Ashes (12 page)

17

 

SAUL HOVEN STORMED DOWN hallway fourteen.
A look of murder was in his eyes. He was out for blood. Two doctors and a secretary silently followed him on his right and his left as he issued a dozen and a half curses. He might have even invented a few new ones.

Hallway fourteen resembled an outdated penitentiary wing. It hosted receptionists and armed security personnel at both ends, making it impossible for anyone to get in or out without the proper clearance. Once allowed in, however, there was a lot of screaming. Sometimes crying.

The rooms built into the hallways had doors with no handles, all of them removed when the facility underwent serious reconstruction years earlier. Going from a hospital to an asylum altered certain luxuries, deliberately. Hoven always made sure to refer to this place as a clinic for physical or mental rehabilitation, basically an asylum with a fancy tag. Didn't matter which euphemism suited him best, though, because in the end, crazies were crazies, the sick were the sick. This place, with all its world-class screw ups—the paranoids and schizophrenics and the ones who saw creepy-crawlers at night—was home. Eat, sleep, crap, and eat it all up again in here. A dorm building wrapped inside a frat house within a university of chaos.
 

“Oh, look, the Almighty is here for a visit,” a receptionist murmured as he passed. He didn't pay her any mind. She'd be replaced by the end of the day tomorrow.
 

Being the director of a goliath of a facility had its advantages. If working for the government some thirty-two years had taught him anything, it was how to be a leader during times of war. And this place was a warzone all its own. Getting things done, no questions asked, came at a price. So if being mocked
was
the currency, he'd pay it gladly. With one word, he could financially cripple any pathetic pencil pusher. With a single phone call, he could secure a meeting with the prime minister of Spain and then secretly go to bed with his daughter, and there was little anyone could do about it. It was a kind of power ordinary people didn't or couldn't fathom—a fantasy for most men.
A gift for his cooperation and assistance as leader of this facility.

This thirst was an all-consuming ambition for more control. He lusted after it, lived it, breathed it,
worshiped
it. In his mind, real power avoided the weak and favored the strong. It was a masterpiece idea. A five-letter word trapped inside greed, both fueling a wish for more, with the knowledge that more would never be enough. It had never been about numbers, dollar signs, or flashy romance. It was about being a god.

The reward for leading this location to grander heights—leading mankind—would undoubtedly come soon.
But not yet.
For now, he was quite content with being the eyes, ears, hands, and feet of Salvation. But it was really draining when the world came crashing down on top of his shoulders.

“Will somebody please tell me what happened in that room?”

His secretary shuffled some papers, her eyes shock-lit. “Sir, we're not entirely sure, but it looks like—”

“I keep you around to take notes, Nina, not to offer your opinions,” he bit back, motioning to one of the professionals beside him.

“He finally did what we've been hoping he'd do for months, sir. He got hot.”

“Did you expect that to sound like an attractive punch line? Elaborate!
Details, facts.
Let's go.”

“Well, Stephen Gable turned a bottle of water into charred plastic, without ever touching it. Carraway said that the boy simply looked at it, and it exploded.”

Saul Hoven stopped midstride and leaned in. “Are you retarded?”

The doctor twitched his nose then bit his lip, clueless.
 

“Next time you want to blurt out the subject's name, don't! I work hard to keep our work
our
work. I don't need any of these loonies jumping to hasty conclusions. And beyond that, I don't need to give some self-righteous quack with a grudge any reason to put his nose where it doesn't belong. Am I absolutely clear?”

Nod.

 
“When it comes to
them
, no names.”

The doctor mindlessly followed Hoven down the long stretch. When they stopped at a set of enormous white doors, Hoven leaned down and lifted up the top of his right eyelid. A light beamed out from the
side wall
and scanned his retina.

 
“Access granted. You are free to enter,” the overhead speaker chimed.
 

Through the doors and across the next room, they waited for the elevator. Once it arrived, a loud
ding
welcomed them in. Hoven pulled out a key and inserted it into a small chamber at the side of the elevator. The chamber popped open and displayed another button. On it was engraved
THE SANCTUARY
. He pushed it in with his thumb, and the elevator began its descent.

“I knew it. I never should have agreed to those sessions! Everybody's so concerned about the property. To hell with this nonsense of making them feel like they're normal teenagers. The psych evaluations haven't amounted to jack squat, anyway.” He counted his breaths. “I'm losing my cool. And that twit Carraway is making quite the mess of things.”

“Sir, isn't this what we wanted?” his secretary asked.

Hoven turned harshly to her, and she backed down.

“With all due respect, she makes a valid point. We've been trying to get 219 to engage his
ability
since we brought him here. We expected
there
to be consequences, and so far, they're minimal. Shouldn't we be more optimistic about this?”

Hoven started to nod; his eyes were burning embers. “Are you all really that thick? Everyone's got a point. But the fact of the matter is that our goal was simply to get 219 lit. We've accomplished that, but the subject was never supposed to fall into a coma!”

A hush fell over them.

Hoven was already calculating the potential damage, loss, all while formulating another move. On the surface, these frenzied emotions poured out like rage, but underneath he was really disappointed he had missed seeing the arson come out to play.

The elevator doors chimed open. Out they stepped. The basement level was far colder than the usual temperatures above most of the time. Being several stories below the ground didn't help. A damp smell thickened the air.

“Nina, find me Dr. Carraway, and find him fast!”

Nina quickly separated from the three of them to search. Hoven led the other two doctors farther down the hall. The concrete floor made the Sanctuary feel like a Costco, but
the walls were covered by thick sheets of steel, bolted down
. In each corner, a nano-camera sat tucked into the wall, with larger ones at the centers. They slowly rotated, scanning the room with red eyes.

Hoven took a sharp right turn, passing one of the neuro-specialists and some orderlies on their way back to one of the top levels. He didn't bother ever getting acquainted with most of them. Didn't need to. He knew Carraway, Krane, and a few others. Everybody else was furniture. The amount of money coming in from the unnamed investors was enough to keep the majority quiet. The threats on their families if they ever decided to play Judas controlled the rest.

They walked by a door that had the numbers 218 painted across it in thick-as-blood black paint.

“Sir, why are we keeping the girl?”

“Because she was there when our fiery friend decided to blow up. We have reasons to believe that she too possesses an ability.”

“What?”

“We're calling it regenerative transference. Our best guess for now is that
she
brought him back to life, after the fire took over.”

“What logical reason do we have to think this?” one of the doctors asked.

“None of this makes traditional, logical sense. But she was there. She saw him lose control. She touched him when he was dead…and then he wasn't anymore.
If nothing else, we'll continue scanning her memories and slicing through that small frame of hers.
Maybe she'll give us what we need.”

“And if we don't…I mean, have we discovered anything yet, sir?”

Hoven's lips stretched back. “Subject 218 is playing her part. As of now, her mind isn't as cluttered with the code as we'd hoped. But perhaps there's a flaw to Morpheus after all.”

Out from one of the doors at the far end of the space, Carraway came rushing, Nina trailing close behind.

Hoven clapped. “The fool of the hour.”

“Sir, what took place in that room was…unexpected.
”
Carraway made sure his shirt was completely buttoned and his tie hung tight around his throat.
 

“Oh, really? At what point did you surrender control, you idiot? You know what, don't even answer that question. Just tell me what you said to put the subject into a coma? Hmm? What did innocent little Nick Carraway say? I want to know. It better be good.
Because something triggered this episode.
And now we have a potential weapon who's fallen into a coma.”

Carraway's gaze betrayed him. His mouth hung in awe as he weighed his words carefully. “I think I slipped, sir.”

“Oh, well, alert the press, genius here thinks he
slipped
. If this were as cut and dry as you breaking your backside on a patch of ice, perhaps your terminology would hold some water, but since we're dealing with an unstable subject inside a facility that costs billions of dollars to run, I don't want to hear that you slipped. I want to know exactly what happened!”

Carraway sucked in a deep breath and then blew it out slowly. “I mentioned the girl's name. The kid saw right through it.”

“You pathetic, stupid little…. If he wakes up, and you pray he does, he'll be dying to ask a lot of really ugly questions.”

“What if we erase some of his memories,” the other doctor suggested.

“That wouldn't be a good idea. His mind is fragile, sir,” Carraway said strongly.

“Yes, it is. And now it's worse because of your little screw up.”

“Saul, I can fix this. It was a mistake, but I can get him under control again.”

“Forgive me if I don't give you my vote of confidence. And it's
sir
in here, boy!”

They followed Saul Hoven deeper into the Sanctuary, where they performed the experiments. Spikes of green light shot out from the floors like almost-invisible lasers. Rusted staircases climbed up toward the ceiling, and their platforms hosted massive monitors, some of which were still short-circuited or working with waves of static streaming across from the arson's violent episode several days earlier.

As vast as the room appeared to be, it still managed to become cluttered with asylum personnel.
Suits and hot breath.
They hustled around a table, upon which lay a young girl with a ruined face. Wires trailed from one place to another, with seemingly no beginning and no end, entangled. A panicked Dr. Krane hustled from his seat on the platform to the operating table, where Morpheus was lowering above the girl's forehead.

Saul Hoven approached the cold table, the others keeping their distance. “Hello, my dear,” he said in a voice so thick it bled out. “Are you frightened?”

The girl's head spun, eyes rolling behind droopy lids. Her mouth hung limply, her ruined cheeks following suit. She managed to nod while a slow tear spilled down the side of her face.

“Sir, it might be best to take a step back as Morpheus c-com-commences!” Krane shouted from one of the platforms.

“You're going to give us what we need, princess,” he whispered, stroking her arm and then her bruised, naked chest.
 

“Why…why are you—
”

“Doing this?
Because I have a vision.
Now, relax.”

Many watched as the Morpheus dome positioned itself above the girl's face. It exploded with light. Her head slammed back against the table. The pain from the tiny needles stabbing into her temples overwhelmed her body.

“Krane, get over here. We have…a situation.”

“Wh-what-what else is new?”
 

“Now's not the time. 219
has
regained his ability.”

“Incredible! This is what we've been waiting for.” Krane set the few working monitors to full stream and paraded down the stairwell to meet with Hoven. “But you're not happy with this, are you?”

“What gave that away?” Hoven asked, frustrated. “He's slipped into a coma.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we've been trying to get him to bur-b-burn since his arrival.”

“Your doubts were beginning to take root, weren't they?”

Krane nodded.

 
“Well, your doubts are currently irrelevant. What are we going to do about this?”

“If you're asking for my professional opinion, nothing. We'll continue the treatments.”