Watch Me, page 20
“When did her parents die?” Warner asks, cutting me off.
“I don’t know.”
“Which sector did she live in?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you been able to gather any more information on the Nexus? How it works? Who controls it?”
“No.”
“Why does she have a scar on the inside of her forearm?”
“I don’t know—”
“Where did her bruises come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why wasn’t she informed of your identity before she killed you?”
“I don’t know!”
“Then what do you know?”
“I know that she’s right-handed? She recently discovered she doesn’t like tomatoes? Direct sunlight sometimes makes her sneeze?”
Juliette yawns again, shifting against the headboard.
“Ten days,” says Warner. “Ten days you’ve been with her and this is all you’ve uncovered.”
“You told me to talk to her,” I hit back. “You told me to act like we believe she’s here for a chance at a new life. You told me to ask her normal questions with no hostility. How am I supposed to interrogate her when I was explicitly told not to interrogate her?”
“It’s called finesse,” says Warner, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Maybe I should do it myself.”
“No,” I practically shout. “It’s not safe for any of you to have direct exposure to her. Besides, you already have ten billion things to manage. Don’t take me off the assignment. C’mon, bro. This is bullshit. She already knows me—”
“Shut up for a second.”
I’m ready to protest, but then Warner crosses the room to Juliette, gathering her into his arms with a tenderness he exhibits with no one else. I watch, my anger deflating, as he helps settle her into bed, adjusting her head, drawing her hair away from her eyes. He positions extra pillows around her body, closes up her book, places it on the nightstand, and then draws the blanket up around her shoulders.
She murmurs a thank-you to him, and he kisses her forehead, the tender exchange making me restless, like I need to exit my body. Growing up with these two has ruined me for regular relationships. I want what they have.
Warner looks up at me as the thought crosses my mind, studying me as if I’d spoken the words out loud.
“Has she asked you any more questions lately?” Juliette asks, sliding a hand under her pillow.
“Sort of,” I say, the fight leaving my body. “She doesn’t ask a lot of questions about me, personally. But she’s been asking some questions about what our world looks like. She was confused about my watch”—I hold it up as proof— “the regular use of pen and paper, the touches of analog tech everywhere.” I hesitate. “She did ask a really specific question about the light in the Emotional Garden.” I tilt my head, remembering. “She wanted to know if it was real.”
Warner stiffens.
“Oh, she’s planning to escape,” Juliette says, stifling another yawn. “She must be expecting contact soon.”
“What?” I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Use your head,” Warner says quietly. “She’s asking practical questions about tech and society because she’s preparing for engagement in foreign territory. She wants to know whether the light is real because—”
And then it hits me. Hard. I slump back in my chair, feeling stupid. “Because she’s trying to figure out whether the building is underground.”
A sudden, shrill alarm rings softly through the room, and Warner stands up, sliding the receiver out of his pocket. He unfolds the razor-thin metal, and Kenji’s voice projects immediately into the room—
“Hey man, I know it’s super late and you’re supposed to be offline right now, but Maya told Agatha to tell Ian who called me to say that they’re all worried something weird is going down in the hall outside Rosabelle’s bedroom—”
I bolt upright, nearly knocking into Warner. “What does that mean?”
Warner looks at me, annoyed.
“I don’t know, man,” says Kenji. “But Ian says that Maya says your girlfriend is talking to Leon about— Oh, shit.”
The line goes quiet. Kenji’s just breathing.
“What?” we all say at the same time.
“James, get your ass over there,” he says, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Maya just sent me some footage from the hallway cams.”
“Okay, I’m leaving now— I’ll be right there— Is she trying to kill him again?”
“No,” says Kenji, subdued. “I think this dude might be trying to kill her.”
ROSABELLE
CHAPTER 34
The knock at my door comes in the night.
My eyes open, but my body is calm. It’s been ten days since I arrived at the facility, and I’m still no closer to a lead on the vial. In the end, Leon proved to be nothing more than a distraction; I haven’t seen him since the incident. I considered launching a covert sweep of his room just to be certain, but he’s locked himself inside since the day I killed him, citing me as the reason he refuses to emerge, not even for meals. I’m not sure how they’re feeding him.
Agatha and Ian officially hate me.
I’ve kept my focus on James, instead, watching him for signs, grasping for meaning in small details. Ultimately I’m at the mercy of another agent, waiting to be contacted by someone who has to find a way to reach me; if they fail, I will fail. There are only four days left. Lately I spend my nights staring up at the ceiling, holding on to the sides of my bed as my head spins.
James has poisoned me.
He’s in my veins. I’m sick with weight of him, sick at the sight of him. His voice haunts me; his presence disarms me. His face surfaces every time I close my eyes, so I try not to close them. I try not to think about his hands or his laugh or the way he quietly sighs, sometimes, when he looks at me. I try not to linger over a startling, terrifying desire to touch him. To be touched by him. Mostly I think about the guillotine that is my place of rest.
When the knock comes again, the interruption is almost a relief. I reach under my pillow for the butterknife I snuck into my room, holding it loosely as I pad, barefoot, to the door.
I wait, listening. Not breathing.
The knock comes a third time, and with it, a voice: “Rosybelle? Rosy-rose, are you awake?”
I flip the butterknife in my hand and unlatch the door, swinging it open. Leon is standing in the dim light.
“Can I help you?” I say to him.
“I got your note,” he says, looking unsteady.
I analyze his dilated eyes more closely, wondering at James’s assessment of his lucidity. I assumed Leon was terrified to be near me, so this burst of enthusiasm is a confusing surprise.
“What note?” I ask.
“I forgive you, Rosy,” he says, stage-whispering. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“Leon,” I say firmly. “What note? What are you talking about?”
He unfolds a piece of paper, skimming it. “You said you’ve been looking for somewhere to rest your head, for a home that will last forever. You said you would die for me. You described the depths you would go to for me. You said that if I want something, I just have to ask for it.” He looks up at me when he’s done, eyes dopey and unfocused.
I tighten my hand around the weapon. There’s definitely something wrong with him.
“Can I have that note, please?”
“No,” he says, crushing it to his chest. “I’m going to keep it forever, Rosy. I just wanted you to know”—he shakes his head, hard—“I had to tell you to your face, so you could see it in my eyes: I don’t like you at all.”
This actually stuns me.
“I have a wife,” he whispers, his eyes going wide. “And you are very beautiful, Rosabelle No-last-name, but my wife is much more beautiful than you, and I know in my heart that we aren’t meant to be together because I don’t like you at all. I love someone else, and I’ll love her forever, and she is so much better than you in every way”—he lowers his voice—“and I know that this is very sad for you.”
“Leon.”
“Yes, Rosy?”
“Where is your wife?”
He shakes his head again, this time so hard his hair flops around. “I don’t know,” he says, leaning into me. “Do you know? Did he tell you where they took her?”
“Who? Who took her from you?”
“You do know,” he says. “You do know who took her, because it’s happened to you, too.” And then he starts crying, his face crumpling. “Oh, Rosy, can you feel it happening again?”
I take a breath. At first I thought maybe Leon had simply lost his mind, but now I’m starting to worry. “Feel what happening?”
He looks around, shoulders tight, the tears stopping as suddenly as they started. “I can feel it happening again, Rosybelle. You can feel it, too.”
“Leon.”
“Yes?”
“Please give me that note.”
“No,” he says loudly. Angrily. “It’s mine. You said you’ve been looking for somewhere to rest your head, for a home that will last forever. You said you would die for me. You described the depths you would go to for me. You said that if I want something, I just have to ask for it.”
“Leon—” I try again, reaching for the paper.
“No!” He whips away wildly, breathing fast. “You said you’ve been looking for somewhere to rest your head, for a home that will last forever. You said you would die for me. You described the depths you would go to for me. You said that if I want something, I just have to ask for it.”
Pay attention.
Intuition tells me to take a cautious step back.
Leon straightens, his forehead smoothing, his shoulders drawing back. He seems to slot into his body, growing back into himself, the sharp lines of his face catching shadows. His eyes gleam like flat coins and I clench the butterknife a little tighter.
“You’re not the only one here,” he says, smiling. “You’re not the only one.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re not special,” he snaps at me. “And if you don’t do it, someone else will.”
Pay attention.
If you’re smart enough, you’ll see it coming.
“Do what?” I say, hoping to guide him with my voice to remain calm. “I need you to give me more information—”
His eyes die out without warning, shoulders hunching, tears streaming down his face again. He looks around, blinking fast. “Can you feel it, Rosybelle? Can you feel it happening again?”
My instincts are at war: Kill him or keep him talking?
I decide he might still prove useful.
“Leon,” I say. “How long has your wife been missing?”
“I don’t know!” he says, and grabs my arms. “Where did they take her?”
I command myself not to react to this physical contact, forcing myself to look into his wild eyes. He’s clearly incapable of coherence.
“Leon,” I say again. “Please give me that note.”
“No!” he cries, backing away from me. “It’s mine. You said you’ve been looking for somewhere to rest your head, for a home that will last forever. You said you would die for me. You described the depths you would go to for me. You said that if I want something, I just have to ask for it.”
“I’m asking for it right now,” I say, fighting my anger. “Give it to me—”
“You can’t take it!” he says. “You can’t take anything else away from me!”
“I didn’t take anything from you. I wasn’t the one who went through your things.” I glance up and down the quiet hall, my instincts now screaming. “Leon,” I say, trying to meet his eyes. “Listen to me. I wasn’t the one who ransacked your room, and I didn’t write that note. I think someone is trying to frame me—”
“Don’t worry, Rosy,” he says softly, turning the crumpled paper around to show me. “I know you didn’t do it.”
The page is blank.
Leon laughs, then goes limp, his arms hanging heavily by his sides. “Why would you go through my things? You don’t even know where I hid it.” He leans toward me, and I watch, horrified, as a slinky black skin appears and disappears across his eyes. Then, whispering: “I didn’t want to find it, Rosabelle. He made me find it.”
Now, a spike of true fear impales me.
I’m trying to stay calm. Trying to keep my breathing even. But a terrifying thought is gathering steam in my head, disparate strokes of color coming together to form a disturbing picture.
“Who made you find it?” I ask.
“Nosy Rosy!” Leon shouts, his head lolling sideways. “My beautiful rose, I’ll give you a little earth, Rosabelle, let me look inside you, Rosabelle, Rosabelle, Rosabelle—”
Finally I snap.
I grab a fistful of his shirt violently, pressing the butterknife to his throat. “Start answering my questions,” I say. “Or this time when I kill you, I’ll make sure no one will be here to save you.”
His eyes widen. He looks suddenly panicked. “But I brought you a drink of earth,” he says. “I’m a big boy, Rosy, I made it all by myself.” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a glass vial, the glinting receptacle filled with darkness. “Klaus made me find it,” he says, and then he’s crying again, his shoulders collapsing. “Klaus wanted you to have it. He made me leave my room. He made me do it, Rosy, I didn’t want to—”
My right hand trembles and I let go of him, shaking the tremors loose from my fist before taking the proffered vial. My heart is racing dangerously fast. The glass is warm against my skin.
“Goodbye, my beautiful rose. Goodbye. Goodbye. They took your father the way they took my wife, remember? Can you feel it happening again, Rosy?”
Shock rattles through me. “What? What are you talking about?” I shake him slightly. “Leon? Leon, where’s Klaus?”
“Klaus?” He breathes the word, his voice changing, his back straightening. The black skin crawls over his eyes again. “Klaus is here.”
I stifle a shudder, containing my horror. “Where?”
Leon grabs me by the throat and lifts me off my feet.
ROSABELLE
CHAPTER 35
I fight back a scream.
I already know better than to kill him. I know, even as spots crowd my vision, that Leon is gone, that killing his host body will only delay the inevitable. Somehow, I’m being punished, and I need to pay attention.
I don’t know how this is happening.
I don’t know why his eyes flash black instead of blue. I don’t know how Klaus has managed to override Leon’s mind; I didn’t know it was possible for Klaus to have this kind of control from a great distance. I only know that I’m losing oxygen, struggling to see straight. He pushes me into my room, slamming my back against the interior wall. My eyes flutter as the butterknife falls, with a dull thud, from my hand.
“Phase three is now complete,” he says.
He lets go of me without warning, and I collapse to the floor, slamming my head against the edge of the dresser, pain exploding behind my eyes. I look up, the room surging around me. I watch Leon close my door, turn on the lights, then flip the lock. I gasp for breath, massaging my throat.
“I wonder what time it is,” I rasp, repeating the words I was instructed to speak.
“Late,” he says, his voice low. “I heard you had questions, Rosabelle.”
I try to swallow. “What do I do with the vial?”
“You drink it,” he says.
“What will it do?”
Leon blinks, the inky film floating and retreating across his eyes. “Clear the way for the final three phases of the mission.”
This renders me still. Fear is now unfolding within me at a rate I can’t overcome.
“Look what they did to us,” Leon is saying, gesturing around the room. “Look at what they took from us. Look what they did when they were allowed to think for themselves. They, like you, think they can escape control. Leon, too, thought he could escape us. He was the first scientist to taste the earth—to experience the power of his own invention—but he decided, too late, that he didn’t like Klaus. He performed merciless experiments on himself, trying and failing to undo the gene edit. Don’t be like Leon,” he says. “Leon tried to fight the future, and look what happened. Nothing good can come of the masses ruling themselves. Only chaos. War. Anarchy.”
“So you’re testing this vial on me,” I whisper, “to see if you can control me better than you controlled Leon.”
“Control you?” Leon frowns, his muddied eyes affecting confusion. He bends down to my level, then taps my head like I’m a toy he’s turning off. “Have you not figured out yet why you’re here?”
I stare at him as he stands, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Rosabelle Wolff, you’ve been sent here to die. Klaus looked into your mind and saw weakness unworthy of our greater mission. Your father was weak. Your mother was weak. Your sister was weak. You are a disgrace. You entertain near-traitorous thoughts about your nation, you resent the only man willing to marry you, and your everyday actions are motivated by the welfare of a diseased child whose existence only drains our resources. Your mind has been found wanting—and your life, as a result, is no longer worth sustaining. Your only benefit to us will be in your final sacrifice, should you choose to accept it.”
This revelation batters me in waves, shattering the planes of my body like sheets of glass, leaving me in ribbons.
