Paradise like Blice."
"Whoa. I didn't know. So you technically have a claim to the presidency if something happens to Blice."
Byron scoffs. "You think I'd want to be tethered with some job like that? Hell no. I don't want Secret Service guys following me around and watching everything I do. No thanks."
"Did Vladimir Evans leave you anything?" Clara asks.
"No. My father never cared about me. If he did include me in his will, Blice hasn't said anything about it and honestly, I don't want anything that bastard has touched."
A medic steps out of the hallway and flips through the papers on his clipboard. "Mr. President, he's awake and doing well. Would you like to see him?"
Blice jumps up. "Yes. Is he going to be okay?"
"He's fine. Come with me. I have to tell you some things first."
Blice joins his side and they walk down the hallway. "What is it?"
"Due to the nature of his mental health and the Android Laws, you are required to keep him properly identified at all times. He has to have a slave collar."
"He has one. I actually have it with me. It's my fault he wasn't wearing it."
"You can only be pardoned for so many crimes before the courts catch word of this. Has Isidore even been registered?" The medic asks.
Well, this is the first time Blice is hearing about this. "Registered?"
"All androids must be registered with the courts. You can't tell me you didn't know about that. Owners must have up to date paperwork."
"Why all the trouble for one android?"
"Mr. President, as we speak, there are ten androids nearing completion in the science laboratory. They will be ready in a few months. At that time, they will be sold to owners as servants and companions. A select few will be used in the military. Master Director Clark of the Inquisition is the head of this entire operation. I suggest that you get in contact with him about the details. The Android Laws are in place to protect both humans and their property."
Paradise of Lead Trilogy Page 55