“No. They have me helping with interrogations,” I respond hatefully and begin pacing. Is Jamie back from calling it in yet? I would feel better with him in here. This is too weird. Too painful.
“I wouldn’t think you would have that in you,” she laughs a good hard laugh at my expense.
“You’d be surprised what people are really capable of,” I respond without faltering.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Lyncoln. Isn’t he just the best kisser?” she says dreamily.
I know she’s trying to get a rise out of me. She might be lying, she might not be. It isn’t a secret that Denver girls have been chasing Lyncoln for a while now, and I can’t say I can blame them. Either way, I can’t let her get to me.
“He is,” I simply nod in agreement. “But while we are here, let’s talk about Oliver.”
I feel the hatred boiling to the surface of my skin. She killed my friend. That needs to be on the forefront of my mind. Unlike Samson, she killed someone in cold blooded murder. I’m not sure she deserves a second chance. Or to be reasoned with. Part of me just wants Hadenfelt’s men to do whatever they do. If she dies, whatever. But, the other part of me wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I were to do that.
“You may hate this country. You may hate me. But I can’t for the life of me figure out why you would stab and kill the one person who would have given you the world,” I say more coldly than I have ever spoken to another human being before.
“He didn’t love me. Not the real me,” she argues.
“True, but even when he figured out you were the traitor, he wanted to make sure they weren’t going to kill you. That’s the type of person he was, much unlike yourself.” By the time I’m done, I’m spitting the words towards her, hatred rolling off of me in waves.
“He ruined my plan, my whole life’s work.” She shakes her head like it’s ridiculous of me to question her actions. “Do you know how annoying that is?”
“So injure him. Punch him in the face.” I pause, trying to rein in my temper. “You didn’t have to kill him.”
“He got in my way,” she shrugs annoyed.
Knowing this whole thing is useless, I plan on getting out of here. But before I do, I walk towards her, lean down to her level, and look her in the eyes. “You were never going to be Madam President, Isabella. Get over it. Your life’s work was a complete and total waste.”
I’m not sure if it’s my knowledge of her plan or just her natural hatred for anything and everything, but at that moment, as I turn to walk away, she launches herself at me. Knowing she is tied up, I slowly turn back towards her and take a huge step back, but not quick enough or big enough. Unbeknownst to me, one of her hands is loose and quickly fastens around my neck, with her thumb digging into my airway.
I try to fight her hand around my neck and get free, but I can’t get it off. Her ankles are still tied to the bottom of the chair and one arm is looped around the back, but loose enough she can stand. How can someone with only one hand have so much strength and know exactly where to put the pressure to cut off my airway? She was trained to do so, that’s how. Knowing I can’t make her budge and that Jamie and Williams will be coming to my rescue soon, I try to reason with her.
“They’ll kill you,” I gasp for air and try to warn her.
“Not before I kill you,” she grins confidently as she presses in harder. Her eyes look absolutely violent and evil. I wonder if this is what she looked like when she stabbed Oliver. Killing people is obviously a hobby of hers.
The more I struggle trying to get her off, the harder she presses. I try to use the moves they taught us in self-defense and aim for her face or try to knock her arm away or move back to get out of her reach, but it’s no use. She anticipates all my moves and is strong enough to keep her hold, even with only one hand. And when I try to move away, I’m dragging her body weight with my own so I don’t get far.
As I begin to run out of air, I realize that Williams isn’t coming to my rescue and something is terribly wrong because the minute she jumped me, Jamie would’ve been in here. Realizing she had a hand free to begin with, I quickly sense that I’ve been set up.
How? I wasn’t supposed to be alone. Where is Jamie? Or Lyncoln?
I try one last time to release her hand from around my neck, but it doesn’t work. I try to poke her in the eye and hit her arm again, but nothing is releasing her death grip from my neck. I even try kicking her legs still attached to the chair, but she just won’t budge. If anything, she tightens her grip.
I am completely alone.
No one is coming to help me.
This is bad.
Starting to feel dizzy and lightheaded from over exertion and realizing this could be the end of the road for me, I reach behind my back and pull out the gun that Lyncoln handpicked and insisted I wear at all times during interrogations. Black spots dance across my vision which is becoming blurry. I know, without a doubt, I have only seconds of air left before I pass out and then she finishes me off. I move quickly without thinking about it. I use one finger to switch the safety while it’s still behind my back, then I bring it around and barely take time to aim before I pull the trigger. Isabella never sees it coming.
Isabella and the chair fall to the floor immediately, the metal chair banging loudly. A pool of blood begins flowing from her upper stomach. I drop my gun, gasping for air, and fall to my knees as my hands go to my neck. My throat is on fire as I gulp sweet oxygen back into my lungs.
As she loses blood and I sit there gasping for air, I realize she probably isn’t going to live through this injury. She’s losing blood too fast, just like Oliver did. And unlike with Oliver, no one will be in a hurry to save her.
She looks up at me in obvious pain. She doesn’t say anything, but looks oddly peaceful. As she closes her eyes, I see her face turn even more peaceful. Funny that in the moment where she is in the most pain, she finally seems to forget about everything else. Not able to stomach standing there and watching her die, I scramble to my feet and run out the door.
In the control room, Williams is nowhere to be found. Jamie is unconscious and sitting slumped to the floor by the door I just came through. The way he’s facing looks like he was watching me and about to come in and was hit from behind. I check his pulse and am relieved to find that he is still breathing. He’s just knocked out.
I open the door to the hallway, a hand still around my neck as my breathing is still on fire, and run down the hall back around the corner to the observation room of the other interrogation room where I know Attie and Knox will be.
I’ve been set up. I need help. Jamie needs help. I need someone I trust. My friends.
Seeing my bewilderment, Attie and Knox immediately stand when I enter.
“Reagan…?” Attie asks worried.
“I was set up. Jamie needs help. Help.” I’m frantic. I grip the door frame and look to their guards, “Get help. Quickly. Please. Please help.”
“What do you need?” Knox asks. “How can we help?”
“Lyncoln. I need Lyncoln.”
Knox turns to look at Attie like he doesn’t want to leave her alone and she says, “My guard is here and so is yours. Go.”
He looks at her and they communicate through a look and then he leaves the room. Their guards are rapidly talking on their radios getting help too. I move out of the way to the wall by the door.
“What happened? What can I do?” Attie asks as she approaches me and moves my hands to look at my neck.
“Isabella. Hadenfelt wanted me to interrogate her. He set me up.” That’s all I manage as I lean against the wall in disbelief, then repeat, “I need Lyncoln.”
“Knox is getting him, sweetie.” She runs a hand through my hair and looks the rest of me over, taking my pulse and going back to nurse mode. “They’ll be right back. I can’t believe this; I just saw you not even ten minutes ago.”
Then the tears start coming and I am sobbing. I
slide down the wall at my back until I’m sitting with my head in my hands and my knees pulled up. I think of Henry and that I should be asking for him too, but in this moment I realize that I don’t want to see Henry anyway though I know he is busy with the long sim. He would have been smart enough to shoot her in the foot, or figured out a way to save her. Henry is too good of a man to ever kill another human being.
I just killed someone.
Within minutes I hear stomping as Lyncoln, his guard, and two other men come barreling down the hallway at a sprint and into the observation room. I keep my head in my hands and don’t dare look up at him.
“What the hell happened here?” Lyncoln demands and I can hear the panic in his voice right before I feel his hands on me, checking me over.
“Help Jamie. He’s unconscious. Please,” I start. I avoid his eyes.
“What happened?” he repeats as he takes my face in his hands. That’s when he notices my neck, which must be really red. He moves my head to the side and runs a finger softly along the spot that feels sore.
“Please. Help Jamie. He’s unconscious. I was set up. Williams and Hadenfelt must have set me up.” That’s as much as I can get out between sobs.
He looks to one of the men with him and nods as two of them go to help Jamie like I asked.
“Okay. Jamie is getting help. Now, what happened? Please. Tell me what happened.” He looks confused at Attie and Knox, who just shrug, and then he turns back to me. “Reagan. What happened, sweetheart?” He says it softly, like it’s just the two of us. He lifts my chin up so I look him in the eyes. I see the concern etched all over his face. His eyes flicker down to my neck again, and he clenches his jaw angrily.
“Hadenfelt had me interrogate Isabella,” I begin.
“Isabella did this? She wasn’t tied up?” he interrupts, fuming. He stands back up and I see his expression click into kill mode. Jaw clenched, hands clenched, he is about to kick some serious butt.
“Don’t bother going in there,” I say quietly in-between sobs and reach for his hand to pull him back down. Every word I say hurts more and more. The sobbing makes my throat feel worse from all the gasping for air I did in my struggle with Isabella, but I can’t seem to stop crying.
“Why not, sweetheart? I promise I won’t kill her, but I will personally make sure her life is a living hell.” He comes back down to my level, rubbing my shoulders and wiping away my tears.
I search his eyes helplessly, wishing I didn’t ever have to say the words I am about to say to him.
“You can’t kill her. Because I already did.”
Chapter 26
I only remember Lyncoln lifting me up and carrying me out of there. I do know there was a lot else happening around us though. Lots and lots of men in uniform. Radios were going constantly. Taggert’s name was being used frequently. I think I remember Lyncoln telling me that Henry was being notified and going to leave his sim early too. Everything felt fuzzy, like a disconnect from reality, and I couldn’t seem to focus on my surroundings.
Still in Lyncoln’s arms and assuming we arrived at my room back at Mile High, I’m surprised when Lyncoln knocks on a door. The President opens immediately, looking alarmed and outraged.
To me he says, “Reagan, I am truly sorry, and am both relieved and glad you are okay.” Then to Lyncoln, he adds, “I’m having a meeting down with Taggert and Henry as soon as they arrive. Are you coming?”
Not even pausing to chitchat, as he walks away, Lyncoln says over his shoulder, “No.”
Before I know it, I’m sitting on a cold floor. Then water is all around me. A shower. I’m not on a floor, I’m in a gigantic shower. Henry’s shower? All of my clothes are still on though. I don’t even remember Lyncoln putting me down.
“Why did you bring me here?” I ask hoarsely, snapping back to reality.
He sits down on the shower floor with me, also fully clothed, and holds onto my cheek. “Well, either Williams is a drifter and just tried to get you killed, or Hadenfelt is even more of a despicable creature than we all imagined. Either way, I need to make sure you are safe. And this is the safest place in the entire country.”
I just nod as the water falls all around me and Lyncoln rubs the back of my neck.
After a few minutes of silence, Lyncoln scoots me forward and moves behind me. He undoes my hair tie and begins to wash my hair. What is it with these boys and my hair, anyway? One blow dries my hair, the other wants to wash it? This would be funny, except that it isn’t.
I try to brush him off, but he continues.
“Stop,” I demand. I don’t feel worthy of his kindness after what I’ve just done.
“Reagan.” He says my name softly. More softly than he ever has before.
“I murdered her,” I choke the words out. “I am a murderer.”
He’s in front of me again, eye level. “So am I. Remember? The first time when I killed one of the men that killed my father.”
I nod. He was thirteen. Thirteen years old! I can’t imagine the pain he went through as a just-turned-teenager. He killed a man and watched his father die at the same time. Terrible doesn’t even begin to describe it.
“It’s going to be okay, Regs. You did what you had to do, to live.” He brushes his thumb over my lips.
“Why didn’t I shoot her in the stupid foot?” I argue. It hurts to talk, but it hurts to realize that I’m capable of killing someone in cold blood. Am I just as bad as she was?
“She had you by the throat. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t have time. I’m sure you waited until the last possible moment too, thinking that Williams, or Jamie, or me, or someone would come. And we both know she was going to die anyway.” He wipes the tears from my cheeks I didn’t even realize were falling because of the water from the shower also on my face.
I know he’s right but I still feel the guilt eating away at my soul. I took a life.
“You shouldn’t have been in that room. Hadenfelt will pay for this,” Lyncoln says with raw protectiveness in his eyes. “Even if I have to do it myself.”
He wraps me in his arms and we just sit there, fully clothed, while the shower water falls down around us.
I eventually let him wash my hair because I don’t have any fight left in me, and I don’t think I can talk anymore to argue. After sitting there for forever, he sees that my skin is starting to get “pruney”, as my mom calls it, so he gets out of the shower. He leaves me to quick change into jeans and a t-shirt and then comes back in with a huge towel.
He reaches in and shuts off the water while I continue to sit there. The shampoo smell from my hair that smells like Henry is weirdly comforting.
“Reagan, I need you to take off your wet gear and get in this towel okay? I mean I would love to do it for you and get to see you naked and all, but I’m pretty sure we both don’t want it to go down like this. I’m going to be right around the corner.”
His use of the word “naked” gets me moving. Knowing he is just around the tiled corner, and that he will come back if I don’t do as he commands, I quickly take off my boots. My pants are hard to get off soaked through. As quickly as I can, I do as he says and wrap the oversized towel around myself.
“All clear?” Lyncoln asks shortly after. I’m amused by his military terms and would find it hilarious in a different situation.
“Yeah,” I respond, stepping out of the shower. “All clear.”
He comes back around the corner with another towel and dries my hair and shoulders. Knowing I am naked under the towel, I feel awkward and just stare at his feet. I have never seen him barefoot before. I decide I like it. He seems more human and less military legendy in his bare feet.
He quickly runs a hair brush through my hair and says, “There is a toothbrush right here if you want it. And here are some clothes.” He points to a pile of clothes. “They are mine for now. I had my guard grab me some and he brought me an extra pair for you. Sarge is in the meeting and Jamie is still getting checked out so I couldn’t ge
t you any of yours until Gertie arrives, is that okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Jamie is okay?”
He nods and smirks, “Pissed off. They almost had to tranq him. He might kill Hadenfelt before the night is up.”
I breathe out in relief. Jamie is okay.
Lyncoln pauses at the door of the bathroom a moment. His blue-brown eyes are worried and angry and something else I can’t put my finger on. He kisses me on the forehead and leaves me to change. I do so, brush my teeth, and throw my hair up into a bun on top of my head. When I come out of the bathroom, he has a cup of tea ready for me in the living room of Henry’s quarters.
“Your throat must be burning.” His tone of voice throughout all of this tears at me. I once thought he might not be capable of being this tender. I was wrong.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to that meeting?” I ask as I sit on the couch beside him, knowing that he would want to go. He enjoys the hunt and has just been handed a new prey, Hadenfelt.
“I’m not leaving you, at least not until Henry gets here.” He looks me straight in the eyes intensely while he says it and moves in closer to wrap his arms around me. He then whispers into my hair, “Thank you for fighting back. Thank you for still being here. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I would’ve lost you.” I can hear the emotion in his voice as he takes a shaky breath.
His words make me feel better as I realize that I did do the right thing in fighting back. I feel bad because I shot her in the wrong spot, but I did fight back. I honored Oliver in not allowing her to take down the both of us. Lyncoln’s words also make me come unglued as I realize I was supposed to be making a decision about him and Henry any moment now. I’m going to have to lose one of them, one way or another.
Lyncoln then picks me up and carries me to Henry’s huge bed where he holds me as I cry it out for the second time in less than two weeks.
****
I wake up to a familiar smell and realize that I’m still wearing Lyncoln’s shirt. I hear voices and then Lyncoln walks in the room. Seeing I’m awake, he sits on the bed beside me and takes my hand.
The Culling: Book 1 (The Culling Series) Page 47