I squint my eyes at Case for a moment, but he just downs his drink and then gets up, walks over to the jukebox, and presses the buttons for Social Distortion. The melancholy rockabilly fills the bar at high volume, drowning out everything but the obvious.
We’ve all lost a lot playing this game, but if everything goes right Thomas will have more than he ever dreamed of in a few days. And I’ve got Molly back. That’s a huge win for me.
Case? He’s got nothing so far, and nothing coming either.
He’s not quite along for the ride, but Case was never out for revenge. He’s just in on principle. He needs to know why. But the thing is, the why for Case is not the same as it is for Thomas and me. We know why we’re in this fucked-up situation. Case doesn’t. His parents refused to talk about it. They gave him an ultimatum—they would tell him all the things he wanted to know, or they’d let me stay with him after they released us from the psych center.
He chose me over answers. And it’s always pissed me off that his parents knew exactly which buttons to punch on their only son. Because we all know Case ended up in Prodigy because his parents owed those fuckers something.
“It’s gonna work,” I yell, my shout competing with the music. But Case either doesn’t hear me or refuses to. He’s already playing an old standup arcade game in the corner as he pushes down the past and goes into his virtuality.
Chapter Forty-One - Molly
I sit at my desk and stare at my computer, looking over all my grunt work relating to the Blue Corp case. But I can’t sign off on anything because it still doesn’t make sense. Given the fact that I know Lincoln was influencing these scientists to kill themselves using some biotech mumbo-jumbo that he does down in that cave of his, why would Atticus go insane and try to shoot his father?
Did Lincoln get to him too?
It bothers me. Like, a lot. Lincoln was with me last night so he couldn’t have had anything to do with Atticus.
Don’t be stupid, Molly. If the man wanted to slip out of your house and go kill someone, he would. He did after the cathedral party.
Right. Back to being bothered.
It also bothers me to think of Atticus being involved. Because he’s about the same age as Lincoln and his friends, so how could he possibly be one of those scientists? No, that makes no sense. But he has to be connected in some other way. Maybe he was at the school too?
My heart thumps wildly at that thought. Shit, what if Atticus recognized me? Maybe that’s why he was so nice when I came to visit?
But how is the Old Man connected? Is Lincoln trying to say that he was the one responsible for the Prodigy School? For what happened to us?
I think back to my meeting with Montgomery senior and look for some kind of flash of recognition, but there’s nothing there. Of course, I don’t remember anything about Prodigy School except for a handful of painful sessions with Lincoln.
I sit and stew on that. And even though all last night I declared my love for my long-lost Alpha, in the light of day and sitting in a police station as the detective in charge, everything looks different.
I’m not ready to give up on him, or turn him in, for fuck’s sake. But I don’t want to be lied to, even if his lying is by omission. I’m a part of this. I share his past. I share his pain, and betrayal, and anger.
Maybe not the anger. I do hate the fact that I came out of that school, but I’m a well-adjusted adult now, and that was fifteen years ago. Many of those years were filled with fun, and love, and family.
I sigh as my thoughts circle back to my mother at the asylum. I really should go see her. What kind of daughter am I? She took me in when I needed someone and I turned my back on her when she probably needed me most.
I mean, she did go crazy. She is crazy. But she helped me in my most desperate moment. She took in a kid who should’ve been handed over to social services.
Still… I deserve to know the truth.
If I go see her then I could try to slip in and see Atticus. I could get his version of events last night. It’s possible his father is lying about what happened. And if Lincoln was involved then I need to know. What if he’s in danger? Alastair Montgomery doesn’t look like a man people cross. He looks like a man who gets his way no matter what.
What if Montgomery senior is lying about Atticus? What if Atticus stumbled onto more clues? He was keeping clues from his father. Why?
Jesus, I’m such a stupid detective. If I wasn’t dealing with the return of Lincoln I’d have asked that question days ago.
When I look up at the clock it’s afternoon already. I’ve been sitting here for hours paralyzed with indecision.
I’m going to talk to Alastair Montgomery. I haven’t interviewed him yet and the chief’s accusation has really raised my hackles.
I stand up and shrug on my coat, glancing up at the chief’s office for a moment. His blinds are back up and he’s staring at me. He’s probably pissed off. I take a little satisfaction in that and give him a snide smile and a wave as I make my way out of the office.
He picks his phone and starts tabbing the screen, then lifts it to his ear to talk.