“I’ve been told that your voice serves you just as well,” Dr. Knox said with a dismissive wave. “Agent, if you’ll be so kind as to nudge me when you start to feel something. I need these in order to focus fully on the data.”
He fished some earplugs out of his pocket and pushed them firmly into his ears. Ada guessed that he had been able to disregard Corinne’s illusions because he knew they weren’t real, but Ada’s talent wasn’t so easily ignored. Agent Wilkey leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. Ada glared at him and took stock of her own emotions, which were dwarfed by a single, overwhelming feeling. Hate.
She started to hum a funeral dirge, directing the full force of it at Wilkey. It took more effort to angle emotions at one person rather than let them blanket the room, but she doubted Corinne would have enough focus right now to block it out. This particular emotion was something she wanted only Wilkey to feel.
Utter, impossible, complete desolation.
In less than a minute his expression began to change. It was subtle at first. He was still trying to block her out. She didn’t increase her volume. The song’s quality was more important than anything else. Ada pushed the desolation into every single note. Wilkey would find himself spiraling through every hurt and heartache and loss that he had ever experienced. She played loss for the patrons at the Cast Iron sometimes, in order to sweeten the joy that would come later. This was different, though.
She didn’t want to manipulate Wilkey’s emotions. She wanted to use them to annihilate him.
When he felt the first wave of it, Wilkey smacked Dr. Knox’s arm with a reflexive jerk. The doctor nodded and wrote down the time, but Ada didn’t stop. She layered on the grief and despair, twisting them together with every ounce of guilt and shame she had ever felt. She had never purposefully used her own emotions in a song, but tonight it came naturally to her.
“That’s enough,” Agent Wilkey said through gritted teeth.
Ada still didn’t stop. Her voice was the only weapon she had in this hell they’d created. She would inflict as much damage as she could before it was over.
“I said that’s enough,” Wilkey shouted.
He jumped to his feet, chair skittering backward. In one fluid motion, he snatched up the iron coin, rounded the table, and grabbed Ada around the neck. Her vision exploded red as he lifted her and thrust her against the wall. He wasn’t a big man, but he was deceptively strong. She clawed at his wrist but couldn’t find purchase. Her lungs screamed for air, racking her head with pain. With his left hand, Wilkey shoved the iron coin into her mouth. She didn’t think it was possible, but the pain expanded, filling her completely, pouring out of her in waves.
“You want to know what the new study entails, slagger?” he hissed in her ear. She could barely make out his words. “The good doctor is going to ram metal spikes into your head and pump you full of electricity. And when your body finally does give out, he’ll drain every drop of your diseased blood. I’ll make sure we ship your corpse back to your mother.”
He might have had more to say, but he didn’t get the chance. Corinne chose that moment to smash her chair into his back. There was a crack—Ada couldn’t tell if it was Wilkey or the wood. He howled, and his grip loosened. Ada fell to the floor, spitting out the coin and gasping for breath. She dove out of his reach, but not before aiming a kick at his kneecap.
“Stop!” Dr. Knox was shouting.
Wilkey didn’t seem inclined to listen. He had rounded on Corinne, and she backed away until she was against the wall. Ada managed to drag herself to her knees, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. Spotty vision. Splitting headache. But she had to get up. She had to help Corinne.
The door opened, and Pierce came in. He took in the scene with a stony expression, gun in hand. The sight of his partner seemed to bring Wilkey back to himself.
“Get the cuffs,” Pierce said.
“This is unacceptable,” Dr. Knox said, waving his notebook with fervor. “The agency promised me the highest degree of professionalism.”
Pierce ignored him and crossed the room. He yanked Ada up by her arm and deposited her back in her chair. She tried to struggle, but her failing strength ended the attempt quickly. He righted Corinne’s chair and gestured at her wordlessly with the gun. She looked at him with undisguised fury and cast a glance toward Ada.
Ada shook her head fiercely. She would never forgive Corinne if she got herself shot right in front of her. Corinne set her jaw, but she sat down without protest. Ada saw that one of the chair legs wobbled now, and she felt the strangest urge to smile. The urge was fleeting.
Wilkey handcuffed their hands behind their backs again, just as a buzz of static made Ada jump in her seat. She looked toward the source to see a beige loudspeaker mounted in the corner of the room.
“Dr. Knox,” came the voice of the desk nurse, “we need you upstairs.”
Dr. Knox muttered something to himself and gathered his notebook and pencil.