The Curse: The Butterfly Effect, Book 2.

by Margaret McHeyzer

“It’s what we pay the other slayers.”

  “The others who attempted to get to Alexa, but couldn’t?” he snaps at her.

  “That’s only because she had Jude, and you. And now, you’re on our team.”

  I want to pick up the pen she’s been using and drive it through her eye. She’s talking about taking a life, and has no remorse at all.

  “I’m on the team of whoever pays the most, lady. But killing kids, that’s not exactly high on my agenda. How many are there and how many do you want to get rid of?”

  “This experiment has been going on for fourteen months. There are dozens out there, most of which we have eyes on. Some though, are useless to us and not what the organization needs.”

  The door opens, and the doctor who saw me at the hospital waltzes in. “Catherine, what’s happening?” he asks.

  My heart falls to the pit of my stomach. In this room is everyone I despise.

  “I was offering Ronan a job. I’m impressed with what he’s done for us. The other experiments, he brought us the girl, and he killed Jude.”

  My body collapses silently to the floor. He killed Jude! A million emotions overtake me. But the one hurting the most is sorrow. He’s dead, because of me. Again. Everyone dies because of me.

  “I’ve been monitoring the girl. Are you sure she can do what you say she can?” he asks Ronan.

  “She’s amazing. She gets stronger with each passing day, she’s able to move around in her visions and communicate. But, I think the most impressive ability is the fact she’s learning how to take herself out of visions and put herself into them. If she doesn’t want to go into it, she somehow fights it.”

  “She can be selective?” the man asks, intrigued.

  Stop giving them all my information! I want to yell at Ronan, but I also need to find out as much as I can, because when I escape from here, I’m going to take all of these assholes down. Every one of them will be made to pay for the hurt they’re causing.

  Ronan nods his head, impressed with the information he knows and is sharing with them. “She’s powerful,” Ronan adds.

  “More than she knows, my friend.” The fake doctor takes a piece of paper off the desk and reads over it. “We’re not keeping her?” he asks Catherine.

  “Her ability is weak at best. We don’t need her.”

  “But she’s young, she may show potential.”

  Catherine laughs, then adds, “We can’t keep them all. We only want the ones who are capable. Only they can carry our mission forward.”

  “What mission?” Ronan asks. Yes, what damn mission? “Nick told me it’s for security.”

  Catherine and the fake doctor look at each other. A knowing gaze passes between them, neither say anything. “It is for security. Kind of,” the fake doctor responds.

  “The man who founded this project is brilliant,” Catherine adds with admiration. I look between the fake doctor and Catherine, and I’m convinced she’s the one in charge. When I met them at the hospital, I thought he was the boss. Now, I’m sure it’s her. “He was developing a drug to suppress the memories of trauma patients.”

  “Why?” Ronan asks. “Why would someone who suffered a trauma want to suppress their memory?”

  “Because some people can move forward, and others can’t. The ones who can’t often turn to drugs, crime, or even self-harm.”

  Ronan looks to the fake doctor, who’s nodding his head, then back to Catherine. “That’s a long way away from what you have here. I mean, there’s a girl in there . . .” He points out the door, and I assume he’s referring to me. “ . . . who’s able to see the future. How does someone go from what you’ve described, to her?”

  “He created a drug, highly experimental. It couldn’t pass the FDA testing, though.”

  “He worked tirelessly to improve it, and get it into the hands of the FDA. The lab rats were dying quickly; the drug was killing them,” fake doctor says.

  “He still had backers who believed in it, though. They sent in a brilliant young chemist who was a huge risk taker. He and the founder refined the drug, testing it first on animals, then they found humans to test it on.”

  They found humans? Who would agree to testing something not FDA approved?

  “How did they find the humans?” Ronan asks the question I’m burning to know.

  “Homeless, runaways.” Catherine shrugs her shoulders callously.

  “And I thought I was a monster.” Ronan chuckles, and shakes his head. “So how did it go from there to here?” He gestures with is hands.

  “A lot of errors, and then a lot of successes. He found a strain of the drug to work on thirty-five percent of the recipients. However, since then there have been a few teething problems.”

  “What’s happened to the other sixty-five percent?” Ronan asks.

  “Most die. Some have lost their minds,” she answers blankly.

  Slumping against the wall, a tear falls down my cheek. I’m a damn experiment.

  “You’re quite open and honest with me. I find this surprising.”

  She looks at Ronan, her own evil smirk drawing up the corners of her lips. “You’re good at what you do . . . but you’re not irreplaceable.”

  “I might take this information you’ve given me, and go straight to the police,” he cockily replies.

  “I doubt your sister, Stephanie and her two sons, Jamison and Isaac, would like you to open your mouth. Especially considering Isaac would have no one to look after him. You wouldn’t want him to be left to the system, would you? Down syndrome children don’t thrive in the system,” Catherine counters with her own threat.

  Oh. My. Lord. Ronan has a sister who has kids. How did I not know this?

  Ronan’s face morphs in shock. He blinks several times before he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. My heart beats hard for Ronan, but I have to remind myself that he killed Jude and helped get me here, for money.

  Suddenly, a deafening warning sounds.

  “What’s happening?” Ronan asks as he leaps to his feet.

  Catherine’s on hers in a matter of seconds too. Both her and the fake doctor move to the door, opening it to look out.

  I run to the desk, and read over as many names as I can. Memorizing them to the best of my ability. There are pictures and statistics. I try to move the papers so I can see more, but my hand is translucent and glides through the paper.

  “Damn it!” I yell.

  Ronan turns to look toward where I’m standing.

  And, I’m out of the vision. Ronan’s managed to throw me off him, I find myself on my butt in the chair. “I can’t believe you killed him,” I spit toward Ronan.

  “Nothing personal, Alexa. Actually, I like you.” He stands and runs his palms down his trousers. “It’s just business.”

  “I hate you! I hope you rot in hell,” I scream at Ronan as he leaves the room.

  Tears fall as I slump against the chair.

  Jude’s dead because Ronan sold him out.

  “Alexa, tell us about your ability.”

  I lift my shackled hands and wipe the tears away. I ran from Jude to save him, and he died just the same. Tilting my head down, I silently cry for everything I’ve bought on everyone I loved. Innocent lives have been taken, because of me.

  “Alexa,” Catherine says again. “We have more questions.”

  I raise my head to look at one of the cameras. I lift my hands again, but instead of wiping at my tears, I flip the voyeurs the bird. “You can suck on this.” Lowering my head again, my heart hurts with all the pain I’ve caused.

  “Alexa!” Catherine harshly shouts through the speaker.

  I refuse to talk. I’ll be useless to them, they’ll have no choice but to kill me. I won’t do anything they want.

  Lifting my head, I arch a brow and stare straight at the camera. “I have nothing more to say.”

  Cold runs through my veins. My heart is finally calm enough to know the implications of my words.

  I’ve sealed my fate.


  I’m ready.

  Ready to die. Ready to meet my parents.

  I’ve been left in this interrogation room for a long time. I have no clock to tell me the time, but by my estimate, I’d say at least six hours have passed.

  I’ve been given no food, no water, and no further access to the bathroom.

  The cuffs are still around my wrists. They’re uncomfortable, and the steel pinches my skin when I move. But I’m ready to die.

  My entire body is protesting in pain. My feet have had pins and needles several times, and my spine is a constant, straining agony.

  Although my body is tormented by pain, my mind is clear.

  I will not help these people.

  I won’t be a part of whatever they’re doing.

  Staring blankly ahead, I blink as I wait for my executioners to show. They have to be in their conference room, or office, trying to find a way around me, to make me useful to them.

  In the vision, the fake doctor said I’m more powerful than I know. That means if I won’t cooperate, they’ll have to kill me so I can’t bring this organization to its knees. They can’t just let me go.

  I’m fated. I’ve made peace with it.

  The door opens, and Ronan enters the room again. “Get up,” he orders. I ignore him. I flick my gaze to him, then go back to staring at the wall.

  I’m giving him a huge, fuck you, without saying the words.

  “Get up!” He steps closer.

  My gaze goes to his shoes, then back to the spot.

  “I said get up!” He steps even closer, leans down and shouts in my face. With my game face on, I stare ahead.

  Suddenly, Ronan grabs my t-shirt around the neck, and hauls me off the chair. “Should’ve listened, Alexa. This would’ve gone better for you.” With a quick flick of his wrist, he snaps me to the side, slamming me into the edge of the table; pain shoots from my hip.

  But, I remain quiet, refusing to show weakness.

  If he’s the one they’ve sent to kill me, I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me hurt or cry.

  Grabbing me by the shirt again, he drags me out of the room, roughly tugging me along the corridor. I hear a rip, and know he’s torn the shirt. Looking down, I see skin exposed, and the top of my bra poking through the shredded clothing.

  But with my hands still cuffed together, and my feet slipping as I attempt to find traction, Ronan is throwing me around like a rag doll.

  “Should’ve just got up, Alexa,” he angrily huffs as he manhandles me.

  The pain is now searing in my hip, and I’m doing everything I can to hold in the tears. I hate him. I despise him with every drop of blood in my body.

  We arrive to another room, where there’s a toilet and a mattress on the floor. There’s nothing else, not even a tap to wash my hands. He haphazardly throws me in there, making me slide along the floor until my back hits the wall. He then comes in, leans down and takes off my cuffs.

  Shaking his head at me, I can see by the anger in his eyes, I’m about to cop a beating. Angrily, he lifts his hand and brings it down with so much force, it feels like my cheek splits. He lifts his hand again, this time backhanding me on the other side. His knuckles are huge, causing a sharp, burning sting across my other cheek.

  Standing, he spits on the ground, looks me over and leaves the room. “Should’ve fucking listened,” he says while closing, and locking the door behind him.

  When I know he’s gone, I stand to my feet and try to relax my body. My adrenalin is still pumping away furiously, and it takes me several minutes to finally calm down. Rolling my shoulders, I attempt to release the tension from my body.

  Sitting still in the interrogation room for so long has wreaked havoc with my body. My muscles cramp, and I walk around attempting to loosen them. I also try to find where the cameras are in here. I half chuckle to myself, because they’re easy to spot. There are undoubtedly a dozen in here, watching my every move. The room is sterile and white, and doesn’t have a window, which will make attempting to tell time impossible.

  “Ugh,” I huff out a deep breath. “You may as well send Ronan back in here to end me.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Catherine says over a concealed speaker.

  Suddenly, exhaustion hits me hard. I head over to the mattress, and lay down on it. I form a make-shift pillow by tucking my hands beneath my head. I have no more energy to fight these assholes today. I’ve been awake for what feels like three days straight, and in this time, I’ve been tricked, I’ve found out a man I trusted is not trustworthy, and my original kidnapper, the man who was becoming more than just my savior, is now dead.

  Closing my eyes, I find myself too drained to think of anything. These people have emotionally, and physically depleted all my energy. They’ve burnt me out. I can’t run anymore, I can’t even try to get away from them.

  They’ve ruined me.

  They’ve broken me.

  I give up.

  The shrieking sound of an alarm startles me from my restless sleep.

  “What’s going on?” I ask the stark, white room. A shiver runs over my body as I try to blink the sleep from my eyes. The wailing sound of the alarm echoes deep inside my head. The sound is so shrill, it vibrates in my skull. I place my hands over my ears, hoping it’ll drown out the sound.

  It does, but only marginally.

  “Hello?” I call out. Of course, I get no answer. “Wait,” I say to myself, remembering back to the alarm being sounded when I was in the vision with Ronan.

  The sound is still loud, but at least it’s somewhat bearable. It’s not ripping through my head like a large screw being shoved in my ear any longer.

  Eventually the sound stops, and the door opens.

  I hastily get to the other side of the room, trying to make myself one with the wall. Stupid, because there’s no running from death.

  A man stands at the door, his hands up in front of him as if he’s showing me he’s not a threat. “Miss Murphy?” he asks and takes another step forward.

  “Yeah,” I hesitantly reply, still having no idea who he is.

  Behind him, I catch a glimpse of two women, who are like bodyguards to the man in the room with me.

  What’s happening? Who are these people? I search his clothes for any tell-tail sign of who he is. A logo, or a word . . . anything. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and has nothing on him to identify who he is or where he belongs. His gentleness tells me he’s not like everyone else I’ve encountered here. I haven’t been roughly shoved, or beaten, or even thrust into a car. I truly have no idea what is happening.

  “My name’s Emmett Baxter and I work at the FBI.” He looks like an ‘Emmett.’ He’s tall, with really broad shoulders, but a kind face. “Can I come in?” he asks as he softly steps toward me.

  “What’s . . . ?” I glance around his wide shoulders to the two women outside the door.

  “It’s a long story, and you’re caught in the middle of it, but you’re safe now.”

  It’s almost like a weight has been lifted from me, instantly making my body relax. I let out a sigh of relief, and suddenly everything hits me at once.

  I burst into tears and collapse to the floor.

  Emmett rushes over to me, but I shake my head at him. “Please, don’t touch me,” I whisper. I’m not strong enough to keep from entering into a vision. And I have to try and hold on to the hope that this is real. I have to pray this isn’t an illusion, or some kind of sick, twisted conspiracy to get me to talk, or worse still, to kidnap me . . . again.

  “Alexa, the wound on your cheek needs to be seen by a doctor.”

  I reach up and touch where Ronan hit me, it only hurts when I brush it. “I’m okay,” I say shaking my head. Emmett sits beside me on the floor. I look up at him, tears stinging my eyes. “Are you real?” I ask, not believing that something good is finally going to happen.

  He draws his lips up in a sympathetic smile. “I am,” he announces.

  “Can I leav
e this place?”

  He nods his head. “But we need to talk to you; there’s a lot we need to discuss.”

  “Like filling me in on what’s happening?” He chuckles, stands, takes a set of gloves out of his pocket and slides them on. He offers me his hand to help me up. I stare at his hand, dumbfounded. “You know?”

  “We know.”

  What? How? What?

  Taking his hand, he pulls me up to stand. I still have no understanding on what’s happening. “We’re going to transport you to our field office, where we can talk about everything.”

  Nodding my head, I walk out of the room and immediately notice the number of people and the commotion happening around me.

  Catherine is being led away in handcuffs, and so is the fake doctor. Ronan is being lead out behind them.

  I run toward Ronan, stopping when I reach him. The man leading him out tries to block me from him, but Emmett tells him to step aside. Ronan stares at me, as cocky as ever.

  “You’re going to hell for what you did to Jude,” I spit toward him.

  Ronan’s smug look doesn’t falter. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Catherine turn back to watch our exchange. He looks at her, then back to me. “Then I’ll see him there.”

  The asshole. The damn bastard. I lose my shit at him, and slap him across the face. My hand stings from the force of the slap, and Ronan stares blankly at me. Redness immediately blooms on his cheek. Where did that come from?

  “Take him,” Emmett instructs the officer leading Ronan out.

  I watch his retreating back, and wish I had it in me to hurt Ronan more than just a slap on the face.

  Officers walk past me, their blue jackets with giant letters spelling ‘FBI’ stenciled on the back telling me, this is real. This isn’t a sick joke, or another game. Some are carrying boxes out, and some have cameras and are taking photos.

  Emmett stands beside me, watching me watching everyone else. “Take me away from here, and tell me what’s happening.”

  “There’s a lot to tell. Come this way.” The two women who were at the door lead the way down a maze of corridors. We get to an elevator, where the doors are ajar. A man, also in an FBI jacket, is waiting by the elevator. The moment he sees us coming toward him, he steps into the elevator and stands to the back.