The sun darted across the windshield as Nate drove down the road. There was nothing around other than an endless wilderness of trees, and conversation between him and his mother was pretty scarce. She spent most of the drive staring out the window or fiddling with her seatbelt. He had no distractions and therefore plenty of time grapple with the unpleasant mixture of emotions there were piling up in his guts like garbage in a dumpster.
Anxiety. Other than giving Sophia an estimated time of arrival, their plan was rather ill-defined. He had no idea what they were going to do if his father simply turned them away. Sophia had said she would keep tabs on where they were located in the Institute based on Nate’s signal, but other than that, he had no idea what she was planning. He understood that they needed to be kept somewhat ignorant so they couldn’t be accused of entrapment later on---but that made him exceptionally nervous. He was just supposed to let this horror show play out?
Guilt. Knowing that in addition to telling him everything she was enduring in the Basement, Sophia had been upfront with him regarding Sybill’s involvement in both Evelyn Montgomery’s and Xavier Coppula’s death. She must know that her knowledge could incriminate her later if he ever managed to bring official charges against his father. She must be truly desperate, and what bothered him was that he hadn’t returned her candor. He had yet to tell Sophia that Felicity was the one at the station that night. That she had killed the other Coppula. Though perhaps she already knew.
Anger. There was still a pathetic, needy part of him that wanted to protect Felicity and earn her approval.
Desire. The monster inside of him was relentless. It wanted to touch his sister’s sweet flesh again regardless of what she had done---or what it might do to him.
Fear. He was terrified of what he might find when he saw Felicity again at the Institute. Why was she in the infirmary? What hadn’t his father told him or his mother about it? Had she been hurt during his sick experiments? His head was filled with possibilities and theories, and each one made him feel more nauseous than the last.
When Nate finally pulled up to the Institute, he felt so sick that he opened the car door and dry heaved into a bush for a solid ten minutes. His mother got out and leaned against the side of the car, impatiently waiting for him to be finished. She didn’t pat his back or ask him if he was okay. She just watched. It made Nate feel like a pet instead of a person, and he was ashamed by how much her indifference hurt. He should be fucking used to it by now. When he was finished, his mother walked up to the gate and pressed the intercom with the tip of a perfectly manicured nail. There was a buzz, and after a few seconds a crisp voice came through:
“How may I---oh! Hello, Doctor Arlett.” The voice took on a note of delighted surprise.
“Good morning, Saul,” his mother said brightly. “Will you please tell the doctor that Camilla and Nathaniel are here to see him?”
“Certainly, ma’am,” said Saul. “Come on in.”
The gate swung open, and Nathaniel followed his mother down a long path and up a flight of ivy-covered stone steps. The front door opened of its own accord and they walked into a brightly lit lobby furnished with gleaming mahogany furniture. There were other residents milling around, as well as several doctors. After a few minutes, there were footsteps in the hall and his father entered. If he was surprised to see them both, his face showed no sign of it. He bowed in his ex-wife’s direction and then grasped Nate’s hand warmly---like they were friends. Nate resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he said. “How are you, Camilla?”
“I’m so sorry to just drop in like this, Benjamin,” she said. “I haven’t paid an in-person visit for a while. I was hoping I could get a look at last month’s reports.”
“Of course.”
“Also, Nathaniel and I were having lunch the other day and do you know what we realized? We haven’t seen Felicity in such a long time. I wanted to catch up with her while I was here.”
His father turned towards Nate with a coldly polite smile. “Unfortunately, Felicity isn’t up to receiving visitors right now.”
“Still?” Nathaniel demanded, not bothering to keep the hostility out of his voice. “You said that weeks ago. Is she okay?”
Why is she in the infirmary you asshole?
“Are you here on official business, son?”
“No, I’m here as a brother who’s become pretty fucking concerned.”
“Please. Language. We have young residents.”
Nate wanted to kick him into the wall and punch him until he stopped moving. Language? He was going to start screaming things that would make a grandmother’s toes curl if this psychopath didn’t take him to his sister. He was done with these games. He was sick from fear and anger; he could feel himself shaking.
“I’m sorry to hear that our little girl is feeling under the weather,” his mother was saying; Nate suddenly noticed that she had placed a hand on his arm. He swallowed. She gave him a bracing squeeze. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing to warrant any concern,” his father said breezily. “I think she caught a bug going around.”
“Well if it’s all the same to you, I think I would like to see her anyway.” His mother flashed a big shiny smile. “Maybe I can cheer her up.”
The doctor smiled and placed a hand over his heart, bowing slightly. “That’s very sweet of you, Camilla, and normally I would have no objection. But we’re still running tests. I’m not sure if what she has is contagious, so I would feel better if we kept you away from her for now.”
“Wow, sounds like quite the bug,” Nate said. “How many residents have come down with this by now? You might have a pandemic on your hands. In this kind of enclosed environment, that could be pretty dangerous. Have you reported this to the families? Is this place currently under quarantine?”
“Quarantine?” His father gave him a small smile. “The situation is hardly that dire.”
“But you just said you’re still running tests. You don’t know what you’re dealing with, right? Better safe than sorry.” He met his father’s cool gaze with a glare. “Or you know, you could also be full of shit. Sounds to me like you just don’t want us seeing her. Now why would that be? Did you beat her up?”
“Nathaniel, I will ask you to leave if you continue to make such disgusting accusations.”
“Oh, now it disgusts you?” His temper was boiling to the surface, rage tearing at his insides like white-hot cleavers. “You had no problem doing it when we were kids.”
There was a short silence. A look of panic rippled through his mother’s eyes; his father’s expression didn’t change, though Nate saw a vein twitch in his jaw.
“Perhaps we should continue this conversation in my office,” he said finally, glancing around. He turned without waiting for them to respond and began to walk towards the door. Nate and his mother followed him. They didn’t look at each other. Nate didn’t trust himself to look at anyone; if he detected even a glimmer of pity or condescension from either one of them, he was certain he would tear them both to pieces in a blind fury. Every crevice of his brain was crammed with images of Felicity in pain. He could barely draw breath as he followed his parents into a dimly lit room that was bigger than his entire apartment.
He stared around in awe at the polished furnishings and sarcastically wondered how much of the Institute’s budget was allotted to maintaining this luxurious office. There were more than a few exotic plants in the windowsills, and the fireplace looked like it was made of real marble.
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“Please have a seat,” his father said, waving them into two chairs.
He sat down in the one behind the desk, neatly folding his hands in front of him. For a moment all three of them stared at each other in silence . Nate felt like they were cowboys locked in a deadly duel, waiting to see who would draw first. Then his father cleared his throat.
“I’m afraid Felicity isn’t going to be up and about for a while. She had a run-in with another resident.”
“Run-in?” his mother repeated, alarmed. “You mean they attacked her?”
“Yes. The nurses took some visual documentation if you would like to see. Where did I put it…”
The doctor pulled open his desk drawer and rummaged around for a minute before extracting a large photo. He held it out. There was a short pause. Nate and his mother exchanged nervous looks; neither of them was keen to see whatever it was in that photo. But finally Nate stood up and walked around the desk, taking the picture from his father. It showed someone sitting upright in bed, wrapped head to toe in bandages. It could have been Felicity. It could have been anyone.
“Was she burned or something?” he asked stiffly as he slid the photo across the desk towards his mother. She leaned forward in her chair, glanced at the it, and then leaned back again, her face pale. His father pushed back his chair and stood up. He walked around the desk and sat on the edge of it, positioning himself so that he was directly across from his ex-wife. His back was to Nate.
“Not burned, but she was beaten to a pulp,” his father said regretfully. “There was a lot of bruising. The bandages are to keep the ointment on the wounds.”
“My God,” Camilla said. “What about the person who did this?”
“They have been in lock down since the incident occurred. We’re currently determining how long he should stay there. He’s still quite violent.”
Nate picked up the photo again and stared at it. Something didn’t seem right. He brought it closer to his eyes and realized it was the hands. They were thick and coarse---the broad hands of a man.
“This isn’t Felicity,” he said.
There was a short silence. His father turned slowly around to face him.
“Excuse me?”
Nate scornfully tossed the photo back onto the desk. “Anybody who’s ever been in a room with her for more than five seconds could see it.”
The doctor continued to stare at him with those snake eyes. His mother’s gaze wandered to her Nate then to her ex-husband, and then back to Nate.
“Benjamin, is that true?” she said finally, and then she uttered a startled cry and sprang to her feet. Even the doctor seemed surprised; his staggered back a few steps as a flickering image materialized in the room.
Nate stared in shock at the Sophia-hologram, and for a moment it stared around at all of them with an impassive expression on its face. Then it pointed right at his father.
Help me. He’s crazy.
As far as strategies went, it wasn’t bad. Straightforward and simple. Nate did his best to sound surprised, like he’d never seen this vision before.
“Who are you?”
Sophia Montgomery. Reynolds is abusing me. I’m locked up in the Basement Complex. Please help me. And call the cops.
“Now wait a minute,” the doctor said coolly. “Sophia, how are you doing that? That can’t be good for you. You’ll tire yourself out.”
He didn’t sound in the least bit concerned. It worried Nate.
“You need to take me to see this resident,” he said. “I’ll need to question her.”
“I thought you weren’t here as an officer today? Plus, she’s on a lot of medications, Nathaniel. I daresay she isn’t even aware of what she’s saying.”
The fuck I’m not! snarled the hologram.
“She seems pretty aware to me,” Nate said.
“Benjamin, what the hell is going on?” his mother demanded. The alarm and anger in her voice sounded genuine; she was a good actress, although Nate wondered how much of the anger was actually a farce.
“I may not be working today, but I know plenty of guys who are,” Nate said, and that seemed to worry the doctor for just a second. His jaw tightened ever so slightly.
In the silence that followed, Nate happened to glance down at the open desk drawer. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at. The gun Felicity had used on Francis Coppula was wedged between a golden cigarette case and a book. Its black polished exterior gleamed with steely brutality.
I have taken every measure to ensure her safety. There is nothing to incriminate her.
Jesus Christ. Had the murder weapon just been laying here the whole time? Was his father keeping it around for blackmail? Then again, maybe he figured the safest place for it would be somewhere close to him. Nate stared at the gun until his vision blurred. Then he picked it up without really deciding to. He popped out the magazine and checked the rounds. He had only loaded five for her, and right now he was looking at four. Were these the original bullets then?
“Nathaniel.”
His head snapped up. His father was staring at him, warily eyeing the gun in his hand. Time slowed to a crawl; the seconds seemed like hours and the room tightened into a single knot of focus. He forgot about Sophia and his mother. The only thing that seemed to exist was his father’s cold black eyes, swelling to fill the whole world with unfathomable darkness, and the echo of Sophia’s voice suddenly ringing out in his head like a bell in a church.
“What’s in your locket?” Nate asked suddenly. He felt his tongue and lips moving to form the words, but the voice that came out didn’t seem like his own. For one thing, it sounded unnervingly calm.
The silence that followed his question was deafening, and it confirmed something Nate was still struggling to define. His brain moved slowly; something was taking shape inside his head, a silhouette emerging from thick fog, but he was having a hard time pinning it down. Then he saw his father instinctively clasp at his collar, and there was a look on his face that made a trapdoor open in Nate’s stomach and all his innards fell through.
Do you think she can breathe underground? His sister’s high, frightened voice seared through his mind. The silhouette loomed closer. It was something dark and huge, a monster he could not yet see.
He started to walk around the desk towards his father. After a few steps he became aware of a heavy weight in his hand; he glanced down. He was still holding the gun.
“Nathaniel.” His father’s voice was very soft. “Easy.”
“Give me the locket.”
“You don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Nathaniel cocked the weapon and pointed it between his father’s eyes. His mother gave a sharp intake of breath, but she didn’t move forward to stop him. She was either too scared or too unconcerned with whether or not this psycho in a lab coat lived or died. The Sophia-hologram simply stood there, flickering and silent.
“You have three seconds,” Nate said.
Doctor Reynold’s held up both hands in surrender. His face was pale, and his eyes had a desperate, almost pleading, expression.
“Would you really kill me, son?”
“Yup. And I’d sleep like a baby afterwards.”
“Nate. Please. This locket is very important to me.”
His father’s voice was high with something that sounded very much like panic. It shattered like glass against Nate’s ears. Something inside of him was starting to scream as the light of comprehension sluggishly dawned across the dark landscape of his mind.
Click. What are you doing?! Crunch. Blood spurting from his nose.
“I just want to see what’s inside.” Nate’s vision swam and his hand started to shake. “Why don’t you want me to see, Dad?”
Tears started to slide down his cheeks. The screaming inside him was getting louder.
His father scrambled for the necklace at his throat. “Okay, here, take it, just---for God’s sake, Nathaniel! Will you get that out of my face?”
Nate lowered the gun but didn’t put it down. He held out his other hand. When his father hesitated, Nate stepped forward and snatched the necklace from the doctor’s slackened grip. He blinked to clear his vision; tears dropped onto the ornate silver sphere clutched in his palm.
“Before you look at that, you need to understand---”
Without waiting to him to finish, Nate popped open the locket. He heard footsteps and the air stirred behind him, followed by the gentle scent of his mother’s skin. Together they stared down at a photo of Felicity. She looked like she was around eight years old, and she was sitting on a mattress in a dark room. She wasn’t wearing anything and the eyes looking at the camera made Nate feel like his body had just detached from the ground. Disjointed memories drifted through his brain and connected.
Felicity’s look of panicked furry when he had taken her picture that on afternoon. Her sudden departure from the house. The way she had become withdrawn and locked herself in her room so many times. The confrontations between her and their father, the beatings…the haunted expression that had entered her eyes and never left.
He heard a choking sound. He looked up. His mother was staring at her ex-husband with popping eyes, her hands clutching her throat like she was trying to pull away the skin.
“You---” she whispered, her lips trembling. “You---”
“Camilla,” his father said tenderly, taking a step towards her.
“No.” She began to shake her head from side to side, her face ashen.
“Please, it’s not what---”
“Bastard,” his mother whispered. Then her voice tore through several octaves: “You BASTARD!”
What happened next took Nate many days to recall. Each moment dribbled back to him during the long hours in the interrogation room when he was left staring at the footage caught by the security camera in his father’s office. On that small screen, he saw himself raise the firearm in his hand. He saw his mother look towards him and fling out her arm. Then he saw the body of Doctor Reynolds hit the floor. As he watched these images play out on the screen, other sensations returned to him: the smell of his own sweat, the thunderous crash of solid flesh hitting carpet, hot metal clutched in his hands, and the endless screaming. Even after decades had gone by, Nate couldn’t recall if those noises had come from someone in the room or from his own mouth.