“I would like to try to get more information out of him. You asked me if I wanted to lead interrogations today and I do.” I try to say it nicely even though I know I’m quickly starting to violently hate the man before me. More than I have ever hated anyone.
Hadenfelt puts his head back and laughs again, this time harder. The others join in, but I don’t budge.
“You can’t be serious?” the other man asks with sarcasm dripping off his tongue.
“Well, what you’re doing obviously isn’t working,” I say pointedly and turn to Hadenfelt. “So what is the harm in letting me have a go at it? You asked me. More than likely to make me look like a fool. I’m calling your bluff. Give me a shot.”
“Our men have been trained for this for years. You can’t just up and walk in there,” Hadenfelt says defensively.
“So by letting me in there, you would only further your point. You challenged me to do this and I accept your offer. Unless you don’t want me to go in there because you’re afraid I’ll make you look bad.” I try to lure him with my logic. I need to speed this along if I am going to save that man before Henry or Lyncoln come storming in, or before Jamie caves and carries me out of here.
Hadenfelt snorts, clearly insulted.
“Sir. Just let her. This will be great,” the other man offers.
Hadenfelt thinks a moment, actually considering it.
“Fine. Go ahead, Ms. Scott. Be my guest. Do know that you will be graded on this,” he reminds me rudely.
“Aren’t I always?” I reply in matching rudeness.
I look at the other man commanding, “I need a bottle of water.”
“You what?” he says taken aback and super annoyed with my bossiness.
“I don’t recall stuttering.” I’m really beginning to hate all of the people in this room. These men are just bullies with power and I refuse to cower to them.
“For God’s sake, Williams, just get her a damn bottle of water so we can get this over with,” Hadenfelt spits at him before turning back to me. “You have five minutes.”
The man named Williams does so quickly and then I’m facing the door into the actual interrogation room. It takes every fiber of my being to not vomit all over myself. I take a deep breath and wipe my hands on my pants. I’m glad I’m in my black DIA gear since it makes me look important. I need to be commanding or this will never work. I have to channel some sort of inner power I have never had. If I don’t, they are going to kill that man. I’m his last chance.
And I don’t want to watch another person die.
Jamie is fidgeting beside me and I know he’s pissed at me, but I don’t dare look at him. He isn’t supposed to intervene, but he doesn’t like this one bit. He isn’t about to leave my side either though.
I gather all my courage and open the door as they are pouring another jug of water over the drifter. There is water everywhere, flowing to the drain in the center of the room. The two men stop when they see me, eyes wide and full of surprise. For a moment they forget to remove the towel over the drifter’s face until I gesture for them to lift it off.
“Who authorized this?” the one man says venomously.
“Hadenfelt. And you are dismissed,” I respond then point to the other interrogator, “You. Sit him up and then stay posted at the door.”
Well, I sounded bossy. Now I just need to not puke.
The first man storms off angrily and I can already hear him yelling in the room I was just in as the door shuts. Although the other man took part in the torturing too, he somehow seems softer, which is why I decided to let him stay. That and I might need backup because if the drifter comes at me, tied to a chair or not, I will pass out on the spot.
I take a step towards the drifter and pace back and forth. I have no idea what I am about to do or what I am about to say. I just know that for some weird reason, he needs to talk first and he needs to know that I hold his life in my hands. Because I really do. If I don’t do this right, he’s a goner. If not today, then tomorrow. And I will probably be forced to sit in the observation room and watch it happen.
So I pace, with authority, putting on an act. And also because my nerves are going psychotic at the moment and it seems to help. I’m still not sure I’m not going to vomit. This room not only smells like urine but also blood and puke. From the blood stains on the floor, I wonder what other than the fingernails and water-boarding has been done to this man.
Finally, after what feels like forever, the drifter speaks up.
“Are you here to try to seduce me? That’s a technique they haven’t tried yet,” he speaks so hoarsely it makes me cringe. With the amount of water they are dumping on him and into his lungs, he probably has a bad case of pneumonia. I’m sure he wouldn’t have lasted many more days of this.
I look at him with a death glare, “No.”
His logic even at his current state is impressive though. I would think the same thing in his situation. Tortured for days and then all of a sudden a young girl comes in confusing his interrogators? He must think we are trying to soften him up to get him to talk.
“Then why are you here?” he coughs the last part. Right to the point. Smart man.
“I’m pretty sure I’m your last hope, before they properly dispose of you,” I say strongly. I don’t falter or sugar coat it. I’m not lying either.
The man before me just lets out a defeated sigh, knowing that I’m speaking the truth.
“Do you have any siblings?” I ask, finding somewhere to begin. I have to find some way to relate to this person or this will never work. In his eyes, I see pure hatred. I have to find a way not to necessarily absolve it, but to work with it, bring him down from all that hate. I need to remind him of something good in the world.
“You are my last hope and that’s what you start out with? I’m already dead,” he says sarcastically and closes his eyes.
I walk up to him and put my face in his face. The up front and personal stench radiating off of him makes me taste bile, but I swallow it down.
“You more than likely are, yes.” I stare him down.
A few seconds pass as I just stand there staring him down and don’t move, mainly because if I move too quickly, I’m afraid I’ll pass out. After he realizes I’m not backing down, he calmly states, “I have a sister.”
Bingo. Common ground. Now I need to get him to trust me just a small, minuscule amount.
I start pacing again. “I have a brother.”
“Congratulations,” he says sarcastically again.
Although I would never, ever use it, to get him to shut up, I walk over and grab a pistol off the counter. I cock it and turn the safety off and back on again to let him know that I do indeed know how to use it. I can see him gulp down his fear before me.
“So as I was saying.” I smile like a lunatic. “I have a brother. We are pretty close. Close enough that I would never do anything as stupid as risking my life on a suicide mission. You knew you were either going to get caught or die. You knew what you signed up for. So why do it?” I ask pacing and gesturing with the gun as I swing it around. I’m careful to never have it pointing at anyone though the safety is back on. The guard in the room is looking at me like I’m crazy and winces on more than one occasion but doesn’t say a word. I don’t dare look at Jamie because I know he is absolutely livid with me.
“You’re smart. You figure it out,” he says. He isn’t insulting, but borderline. I would still be fuming too if I was tortured like he was.
“Well, the obvious theory would be to kill the President. But why him, and especially now if there is going to be a new one? Nope. That’s not it.” I shrug and swing the gun around. He listens to me but never takes his eyes off the gun. I realize I am acting crazy, but that is just where I want him. I want him to believe I am crazy. Heck, I believe I am crazy right now. Why did I waltz in here like I owned the place again?
What am I doing?!
“So the next theory would be that you were after a Culling can
didate?” I spin and look at him. “Who were you after?”
He just stares at me.
Knowing my five minutes are about up, I stop for a moment and let my arms dangle at my sides, and then I angrily start to approach him. “Do you know what it’s like? Do you know that your drifter candidate killed a friend of mine? Do you know what it feels like to hold him in a pool of his own blood that you can’t stop from oozing out of the hole in his chest? Do you know what it feels like to see the life drain out of his eyes? Do you know how much that infuriates a person? So let me be clear. Your actions killed my friend. No. You didn’t personally put the knife in his chest, but you damned well helped it along.”
“Oliver wasn’t supposed to die,” he sighs and says quietly when I am only a foot away from him.
Oliver’s name on the drifter’s lips makes me see red. “Don’t you dare say his name,” I say violently as I am now right in front of him.
“Sorry,” he winces. “He wasn’t supposed to die, Reagan.”
I notice his use of both of our names and wonder how in the heck a person who has been in custody the entire time knows so much. Maybe from earlier torturing questions? I don’t know, but something is fishy here.
“Who was supposed to die?”
He doesn’t look uncomfortable. No fidgeting. Nothing. I’m not close enough to the truth yet. So if no one was supposed to die, what was the point?
“No? Who were you supposed to get then?” I ask next.
This time his left foot moves a touch. Bingo. Getting close. I take my gun and make tick-tock noises trying both to annoy him and let him know we are running out of time.
“Anyone really. Anyone we could find, as long as they were a Culling candidate and male,” he sighs in frustration.
“Why? When you already had an insider?” I ask confused. That doesn’t make much sense. Is he just trying to cover his own rear, or was there another plan? Were Henry and Lyncoln at the top of that list? “Why not just take Oliver? She was spending enough time with him it can’t have been that hard?”
“You might as well know since it will never happen now anyway,” he says annoyed and with hatred in his voice as he starts yelling in frustration. It isn’t a very loud yell because he sounds so hoarse. “We were supposed to get Isabella and one more, it didn’t really matter who, but preferably her partner. That’s why I said Oliver wasn’t supposed to die. We were to pose a kidnapping. The goal was to lure out the military. Release to the public their kidnapping and finally shed light about our existence to the rest of the townships. Then Isabella, having survived a kidnapping and returned relatively unharmed, would have all the sympathy votes necessary to win.”
“So the goal was to have Isabella as Madam President?” I reiterate.
He nods once. “Had we been successful, Oliver would have been President.”
I walk over to the metal table and put the gun down and grab a knife walking towards him purposefully. He looks at me confused and then closes his eyes and braces for what he thinks might be death.
Does he really think I’m going to kill him now that he’s talked?
Instead, I untie one of his hands. Then I hand him the bottle of water.
He looks at me confused and I shrug.
“You are crazy on a whole other level of crazy,” he says honestly.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” I reply with a smirk.
He takes a drink of water and coughs it down. “Who would think I would be thirsty,” he says hoarsely as he takes another drink.
“I figured your throat was raw.”
“What now?” he asks tired.
“I’m going to get you a cot and some sleep,” I say half to him and half to the people on the other side of the glass.
“Why would you help me?” he asks incredulously. “You said it, I was partially responsible for Ol--I mean in the death of your friend.”
“Because for the life of me, I don’t understand this war and have a million questions. How can there be this much hatred? Didn’t Trident show us our greed is capable of killing off the human race? So why are we still fighting after all these years? To what point will the drifters finally be happy? When everyone is dead? And why did my friend have to be collateral damage in a war with no point?” I blurt out honestly and fight back the tears that threaten to spill over.
“I don’t know the answers to your questions, but I do know that just as you have been raised loyal to the State, I have been raised loyal to my side. Do you understand that there was an entire group of us that needed your help? When things got really bad, we reached out. It was either you help us or we starve. We starved,” he says viciously. “So don’t act all high and mighty until you know all the facts.”
“When?” I demand, wanting to know more about this new information.
“About ten years ago. I was fourteen. And I watched my mom starve to death.” He stops to cough. “She starved herself so that my sister and I could live.”
My mind is spinning with questions, but I know he’s exhausted. He looks like he’s about to fall asleep. I myself feel emotionally exhausted. And I need to get away from the smell in this room.
“We are done for today.” I nod with authority and turn to leave the room.
I finally look at Jamie, who still looks livid, but is relieved we are leaving and possibly even slightly impressed. I pat him on the arm, as if apologizing for what I just put him through.
I open the door to the control room and realize my hands have never really stopped sweating or shaking. I assume the drifter didn’t know, or he probably would have called me out on it. As I step back into the small room where Hadenfelt resides over the interrogations, I am met with a room full of people staring at me, most of which are as livid as Jamie looks. I lean my back against the cold door I just came through and grip it as I try to calm down, feeling rattled by what I just did.
Hadenfelt is fuming and is glaring daggers at me. Lyncoln is there and has a slightly bloody lip. The other guy who Hadenfelt called Williams looks worse and his eye is already starting to swell shut. Henry is there and seems to be holding Lyncoln back, although he is fuming too. But, the most powerful presence in the room is Admiral Taggert himself. I have so many questions about the scene before me, but now is not the time to ask. I seem to have interrupted a brawl of sorts, one that I also seem to have started.
“Nicely done,” Taggert simply nods to me.
“He needs a cot, a change of clothes, and for God sakes get him a room that doesn’t smell like his own pee. Maybe some hot tea for his throat and some warm food,” I demand, feeling all of a sudden exhausted by the afternoon’s events.
“You heard the woman,” Taggert says pointedly at Hadenfelt.
“I don’t think that--” Hadenfelt starts.
Taggert interrupts him right away. I have never seen him look so violent before, and now I definitely know why Taggert holds the position he does. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion. You will do as she said. She is doing your job better than you are and it’s her first day. She is now in charge of interrogations with this drifter because she has established a connection with him and got him to talk. No one talks to that man but her from here on out. Do I make myself clear?” As he speaks he reminds me of a snake and the way they coil their powerful bodies around their prey and squeeze them to death. And to think I once thought the man looked like Santa Claus.
“Yes, sir,” Hadenfelt spits out.
Taggert looks to me. “You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see to it.” He gestures his head toward the door out. “Your interrogation resumes tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” I say softly, having just seen him verbally destroy Hadenfelt. I kind of want to high-five him on the way out, but I’m not sure that will help Hadenfelt hate me any less.
Henry and Lyncoln follow me into the hallway. I don’t say anything and neither do they. We load the elevator with our guards when Henry finally can’t take the silence anymore.
/>
“Have you lost your mind?” he asks frustrated and angry.
I shrug and bring my arms up to cross them over my body. I’m pretty sure I have lost my mind, but I don’t really think I need to admit that to them at this point. My hands won’t seem to stop shaking either.
“What were you thinking? You can’t just pull crap like that.” His voice gets even louder as he turns, his back to the elevator doors as he glares at me, ripping me out despite an elevator full of people.
“Lay off,” Lyncoln warns and moves forward like he wants to step between us.
I have a feeling part of the reason Henry is mad at me instead of Lyncoln has to do with the way Lyncoln made Williams’s face look. Lyncoln had a punching bag while Henry had to bottle it. Still, I have never seen Henry so mad. He was mad at Hadenfelt yesterday, but that still wasn’t like this. This is disappointment wrapped up in anger. And it sucks.
“No.” He glares at Lyncoln briefly and then turns his anger back on me. “Do you not understand that you have people that care about you? You two are just the same,” he looks at Lyncoln accusingly and then back at me as he implies that I am like Lyncoln, voluntarily putting myself in harm’s way. Though he might not approve of it, Lyncoln can wrap his head around why I did what I did because he does it all the time.
His statement hits me right in the gut. The tears start to fill my eyes and I try to be strong and fight it with everything I have. I’m almost gasping for air trying to contain them as the events from today and yesterday hit me like a ton of bricks. Henry looks at me remorseful and reaches for me, but I step away.
In-between sobs, I manage to yell at him, “No. I put myself in danger because no one else would save that man. They were going to kill him. And you would’ve sat there and let it happen! I didn’t want to watch anyone else die. One was enough for me.”
And with that, the elevator doors open and I brush past Henry and run down the hallway towards my room with Jamie on my heels.
The Culling: Book 1 (The Culling Series) Page 45