Accused (Ganzfield) (5 page)

No.

I had to protect them. I had to protect Trevor. And that meant… doing nothing.

If Zack were here instead of me, he could’ve just charmed Hunter to let him go. Or Cecelia. Yeah, Cecelia should be here instead of me.

No, that wasn’t fair. Oh, but if we had a full team in here, Trevor would disable the cameras before the charm told them to destroy Isaiah’s files and forget everything they knew about us. Drew could keep everyone from shooting us, and Hannah could heal anyone who got injured.

But none of them were here—I was here alone. The things I
could
do wouldn’t get me out of here… or keep the danger away from the people at Ganzfield. I felt a grim sense of satisfaction, though, because no matter what he did, I was pretty sure Hunter couldn’t make me talk.

“We’re going to clear out that place in New Hampshire, you know. Soon, you’ll have company here. Maybe you’ll be more cooperative once we have Trevor Laurence in custody again.”

Threatening Trevor was a really good way for people to get their brains fried. I started to shake as the killing energy built behind my eyes
.

Don’t. Kill. Hunter. It won’t help to kill him.

Hunter thought my trembling was from fear.

I
was
afraid of this man. I’d disappeared down a dark hole in the ugly underside of U.S. military intelligence. I’d heard about the atrocities committed in places like Abu Ghraib. Yeah, I was afraid of what he could do to me, and that fear sunk cringing claws into my thoughts. But I was more afraid of what he was might do to all of us. That really pissed me off.

And people died when I got pissed off.

“Just tell me what I want to know.” Hunter’s falsely soothing voice licked at my thoughts. “There’s no need to put the rest of your kind at risk.”

My kind.

He didn’t say “my people” because we weren’t people to him. I feathered a thought into his mind.
What’s the plan?

His thoughts turned strategic. Helicopters. Armored vehicles. Lots of guns.
I just wish the people going in didn’t have to be federal officers. I’d have more control if we could use military personnel.
Apparently, the military couldn’t be used that way on U.S. soil and Colonel Hunter had to follow the rules—at least when there were witnesses.

Maybe he’d consider ceding New Hampshire to Canada for the day, just so he could send in the troops.

I forced down the panic that twisted up within my chest. Someone was blocking his plans or he’d have sent the attackers in already.
Who’s causing the problem?

The name “Dale” surfaced just as Hunter reacted. His fist slammed into the side of my head, knocking me against the wall. My shoulder took most of the impact before my head hit. I cried out as pain and nausea swamped me, and my vision swam with purple blotches. Hunter was out of the room before I could react, his rattled thoughts retreating down the hall and up the stairs.
Did I give too much away? Freaky little telepath. I’ve got to break her before we commence the operation in New Hampshire. Could her knowledge somehow compromise the mission?
A cold, yellow fist gripped my chest—Hunter made sure people who might “compromise the mission”
never got a chance to succeed.

His thoughts faded and I was a mental island again.

An island of pain.

I lowered myself onto the thin square of a pillow. My head throbbed like it’d been, well… slammed into a cinderblock wall. I winced as I touched the swelling bruise. When I opened my jaw, it felt like a pair of scissors had been shoved into my head. I turned toward the wall so I wouldn’t cry in front of the cameras.

The first blast of music made me jump.
Too loud!
I hadn’t noticed the speakers embedded in the ceiling.

“All By Myself.”

Great. Hunter had a sick sense of humor. As if he hadn’t given me enough of a headache already. The first few times the song played, it was merely annoying. After five hours, it was exhausting. I got a break at that point; two female guards escorted me to the other end of the hall. They both wore army uniforms, but I didn’t know what the insignia meant—if they were officers or enlisted or whatever. One opened the door with her thumbscan; the other secured it once we were inside. I had to shower in front of them, awkwardly shampooing my hair while wearing plastic handcuffs.

I bet there are places in New York City where people pay money to watch stuff like this.

At least I was getting clean. My shoulder had bruised to an ugly purple and washing my hair made my head injuries hurt like someone was clanging a clapper against them. One of the guards noticed the marks then looked away. After I toweled off, she gave me a peach-colored hospital gown. Insult on top of injury—could being forced to wear peach be considered a violation of the Geneva Convention?

The music was off when they returned me to my cell, although the lights remained on. I wrapped a blanket tightly around myself and curled up to sleep on the metal shelf.

CHAPTER 4

The music started again, way too soon. I’d gotten maybe four hours of silence.

Gah—I really,
really
hated this song.

My head throbbed and one of my eyelids had swollen overnight, blurring my vision. Claustrophobia gnawed at my gut and a sudden, painful ache for Trevor took my breath away. I stared up at the ceiling and stretched out with my thoughts, trying to find anyone within range. I pictured a post-apocalyptic scenario where my underground prison had shielded me from the alien weapon that’d destroyed everyone else. Would I slowly starve to death? That would suck. Or—a chill ran down my back—what if someone like Belinda simply charmed my captors into forgetting I was down here?

That could happen.

Actually, how did I know that my being here wasn’t
Belinda’s doing? Charm orders would explain why I wasn’t getting regular treatment. No lawyer; undisclosed location; hell, I hadn’t even been offered a phone call. I swallowed hard and pulled my knees up as cold tendrils of fear snaked through my gut. If I ever got proof Belinda was involved, I was
so
going to blast Hunter and make a break for it.

The endless loop of “All By Myself” was my sole, ironic companion for most of the day. Fear trickled away into annoyance as I gritted my teeth as the pause at the end of the song was broken, over and over. Still, it wasn’t as bad as vicarious heroin detox and multiple stab wounds.

It said something unfortunate about my life that these were my current options.

Hunter returned to ask variations of the same old questions. His frustration crackled around him—he still hadn’t figured out that I really couldn’t speak.
This stupid little bitch can’t hold out forever. If only we could’ve kept her at that hospital until we’d really broken her. Maybe I could bring some injured soldiers into the other rooms here. But they’d need medical attention and we don’t want any more potential leaks in this operation. Dammit! Dale should’ve let me move against the ones up at Ganzfield by now. He still doesn’t see the threat their kind poses to us—to America!
In his heart, Colonel Hunter believed that containing the threat we represented was the best thing for both God and country… and that people like Dale weakened America and humanity by holding him back.

Whoever this Dale person was, I was starting to like him.

Hunter left after an hour of threats and unanswered questions. The music started as soon as he’d left the building. What would his next tactic be? I drifted in a sleepless stupor, unable to fully rest because of that cursed, cursed song, as images of waterboarding danced through my head.

Hey, turn down the music!

Light seemed to fill my mind, like someone had hit the switch. I’d never been so happy to hear Seth’s thoughts.
SETH? Where are you? Is Trevor with you? Is he okay?
I couldn’t see anything through his eyes—he must have shut them to concentrate, since we were just barely in range of each other, even with his strong ability.

Trevor’s here. He’s fine, but he’s worried about you… and I had to listen to all his emo crap for the entire drive over from New Hampshire. Your mind feels like hell, by the way. We’re parked outside the perimeter fence, but we can’t stay long. The next sentry is going to spot us in about three minutes if we’re still here. We’re not going to be.

Seth, they’ve got cameras everywhere. I can’t blast anyone without leaving proof. The security locks use a code, a card-swipe, and a fingerprint scan, so I think I’m stuck.

Coleman’s filed a bunch of legal motions for you. This Paul Hunter has a lot of leeway. He’s told them you’re some kind of domestic terrorist and you’ve got access to weapons of mass destruction. And he’s really paranoid about keeping himself isolated on this base so we can’t get a charm anywhere near him. Coleman’s trying to force him to bring you in front of a judge, but Hunter’s stonewalling, so it may take a while.

Yeah. He’s trying to get me to talk.
Seth’s laughter as that registered made me grin,  but the stabbing pain by my ear wiped the expression from my face.

Wait, you need to know!
I sent him all the information I’d pulled from Hunter’s mind—his plans for attacking Ganzfield and how someone named “Dale” was slowing him down. Seth started to ping with protective anxiety as he processed it all, and the plan for a helicopter attack filled him with remembered dread.

Massacre.

“Time.”
I heard Drew’s voice through Seth’s mind.

We gotta go. Behave yourself, brat.

Thanks for coming, narc. Tell Trevor… tell Trevor, “I know him better than they do.”

Seth’s exasperation at being asked to carry a romantic message to another guy huffed through me.
We’ll try to get back, if we can.

I’ll be off of dodecamine in less than a week.

Then it’ll be a one-way conversation—but we’re not leaving you here all alone.
Seth’s last thought drained away as the vehicle moved out of range. I leaned back against the wall, pulling my legs up and hugging them against my chest. Hope sparkled within me and a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, in spite of the blaring music. Trevor was safe. I’d warned the Ganzfield people of Hunter’s plans. Coleman would get me in front of a judge and I knew he’d be able to charm that judge into letting me go. They were working on getting me out. Relief washed over me.

In spite of the music, I drifted to sleep. I wasn’t “All By Myself” after all.

After two more days of Hunter’s unique brand of music therapy, the rekindled hope from talking to Seth was gone. Day and night became meaningless terms—in my windowless, subterranean prison, my only time cues came from other people’s heads. The younger female guard brought me food twice a day, and Hunter came in to ask questions at some point in between the servings of goo. The music was turned off during his visits, but a whiny ringing took its place in the silence.

Sleeplessness AND tinnitus—what a joy to be me.

On Sunday, the music stayed on without interruption because it was Hunter’s “day of rest.” The same two female guards came to take me to the shower again. They were already in the hall by the time I noticed them—my mental range must be shortening. I’d been in custody for just over a week now and the realization that the dodecamine was leaving my system flared panic through my chest.

Blind and helpless. Wonderful.

My new hospital gown was puke green. Sadly, this was the most colorful object in my cell. Staring at the ceiling, I fell into a strange, zombie-like state. It wasn’t proper sleep, but I didn’t have the energy to think anymore. Every movement seemed to make me ache. My thoughts turned as colorless as the cinderblock walls and my mind felt as weak as a wet Kleenex.

The music cut out shortly after the delivery of my breakfast goo on what was probably Monday. Hunter smiled as he opened my cell door. He had a new plan in his mind and dismay splashed across my face before I could stop it. Hunter’s smile widened as he processed my reaction.

“Tell me what I want to know and I won’t have to do it.” His voice sounded overly calm and condescending. “You’re the one making me do it this way.”

I’d been a prisoner for nine days. I’d detoxed secondhand from heroin a dozen times over. But I suddenly knew that Hunter had found a way to break me. He’d guessed why I’d killed Del and his friends—guessed at what could really hurt me.
Oh, God.
My ability was fading. Could I hold out until the dodecamine left my system? Could I endure what he had planned? It had been nine days since I’d had a shot. That meant five days more, at the absolute most.

But oh, my God, I didn’t want what he was planning in my head. Even if no one physically touched me, I’d have the thoughts and memories. At that moment, if I were capable of saying something coherent, I would’ve talked. I would’ve told him something… anything. I’d have made stuff up, or tried to stall, or reasoned with him, or talked him out of it. I could already feel the grubby touch of his mind. I started to shake.

“Still not going to talk?” He was actually getting excited about putting his new plan into action.

Sick son-of-a—

Hunter left the room and the door clicked as the lock caught. I felt him open the door to the cell next to mine. A wave of nausea passed through me as Hunter unzipped his fly.

I’d seen dirty images in guys’ heads before. A few had even put them there intentionally to make me uncomfortable. But Hunter’s was so much worse. His intentions were crueler—he was trying to break my will, like beating a dog until it followed his commands out of cringing, obedient fear. I felt everything he imagined doing to me with vivid, raw intensity, since I had no other minds in range. Tears burned down my cheeks and I started whimpering. I curled tightly into a fetal position, wrapping my arms around my head, as though I could somehow block out his thoughts.