by Jasmine Walt
The pace set by his uncle’s imposed compulsion, however, meant that they moved at a much faster pace than the day before. Much of the ground had dried in the day’s sun, and traveling unburdened, the two made excellent time through the thick fields and flat grasslands. Even the hills hardly slowed them down; Jeremy felt the lactic acid in his legs, and sweat poured freely from his brow, but his uncle’s word had somehow given them incredible endurance.
It was only when he was stepping through the door that Jeremy realized his body was not any stronger than it used to be. His bones ached, his feet were sore, and there were more cuts on his body than he cared to think about, not to mention the dehydration that came from nonstop cross-country running. He was reaching a breaking point.
“Where have you been?” Annabelle asked as they entered. “You promised to be back hours—Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “What happened to you two?”
Jeremy looked down at himself. His outfit was tattered and torn in a dozen places; he hadn’t realized how rough the terrain had been on their clothes until just now. On the exposed skin were fine lines of blood from pushing stubbornly through thorny bushes and catching himself whenever he fell. While they had been running, nothing had existed except for following Uncle Rick’s order. Now, he was beginning to think clearly again, and he tried to respond to his mother. His voice croaked incoherently.
“What?” she asked.
“Water,” he finally managed. His father was breathing heavily, and he either would not or could not talk. He blinked furiously and searched about the room with a confused look. Annabelle handed them each a tall glass of water before stepping back and folding her arms, still clearly upset but patiently waiting for Jeremy to regain his voice.
“Trip took…longer…than expected,” Nathaniel gasped.
“You think?”
“Mom, we didn’t mean—”
“This is so typical of your brother,” she said to Nathaniel. “Every time he comes around, he has another harebrained scheme to involve you in. I can’t believe you still go for it!” Her voice turned inward. “You know, for a second—for one brief, shiny freaking moment—I thought Rick had changed.” The edge to her tone returned as she said, “And I thought you had changed. But no, I was wrong. And I am sick and tired of being disappointed by you. Jeremy, go to your room,” she added absently, her eyes still on his father.
“Mom—” he started to protest.
“Room. Now.” Her voice never rose and never quavered, but it was deadly in its quietness. He walked unsteadily down the hall toward his bedroom. His legs shook violently and threatened to give way beneath him; whatever his uncle had done to them, it left his body running on fumes. To emphasize that point, his stomach growled loudly, like a small bear cub.
Bear cub, Jeremy thought. His eyes widened and he turned around abruptly. “Mom, there was a bear!”
She faced him with hands on her hips. “What are you talking about?”
“In the valley, there was a big black bear.”
Annabelle looked suddenly around the room, apparently just noticing the missing member of their party. “Where is Rick?”
Nathaniel pointed toward the dark window, and Jeremy supplied the words. “Last time we saw him, he had turned to face the bear.”
“On his own?”
“We…didn’t really have a choice,” Jeremy said. He knew now what his uncle was capable of—supported by the memories he had absorbed—but he had no idea how to broach that topic with his parents. And if he revealed that his uncle had a power, he didn’t like where the resultant line of questioning would lead to.
Straight back to me.
His mother nodded and somewhat regained her composure. “I’m certain he can look after himself,” she said.
“We aren’t going to go look for him? We should call the cops, at least.”
“I will not put you in any more danger, Jay. And the police have better things to do than tromp through the woods looking for a man and a bear. Your uncle will be fine, now go to bed.”
Jeremy saw that the argument would not move any further, and trudged painfully to his room. He removed the ripped, oversized clothing. His open blisters clung to the inner lining of his boots, and the skin tore fresh as he peeled them off his feet. There was a strong, damp odor to the clothes as well; they had slept in the same gear and walked or run almost nonstop since leaving the Scott ranch. He was tempted to simply throw everything in the fire, but he settled for dropping them in the farthest corner of the room.
He donned some loose-fitting sleeping clothes and collapsed face-first into bed, his nose squished against the pillows. His brain was exhausted. He had had one hell of a long day, and when he added his uncle’s memories to those of his mother and father—on top of those from his own life—his head felt full, heavy, and dull. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to fall asleep, but some tiny part of his brain kept moving along despite his wishes. He closed his eyes, and scenes from Uncle Rick’s past came to him, unbidden.
It was a bright, sunny spring day, and the blossoming trees that lined the brick pathways of Odols University were in full bloom. Jeremy stood in front of a young, sandy-haired Nathaniel, and they were loitering outside of the admissions building. Students passed by with backpacks and books, and Jeremy was talking to his brother encouragingly.
“I guarantee that you’re going to love it here,” he said, patting his younger brother on the shoulder.
“You never went to college,” Nathaniel argued. “Why can’t I stay at home and work with you and Dad?”
Jeremy shook his head. “Mom always wanted us to go to college. At least now, she can be proud of one of us.”
Nathaniel’s brow furrowed the way it always did when he was upset. “She left us, though. And she left Dad.”
Once again, Jeremy shook his head, but he only smiled at his brother. “One day, you’ll understand,” he said. “And you’ll thank me for this.”
“But what if—?”
“Nate, I don’t want to hear any more complaints, all right?” His voice took on the deep, rich suggestive tone that he would exude continuously as a grown man. “Do well in school, be successful, and make us all proud.” He gestured to the campus around them, adding, “And while you’re here, if you can, find a girl you like and make her yours.” His voice was joking, but Jeremy watched as his father’s expression never changed.
Derrick probably never even knew what he had done that day. This was the day that had shaped his father’s life—forever.
In the blink of an eye, another memory pushed its way to the fore.
Jeremy was in a living room, though none that he had ever known. He checked his father’s memories and found the answer: it was his and Annabelle’s shared apartment, shortly after his own graduation. But Jeremy could see in the reflection of the mirror that the body he was in was not Nathaniel’s.
Derrick’s eyes reflected back at him, and he had his arms wrapped loosely around Annabelle’s waist. He held her close—too close—and they were swaying back and forth in rhythm to a slow song of piano and saxophone. Annabelle’s head rested against his chest, and her delicate lips were slightly tilted in a smile.
Abruptly, almost violently, Jeremy was ripped from that memory and transplanted into a living nightmare.
The air was thick and humid, and the ground he walked on was soft beneath his feet. Everything around him was vibrant and alive, and the noise of so many animals crying out at once was overwhelming. He avoided breathing when he could, and took short, shallow breaths when his lungs finally demanded air. As he looked around, Jeremy saw purple lines that coursed along tree roots and visibly spread their tendrils up the trees even as he watched.
The howling of the monkeys, the calls of the birds, and the cries of the insects nearly drove him mad, and he realized what was causing the uproar: the rainforest was dying.
Whatever they’d used to poison the air, it hadn’t been restricted to a few guerrilla rebels. Every
thing that breathed air and drank water was now falling to the ground in submission to death.
Jeremy woke with a start. He was back in his bedroom, and he pinched himself just to make sure it wasn’t another dream. The hearth was dark, and the room felt cold without hungry orange flames licking at the blackened stone frame of the fireplace. He breathed deeply, his lungs begging for fresh air even as his brain tried to slow his rapidly beating heart. Adrenaline pumped fervently through his veins. He looked at the clock by his bed. It was the middle of the night, and he had only been sleeping for a few hours. His head ached horribly, and it felt like only moments ago that he had been closing his eyes.
Another thing became glaringly obvious to him: the reason why his father had had a doctor with him coming to the valley. It wasn’t for a routine blood test; it had been for a very specific reason. And after seeing the way Ellie interacted with animals and the stark differences in their appearances, her hair dark while Jeremy’s was fair, Jeremy realized that his sister was very possibly only half that. They shared a mother, certainly, but Ellie’s father…Jeremy shuddered. What had Uncle Rick done to their family?
He swung his legs out over the edge of the bed and rose with purpose. He changed into fresh clothes that covered his arms and legs, mindful now of the briar patches and long fields of switchgrass that lay before him. The borrowed memories had felt like a curse ever since he’d gotten them, but now he knew the purpose for his newfound power. His uncle was dangerous—one of the seriously bad people that Old Ben would want him to fight. But how could he hope to stand against a man with Uncle Rick’s ability, a man who could force people to bend to his will with a single word?
Jeremy glanced around the room, hoping for inspiration, when his eyes fell upon the full-length mirror that stood in the corner. He pursed his lips and nodded. It could work.
From one of his drawers he pulled out an old t-shirt, one he hadn’t worn in years, and wrapped it around his hand. It was cinched tight with a knot he held in his closed fist. He pulled back a nervous fist and punched, but it was weak and lacked conviction. He was too scared of his knuckles being sliced open. The cloth-bound punch hit the mirror with a dull thud. The glass vibrated for a second before settling again.
Jeremy was struck with a thought, and he silently opened the door to his bedroom. The house was dead silent, and the only light to be seen was that of the moon shining in through the windows. He stepped forward on the balls of his feet, willing the floorboards not to creak beneath his weight. His sneakers—unworn since the Tower—were settled next to each other by the door. He picked them up and made a hasty retreat to his room, shutting the door behind him. He wadded up several shirts and stuffed them in the crack under the door, hoping to muffle as much sound as he could.
He faced the mirror with a shoe held aloft in one hand. Confident in his safety but worried about the noise, he struck the glass with the hard rubber heel. It vibrated more violently than before, but the surface remained unbroken. Smudged, but whole.
Frustrated, he swung harder than he meant to, and the top half of the mirror shattered beneath his shoe. He jumped away before any shards could land on his feet, which were covered only by socks. Glass smashed loudly against the floor, and Jeremy cringed as he waited for the entire house to wake up.
Miraculously, nobody came running. His rudimentary soundproofing had been enough to keep the noise from reaching the rest of the house.
He reached down, picked up a shard of glass the size of his palm, and wrapped it in cloth so that it was completely bundled up. Reasonably certain that the sharp edges wouldn’t cut through the fabric, Jeremy tucked it in his back pocket and put on his sneakers. He would sweep up the rest of the broken mirror in the morning when he returned.
His stealthy retreat from the house was interrupted by footsteps approaching from the other side, and he froze as Ellie appeared in the moonlight. She was barefoot and dressed only in pajamas, but her eyes were fully alert as she looked at him skulking in the hallway.
Should he tell her what he’d uncovered? He quickly discarded the thought. Even if he could convince her of the memories he’d absorbed, what would it solve? There was no upside to her knowing the truth. If Uncle Rick was actually her father, it wouldn’t change anything. She was still his little sister.
“Where are you going?” Ellie asked.
“What are you doing up?”
“I heard a noise and got out of bed.”
“Well, go back to bed.” He felt bad being curt, but he didn’t have time to deal with her, not with the fate of their family hanging in the balance.
“Not until you tell me what is going on,” she argued, literally putting her foot down with a small stomp. “Where were you and Dad all day? Where is Uncle Rick?”
“I really don’t have time to explain, Ellie, please. I’m going to find Uncle Rick now, and I’ll be back in the morning. I promise.”
“You didn’t keep your last promise.”
“Neither did you,” he countered. Ellie shifted on her feet, and Jeremy could have sworn he saw her blush, but it was too dark to be certain. He thought quickly. “Look, it’s really important that you keep this one, okay?”
“Keep this one what?”
“Keep this secret,” he said patiently. “You can’t tell anyone where I’m going or what I’m doing, not until morning, at least. When I get back, I’ll explain everything to you.”
She frowned and bit her lip. “You have until eight to spill the beans.”
He looked at the clock mounted behind her; it was nearly one o’clock. “Ten,” he countered.
“Nine o’clock, and if you’re a minute late, I’ll tell Mom everything.”
Jeremy grinned. “You don’t know anything,” he said, “but go ahead and try. I’ll be back way before then.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, Ellie,” he sighed. “Cross my heart, blah, blah. Can I go now? We’re going to wake Mom up if we talk any longer.”
Ellie nodded and stepped aside to let him pass. “Be safe, big brother,” she whispered, sounding more serious than he had ever heard before.
He looked at her and gave a quick smile as he touched the bandage on his head. “I’m always safe.”
She snorted, and Jeremy ducked out the front door. He started off in the direction of the Tower, taking the dirt path that was most easily visible in the moonlight.
His thoughts flashed back to the jungle memory, obviously of his uncle’s time in Brazil. Everything had been dying, and he knew now that the earlier story had been a complete lie. They had taken out the drug lord, but not without also poisoning the rest of the jungle. Plants and animals had died by the thousands at the hands of one man, the very same man who felt confident in facing a grown black bear with only a small knife.
And now he was here, planning who knew what with the fate of the valley.
His uncle was the most dangerous man alive, and Jeremy had to confront him.
23
It was past one in the morning when Brennan finished typing his report of the failed raid on the warehouse.
By then, news of what had befallen Bishop’s team had reached the rest of the precinct. They had already sent a relief squad, but the only officers returning from her squad came in body bags. Bishop herself was still missing, whereabouts unknown.
He cursed as he slammed the door to his apartment shut behind him. I should have been there with her. It was stupid to split up; even if they had hit the wrong place first, at least they would have known where Leviathan was. The door to his left creaked open, and he had his sidearm up and ready with a twitch.
“Woah, woah!” Greg said, slowly emerging from the bedroom. “Uncle Arty, it’s me.”
Brennan had forgotten that his nephew was staying with him. His heartbeat slowed precipitously as he lowered the gun. “I’m sorry,” he said. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I’ve—it’s been a long day.”
“Long week,” Greg said morosely. Brennan
nodded sympathetically. He shrugged out of the bulletproof vest he still wore and slung it over a chair. Greg raised an eyebrow. “They let you keep those?”
“Occupation just got a lot more dangerous,” Brennan said. “We lost half a dozen good officers tonight.” The words were raw on his tongue. He still couldn’t believe how far south their plan had gone. His plan. He had never consulted Bishop on what they should do with Sam’s lead; he just made a plan and ran with it.
“What happened?”
“We had a lead that went horribly wrong. And Bishop…” Brennan said, his voice trailing off. “She was taken.”
Greg’s eyes widened with comprehension. “Was it a theater? Did she go missing at a theater?”
“What?” Brennan looked at him, confused, until he remembered his nephew’s Chamalla-induced vision. “No,” he said. “It was an, uh, a factory, in uptown.”
“Oh.” Greg looked everywhere else in the room for a few seconds before his eyes finally fell back on Brennan. “I’m sorry. To hear that she’s missing, I mean.”
Brennan grunted.
“It’s better than if she were dead, right?” Greg continued. “I mean, she wasn’t among the dead officers, so they probably want her alive for some reason.”
“What reason would that be?” Brennan snapped. He moved to tower over his nephew. “How is that supposed to make me feel better, knowing she’s probably suffering somewhere? These people wouldn’t spare her out of pity, or because she’s a woman! No, they’re going to make her miserable for every second of life she has left. She is going to die, and it won’t be quick, and it will all be my fault!”
Greg retreated to the couch, and Brennan realized he was putting a safe distance between them. “I was only trying to help,” he said. “Even if she is being tortured, that means she is still alive somewhere, and that means you still have a chance to find her. Are you really going to waste your time wallowing in self-pity, or are you going to rescue her?” His eyes held a flinty gaze that made Brennan look away in shame.