The Devil You Know

by Sam Sisavath

  I should have asked more questions. I should have explored us more.

  “Us?” Was there ever an us?

  Is all of this even real?

  It felt real enough as Xiao followed him onto the first floor. She looked toward the front windows and could still see silhouettes of the gardeners working outside. She counted two, with a possible third somewhere in the background.

  “If no one’s been living here for a few years, who’s paying the workers?” she asked.

  “The Rhim,” Porter said. “The gardeners and housekeepers come once a month to keep the place presentable until it’s needed again.”

  “So the Rhim paid for the house in the hopes that one day you’ll come back?”

  Porter led her past the living room. “Not exactly. They own a lot of property. This just happened to be one of them.”

  “Convenient.”

  “I prefer to think of it as a happy coincidence.”

  Sure, Porter. Like anything the Rhim does is a coincidence.

  But like a lot of other thoughts that had flashed across her mind since she woke up inside this place, she kept that one to herself as well.

  She followed him into a study on the other side of the house. The room was almost as big as the master bedroom upstairs, with stacks of books on shelves that took up two whole walls. The furniture looked ancient but at the same time comfortable and was easily the first room in the place with any character. The curtains were open, allowing plenty of sunlight inside, and Xiao saw the female gardener across the lawn.

  “I used to spend a lot of time in here when I was younger,” Porter said. “Those books? I think I must have read most of them.”

  “That’s a lot of books, Porter.”

  “I had a lot of free time.”

  “Must be nice to be rich.”

  “It was better than being poor, and anyone who tells you different is lying.”

  “If I’d known you were loaded, I wouldn’t have settled for all the dumps you forced us to stay in.”

  There was a bar on the left side, and Porter walked behind it, reached under the counter, and came back with a decanter half-filled with honey-colored liquid. He grabbed two glasses and filled each one halfway.

  “Isn’t it too early?” Xiao asked.

  “It’s noon somewhere.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  She sat down on a stool across the bar from him. There was a small rack with utensils in the corner—spoons, forks, and butter knives that might actually be made of silver by the way they gleamed. Xiao picked up her glass. It was heavy, and she wondered how much strength it would take to crack a person’s head with one of them.

  “My father used to spend hours in here, just drinking and reading books,” Porter said. “I picked up a bottle of his personal favorite on my way back from Chicago.”

  “From your failed assassination attempt.”

  He smiled wryly. “Don’t rub it in.”

  “Hey, you did your best. How were you supposed to know he’d be wearing a reinforced bulletproof vest? I’m sure the Rhim would understand. They strike me as the understanding type.”

  “I know you’re being facetious, but they really are.”

  Riiiiiight.

  Porter lifted his glass to salute her. She did the same and took a sip, and winced as the warm cognac made its way down her throat.

  “It’s not as good as the one my father drinks,” Porter said, staring disappointingly at the liquid sloshing around in his glass. “But it’ll have to do.”

  Xiao tried her best to cringe the effects of the alcohol away. “What happened to him? Your father?”

  “He’s…” Porter stopped himself.

  “Is he dead?”

  “No.”

  He gave her a forced smile. It was, she realized, the first forced-anything he had let slip since she woke up in this place.

  So the dad’s a sore spot. File that away for future reference.

  “Let’s not talk about him,” Porter said. “I’d rather talk about us.”

  “Is there an ‘us?’”

  “I want there to be.” He put his glass down and leaned across the countertop, and that easy—and earnest—smile came back. “The question is: Do you?”

  She didn’t answer him right away.

  The truth was, she didn’t know how to respond. What was it that she felt for him exactly? It was affection, she was certain of that much. She’d always liked him, and sometimes when her thoughts strayed, wondered how they would work as a couple.

  Unless all of this is a lie. Unless you’re still in the chair and it’s making you remember things that were never true.

  But my God it feels so real.

  “You’re putting me in a difficult spot, Porter,” she finally said.

  He pulled back and she thought he looked a little disappointed, maybe even…hurt? Was that possible? The Porter she knew before today would have shrugged that off. But then again, she’d never slept not once, but twice with that Porter.

  Maybe it’s true what they say: Once you hit the sack, you can’t go back.

  “That’s because you’re making it harder than it has to be,” he said.

  “Am I?”

  “It’s pretty simple from where I’m standing: You either want to be with me or you don’t.”

  “Porter, for God’s sake, we never talked about this. We never even kissed before this morning.”

  “I always wanted to.”

  “But you never did.”

  “It was too dangerous. There were always too many things at stake, always too many…complications. I couldn’t do that to you.”

  “But you can, now.”

  “Things are different now.”

  “How?”

  “For one, I’m not constantly being hunted by the Rhim. Always looking over my shoulder, always wondering if today will be my last day on this earth. And neither are you. We’re free, Xiao. Free to do anything. To be with anyone.”

  She stared at him in silence, struggling to find the right words to respond with.

  Is this real? Do I want it to be real?

  Porter reached over and put his hand over hers and squeezed. “All you have to do is make the decision, Xiao. Say yes to me. To us.”

  “And then what? I become one of you? I become Rhim?”

  “Not if you don’t want to.”

  “Are you saying I have a choice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “No, it’s not.” He cupped her other hand. “I have a very unique position within the organization. I’m not like the others. The foot soldiers. That’s why they gave me back this house. Gave me you when I asked.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Who are you, exactly?”

  He smiled. “I want you to find out. I want to tell you everything, but I can’t, not until I can absolutely trust you. Tell me, Xiao, can I trust you with my secrets?”

  From the cozy study, Xiao followed him out and then through the garden at the back of the house. She hadn’t seen it before when looking down from the master bedroom, but there were four rows of flowers just outside the building. Bluebonnets, daisies, flowers she didn’t even know names for. Xiao grew up in urban sprawls, not in places like this where she couldn’t even hear a car or see anything but birds in the cloudless sky.

  Where is this place, exactly?

  She had asked him the question three times, but he had either ignored it or given an answer that told her everything except where they were. If she had to guess, it was in the countryside somewhere, far enough from a major city that there were no signs of anything else beyond the walls of the trees around her. They had to be surrounded by a massive tract of private land, which made her wonder how the Rhim just happened to have Porter’s childhood home sitting around waiting for him.

  But she didn’t give voice to any of those questions, because Porter was talking and she didn’t want to stop him, didn’t want to let him know her head
was swimming with doubts. The Porter she knew would have sensed her internal conflict, but this new Porter, this converted Porter, seemed to believe she was capable of being swayed.

  Either that, or he wanted to believe.

  So let him believe it.

  Porter was plucking a purple flower from one of the beds. “My mother had a green thumb. She used to have things growing all around the property. Even our gardeners were amazed. My father and I, though, we didn’t have a clue.”

  “This is the first time I ever heard you talk about your parents. Where is your mother now?”

  “She passed.”

  “I’m sorry, Porter.”

  He stood up and gave her another forced smile (Mommy’s also a sore subject; got it.) and handed her the flower. It was soft to the touch and delicate, and she was afraid she might snap the stem in half as soon as she held it.

  “What am I doing here, Porter?” Xiao asked. “What am I really doing here?”

  “I need you to trust me, and to do that, I needed you to know where I came from.”

  “You could have told me all of this a long time ago. You know almost everything about me and Aaron, but you never talked about yourself.”

  “There just never seemed to be the right time or place. We were always so busy running, hiding, trying to stay one step ahead of the Rhim. When I think about all that effort, all those wasted years, I wish I could have them back. It was so…pointless. You don’t understand how bad off the world is until you’ve seen the things they’ve shown me, Xiao. Once they reveal the full extent of the problem, you’ll come around. I don’t have any doubts about that.”

  “So show me.”

  “I will.” He held her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “But first, I want you to smell the air, Xiao. Feel the wind against your skin. Listen to my heart beating.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “Stay with me and I’ll show you everything, and we can be together.”

  God, he feels real. Everything about him is real.

  Aren’t they?

  She sighed against his chest and let herself be comforted by the warmth of his body pressing against hers. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe all of this was real, that she wasn’t still inside the white room with Hofheinz monitoring her as the chair played tricks with her mind.

  She wanted to believe.

  God, did she want to believe.

  “Porter,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “If all of this is real, then I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  She didn’t push away from him because Porter was fast, much faster than any human should be, and if she gave him even a second to see what was coming he would stop her. But she remained pressed against him, locked inside his embrace, when she jammed the butter knife she had lifted without him knowing into his side and felt the fabric of his shirt rip, then his skin break against the blunt edge.

  He grunted and released her, and Xiao took a couple of steps back. Blood had already begun to pool around the knife sticking out of his side, the silver handle gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun.

  Maybe it’s real silver after all, she thought absently as Porter reached down, took hold of the knife, and pulled it free. A small arc of blood spurted, splashing the flowers next to them.

  Porter’s eyes fixed on hers as he squinted, though she didn’t think it was pain he was trying to push away. Or, at least, not any physical pain. “Why?”

  “Because this isn’t real,” Xiao said. “Because I’m still in the chair.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Xiao…”

  “Bullshit, Porter.”

  She turned and ran away from him, but instead of going back into the house, she went around it. She didn’t glance over her shoulder until she was almost at the side of the building.

  Porter hadn’t moved, but he was looking after her, one hand cupping his bleeding side.

  I’m sorry, Porter. If you’re real, if all of this is real, I’m so sorry.

  Xiao made the turn and there, the front gates were directly in front of her, though they looked much farther than when she had been standing on the porch earlier. She expected to see the gardeners, but they were nowhere in sight. Either they had moved on to some other part of the estate or they’d gone home.

  If they were real in the first place. If any of this was ever real.

  She was halfway to the gates before she started breathing hard. Christ, why was she breathing so hard? It wasn’t even that far. Sixty yards? Seventy? This was child’s play. So why was she already having such difficulty catching her breath?

  “She’s rejecting it,” a voice said. It seemed to come from around her—above her?

  Xiao glanced up, but there was nothing there except the same cloudless blue sky.

  “She’s rejecting everything,” the voice said.

  It sounded familiar. Why did it sound so familiar? And where was it coming from?

  “You told me my participation would increase the chances of success,” a second voice said. This one was also male and also familiar. Even more familiar, if that was possible.

  Forget them! Concentrate on what’s ahead of you!

  She was almost at the gate and could practically feel the weight of the wrought iron against her palm.

  “It should have worked,” the first voice said. “It’s designed perfectly for someone with her personality. The technique fed her paranoia instead of fighting it. I didn’t expect her to have so much difficulty accepting something so…positive.”

  “Because it’s not really me in there,” the second one said. “It’s an unnatural copy, and she knows the difference.”

  “I had high hopes, but there were never any guarantees. There’s only one option left now. You know that.”

  “You said it could permanently damage her…”

  The voices (Where the hell are they coming from?) were talking about her. Why could she hear but not see them? Was it all in her head? Was she imagining them?

  Never mind. The gate.

  She was almost at the gate!

  “The risks are real,” the first voice said. “So it’s your call. How should I proceed?”

  The gate. The gate!

  She was suddenly there, and Xiao grabbed it and pulled it open just enough to push her body through and out—

  No. No, no, no, no!

  Beady eyes and an insectlike face stared back at her. It was surrounded by white walls, and there was a slight hum in the background.

  “I have to admit, there’s only been one other woman who’s sat in that chair that’s intrigued me so much,” the man said.

  Hofheinz.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Her eyes were opened—no, just one eye—and it was being forcefully pried open by Hofheinz’s cold, clammy fingers.

  There was someone else in the background. A second man in a black blazer and pants. He stood just over Hofheinz’s right shoulder, close enough that she shouldn’t have had any difficulty seeing his face, and yet she was.

  Focus!

  “You’re talking about Quinn,” the second figure said.

  “Yes,” Hofheinz nodded. “Where are we on that front, by the way?”

  “She’ll be here soon.”

  “They’ve found her?”

  “Along with Aaron and Sarah.”

  “Sarah?” Hofheinz said. He straightened up and let go of Xiao’s eye.

  Darkness. There was just darkness.

  Why can’t I open my eyes?

  “They were together?” Hofheinz asked.

  “Since LA,” the second man said.

  His voice. God, it was so familiar. She knew him—she was sure of it—so why couldn’t she remember his name? What was wrong with her head? Why was everything so…fuzzy?

  “They must have made their way back to Houston when they heard about the school. We still don’t know how they avoided being seen.”

/>   “Sarah was one of us. She’s been out there even before you. She knows how to avoid detection.”

  Open your eyes!

  It was difficult because the chair was keeping her in a state of paralysis. She couldn’t move anything, even her eyelids.

  No, that wasn’t true. She could move them—she could feel her eyelids quivering slightly—it was just difficult.

  Try harder!

  “Do they know about them?” Hofheinz asked. “The Old Men?”

  “You’d be surprised how much they know about everything,” the second man said. “You should keep that in mind.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s an observation. I don’t have to threaten you. I would just act.”

  “I see.”

  Focus. Focus!

  She did it. Her eyes opened to Hofheinz’s slightly crooked back and slumped shoulders in front of her. She looked past him, zeroing in on the figure standing in front of him.

  Soft, familiar blue eyes gazed back at her.

  “Porter,” she whispered. Or thought she did. It was hard to tell because she had trouble creating saliva in her mouth to quench the parchedness.

  “She’s awake,” the man who had Porter’s voice and eyes, but not his face, said.

  Hofheinz turned around, one eyebrow lifting curiously. “That’s…unexpected.”

  “I’m giving you permission to proceed,” Porter said. He continued to look at her, defying her accusing stare. “How long will it take?”

  “I need to prep her first in order to minimize the risks.”

  “Good,” Porter said, before turning and walking away. “But do what you have to do.”

  “Even if it means damaging her?”

  Porter stopped, seemed about to look back, but didn’t. “Do what you have to do.”

  Porter!

  She wanted to scream his name, to curse him, to let him know that she was never, ever going to forgive him for this, but couldn’t get any sounds past her dry lips.

  He stopped at the door and almost looked back again. Almost.

  Porter!

  Then he was gone.

  Porter, you bastard.

  You goddamn bastard!