No Light (8 page)

             
He followed her to the bathing room, his eyes never leaving her. Her small hands opened the door, and he watched each movement. Her hands seemed too small to have such power. It made fury build in him like a wave. When she stopped just inside the bathing room and turned to him, she must have seen some of his thoughts.

             
Her face paled and she took a step back from him. For a moment, they stared at each other. Her eyes large and green in her child-like face. Anger at her burned in him. A part of him wanted to crush her like a frail bird. Her humanity made her weak, her size made her fragile, and both traits irritated him.

             
He bared his teeth and she looked away quickly. He watched as she looked around the room, her gaze flitting from one thing to another. When he took a step toward her, she tensed. She kept her eyes lowered. Without the chains, he had full range of motion. He could break her. He frowned and stepped around her.

             
As his hands went to the hem of his shirt, he saw her glance at the door. He ignored it, pulling the roughly crafted garment over his head. It dropped to the floor, the sound loud in the quiet. Sarah hurriedly turned away. He watched her shoulders slouch, as if she could make herself appear smaller.

             
"Fetch me a towel," he ordered.

…

              She jerked at the command, already moving before she fully realized the order. The towels were in a neat stack by the door. She walked quickly. Snatching a towel off the stack, she turned to face Farran and paused. She felt her eyes go wide at the sight of his back facing her.

             
Perfect, tan skin stretched across the wide expanse of his shoulders. She watched as he stretched, muscles bunching on either side of his spine from the nape of his neck to the waist of his pants. She looked down at the towel in her hands, unable not to measure her small, pale form against his. Her scarred hands and delicate bones, so breakable next to him.

             
Her jaw clenched in fear. She took a small step backwards, looking around the room. He glanced over his shoulder and she froze. She watched his nostrils flare. He let out a sound of amusement and turned to face her.

             
"Are you afraid, child?" His head tipped to the side, as he watched her.

             
"I'm not a child," she said softly. It seemed to take him a moment to register she had disagreed with him. She watched his eyes narrow.

             
"Answer my question, human." He took a step toward her, shortening the distance by a quarter.

             
"No." She tensed when he took another step, the distance between them already halved. "I'm not afraid."

             
"I will not tolerate lies from you," he growled.

             
Between one blink and the next, he was in front of her. She tipped her head back, her mouth opening and closing. He gave a sharp shake of his head. She bit back a cry at his hand around her throat. She frowned at him in confusion, when his fingers did not tighten. He ignored her face, his eyes on where his hand wrapped around her throat loosely.

             
"I could break your neck with no effort," he said, seemingly to himself.

             
She swallowed nervously.

             
His eyes followed the movement, before rising to her face. "Wait outside." The strange look faded from his eyes to be replaced by the usual expression of loathing.

             
She ran. When the door to the shower room closed behind her, she leaned against it heavily. Her chest convulsed as if her heart was trying to escape. The frantic beating hurt and she let out a soft whimper, her knees giving out as she slid to the floor. For long moments, she simply stared at the dark screens of the cells somehow knowing they were empty.

             
She turned her head to press her burning cheek against the cold metal. In increments, she regained control of her heartbeat, the pace slowing from a furious buzz to individual beats. She let the air out of her lungs in a loud sigh. With a measure of calm, she sat up straight, pressing her back flat against the door.

             
She frowned thoughtfully, absently rubbing her damp palms on her suit. The Dem's behavior was strange. She chewed her lip, trying to understand the change. It was small, but significant. She pushed herself to her feet and wandered toward the bench. Where there had been only hatred in Farran's gaze, there seemed to be something else.

             
With a sigh of confusion, she dropped down on the hard stone. She let her gaze wander the corridor, as she absently pulled the pins from her hair. Like a fall of water, it cascaded down her back. The pressure at the base of her skull immediately faded and she slumped on the bench. She reached up to pull some her hair forward over her shoulder.

             
She looked down at her pale fingers combing through the deep auburn strands. The individual tendrils twisted around her fingers and she smiled slightly. Her muscles slowly relaxed at the steady combing. As her eyes started to drift shut, she suddenly remembered the Dem's ruined suit. She jerked her head, wincing at the sharp tug to her hair.

             
She looked around the corridor, shaking her hand free of the clinging strands. Her eyes landed on the supply closet. She tucked her hair pins in her pocket and hurried over to search the small space. The door held no scanner. She pulled it open, grunting at the weight of the manual door. She slipped inside.

             
Sensing her presence, an overhead light blinked to life. She quickly scanned the shelves on her right. Nothing but cleaning supplies. Coiled chains filled the shelves in front of her. She stepped further into the room to search the shelves to her left and paused. Spare suits, stacked neatly and all the same drab gray. There seemed to be no size separation and, for a moment, she panicked.

             
With only minute differences in height and build, all the suits would be the same size. She let out a quiet sigh at herself and smiled. She looked over the suits, touching several, until her delicate fingertips found one that seemed slightly softer than the others. She grabbed it and backed out of the closet.

             
When she let the door fall closed, her eyes immediately went to the door to the shower room. She took a fortifying breath and walked toward it. With shaking hands, she pressed her palm to the pad beside the door.

             
Damp fog slid around the door as it opened, curling into the corridor. She stepped forward, peering through the heavy mist. It clung to her clothes and exposed skin. Within moments, she felt it bead against her neck and slide under her collar. The warmth made her shiver.

             
"Dem?" she called quietly, almost afraid to be heard. Her eyes moved back and forth, searching for any movement.

             
"Human," his deep voice called back from somewhere on her left.

             
She turned to face him, but a moment later something brushed past her back. She jerked around, to see nothing.

             
"Farran?" she called slightly louder. She cringed at his low chuckle, but her eyes continued to sweep the area around her.

             
"Sarah."

             
She spun to see him less than a foot from her, staring at her with a strange expression. She gulped at his bare chest and made to step back.

             
"You left without providing clothing," he said lowly. His eyes narrowed.

             
"I brought you a clean suit," she whispered, thrusting it toward him. Her knuckles brushed the damp skin of his stomach and he froze.

             
She looked away quickly, ducking her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

             
"Stop apologizing," he rumbled.

             
She jerked her eyes to look at his face, frowning at the foreign tone. His eyes bored into hers as he took a step closer, eating up the space between them. For a moment, they stood perfectly still, Sarah’s chest aching from holding her breath. Then, his gaze dropped to the suit in her hands.

             
His lips curved and he pulled it from her numb fingers. "How interesting," he said under his breath.

             
Sarah watched him stroke the fabric, obviously noticing the difference. She froze when his eyes returned to her face.

             
"Turn away," he ordered, tone slightly softer than usual.

             
Sarah gave him a shaky nod and turned her back to him. She heard a soft thud as the towel fell to the floor. She tensed, her eyes going wide. Against her will, her mind rolled over the image of his bare chest. She bit her lip, feeling her cheeks flame. The rustling of fabric stopped after a moment, and his hand landed heavily on her shoulder.

             
"I am finished."

             
She turned to face him slowly. She looked down at the wet towel he held out to her. Her gaze flicked to his face and her eyes widened at the almost amused look in his eyes. The look quickly faded into what looked like curiosity. His hand reached out to touch her hair. Sarah cringed and closed her eyes.

             
"Much longer than I had assumed," he murmured, seemingly to himself. Sarah's eyes snapped open, when he came closer.

…

              His marks were like blue fire under her skin. When their eyes met, the emerald green became turquoise. He saw himself in her eyes, as his own jade gaze deepened to near black. She froze like a terrified rabbit. He felt her emotions swirling, mixing and melding with the marks he had placed on her. His eyes moved to her neck. The bruise had nearly faded, having served its purpose.

             
He dropped his gaze to look down at her hair in his hand. The vivid red flowed around his fingers, wrapping around his wrist. Against his bronze skin, it was like fire, both in warmth and color. For long moments, he allowed himself to stroke the silky texture between his fingers. Sarah shivered and his eyes returned to her face.

             
He growled at the fear in her eyes. She looked away and he blinked, suddenly irritated at himself. He dropped her hair and stepped around her.

             
"I am to clean the great hall," he told her coldly.

             
She jumped. He smiled as his usual hatred returned. He watched her scurry around him to open the door. As he followed her from the shower room, he scowled. No chains waited on the bench. He reached out to grab her shoulder, jerking her around to face him.

             
"Why are the restraints not ready?" he demanded. When she looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes, he shoved her away in disgust. "Go get them," he growled.

             
She nodded quickly and nearly ran to the supply closet. He looked away. Her eyes shone brighter when he handled her roughly, as the marks tried to remind him of her importance. He shook his head and sneered. A momentary lapse in judgment, the marks meant nothing. She was as disposable and loathsome as every other human. He looked away from the wall when she hurried toward him.

Chapter Five

The Cold Inside

             
The pale blue walls were obviously intended to be soothing. Large windows let in the fading sunlight. In the corner, near the door, sat a three-drawer dresser made of light wood. It was cozy, almost quaint. Sarah stepped into the room, inhaling the faint medicinal scent. After scanning the space, her eyes settled on the bed.

             
Like a mockery of a centerpiece, the hospital bed sat in the middle of the room surrounded by monitors, the beeps the only noise to break the silence. The still figure could have been asleep, were it not for the oxygen and feeding tubes. Sarah moved closer, unnecessarily quiet. Her gaze moved over the relaxed face, the eyelids covering eyes far darker than her own.

             
For a long moment, she studied the familiar features. Chestnut bangs fell across a strong brow, the angular jaw slack in repose. Sarah sighed and glanced at a nearby chair. She grabbed it and pulled it to the bedside, slowly easing down. Were the man on the bed not unconscious, the steady beep of the heart monitor and the gusts of the oxygen machine would have been almost peaceful.

             
Her gaze flicked to the screens on either side of the bed. Oxygen level, blood pressure, heart rate. She rubbed at her forehead, propping her elbows on the edge of the bed.

             
"I wanted to talk to you yesterday, but mom and dad were here."

             
There was no reply, but she did not expect one.

             
"Today was my second day in The Corridor." She looked up at the still face. "I don't know what I'm doing, John." She watched the rise and fall of his chest, wincing at the fact that it only rose because of the machine breathing for him.

             
"Everyone was right. I'm not cut out for this. You were the first born for a reason." She gave him a humorless smile, before looking away. "The Dems are terrifying, John. They are bigger than I imagined." She smiled slightly. "Farran makes you look like a shrimp."

             
She stood and shoved her hands in her pockets. "I've only been down there two days and I think I've failed. Failed you and mom and dad and..." She trailed off.

             
"You were the one who was ready for this. You were the one who had the lessons, the training." She shook her head and walked to the window. The sun nearly set, the streetlamps blazed to life.

             
"You always knew you would be a handler, John. All the time you spent with Uncle Bill." She turned to face him. "I'm not cut out for this. I'm not strong like you." She sighed, returning to the chair. "Mom and dad haven't spoken to me since you came here."

             
She dropped her gaze to the pale hand atop the bedspread. Gently, she slipped her hand into his larger one. She bit her lip.

             
"The doctors don't know when you'll wake up, John." She leaned forward to brush her lips across his forehead. "Please wake up soon." She released his hand, gently tucking it under the blanket.

             
"I'll be back tomorrow." She stood, turning away. Nearly to the door, she paused.               "Do you remember the fire?" She did not look at him, even knowing he would not wake. She looked down at her palms.

             
"I was so afraid I would lose you that day," she whispered. Rubbing the old scars, she looked over her shoulder. "And now another fire is trying to take you away." In the darkening room, his face was in shadow. "I love you, you know."

             
She sighed and pulled the door open, the harsh florescent lights a sharp contrast to the room’s darkness. Refusing to look back, she pulled the door closed behind her. The muted click had a note of finality about it. She took a deep breath and looked toward the nurse's station.

             
No one looked in her direction. When she stepped away from the door and moved toward the exit, the nurses simply moved around her, as if she were a shadow. She looked down at the floor and pushed her way through the doors. She bypassed the elevator to take the empty stairwell.

…

              "You were close to your uncle?"

             
Sarah stilled, staring at the chains in her hands. She licked her lips. "I suppose," she whispered, continuing to fasten the chain to his waist.

             
"Close to your aunt?"

             
Her gaze flicked up to Farran's briefly. "Not anymore."

             
She pressed her palm to the scanner to secure his chains. After a brief charge, the restraint snapped tight. She stepped back.

             
"Why?"

             
The sharp edge to his question made her freeze. She looked up at him in confusion.

             
"Why do you want to know?"

             
The moment she spoke, she could see it was the wrong thing to say. His spine straightened and his eyes narrowed dangerously. She took a step back, her gaze fastened on his face.

             
"You do not ask the questions here."

             
Sarah looked away. "She died." She avoided looking at Farran, as she shrugged awkwardly. "In a car accident a month after my uncle died."

             
"That is when your brother started training?"

             
She nodded, her palms damp where her hands lay in her pockets.

             
"Then why is it you are here and not him?"

             
Sarah glanced at him, then quickly away. Pain tightened her throat. "He is unable to fulfill his duties at this time." She looked up at the sound of a chuckle.

             
"How very standard. On which page of the handbook did you find that statement?" She watched his lips twist into a sneer, before he stepped around her.

             
"It's what a fill-in is supposed to say," she answered quietly, following him from the cell. Her eyes fastened on his back, she nearly collided with him when he paused.

             
"And that is all you are, is it?"

             
"What?" She frowned up at him, as he turned to face her.

             
"A second choice, a stand-in, a back-up plan," he carefully enunciated, leaning down to look into her eyes.

             
For a moment, she simply stared at him, her mouth opening and closing without any words escaping. Finally, she shook her head. His lips quirked.

             
"And how do you like being everyone's second choice?"

             
Sarah flinched, dropping her gaze. "We have to clean the main hall." She gasped when he grasped her chin, forcing her head back.

             
"
We
do not have to do anything." He gave her a shark smile. "Now, answer my question."

             
Sarah blinked up at him. Her throat felt suddenly dry, and she coughed lightly when his fingertips stroked her skin. He raised an eyebrow at her silence.

             
"I don't," she whispered.

             
He stared, silently studying her. "I see that."

             
His eyes dropped from her face to where his hand grasped her chin. She watched his dark eyes narrow and the hand that touched her throat disappeared. He suddenly released her and she stumbled back a few steps.

             
"Lead the way," he demanded.

             
Sarah ducked her head and hurried to the end of the corridor. She felt him behind her, as she scanned her palm and the door slid open. He was silent. It made a chill creep up her spine, but she tried to ignore it, moving down the hall to the next door.

             
The main hall was uncommonly full, as the Dems and their handlers milled about the space. She stopped just inside the door, feeling Farran at her back. For some reason, his presence eased her fear slightly. She turned her head to look at him.

             
"Do you know what you are supposed to do?"

             
"I have been doing the same thing since before you were born," he growled, not looking at her.

             
Sarah opened her mouth to apologize, but he brushed passed her, striding toward the far corner of the room where a small group of Dems had gathered. She looked around. The other Dems seemed to find her fascinating. She met a couple darkly curious gazes before she dropped her eyes to the floor.

             
She moved through the tables, steadily moving toward Farran. She flinched each time one of the Dems brushed against her, gasping quietly as a hand caught her shoulder. She turned to face the Dem with wide eyes. An apology already formed on her tongue, she stared up into curious, blue eyes.

             
The Dem, Tradis, stared at her hard. His gaze moved over her face, then dropped to the nearly faded bruise at her throat. He frowned, as he had the day before, almost as if he were puzzled. She took a small step back and collided with a solid chest. She froze.

             
"Are you bothering my handler, Tradis?" Farran's voice rumbled up from the chest behind her, enough of a growl she could feel the vibration against her back.

             
The tension eased from her shoulders and she met Tradis' eyes. His gaze flicked over her head and immediately dropped. His lips curved slightly.

             
"No."

             
"Tradis!" a man yelled from several tables away.

             
Tradis' gaze looked her over, then rose. She could see the clear question in his eyes. Tipping her head back, she caught the end of Farran's nod. When she looked back at Tradis, he was striding away. Sarah frowned in confusion.

             
"What's going on?"

             
The considering look in Farran's eyes vanished, and he looked down at her with obvious annoyance. Sarah bit her lip and looked away.

             
"Find a place to sit," he muttered under his breath, turning away.

             
She shook her head and looked around for an empty table. Her eyes landed on Luke near the other end of the room. Peeking over her shoulder to be sure Farran was working, she hurried over to her supervisor.

             
"Hi. Can I sit?" She smiled at the way Luke jumped.

             
He turned to look over his shoulder at her. His eyes immediately crinkled as he gave her a bright smile. "Of course. Please sit." He waved toward the chair next to him.

             
Sarah looked around at the surrounding Dems, but sat in the chair he offered.               "Why are there so many people in here," she whispered.

             
Luke looked away from her long enough to scan the room. "Scheduling conflict. I heard the department that handles the Dem activities is going through a few changes." He raised his eyebrows.

             
Sarah frowned. "Because of the upcoming elections?" At his nod, she looked toward Farran. "Keane has other plans for The Corridor." Since it was not a question, Luke did not bother answering.

             
He sighed. "There's a lot of things you don't know, Sarah." He met her gaze. "I'd like to meet you outside of here and talk about it."

             
Sarah stared at him. "Where?" She fought down a nervous flutter in her stomach.

             
"Indeed," a deep voice interjected. "Where would this
talk
take place?" There was something frightening about the way the voice added emphasis to the word 'talk'.

             
"I don't remember giving you permission to speak, Dem," Luke said angrily.

             
Sarah jerked her head around to see the owner of the voice. A Dem with chestnut hair and cool, grey eyes scowled down at them. His furious gaze moved from her to Luke and back. Sarah looked back and forth between the two of them. Luke's eyes were narrowed and his jaw was tensed, as if he were preparing for a fight.

             
"I need to go check on Farran," Sarah said quickly, standing from her chair.

             
The Dem's gaze moved to her and he tipped his head. Something like interest moved behind his gaze. Sarah looked away and hurried past him. Halfway across the room, the overhead lights flickered. She paused, looking up. The light flickered again, staying off for a full second before returning.