“What a nice loophole for you,” I said.
“It’s no loophole,” he said. “If you want to leave right now, you can. I hope you’ll stay, at least until you’re fully healed, but the choice is yours.”
Outside in the hallway, I heard voices. Reiny was questioning the guy out there, and she didn’t sound happy.
“Gee, thanks for the permission I didn’t need,” I told him. I wanted to leave. Every instinct in me said to flee. But I was going to stay, at least until I could source more information about Danielle and what had happened to her. Still, I wasn’t going to kiss his ass. “As for the rest, I don’t buy a word of it. My dad conveniently drives into a train. My mom makes you promise to abandon us. And you’re the hero of it all, protecting the innocent. That is NOT my fucking life story. I may have lost my memory, but I’m certainly not going to fill the holes in it with that crap. But nice spin. I give you an ‘A’ for effort. Unfortunately, you get an ‘F’ for believability.”
“I understand,” he said, sounding sad and resigned. “It’s a lot to take in, and you’re still recovering.”
God, he deserved an Emmy.
“What the hell is going on in there?” Reiny yelled, banging on the door. “Unlock this right now. Goddammit, I take one small break—you better not be upsetting my patient.”
“I’ll leave you alone,” my uncle said, turning to the door and unlocking it. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here.” He opened the door, slipping out past Reiny who glared at him on her way in.
“What happened?” she demanded, looking at the breakfast all over the room, her eyes roaming over Samantha and Passion and finally settling on me. “Did you remember you didn’t like eggs?”
12
OLIVIA
When I came to, I wasn’t back in my cell. I was still handcuffed to the chair in the interrogation room with Dr. Fineman and Anthony. I was slumped over the table, my hair wet with blood from my ear. It wasn’t crusting though, which meant I’d only been out a few minutes.
“Welcome back,” Anthony said, grabbing my hair and lifting my head up, leaving a brownish-red smear on the table where it had been. “No time for naps. We’re not done with you yet.”
My head was spinning, and I felt like I might throw up. If I did, I would aim for the doctor.
And that’s when I noticed the new guy in the room. He was a CAMFer soldier, an older guy I didn’t recognize with a prominent scar across his right cheek, running from eye to chin. I did the best I could to pretend he wasn’t intimidating, but he was. I had a bad feeling the torture was about to ramp up a notch. Great. Something to look forward to.
“This is Major Tom,” Dr. Fineman introduced him, smiling. “And he has somewhat of a bone to pick with you.”
Really? Major Tom? Was that his real name or was he just a huge David Bowie fan? Either way, I was pretty sure I’d never met the guy. And if he was out to get me, he should probably get in line.
“You see,” Dr. Fineman said, “The Major had a reputation as one of the best knife fighters on this continent. I say ‘had’ because it was somewhat ruined when you stole a knife from his person and used it to stab three of his men.”
Shit. This was the guy who’d been carrying me the night of the Eidolon. I hadn’t seen his face because I’d been slung over his shoulder. But I had reached straight into his back with my ghost hand and pulled out a knife, the same knife that was still sitting on the table in front of me. My eyes flashed to it.
“Yes,” Dr. Fineman said, smiling at me. “Now you understand.” He turned to Anthony. “Let’s have the other hand for this,” he directed.
Anthony fumbled at my flesh hand, unlocking the handcuffs. Then he yanked my left arm onto the table, pinning my hand palm-up, just like he’d done before with my ghost hand.
I didn’t struggle. It wouldn’t do any good. Anthony had proved many times he was stronger than me. Still, sometimes I could outsmart him if I was patient enough. He wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. For example, he’d just forgotten to recuff my ghost hand to the chair, and it was now tucked in my lap, hidden under the table.
Dr. Fineman picked up the knife, turning it in his hands. Then he lowered it gently, setting it in my open palm, handle-first.
I was never willingly going to do what they wanted me to. They were going to have to force my hand every inch of the way.
Anthony squeezed my wrist even harder as Dr. Fineman closed my fingers around the knife.
Suddenly, I was standing at the door, huge and looming, looking at the pitiful, bloody, minus girl. No, at me. I was looking at me.
“She’s in my fucking head,” I—he—Major Tom said, stumbling back toward the door. “I can feel her there. I can feel where she is.”
“Hold your ground,” Dr. Fineman barked at me—no, him. I wasn’t him.—and I held steady at the door, remembering my training and honoring my rank. This little cunt wasn’t going to embarrass me a second time.
What the fuck? That hadn’t been my thought. It had been his thought in my head.
I looked down at the knife in my hand and tried desperately to unclench my fingers, but Dr. Fineman squeezed them even harder around it.
“Tell me what you feel,” he ordered, but he wasn’t talking to me.
“I can feel—where she is,” Major Tom stammered, sounding confused. “But it’s never been this strong before. Usually, I just get a sense of where they are and how they feel. I’ve never heard thoughts before.”
Fuck. Those weren’t his words. They were mine. He’d just voiced exactly what I was thinking.
“Apparently, I am a mind reader,” Dr. Fineman whispered in my face, his breath hot and sickeningly sweet.
“How?” I asked him, trying to fend off the assault of Major Tom’s thoughts. “What did you do to the knife?”
“Just a little enhancement of its PSS signature in my lab,” he said, grinning. “I wasn’t sure it would work until now, but it never hurts to experiment a little.”
“I don’t want her in my head,” I told him, the words on my lips like a foreign language. “Let me kill her.”
“Don’t be silly,” Dr. Fineman said, looking over his shoulder at Major Tom. “I have so many things planned for her first.”
“Like Operation, the wacky doctor game?” Major Tom asked, his expression growing puzzled. “Or Twister? Or should I go play with my small dick in the hallway until you let her mindfuck me again?” He threw his hand over his mouth, his face turning bright red. Then, he lowered it, balling it into a fist as he stepped toward me.
Now he knew how it felt to have someone else put their thoughts in your mouth.
“Major, you are dismissed,” Dr. Fineman said, letting go of my hand and pointing at the door.
But I didn’t let go of the knife.
Or Major Tom’s mind.
If Dr. Fineman liked experiments so much, surely he wouldn’t mind me conducting a little one of my own.
Run. Now. I screamed in my head.
Major Tom charged forward, crashing into Dr. Fineman and the table like a linebacker, sending everything on it flying.
Dr. Fineman was on the floor, Major Tom on top of him.
Their impact against the table had shoved my chair back, slamming it into Anthony and knocking him down. Thankfully, I was relatively unscathed.
I pulled my ghost hand out from under the table and flipped Major Tom’s knife into it. I couldn’t cut my way out of the room, not against three men plus the guards outside, but I had to try something. This was my chance to thwart Dr. Fineman by doing something he’d never expect.
Do it. Put it back. The last thing you want Fineman to have is a fucking mind-reading knife.
I leapt over the table, my arm raised, and plunged the knife down into Major Tom’s back.
It sank through his clothes and skin like they were nothing, smooth and easy, going in up to my hand on the hilt and further. My ghost hand slipped into him too, into the space that is nowhere and
everywhere. I felt a familiar zap run up my arm, almost like an electrical shock, and the knife finally found its place in Major Tom’s psyche, a perfect knife-shaped hole in his soul.
She did it. She put it back in me just like he said. And I’m still alive.
Not my thoughts.
Oh, shit.
I yanked my hand out of the Major and my eyes fell on Dr. Fineman, still pinned beneath him.
He was looking up at me, a smugly satisfied smirk on his face, the controller for my cuff held out in his hand.
“You fuck,” I said, just as my arm grew numb and flopped to my side.
“Now, now,” he said, as Major Tom climbed off of him and they both got up. “No reason to be crass. That went nearly as well as I’d planned.” He brushed himself off, checking to make sure his precious cube was still securely in his coat pocket. “And now we know you can put things back into people without harming them. Very good work for the day. Very good work indeed.”
He had planned this entire thing.
And I’d fallen for it like an idiot.
I wasn’t even sure if the idea to put the knife back in the Major had been mine. Why would I do that when I knew it was exactly what the doctor wanted to find out? I wouldn’t. It must have been Major Tom’s idea, his thought influence. They’d gotten in my head, literally, and I’d panicked, and I’d played right into Dr. Fineman’s plan.
“You were saying something earlier about mindfucks, I believe,” Dr. Fineman said, dragging me to my feet and handing me off to Anthony. “Take her back to her cell, and give her extra rations. She’s been such a good girl today.”
“Yes sir,” Anthony said, shoving me toward the door.
* * *
Back in my cell, I touched my ear tentatively. It had already scabbed over, and my headache was gone too, so I just brushed away the dried blood, watching it fall in brown flakes onto my dingy clothes.
Anthony had left me a tray of food, piled high with mashed potatoes and gravy, juicy meatloaf, and green bean casserole. It even included a tall glass of lemonade with ice, plastic utensils, and a napkin. My stomach clenched and groaned just looking at it. The smell was amazing, like the food was floating in the air around me, but I’d been resisting my urge to devour it.
They were rewarding me for my cooperation, feeding me because I’d been stupid enough to play right into their hands, and that pissed me off. But did it really matter? The food didn’t know the difference and neither did my hunger.
I picked up the plastic spork and started shoveling stuff into my mouth.
God, it was delicious, and warm, and the best thing I’d ever tasted.
Within seconds it was gone. Even the lemonade, which I’d guzzled so fast I’d spilled it down the front of my shirt and gotten a brain freeze.
I then licked the tray clean, setting it down on the cement slab next to me and belching like a sailor.
Almost miraculously, my head began to clear. How long had it been since I’d had a real meal? I couldn’t remember. It was kind of amazing how having a full belly made everything a bit more bearable.
I looked around my cell, really taking in the details of it for the first time. It was small, maybe eight feet square, with no windows and one heavy metal door. The floor was cobbled stone, worn smooth by years of wear, and there was a metal toilet in one corner. The walls were made from rough-hewn stone, not brick or cement blocks, and there were cracks between them where old mortar was beginning to crumble. In one wall, near the ceiling, there was a metal vent, probably for air flow, but it was way too small for me to fit into, so I wasn’t getting out that way. Assessing what I saw, I wasn’t getting out any way at all. At least, not directly from the cell.
But I’d seen Marcus. He was alive, and he would come for me. As long as I was here, he’d know where to look. This had to be the same place they’d kept him and Danielle. Dr. Fineman had a big PSS lab here, just like Marcus had described. Plus, it was in Oregon.
How had Marcus escaped? I mean, I knew they’d extracted his PSS and not realized he could reboot. Then they’d left him for dead in a room by himself, unsecured, and he’d gotten away. But how had he gotten out of the compound itself with all its cameras and security? Now I wished I’d asked more about the details of that.
Either way, the question remained; should I stay put and wait for rescue or try to find a way out? Maybe the answer was both. Even when Marcus did come for me, we’d need a new way out. The CAMFers had amped up security since he’d been here last, even more so since the Eidolon and all their new captives.
All their new captives.
That phrase echoed in my head, sounding strange and surreal.
Where had that idea come from? Had I seen any evidence the CAMFers had taken anyone alive but me?
No. But I knew there were others, as surely as I’d seen them, because I’d seen them in Major Tom’s thoughts.
Oh my God.
I racked my brain for details. How many others were there, and where were they being held? But I got nothing. Either Major Tom hadn’t known, or I hadn’t accessed that part of his thoughts. Still, at least I knew I wasn’t alone. I’d heard muffled voices coming from outside my cell a couple of times, but I’d just assumed it was Anthony or another guard. Who knew how big this place was or how many cell blocks it had? If there were other captives, I couldn’t just leave them. When Marcus came for me, we’d need to get everyone out.
I had to figure out a way to get more information and see more of the compound.
I looked down at the spork in my hand, then over at the food tray and the cup, now drained of lemonade.
My stomach rumbled, warning me the rich food I’d just eaten wasn’t going to come out quite as gently as it had gone in.
My eyes wandered to the metal toilet, a beautiful, devious plan clicking into place.
I turned my back to the camera in the corner of my cell, using my body to block what I was doing as I slammed the tray against my cement sleeping slab. It cracked on the first blow. A few more hits and it was reduced to shards in my hand. Thank goodness the cameras didn’t have audio. I’d learned that little tidbit when Fineman had showed me the video feed of Danielle in her cell.
I kept whacking the tray and then the cup, breaking them into pieces. When I was done, I gathered the mess of plastic into the fold of my shirt, making sure each shard was small enough to fit down the toilet drain, yet large enough to give the interior plumbing a difficult time.
Then I walked over to the toilet and sat down, pants still up. I spread my legs, letting go of the cuff of my shirt and listening to the splash as the plastic cascaded down into the bowl. For good measure, I spun out a large handful of toilet paper and put it in as well. The way my stomach was sloshing and cramping, it wouldn’t be long, and by then the toilet paper would be good and saturated, jamming whatever cracks and crannies the plastic hadn’t filled.
I stood up and walked back to my slab, laying down and putting my face against its cool impassive surface, a smile blooming on my lips.
They had rewarded me with food.
Soon, I would reward it right back to them.
13
OLIVIA
The toilet trick worked like a charm; a very messy, foul-smelling charm.
I had to flush about five times before it got really good and clogged. That was before I deposited my personal contribution to the project and flushed a few more times.
It overflowed, of course. I’d planned that.
What I hadn’t really thought about, though, was how long I’d have to wait in my shitty cell before someone came and discovered it.
The answer ended up being “all night.”
After a couple of hours, I debated signaling the camera and waving frantically at the toilet, but decided against it. I wanted it to look like a plumbing issue, not sabotage. I wanted them to think I’d given up, that I was so downtrodden I didn’t even have the guts to complain about a night spent wallowing in my own waste. I wanted t
hem to move me to a new cell and forget about me.
The stench was pretty bad, though. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep, but it’s kind of amazing how your senses become dulled to a smell eventually. Still, some part of my subconscious must have been aware. I had my usual swimming dream. The one where I start out as Marcus and then I’m trying to swim down to him, except this time I wasn’t Marcus or myself. I was a giant sewer rat wearing a sombrero and an apron. Dreams can be fucking weird sometimes.
I woke up when Anthony rattled my cell door. It felt like morning, but I couldn’t be sure. As I sat up he was coming in, an even nastier gleam in his eyes than usual. He looked like shit. Like maybe he’d slept less than I had and had woken up on the wrong side of his evil lair. But he only made it about two steps into the cell before the stench hit him.
“God! What the fuck?” He stopped mid-stride, throwing his arm over his mouth and nose as he turned toward the toilet in the corner, eyeing the thick puddle around it. Slowly, he turned back to me, disgust mixed with the usual hatred reflecting in his eyes. And there was something more. Fear. Under it all was a raw fear I’d never seen in him before.
That was when I noticed the handcuffs in his hands and the gun at his belt. He usually left my hands free when he manhandled me in the morning. It seemed to make him feel more like I was a willing victim. And he saved his gun as a special show of threat when I was in the interrogation room with Dr. Fineman.
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