No Light (21 page)

             
Farran stepped into a long hallway. Colorful paintings covered every inch of wall space. He scanned them quickly. Sweeping landscapes, adventuresome seascapes. He scowled. The city was not anywhere near the sea and the closest mountains were days away.

             
"When we leave the city, burn this building to the ground."

             
Tradis chuckled. "It would bring me great pleasure, General." He gestured to the right. "The meeting room is this way."

             
Farran followed him down the gaudy hallway. He ignored the paintings. Tradis paused outside an equally garish door. The guards on either side nodded to him. He found himself suddenly thinking of Sarah. He could not imagine her in such a contrived place. The door opened onto a wide balcony. He followed Tradis down the stairs to the railing.

             
"The people of Ameritat," Tradis announced blandly.

             
Farran glanced at the humans filling the meeting room. They milled around like cattle. He sneered.

             
"Acceptable." He turned away from the pathetic sight. "Is there anything else requiring my attention?"

             
Tradis turned away from the humans, a look of distaste on his face. "We have located Keane's office."

             
Farran raised his eyebrows. "Show me."

             
Tradis started up the stairs. "You are aware of his plans for the election." He returned the nod of the guards.

             
"I am." The guards gave him a short bow. He nodded.

             
"We have discovered his campaign notes. He appears to have a wife serving as city clerk. The city sheriff is his running mate." He paused outside a door and glanced over his shoulder.

             
Farran frowned. "A Robinson, I assume."

             
Tradis nodded to him. "Yes." He pushed open the door and flicked on the light.

             
Farran looked around. The large office was remarkably neat. Everything precise. The name plate sat in the exact center of the desk. He moved further into the room. It looked like a space a Keane would possess. The latest in a long line of wretches. One of the original families that learned the best way to rise in power was to deprive the rest. He sneered. Clearly, the gold they received as payment was not being equally divided among the families.

             
"We found the notes in the bottom drawer. It is his wife's desk."

             
He nodded at Tradis' words. His eyes scanned the filing cabinets along the right wall. He tipped his head to the side. "What of the files?"

             
Tradis jerked out the bottom drawer of the desk. He glanced at the cabinets. "Most seem to be notes on counsel meetings." He pulled a thick envelope from the drawer and dropped it on the desktop.

             
Farran skimmed the labels. He started to turn when something jumped out at him. He knelt to reread the label. Robinson: Function of Marks. He jerked the drawer open.

             
"Keane's campaign revolves around a system of harsh reforms in The Corridor," Tradis remarked.

             
Farran glanced over his shoulder to see his second scanning the documents in the file. He grunted an acknowledgement and thumbed through the files. February 23rd, 2024. He paused.

             
"His plan includes production work and greater amounts of solitary. Up to 90% for what he calls 'severe cases'. He intended to use us for free labor. This report contains a list of fifty companies…" Tradis' voice trailed off.

             
Farran looked up to find his second watching him. He turned back to the file and flipped it open. His gaze swept the first page. Nothing of importance. He frowned and flipped to the next page. His eyes narrowed, as he read.

             
"...an exchange of power between a Dem and human..."

             
"...could be a possibility. With the marks, a human could become immortal as..."

             
"...find a way to convince a Dem to mark a human. Though, there seems to be an inherent weakness in the practice. If a human can gain power from the marks, why could a Dem not grow weaker..."

             
"...a way to destroy the Dems. The concept was presented to Handler Keane, who believes the idea to be sound. He mentioned a handler..."

             
"...strange behavior. The Dem appeared pale just one day after being separated from the handler..."

             
"...monitoring to see if the handler has been marked. Handler Williams noticed dark bruising on the wrists, but the next day they had faded..."

             
"…has been researching the Dems. Sheriff Robinson found the city archives disturbed and documentation displaced. An obscure book written by Arthur Mackenzie…

             
"…to be aware of recent activities. Steps will need to be taken to prove or disprove the theory…"

             
He slammed the file closed. They knew Sarah had been marked. He snarled to himself. Keane, Williams, Robinson, the City Counsel. All of them knew. His eyes landed on the file.

             
"Burn all of the files in this office."

             
"Sir?"

             
He turned to growl at his second. "I said, burn them!"

             
Tradis nodded. "Yes, sir."

             
He paced to the door and back. He felt Tradis watching him warily. He glanced at him. "They know about Sarah."

             
He ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach. His mind rolled over the information about Arthur Mackenzie's book. The fool wrote a book. He shook his head at the stupidity. He raised his eyes to the twilight beyond the window. The book did explain Sarah's sudden knowledge of etiquette. His lips quirked.

             
Tradis raised an eyebrow. "We will exterminate them. Crisis averted."

             
He almost smiled. "I would be pleased with that outcome. Are there any other important documents?"

             
Tradis turned back to the desk. "Several death certificates in the third drawer, inconsequential city council meeting notes in the second." He jerked the drawer out and dumped it on the desktop. He flicked through the papers. "Receipts."

             
Farran watched him dump the third drawer. "And the death certificates?"

             
Tradis dug the papers from the bottom of the stack. "Jeanne Carroll, Kenneth Montgomery, John Mackenzie, and..." he trailed off. Tradis' eyes met his. "Sarah Mackenzie."

             
Fury rose in his mind like a storm cloud. He stared at his second through a red haze. "What is listed as cause of death?"

             
Tradis dropped his gaze. Farran watched his eyes scan the form. He looked up. "Industrial accident. There is a note from the sheriff." At Farran's nod, he dug through the papers on the desk until he found the accompanying form. He scanned it.

             
"Read it," Farran snarled. He spun and continued pacing.

             
"Sarah Mackenzie. Middle initial 'J'. Handler Mackenzie, age 19, found in Corridor One of The Corridor. Bruising of the wrists, face, and throat consistent with Dem brutality seen in the past. Handler Mackenzie, often ignored protocol in dealing with the Dems." Tradis looked up at him.

             
"Continue," he snapped. His fist clenched and unclenched. He tried to ignore how much the thought of Sarah dead bothered him. He stopped beside the door to the hallway.

             
"Handler Williams reported seeing bruises on Mackenzie on several other occasions-"

             
"Several!" Farran slammed his fist into the wall beside the door. "When I find that human, I will do far more than break his leg."

             
Tradis nodded. He continued to read. "Other sources report a domestic violence issue in the Mackenzie home. Sarah Mackenzie has been seen by the hospital emergency room on several separate occasions."

             
The cruel words he had spoken to her, came to his mind unbidden. He shook his head.

             
"Mackenzie's is the last in a long line of accidental deaths. Her death strips the Mackenzie family of their duties in The Corridor. It is assumed they will be asked to leave the city, and the Dem responsible for the heinous crime will go into solitary for the foreseeable future." Tradis looked up. "That is all."

             
"I will not stop until every one of them is dead."

...

              It was strange to see the streets so empty. The city was almost eerie in the falling darkness. She pulled her hood up around her face with one hand. She clung to her waistband with the other. The sweatpants she borrowed from the hotels lost and found dragged the ground. The fabric itched against her legs, but she tried to ignore it.

             
She pulled her eyes away from the dark houses to stare at the back of the Dem in front of her. He had not spoken. Farran gave him a dark look before they left. The Dem looked terrified. She frowned. Farran's behavior had changed drastically since the last time she saw him. She wondered at the meaning of the marks.

             
He said her health affected him. She chewed on her bottom lip in thought. That explained his order to the Dem to take her to get her clothes. She shook her head to herself.

             
"Excuse me," she called, before she could change her mind.

             
The Dem froze. He slowly looked over his shoulder at her. "You require something?"

             
She started to shake her head and stopped herself. She nodded. "I have a question."

             
"What is it?"

             
She steeled herself. "What is the place of a marked person in the hierarchy."

             
His eyes widened. He looked away. "I am unsure if it is my place to inform you."

             
She tipped her head to the side. "But, I am the general's marked, right?"

             
He nodded. His eyes scanned their surroundings. He shifted in obvious discomfort.

             
"So, I should know," she finished.

             
"The place of the marked is completely dependant on the rank of the Dem," he said briskly. He glanced at her and then quickly away. "We should continue. Is the dwelling near?"

             
Sarah nodded and pointed to Luke's house. "That one right there."

             
He stalked away.

             
She watched him go, her mind whirling over the information. He paused at the front door and turned to stare at her. She jogged across the lawn.

             
"This is your home?"

             
She shook her head. "But, my things are here." She turned the doorknob and shoved.

             
The door swung open without a sound. She scanned the foyer, half expecting Luke to appear from the kitchen. The house was silent. She stepped inside. The Dem followed her.

             
She looked over her shoulder at him. "I'll be right back."

             
He gave her a sharp nod and crossed his arms.

             
She hurried to the guest suite. Her bag was where she left it. She glanced around the room. Her eyes landed on the closet. She bit her lip. Her bag felt light in her hands. She quickly snatched a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt and stuffed them in her bag with the new under things.

             
"Hey!"

             
Her head jerked up at the sound of Luke's voice. He yelled something else, but the words were distorted. She yanked her bag closed and rushed down the hall to the foyer. She froze. Luke pressed himself against the wall beside the door. His wide eyes stared at the Dem in confused anger.

             
"What the hell are you doing in my house?" he shouted angrily.

             
"Luke!"

             
His eyes swung to her and the gun in his hands dipped. "Sarah? What are you doing? You have to get out of here!"

             
She looked back and forth between Luke and the irritated Dem. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words would come out.