We reach it, and Craike swipes his card. The two panes of glass separate, up and down, to reveal a massive room. The walls, the roof, and the floor are all seamless brown glass. A massive polar bear rug lies on the floor in front of a solid glass desk that’s adorned by a laptop. The polar bear’s mouth is open in a sneer, showing its red tongue and its pointy teeth. One wall is devoted entirely to a glass bookshelf filled with ancient leather-bound books. On the far right wall is a fireplace that houses a ball of blue fire, yet the room is freezing.
Craike walks around his desk and sits down on a leather armchair. He gestures toward the much smaller chair at the other side of the desk. “Please sit, Caden. And don’t worry about getting blood on my furniture. I’ve already arranged for it to be cleaned once you leave. My visits with rebellious Love Interests tend to be messy.”
“No offense, but I don’t want to know about your sex life.”
His eyes light up and his mouth curves into a grin. The Stalker releases me. I rub my bruised arm and make my way across to the seat. My shoes click against the smooth, shiny glass. He watches me.
I sit down. The chair is firm and high-backed, forcing me to sit rigidly upright. “Who’d have guessed you worked in a Lady Gaga music video.”
“I hear you’re quite the fan of hers.”
I chuckle and cross my arms. “So why are we here, Craike? What do you want from me?”
“You’re in a rush to get to your execution? Don’t worry, Caden, within the hour you will no longer be with us. What I want is to talk to you for a few seconds. I try to understand people, Caden; that’s what I do. That is why I would like to speak with you, man to boy, before you die.”
I shrug. “Well, I’m here. Ask your questions.”
He fiddles with his tie. “How do you think I got this job?”
I’d never thought about it. Ever. In my mind, he had always had the position and that was it. He’d always had it and he always would.
“Did you graduate with honors from Hitler’s School of Evil?”
He tuts. “I got this job because I wanted it, Caden. It was, and still is, my dream job. And that’s not because I’m sick in the head and enjoy killing teenagers. Disciplining Love Interests is the worst part of my job. I enjoy managing, and selling, the information you acquire for us. That’s my passion. I love discovering a nugget of information, giving it to the perfect client, and then leaning back and watching as empires fall. You have no idea how much I’ve shaped the world. In many ways I’m the most influential person alive, even though no one knows my name.”
“What’s your point?”
He sighs and rubs his temples. “My point, Caden, is that you are so determined to make me your antagonist, to make me the person who is stopping you from getting what you want, but that’s not who I am. I’m just a man doing my job, a job countless people have done before me and countless more will do after. You aren’t special to me; I don’t hold a grudge against you, nor do I particularly care about your little love story. I don’t know you enough to care. I even had to look your name up on the system when I saw you screaming outside the fence. And then you stride in here like you’re this important hero, and that’s not who you are to me. At best, you’re an employee who isn’t smart enough to know his place. At worst you’re a little shit who is getting in the way of me being able to do my job. In the story of my life, you’re the antagonist. Can’t you see that?”
I nod. “I can see that, but it doesn’t change anything. I like Dylan, I maybe even love him, and you’re stopping me from being with him.” I imagine Dyl laughing. They want to kill him. “So I’m going to bulldoze you.”
Craike’s eyes light up. “You know, I think I like the real you. He’s feisty. It’s attractive. Anyway, your actions have a price, and you seem willing to pay it. I respect that. But I have one last question. You do know that gay people need Love Interests, right? It doesn’t make any sense to me why you didn’t tell us your orientation so we could’ve assigned you to someone more applicable.”
I blink. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about, and it certainly wasn’t … Wait. It’s a trick. He’s trying to mess with me, throw me off my game. Or is he?
“If you think that’s why I’ve done what I’ve done,” I say, “then you weren’t paying attention. I want to be free.”
Craike leans forward and lays his handgun on the desk. The metal skitters against the glass. “The only true freedom in life is death, as you are about to discover. It’s time to go. Walk to your death like a man, Caden. I’ll give you that. Come on now, stand up, and let’s end this little tantrum.”
NOW!
I yank my glove off and leap for the gun.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
The Stalker moves as a blur, streaking across the room in a heartbeat. Pain flares in my shoulder blades. It’s behind me, wrenching my left arm behind my back. I have one shot before it pulls my arm out of its socket. Just one. I spin and push my outstretched palm, the one covered by the Bolt Glove, into the pulsing orb of light where the Stalker’s heart should be. I grit my teeth and grunt, putting all my strength into the push.
Its mannequin head tilts slowly down to look at the hand that’s groping its chest.
The glove hums, glows electric blue, and sends a shit ton of electricity right into the Stalker’s “heart.” The robot spasms. Its arm flings out and smashes into the chair, which shatters. I pull my hand away. The wires are steaming.
The constellation of lights on the Stalker’s chest dim, then fade completely, and its body goes rigid. The head lolls and its chin touches its chest. Its knees collapse, and the behemoth body falls and crashes into the floor. Crack! A lightning-shaped fissure appears in the glass.
I turn back. Craike is reaching forward, going for the gun. I grab his wrist just as he touches the handle.
The Bolt Glove activates again. Craike spasms and falls limply to the desk, right onto the gun. Thank you, Juliet. I push him up and grab the gun with my free hand. I aim it at him. My finger twitches on the trigger. If I pull it now his head will explode.
He groans and looks up at me, his eyes opening groggily.
I press the gun to the side of his temple. “Open the front door.” I jab it in harder. “Now!”
“As you wish.”
Craike stands up and opens his computer. I walk around the desk, keeping the gun aimed at his heart.
“You know you’re on camera,” he says. “I’d say you have about a minute before guards flood in and riddle you with bullets.”
“What’s that thing you told me once about actors? I don’t believe you. There’s no way you’d have cameras in your private office. Now open the door or I’ll shoot.”
He taps on the keys. A box in the corner of the screen shows security camera footage of the front door opening, revealing the bunker. I step forward and zap Craike again. He falls face-first to the desk and lies still. I place the gun down, then retrieve my phone from my pocket and start texting.
Juliet. It’s open. Password 2484972. Hurry.
On our way.