Fear My Mortality (26 page)

“No way. I’m coming in with you. I want to see this. Besides,” he continued. “You’re going to have questions and I have the answers.”

The door slid open. This room was as deep purple as a bruise. It didn’t smell right and I put my hand over my mouth to stifle the overwhelming scent of something not quite living.

Reid whispered. “You’ll get used to it. C’mon in.”

One foot in front of the other. I barely felt the floor, hardly noticed my legs move, aware only of the person strapped to the chair.

They’d cut Michael’s hair as short as a child’s and it hadn’t grown back. No, not cut. Hacked was closer. I bit my lip, glad that he wasn’t facing me, so I couldn’t see what they’d done to his face.

One of his hands jerked like an impulse against the restraints that kept him in the metal chair. The lump on his upper back was visible between the metal chair rods—the place where they’d injected the ampule that was killing him. The ampule that made him mortal.

The other one at the base of his neck—the one that shocked him—was bright red.

I forced my hand away from my mouth. “Can he hear me?”

Reid strode around in front of Michael. I noticed how similar they looked, so close in age, except that one of them—the one with the power—was warped so badly he couldn’t seem to tell what was right anymore.

Empathy
.

Cheyne said that I would try to help others. He called it instinct. But I realized it was more than that. It was something most people didn’t have because pain and death meant nothing to them.

Reid’s voice was strangely gentle, but it was the kind of lulling sound that a predator made. “Michael?”

Michael’s hand twitched again, one finger lifting and falling, the only response.

“She wants to know if you can hear her. Why don’t you give her a sign?”

Another twitch.

Reid looked at me. “I think that’s the best you’re going to get, sweetheart.”

I tried not to look at what they’d done to him, knowing that I would feel it as though it were my own pain, as though it were my own body. I made it as far as his side, knelt down beside him, and sought his eyes. “Michael?”

He didn’t answer. His face was puffy, his lips dry and cracked. I closed my eyes and lowered them to his chest, preparing myself for what I’d see. Puncture marks dotted his torso and neck. A welt as thick as my arm cut from shoulder to hip. I imagined that his eyes swiveled in my direction, and I hoped that he recognized me.

“Let him go,” I said to Reid. “You’ve got me now. You don’t need him.”

He shook his head. “I can’t do that. He knows too much.”

“I’m guessing he knew too much before. You let him go then, why not now?”

“Cheyne told you already. We keep things while they’re useful.”

I shook my head. “How can he be any use to you like this?”

“Because you haven’t got your answer.”

I frowned. I wasn’t sure I wanted any more answers.

Reid knelt down beside me and put his face way too close to mine. I inhaled cigarettes and beer. “He didn’t tell you about the walls.”

I tried not to react. I’d asked Michael how he knew I’d created walls in my head and he’d refused to answer. I didn’t know what that had to do with Reid or my mortality, but something twisted in my stomach.

He gave Michael a poke in the chest. “Tell her about the walls, Mikey-boy.”

The sound that came out of Michael’s mouth grated like barbed wire. I leaned closer to catch his words.

He said, “I was there.”

I put my hand to his arm but jolted away when the mere touch made him wince. My voice was as soft as his. “Where? Where were you?”

His words were slow, laborious. I knew that each one cost him. “When they got you. I was there.”

I scrunched up my face, thinking back to the day before when I leaped out of the explosion into Michael’s arms. “Michael, I know you were there yesterday. They caught us both and brought us here.”

He strained to shake his head. The muscles in his neck looked tight and the pulse in the curve at the base beat faster than it should. “No. The first time. At the recovery center. Cheyne took me down to that room and you were in the chair. He made me watch and I didn’t help you. Cheyne told me afterward—he said you made walls. Inside your mind. Walls that let you fight them. They hurt you, and I didn’t stop them.”

I couldn’t move. Everything stopped. My heart, my thoughts. “No. That wasn’t you. It was someone else. It couldn’t be you. You wouldn’t … ”

“There were knives everywhere and you were bleeding. And then you were healing and bleeding again. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I ran in there, caught you, but I couldn’t stop them. He told me afterward I was stupid. You didn’t need my help.”

I made the mistake of looking at Reid, who perched next to me as if he was ready to pick over our remains.

“He’s not really your friend, Ava. He just did what he was told.”

I formed the word on the tip of my tongue, but the denial came out of Michael’s mouth, stronger than I expected. “No.”

My thoughts scattered. The turmoil in my head crashed and banged, I could barely think. “You came to my house because they told you to. You took me to the park. You were bringing me here.”

“No.” Michael’s head jerked as if he wanted to shout but couldn’t. “After the recovery center, I swore, Ava. I swore I’d make it right. I’d make amends.”

I remembered him spitting out bullets, shattering in flame, sleeping at the base of my bed, making me safe. I stared at him, at his eyes and his bruised mouth. They’d hurt him. So badly. But he’d let them hurt me. Then he ran away with me, away from all that, and he never wanted to go back. I thought about instinct and about empathy and my head cleared. I knew what I had to do.

“I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.” I grabbed his chin as all my emotions boiled. “You brought me here, and I hate you for that. If I could hurt you more, I would.”

Reid handed me something and I stared at the small electrical device resting on my palm.

“It controls the charge in his neck,” he said, as though he was explaining that the world was round. “Give it a try. It’ll make you feel better.”

“No. It’s not enough. Can I kill him? I want to kill him.” My lip curled. “He did this to me. I want to stab him in the back, just like he stabbed me.”

Reid handed me a knife. “Sure, Ava. You do whatever you like. When you’re done, you can have your ampule back.” He fished it out of his pocket and held it up for me to see. It looked clean. A bright, pretty teardrop decorated with a dangerous creature.

Now it was my turn to be the dangerous one.

“We’ll put it back in straight away,” Reid said. “I promise. Then you’ll be safe again.”

“Good.” I took the knife, rolling it in my other hand. I didn’t meet Michael’s eyes, but I knew he wouldn’t try to protect himself.

I moved to stand behind him, angling the knife just so.

Over Michael’s bent head, Reid nodded, encouraging. “Go on, then. Get it over with, so you can move on.”

I gritted my teeth. I didn’t know how to use a knife, but I was going to learn fast.

Michael shouted, drew breath, and shouted again. It was a clumsy cut, but it did what I needed it to.

The mortality ampule hit the wall, just like mine had the day before, another teardrop but this one was made of red metal that looked gruesome in the purple light. It rebounded to the floor and rolled toward me. I withdrew the knife as fast as I could, making sure I didn’t touch the electrocution implant, remembering that Michael said his legs would stop working if he tried to take it out. I didn’t know if that was true, but I wasn’t going to take that chance.

I kicked the mortality ampule away with my foot and held my breath with hope bubbling inside me.

The sides of his skin moved, pulling together. I shut my eyes and breathed again.

He roared—the kind of roar a beast makes when it wakes up. The color came back into his skin. The burns on his head turned pink with new skin. The welts on his arms shrank. His wounds knitted and disappeared. His right leg straightened. His muscles flexed and his head rose.

Reid turned white, a sickly pale color. “Wait … what did you … ”

I dropped next to Michael’s feet, hacking frantically at the leather restraint. I had to get him out of the chair before Reid stopped us. He was already beside me, grabbing at my arm. I whipped around and slashed at him, but he didn’t even flinch or try to grab the knife. Instead, he drew back his fist to punch me.

The restraint around Michael’s leg snapped just in time. He aimed a kick at Reid’s ribs and connected with a crunch. This time, Reid howled, hands clamped to his side.

I chopped at the restraint on Michael’s nearest arm. Both were still strapped down. If I could get at least one free …

Reid rushed back, ramming me with the full force of his body. I crashed backward as Michael shouted my name. He struggled against the chair, one leg free, while I dodged another hit. Reid went for the knife, trying to snatch it out of my hands as I pushed it upward. It connected, but he ignored the wound, grabbing hold of my wrist.

He twisted. I screamed as pain shot through my arm. The knife tumbled to the floor and I tried to seize it, but it was too far away.

Reid grabbed my head in both his hands and rammed it into the floor. I blacked out and came to a second later. By then, both his legs straddled me, clamped around my torso. He ignored the knife lying on the ground. He thrashed me again, pressing his palms into my temples so that the room spun in a giddy blur of indigo.

In between blows, I thought only about the blade, my fingers stretching and trying to find it. My vision swam as I touched something metallic. I was sure I’d finally got hold of the knife, even though my brain told me something didn’t feel right.

I threw a wild punch, trying to unbalance him. As soon as his head whipped back, there was a second of opening, and I stabbed the knife into his chest, right where his heart would be.

He drew a breath. His eyes went wide. He let go of my head and I couldn’t stop myself from thumping the floor and blacking out again.

I came back to the sound of his gasp. He blinked rapidly as though he couldn’t see anymore, as though his world had gone as dark as mine. I stared at the small thing protruding from his shirtfront, trying to figure out what it was because it wasn’t the knife.

It was the ampule I’d ripped out of Michael, its pointed red tip embedded in his skin.

I had only a moment before Reid regained his equilibrium. Struggling against his weight, I shoved and pushed, thrashing from side to side. He slid off, gasping for air, far enough for me to wrench myself in the direction of the real knife.

My hand closed over it and I met Michael’s eyes. He watched me and I didn’t know what his expression meant, but I knew what I had to do. I didn’t have any other choice.

I twisted, the knife in my hand, launching up and over, pushing Reid against the floor. His head hit hard, his eyes glazed, his mouth moaning. I didn’t hesitate—
couldn’t
hesitate. I wouldn’t end up like my brother. I wouldn’t let this monster hurt Michael again, or try to twist my thoughts, make me into something I wasn’t, kill that part of me that felt what other people felt, kill my compassion.

I drove the knife down.

He looked up at me, right into my face, and I wondered if he saw how much fear I had swirling inside me before he died. The light in his eyes turned glassy, reflective. His lips were white and a last breath escaped, never drawn in again.

A wail broke out of me. There was no way I could find reason in what just happened. There was no way I could ever understand why he’d brought me here, why he’d tried to make me kill Michael, why he hated me. I shook with such violence that my knees knocked against the floor.

Michael’s voice barely broke through. “Get me out of this.”

I shook my head from side to side, my hands still pressing on the dead man’s chest, one leg on the floor, the other pushing on his stomach.

“Ava! Get me out of this. I can help you.”

“No.” I sobbed. “Nobody can help me now.”