Shine: Season One (Shine Season Book 1)

by William Bernhardt

  “You’d kill a baby?”

  “We’re not sure. Will this kill the embryo? Or just…alter it in some unforeseen way? We don’t know. All I can say for certain is, if this continues much longer, they’re both going to be brain damaged. Before they die. In protracted, excruciating pain.”

  “Why would you do this?”

  Coutant’s voice soared. “Do you think I wanted this to happen? How many times did I warn you? How many times did I tell you to obey the rules and stay out of trouble? But you wouldn’t listen. So don’t blame me, Aura. You’re the one to blame. Just like in Seattle.”

  She tried to say something, but she couldn’t make the words come out. She choked and cried and gasped, unable to catch her breath. She tugged at the cuff, but it didn’t give in the slightest. She was completely powerless—and they were killing her mother.

  And her little sister.

  And it was all her fault.

  “Beverly,” Coutant continued, “is far less valuable than you. We’re having some fun with her now, running a few tests of interest to certain persons, but we could kill her at any time. And believe me, we will. If you give us half a reason. We’ll kill her and we’ll make you watch.”

  She tried to reply, but found all she could do was whimper helplessly. Tears streamed and she struggled just to breathe. “You…venomous bitch,” she finally spat out.

  “Right. Make me the villain. Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think I want to hurt you? Or Beverly? Or your sister? Believe me, I don’t. I’m trying to save you the only way I know how. We both have no options. And we’re both trying to protect what we love most. Love makes us vulnerable, Aura. And that’s why we’re both going to do exactly what they want us to do.”

  “Never.”

  “Aura—”

  “Not in a million years will I give you what you want.”

  Coutant closed her eyes. “Very well. Gentlemen?”

  Joseph pressed a button on a small black mobile device.

  Her mother’s cell lit up. The ropes holding her tightened and turned blue.

  They weren’t ropes. They were some kind of wiring.

  And now they were electrified.

  Her mother’s body spasmed and writhed in midair. Her legs kicked out spastically, like some tortured marionette. Her eyes rolled back into her head. Blood trickled out of her eyes and ears.

  “Stop it.” She could smell the faint odor of burning flesh. “Please stop it.”

  The thrashing continued unabated. Coutant glared at her.

  “Stop it!”

  “Only you can stop it, Aura.”

  “Just—have your thug turn it off.”

  Coutant did not reply.

  The air was split by a sudden shriek. Her mother’s head dangled from her neck as if it were disconnected, while her hips thrust forward in a grotesque bucking. Her skin turned gray. She looked more like a reanimated corpse than a human being.

  “Fine,” she whispered. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just stop it.”

  “How do I know you’re sincere?”

  “Just stop it!”

  “Answer my question.”

  “I’ll do whatever the flick you want. Just stop it!”

  Coutant nodded to Joseph, who pushed another button on the black device.

  Beverly’s twitching subsided.

  But the tears and blood still spilled from her orifices.

  “So from now on, Aura,” Coutant said, “you’re going to behave yourself. You’re going to follow the rules. Cooperate. You won’t investigate, you won’t tell anyone what you’ve seen or heard, you won’t stir up the other girls, and you won’t try to escape. Because if you do, your mother will suffer unimaginable agony. Your sister will die. And when we’re done with them, we’ll start on some other loved one. Maybe one of the other girls. You so much as hint about what you know to one of the other Shines and I’ll know instantly. You’ll be signing their one-way ticket to an underground cell, and they’ll never be seen again.”

  “No,” she said quietly, barely breathing, begging. “Please don’t hurt them. Don’t hurt anyone.”

  “And in exchange for that favor, Aura, what will you do for us?”

  Her face fell to the floor. “Anything. Anything you want.”

  Episode Two

  Roses in the Ashes

  by William Bernhardt

  20

  Don’t give in, Aura told herself. Don’t cry, don’t beg, don’t bleed.

  Don’t let them see what they’ve done to you.

  Pressing down with her hands, she arched bare inches off the tile floor, like she was stuck in the middle of a pathetic pushup. Drool slithered out the side of her mouth. She couldn’t stop it. Her arms wobbled. Her left eye twitched.

  “Can you not see how entirely futile this is?” Dr. Coutant stood, surrounded as always by the three thugs or bodyguards or accomplices or whatever they were. She didn’t know their official title. But she sure knew what they did.

  “Let…my…mother…go.” Her voice trembled, as did her entire body.

  “Aura, are you completely delusional? That is simply not going to happen. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you have no cards in this game. Your stupid Shine can’t help you now. You’re just a pitiful little girl with her face covered with slobber, cowering on the floor like a disobedient dog.”

  She worked her jaw, trying to make the words come out right. “I…haven’t…done anything wrong.”

  “Tell that to the families of the people in Seattle you murdered.”

  Each word stung, slicing through her like an invisible knife. “I…am…not…a murderer. I never…meant…to hurt anyone.”

  “Then perhaps we should extradite you to one of the Seattle relocation camps. See what the folks there have to say about it.” Coutant bent over, grabbing her hair and jerking her head upward. “Give me what I need, Aura. So I can end this.”

  “I…already told you…I’ll do whatever you ask. What more do you want?”

  “I want to believe it. I’m a trained psychotherapist. I can tell the difference between someone saying what they think I want to hear and someone who has truly accepted the inevitable.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “You’re saying what seems expedient. You don’t want Beverly to suffer. But your heart is not in it. You’ll go back to your old rebellious ways as soon as you see an opportunity.”

  “I won’t.” Drool spilled out from her lips, with a little blood. Her jaw was still numb from the drugs, which made enunciation difficult. “I told you that already.”

  “I need more.”

  “I’m promising you.”

  Coutant leaned down till she was eye-level. “Tell me you’ll stop snooping around. Tell me you’ll obey the rules and stop stirring up trouble.”

  She wrapped some of the drool up with her tongue and spit it into Coutant’s eyes. “Go to hell.”

  Coutant stood calmly, took an electric cattle prod from Joseph, and touched it to Aura’s lower abdomen.

  She screamed. Screamed like a helpless child. Which was exactly what she was. She’d lost control of her body.

  “Ssssssstop!” Her entire body rocked back and forth. She tried but found she could not stop the spasms.

  “Frustrating, isn’t it?” Coutant said. “You can heal everyone else in the world—but not yourself. Aren’t you tired of this? I know I am. This hurts me just as much as it does you. Maybe more. But it’s necessary.”

  “D-Don’t make excuses. You’re enjoying it.”

  “If you only knew—” Coutant stopped short. “You can end this, Aura. Please do.”

  She couldn’t control her lips or tongue any better than she controlled the rest of her body. “Y—You’re the only one…who can end this. You. Witch.”

  “I’m not a bad person. I know you think that, but it isn’t true.”

  “Then. W—W—Why are you holding a cattle prod?”

  “Because I have a job to do. I had
the sense to know when I was beaten, and I didn’t insist on futile shows of obstinacy masquerading as strength.”

  “You sold out.”

  “I gave in to the inevitable. That’s not weakness. That’s intelligence.”

  “There’s…no pride in giving in to evil.”

  “Says the little girl drowning in her own spit.”

  “If you had any strength, you’d be down here with me.”

  Coutant’s face twisted. Her teeth clenched.

  The cattle prod returned.

  The pain ripped through Aura’s body like a barbed wire spine, piercing her most sensitive areas and leaving nothing unburned. Her eyes flew open, wider than she’d imagined possible. She heard a horrific noise and feared it came from her.

  The burning sensation spread, and she realized with humiliation and horror that she had wet herself.

  “And now?” Coutant asked. “Still feeling proud?”

  Each syllable required conscious effort. “I—give you—my—promise.”

  “And I still don’t believe a word you say.” Coutant tossed the prod to one of her accomplices. “Do the same to her mother. Continuously. Drag Aura along to watch.”

  “Noooo!” Tears sprang from her eyes. “I—won’t—cause—t-t-t—trouble. I won’t snoop. Please!”

  Coutant pursed her lips. “That’s the first time I’ve even begun to believe you. And I’m still not convinced.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Well, since you asked, I would like Dr. Hope to conduct a series of tests on you.”

  “She already has.”

  “These tests will be…more invasive.”

  “Like what you’re doing to those girls beneath the stables?”

  “No. Those experiments…will not leave much behind. Dr. Hope just wants to learn more about you. We would never do you any permanent harm. You’re a precious specimen, Aura. More precious than you know.”

  “F-Fine.” She clenched her eyes closed. “I’ll let your sadist doctor experiment on me. Is that enough? Will you…l-leave my mother alone now?”

  Coutant rolled her over and leaned into her face. “If you break your promise, we’ll start in on both of you. We’ll put you and your mother in the same cell and do you both at once. We’ll strip you naked and bring in people to watch. And we won’t use a cattle prod. We’ll use a scalpel. If you can’t fix your brain, we’ll fix it for you.”

  “Why? Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m doing it for you.” Coutant headed for the door, hand covering her face. “Get her out of here.”

  They grabbed her, and another shock wave of pain raced through her body. She tried to clutch her stomach, but she couldn’t make her hands go where she wanted them. The aching radiated through her lower abdomen. She twitched and jerked like a damaged doll, making her humiliation all the worse.

  21

  Dr. Coutant barely got the bathroom door closed before she hurled vomit into the toilet. She retched and spewed, and when her tiny breakfast was gone, she dry-heaved, clutching the porcelain for support. She felt as if the inner lining of her stomach might come ripping out next.

  How did this happen? How did her entire life become so twisted?

  Of course she knew how it had happened. Through her own damn carelessness. And stupidity.

  If only she had told Estes no. Right from the beginning.

  But that would have cost her the one thing she held most dear. At least now there was a chance. A remote chance. An against-all-odds long shot. But a chance.

  Her gut tightened and her face lurched forward. Nothing came out. There was nothing more to spew.

  She wiped her face and staggered to the door. She was almost out of the ladies room when she felt the ping on her watch.

  Dr. Estes. The world’s foremost expert on the science of Shine. And the most dangerous man alive, so far as she was concerned. A scientist who believed anything was justified if it increased his body of knowledge. A man too heartless to be called a sadist. He didn’t see the suffering. Only the empirical results.

  She glanced down at the text.

  DID YOU GET WHAT WE NEED?

  She knew what he meant. He was the only one on campus who saw Aura’s little snooping escapade as an opportunity.

  YES.

  She waited for the response. She knew he was a constant multi-tasker. He probably ran three experiments, nursed the cold-fusion generator, composited sera in the 3-D printer, and dictated his text messages, all at the same time.

  SHE AGREED?

  Coutant closed her eyes, batting back tears. YES.

  COMPLETELY?

  She had to type the next sentence three times before she got it right.

  I KNOW HOW TO DO MY JOB.

  She stood, clutching the tablet, waiting for a response.

  HAVE DR. HOPE START THE NEXT SERIES OF TESTS IMMEDIATELY.

  She knew what he meant, but she asked anyway.

  WHICH TESTS?

  And she knew what the response would be before it arrived.

  PROJECT INTENSIFY.

  So he was really going to do it. How many futures would be sacrificed? How many girls would be tortured before he found what he wanted? How many people would die?

  How could she live with herself?

  She made her way to her office, closed the door, inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. You’re only doing what you have to do, she told herself. When you see an opening, you’ll take it. In the meantime, you must remain calm. And compliant.

  And you must be willing to make sacrifices. Painful though they might be.

  She had to remain focused on the endgame. The ultimate stakes.

  She had to be willing to do what she must, whatever it required. It was the oldest truth known to humanity.

  There was nothing a mother wouldn’t do to protect her own child.

  22

  PRESIDENT DECLARES SANTA MONICA NATIONAL DISASTER AREA

  (AP) November 9 LOS ANGELES

  Police continue to investigate what caused a Santa Monica coffeehouse to implode last Thursday, taking the lives of at least twelve people and causing millions of dollars in property damage at one of the country’s most famous retail walkways. Lieutenant Sharma of the LAPD told reporters that the incident was “definitely Shine-related,” but indicated that they were pursuing many leads. Police were also able to confirm that at least one of the victims, Merena Johnson, formerly a San Diego resident, was a known and registered Shine who escaped from a nearby rehabilitative institution.

  Many have speculated that Johnson in fact caused the destruction, which in some respects resembles what occurred in Seattle earlier this year. “How many cities are we going to lose before we do something to stop these girls?” tweeted the Reverend Algernon Trent of the Shine Surveillance System. A volunteer Shine-treatment program sponsored by the SSS held meetings at the coffeehouse that was the center of the implosion.

  “Things are getting out of hand,” President Patterson said at a recent campaign rally. “I have always been a firm defender of the Constitution of the United States, but at this juncture of maturization we must consider softening the traditional conception of civil rights to insure the domestic tranquility and prevent collateral damage. There is some question whether Shines are even entitled to Constitutional protection, which traditionally only applies to members of the human race.” President Patterson traveled to the site of the Santa Monica incident to inspect the damage, and later declared the entire Promenade, the Santa Monica Pier, and the surrounding four-mile radius a national disaster site, qualifying it for federal relief.

  “Let me make this one thing perfectly clear,” the president said. “I will not rest until we have eradicated this threat. Other presidents have defended our nation against threats from the outside. I will bring the same attention to this threat from within. As far as I’m concerned—we are at war.”

  23

  Shine Surveillance System Tower

  Los Angeles, Calif
ornia

  Reverend Trent’s chauffeur landed the choppercar on the docking port just outside the panoramic window of his penthouse office, blades whirring and gale-force winds pounding. A little showy, perhaps, but if his study of the Old Testament had taught him anything, it was the importance of making a good entrance. Not many organizations could afford an office like his, and almost no one could afford their own choppercar, usually used for public transportation. But this was not merely an ostentatious display of the enormous funds at his command. This was sending his guests a silent message.

  He commanded power.

  A lot more than they did.

  The window portal slid down and he entered his office. He hopped off the landing and the window automatically closed behind him.

  “Senator. Ms. Fish. Thank you for joining me today. I apologize for being late.” Being late was of course another part of the power demonstration. But there was no reason he couldn’t be humble about it. They shook hands and he showed them to chairs on the opposite side of his desk, while he took the huge ornate chair behind it.

  “Let me ask you a question, Senator.” Perhaps this was a throwback to his years as a professor, but he still found the Socratic method the best way to lead people where he wanted them. A lecture might ruffle feathers. Better to allow them to believe they’ve acquired wisdom on their own. The wisdom he wanted them to acquire. “Do you have any idea how much correspondence I get each day?”

  Senator Marvin Sharpe, R-Cal, cleared his throat. “I would guess a fair amount.”

  “Yes. But how much?”

  The senator frowned. He undoubtedly preferred not to be forced to commit. “Ten, twenty e-blasts a day?”

  “More than six hundred a day. All just like this one.” He pointed down to his tablet. “People extremely concerned about the Shine infestation.”

  “I’ve had a few letters of that sort myself.”

  “I have as well.” The woman, Savannah Fish, served as district attorney for LA County. “I think it’s fair to say there’s serious concern out there.”