"Hello, Jack. Can I call you Jack?"
"Sure."
"How are you feeling, Jack? You look like you've been through a lot lately. You look hungry. Are you hungry? You can eat those chips. I can also order you something. Some pizza sound good? What toppings do you like on it?"
Jack shrugged his shoulders.
"I'll get plain cheese. Everyone likes cheese."
He watched her dial the number on her phone. He listened to her ordering a large cheese pizza and a dozen bread sticks, delivered to the 'usual place.' Was this some kind of attempt to get him to open up to her?
The agent ended the call. "The pizza will be here soon, Jack. In the meantime, why don't we talk?"
"About what?"
"About you. What you've been up to lately. Your life. I just want to get to know you a little better. I'm not your enemy. I'm your friend, Jack. I want to help you. My name is Agent Marjorie Dunley. You can call me Agent or Marjorie if you like."
Jack laced his fingers together in his lap. "Okay."
"You're in eleventh grade, right?"
"Yeah."
"Do you like school?"
One part much more than the others. "Drama club."
"So, you like acting? If you like school so much, why haven't you been in a few weeks? Did something happen?"
"You know what happened."
The agent placed her phone on the table and began writing on the screen with a stylus. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"You wouldn't understand. No one understands."
"I want to understand, Jack. I do. I want to be able to help you. I know it's confusing and you don't even know what really happened, do you? We don't have to talk about that right now, though. We can come back to it once you're ready. How did you get those cuts and bruises?"
He rubbed his face, feeling the abrasions and painful blotches. "I don't know."
"You don't know? Were you unconscious? Jack, did someone hurt you? Was it someone in Sand?"
"It's . . . not like that."
The agent brushed her bangs out of her eyes. "Did you even know where you were when we found you? You seemed to know a couple of people who were there with you. How did you get to that compound in the forest, Jack?"
"I woke up there with my cuts and bruises."
"You woke up injured there? Who did you know there in that compound with you? Surely you knew their names?"
"Do I need a lawyer or something?" Jack asked, looking up at the camera again.
"You're not in trouble, Jack. We're just talking."
He moved his ankles to hear the chains clanking. "Then why am I chained to the floor?"
"Precautions. Just precautions. We have to make sure you won't try to hurt yourself or anyone else because you're afraid. We know it's scary to be here and we want to sort this all out so we can get you back into the school you love with your drama club and your life the way it was before all of this confusing stuff happened. Let me open that for you." She reached across the table and cracked the soda can open with her nails. "There. Have a sip. It will help."
Jack eyed her, but his overwhelming thirst took control. He snatched up the can and downed half of it in a few gulps. He sighed and set it down.
"There. Better, right? Jack, how long has it been since you're had anything to eat or drink? A while?"
He nodded his head.
"That's what we thought. Are you hurting right now? I can give you some ibuprofen for the pain."
"I'm okay. Just tired."
"I would be tired, too, if I was in your shoes. Tell me, Jack. Did anyone in Sand lay a hand on you?" Marjorie asked. "Did anyone abuse you?"
Why was she asking that? Why was she treating him like a child? "I don't think so."
"Did someone else hurt you? It's okay to tell me. I need to know so I can help you. Those bad people won't hurt you again."
"Some people did. A lot of people."
"Okay, I'm so sorry to hear that. Where did you get your tattoo?" Marjorie asked, looking at his arm.
"From a . . . a disk thing. It put it on me. I didn't want it."
"All right. A disk thing? What did this disk look like, Jack?"
Something made him want to tell her. Maybe she could help him after all. "Silver. About the size of the top of this can. It attached to my arm and did it to me."
"Did someone put the disk on you?"
"No. I found it."
"Where did you find the disk, Jack?" Marjorie asked, tapping her stylus on the screen of her phone.
Jack hesitated. Placing himself at the scene of the crime could make the agent think he was guilty. "In . . ."
"You can tell me. Remember, we're just talking. It's all right. Telling me everything you know will help me find the real bad guys, okay?"
"You think I'm innocent?" Jack asked. "You believe me?"
"That's why we're talking, Jack. So, tell me about the disk. Where did you find it?"
He was in far too deep to turn back now. "In Ellie's apartment."
"Your neighbor?"
"Yeah."
"When did you find it in her apartment?" Marjorie asked.
"In November. I went to her apartment to check on her. She left school early and she wasn't at my play. When I opened the door, I knew something was wrong."
"What do you mean? What did you see in the apartment?"
It was painful to remember, as if it was yesterday. "They were gone. Ellie and her dad. I looked for her. When I went into her bedroom, I saw blood in the bathroom. There was an hourglass painted on the wall in toothpaste, I think. I then found a picture of her and a note with stuff about her, like details. Then I found the disk. It came to life like a robot or something and rolled up my arm."
"Once you found the apartment like it was, what did you do then? Where did you go?"
"Next door to my apartment. I was scared."
"Did you call anyone?" Marjorie asked. "Did you talk to anyone to try to get their help, maybe to see if they knew where Ellie was?"
"Mr. Lambert. I called Mr. Lambert. He told me people were after me and he told me to go to my apartment and change clothes. So I did. I was so scared."
"I know you were. After changing clothes, where did you go?"
"Downstairs. I saw them."
The agent's eyes narrowed. "You saw who, Jack?"
"Other tenants. My neighbors. They were dead. Someone killed them. I panicked. I ran. I ran to the school."
"And what happened once you reached the school?"
"Niki was there."
"Nikolas Valentino?" Marjorie asked.
"Yeah. He's my friend. Do you know where he is? Did you take him, too? He's not in good condition. He needs help."
"Nikolas is in good hands, getting all the medical attention he needs. Don't worry. When you met Nikolas, Niki, at the school, what happened?"
He relaxed a bit knowing that Niki was safe. "Cops showed up. They had guns and spoke into a megaphone saying to surrender. I didn't even know I did anything wrong. I ran. I ran inside and Niki followed me. We went to Mr. Lambert's office. He was there and he locked the door so no one could get inside."
"When the police got to Mr. Lambert's office, you and Niki weren't there. Where did you two go?"
How to explain time travel to someone like her? "You won't believe me."
"Does it have to do with the mark on your arm? Your hourglass tattoo?"
"How did you know that?" Jack asked, grasping at the leather band around his arm.
"Jack, we have contacts and informants in every known cult or gang in the United States as well as many abroad. You're a Chronomancer, aren't you? A descendant from the ancient line of the Iskaydrian race?"
"That's what I've been told."
"I see. And Niki?" Marjorie asked. "He is what some call your Time Knight? What exactly is a Time Knight, Jack?"
"They are Avelayans, another ancient race. They are like bodyguards for Chronomancers. They keep us safe and take care of us."
> "So, would you say that Niki is like a protective older brother to you? You look up to him? You do what he says?"
Where was she going with this? "Yeah, pretty much."
"Has Niki ever told you to do something you felt wasn't right? Something you didn't want to do, but he pressured you into it?"
"No."
The agent raised an eyebrow. "That was a fast answer. It's okay, Jack. We're not attacking your friend. You and him are like brothers, right? He was the family you never had."
"He was. He is. I love him."
"As his Chronomancer, do you do what he tells you to do?"
"Sometimes." Jack fidgeted in his chair. "Most of the time. He knows what's best for me."
"I see. It must be comforting to know there's someone who can take control, right?"
"Sure."
There was a knock at the door. Agent Marjorie answered it, taking the pizza and bread sticks from another agent. She placed them on the table in front of Jack and opened the boxes. "Have a slice. Go on. It's not going to bite."
At first, Jack's instincts told him to refuse, but his starved body screamed at him to eat. After a few seconds of breathing in the intoxicating aroma, he took a slice. With voracious hunger, he devoured it plus two more and four bread sticks, all while the agent merely smiled at him.
"Feel better now?"
Jack wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Thank you."
"You're quite welcome. From the brief exam the doctor did on you during the drive here, we were able to tell how malnourished you've become. Is that because someone starved you?"
"They did."
"Who's they?" Marjorie asked, laughing a little when Jack took another slice of pizza.
"A group of people. They locked me in a cell with no food for days. They beat me."
"Who was that group of people?"
He spoke through stuffing the cheese and bread into his mouth. "They're called the Zurvan Syndicate. They wear purple and have hourglasses everywhere."
"Why did they do that to you, Jack? Why you? Out of all the other teenage boys, why you?"
"My father used to be one them, before he left . . . then died."
"I see. I'm sorry about your father and the rest of your family."
"Does my grandmother know where I am?" Jack asked. "Does she even know I'm alive?"
"Your grandmother is fine. She will be notified at the appropriate time. She is not in any danger on her cruise ship."
"Good. I worry about her."
Marjorie scrolled through something on her phone. "It must have been hard, growing up alone without your family."
"I had Ellie and Niki. They were my family."
"And Mr. Lambert?"
"Yeah. Him too."
She leaned back in her chair and twirled her stylus in her fingers. "Do you know what we're trained to do here, what things we're trained to look for, especially in juvenile subjects? Jack, we look at people's behaviors. Often times, they will have body movements that give away how they're feeling about something. Did you know every time you've talked about Mr. Lambert, you lowered your head and averted your eyes? Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know. I didn't know I was doing that."
"It's okay. It's perfectly natural and not something you can control. When you think about Allen Lambert, what do you feel? Do you feel happy? Sad? Afraid?"
He looked into her eyes as he played with the shoelace ring around his finger. "I . . . I'm not sure."
"Jack, I want you to think back, far back to when you were younger. Sometime around puberty, maybe earlier. How was your relationship with Mr. Lambert?"
"He was a friend. He was my teacher, but he's Niki's stepdad, so we got along. We would watch movies together and he would take me out to eat enchiladas."
"Just you or with Niki, too?" Marjorie asked.
"Just me."
"Why do you think he would take you out to eat, but leave his stepson at home?"
"Because he wanted time with me alone."
"During your time alone with Mr. Lambert, what did you two do?"
It had never seemed like much. "We ate and talked."
"What kinds of things did you talk about, Jack?"
"School. History. Sometimes he would make the bartender swap the T.V.s over to history shows instead of football."
"Do you like history?" Marjorie asked, returning to her phone.
"I love it. Not as much as acting, though."
"And Mr. Lambert was your drama teacher, right?"
"Yeah."
She looked at him. "You felt close to him?"
"I did. Like I said, he was my friend."
"During those dinners alone with Mr. Lambert, did he sit on the other side of the table from you? Or was he next to you?"
Jack's stomach turned. Something about recalling those details made him feel uneasy. "Next to me. He's put his arm around me."
"Did he ever try to hold your hand?"
He jumped. "What?"
"Did Mr. Lambert ever hold your hand?"
"I, uh . . . when I had to cross the street. I was like eleven."
"I see." The agent scribbled on her phone screen. "Did he ever slip you a sip of beer or a margarita during those dinners?"
It was illegal. "I . . . he . . ."
"It's all right. You won't be in trouble. Most kids try a sip before they're technically supposed to."
"Yeah. He did. A couple of times."
"Did you like it?"
He had, at the time. "It made me feel warm and I remember laughing a lot."
"After dinner, where did you go? Did you go straight to your apartment or to his house? Somewhere else?"
The images began resurfacing like photographs. "We . . . there was a house."
"Where was this house? What do you remember about it? Was it a big house? A fancy house? A rundown house?"
"It was a normal house. White. A fence. Shrubs outside. Blue shutters."
"What did you do at this house?" Marjorie asked, her voice becoming sterner, more serious.
"He took me inside. It was warm, but it wasn't warm in the basement. I don't want to talk about this."
"Are you having memories now that you tried to forget about, Jack?"
He nodded his head. "I know what you're doing. He never hurt me."
"He didn't abuse down there in that basement? He didn't molest you?"
"No! No, he's my friend. You don't understand. You don't get it."
"Jack, Jack it's okay. It's all right. I was just asking. Then why don't you tell me what happened in the basement of that house?"
Was he wrong? Had he been pushing back those memories all this time? "Oh my God."
"Jack, I know it hurts." Marjorie reached across the table to take his hand in hers. She gave it a gentle squeeze. "No matter what happened in that basement, I need to know so I can help you. We're friends here. I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise."
"Okay."
"Okay? Tell me what would happen when Mr. Lambert took you into the basement."
"There was a bed and a shower. He made me take a shower."
"Did he shower with you?" Agent Marjorie asked. "Did he watch you?"
"No. He waited outside the bathroom door until I was done. He would hand me a robe through the door. Then I would go to the bed like he told me and lie down there on my back with my arms out to the sides."
"What then, Jack?"
"Men would come in. They gave him cash." Jack sat back in his chair as the realization swept over him. His throat tightened and his heart pounded against his rib cage. "He sold me. Mr. Allen sold me."
"What did those men do once they paid Mr. Lambert?"
"They sat on the bed and put giant needles in my arms."
"Did they drug you?"
Jack dragged his fingers across the inner part of his arm. "They took my blood. Mr. Allen said it was for the doctor to run tests, but I guess he was lying to me."
"Did they take a lot of blood?"
"Y
eah, I guess. One of those bags, like at hospitals."
"I see. What did those men do after they took your blood, Jack?" Marjorie asked.
"They left."
"They didn't touch you? They didn't make you touch them?"
It wasn't molestation. "No, nothing like that. It wasn't sexual or anything. They just wanted my blood."
"Then what would happen?"
"The men would give me toys or candy before they left. Mr. Allen would give me my clothes back and we'd stop for ice cream if I hadn't fallen asleep. When I woke up, I was in my bed in my apartment."
"Those men who took your blood, did you ever talk to them?" Marjorie asked, writing frantically on her phone.
"Yeah. They were friendly. They would make me laugh."
"How often would you go to that basement, Jack?"
Often. "Once or twice a month. I looked forward it. I thought I was special."
"Did Niki and Ellie ever ask about those dinners?"
"No. I think Niki knew."
She appeared to be intrigued at that answer. "Why do you say that?"
"Because he never brought it up. It was like he was ignoring it. I asked him one time if he'd ever had blood drawn and he refused to talk to me about it."
The agent's softness returned to her voice as she let his hand go. "Let's talk about Niki, okay? What do you like about him?"
"Everything. I've always admired him."
"Why?"
What was there not to like? "He's funny and outgoing and would do anything for me."
"And you'd do anything for him, right?"
"Yeah. I would. He's my brother."
Marjorie's glare became like white hot steel. "Jack, did Niki tell you to kill those people in Mana Glen on November third?"
"What?"
"Did Nikolas Valentino order you to kill those people?"
"No. Of course not."
Marjorie slapped her hand on the table. "Did Nikolas kill those people?"
"Why are you asking me this?"
"Because we know you're not the ringleader here. You're the younger brother. You're the young friend. You're the one who follows. You don't lead. You cling to Nikolas because you've been conditioned through years of abuse to see him as your savior, your protector. You would do anything to please him. According to the law, you are a child. Until your next birthday, you are a minor, a juvenile. I've seen this a lot in children from broken homes where they don't have their family around them. They latch onto whoever is kind to them and they will join whatever group is presented to them. They make their own family. Maybe you didn't know that Sand was a terrorist group when you joined, but you soon became enveloped in it, consumed by it. You would do whatever the family told you to do because you wanted to be one of them. You needed a place to belong."
Chronomancer (Time Mage Saga Book 1) Page 30