Nana laughed. “Whatever works. How about trust but verify?”
“Sounds right.”
“Okay, well, it’s late. My advice, trust your gut, but then just shoot anyone who looks like they’re going to shoot you, okay?”
“Good advice, Nana. Shoot first.”
Nana laughed again and hung up.
Sayer sat in the dark wondering who was going after her up in D.C. She’d spent her entire career trying to avoid politics, but, like Holt said, that’s how the political cookie crumbles.
“Whatever,” Sayer said out loud. “I just don’t care.”
As soon as she said it, she knew it was a lie. Sayer let everything that had happened in the past few days wash over her. Being back in the field felt … amazing. She hadn’t even realized how much she missed it until her leave was over. For a long time, Sayer had believed she would have been equally happy pursuing an academic career, but the past few months behind a desk made it clear that wasn’t true. No matter how much she loved her research, she could never work a desk full-time. She needed to be out there, on the hunt. And now maybe that was over?
Was she about to be fired from the thing that gave her life meaning?
And there was no way she could walk away from the missing women and child still out there somewhere. Saving people like them was, more than anything, why she did this.
“Nothing I can do about what’s happening in D.C.,” she said firmly to herself. “Focus on what you can do, which is to find those missing people.”
As she drifted off, she thought about what both Holt and Subject 037 had said—trust no one.
“Fuck that,” she whispered to herself. That wasn’t the life she wanted to live, always looking over her shoulder. Never letting herself be vulnerable to anyone. Nana was right. If she couldn’t trust her own gut, then what the hell did she have left? She knew who she could trust, and she was going to work with them to come out swinging to protect everything and everyone she loved, including the goddamned FBI. But first she had some missing people to save.
Fanning the flames of determination, she curled up on top of the scratchy wool blanket and fell into a dreamless sleep.
THE PIT
The woman summoned Hannah from the room and they held hands again as they walked together out to the pit. The skeletal woman’s grip was overly firm, verging on painful. Hannah desperately tried to read the look in her eyes. Sorrow? Apology? Fear?
“Welcome to the main event,” the voice crackled down through the loudspeaker as they entered the cavernous room.
Her escort squeezed one last time and then dropped her hand.
Hannah blinked. As her eyes adjusted to the bright floodlights, she gasped.
A young child was strapped into the horrifying contraption she had seen last time. Thick straps crisscrossed the child’s body, holding her firmly upright. A spring-loaded metallic arm jutted off to the side with a pointed metal blade at the end. The blade hung a few inches away from the side of the child’s neck like a razor-sharp piston about to fire.
The child’s eyes were blank despite being strapped into the nightmarish machine. Hannah realized this was not her first time here.
Almost as terrifying was the emaciated woman. She went over to the machine and folded her hands over the child’s as though in prayer. The woman’s expression looked like she was descending into a nightmare. The hollows beneath her eyes sank into deep crescents of agony. Her slack mouth moved, murmuring words that Hannah knew told a tale of abomination.
“Hannah,” the voice boomed from above. “You’ve already met Jillian. I’d like you to meet her daughter, Grace. Jillian has already begun her transformation,” he said with glee.
Hannah turned to stare up at the silhouette in the control room far above her.
“You’re a monster,” she said almost softly. She had never felt such a simple emotion—pure hatred.
“True. True. But so is Jillian. Tell her, Jillian. What have you done?”
The woman’s eyes flickered to Hannah, tears forming at their corners. Hannah almost made a move toward the ladder. Maybe she could get to the top before he shocked her. She had never wanted to kill anyone before, but she would kill this person.
“I have my finger on the button, Hannah.…” The malice in his voice matched the glee. “Tell her what you’ve done, Jillian!” the voice shouted, so loud that both women jumped.
Jillian tried to speak but couldn’t seem to make her voice work.
“Ah, she isn’t feeling talkative. Let me explain.”
Hannah stared at Jillian, trying to keep her face neutral. Calm.
“Don’t you want to know why you’re about to die, Hannah?”
Hannah’s head snapped up but she remained silent. Was she about to die? Somehow the thought felt distant, held no real emotion. Something inside her had shut down.
“Of course you do. I’m here to free the monster that you’ve buried inside of you. No one wants to admit that it exists, but I know it lurks in the deepest part of your heart. And I’m here to free it in all of its beautiful glory.”
Hannah felt a wave of nausea. This person was truly insane. “There is no monster inside me,” she said, voice thick with emotion.
“I know that’s what you’d like to believe. Or maybe you’re not even aware of it. But it’s in there. Buried beyond your consciousness. Don’t take my word for it. Haven’t you ever heard of the Stanford Prison Experiment? Or what about Abu Ghraib? Nazi Germany? Anywhere people are freed from the bonds of social convention and have the power to do whatever they want, they release their true nature. Beneath it all, we’re monsters, and it is … beautiful.” The voice fell low, whispering the last word.
“Jillian has already killed two other women, haven’t you? She thinks she does it to save her daughter, but I’ve seen a glimpse of her true nature.”
Jillian looked up at Hannah as though she were pleading for something.
“And, Hannah, even though you’re about to die, I promise you will get to feel the pleasure of release, letting that inner monster rage for a glorious moment. Jillian, I know you can do it, my deadly little monster. I’m starting the timer now. You know what to do.”
A digital clock lit up along the cavern wall. The red numbers began to count down from five minutes.
Hannah’s brain spun wildly. This broken woman wouldn’t actually try to kill her, would she?
Jillian ran a finger along the small girl’s cheek before turning to Hannah. Her expression shifted from anguish to a fixed blankness. No one was there behind the dead eyes that now looked into hers.
There was no way this half-dead, injured woman would be able to hurt her, let alone kill her. But Jillian slowly advanced toward Hannah.
The woman lifted the same hands that had just gently touched her daughter’s face and formed them into balled fists.
“It’s the only way to save her,” Jillian said flatly.
“No,” was all Hannah managed to say as Jillian lowered her head and rushed toward her.
Hannah’s training kicked in. Her body relaxed, focus collapsing until the only thing she could see was the incoming figure. Her weight settled low, ready.
Jillian expected to blitz Hannah with a direct punch.
In a sweeping motion, Hannah deflected the punch to the side. She harnessed the energy of Jillian’s forward motion, shoving her to the ground.
Jillian let out a cry and stumbled to one knee. She stayed like that, breathing hard. Her breath wheezed in her chest, and Hannah wondered if the woman had a broken rib from a previous fight. Maybe more than one.
Jillian rallied, pulling herself up and making another charge. Hannah shoved her aside again. And again. And again. With every fall, Hannah could tell her attacker was in more pain. The last time, she could barely stand, her muscles quivering. A bubble of blood formed at the corner of Jillian’s mouth.
“Please stop,” Hannah pleaded.
Jillian finally seemed to realize that sh
e wasn’t going to be able to beat Hannah. Instead of charging again, she looked up at the timer and then into Hannah’s eyes. “Please, I have to save my daughter.” She stood, soul broken, begging for her daughter’s life.
Less than two minutes remained.
Both women looked over at the small child strapped with a blade poised at her neck.
Jillian’s emotionless calm snapped into a visceral howl of sorrow. “I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed.
Hannah mirrored her agony. How could she let this child die? But how could she let this woman kill her?
Face collapsed with defeat, Jillian looked up at the shadowy figure above them and shouted, “If she kills me, will you let Grace live?”
“Oh, interesting…,” the voice said slowly. It remained quiet for a long moment. “I’m disappointed in you, Jillian. I thought you were my champion, but I see that you’re right to give up. I had no idea Hannah was such a formidable opponent.”
The timer reached one minute.
Hannah stood frozen, unable to do anything but watch the scene unfold like a horror movie.
“Yes, I think that’s fair,” the voice finally said. “I would very much like to see Hannah’s monster.”
“Do you swear?” Jillian’s voice broke, sounding like a frightened child. “Swear you’ll let Grace go.”
“I swear. Now, Hannah, the outcome is up to you. You have forty-five seconds to decide.… Kill Jillian and save her child’s life. Or let them both die.”
Jillian stumbled over to Hannah and looked up. “Please, please kill me. Please.…”
Hannah’s mouth opened and closed, but she was unable to speak.
“You have to do it now!” Jillian grasped at her, clawed at her, took another frantic swing. “Please!”
Jillian beat at Hannah’s chest, trying to drive her to act. With a yelp of desperation, she swung at Hannah one last time.
Hannah gently deflected the flailing attack. Jillian threw herself to the side and kept the momentum going. She increased her speed and, with an animalistic cry, she rammed herself into the cavern wall. Her head connected with a sickening wet thunk.
She crumpled to the floor.
Hannah stood frozen for a long moment. Time slowed into a roaring silence of horror. It was a small sound from the child that snapped her back to reality.
She ran over to Grace and tried to pull away the straps. Hannah’s fingers slipped uselessly off the thick leather. She had to save this child.
“No, no, no,” she moaned, tears falling.
The timer reached zero.
Hannah turned her face slightly away while tangling her hands into the girl’s impossibly small fingers. She was unable to watch but also couldn’t abandon the girl.
She held her breath.
Would their captor keep his word and let the girl live? Or would the blade fall?
Silence.
Nothing.
“Oh, calm down, I’m going to let Grace go.” The voice rang with bemusement.
Hannah let out a hard breath of relief and looked back at the wide-eyed child. “You’re going to be okay, little one. Everything is going to be okay,” she tried to coo, though her throat felt ragged with emotion.
“I’m going to do so for two reasons,” the voice continued. “One, because I said I would, and I keep my word. And two, I want you to know that I keep my word because I believe it will be … motivational. After all, you have a daughter, don’t you? I have something else to take care of first, but then I think it’s time for me to pay little Sam a visit.”
Hannah’s world tilted wildly. A choking scream caught in her throat.
“Congratulations, Hannah. You’ve officially become my new monster.”
Unable to breathe, Hannah collapsed onto the rocky floor, the only sound a distant roar in the background as the world faded to black.
DANA’S CABIN, SHENANDOAH NATIONAL PARK, VA
Dana couldn’t sleep. The incessant rain pounded on the tin roof of her cabin like someone playing a steel drum next to her head. Even worse, images of dead mothers and children invaded her mind. She had dug up many terrible things in the mass graves she’d exhumed, but the worst were always the mothers, arms still wrapped around the tiny bones of their children. How many mothers had she dug up now? How many murdered children?
For some reason she had imagined that coming back to the States to work with the FBI again would give her a reprieve from those horrors. Instead she couldn’t stop thinking about Jillian Watts and her little daughter, Grace. Would she be autopsying another mother-child duo soon?
Dana tried to shake off the thought. Instead of dwelling on her worst fears, she got dressed and headed up to the ranger station. Dawn was only a few hours away; she might as well get some work done on the skeletons.
She waved at the groggy park ranger who let her in the front door and tiptoed to the bone room, making sure not to wake Ezra.
Dana carefully lifted the charred skull. Why was this skeleton burned far more than the others? Had someone tried to cremate it before depositing it in the cave? She turned the skull until she stared into the hollow eyes. “Okay my osseous friend, let’s see if I can get a workable DNA sample from you.”
She looked down at her notes. The attempt at cremation had damaged the DNA preservation of this skeleton. Phenol-chloroform protocol hadn’t produced a viable sample. Neither had total demineralization. DNA extraction from crystal aggregates was her last chance.
Dana delicately pulled a test tube from her portable centrifuge. Hands steady, she gently pipetted distilled water over the pellet of ground bone powder she had prepared earlier.
“This has to work,” she murmured to herself. She might not be able to run out into the field guns ablaze, but she could damn well do something to bring down this UNSUB.
As she rinsed the pellet one last time, she held her breath. It looked like a viable sample.
“Gotcha!” Dana said as she sealed the sample in an evidence bag to send up to Quantico.
That done, she pulled on her magnification glasses and began a detailed examination of the other skeletons. The damage done in the cave left the bones shattered, chipped, and broken, but Dana was slow and methodical, determined not to miss anything.
Her frustration grew as she moved back and forth between bones, looking for any consistent signs of damage. But then she picked up the C3 vertebra of a young female skeleton and turned it in the light.
A flash of recognition jolted Dana out of her frustration.
With her magnification glasses and bright light, she moved to the next skeleton and inspected one cervical vertebra and then the next.
“Well, hot damn!” she muttered to herself, not even noticing the soft scrape of leather in the hall behind her.
SOUTHERN RANGER STATION, SHENANDOAH NATIONAL PARK, VA
Ezra’s eyes opened, though he wasn’t sure why.
He stared up at the ceiling, straining to listen for any unexpected sound. Somewhere in the ranger station water dripped in a steady drumbeat onto metal. A well-worn furnace expanded with a faint tick-tick-tick, matching the old clock on the wall.
Nothing but the sounds of a place he wasn’t used to.
At least he hadn’t had one of the dreams. Sometimes the bomb played in his nightmares, tearing his legs from beneath him. But sometimes it was even worse. The dream where he was frozen in slow motion. Trapped in air like molasses, helpless as horrific things happened around him. His baby sister slaughtered before his eyes by a knife-wielding monster, or his mother smashed in a car accident, every graphic second playing out as she slammed into the steering wheel. All the while he stood there, a helpless screaming witness. He knew those nightmares were just his brain trying to process his feelings about the bomb, but logic was nowhere to be found in the middle of the night when he woke thrashing and screaming.
Okay, almost four A.M., time to sit up and do some mindfulness exercises.
Long breath in. Externalize the anxiety.
Examine it objectively.…
Scrape.
The sound down the hall caused an explosion of fear, blurring his vision. The bizarre image of a monster roaming the building leaped unbidden to his mind.
Ezra tried to control his shaking hands, listening with every cell in his being.
A dull clacking sound?
Another scrape made him jump.
He made a fist and squeezed, trying to release the fear ricocheting around his body.
The sound started again. No mistaking it now. The unmistakable sounds of a scuffle.
Ezra fumbled for his phone and texted Sayer, SOMEONE HERE IN BUILDING!
Should he sneak into the hall and look? But how could he? Even if he could get his prosthetics on in time, he couldn’t move quietly down the hall. Damn metal legs. Fucking walker. Tears of frustration welled. What kind of FBI agent was he?
The sound grew more confident. Someone was ransacking the bone room.
He put his phone down and decided he wasn’t going to just lie there in bed waiting for Sayer to come save him.
He scooted to the edge and, using his newly strong arms, he carefully lowered himself to the floor. Half crawling, half dragging himself along the cold tile, he quietly shuffled over to the door.
Heart jackhammering, he turned the knob and slowly slid the door open. Large wet footprints puddled along the tile floor. The exaggerated shadow of a head and shoulders extended from the bone room, moving across the tile like a ghost.
Unable to think clearly, Ezra paused and took a slow breath. Don’t be an idiot. Just see if you can get a look at the guy. Just a look. ID him and break the case.
Ezra repeated the mantra in his head. Just a look. Just a look. Just need to see who it is.
He propelled himself down the hall. The sensitive nerve in his right leg felt like pressing broken glass into the stump with every move forward. Every hair on his body quivered upright, senses assaulting him with too much input.
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