The Bellator Saga: The First Trilogy (Dissident, Conscience, and Sojourn)

by Cecilia London

  His implication was clear as crystal. “You believe me,” she said. “You know I’m right. I know you don’t want to believe it, Jack.”

  “I don’t. But I’ve been hearing things…probably very similar to what you have. God help us if what you’re saying is true. But you have no proof, sweetheart. And you have to decide whether it’s worth the cost to try to figure it out.”

  “What are you saying? We sit back and do nothing because we’re fortunate enough to have a certain amount of authority ourselves? That’s really selfish.”

  Jack pulled his hand back. “You think I feel this way because I’m being selfish?”

  Caroline winced. One of his greatest insecurities and she’d gone for it right away. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  He sounded incredibly hurt. She’d taken all the doubts creeping up on her over the past several weeks and thrown them in his face. She knew better. “I didn’t. I know that’s a sore point for you and I hit it. Please don’t take it that way.” Caroline leaned into his shoulder, and Jack slowly brought his arms around her. It took a hell of a lot longer than it should have.

  “Okay,” he said. “I won’t.”

  “We have power,” she said. “Money. Privilege. And we have very loud, influential voices. If this is truly happening we can’t let it go.”

  “I don’t want you to put yourself at risk, sweetheart. That’s all I meant. So help me if that makes me a selfish man. I don’t want you to fight this battle. Why can’t someone else do it?” He squeezed her tighter. “Never mind. I know the answer to that question.”

  Caroline smiled shyly. “Am I that predictable?”

  Jack started stroking her hair. “I don’t want you to be right about this,” he whispered. “I really don’t.”

  “I don’t want to be right either. But I can’t let this go. Not yet. And I need to know that even if you don’t want to hear about it, you aren’t resenting me for it.”

  “I’ll try harder. All right?” He tipped her chin up and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You want to call it a night?”

  A tempting idea. She could take a hint. “Sure.”

  But as they made their way upstairs to their bedroom, the cloud still hung over them. Caroline knew it wouldn’t dissipate for a very, very long time.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Fed

  Jen screamed all night in her cell. Maybe she didn’t realize that they weren’t soundproofed. Or that she was right next to Caroline. The guards had unquestionably concocted that living arrangement on purpose, since they’d gotten so much traction out of doing the same thing with Ellen.

  But they’d had time together. Precious little time, but time nonetheless. And Caroline would whisper in her ear, and Jen would whisper back. All the things they never said to each other. Soft, meaningful words. Words of determination, of cheap attempts at strength without any hope behind them. Maybe that was how people made peace with the universe. Caroline didn’t know.

  Her two favorite guards came in the next morning with Murdock trailing behind. Powell put two metal chairs in the center of her cell about ten feet apart, facing each other. Such a furniture arrangement could mean nothing good. Fischer dragged Jen in from her own cell and shoved her into it. She looked rougher than she had the day before. The guards hadn’t gone easy on her. She had fresh blood on her shirt, and they’d split her lip and broken her nose.

  Powell shoved Caroline into the other chair, cuffing her hands behind her through the slats in the chair. No way to escape, no ability to fight back.

  This was not a good situation.

  Murdock turned to Jen. “You’ve been stubborn,” he said. “Just like your old boss.” He marched over to Caroline. “She didn’t tell us a damn thing, as I’m sure you intended.”

  Caroline swelled with pride. Her night had been ugly, but Jen had held out.

  Murdock swung back around toward Jen. “Gerard here hasn’t been cooperative with us at all. Weeks of questioning and…other methods of interrogation have proven to be ineffective.” His lips twitched. “So I’ve decided there’s really only one option left.”

  Fischer drew his pistol, pressing it to the side of Jen’s skull.

  “One of my more brilliant ideas, I have to admit.” Murdock broke into a full smile. “I do enjoy when I’m struck with genius.”

  Jen didn’t react. Maybe she didn’t realize what was happening. Or maybe she didn’t care. But Caroline did. Her mouth gaped open as she stared at Fischer. His hand was steady, his expression bland. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t sad, he wasn’t torn or confused or even all that focused. He was just there, indifferently pointing a gun at a woman’s head.

  Murdock’s smile didn’t fade. “Last chance to talk. Perhaps the possibility of a bullet to Ms. Whitcomb’s brain may loosen your tongue.”

  Jen leaned forward in the chair, her attention galvanized. “Don’t tell them anything, Caroline! I mean it.”

  Caroline couldn’t give in now. She’d come so far, given up so much, and one of the few true things she had left was sitting in front of her, a deadly weapon practically glued to her temple.

  No lady. No tiger. Only the barrel of a gun.

  She gave Jen a desperate look, unable to verbalize her fears.

  Help me, Jenny. I don’t know what to do.

  Jen gave her head a quick jerk to the left, her eyes wide. And Caroline could see it in her expression, as plainly as if Jen had said it out loud. No.

  She was telling Caroline no. Telling her to keep her mouth shut, just as Bob had. Fischer grabbed Jen around the throat, keeping the gun in place.

  “Don’t do it!” Jen screamed. “Don’t give in to these fuckers.”

  Caroline should have been comforted by Jen’s bravery. But it made her feel sick. Overwhelmed. And guilty as hell.

  May God forgive me.

  Caroline closed her eyes. “I don’t know anything,” she whispered.

  There was no way this was happening. Her entire prison experience had been bizarre and demented but there was no possible way that her life had come to this.

  Powell yanked her up by her hair. “Open your eyes.”

  Caroline bit her lip as a tear trickled down her cheek. This had to be a nightmare. A dream. Anything. Anything to get her out of this. Anything to spare Jen. Powell pulled out his own sidearm and hit her as hard as he could in between her shoulder blades. She let out a moan and another tear slipped out.

  “Open your fucking eyes.” He put the gun to her temple, yanking her up by her hair again.

  “Kill me,” Caroline said. “Do it. Release her.”

  “You’ll get what’s coming to you.” Murdock was pacing. She could hear his footsteps. He was getting closer to her. “But first you get to watch a little show.” His breath blew on her face. It was not a particularly enjoyable feeling. He grabbed her shirt. “Open your eyes.”

  “It’s okay, Caroline.” Jen’s voice rang out with remarkable clarity. “I’m ready.”

  She blinked and saw Jen’s petrified face. Caroline knew the guards had purposely kept Jen in the clothing she’d been wearing when she was arrested, because it was covered in blood. Her blood, Eric’s blood, Katie’s blood – who knew?

  A scared stiff appearance coupled with a defiant voice. Her dear, fearless Jen. Caroline started crying. “I love you. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

  Murdock gave Caroline one final sneer. “Any other parting thoughts? Make them count. I want to hear all the pretty words.”

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He wasn’t getting anything more than he’d already taken. “You’ll rot in hell for this,” she said.

  Caroline fixed her eyes on Jen, trying to tell her what she didn’t have the courage to say. To apologize without words. And she didn’t want Murdock and the others to be privy to such a private exchange. But she knew she had to say something, even if it was babbling nonsense. “I’m so sorry, Jenny,” she whispered
. “Please forgive me.”

  Jen glared at Murdock. “You’re not the one who’ll need forgiveness.” She brought her gaze back to Caroline and tried to smile, tears in her eyes. “I love you. I could never hate you. Ever.” Her voice broke. “I’ll hug Katie for you.”

  Murdock nodded at Fischer and he pulled the trigger. And Caroline found herself screaming again.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Fed

  Caroline sat shackled to the chair. She’d been there all night. She assumed it was night. Time didn’t really have any meaning to her anymore. But they’d left the lights on. Not that she had any question as to why.

  She stared at the large puddle of red on the floor. Blood. Jenny’s blood. The guards dragged Jen’s body out of Caroline’s cell as she sat there shrieking at them to kill her. Murdock looked back, smiled, and shut the door behind him. None of them had returned.

  She didn’t know how long it had been since then. Probably hours. She screamed for Jenny at first. Not that it mattered. But it was the only thing she could do. She wanted her friend back. She wanted to rewind the clock. She wanted to redo any number of errors she made that culminated in a fate she no longer controlled. Her eyes were itchy. Her throat was dry. Her tangled hair hung down into her eyes and tickled her face, which she’d normally find bothersome, but it at least provided her with a mild distraction.

  Red.

  Blood.

  Jenny’s blood.

  They knew what they were doing. She’d had hours, days perhaps, to focus on what they had done to Ellen. To think about what that meant for her. To dwell on anything she could have done differently. Then they brought Jenny to her with similar results.

  Murdock looked almost surprised in the immediate aftermath, studying her reaction as Fischer and Powell did their dirty work. She was certain that he was going to focus like a laser on any future efforts at making her suffer. Thinking up new and different ways to torture her soul before killing her body.

  They had their answer. They knew she wasn’t going to talk. But she yelled it out again anyway despite her fading voice. They had never listened to her before but they would have to listen now. She changed it up a little in case they hadn’t gotten the message. Sometimes referred to them by name. Tried to make it personal. Because they already had.

  Fuck you, motherfuckers. I’m not telling you shit. Fucking cowards. You’re all cowards and I fucking know it.

  She had to stop when she became too weak to continue. Her bones hurt. Her joints. Her cartilage. How was that even possible? Her stomach had stopped gnawing on itself a long time ago. How many days had passed since she had something real and substantial to eat? Dinner, the night they’d been run out of their home? How long ago had that been?

  Caroline shuffled somewhere between animal and human, wholly unaware of her existence. Caught between the primal urge to kill those who dared harm her friends and the childish desire to curl up in a ball and weep. She wasn’t lucky enough to be the mouse who got gnawed up right away. No, she had to stumble upon a destructive force that would toy with her, make her suffer, until it finally gobbled her up in mangled little pieces. The Fed had her by the tail, batting her around, baring one claw in a reminder that soon, very soon, she’d be lunch. And Murdock was the biggest predator of them all.

  Jack will find me.

  Ah, hope springing eternal. That thought, still tucked away in the back of her mind, rising to the surface at the most desperate times. The tiny glimmer of faith floating in a churning sea of doubt. Perhaps there was a feather left after all.

  He’s not coming, you idiot. He’s dead.

  Common sense was telling faith and hope to go jump off a cliff. She blew her hair out of her face again. Positivity. She needed positivity.

  Jenny will come back. Yes. With Katie, and Ellie, and Bob, and we’ll all sit around and have the loveliest conversations. Such wonderful company.

  Was that possible? Maybe it was all a mirage. Maybe she was just having an incredibly vivid dream.

  Think logically. They’re dead. Everyone is dead, thanks to you.

  Her inner monologue had become a dialogue, a reminder that her mind was oh so slowly descending into madness.

  Caroline closed her eyes but she could still see her cell inside her mind. Every inch of it. Every crevice, every corner. She’d spent enough time in there to have every single aspect of it memorized, even in total darkness. She tried to think of anything other than the stain on the floor.

  How long had she been there? When were they going to stop this? How much more was she going to have to see? How many more people would suffer because of her? How much longer did she have before she’d be the one in a pool of blood on the floor?

  Soon. I hope it’s soon.

  She shook her head, trying to jar the disturbing thought loose.

  I want to die.

  She shook her head harder. It didn’t work.

  I want my mommy. My daddy. I want to see Nicky.

  Caroline stomped at the floor, telling herself to fight it. She could swear she could still hear Ellen screaming, could feel Bob’s grip on her wrist. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Jen’s face. Jen, who had been as strong as Caroline was weak. Even in her final moments, she’d defied them while her former boss took the easy way out.

  Caroline had betrayed one of the best friends she had. That bell could never be unrung. She twisted in the cuffs, knowing that the skin on her wrists was bleeding and raw, as it had been for the entire time she’d been there. A permanent reminder of her captivity, a visible wounding of her spirit. One more conspicuous scar to add to the tally. She wept and prayed for death.

  It seemed like hours before the lights finally went off, which made things worse. Sitting in the dark shackled to a chair was not exactly preferable to being bathed in light. She knew that the night had passed when the guards came back into the room and uncuffed her, upending the chair and dumping her on the floor before shuttering her into darkness again.

  She was a sack of bones. Aching, shattered, broken bones. Maybe they’d finally accomplished her goal. She was finally beaten down too much to go on. Ruined. Destroyed. Wrecked.

  Santos. That fucking bastard. The man had ascended without deserving it, and the entire country was paying the price. Her cell smelled like death. It was not preferable to the old odors of mildew and human filth. She kicked at the wall until her foot hurt too much to continue. Pain allowed her to refocus on her fatigue, and she tumbled into an emotionally exhaustive sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The Past

  Caroline Gerard – former state prosecutor, former Assistant United States Attorney, former member of Congress – had a burn phone. And a burn laptop, though that probably wasn’t the proper terminology. And a secret screen name, and a secret language, and a secret underground movement at her fingertips.

  She wasn’t sure how secure any of her movements were. But she’d gotten shifty. She’d sneak away from the Governor’s Mansion on a biweekly basis, slipping from open network to open network in an effort to keep her movements from being tracked. She traveled outside the city limits on occasion. It still amazed her that so many people were willing to leave their wireless connections vulnerable to hacking or as she liked to put it, the temporary borrowing of services, but she was grateful for their ignorance.

  She felt guilty for keeping this information from Jack. But he would have never let her leave the safe confines of their home without a member of their security team. Not anymore.

  The political landscape transformed as summer changed into fall. Executive orders of dubious constitutionality, questioned by few. Random resignations from members of Congress. Judicial officials scheduling their retirements long before such announcements were due.

  The rumors of what was to come, spread mostly on message boards and largely ignored by the general public, were worse. Tax rates on rich individuals raised to as yet unseen percentages. Burdensome regulations on small busine
sses and sole proprietors coupled with less oversight for large corporations and financial entities that cooperated with the government. Marriage equality and other civil rights laws wiped away. Militias assembling in each state, mobilizing in support of the Administration’s plans, searching for signs of dissention. Strange coalitions were forming between left and right, no doubt spurred by the chummy, sometimes parasitic relationship between the president and vice president.

  But those rumors were nothing compared to the others. That activists were being rounded up, disappearing into thin air. That membership in the militias would be the only way to maintain private gun ownership. That people on public assistance would be prohibited from receiving any benefits unless they were sterilized or baptized into select churches.

  The rumors were a blend of political ideologies…the radical parts of conservatism that bordered on fascism coupled with the most disturbing aspects of socialism. It wasn’t a terribly illogical alliance, if people stopped to think about it. If they considered that the political spectrum was not a straight line but a circle. But most Americans didn’t analyze things that deeply.

  Some of the rumors seemed a little wild to Caroline, while many seemed consistent with the Santos she had come to know. She learned not to dismiss the knowledge passed on to her through the underground. She trusted the people in the movement. She never identified herself by name but based on multiple online postings, they had an inkling that she was involved somehow, if indirectly. Very few of them knew that the screen name they were communicating with or the person to whom they were sending documents was actually the First Lady of Pennsylvania.

  She grouped and tracked every bit of information she obtained, careful to transfer each damning bit to multiple drives. Paper copies were a risk. Anything done on a state computer or other easily monitored device was unwise. She and a handful of trusted friends developed a code when speaking on their personal phones and were careful never to say too much.