Perfection

The image of Jason filtered through, and Ellyssa immediately wished it hadn’t. Guilt consumed her, tasting sour in her mouth. Whether or not he was dying, how could she have left him?

Ellyssa wanted to pull back, to leave the toxicity of the detective’s pleasure at finding the rag of the male lying crumpled at her feet, and to erase the image of his skull-like face and the sickly hollows underlining his eyes.

Jason blinked and brought a bony hand up, trying to shield himself from the light.

“Who are you?” the detective demanded.

Jason opened and closed his mouth like a fish, as if the words he sought were just within his reach. Then, he started hacking. Pain registered on his face, while his body violently convulsed with each forceful expulsion of air.

Detective Petersen didn’t think he was ever going to stop, and wondered whether she should put an end to the wretched person. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and the wheezing sounded like liquid had filled his lungs.

Sickened, the detective pushed him with the toe of her boot. “Where are they?” she asked.

“They left me,” Jason answered, his lips barely moving.

“Where did they go?”

He said no more, but looked at her, eyes glazed, his impurity boring into her. The detective didn’t like it.

Detective Petersen pointed the electroshock weapon at him. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Where did they go?”

Jason lifted his shoulder before another coughing fit attacked. He curled over on his side.

“Have it your way.” She pressed the trigger and electrodes shot out.

Horrified, Ellyssa watched all this play out in Detective Petersen’s mind. Violent tremors rocked Jason’s body, and he squeezed into a tighter ball while his muscles seized and convulsed. Deep satisfaction filled Angela while her anger traveled down the thin wires along with the electrical current.

Even in her old life, Ellyssa had never experienced such sick pleasure. Of course, it wasn’t allowed. Just do your job and be done with it. Cold and impersonal. Detective Petersen was a different sort of creature.

The captain touched Detective Petersen’s hand. “I think he’s dead,” he said, his voice distant.

She released the button. The body stopped convulsing.

“He’s dead,” he repeated.

Jason’s stilled eyes were locked on the detective. Long strings of bloody saliva stretched from his mouth. His body still twitched, as if his nerve endings hadn’t received the message yet.

“Of course,” she said, backing away.

Dyllon knelt and pulled the blanket over the dead man’s face. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

“We’ll send a team in with the right equipment.”

Dyllon stood and walked toward her, the light circling him as if he was a saint. “What now?”

“Doctor Hirch wants to meet our prisoner. Maybe then he will talk.” Detective Petersen closed her eyes, blanking out any further images. She spoke, but not with her mouth. Come and get him, bitch.

Rein, thought Ellyssa.

Ellyssa broke the connection and opened her eyes. “Jason is dead,” she said, leaning close to Woody’s ear.

He nodded, expecting as much.

“A search team is going to be dispatched. They will do a more thorough job of checking the caves.”

“I understand.”

“Everyone needs to be moved to the very back. Armed watches must be kept at all times. Make sure everyone stays quiet. No talking at all.”

Woody looked skeptical. “You can tell them this yourself.”

Ellyssa shook her head. “Rein is still alive, and they are taking him to The Center. I am going after him.”

“That will be for the council to decide.”

“I am going,” she said, her tone determined.

Woody grasped her arm. “Wait. Let’s talk to the council first, prepare them for what’s coming.”

“And?”

“I’m going with you.”

“You will serve better here.”

“You’re wrong. There are contacts in Chicago. I can help.”

“I cannot let you do that, Woody.”

Woody stepped toward her. “Rein is like a brother to me. He’s the last of my family. I’m going with you.”

Ellyssa didn’t want Woody’s death on her conscience, and it was very possible he would die, most likely with her at his side. Then again, the Resistance might provide an easier way into the city.

“Fine,” she reluctantly agreed.

36

Angela Petersen watched the sleeping prisoner. Rein was a mess. His clothes were torn and tattered and hung from him like rags. His dark hair was matted, and dried trails of crimson left winding paths from his hairline to his jaw and down his neck. Both eyes were bruised purple and black.

His chin rested on his chest, and his head rocked gently back and forth with the motion of the train. He looked uncomfortable, with his arms cuffed to a bar above his head and his ankles chained to one beneath the seat, yet he slept.

Angela admired the man, though. He had grit. Even after her brutality, Rein had peered at her through swollen lids, their piercing green filled with defiant animosity. If not for Dyllon, she would’ve knocked him hard enough to shut his eyes permanently. The captain’s heart was too soft, and lacked the fortitude necessary to perform the tasks needed to extract information. Such relentlessness took a special type of person. A person like her.

And to think, Dyllon had almost tainted her thinking with his style of policing—forming bonds and such. What a sucker she’d been.

Angela supposed she should be somewhat thankful Dyllon had held her in check. Dr. Hirch certainly wouldn’t have been pleased if she’d brought back a dead prisoner who had ties to Ellyssa. She just wanted to gather what information she could before returning to The Center.

When the beating had failed to elicit anything, Angela had tried psychology, tossing the remains of the dead Renegade she’d found in the cavern at Rein’s feet, telling him how his so-called friends had left him to die. She had hoped such an act of cruelty would’ve had some effect on Rein, much like the tactics Vlad Tepes or Hitler had used, but it didn’t produce the desired effect. His loyalty to the Renegades was commendable…and infuriating. He’d mumbled a goodbye to the dead man, which had earned him her baton against the side of his head.

Her dreams of destroying the camp of Renegades and capturing the doctor’s prized possession had dissipated into a wisp of smoke.

Now, Angela sat across from the sleeping prisoner, defeated—not only by Ellyssa, but by ignorant Renegades, who were too loyal for their own good. With all that had gone wrong, she would never prove herself an equal to The Center’s children. Anger twisted and coiled in her gut, wanting to strike.

Angela pulled her gun free of its hidden holster and slid the cold metal down Rein’s cheek. He didn’t wake. He didn’t even move. He slept, oblivious to the death staring at him with one lethal eye.

Pulling the trigger would be such sweet bliss, but if she acted on her desires now, she’d be the one on the run. For the time being, she’d wait. One way or another, she’d have her victory.