Master of Salt & Bones

by Keri Lake

  Chapter 50

  Lucian

  The Institute is the one place on the east coast I wish I could set fire to and watch burn. Doing so would certainly spare the country of half its psychopaths. A chill settles across my nape as I walk the halls that, just a few years back, bore witness to my suffering and torment. Now, the place merely serves as somewhere for the Collective to meet, but I don’t think I’ll ever fully erase the harrowing images of my time spent here.

  The idea was to prod me into an aggressive state, so they wouldn’t have to explain away a false-negative result in my DNA. By rejecting my sadistic tendencies, I essentially discredit the entire organization, since my lineage represents the most well-studied of any member. There are so many samples of my DNA, sperm, and stem cells stocked here, they could probably begin generating my clones. Unless they already have, and that’s the nature of this otherwise useless meeting.

  I reach the door to Friedrich’s office. After a couple knocks, it swings open, and the man himself stands there, wearing a smile that could house a small village.

  “Lucian, wonderful to see you! Thank you for making the trip up.” He ushers me inside the office, patting my shoulder as I pass. Prick wouldn’t dare lay a hand on me the way he did when I was sixteen, with as much as I’ve filled out over the years. Not to mention the funding he’d risk losing, if he did.

  My unpredictable nature likely puts him on edge, too.

  Good.

  Nowadays, it’s only a careful placement of his hand on my shoulder. Cautious responses.

  Gesturing toward one of the chairs in front of his desk, he makes his way to the other side and falls into his own.

  “I’m assuming you have something important to discuss, as you’ve requested face-to-face, rather than a Skype meeting.” I lean back in the chair, wishing I had a drink to numb me from the science bullshit he’ll undoubtedly spew in the next ten minutes.

  “You know I don’t trust meetings held over the computer.”

  Of course I do. And I was swept over with a metal detector at the front entrance, to ensure that I didn’t have a recording device on me, including my phone. Since it’s not my first rodeo, I left that in the car with the driver I hired.

  “The purpose of this is to let you know that I did look into Mr. Boyd’s family history,” he started. “And it does seem he has an incarcerated twin. But the interesting piece in all of this is who he murdered.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “Their biological father. Who also had a criminal record for assault and the murder of their mother, when both boys were quite young.”

  “That sounds like one messed up family tree.”

  “Indeed. Which makes Patrick a very curious specimen. I’d love to pick his brain about what he remembers of his childhood.”

  I’m sure he would. Literally, with an ice pick. “I take it my vote no longer holds any weight.”

  Hands in the air, he smiles and shakes his head. “Now, I didn’t say that. We don’t have baseline studies on him, so much of the data will be inconclusive, anyway. It’s more curiosity on my part. Was Amelia his only offspring?”

  I shrug, already beyond my limits of boredom. “As far as I know.”

  “We’ll verify that, of course. For now, I’m going to observe before making a decision about him.”

  “And this is what you requested an in-person meeting for?”

  “Of course not.” He rises up from his chair and shoves his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. “Come with me. I’d like to show you what your generous funding has provided.”

  With a quiet huff, I follow him out of the office and down the hallway, toward the elevators I took to get up here. Once inside, he pushes the button to the bottom floor of the institute. A place where all the magic of this shit-show goes down.

  The research department.

  The doors slide open to a too-bright hallway, where fluorescent lights leave me squinting.

  He leads me down the white hallways, with white doors and white tiled floors, that smell of potent disinfectant. “Have you considered more extensive surgery on your scars?” he asks over his shoulder.

  Prick. “No.” I gave up on trying to remove all traces of my accident. If nothing else, it serves as a reminder that I am not, and never was, as invincible as I liked to think.

  “Shame. I know a surgeon, if you change your mind.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know when I give a shit.” The irritation of having made this trip has seriously soured my mood.

  The smile he flashes me is fake and oozing contempt. Our benevolence toward one another is separated by a thin layer of bullshit.

  A loud throaty scream brings me slamming to a halt in front of a door whose small, square window shows a dimly-lit room on the other side. I catch sight of a figure crouched in the corner, shaking and scratching at the walls. A girl, given the long, disheveled hair that sticks up around her head and over her shoulders.

  Curiosity pulls me closer, until I’m standing at the door, staring straight in. From what I can see of her profile, the girl’s lips are moving, but all I can make out is quiet mumbling through the door. I knock, and she pauses her scratching of the walls, where long streaks of red, which must be blood, indicate she’s rubbed her fingertips raw. When she finally turns to look at me, I frown back at the familiar face.

  “Melody Lachlan.” Friedrich moves into my periphery as he stands beside me. “Daughter of--”

  “Daniel,” I interrupt, studying the girl, as she resumes her scratching. “I know her.”

  A flash of memory dances through my head, of a warm summer day at her parents’ estate. Her father owned a chain of luxury hotels, and had invited my family to a charity event at their home. I was only eleven at the time, which would’ve made her around seven. While our parents mingled, she took Jude and I out to the garden, where an elaborate cage housed a bright and colorful bird. The moment Melody stuck her finger inside, the bird flew to the fleshy perch, and I watched as Melody nuzzled and kissed her pet. She was the most gentle creature I’d ever met, always kind and vibrant. Smiling. Unlike most girls born into wealth, she was grounded and genuine.

  “What happened to her?” I can’t peel my eyes away from the dirt streaked up her arms and across her face, mixed with what I guess is blood.

  “Her father asked that we run some tests on her, seeing as we didn’t have much of a family history gathered on him.”

  From what I understand, the man was a self-made millionaire, who my father often jabbed as nouveau-riche.

  “In doing so,” Friedrich continues, “we stumbled upon a trigger that led us to believe she may have been assaulted, or abused, at some point.”

  Melody slams her palms against her ears, screaming as she rocks in the corner. It’s possible her father could’ve hurt her.

  “What will you do with her?” I ask.

  Friedrich sighs, and tips his head, still peering through the window. “Well, she’s certainly not fit for release at this point. We’ll continue to run tests.”

  My own experience tells me they’ve no intentions of curing her mental state. “What is the nature of these tests?”

  Friedrich’s cheek twitches as if he might smile. “In order to study a subject's propensity for violence, you must prod them a little.” He points toward the corner opposite where Melody sits, and I follow the path of his finger to a pile of birds scattered on the floor, their heads detached from the bodies. At the sight of white droppings across the cement, I lift my gaze to the birds perched on the ceiling rafters above. About a half-dozen colorful birds, like the one in the cage all those years ago.

  “She’s begun biting their heads off, like a feral cat. It’s remarkable to watch.”

  “What have you done to her?”

  “Nothing that wasn’t in her all along. Think of the repercussions, if she’d have snapped outside of these walls. She might’ve killed someone. We merely gave her violent tendencies an outlet.” He c
lears his throat and turns to face me. “Come. I’ve more to show you.”

  We keep on down the corridor, and come to a stop in front of a door, through which he ushers me inside a room that opens up to a glass dome, around which a number of chairs are set out. In the chairs, sit a number of men with wires attached to helmet-looking contraptions on their heads. Below them, on the lower level, a man is laid out on a table, held down by restraints. Another in a lab coat wears thick gloves, as he lifts a branding stick with a red-hot slab of metal on its end. The man on the table whimpers and squirms in his binds, screaming against the bit caught between his teeth. At the first crackle of burning flesh, something flashes in my periphery, and I turn to see monitors that seem to be capturing waves. Brain waves, I’m guessing.

  “We’re trying to measure empathic neural response by using EEG recordings.”

  “Empathic? As in, trying to see if these people give a shit that you just branded a man with hot metal?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Couldn’t you have just played a video of someone getting branded? Why this?”

  “Could you not practically taste that burning flesh on your tongue just now? I would venture to say your gamma waves were off the charts watching it.”

  Shoving my hands into the pockets of my slacks is all I can do to keep from throttling the motherfucker. This is what my father has been pumping money into all these years? This is what the bastard insisted I keep pumping money into, when he finally died? To make sure these assholes continue to produce bullshit studies.

  And they’re one of the bigger reasons I’d never attempt to pursue Isa. If they thought, for one second, that I was serious with her, she’d be stalked and monitored, her whole history dissected in secret. My mother didn’t know a damn thing about Schadenfreude, but they knew everything about her, down to her menstrual cycle.

  “In this case, the subject is a known child predator,” Friedrich prattles on.

  “We’re offering payment to child predators now?”

  “No. We offered payment to the prison that incarcerated him.” He drifts across the room toward the monitors, studying the various waves onscreen. “There is no criminal more despised than the child predator. It’s interesting that this particular segment of our species garners the justification of violent retribution. Even the most empathetic human being can muster the apathy to watch these individuals suffer.” Still wearing a smile, he glances back at me. “We like to use them as a control group. And if it helps your conscience to know, they never leave the Institute.” As he makes his way back toward me, I catch the other lab coat heating up the metal rod for round number two. “This is what your funding has provided. Each room focuses on a particular sadistic behavior. The next room over is sexual sadism. Would you like to see?”

  “No. I wouldn’t. I fail to see how this is considered science, at all.”

  “These individuals are homozygous for a particular genotype--”

  I raise a hand and shake my head. “I don’t need a dissertation. I’ll be honest with you, Friedrich. I don’t give two fucks what you hope to learn from all of this. I’ll keep providing the funding, because my father willed it and, to your advantage, put someone other than me as an executor on it. But I want no part of this shit-show anymore.”

  Rand would be puking his guts onto the clean white floors right now, if I’d brought him with me.

  Glad I didn’t.

  “Who, um … who do you think you’re talking to Lucian?” It’s uncanny the way this guy’s smile never falters, even when it’s clear I’ve slapped him in the face with insult. “Do you think you’re talking to one of your father’s employees? This shit-show, as you called it, can bury you without anyone noticing you’re gone.”

  “Then, why haven’t you yet?” With a smirk, I tip my head. “Oh. That’s right. Because the funding only lasts so long as there is an heir. Meaning, it dies when I die. You have some very powerful connections, no doubt, but face it, no one was as committed as my father.” Slipping my hands in my pockets, I take another step toward him, invading his personal space. “Don’t ever threaten me again.”

  Clearing his throat, he steps back. “Very well. Quarterly meetings. That’s all I ask. And the occasional medical update. You don’t have to participate in the experimental studies.”

  “I’ll think about it.” I pat him on the shoulder, catching his flinch, and exit the room.

  There was a time this place weaved nightmares like a spider’s web, always present on the edge of my brain, waiting to wrap me up in its terrifying fibers.

  Now, it can’t touch me.

  When I finally reach my car, I find two texts from Rand on my phone. At first, I think he’s going to respectfully rail into me for what he’d surely consider another disastrous meeting, but his second text instructs me to check my email. When I open it, I find the remaining report that I requested of him last week. The more extensive research into Isa’s past.

  One of the documents is a police report describing the attack at the party, mostly true to what she narrated, but there’s something new.

  Something I had my suspicions about.

  Something she’s managed to keep hidden away.

  I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips as I flip through the other attached documents: therapists notes from her weekly sessions.

  My raven beauty is far more dangerous than I imagined.

  Darkness settles over the manor as I make my way up the staircase, the anticipation burning through me, even after a three hour flight. The box tucked beneath my arm is a gift, and one I spent far too much time choosing, just before I left Vermont.

  The door to Isa’s room is closed, and when I click it open, the lights are off inside. Cracking it open just enough to slip through, I find her sleeping form stretched out on the bed, the sight of her stirring a sinister craving for soft moans, nails, and teeth. Coming to a stand alongside her bed, I set the box aside and lean down to kiss along the smooth curve of her neck.

  A twitch of movement, and she startles awake, flipping onto her back. Silvery bands of moonlight shimmer across her face, drawing my attention to full pouty lips I want to bite.

  I’m convinced she’s my punishment from God. My curse.

  A forbidden touch.

  A stolen kiss.

  My temptation in the flesh.

  As I lean in to kiss her, soft, warm lips greet mine, pulling me into fantasies of keeping her all to myself. My own little doll, just like the clusterfuck collection my mother keeps. Everything inside of me begs to resist, knows too well not to get swept up in the illusion of this, but the enticement is too strong. She’s fast become a weakness, a preoccupation I can’t seem to shake, and a dangerous gamble for a man with as many enemies as my father has amassed in the Blackthorne name over the years.

  I push off her, grabbing the box I left at the foot of the bed, and her eyes widen at the sight of it.

  “Another gift? Lucian …”

  “Open it.”

  With a small bit of hesitation, she tears at the thick, red ribbon and lifts the lid of the box to reveal sheer, white lingerie within. I watch her surprise dissolve into a demure sort of smile, and she lifts the skimpy lace panties and matching bralette.

  “You want me to put this on now?”

  “No. Not yet. I want you to come with me.” I reach down for her, and help her to her feet, drinking in the sight of her in nothing more than a thin white T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

  “You said expendable. Should I throw on some pants?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Shoes?”

  “Shoes, if you want. It’s a walk across the yard to the water.”

  “Water?” Glancing back toward the few sandals and the pair of mucks lined against the wall, she shakes her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  Taking her hand in mine, I lead her out of the room, down the hallway. A heavy stillness hangs on the air, as everyone seems to be asleep.

&nb
sp; Except for Sampson, of course. He greets the two of us in the foyer, his tail wagging, as Isa pauses to pet him.

  “He’s taken a liking to you, I see.”

  Kneeling down to the floor, she lifts her chin, allowing him to lick her jawline. “And I’ve decided he’s not the mean and scary monster I first met.”

  “Funny what happens when you take the time to get to know someone. I’ve decided the same thing about you.”

  With that signature chuckle of hers, she rises to her feet. “Where are you taking me?”

  “I figured, since you so graciously showed me your favorite place yesterday, I’ll show you mine.” Giving a light tug of her arm, I lead her out the front entrance and down the familiar path toward the knoll. The moon is full and high in the sky, illuminating the well-worn path across the yard. I twist to see Isa looking around, her expression guarded, as if she’s waiting for something to swoop down at her. The manor is always somewhat eerie, but at night, it almost seems as if the shadows come alive.

  Once at the threshold of trees, I halt and tap my shoulder. “C’mon. On my back.”

  “What?”

  “The branches will tear up your feet. Hop on.”

  Taking hold of my shoulders, she does, and I wrap smooth, toned legs around my body as I grip the bottoms of her thighs and trudge through the brush.

  The small copse of trees opens up to the path downward, along the perimeter of the cave. A cool breeze mingles with the warm summer air, creating a slight chill. The incessant crash of the waves takes me back to years ago, when I sat in this cave for hours at a time. I set her down onto the soft sand and remove my coat to wrap around her, which she accepts appreciatively.

  The tide has begun to rise, but not yet to the point of filling the cave. I toss away my shoes and dress socks, and roll up my slacks.

  “We’re going into the water?” she asks.

  Before she has a chance to protest, I hoist her up over my shoulder, smiling as she giggles, while I slosh through the water to the cave’s entrance. A few feet inside, the sand is still dry, and I set her down in front of a boulder. Kneeling before her, I reach into the pocket of her borrowed coat to retrieve a small flashlight that I flick on and hand off to her, as well as a pack of matches. In a slow turn, her gaze trails over the surroundings, and when it lands on me, her eyes seem to sparkle with wonder.