Oculus (Oculus #1) (28 page)

"Me?"

“You."

"How so?"

"We would like you to be a representative for our PR team. You would be our poster girl. We need someone to speak to the masses."

"You're assuming that I have helpful things to say…" Before I can think better of it, the words tumble from my mouth with traces of venom in them. Everything is so fresh and confusing. The idea of helping The Corporation with anything is on my long list of
‘Things I’m not likely to do.’

"Why ever wouldn't you?" She tilts her head, her brown eyes narrowing to slits, her body language in stark contrast with her eerily melodic voice that feels equally threatening and soothing. If I had any notion that she is going to be any better than Ingram, I'm certain that I was sorely mistaken.

"Well," I swallow hard, grappling for some semblance of calm. "…what happened to my father…"

"That's precisely why you are the perfect ambassador for Fenra. You know well what happens when animals behave like animals. Dillon Ingram was an animal. The Resistance is nothing but animals. You have the ability to reassure everyone how wonderful Fenra has been during this trying time."

"Wonderful?"

"Of course. You weren't assuming that you wouldn't be compensated handsomely, were you?"

"I'll think about it," I snap back reflexively.

"I'm sure you will. So many people stand to lose…everything should The Resistance gain an upper hand because of wild rumors flying around. Surely you will do all that you can to help Fenra secure our employees and crush all Dark Landers?"

Unwilling to say anything, I nod my head and battle against the chill snaking up my spine just to coil tightly around my throat.

"Chief?"

"Yes?"

"You captured a Resistance operative today. Isn't that enough? I mean, when you all do whatever you do with them… people will calm down right?"

“A situation such as this can be very fluid.” She seems to be carefully choosing her words, as if she is afraid to give away too much information. “It would be irresponsible for me to comment on the situation, other than to say that though the public should feel more at ease, there still may be the seeds of panic sown among them.”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the new Chief is being tight lipped and playing it close to the vest. The art of casual interrogation isn’t a subject I’m savvy with, but I’d imagine that the goal is to get your subjects to give more information than they get from you and never realize that they are doing it.

In my case, Chief Williams is likely staying cagey as a force of habit. I’ve been careful not to give her any reason to be suspect of me and she hasn’t indicated that she’s here for anything beyond what she has asked of me—to be their poster girl.

“The prisoner we captured is being held for interrogation until we are done with him. Actually, as we speak, agents are working to obtain as much information from him as possible." She smiles brightly as if Sic's demise is her version of a good day at the office.

"Oh. I see." It's the only thing I can manage to say without choking on the fear wrapping its cold fingers around my heart.

“I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Miss Tierney. By the way, that’s a lovely necklace you have there,” she notes, pointing towards my father’s pendant that I have been absentmindedly rolling between my thumb and forefinger.

“Thank you.” I nod and watch from behind tinted lenses as Chief Williams takes her leave.

My poor Sic. What is he going through right this moment?

Anger and fear and a protective instinct swims through my veins and in spite of Chief Williams and all the other unknown details regarding The Corporation, my origins, my connection to Sic and an uncertain future, I know I must help Sic. I know that I
will
help Sic. No matter the cost.

I strip off my clothes and slip beneath my quilt, the one that still smells like Sic. I close my eyes and plead with my body to relax. I’ve shared dreams with him before—dreams that we both recalled interacting. Perhaps I can do it again. In the past I never really tried to dream and communicate with him and the truth is I’m not even sure it works like this, but I have to try.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

I work at breathing even and deeply, coaxing the tension from my muscles. With my eyes closed, I focus in on Sic. What he feels like. How he smells. The sound of his voice. The feel of his hands on my skin…

The feeling of being completely restrained would make most anyone crazy, Sic especially. I can tell that he’s mostly irritated. Lying atop a padded table, he has clamps and leather straps holding him immobile. I concentrate and I can see the scene from above, but just for an instant. The sensation is strangely disembodying as my perspective shifts from Sic’s point of view to a floating spot above the floor.

The table Sic is held captive atop appears to be similar to one I’ve seen in the operating suite at the hospital. Racking my brain, I remember hearing one of the technicians talking about it being used in spine surgery. Adapting it to prison use strikes me as a very utilitarian decision. One that speaks volumes about Williams’ ability to adapt what’s available to her current needs.

As my perspective snaps back to Sic, my vision is again limited by what he can see which is comprised of a small cone of sight directly above the table. His eyes are mostly closed though as he focuses on his other senses. The gentle waft of air signals the opening of a door somewhere nearby. The sound of gentle tread from rubber soles upon the tiled floors, soft conversations held many rooms away. It’s on one conversation in particular that I realize that Sic is focusing.

“It figures that the only person we manage to catch is some young kid. Did his scan come up anywhere in the system?” The voice sounds tired, male, elderly. In contrast, his companion sounds young and speaks with hushed enthusiasm. The gentle alto of her female tones ringing in the higher frequency range.

“No, and that is even more intriguing. Chief Williams thinks that he might be a Dark Lander! Can you believe it? We might have one of those unwashed animals imprisoned that took out our people. Why do you think she hasn’t started torturing him for answers?” The older man lets out a derisive snort.

“Because he probably doesn’t know anything. How many kids his age do you think The Resistance has working for them? Cannon fodder, that’s what he is. Just another foot soldier that they could abandon when we got too close. You notice that their elite team didn’t even try to double back to save him? That’s because they don’t care. You call them animals? That’s unkind to animals. At least animals take care of their own.”

I can feel Sic’s amusement at the conversation. The connection I’m maintaining is difficult, but I strain, wanting to learn as much as I can. The conversation lulls for a moment before the younger woman replies in a sullen tone.

“Young people can be important! Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you have any more value than me! For all you know he could be a lone assassin here to kill us all!”

The older man laughs and footsteps sound, moving away. A moment later there’s the sound of a door opening and closing. A few seconds pass before I hear an angry sigh and the sound of the young woman muttering unkind things about the older man.

The strain is too much. I can feel the connection slipping. Once it begins to fade my awareness snaps back to my surrounds so quickly that it leaves me with a moment of nausea. Breathing deeply, I put my hands on my head and lean forward. Fighting against both my swirling stomach and my suddenly pounding head. With no shortage of effort, I make my way to the couch and collapse on top of it. Moments later I slip into an uneasy slumber.

“Alright then, I’ll go to hell.” – Mark Twain,
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
.

T
HE TASTE OF FAILURE HAD
not improved with the passage of time. When I was young, the beatings I had been forced to endure had escalated along with the progression of my shortcomings. It’s no surprise to me when I wake in the shadowy confines of my cell, the ghostly taste of copper predominantly in my mouth.

It takes me only a few quiet moments to detect the camera in the far corner of the room, when the thin crackle of its microphone betrays my captor’s presence. It’s oddly surprising to have awoken at all. The exuberance of the security team to punish the man who had killed their companions should have meant that I met a messy end. After waiting for a bit over twenty minutes (which I counted off in my head), I’m rewarded with two guards speaking. They are several doors away and far out of earshot of a normal prisoner. Keeping my eyes mere slits I focus on the sounds issuing from down the hall.

“He’s just a pawn I tell you!” The person speaking is male, elderly, and likely a trifle deaf in one ear due to the volume that he speaks at.

“You’re crazy! No one knows him, he’s not in the system and there's no reason that anyone would sneak into the compound unless they were Resistance!” This voice is younger, female, and based on the timbre of the voice, ovulating.