The Aberration of Eden Pruitt, page 2
“Eden?”
She blinked away the cloying concern and the unsettling imagery that came with it.
“What do you think?” Dr. Norton asked.
She knew why he was asking.
How did she feel about being in such close quarters with Subjects 003 and 004? Ever since learning the truth about what she was, she’d felt like a grenade without the pin, clutched tight in someone else’s hand. If she returned to Dr. Norton’s, there would be three grenades under one roof. It was a recipe for disaster. But Eden couldn’t deny the morbid curiosity bubbling inside of her any longer. Barrett Barr and Jane Doe were exactly like her, only they were stuck in some unnerving state of unconsciousness. Maybe seeing them would help her see herself. Whoever and whatever that was.
“If you think it’s a good idea,” Eden said. “Then we’ll go to Milwaukee.”
Dr. Norton set his mug on the counter. “I’ll get the patient ready. We can head out in an hour.”
2
Cassian Gray stepped off his bike and strode toward his destination with a decisiveness that contradicted the weather. It had gone from sunny to cloudy, hot to cool, then back again, like a fickle child unable to decide.
After a week of searching, he’d finally found him.
Mordecai’s real name.
First and last.
He reached Cleo’s residence hall as two girls exited. They looked from him to each other, exchanging approving looks as he snagged the door, bypassing the retinal scan needed to unlock it. He walked through the lobby and into the elevator, behind a skinny kid with a stocking cap and scruffy facial hair.
They reached for the same button, their fingers knocking into one another. With a pitchy laugh, the kid yanked his hand away. Cass jabbed the button with his thumb and lifted his gaze to the numbers above the door. He felt surly. On edge. The last week had been a brand of torture to which he wasn’t accustomed. He didn’t miss people. He made sure that kind of attachment wasn’t a part of his life. And yet, he missed Eden Pruitt in a way that made him want to bury his head in a pillow and growl.
“You know,” the kid said in a voice as pitchy as his laugh, “if this was a rom com, that would be our meet cute.”
Cass had no idea what he was talking about. Nor did he care to inquire. He kept his gaze on the escalating numbers while the kid shifted nervously and stared from the corner of his eye.
“I have a girlfriend,” the guy blurted as the elevator came to a slow stop. “I’m not gay, I mean. Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. I just … didn’t want you … to think … that I was … hitting … on you.” He spoke the words in awkward intervals, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going but kept going anyway, then grimaced when he was finally done.
The elevator doors slid open.
Angry punk rock thumped from down the hall, filling Cass with relief. Cleo wasn’t at a lecture or a study group like most college students tended to be on a Friday. She was in her room, listening to music at the ear-splitting decibel she seemed to prefer.
He strode to her door, then pounded on the wood like he had when he arrived with Eden a few weeks earlier, when he still wasn’t sure whether he should help her or finish the job he’d been hired to do. How could so much have changed in only a few weeks? He pounded again, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his motorcycle jacket.
The scruffy-faced kid stopped beside him.
He gave Cass an apologetic look. “You know Cleo, too?”
Cass blinked at the guy, then raised his fist to pound a third time when the door flew open. Cleo stood on the other side with her hair in its usual style—Bantu knots, she called them—and a stick of licorice tucked into the corner of her mouth.
He let himself into her room and shut off the music.
“Please, come in,” she said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Make yourself at home.”
“Did I get the wrong time?” Cleo’s visitor asked with lips that barely moved, as if talking like a ventriloquist might conceal his question.
“Nope,” Cleo said. “But could you give us a second?”
The guy took a giant step backward. “I’ll just be right out—”
Cleo shut the door before he could finish. She pulled on the licorice stick, taking a bite with her. “You met Finn.”
Finn.
Her partner in crime. The two were working together on an illegal newspaper called The People’s Press, a deviant act that could get them both expelled. Maybe arrested.
“He’s a total freak. But you should see his writing. Wicked funny in the most honest and brutal way.” Her attention dropped to the papers Cass was pulling from his back pocket.
“I’ve got his name.” He handed the articles he’d printed to Cleo. For the past week, he’d been searching. Determined to find Mordecai’s real identity so he could then find Mordecai. “It’s Nicholas Marks. He’s thirty-four.”
“That’s young,” she said.
Too young to be in league with Karik Volkova, the infamous leader of Interitus, the terrorist regime responsible for The Attack. The terrorist regime that had created Eden. At thirty-four, Nicholas Marks would have been thirteen when America was brought to its knees. Sixteen when Eden was born. Seventeen when Volkova was publicly executed. And yet somehow, he knew about Eden. “He works for SafePad.”
“Think Oswin Brahm knows that one of his employees is a psychopath?” Cleo asked.
Oswin Brahm was, among many things, the founder of SafePad Elite—a company that built luxury bomb shelters, which skyrocketed in demand after The Attack. There were compounds all over the country. One was located outside of Chicago. This was where Mordecai had kept Eden’s parents. This was where Mordecai had taken Eden.
“His credentials are impressive. He graduated from Harvard with a degree in finance. Worked his way up the corporate ladder until he became SafePad’s chief investment specialist.”
“With access to their facilities.”
“His home address isn’t listed in public records. But he works in SafePad’s office headquarters. Downtown Chicago. Every time I call, his voicemail answers.”
“Think he’s out of the office?”
“He could be in meetings.”
Cleo scanned the second article and pulled another bite from the licorice, tapping her snakebite piercing with the tip of her pinkie as she did.
“The building requires retinal scans upon entrance.” Cass couldn’t have his retinas scanned. Cass didn’t have an identity. The second the infrared light touched his pupils, the police would be notified. Living off the grid was as illegal as Cleo’s newspaper.
“Which means you need someone to do your dirty work,” Cleo said.
“You interested?”
Her face split into a grin. “Let me reschedule with Finn and we can hit the road.”
Cass watched from the passenger seat of Cleo’s Tesla as she exited the front doors of SafePad headquarters and crossed the busy street. Overhead, the sky darkened. Cleo climbed into the car, a gust of cool wind swinging the door open wide. She sat behind the wheel and wrestled the door shut as raindrops splattered the windshield.
“He’s not in. And they wouldn’t tell me whether he would be. Which means …” She reached into the back seat, yanked up her backpack, and began pulling out items from inside. A bag of warheads. A bag of Takis. A pair of binoculars. “We’ve got ourselves an official stake-out.”
Cass raised an eyebrow. “Why do you own a pair of binoculars?”
“So I can watch people in the residence hall across the street when I’m bored.”
“Do you ever study?”
“I inherited my mother’s brains. Do you think I need to?” Peering through her binocs, Cleo popped a Taki in her mouth. “Maybe he’s out for lunch.”
The rain turned into a sudden and violent downpour. Not even the windshield wipers could keep up. For two minutes and thirty-one seconds, they could see nothing outside other than the deluge. Then it came to a stop as suddenly as it started, a ray of sunshine peeking through the passing clouds.
“We could have missed him,” Cleo said.
Cass tapped his foot impatiently, his attention zeroed in on the front doors as people peeked out from beneath their umbrellas and Cleo unwrapped a warhead.
“So, fill me in.”
“On what?” Cass said.
“What’s been going on? I know the basics. Six’s parents are safe …” Six. As in, Subject 006. Cass didn’t like the nickname. He didn’t think Eden liked it either. “Her dad’s a little beat up. Mordecai got away but left behind some important contraband.”
By contraband, Cass assumed she meant Subject 003 and 004.
“One of which is Barrett freaking Barr.”
The kid who had been on Concordia National news since his disappearance this past summer.
Cass wondered who had provided Cleo with the basics—her mom, who was currently playing hostess to Eden and her parents? Or Eden? He pushed his finger across his bottom lip, resisting the pathetic urge to ask Cleo if Eden had said anything about him. Whoever had coined the phrase “out of sight, out of mind” was an idiot. It had been seven brutal days since he’d seen her and the longer she remained out of sight, the more space she filled up in his mind.
He cracked his knuckles and relayed what he could to Cleo. He told her about the unconscious guards. About interrogating the man with the tattoos. He told her about the cyanide pill and the odd thing the guy said before swallowing it.
For the Monarch.
Cleo made a face like she was trying to place something. Or maybe it was a reaction to the warhead. “That sounds vaguely familiar.”
“The Monarch?”
“Yeah.” She brought the binoculars into her lap. “Do you think it’s another name for Mordecai?”
“How many names does a guy need?” Cass shook his head, his agitation growing. “What’s his end game? What does he want with them?”
“The guy’s a gambler. Maybe he wants to invest in some fighters who can’t lose.”
Cass frowned. It seemed like a lot of trouble for someone who was doing more than okay without the sure thing.
Cleo peered at a man heading toward the front doors of SafePad. “It’s not him,” she said.
Cass scratched his ear. “So … how’s her dad doing?”
Cleo stared at him. He could feel the heat of her gaze boring into the side of his face. “Wait. Have you not talked to her?”
He pled the fifth.
“Cass?”
“What?”
“When’s the last time you spoke?”
The night they kissed. The night she left. The night he watched helplessly from inside Beverly’s home, unsure if he’d have to do what Eden had invited him back into her life to do—carry out a command that would end her existence. The memory haunted his sleep. “Last week.”
“Last week? Why haven’t you called her?”
Cass clenched his jaw.
“Seriously, what are you waiting for?”
“Mordecai’s head on a stick.”
“How very Macbethian of you.” Cleo resumed her people-watching. “And here I thought you were more informed than me. Turns out, I know more than you. They left this morning, you know.”
“Who?”
“Eden. Her parents. The whole crew.”
“Where’d they go?”
“Back to the doc’s place.”
“Why?”
“Why don’t you call her and ask? I’m sure Six would appreciate it.”
“Can you stop calling her that?”
“Fine. Eden. Eden would appreciate it.”
Cass pulled at his collar. He wasn’t sure what Eden would appreciate. Not long ago, she told him she never wanted to see him again. She only invited him back into her life to do the work nobody else was willing to do. The kind of work perfect for a guy like him. “I will. Once Mordecai’s dead.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s going to be today.” She glanced at the clock.
Lunch hour was long gone.
Still, they remained.
Long enough for the stake-out to lose its shine.
Cleo took a bathroom break.
Went on a beverage run.
Took a call with Finn.
Now she was scrolling through her phone with one foot on the dash. “Maybe we should write him a letter.”
“Who?”
“Oswin Brahm.”
Cass kept a steady eye on the front doors of SafePad’s office building while Cleo launched into an idea.
“Someone should fill him in. Let him know one of his employees is a big-time gambler in the world of Underground Fighting and was carrying out his schemes on company property. For all we know, this Mordecai has ties to the very terrorist who made things like SafePad necessary.”
Cass wondered if Cleo’s idea didn’t have merit.
Oswin Brahm helped rebuild the nation after Karik Volkova attacked it. He even started a foundation that served those suffering from chronic health problems because of that horrible day. Maybe the quickest way to take down Mordecai was to call SafePad’s founder and leave an anonymous tip.
A lady and a gentleman exited side-by-side. Cass peered at them, wishing he had a better angle on the man.
Cleo took her foot off the dash and sat up straight. “Holy freak.”
“What?” Cass said.
“Look who it is.” She turned her phone screen to him. She’d pulled up a guest list for the Prosperity Ball. Talk of Oswin Brahm had undoubtedly given her the thought.
Good thing, too.
Because right there, in the very middle, was Nicholas Marks.
3
Eden stood on the threshold with her breath in her throat. One more step and she would see them. Subjects 003 and 004 lying like cadavers on gurneys in Dr. Norton’s medical room. Only they were warm. Their vitals steady.
Dr. Norton entered the room from behind her. “The patient is resting. Your mother is with him.”
The patient was Eden’s father. The fact that he was resting, a testament to how difficult the brief trip from Chicago to Milwaukee had been for him in his fragile state. By the time they reached the secluded cabin, Dad had been pale and clammy.
Jack swept past, giving Eden’s shoulder a small squeeze of support as he went. Perhaps he remembered the last time Eden had stepped into this room, when she thought Jack was the enemy and Dr. Norton was Mordecai. Or the time before that, when she was a four-year-old operating under the assumption that she was getting tubes in her ears. Eden could remember how scared her parents looked, and how hard she worked to hide her own fear to be brave for them. She had no idea that in actuality, the retired military doctor was about to insert a microscopic scrambling device in her ear. No idea that her parents were afraid, not because the procedure came with any danger, but because of the newly circulating rumors of weaponized humans.
Who had started them? It was just one of the many questions to which they didn’t have answers.
Now here she was for the third time, about to see a boy and a girl who had never received scrambling implants. And because of that, they were in the states they were in now.
With a steadying breath, Eden stepped inside, her attention moving to Barrett first.
Subject 004.
She’d seen him plenty of times on the news—round-faced and smiling the kind of smile that made his eyes disappear. A strategic photograph that depicted a happy, well-adjusted kid, circulated by distraught parents who didn’t believe their son ran away and didn’t want the public to think so either.
Ever since she discovered the missing eighteen-year-old was Subject 004, Eden had done a significant amount of research on him. Unlike herself and Ellery, Barrett Barr had siblings. Two older brothers—fraternal twins who attended Boise State University, one on scholarship for football. According to his mother, Barrett had a creative mind and was a budding entrepreneur who’d already started two businesses and designed his own website. His family made their home in Idaho and had been vacationing in coastal Maine when Barrett disappeared. He was last seen on the beach. There was no evidence of foul play, which was why most of America believed he ran away. Despite the happy picture.
But Barrett Barr hadn’t run away.
Barrett Barr had been taken.
And now here he was, in Dr. Norton’s basement. Not smiling a smile that made his eyes disappear, but unconscious. His face relaxed—almost serene. His hair longer than in the pictures in the news, curling slightly with the length. The strangeness of his coma made Eden so unsettled, her bones felt cold. He’d been forced to sleep against his will. For how long, none of them knew.
With a shaky exhale, she turned her attention to the question mark. The girl. The Jane Doe. Subject 003. With raven hair cut into a shag—choppy layers and fringe bangs with wide-set eyes and a fan of straight, dark eyelashes. She looked like she might be of Asian descent. At least, partially. Not Filipino like Erik, but somewhere further east. Other than the name of her parents—who were no longer on the grid—they had no idea who she was or what her life had been like these past sixteen-and-a-half years.
Dr. Norton shined a light into her eyes, one at a time, as Jack set up his laptop on the desk. Norton checked her vitals, then set to work inserting a scrambling device into her ear. The same kind he’d reinserted into Eden’s last week.
“You can take that off,” Dr. Norton said, nodding toward the device clipped to the girl’s finger. It reminded Eden of a pulse oximeter, but was, in reality, a makeshift scrambler useful in a pinch. In case Mordecai was monitoring their location. Now that Dr. Norton was here, he was giving them something more permanent.
“Can you help me move her to the flat bed?” Dr. Norton said.
Subject 003 was going to have a body scan in hopes that the result would provide something useful for Jack. Some insight into how and why Barrett and Jane remained in their unresponsive states. As Eden slipped her hand beneath the girl to lift her, a brush of cool metal rubbed against her thumb. Upon contact, a powerful shock jolted against her skin.
