Enigma Black (26 page)

Blake gave me a nod of approval as he stood up from his resting spot atop his kill. He motioned for me to join him as he ran behind the shell of a dilapidated building. Behind the building, he regained his stance of readiness, which meant only one thing. Seconds later, three more spawns appeared.

“I’ve got the two on the right,” Blake announced.

Again, I took off after him, repeating the scenario that’d unfolded with my last successful kill. For the next hour it played out like this. Blake and I worked as a team to take down our unwitting challengers. He stepped in when I needed him to and there were a few times where I landed the blows that allowed Blake enough room to make the kill shot to his opponents. I was thrown, kicked, punched and shoved into the rubble, but never for an instant did I feel like I was getting tired, nor did I feel as though I was in too much pain to continue.

With every opponent we felled, more appeared to take their place. Until, at one point, we had ten of them to contend with. After the final one fell, I turned to Blake and held out my hand for a congratulatory high five. He looked at me and shook his head.

“That was just a warm up,” he laughed.

“A warm up?”

 I’d remembered my conversation with Cameron earlier that morning when I heard a disgusted grunt from Blake. There was no need for me to look up for I knew what was now in front of us. Swift booms and clangs approached us as The Man in Black sprinted through the rubble from across the simulated city. Instantly, I felt myself being transported back to The Lakes, my nightmares overcoming me. The Man in Black drew closer, but I was frozen back in time.

“Celaine!” Blake called frantically.

My body was in such an overwhelming state of shock that I couldn’t budge. Two things happened next: first, I stood mask to mask with The Man in Black; then, I was sent flying through the air into the rubble as an alarm rang throughout the simulator.

“Congratulations, Celaine,” Cameron’s voice came over the loudspeaker, “you’re dead.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Ruminations of LucyPierce

“All tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent.”

-
Thomas Jefferson

Blake helped me up from my point of impact on the padded floor. We were within the sanctity of the dull, boring simulation room again.

“What happened back there?” he asked.

“I don’t know other than I choked.”

Victor’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “Okay, you two, break time. Get ready for breakfast. Celaine, you will have another chance to redeem yourself later today.”

I looked at Blake, dejected. “Is that his way of saying I sucked?”

“Pretty much.”

We walked out of the simulator, Blake taking off his helmet and I following his lead.

“What the heck hap…,” Cameron began.

“Not now, Cameron,” I snapped.

He slunk back in his chair and whispered something I couldn’t make out to Drew, who’d joined him.

Victor stared at me, wearing a clear look of disappointment. I averted my eyes as I headed out the door into the hallway, knowing I hadn’t performed exactly up to par. After we‘d gotten a safe distance down the hall, Blake asked the obvious. “So, what did happen in there?”

“I don’t know.” I really didn’t care to talk about it, but I figured I owed my partner an explanation. “You never had a personal experience with The Man in Black, right?”

“If by personal experience, you mean have I ever physically come in contact with him outside of here then, yeah, you’re right.” There was a sense of offense in Blake’s tone.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to short change the fact that your best friend was killed. What I meant by that was, you’ve never personally been in the middle of the carnage and, with that in mind, I’m also assuming that you’ve never been plagued by the nightmares that wait in the shadows to haunt your dreams on any random night of their choosing. I’ve never seen The Man in Black personally like you have. I’ve only had witness descriptions and newspaper accounts to aid in my mental picture of him. Seeing him today live and in color, even though it was just a simulated version of him, brought back all of those nightmares. I was once again that broken teenage girl who was plucked from the ruins of The Lakes Mall. So, I’m sorry to have let you down, but unless you’ve ever been in my shoes, you wouldn’t fully understand.” I was shaking as we entered the hallway containing our rooms. I’d vented in a way I’d never been able to before, not even with Chase. Blake stopped me in my tracks and took me by the shoulders, forcing me to turn towards him, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

“You’re wrong,” he began. “True, your experience was far more traumatizing than mine was. But if you think for an instant that I haven’t stayed awake at night thinking about Hank even before it was physically impossible for me to fall asleep, you’re wrong. If you think that I’ve never thought to myself over and over again repeatedly like a broken record what, if anything, I could have done differently in my life to have possibly saved him, then you’re also sorely mistaken. You see, he wasn’t taking a joyride over that bridge because it was a nice day out and he needed some air. He was coming to help me, to give me strength to face my addiction. He was coming to my house to participate in an intervention put together by my family because I refused to do a damn thing to help myself and give up that damn bottle. He died because of
me
and
my
choices. Don’t think I’m not haunted by that. The only difference between you and me is the fact that, instead of letting my nightmares consume me completely, I look them in the eye and fight right back. I fight, not for me, but for Hank.” He was stern without raising his voice, but I noticed a slight tremble in his speech. “I want you…I want you now to go back…go back to that day when your family was taken from you. Go back five minutes before it happened and you’re now suddenly face-to-face with that bastard. Only now you
can
do something about it. You can save them. Channel that the next time you’re in the simulator and let’s see if you back down then.”

Blake placed his thumb to the plate next to his door, charging into his room. After a moment of hesitation, I attempted to follow him, but the door shut, beating me to the punch. Slumping down on the floor, I sat next to Blake’s doorway deep in thought. Selfish, I was being incredibly selfish. To think that I’d experienced more pain in life than any other person, especially here, was naïve. Blake’s pain was obviously not something he let show very often. Only after an ignorant comment on my part was it brought to the surface. I knew I’d revealed a part of me that should have remained veiled. Wanting to make amends with Blake, I stood up, pressing my thumb to the plate. The door swung open. Even though he was anticipating my retort, my appearance still clearly rattled him. He was sitting on the corner of his bed with his head in his hands. He’d taken the top half of his suit off, revealing a sight I would never have expected to see. The ripped, muscular frame I’d been training with was adorned with more scars than I’d ever seen on a living human body before. There were the obvious surgical scars around his navel and his breast bone, encircling his heart. But, besides the surgical scars, there were also scars that appeared to be inflicted by anything from a gunshot, burn, blunt object or something serrated; a knife or a piece of glass, perhaps. From his left shoulder, cutting through his nipple and journeying on down to his mid-abdomen, was a long, bright pink, newly healed scar. I knew I should turn away, but I couldn’t. It was like a car accident, a morbid curiosity.

“You know,” Blake said, “the funny thing about the technology here is that, more often than not, it fails in comparison to a nice deadbolt.”

“Look, Blake, I’m sorry. I can go.”

“Why? You’re already here. Might as well stay and get comfortable.” Blake stood up and tugged the rest of his suit down. Flushed, I turned my head towards the door.

“Geez...Blake,” a surprised squeal escaped my mouth. “Just because we’re partners doesn’t mean I need to know
everything
about you.” I heard the doors of the dresser open, some fumbling around, and then the sound of it shutting again.

“It’s nothing you haven’t already seen before on some other guy.”

I looked back in his direction, making sure to keep my eyes above the equator in case the pants that I assumed he retrieved from his dresser weren’t already on. Thankfully, they were, and I caught him just as he was pulling a t-shirt over his head, covering up the wounds on his abdomen. Against my better judgment, I asked him what I believed to be the obvious. “What happened to you, Blake?”

He looked at me puzzled, prompting me to make a gesture with my eyes towards his chest. “Oh, you mean the work of modern warfare that’s overspreading my body like some form of masochistic graffiti?”

“If that’s how you want to put it.”

“Let’s just say that I’ll try my damnedest to not let it happen to you.”

“None of those scars were there before you came here?”

“I hadn’t had so much as my tonsils taken out before I arrived here. Since, I’ve had two kidney transplants, a new liver, my gall bladder removed, my spleen repaired, a portion of my intestines re-sectioned and removed as well as my heart operated on more times than I care to think of. Like I told you before, we’re varietal human science experiments in this place. It’s like a mad scientist’s lab here.”

At that moment, a realization hit me like a rogue lightning bolt. “Oh, my God.”

Blake looked up at me. “What?”

“Is that what Cameron meant when he called you Frank?” Blake glanced back down again, verifying my observation. “It is…isn’t it? Frank means Frankenstein, doesn’t it? Wow, that little weasel.”

“Don’t be too harsh on Cameron. His social skills were developed during conversations with imaginary friends.”

“I know, but still, that’s harsh.”

“That’s life. They had to do whatever it took to keep me alive, spare parts and all.” He looked back up at me with eyes more intent than before. “But I promise you, Celaine, as long as I have life left in me, I will not let this happen to you.” He made a gesture to his abdomen, putting his hands back on his lap.

“I don’t understand. What about our suits? Are they not supposed to prevent that kind of damage from happening to us?”

“Like all forms of technology, they aren’t perfect. Obviously, if they hadn’t worked at all, I would be dead instead of a walking horror movie. After a while, though, the suits start to wear down. Weaknesses develop in their structure. They become vulnerable. Plus, don’t forget, I was the lab rat they used to test every theory they ever had.”

“Blake, your life, your body. Have you ever wondered why you sacrifice so much for an uncertain future? Don’t you have your regrets every time you look in the mirror and see what they’ve done to you?”

“No. My actions inadvertently took a life and, though it wasn’t grounds for a murder trial, it is grounds for me to sacrifice my life to make up for the one that was lost because of me. I have no regrets. Do you?”

“No. At least, not yet, anyway.”

“You should probably go and change.”

“Actually, this suit has kind of grown on me.”

He smirked. “Well, then, we’d better get down to the dining hall. Our warden is waiting for us.”

****

Lucy Pierce was on a mission, one which she wasn’t going to stop until she’d obtained the answers she was looking for. No matter how many eyebrows she raised or whispers she provoked in her wake, she was determined to find out what had happened to the woman whose name meant nothing to anyone else but her: Celaine Stevens. Predictable, reliable, Celaine Stevens. The Celaine Stevens who’d lived in a bubble of conventionalism and, aside from a propensity for crude humor that tended to go over Lucy’s head, never did anything unconventional.

Utilizing all of the resources available to her through favors owed by indigent clients, Lucy had done the research she hoped would turn up answers and result in the closure she needed. Closure, not only for her, but for Chase as well. She’d called in a few favors to Mr. Jackson, a dowdy old man and former patient of hers who happened to work for the Social Security Administration. Earlier in the year, she’d assisted him by offering free sessions when his wife, a lifelong manic depressive, committed suicide. Now, in her time of need, she felt it was time to cash in even though she felt guilty as, if caught, he would undoubtedly be terminated. However, this prospect didn’t even seem to faze Mr. Jackson as, when she contacted him, he immediately agreed to do whatever was in his power to help her. 

She provided him with what information she knew about Celaine, asking that he track her activity by using the Social Security number she’d obtained from Celaine’s worried Aunt Tasha. Even though she hadn’t known what to expect from Mr. Jackson‘s findings, the information she received from him was unexpected, raising her suspicions to the hilt. No record existed of there ever having been a Celaine Stevens matching the information of her missing friend. Dejected, but undeterred, Lucy thanked Mr. Jackson for his efforts and resumed the search on her own.

As disappointing as it was, the news didn’t surprise her. She suspected there was something fishy about the way the government had been operating since President Brooks took office and, although she was back at square one, she felt as though she’d made some headway. There was little doubt in her mind now that Celaine’s new job involved the government. After all, who else could erase all trace of a person’s existence?

On a rainy afternoon, Lucy pounded the pavement in Washington, D.C., flyers in hand, searching for the friend who’d been gone for nearly a month now. Hundreds of people saw the brightly colored flyers depicting Celaine’s image. Most of them glanced at it for no longer than a millisecond, shook their heads, and promptly refused her pleas to take the flyers and distribute them amongst their friends.

Despite her umbrella conspiring against her, bending out of shape in the strengthening winds, a soaking wet Lucy continued her mission, seeking refuge underneath the awning of an office building. While waiting under the awning, she stopped every employee who came in and out of the building, inquiring as to whether their employer was government operated and if they’d ever had anyone disappear on them like her friend had. This inquiry was met with several frightened expressions and eventually got her kicked out from the shelter of the awning back into the pouring rain by a security guard who’d muttered, “That kind of questioning is bound to get you killed.” Blowing him off, she continued undaunted down the street.