Chapter #29... and Another Kidnapping by: Seuzz   "What would they do to Verity," you ask Frank and Joe. It seems like a more chivalrous question than the other: Why would they want to replace me?
"How much did Hal tell you about Fane," Frank asks.
"That it's a complicated conspiracy against all that's good and healthy in the world. That they play with things like out of Lovecraft."
You'd rather hope that "Lovecraft" would provoke a smile or snort of contempt, but Frank continues to look grave. "Not a bad characterization," he says.
"They're very scientific about it," Joe says, leaning across his brother again to speak in a low voice. "Hal's the expert, but we all know about them. They have clean rooms and stainless steel gizmos and computerized whatsits, and they walk around in lab coats and sterilized gowns. But it's still the same shit that dirty little magicians with beakers and candles and skulls used to play with. Summoning up things that shouldn't be summoned and trading lives and souls for forbidden knowledge. And they're vivisectionists, and have no compunction about using people as guinea pigs. And there's lots of ways of taking people apart, Prescott. Taking them apart and putting them back together and--"
"Stop giving him the stuff of nightmares, Joe," Frank says.
"He needs to know--"
"He knows enough. Don't you, Prescott?"
You're too busy trying to swallow the impossibly big lump in your throat to reply.
"Whatever Verity has, they're going to try to figure out what it is and how it works," Frank says. "They won't rip her apart if they can find another way of getting it out of her. But they won't stop until she's in little pieces if there's no other way to do it. How they'll cut her up, I don't know, because that's not something that we are interested in-- Keep a grip, Prescott."
He seizes your arm, for a small shriek has begun to sound through your nose.
You close your eyes and master yourself. "Do you even know how to find her?" you faintly ask.
"If we knew who was picking her up at Heathrow--"
"An outfit called Huntress. I called the airfield before I found you."
Frank smiles. "Good thinking. Joe, you still have all of Hal's old--" But Joe's already whipped out his cell phone and is tapping furiously at it. "We exchange notes and reports from time to time," Frank says to you. "We'll still have some of Hal's old notes, though they'll be five years out of date. He might have had something on Huntress."
Ten minutes later Joe nudges his brother. "Got it. Research park north of London." He puts the phone away. "I guess we should get some sleep."
Frank pats your arm. "Try to get some rest, Prescott. It's gonna be a busy day tomorrow."
You settle back unhappily. Your eyes flutter beneath your lids for a long time. But eventually sleep steals over you.
* * * * *
It's late morning when the plane touches down, and it takes another three hours to rent a car, get out of the airport, and to the other side of London, where Huntress has its headquarters. You--who have rented the car--drive around it for a bit while Frank and Joe study the buildings. "We'll hit it tonight," Frank says. "After dark."
It's not your place to urge them into being reckless. But Verity will have been inside that place--if that's where she is--for almost twelve hours by that point. You swallow your grumbles and retire to a small hotel a few miles away. Again, you pay for things with the Proteus card.
In your room--Frank and Joe are in another--you lay exhausted on the bed, staring at the TV, your mind unable to concentrate on anything for very long. After about an hour of this, Frank knocks on the door. "Me and Joe are gonna walk around for a bit," he says. "Talk over strategy, psych ourselves up. Stay here."
"I don't want to move," you reply.
"Then don't. But keep this with you." Frank touches the broach you're still wearing--not having changed out of Lydia's mask or yesterday's clothes--and you look down to see he's clipped a small jewel to it. "Good luck charm," he says, and claps you on the shoulder. You close the door and return to doing nothing.
But thirty minutes later there's a call from the front desk. "Ms. Rachels, could you step down for a few minutes," they ask.
Your heart goes into your throat, but there seems nothing to do but comply. The clerk smiles coolly as you approach, and gestures at a dapper man standing nearby. "Ms. Rachels," the latter says. "My name is Withers, from Powers and Haldeman's London branch. If I could have a word with you?"
"What about?" You flinch back.
"Please, let's not make a scene. I'm quite sure it's just a misunderstanding, having to do with some unexpected credit card charges."
You glance between Withers and the clerk. "If you know who I am, you know that I am Mr. Jonathan Straussler's executive secretary, and I have full authority--"
"Of course," Withers says in a very reassuring voice. "It's just a formality, I'm sure. One of our financials is just outside. Thirty seconds will clear it up."
With vast reluctance you follow him out the lobby and to the curb. Shit, you shouldn't have been using the Proteus card. They would have noticed and wondered, and you knew they would. But you figured they couldn't possibly catch up with you so quickly.
Withers guides you to a dark Mercedes, and with one last fretful glance up the street--where are Frank and Joe?--you get in.
You suppress a choke. Steve Patterson is sitting in the back seat, smiling at you. "Lydia," he says in a very friendly tone. "This is a big surprise."
"For me too, Mr. Patterson. Er, I didn't know you were--"
"I had to catch a flight back here myself."
"Oh. Well, about the charges--"
He waves his hand. "Not a problem, Lydia. We were just worried about you, Jon and me. You took off so fast. We wanted to make sure everything was alright with you."
"I'm alright. I just got a sudden phone call from a sick relative, and--"
"Save it for later," he says. "We'll talk when you're feeling better."
"But I'm not--"
"You will be." From his breast pocket he extracts something that looks like a pencil flashlight, and jabs you in the shoulder.
Your back arches from a hard, almost electrical shock, and the world goes black.
* * * * *
You open your eyes, and blink at a white ceiling. There is something soft beneath you, and you sit up. You're in a hospital bed. Your head is aching, and your limbs are weak. There's a buzzing from nearby, on the other side of a curtain. You glance down.
You're naked. And it's not Lydia Rachels' body that you see. It's your own. You shake your head, searching for memories. You find only your own.
A door opens. "Can I come in," Steve Patterson says as he peeks around it. What little color remained in your cheeks drains away.
He smiles as he closes the door behind him, and pulls up a stool to sit beside you. His gaze is calm and amused, with no hostility or anger in it. "How are you feeling, Prescott?"
"Um, like I got hit by a two-by-four."
He chuckles softly. "Yes, it does kind of hurt. It'll pass. Want some aspirin?" He takes a packet from his pocket, but you shake your head. "It's nice seeing you again."
"Where am I?"
"Where you want to be. Huntress. And you've only been out for an hour, hardly enough time for anyone to notice you've gone. And they won't." His smile turns a little mad.
"You made a mask of me, didn't you?" you blurt out. There seems no point in hiding anything.
"A day or two ago, yes. We didn't get a chance to put it in play. It would have been dangerous, with Verity Walker still at large."
"Where is she? Where's my brother?"
"Verity is here, safe and whole. Robert is still back in Saratoga Falls, also in sound shape."
"What's all this about? What are you doing?"
He bites on his smile. "I'm a bastard, but I'm not an idiot. I don't share plans unless sharing them is also part of the plan. Which is why I'm willing to twitch back the curtain a little."
You flinch as he leans across the bed to pull back the partition.
There are two men on the other side. One is in a lab coat, his back to you. The other is a naked man, very big, with a buzz cut, sitting on a bed like yours. He is covered in tattoos, and it looks like the man in the lab coat is giving him another.
"It's been a couple of years since we've had a good heart to heart, Will," Patterson says. "But then we never had a good heart to heart even then."
"Yeah, I know. You were always hanging out with--"
"Oh, you and me hung out a lot more than you remember," Patterson says. "But when you decided against joining Fane we had to wipe your memory. You remember getting amnesia?"
You stare at him. "Are you really Braydon Delp?" you blurt out.
For the first time, Patterson looks surprised. "Who?" Behind him, the technician turns off the machine.
"Braydon Delp. He used a mask to impersonate and replace me my senior year."
Patterson gapes. "Whoa. No, I hadn't heard that story. We'll get you dressed and then you can tell it to me. No," he continues. "We're the ones that gave you amnesia. Which is really too bad. We could have had fun, you and me." He jerks his thumb at the naked man. "That could have been you sitting there."
As he speaks, the naked man smiles and rubs his new tattoo. He seems to blur.
Now you're looking at yourself.
"Yeah," Patterson drawls. "It coulda been you sitting there. And whaddaya know? Now it is."  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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