Riah knew this differentiation between “targets” and “people” was a psychological ploy used by the military to make it easier for soldiers to kill — depersonalize the enemy by calling them combatants or targets rather than allowing the soldiers to think of them as fellow human beings, as fathers and brothers and sons, as mothers and sisters and wives.
When Darren used the word target, however, it’d struck her that the difference in terminology wouldn’t have affected her if she had their job.
Actually, as troubling as it might be, she realized that given the right circumstances, she would have found it relatively easy to kill, no matter what anyone called the victim.
Just like the bird when you were a kid. Grab the head. Twist.
And it goes still.
Limp and still.
She remembered that Darren had studied her face carefully as he waited for her to respond.
She didn’t want the brothers to realize that she was like them in certain fundamental ways, so she hadn’t pursued the matter any further. However, she’d gotten the sense that Darren saw something in her eyes that’d given away more than it should have.
Now in the conference area, Cyrus looked at his watch. “They’re late.”
“I’m sure there’s a good reason,” she told him softly. “They’re very reliable men.”
Back at the cabin, Charlene still refuses to let me take her to a hospital, so in the end I’m left to simply do what I can to cleanse and disinfect the wound with the rather ill-equipped first-aid kit in the bathroom.
Throughout the process, she gives me instructions, wincing at times but not crying, and I’m impressed by how well she’s handling it. We’re both rattled from the attack, of course, but surprisingly, still focused.
Finally, I butterfly the wound closed with alternating strips of tape and wrap her arm with the first-aid kit’s Ace bandage.
She digs out some Advil, and after she’s taken a couple capsules, she positions herself on the couch, then states the obvious: “Alright. Just so we’re on the same page, we’re no longer here just to debunk some research on mind-to-mind communication.”
“Agreed.”
“Should we go to the police?”
It was a good question, one we shouldn’t take lightly. “Did you see his face?”
“No.”
“Me either.” I join her on the other end of the couch.
Honestly, I want to stay here at the center, keep looking into things, especially now that there seems to be another layer to everything that’s going on. “So we wouldn’t be able to identify him by anything other than his voice. Would you be able to do that?”
“Not the way he spoke, whispering like that.”
“The same for me.”
“So we could report it to the police, but they would, of course, ask what we were doing in the building.”
I evaluate everything. “I think we should hold off contacting them until we know more.”
“So you don’t think we should back away from this?”
I have the feeling she already knows the answer to that.
I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge, and I can’t see myself doing so now — even if it ends up being a little dangerous. It isn’t about money or fame or anything like that. It’s about the challenge. And about uncovering the truth. “No. I’m in.”
“And you know me, Jevin.”
“Petunia never backs down.”
“Wolverine.”
“Whatever.”
To cover all my bases, I offer one last time to help her: “I still think we should take you to a clinic or something.”
“Jev, think about the timing here: a thug with a combat knife shows up, sneaking around looking for some sort of computer files the night before this round of Tanbyrn’s study begins. That has to be more than a coincidence.”
“But it was a coincidence that we ended up in the same room as him in a locked building, wouldn’t you say?”
“Maybe it was more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighs. “I don’t know. I’m just saying we need to find out as much as we can about Tanbyrn’s research and what that guy might’ve been looking for. Being part of the study tomorrow is our best shot at doing that.”
Of course, I feel the same way. Fighting that guy had awakened something in me that imitating the tricks of psychics never had — a taste of danger that I used to know when I was doing my escapes. A surge of adrenaline, the paradoxical tightening of focus and widening of awareness that danger brings with it. There was a time when I wouldn’t do an escape unless there was a chance I could die from it — something that I know was always hard on Rachel.
I contemplate what to say.
“Alright. So we keep an eye on your arm, but after the test tomorrow, I want to have someone who knows what he’s doing take a look at that cut. Within the next twenty-four hours. Deal?”
She’s a little reluctant but finally agrees. “Deal.” Then she leans forward. “So, who do you think he was?”
“Honestly, I have no idea, but based on what I saw, I’d say he’s not specifically trained in knife fighting, more of a street fighter.”
“The grip he used?”
Nicely done.
I nod. “Yes, too easy for me to deflect. It wasn’t one a pro would choose. So I’m guessing his background isn’t in law enforcement or military. He learned to fight the hard way.”
“By actually fighting.”
Or killing.
“Probably. Yes.” I stand. Pace. Take the 1895 Morgan Dollar from my pocket and flip it quickly through my fingers. Habit. Helps me think. “We really need to find a way to reach Fionna or Xavier. I want to know what files that guy might’ve wanted from that computer.”
“Go outside. See if you can get a signal.”
“It’s no use. I tried earlier.”
“Try down by the road, where we parked the car. It’s more in the clear down there.” I don’t want to leave her alone, and I think she can sense my hesitation because she adds, “Go on. I’ll be okay. Just lock the door behind you.”
I glance at her forearm one last time, and when she folds her arms, apparently to show me that she’s fine, I finally agree. “Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes. The light switch for the exterior porch lights is just inside the front doorway. I’ll keep an eye on the cabin. If anything comes up, anything at all, flick the porch light on and off a couple times. I’ll be watching; I’ll get back here right away.”
Taking both my phone and hers so I can try each of them, I leave the cabin, lock the door behind me, and head to the parking lot.
Glenn limped up to his car.
He was not happy.
If what the guy in the chamber had said was true — that RixoTray had sent him and the woman — then there was an awful lot his contact was not telling him, and Glenn did not take well to having his employers keep things from him.
He opened the car door and tried to slide in without wrenching his leg but found it impossible. A flare of pain shot through him.
He cursed. Thought of what happened in that chamber.
In prison he’d learned to trust his instincts, and as it turned out, tonight they were right, because just before the fight he’d had a feeling, nothing more, that someone was watching him. That was what had caused him to turn from the computer and open the door to the chamber.
But then the guy inside had flashed his light in his eyes and Glenn was forced to defend himself.
Why would RixoTray have sent those two?