by Loren Walker
A surge of cars came onto the bridge, their headlights streaking over her like a meteor shower.
She finally let tears form in her eyes. They grew cold in the wind. She let them blow away, the runaway beads streaking a path across her temples.
* * *
From her perch on the railing, they would be nearly eye level. He’d stand just between her knees, take her face with his gloved hands, and kiss her until his mouth went numb, and everything grew hazy and hot, just like every time before, when she’d pressed her strong, arching body into his, sparking a heat that ran down every limb, overwhelming the cold in his fingers and toes.
A hundred times, Theron reached for the release on the door of his black ground transport. Phaira was still there, down the embankment and on that filthy fishing pier, sitting on the corner of the railing, staring out into the water. She hadn’t moved in an hour. He should just get out of this transport and stop watching, actually do something for once other than watch other people.
But CaLarca’s face floated through his mind, and everything went cold. Don’t be so stupid, his logic lectured. There were facts to weigh. Phaira was affiliated with CaLarca; she’d housed her, healed her, and never told Theron about it, when she knew what that woman and her friends had done to him.
If she was capable of that, what else was she hiding? And what happened in Kings that she was so keen to keep secret?
He let his hand fall from the door, but kept his eyes on the dark silhouette.
Finally, Phaira left the pier, and trudged downtown. Theron followed, keeping a block between them.
Outside of the local police precinct, someone was waiting on the front steps. Detective Daryn Ozias, extending her hand to Phaira.
After a long hesitation, Phaira took it, gave it one firm shake, and then let go. Then her head turned, that sharp profile scanning the streets.
The drive back to the airport was long, silent, and mostly thoughtless, save for a call from his cousin, Jetsun.
“Well?” he barked, annoyed at the interruption. “Did you give Renzo the paperwork?”
“I did, but I’m not calling about that, Theron.” He could hear the tremor in her voice. “Grandfather is dead.”
Theron stared at the road ahead.
Not yet, his mind pleaded. Not yet.
“They found him this morning,” Jetsun continued. “They think it was a stroke. I know he’s been weak for so long, but still. Do you - I mean, how do you want to proceed? Sir?”
Sir.
Because he was next in line to lead the syndicate.
Theron shut his eyes and let the auto-drive take over, leaning back into the leather seat.
After several long moments, he spoke. “Make the arrangements as soon as possible. No autopsies. Inform the families. Keep the media out. I’ll be in touch when I get back from my meeting.”
* * *
The old man lifted his head when Theron entered the basement. Shackled to the wall, clothes splattered with blood, his one blackened, bruised eye was open enough to shine with hatred.
A tiny knock against Theron’s skull. Theron shook his head, tapping the half-circle of silver looped under his hair.
“You can’t lock me away forever,” Kuri Nimat spat. “I have friends, followers, who will be searching for me. They’ll find out that the militia sold me to you.”
“I’m not going to lock you away forever,” Theron said. “I just want to know everything that’s lodged in your memory, and how your NINE abilities work.”
“I won’t talk,” the man said with a sneer. “Beat me all you like, I won’t do it.”
Theron gestured to Kuri’s swollen eye. “That was one of my employees, getting carried away.” He walked in front of Kuri, his hands behind his back. “You should know that I don’t work like the rest of my family does: messy, violent, emotional. Stupid,” he added with emphasis. “I have my own ways of doing things. Of getting what I want.”
He stopped at a door with a brass handle. “Guess what this is.”
The door swung open. Inside was a cell, six-feet squared, windowless, the walls covered with thick fiberglass wedges, arranged in horizontal and vertical patterns.
“A padded cell?” Kuri snorted. “That’s your big plan?”
“Actually, it’s my big experiment,” Theron said. “You and your kind, you like experiments, don’t you? Well, this is a replica of the world’s quietest room. I read about it in a science journal. This room is covered with sound-deadening material: insulated steel, concrete and fiberglass. When you’re inside, the only sound is you: your lungs, your heartbeat.”
Kuri huffed again, though his confusion showed on his face.
“Oh, it might sound pleasant,” Theron said. “But in fact, the brain is not used to hearing absolutely nothing.” He gazed into the room, thoughtful. “In clinical studies, the most anyone has lasted inside is 45 minutes. Usually it’s far less time, before the hallucinations and general psychosis takes over. How long do you think you can stand it?”
Kuri’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
Two guards appeared at the door to the basement. Theron nodded.
The men strode over, took hold of Kuri, and propelled him towards the quiet room.
“No! No!” Kuri gasped, clawing at the doorframe before the bodyguards shoved him inside, and the door slammed shut.
“Go,” Theron ordered the bodyguards. They ducked their heads and backed out.
Theron took a seat, and he activated the screens that measured the room’s temperature, energy output, and brain wave activities.
The sound of fists pounding on walls filled the basement.
about the author:
Born in Ontario, Canada, Loren Walker lives and works in Rhode Island. Her poetry has appeared in the anthologies Routes, Frequency Writers City and Sea, The West Texas Review, and QU Journal. Her debut novel EKO was a finalist in the Half the World Global Literary Award completion, chosen as a Library Journal SELF-e Select Pick, and a Shelf Unbound Notable Indie in 2016.
Get publishing updates, character biographies and custom illustrations at her official site: www.lorenwalker.net
The sequel to NADI is INSYNN.
thank you:
to my family and friends, my eternal cheerleaders.
to my beta reader Jill Corley, whose excitement to read my first draft make me smile every time.
to my editor Lindsay Galloway, and to Deranged Doctor Design, for making NADI look good.
and to you, for buying this book, and sticking with the story – I promise it’s going to be great.