by E. J. Mellow
The Vigil looks out the glass and frowns. Tapping the tinted partition that separates us from the driver, he asks, “Hey, Kyle, where are we going?”
The driver doesn’t answer.
“Kyle?” the Vigil asks again. “Stop the car, man. We definitely skipped a few portals.”
Slowly the hover pulls to the side. The guard who tapped on the glass turns back to me with a smile. “Sorry, ma’am,” he says as the partition behind him falls away. “You’ll be there soo—gwah.” A line of crimson bursts from the Vigil’s neck, a quick flash of a silver knife as the helmeted driver cuts deep into his skin. A gurgle of pain and blood spit from the guard’s mouth and wound as his eyes go wide before they all too quickly fade to nothing. His life, just like that, gone. I scream and jump back right as the other guard dives in front of me, but with a bright burst of blue set off by a gun, he collapses into a heap by my feet, the Navitas hitting him in the one vulnerable gap between his gear.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m in shock, too worn out from my recent efforts at the stadium, or I just can’t find it in me to fight anymore (or all of the above), but as the driver opens a canister that springs forth a long blue-white glowing rope, I don’t even use my powers as the cord—with lightning speed—slithers completely around my body, pinning my arms to my sides and clamping across my mouth. Instantly I know my powers are stuck inside me, unable to be freed no matter how hard I try forcing them out, and with a cold trickle of dread, I realize why. I’m being held by Dreamer repellent. I saw a similar roped weapon back in the engineers’ lab with Raymond and Elena.
Lying on my side, the seat cushioning my fall, I watch helplessly, tangled in a boa constrictor’s grip as the driver presses a button on the side of his helmet, taking it off.
And though a part of me knew, sensed it, my heart still stops beating as I take in the man before me.
“It’s rather poetic, isn’t it?” he coos, turning to face me, his hazel eyes flashing yellow, catlike, under the dim light of the car. “My sister saving me, and then you saving my sister…” Aaron’s words trail off, swimming in the glee of the situation. His long, dirty-blond hair is tied back in a bun, but strings slip out to plaster against his oil-slick skin. His lips crack as they stretch into a grin, watching me, hardly looking any better than when he was on trial. With a sense of desperation, I wriggle under the bines, try to yell over the muzzle, but the rope only digs further into my skin, the pain bringing tears to my eyes.
His smile grows wider. “To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect tonight, if you indeed were going to forgive her, but I should have known better. Of course the benevolent Dreamer would,” he says with a sneer. “But no matter. My plans for you were going to be the same either way.”
The way he says plans brings ice to my veins. He’s not going to kill me then, which only means he’s going to do something much, much worse. I jerk against the constraints again. Mistake. They tighten so much that one of my shoulders threatens to pop from its socket. I groan against the rubber across my mouth and flicker my gaze in havoc around the car. There has to be something, anything.
“Shhh, shhh, don’t work yourself up,” Aaron says sweetly as he twists on a new barrel to his gun. “We have quite the journey ahead of us, you and I. I’ll need you with some of your strength.”
My body threatens to betray me. I feel it wanting to shake with panic and fear, and an earlier Molly would have given in to it. An earlier Molly would cry in a puddle of tears from her quick surrender.
But I’m no longer that girl. For good or bad. So instead I grit my teeth, biting the side of my cheek to keep myself in check, and hold back the wave of hopelessness that wants to overtake me as I defiantly stare into Aaron’s crazed eyes.
He laughs at me, as if he finds my determination endearing. “Sometimes you remind me of her,” he says with a nostalgic shake of his head. “Sometimes I can see her looking straight at me through you. But then I remember”—his face grows hard, his gaze filling once more with venom—“she’s dead.” And with the tranquilizer needle sparking painfully from his newly constructed gun, Aaron pulls the trigger, and my world tips sideways as I’m swallowed whole.
Some will not survive.
Others will.
All will leave a legacy to follow.
—Tome of the Elders, Vol. IV;
The Dreamers, Article 12
— 36 —
What if this doesn’t work?
What if that night was our last together?
—Part of a letter from Molly to Dev
White flashing lights of the security vehicles lit the dark night and whipped against the surrounding warehouses’ titanium walls. A small crowd of onlookers were being held back by tape while a group of Vigil soldiers explained the scene. They were looking into an abandoned government vehicle that was possibly stolen. This was not a lie, of course. The car was stolen. They were just leaving out the horror that was found inside and the person who was now gone—their world’s hope abducted.
Dev’s chest heaved up and down, up and down as he took in the blood-splattered interior, the two dead Vigil slumped against the black leather seats. He felt a world away as he gazed in. Floating somewhere far off, out of reach of the emotions that awaited his return.
He couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t live through it again.
He couldn’t… In all of Terra. Bringing both hands to his skull, he gripped it as if that might keep it from exploding. His rage was like a slow swell of a tsunami. For that was exactly what he was about to do—level this whole nightmare, forsaken land to find her.
“Molly,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”
Aveline stood next to him, a statue. But even in her stillness, he could feel her thoughts, her doubt. It froze his veins while simultaneously filling them with fire.
“She’s alive,” he said for them both to hear, but more for him. “She’s alive,” he repeated, his gaze moving across the stained upholstery.
How much is hers?
No! He rid his mind of it, for no other reason than he might add to the gore if he didn’t, the next person to walk by an unfortunate victim of his fury.
By the elders, why did he let her leave without him?
“Dev.” Hector’s voice brought him out of his spiraling emotions. The Vigil guard walked around the front of the car. When they first got here, Hector nearly collapsed on the spot along with Dev, seeing what awaited them. His hand flew to his mouth, as if to keep from vomiting, and his face bleached of color. Hector genuinely cared for his charge. Dev saw it when he chased after her, and in his eyes, the way a bit of his soul broke, just like Dev’s, to learn of Molly’s abduction.
“They found this on the front dashboard.” Hector’s brows remained glued together as he hesitantly handed Dev a small piece of paper, the Vigil’s gaze momentarily locking with Aveline’s in warning.
Dev’s fingers shook as he grasped the slip, but if his companions noticed, they said nothing as he read the words that were scrawled in a messy rush across the parchment.
He read it again.
And again.
His mind trying to retain their meaning, their truth, while violently rejecting them.
His thumb rubbed over the few droplets of crimson soaking its surface. A distant part of his brain wondered if Aaron purposefully added them for a dramatic flair, because if anyone doubted it before, this note was proof enough of who was responsible for this and who now had Molly. But whether or not the blood was hers, it didn’t matter, for the message still did its duty in filling each of Dev’s cells with a crazed panic, of all out insanity.
With the corners of his vision warping, blurring out of focus, he slowly closed his hand into a fist, crumpling the paper.
I promise you’ll see her again, the note read, all the pieces of her.
With a roar that broke through the thick night air, quieting all who were present, Dev charged the abandoned car, slamming
his fist into the glass.
Over and over.
Not even stopping when he felt his knuckles shatter under the pressure or when small cracks spider-webbed across the durable surface. He kept punching and hitting and yelling until his voice turned hoarse and blood painted the window, his blood mixing in with the others’. With hers. And on this last thought, he collapsed to his knees, his dripping and broken hand covering his face as he momentarily surrendered to something he hadn’t in over four decades.
Dev cried.
— 37 —
I often wonder what you’re doing at this exact moment.
Do our lives ever mirror in an unseen reflection?
I’m holding my hand over my heart. Are you?
—Part of a letter from Dev to Molly
My head feels like it’s filled with cement, weighted to the cold, damp surface where my body lies, every muscle laced with barbed wire as I hesitantly test moving.
Lightning heat slices across every cell.
With a groan I resist passing out again and keep still. Even taking a breath hurts. So I force my pants to remain shallow, yet that brings on a gagging cough, the air here so stale and rotten. If my eyes weren’t already watering from my pain, they would be from the stench. The only silver lining is that I’m pretty sure I know where I am—the underground tunnels. Which, I guess, isn’t that much of a silver lining, considering how sprawling and far reaching these go. Who knows how far away I am from the city. Plus, the odor most definitely means Metus are either close by or frequent travelers of this section.
Loose dirt starts to worm its way into my nose, my cheek pressed firmly against the ground, with my hands bound behind my back. I dare to turn ever so slightly away, but just as I feared, the same sharp pain splits down my spine.
“Mmmf,” I groan, my mouth still bound by a rubber adhesive. The rope that was lassoing the length of me is now scrunched into a thick belt around my waist, the blue-white glow from the Navitas—that so beautifully works against me—the sole illumination in the cave. Luckily, it doesn’t hurt to move my eyes, and I attempt to see past the small halo of light where I lie. Even with my slight night vision, I can barely make out anything more than a few small boulders peppering the ground, a rocky wall curving a good distance away, and the slimy mucus that covers it. If there’s a ceiling, I cannot see it, my belt’s glow only going so far. With a jolt of surprise, I realize my legs are free and not bound together. My breaths come quicker as I glance around again. It looks like I’m the only one here. I could run. Could try to—
As soon as the idea enters my mind, a bubble of laughter strains to escape my muffled mouth. Yeah, I can run just like I can do a simple task like turn over without wanting to vomit.
What did Aaron inject me with?
As if on cue, I hear footsteps stepping on the loose gravel floor, and I close my eyes, letting my muscles fall back into the appearance of unconsciousness.
“Your possum game won’t work with me.” A smooth voice speaks through the dark, a new warmth of a light on me. I remain still. “I heard you moaning,” he continues. “So I thought you might like some water.”
Water.
My mouth is instantly the driest thing in the world.
God, I hate how that works.
Aaron must sense my internal battle, for he jiggles whatever canteen he holds so I can hear the liquid sloshing inside.
With frustrated defeat, I slowly open one eye and then two.
“Good morning.” Aaron smiles down at me, the gesture so much like the nice doctor I met at the hospital. His ability to slip to and from his different personas terrifies me.
He’s still wearing the black uniform of the guard he impersonated, and I try not to think what he had to do to get it. A vision of red oozing from a man’s neck flashes before me.
Stepping closer, Aaron kneels down and reaches for my gag. I flinch away and then flinch again from the agony of moving.
“Easy now,” he says. “You can’t drink with this over your mouth, now can you?”
He must have dropped me near a wall, for my back presses up against a rough surface as he goes for the strip over my lips again, removing it with a quick pull.
“Aarrgg,” I gasp, feeling like he just ripped off a layer of skin.
“Sorry about that,” he says in a tone that sounds anything but contrite. “Only way those suckers can come off.”
I spit in his face.
He stills, his eyes closed as my saliva drips down his lids.
I draw as much satisfaction from this as I can, a terrified part of me knowing it won’t last long.
“I suppose I deserved that,” he says tightly, wiping himself with the back of his arm.
“You deserve a lot more than that.” My voice sounds foreign to my ears, rough and dry.
“Hmm, I can see how you’d feel that way.”
I merely glower at him right before he hoists me up to lean against the wall. A scream of pain rips out of me, the echo floating down a long tunnel hidden in the dark. We must be at the back of a cave. I’m surprised I can even take in this detail as I pant and try to keep from fainting, my skin flush and no doubt pale from the sensation of my bones splintering.
“Here.” Aaron shoves a silver canister to my mouth, and I pinch my lips shut. My eyes blaze as I stare into his silver-flecked ones, the blue glow from his lamp and my belt painting his features in whites and grays and highlighting the hollowness of his cheekbones, deep grooves of shadows.
“Your stubbornness is admirable,” he says with a sarcastic droll, “but I highly suggest you drink, because I’m not sure when I’ll be so inclined to give you another.”
I wish I spat at him again, turned away, told him to eat shit, anything than what I actually find myself doing. But because I know he’s not a man to threaten lightly, I lean forward and let him pour the cool liquid down my throat, sending the smallest amount of relief to my discomfort. All too soon he’s pulling it back and closing the lid.
I lick my dry lips, carefully watching him while testing the material of the binds at my wrist, cutting into the flesh. They feel like simple plastic zip ties, and it’s maddening how easily I could break them if I could only use my powers. But I can’t. It stays trapped, the belt hugging my stomach and slowly suffocating the ball of energy swimming inside.
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Aaron says, “let’s begin.” Taking a seat on a small rock in front of me, he places the plastic canteen and lantern by his feet. Once again I find myself longingly staring at the swirling Navitas inside the lamp.
“It rather surprised me when I heard you were back in Terra,” he says conversationally. “Actually, shocked is the more apt word. Which, if you weren’t aware, is a rare emotion for me.” He weaves his fingers in front of him, assessing. “I don’t like being surprised or shocked, Molly. I’ve worked quite hard to avoid it actually. So I ask you, how did you do it? How did you get back to Terra?”
I blink, momentarily stunned, and not by the lightness of his tone but from his question. Did Aurora not tell him? My mind flips through all the details of me and Rae’s transfer, the secrecy of it. Was it possible she was kept in the dark?
“Is that why you did all this?” I ask dumfounded and almost amused in my disbelief. “Because you want to know how I got back?”
A flash of something plays across his eyes, annoyance perhaps. “I think it might be best to introduce the rules of how this will work before we go any further,” he says while slipping on black gloves he pulls from his pocket. Removing a small box that was attached to his belt, he lifts the lid, releasing a red-orange glow. With careful precision he plucks a tiny round marble from within—at least it looks like a marble, except that it has an angry red flame that dances in the middle.
“Don’t let the size of this fool you,” he says, holding the ball between his gloved thumb and pointer finger. “They are quite the nasty buggers.”
I swallow, unable to remove my gaze fro
m the small fire.
“Now, I’ll ask again. How did you get back to Terra?”
“Why?”
Without hesitating, he flicks the red marble in my direction, and as soon as it hits my shoulder, there’s a bright-orange flare right before there’s a sensation of thousands of knives carving into my body. “AAAAAAAH!” I scream and fall over, chest heaving, tears streaming along my dirt-speckled cheek.
“I told you. Nasty buggers.” Aaron plucks out a new one. My body shakes. “So, do you think you can give me that answer?”
Even though I now understand how this will go, I can’t bring myself to give him what he wants. Terra only knows what he’d do with the information. Gritting my teeth, I try my best to sit up and hold his gaze as I ask, “Where did you get those?”
“Oh, Molly.” He shakes his head in disappointment and then throws another my way.
A flash of red followed by my familiar scream, my body convulsing under the splintering pain.
“This can all be averted,” he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his bent knees, half his face painted in crimson, the other in blue. “Just answer my question. How. Did. You. Get. Back?”
I spit onto the ground, my mouth filling with the taste of iron from where I bit the inside of my cheek, and roll to my back. “Fuck you,” I pant out, my skin dewing with a sick perspiration.
“What was that?” Aaron asks. He’s giving me one more chance.
I close my eyes, my hands cramping as they dig into the rocks under me, and muster as much courage as I can. “Fuck you!” I say louder right before my world becomes nothing but fire and cries and chokes of terror.
Four more rounds, four more blinding lacerations of misery before my body does what I only wish it did sooner—it slips into unconsciousness, letting the sounds of my whimpers and the smell of my urine-soaked pants be washed away by the darkness.