"Thank you, sir," I said, unsure if that was a compliment.
Tom Darnell was my father's age and had brown hair laced with silver. There were more lines in his face since the last time I'd seen him, and his blue eyes had an uneasy look that I didn't usually associate with him. Tom Darnell was a high-ranking official among the Alchemists and had earned his position through decisive action and a fierce work ethic. He'd always seemed larger than life when I was younger, fiercely confident and aweinspiring. Now, he seemed to be afraid of me, which made no sense. Wasn't he angry? After all, I was the one responsible for his son being arrested and locked away by the Alchemists.
"I appreciate you coming all the way out here," he added, once a few moments of awkward silence had passed. "I know it's a long round-trip, especially on a weekend."
"It's no problem at all, sir," I said, hoping I sounded confident. "I'm happy to help with...
whatever you need." I still wondered what exactly that could be.
He studied me for a few seconds and gave a curt nod. "You're very dedicated," he said.
"Just like your father."
I made no response. I knew that comment had been intended as a compliment, but I didn't really take it that way.
Tom cleared his throat. "Well, then. Let's get this out of the way. I really don't want to inconvenience you any more than is necessary."
Again, I got that nervous, deferential vibe. Why would he be so conscientious of my feelings?
After what I'd done to his son, Keith, I would've expected rage or accusations. Tom opened the door for me and gestured me through.
"Can I bring my coffee, sir?"
"Of course."
He took me back into the concrete corridor, toward more of the closed doors. I clutched my coffee like a security blanket, far more frightened than I'd been when first entering this place. Tom came to a stop a few doors down, in front of one with a red light, but hesitated before opening it.
"I want you to know... that what you did was incredibly brave," he said, not meeting my eyes. "I know you and Keith were - are - friends, and it couldn't have been easy to turn him in. It shows just how committed you are to our work - something that's not always easy when personal feelings are involved."
Keith and I weren't friends now or then, but I supposed I could understand Tom's mistake.
Keith had lived with my family for a summer, and later, he and I had worked together in Palm Springs. Turning him in for his crimes hadn't been difficult for me at all. I'd actually enjoyed it.
Seeing the stricken look on Tom's face, though, I knew I couldn't say anything like that.
I swallowed. "Well. Our work is important, sir."
He gave me a sad smile. "Yes. It certainly is."
The door had a security keypad. Tom punched in a series of about ten digits, and the lock clicked in acceptance. He pushed the door open, and I followed him inside. The stark room was dimly lit and had three other people in it, so I didn't initially notice what else the room contained.
I knew immediately that the others were Alchemists. There was no other reason they'd be in this place otherwise. And, of course, they possessed the telltale signs that would have identified them to me even on a busy street. Business attire in nondescript colors. Golden lily tattoos shining on their left cheeks. It was part of the uniformity we all shared. We were a secret army, lurking in the shadows of our fellow humans.
The three of them were all holding clipboards and staring at one of the walls. That was when I noticed what this room's purpose was. A window in the wall looked through to another room, one much more brightly lit than this one.
And Keith Darnell was in that room.
He darted up to the glass separating us and began beating on it. My heart raced, and I took a few frightened steps back, certain he was coming after me. It took me a moment to realize he couldn't actually see me. I relaxed slightly. Very slightly. The window was a oneway mirror. He pressed his hands to the glass, glancing frantically back and forth at the faces he knew were there but couldn't see.
"Please, please," he cried. "Let me out. Please let me out of here." Keith looked a little scragglier than the last time I'd seen him. His hair was unkempt and appeared as though it hadn't been cut in our month apart. He wore a plain gray jumpsuit, the kind you saw on prisoners or mental patients, that reminded me of the concrete in the hall.