Hours later, Vel came back, a new guard with him.
“Not doing so well, huh?” he said. “Well, we haven’t even gotten started yet.” He pointed to Foley’s lank form. “You see that? This is where we want you to end up.”
“Please.”
“Please what?”
“I made a mistake, I won’t do it again!”
“I know you won’t,” Vel said. “But you see we have to make an example out of you. So everyone in those cell blocks gets it through their heads that we’re not joking here.” He gestured to the guard assisting him, said something in their native language that Lane couldn’t understand, but when the assistance came back he had a pair of pliers in his hand.
*
His throat was hoarse with screaming, he couldn’t possibly have used his vocal chords without damaging them permanently but Vel wasn’t done. Even when Lane was sure he had no strength left in him, it was obvious his body was willing to do a lot more to keep on living. He had stopped pleading a long time ago, it was useless. Still, every time those guards came at him with something new he wished they would stop and not go to that limit, but soon that limit would be crossed too and Lane would be left wondering what he was doing still alive, or even how he was still alive…
*
He was in a room, a different room, the only stink in there was the one that came from him. He was soaked—blood and vomit and others things he didn’t want to think about. He was on a bed, his back was against a surface that was softer than the surface of the bed in his cell. His body wasn’t his own, it was possessed by body snatchers that were eating through his flesh, ripping him from inside out, it was the only possible explanation for the pain. If he hadn’t died yet, he would die now from the sheer agony alone. He screamed, but it wasn’t a scream, his throat wasn’t capable of it, it was a mere grunt, and it came out broken and mangled just like him.
The face of a woman standing over him.
She was hurting him, Lane gripped her wrist, hard as he could. “No!”
“I’m trying to fix you,” she said, prying his fingers off but she was being gentle about it. “You need to trust me, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.”
Of course he didn’t trust her, but as things went around here, he just didn’t have a choice. Someone caught hold of his hand and Lane felt the cuff being slipped on.
Another mangled grunt, as some new pain made its way to his nerve endings and tried to squeeze the life out of him. Something the woman did made the pain flare up even worse and Lane found himself screaming again.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
No one ever apologized for causing pain around here, so why was she doing it? And then he noticed the lab coat she had on. He was in the infirmary, she was right, she was trying to help him. She asked her assistant to bring some water and she helped get the water down Lane’s throat. Then she gave him an IV drip and whatever was in it made everything a little more bearable, long enough for Lane to let the doctor fix him.
*
The minute he was conscious the pain was back.
When he screamed, the same woman came to his room. She gave him a shot, and things were back to being better again at least for some time. “You really pissed somebody off, huh?” she said.
Lane didn’t answer.
He wasn’t supposed to talk about it. Vel had been serious about it. Lane had no intention of ever going back there again.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I know how it works around here.”
That’s when Lane knew as along as she was there with him, no one was going to cause him harm. It would be temporary of course, but it was something.
*
A few more days of morphine and antibiotics and having that lady take care of him in the sanatorium was a relief. At the end of four days, when Lane was still in and out of consciousness, he saw the man who had given him the switchblade.
“My name is Alex,” the man said. “Thanks for not ratting me out. Anything you need, just say the word. Think of me as your friend, alright?”
Lane couldn’t reply. His jaw still ached too much for him to even try moving it. The man understood and squeezed his hand. “I’ll see you around,” he said and left.
*
Lane couldn’t remember what he was doing back in his cell. He remembered what happened to him back at the Sthako of course, more than he should have, but coming to the cell, that bit of his memory seemed to have been erased.
Too bad the same wasn’t happening to the rest of it.
He sat up in bed. All he wanted was to forget, to just let it all be expunged from his brain so he could stop feeling the weight that sat over his chest, creating more agony from the pain they were putting him through so that he always had too much of it to bear. He could feel Martinez’s eyes on him and wanted that to go away too.
“Hey,” Martinez said from across the room. “Are you okay?”
Lane said nothing, hoping Martinez would give up eventually and stop bothering him. Instead, Martinez came to his bed. When Lane felt the man’s hand on his shoulder he pushed it away. “Don’t touch me!” the words came automatically, a lot like the action that preceded it. Martinez stared at him like he had been stung and Lane was the one to do it.
“Lane—”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Lane said. “Just leave me alone!”
So, Martinez went back to his side of the cell and Lane set the pillow under his head and turned on his side, back against his cellmate.
He welcomed the silence that followed.
“Whatever they did to you in there,” Martinez said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
It was a good thing Martinez couldn’t see the tears that came after that.
CHAPTER 11
DEAD ENDS PART II
ZYRON REGION-ONE
Connor was getting tired of waiting but Sydney was being incredibly patient. Connor hoped it was because she was used to people make delays and then coming around anyway. Even the expression on her face was neutral, nothing to implicate that she had doubts, but Connor had a feeling she had that expression on for his benefit and not because she was doubt-free. She had talked to Arianna too, the last time they met, which was only three days ago and Sydney was positive that they could put their trust in the girl. She even said she felt her sincerity. The lawyer in whose office they had been waiting came in and saw that there was no sign of Arianna. “This is ridiculous,” he said, going behind his desk. “We all know she’s not coming.”
Connor had tried calling her too, but hadn’t been able to get her to respond to his calls. His brain kept telling him something was wrong, but his heart refused to let him give up that easy. Besides, it was obvious from the previous conversations he had with Arianna that she really cared about Lane and getting him out was her top priority. “Hey,” Connor said, feeling the need to defend her for some reason. “She’s just running a little late.”
“Why don’t you go check on her?” Sydney suggested, knowing that Arianna wasn’t picking up the phone. “See if everything’s okay?”
“Yeah,” Connor said, getting up. “I think I might just do that. Will you wait for me here?”
The lawyer didn’t look too happy about it, but it was obvious Sydney would make him stay despite what he was thinking. “Sure,” she said. “We’ll be here.”
*
Connor drove to Arianna’s house and at first no one would answer the door. Finally, someone did and it was an old woman with a rotten expression who acted like she badly wanted to get rid of him.
“Is Arianna home?” Connor asked. “I need to talk to her.”
“She’s with her parents,” the woman said. “They’ve taken her someplace you’ll never be able to reach her.”
“What?” Connor said. “My brother’s in prison, Arianna testimony is the only thing that can save him! How can she just leave? She promised me!”
“Well Arianna’s not some orphan child t
hat you can get her to do what you want,” the woman said. “She has parents. And Arianna’s life is more important to them than some murderer’s!”
“He’s not a murderer,” Connor said, and felt an anger that was threatening to be unleashed at the woman. “He’s innocent and Arianna knows that, that’s why she agreed to help!”
“Well she’s gone now,” the woman said. “Her step-father and her mother they’ve taken her away, so don’t come back here. I’m her grandmother and I live here now, and the next time you try to harass me, I’m going to call the cops. Now leave!”
She shut the door in his face.
*
Connor got inside the car.
He stayed there that way, his hands on the steering wheel just trying to wrap his mind around what was going on. But before he had a chance to do it, he remembered Sydney was waiting for him back at the lawyer’s office, so he gave her a call.
“Hi Sydney,” he said when he heard Sydney’s voice on the line. “The lawyer was right. Arianna’s not going to testify. She left with her parents to some unknown location and there’s no way to reach her. She doesn’t want to be found.”
“She changed her mind?”
“I’m guessing it was her parents,” Connor said. “I think they might have forced her to do it. I know her, she wouldn’t do this to Lane.”
“I’m sorry,” Sydney said. “Are you okay?”
“Sure,” Connor said. “I guess I’ll just have to figure out another way to help my brother.”
“You know before when I was talking about dead-ends?” Sydney said. “This is what I meant. No one cares until the person who gets in trouble is their own blood and then there’s not much you can do.”
“Well its not like you can force someone to testify, so I guess this is it.” Just saying the words out loud broke his heart. Kevin was right. He shouldn’t have placed too much hope into this. People couldn’t be trusted. Not when you needed them the most. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be.”
“We made such a big deal about this, basing it on her testimony and now there’s nothing. You must be pissed.”
“I’m a lot more than pissed Connor,” Sydney said. “I’m horrified. People just don’t care anymore and that’s wrong. How do they not get that? I get what that Jace Dyer guy was saying in an interview the other day. He said people have lost faith in humanity. Maybe he’s right, maybe that’s what we need right now.”
“You believe Dyer’s the real thing?”
“He’s real alright,” Sydney said. “I must have talked to hundreds of people by now, Connor. And after a while you can see right through the bullshit. Dyer’s not one of them. He believes he can change the world, and judging by the way he thinks, he’s going to be a good leader.”
“So you really think he deserves your vote?”
“Absolutely,” Sydney said. “I wouldn’t doubt it for a second.”
The world suddenly felt like it was devoid of air.
“Sydney…I…uh…I’ll call you later,” Connor managed.
“If you ever want to just talk, give me a call okay?”
“Sure.” He dropped the call and let the panic take over him. He had to step out of the car to get some air, and he stood against the hood for a long time hoping his body would remember how to breathe again.
“You don’t look so good,” he heard a female voice and turned to her. A tall woman wearing all black, and Connor could see the weapon tucked into her jeans. She had piercing blue eyes that were enhanced by the focused expression on her face. Connor had never seen her before.
“I’m fine,” he said, but his body didn’t get the message.
“Maybe what I have to tell you will cure that panic attack situation,” the woman said.
“Do you know me?”
“Of course I know you Connor,” the woman said. “Why else would I be standing here, offering help?”
“Who are you?”
“That’s not important,” she said. “What’s important is that I can help Lane.”
The words jolted Connor back to life.
He stared at the woman standing in front of him and realized how clueless he must have looked.
“See?” she said. “Told you I knew how to cure that panic attack.”
*
“So who are you?” Connor asked when he had gotten a hold of himself.
“Can we sit someplace and talk?” she said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea talking about that here.”
Connor stood there, making up his mind.
“What have you got to lose?” she said. “Your brother’s in trouble, and I’m telling you I can help. You have to at least try to see if I’m the real thing.”
Connor got inside the car and unlocked the door to the passenger side. She got in, and Connor started driving away, wanting to be away from Arianna’s house, half-afraid the woman had already called the cops on him.
“So,” Connor said. “Who are you?”
“My name is Aana,” she said. “And I know how we can get your brother out. He’s part of a human experiment, that’s why they’re keeping it so hushed.”
“I’m listening.”
“I can’t give you any more than this, I can’t risk you leaving me in the middle of the road.”
“Of course not,” Connor said. “Now on to the real question: What is it that you want in return?”
For a second, Connor was afraid she was going to say she didn’t want anything, just like Dyer had and he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone who said such a thing.
“I want Jace Dyer,” she said, the look on her face plain. Connor had seen people wanting to procure jewelry items that had more expression.
“Excuse me?”
“I want you to tell me where he’s hiding.”
“Why would I know where Dyer is?”
“Oh please,” Aana said. “I came prepared. I saw you talking to him at Main Hall.”
“So?”
“So, I know Jace. I know when he needs someone he will do anything in his power to get him.”
“You have it all wrong,” Connor said. “Meeting him was a coincidence.”
“Oh yeah, he just happened to be there!”
“What are you insinuating?”
“He offered to help you, didn’t he?” Aana said. “He must have told you he can help your brother. But trust me, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Let me guess,” Connor said. “You do.”
“Do you think it would help my credibility if I told you I know of a way you can talk to Lane?”
Connor’s heart was filled with a hope that he knew had no business being inside his system, but he didn’t think he could help it. “You do that,” he said. “And we’ll talk about getting you what you want.”
CHAPTER 12
DEAL WITH THE DEVIL PART I
Black Walls Detention Camp,
Delta-Bay, Zyron Region-Two
The world continued to be a blur.
Was it possible that he was losing his sight? That they’d managed to go so far beyond the threshold of pain and torment that his body couldn’t take it anymore and had decided to quit? The eyesight being the first sign of that surrender? He closed his eyes and would have gone to sleep, if he hadn’t felt someone fiddling with the strap on his ankle, the one that was always biting into his skin and it was a relief to not feel it on his leg anymore. He tried to open his eyes again, but they were too heavy. The person moved to his wrists, undid the leather clasps and touched Lane’s face.
“Wake up,” he said in a low whisper, trying to keep his voice low.
It was a direction, and you had to follow directions, so Lane opened his eyes.
The vague shadow of a face staring at him. Its features kept getting distorted as though the man was some phantom in a children’s book. Lane tried to focus but it hurt his head when he tried. The same happened when he tried to speak so he decided not to bother. His eyes must have close
d again then, because the man was slapping him awake.
“Hey,” the man said. “I need you to focus.”
Lane wanted to, but the chemicals that they’d shot through his veins, were messing with the sensors in his brain and causing his eyes to become heavy.
“Hey,” the man shook him when Lane closed his eyes a fourth time and Lane hated him for it. He needed the peace. There were very few chances of getting peace here, and the man had no right to take it away from him.
But this time, when Lane’s eyes started closing shut again the man tried another approach. “Do you want to talk to your brother?”
And that’s when Lane knew he was dreaming.
It was a stupid dream, but a dream alright. No one in their right mind could offer such a thing. Connor was a dream, just as much as the life outside of these walls. So Lane decided not to let it bother him and did what he wanted to do. Close his eyes—
“Hey!” the man shook him harder this time, helped him up before Lane could go back to sleep. When his bare feet hit the cold ground of the lab, Lane wasn’t sure what was going on. Was it possible that man was real and what he was offering was real too?
“Con…”
“Yeah,” the man said, putting his arm around Lane, literally lifting him up because Lane couldn’t use his own legs to walk, they kept buckling under him. “Come on now. Stay awake! You gotta help me.”
*
It’s a joke, Lane thought, as the man placed him on the one broken chair in that cluttered supply room.
Someone’s playing a prank on me, a cruel prank, and this isn’t real, this isn’t happening, not really, this is just one of their ingenious torture routines. They’ve really outdone themselves this time. The device the man placed in his hand was on and there was a call button on it. The man stood above Lane, his arms crossed over his chest. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ve programmed the number, just press CALL.”
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