Hunting the Shadows

by Alexia Reed

  J.C. reached for the sandwich and lifted the corner of the bread—some kind of undistinguishable meat and cheese. He took a bite and frowned at the rubbery texture. Ajay’s cooking lacked everything that could make a meal delicious. The woman couldn’t make a sandwich, let alone anything edible.

  “They’re saying she’s dangerous,” She settled at the end of the table and glanced over at the photos lining the wall. “She killed two guards.”

  The rumor going around was that Amy attacked the guards during the nightly rounds and escaped.

  He fought to hide his reaction but the anger rippled in his stomach and made the bite of the sandwich unappealing. He set the food down and pushed the plate back. Lowering his feet, J.C. shook his head and stood. “I very much doubt she’s capable of that, but I’m going to figure out what’s going on.”

  When he turned, she coalesced in front of him, small droplets of light reforming. “J.C., you should leave it alone. Broderick will have the Council investigating her.”

  “No.” The rumble that came from his throat surprised him. “I’m not going to leave it alone. Don’t tell me I can’t do anything when she’s our only witness. She didn’t escape and kill the guards. More is going on to this than we’re being told and I don’t like it.”

  She was attacked by the killer. He wasn’t going to ignore that and let the Council give this killer another chance to get away from them. Everything had lined up too perfectly with Tristan. J.C. saw that now. Damn it, if it wasn’t him, then who?

  Stefan?

  Stefan claimed to have found Amy. Was it too coincidental that Stefan had shown up at the right time and place?

  J.C. stepped around Ajay, ignoring the look of suspicion she sent him and continued down the hall. The only one that had any answers was in Medical.

  Setting his shoulders, he followed the grey marble stone, stepping through darkened glass doors. It didn’t surprise him to find Mackenzie huddled over x-rays of a broken tibia.

  “You did a number on Stefan’s leg. My trainee did what she could healing him, but the bone will never be the same,” she murmured, without looking up. Mackenzie had never been able to heal Stefan, an enigma no one could figure out. She could heal anyone else but the moment she tried on Stefan, the wound transferred over to her. “What’s your problem?”

  Stefan could be the murderer. That was his problem. J.C. schooled his words, making sure not to divulge the little fact about his conversations with Amy. “Tristan wasn’t the killer.”

  Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “And you think it’s Stefan?” It was as though she’d plucked the thought right from his head. “He wasn’t out there because he was hunting for victims.”

  “Find me the proof. It’s too coincidental.”

  She slapped the x-rays down on the table. “Take a look at your calendar, J.C. He leaves the Centre every year on the anniversary of his mother’s death.” Her words were flat as she glared at him and he felt the sting of a memory.

  Right. Stefan’s mother had committed suicide.

  He stepped around her and moved up to a glass wall, looking into the observation room. Amy was sideways to him, her head turned as she stared out a window. Was she thinking about how close to freedom she’d come? “How is she?”

  “I’ve done what I can. I healed her leg, but she needed a blood transfusion. After a few days of rest, she should be fine.” Mackenzie drew in a breath. “What do you want with her?”

  Answers. She knew things no one else did, things only the killer should. That meant he would do anything to exploit that knowledge. She was a resource he couldn’t let slip away from him. “She’s a witness. I’m going to do my job and get her statement.”

  “If I think you’re endangering her, you’re going to have to leave.”

  J.C. pushed his fingers through his hair. He shouldn’t have to explain himself. “I want to talk with her.”

  Mac headed down the hall. She stopped at a door, one hand against the handle. “Since she’s been here she’s had two seizures. Her mind’s constantly being over-stimulated and the only way to stop them is to send her back to the psych ward where they can stabilize her.”

  “Has she said anything?”

  “She keeps saying that he’ll find her here. Other than that, she doesn’t remember much about what happened. J.C., don’t push her.” She opened the door then left him to go back to Stefan’s x-rays.

  For a moment, he stood in the doorway. Amy was awake, her head still turned toward the window. Whatever she was staring at couldn’t have been all that interesting and yet, she showed no signs of disinterest.

  He cleared his throat, hoping for some sort of a reaction before he went in but when he didn’t get one, he sighed and moved inside the small room. “My name is J.C. Nikolaiev.”

  “I know who you are.” Her words were short, curt. She turned to look at him. He sucked in a heated breath when cornflower blue eyes caught his gaze. She was small, her body draped in a thin medical gown that did little to hide her curves. Her hair fell an inch beneath her jaw, golden brown layers softening her features.

  “I want to know what happened.” He’d never been very good at small talk. Especially not when the person had information he needed.

  Information that could mean the end to the murders.

  For a moment, she said nothing. He wouldn’t admit to the silence getting on his nerves.

  Her lips quirked up at the corners, soft and full, but still she studied him until he felt words bubble up from impatience. “Damn it, this isn’t a staring match.”

  “No,” she agreed. Sitting up straight, she glanced out the window then back at him. “But it’s amusing watching you squirm. You don’t have any patience, but what will you do when you have the answers? Will they make everything right? Can you tell me that things will be fine?”

  No.

  He had no answers for her. Nothing would make everything all right. The Council would continue their experiments whether he was leading them or not.

  Because her gaze kept trailing back toward the window, J.C. wandered lazily toward the windowsill to lounge there in the morning sun. As far as tactics went, this was a pretty good one considering she couldn’t evade him. “You’re wasting my time. Why is that?”

  He sat and did what he wasn’t good at…

  He waited.

  * * *

  Amy stiffened her shoulders, forcing the trembles to stop. Meeting his stare, she lifted her chin.

  “Why are you wasting time?” he repeated.

  She studied him and the impact of him was a physical blow. The man was gorgeous and somehow she hadn’t expected that. But then again, what had she expected? A rough, unshaven man with the social skills of an animal, perhaps. His manners certainly were uncivilized at times.

  His amber eyes were intense, almost unnerving. There was nothing tame in the way he watched her. The underlying hardness of the warrior drew her attention.

  The man had power stamped all over his aura.

  A small breeze swept through the room from the opened window, lifting strands of his dark hair, tousled from his fingers.

  “I’m not. I need to know what you’ll do because I don’t have all the answers. So then what? You send me back to that room to be locked up again? Or maybe you’ll let them cut open my skull for research?” Fear had a sharp, acrid taste.

  One day whenever the scientists got bored of her, they would get rid of her. How much should she trust J.C.? Enough to tell him all her secrets? She’d been willing to put it all on the line before, but now doubts shook her faith. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore.

  The voices grew louder, splitting her focus. Amy scrunched her face, closing her eyes tightly when pain shot across her forehead. She ignored the machines that were hooked up to her as she pressed the tips
of her fingers to her temples.

  She opened her eyes to find J.C. watching her intently. Weary of fighting, she shook her head and let her body slide beneath the comfort of blankets. “He came to my room. I couldn’t see him properly. He psychically blinds his victims. It’s how he has the edge over all of his victims. Not only can they not see, he neutralizes their abilities.”

  “How’d you escape?”

  “I don’t know. He shot me.” She shuddered at the memory—almost as though someone had poured ice water down her spine. Drawing back the blanket, Amy lifted the edge of the gown to show him the angry red line marring her thigh. The doctor had said something about her being lucky the bullet missed the artery. Otherwise, she’d have bled out before J.C. could get to her. “I locked myself into a classroom. I broke a window and climbed out. I just kept moving. I knew if I stopped he’d kill me.”

  She jolted as he took a step closer and settled his hand over her leg. The moment she let herself think past the shock of him touching her, she realized it didn’t hurt. His fingers were warm as they ran over the scarring tissue.

  Why?

  For a moment, her thoughts went blank as his thumb stroked the white mark, her skin absorbing the heat of his hand. If she wasn’t careful, he would be addictive. She wanted more.

  Tearing her gaze away from his hand, Amy looked up.

  “Do you remember any distinguishable features?”

  “All I saw was a shadow.” She frowned. Was he not listening? “He was about as tall as you, same build. I can’t give you much more than that.”

  She didn’t have to read his emotions to know that he was getting impatient. Jaw set, he said nothing and she wanted to lean forward and touch the ticking muscle there.

  “Look, I know you don’t like this situation, but neither do I.” She hated it. If anyone had the right to be angry, it was her. She wasn’t going to be able to save her own skin—let alone anyone else—if she couldn’t remember.

  He moved his thumb.

  Still too shocked to get past the fact that she felt nothing from him but a tingle of warmth, she returned her gaze to his hand. She didn’t care if he thought her crazy. It felt…nice.

  He removed his hand, one brow drawing up quizzically.

  The moment his touch disappeared, her system went haywire. Her senses unfurled hungrily, seeking out stimuli unconsciously as though wanting to fill that void. Voices blended together, loud and demanding. Amy pressed her fingertips against her throbbing temples as she tried to block them out. “Shut up!” she shouted mentally but it did nothing. Never did.

  It didn’t surprise her that the voices had returned. The room wasn’t exactly mentally hygienic. Amy fisted her hands in her hair and closed her eyes. Just when she’d gotten use to silence, they were back.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  She glared at him. “I wasn’t talking to you. Shut up anyway.”

  “Excuse me?” There was laughter in his voice. His hand moved to the back of her neck, skilled fingers massaging the tension there. She stiffened at his touch but melted when he persisted, hushing her softly. “If you want to stay out of that isolation chamber, you’ll have to learn to cope with the voices.”

  Easier said than done. “Try being in someone’s head for more than half an hour and then you can tell me that.”

  She couldn’t help but sigh as his fingers rubbed and pressed into her skin. Slow, deep breaths in and out. Over and over again until the world narrowed down to her surroundings and not the thoughts and emotions that impounded her brain.

  “I’ll be back to talk to you later and you will tell me everything I want to know.”

  His hand lifted from her nape and she felt the instant void of heat. She shivered from the lack of it, making her wonder why her body craved his touch.

  Leveling a glare at him, Amy gritted her teeth. “I’m not your puppet to be played with whenever it strikes your fancy.” Her voice hardened. Of everyone who had ever used her, J.C. was supposed to be different.

  And just like that, his eyes went dark, his voice dropping to a growl that made her shudder. “Rest, Amy. I’ll be back.” Before she could respond, he’d walked away, leaving her alone to fight her own mind as the world closed in on her.

  Chapter Eight

  “Don’t hurt me. Please.”

  White hot pain erupted as the metal chain seared across his back. He fell to his knees, a sob threatening to claw its way out. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Please,” he pleaded.

  Please.

  There was no answer, just the slap of the chain links against the curve of his spine. The concrete was hard, doing nothing to absorb the shock of the whip. What had he done to deserve this? Was the spilled blood not enough?

  He didn’t look up when the lashing was over. All he could do was stay there, frozen, shivering with terror at the thought that Caleigh would return.

  He didn’t know how long he huddled in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around himself. Minutes? Hours?

  He dragged himself into a corner, curling into himself tightly as though it’d offer some protection against the Enforcer if she decided to come back.

  “I will… I… I will do anything,” he whispered to the dark. “I need a second. I need to…”

  …needed to catch his breath.

  Something scampered through the shadows. A rat. He shuddered, disgusted when it stopped at the puddle of blood in the middle of the room. He scooted as far back as he could, breath hissing out as the rough stone wall rubbed against the raw sores on his back.

  Swallowing a scream, he stared out as three followed the first.

  Stay still. Stay calm… Do not move.

  Stomach churning, he swept his gaze around the room for something to use as a weapon. Anything. It didn’t matter what.

  He bit his lip, pressing flat against the wall. When something warm and large ran over his hand, he scrambled farther away. He dragged his body across the ground, staring in horror as the rats followed the trail of wet, warm blood.

  Closer and closer.

  He screeched as they jumped on him. Dirty and wet, they climbed over him, despite his hands as he batted them away. He sent one into the wall, another across the room.

  There were too many…

  * * *

  J.C. looked toward the door for what seemed like the hundredth time in two hours. He itched to go back to Medical to question Amy. She had answers he needed and he wouldn’t get them by being in his lab.

  The young boy sitting on the counter didn’t notice that he was distracted. J.C.’s fingers were nimble, quick and competent as he filled vials full of blood.

  “All done. How’s the telekinesis?”

  The boy rolled his shoulders in a noncommittal movement J.C. recognized as fear more than defiance. Not directed at him, per se, but at the whole check-up. Drake had been written up and sent to J.C. because his telekinetic abilities were failing. They all knew what the price was for failure. Three strikes was all an individual got before they were deemed unworthy to the project and taken away.

  Drake had two.

  He nodded toward a pen on the far counter. “I want you to get it for me.”

  He wasn’t sure why the regression was occurring, but it was probably mental rather than a physical aspect that was preventing Drake from advancing. An infection could easily block those psychic networks in his brain but so far there was no indication of one.

  Drake focused on the pen, his small body shaking.

  “Relax,” J.C. dropped to his knees in front of the young boy, placing his hand on one small shoulder. He had a feeling it was all a debilitating fear of not succeeding, but he wouldn’t rule anything out. “Look, you can do this. It’s in you. I’ve seen you do amazing things. Show me something.”

&n
bsp; It was his recommendation that sent the children either away or back with their peers. He couldn’t save them all. But those that were his, those he could, he protected.

  And Drake was one of his.

  Drake’s small hands fisted, green eyes focused on the black bench top. Small lines formed around his lips as he pressed them together.

  The pen staggered, then lifted about an inch in the air before falling back to the ground.

  The boy’s hope shattered. His eyes shadowed, becoming a mist of despair at the knowledge that he’d failed again.

  J.C. shot a glance at the EEG machine, watching the peaks and dips of the electrical activity. Normal. His brows drew down.

  “You’re fine, kid. You should have no problem lifting that pen in the air and getting it over to me.”

  It wasn’t only Drake. Three highly gifted children were suddenly losing all control. It was as though their gifts were disappearing. Soon, the Council would start demanding answers he didn’t have.

  “Try once more.” To the other scientists, giving Drake another chance was a weakness. By their standards, he should have called the boy a failure and black marked him to termination.

  He rose to his feet, taking a step back to observe. He was missing something. He knew it, felt it. For all his ability to see into the boy’s mind and view the complicated network of neurons, he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. He would have to work the brain like a muscle and hope the ability strengthened and developed again. The telekinesis was still there somewhere, but it was buried, hidden among blockages.

  Drake simply stood there, brows drawn in frustration and stress. J.C. knew he was pushing too hard but he had no choice. There was only one way to figure out what was happening and if he didn’t do this, Broderick would demand action be taken. He wasn’t going to give up and let the boy be terminated.

  He’d failed too many people already. He wouldn’t let Drake down as well.

  “I want to try something before you attempt anything else.” Moving behind Drake, J.C. reached for a cloth that had been lying about on the counter and tied it over the boy’s eyes. “Not exactly scientific, but I want to see if it helps. Visualize that pen, Drake. See it in your mind, every bump and curve. Is it black or blue ink? How does it feel in your hands? Is it light like a feather or heavy like a small weight?”