Of course I said yes.
Ter Borcht smiled triumphantly, and before I knew it I woke up in a homeless shelter. I didn't know where my flock was, and I was in such horrible pain that i couldn't get out of bed for almost three days.
During that time, I felt so pathetic. I considered myself a traitor, that I could've fought harder if I really cared. Worst of all, I thought the Flock was mad at me. I thought they hated me for going back on them. It made the whole situation easier when I started believing they'd kicked me out.
My life felt broken, confused. What was I supposed to do without my Flock?
And then Archer came.
"So, Maximum?" Merrill holds a silver lighter to the end of her cigarette. It's monogrammed in gold with her initials, M.M. "How is Archer doing? Is he still after the diamond business?"
I stay quiet.
"You don't have to answer that," Merrill says. "What you do have to answer is: where is he right now? Is he tucked safely away in some foreign country?" She leans down and breathes her smoke into my face. "Is he here in Africa? Is he in my hotel, even?"
Again, nothing. Merrill sighs, disappointed at my silence, but her glee is evident when she puts out her cigarette on my shoulder.
"Jesus Chr--!" I catch myself. Merrill can't know how much that hurt. It really didn't hurt that bad, I convince myself, trying to ignore it. In the corner of my eye, I see Fang startle a little bit. The burn begins to feel icy cold, and horribly painful.
"I want you to know, Max," Merrill says, turning towards the tray. "I enjoy your silence." She picks up a small container and proceeds to sprinkle a powdery substance on the burn. It feels like a thousand needles are embedding themselves in the wound.
"Salt," she explains.
Of course. Fang has a strange look on his face.
"At least tell me whether he's in Africa or not," Merrill says with apathy, but her facial expression tells different. "It's a big country. It would take us weeks to find him if he were."
"Then what's the point of me telling you?" I ask with clenched teeth.
"Because..." Merrill holds up a new instrument between each word. "It would be..." she raises a small set of shears. "Less painful..." Tweezers. "For you." As she is analyzing, I catch sight of a ring on her finger. Even in this dim lighting, it glints. Merrill notices it too, and an idea immediately reflects in her eyes.
"What I think is best about interrogation," she says, taking the ring off and showing it to me--it's embossed with an M--"is when your victim is reminded of the incident everyday, at any moment. Remembering, I don't know, the fear, the pain, the helplessness. Take my first experiment. I poked him so full of holes he could've been used as a human colander." She flicks up her lighter, the small flame igniting her features for a minute--frightening--and sticks her ring into the fire. "I suppose he only eats soup now. I mean, would you ever be able to look at a fork the same way again?"
After a few minutes of her ring in the fire, she says again, "Max? Where's Archer?"
"Go to hell," I say, knowing exactly what's coming.
Merrill smiles as she brings the white-hot ring closer to my face. "You'll look nice with a brand!" she says, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering what exactly I've done.
And that's when I hear Fang say, "Stop."
The ring never makes contact with my skin. Instead, I hear Merrill yell in indignation as she's thrown accross the room. The handcuffs are unlocked, and Fang lifts me from the chair. "Come on," he says urgently. "Max, open your eyes!"
"Get away from me," I hiss, forcing my lids open and boring a glare into his face. Fang grabs my shoulders and tries to lift me up. I shove him away, yelping when the effort requires the use of my burned shoulder.
"Max, we need to get out of here."
"Oh yeah? How do I know you don't have a gun hidden somewhere? Stay away from me," I warn as he takes a step closer. I get behind the chair, placing it between me and him.
"Max, I'm sorry." He refuses to break his gaze. "Someone had seen you take Nathaniel. I know because they radioed up to me. They said you had wings. If I let you escape, I would've been killed. Already I'm under major suspicion."
"You're lying," I spit. But, suddenly, a horrifying thought strikes me: if they were only asking after Archer, and already knew his plans, could my comrades be at risk?
"Max," Fang says. I look at him, and for a second, I can see past the suave gangster aesthetic. I see the fifteen-year-old mutant bird kid.
A plan hatches. "Fang." I slump my shoulders. He takes another step closer...
I grab the handcuffs on the chair. I snap the open end over his right wrist. Fang looks shocked. I grab the key off the tray and unlock the handcuffs from the chair, before snapping it shut on my left wrist.
"Why the hell did you do that?!" Fang yells as I move toward the door.
I look him in the eye, giving him a withering stare. "This way, if I'm taken down, you're coming right after."