MirrorWorld

The man, who is apparently quite observant, takes note. “He’s coming out of it.”


With the ruse up, I open my eyes. It’s harder than I expected, like fighting against the effects of too much alcohol. But the heavy feeling fades fast. A few blinks later, my eyes are open. The room looks pretty much like I expected it to. Mostly white, hard surfaces.

Allenby leans into view, her lion’s mane of gray hair swaying like great pine trees in a strong wind. “How are you feeling?”

I glance toward the man. He’s older than I thought. Perhaps in his seventies, with bright white hair, an equally white beard, and spectacles over his blue eyes. He’s overweight and slightly hunched but carries himself in a way that says, I’m in charge.

I look back to Allenby. “Betrayed.” While she’s focused on my serious gaze, I slowly clench my fists and bend my wrists in, pressing them against the restraints.

“I’m sorry about this,” she says. “I really am.”

“Uh-huh.” I turn to the old man, who’s still watching me. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hitchcock.”

“Hitchcock?” Allenby asks, looking back at the man.

The man stares at me in a way I can’t read. Is he amused or about to torture me? I can’t tell. “Because I’m old and fat and up to no good, is that it?”

I nod.

He dips his head to me in greeting. “My name is Doctor Stephen Lyons. I’m the head of Neuro Inc. You’re currently in our headquarters.”

“I didn’t see a sign,” I say.

“And you won’t. We’re not a public corporation.”

“A black organization funded by the government, then,” I say, watching his eyebrows rise, “which would explain why some of your employees have military histories, though if Blair is military, he needs a refresher.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Lyons says. “But not everyone has your special set of skills.”

“Unless a dangerous lack of fear and amnesia have become desirable traits, I’d say he’s better off than me.”

Lyons points a finger at me and winks. “A debate for another time, I’m afraid.” He steps toward the door. “I’m retiring for the evening.”

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Midnight,” he says. “You’ve been asleep for eight hours.”

“And you expect me to sleep now?” I lift my arms. The restraints snap taut. “In these?”

Allenby looks at my hands and gasps. The purple mottled skin caused by my cutting off the circulation looks horrible and has the desired effect. She takes one of the restraints in her hands and looks at Lyons, who nods. She looks at me. “Please don’t try anything. There’s a guard right outside.”

“I saved your life today,” I tell her. “We fought side by side. For now, we’re comrades. You’d rather that not change.”

She nods slowly and loosens the strap, not enough to free me, but enough to ease my phony discomfort. “Can’t argue with that.”

I make a fist as she refastens the buckle. The flexed muscles and swelling caused by the buildup of blood increase the thickness of my arm by a few millimeters, but that should be enough.

She moves to the other side and repeats the process.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispers, leaning in close. Her voice seems loud enough that Lyons should be able to hear, but he shows no indication of having heard her warning.

Allenby makes unflinching eye contact while she works the second strap. Is she trying to tell me something beyond, don’t be stupid, or am I being played? They knew I’d go for the sweets. Maybe she knows what I intend to do next? Could I really be that predictable? Up until this moment, I’ve always seen myself as unpredictable. Not even I know what I might do or say, moment to moment.

Finished, she stands back.

“Now sedate him,” Lyons says.

I lift the leather manacles holding me in place. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do it,” he says. Despite his elderly appearance, he’s not senile enough to underestimate me.

Allenby opens one of the white cupboards and retrieves a preloaded syringe of who knows what. She jabs my shoulder and shoves the plunger down. As my consciousness begins drifting back toward darkness, I watch Allenby and Lyons leave. She gives me an apologetic glance and then switches off the lights.

Lyons speaks before the door closes fully. “I want him prepped in the morning. I don’t see the point in waiting any longer.”

“I’m not sure he’s ready,” Allenby says.

The man sighs. “I’m not interested in giving him a choice.”

The door clicks shut.





9.

Despite the all-encompassing darkness, my return to wakefulness is sudden. There’s no tingling. No pins and needles. Whatever Allenby gave me, it wasn’t the same substance they put in the food.