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Euphoria
Chapter 15: Remorse
Author's note: Say hello to the second-to-last chapter. After this, there's only one more left to go. I'm very excited to be able to reveal the finale very soon... and I hope you're excited to read it! (Such a tease)
Tuesday
8:47 pm
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The car crunched on the gravel of the driveway. High above, the moon split like a shroud through the clearing clouds.
3307 Q Street Northwest.
The address had been carefully dictated to Melissa and then carefully inputted into the GPS. The home of the FBI's Deputy Director.
In the car, Norman was trying to pretend that he wasn't still recovering from the effects of ARI. His eyes were aching but at least his migraine seemed to be subsiding. The car ride here had passed in a blur. He needed a clear head for what was to come next.
Peering up out of his window, he took in the looming presence of the house before them. It was nice, but not as nice as he'd expected. There was no grand garden, no gate, and no overt displays of power or security.
Just a tall thin house with three steps leading up to a big imposing set of double doors with frosted glass.
Norman took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes one last time. He made to open the side door, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
"Wait, Norman," said Melissa. He spun back around to face her. Her eyes pieced him with a strange reluctance, like one might watch a car crash on the side of the highway. "Are you sure about this?"
He felt the air rush from his lungs as he fell, without hesitation, into her eyes. Under the moonlight he could pick out the amber flecks glinting in them, radiating what looked like frustration, pain, concern, or something else hidden deeper within.
He had been afraid she would ask him that. Because the honest answer is, I don't know. He had rushed headlong into this whole thing without even considering where the path was taking him.
Where would it all end? He'd been so caught up in the hurricane of himself that he hadn't had time, or the willingness, to think things through. Was this it? Was he ready to risk everything just for a small chance of making things right again? Of finally uncovering the truth? Could he handle every possibility, every future that would collapse into this one inescapable fate?
The past week had been a whirlwind. Ever since she had arrived, who sat with him now, searching deep in his eyes. Everything had been accelerating towards this moment.
It was here already. And he wasn't ready.
He could sense the glasses and the vial in his jacket, without needing to feel for them. Their presence was a constant cloud at the back of his mind. They weighed heavy in his pockets, triggering a hundred memories in his mind, a hundred moments and choices and mistakes when he should feel regret or pride or something, but sparking no real emotion. No, he felt empty and cold when he thought about them. He always did. In a way they made his decision for him.
It had always been his problem, his addiction, his shortcoming. But this was larger than him now. It was time for him to step up and be accountable, to fight back against his own sorrow. It was time to take on this mantle of responsibility passed to him by Raine and so many silent others.
Behind those doors was where his future lay. He could hear it calling now.
"I need to know, Melissa."
The words came tearing through him, tumbling out of his mouth.
"I've been thinking. I don't know the exact numbers, they never told us, but there must be at least a hundred Special Agents involved in the ARI program. A hundred people. One hundred lives they've destroyed."
There was so much more. But he couldn't tell her about cold nights full of warm bodies and warmer liquor, or the deep undertow of his need for the blue powder, or his hallucinations just minutes earlier featuring the dark forest of his head and her storm-bringing eyes.
Instead he offered her a half-smile, like an apology. "I have to finally face this. I'm sorry for dragging you into it all. Really, I am. Thank you. For everything. If you want to leave now I understand. There's no need for you to get yourself any deeper into this mess. But I... I need to know."
Shit. He hadn't meant to say all that. He wasn't sure he could do this by himself. If she left...
He wanted to hold her hand and feel her fingers in his. He wanted to touch her cheek. He wanted to bottle that look in her eyes in this moment, as the moon shone over them and turned gold to silver and blue to black. But Norman Jayden didn't do any of those things.
Like tearing out a part of himself, he forced himself to look away from her and out of the car window. It stung like hell. But he had to do this one goddamn noble thing, if he could do nothing else. He had to let her make this decision for herself.
Norman got out of the car.
For a few moments he stood all alone on the driveway. His breathing seemed much louder than usual. The neighbourhood was quiet save for the whining of a dog somewhere in the distance.
He took one step forward, then another. He was waiting for her, without wanting to look like he was waiting. Without wanting to build his hopes up.
Fuck it, I know it's wrong. It's not fair. I know I shouldn't want this. But I do. Goddamnit, I do.
He heard the car door opening, then shutting. His breath caught in his throat.
She walked up to where he was standing. He didn't move, but out of the corner of his eye he could see she was taking in the building.
In that moment, even if she had asked him, he would never have been able to put into words how much rapturous joy he felt with her by his side.
"Norman," she said. She tilted her head upwards. "We may have a problem."
Now he permitted himself to look over at her, to follow her gaze. Then he understood.
The house had three storeys, but not a single light on anywhere. He'd been too caught up in his own head to notice. Looking into those windows was like staring into a deep pit.
"What time is it?" asked Norman.
Melissa glanced at her watch. "Nearly nine."
Norman walked up the driveway to the three porch steps. He stayed there for a moment, trying to still the shaking in his hands. He resisted the urge to reach into his pockets, although it caused him to shake all the more. Then he placed one foot in front of the other with slow, hazy precision. The three steps evaporated underfoot.
He knocked on the door. A hollow sound.
Seconds passed. He took a deep gulp of air. It tasted like the memory of rain.
Looking back over his shoulder, he was glad to see that Melissa hadn't abandoned him yet. What am I expecting to happen? He didn't know, but her presence gave him confidence, like a warm fire burning in the pit of his stomach. She took another step closer and nodded at him. The look on her face was a passing kiss of summer in the depth of winter.
He knocked again, louder. The kind of knock that could only mean something bad. This time they left it a minute, but still nothing happened. No stirrings from inside the house. No lights at the window.
She came to his side. They conferred in whispers, even though nobody was listening.
A decision was made. Melissa stepped back. Norman steeled himself, then kicked one of the doors hard with his foot. The sound was like a gunshot in the still night. He readied himself, then tried again in the same spot just beneath the handle. The wood made a splintering noise. He kicked it a third time. The door swung in on itself and hit the wall behind with a crack.
They glanced at each other, then stepped forwards together into the darkness.
It took their eyes a moment to adjust. When they did, they saw a hallway stretching on and on in front of them. Norman could not see its end. A narrow carpet led off into the dim distance. Doors lined each side, but all of them were shut. Long heavy shadows fell askance across the floor, across the carpet, like specters standing watch, like harbingers of the dark future he knew was to come. Everything was deepest blue.
Norman had a strange unnerving feeling that he had seen this hall somewhere before.
"There's nobody here," he said. He didn't have to search the house to know as much. No, this place was deserted. He could feel the dread rising up the back of his throat.
Melissa opened one of the doors to their left. No light came from it. "I don't understand," she said. "This is the right address, isn't it?"
Norman couldn't respond. His vision was awash with red. He span around and kicked the open door again, but without precision this time, so it bent all the way on itself and ricocheted off the wall. The hinges groaned.
"Where the hell is he?" he yelled.
He could feel his veins tightening under his skin, like the banks of a swollen river closing in. It was all crumbling in his fingers again. Just when he thought he'd got a step ahead, he turned out to be ten behind.
Someone had to be accountable. Someone would be accountable, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
He headed for the nearest door, sweeping in like a squall. Melissa was by his side in a moment. She was in his face, in front of his eyes, trying to fill up his vision and sate his rage.
How can it end like this? In nothing but lonely deception and layers and layers of secrets? Will I ever find the answers? Will anyone? How far does the rabbit hole go, and am I an idiot for following it? To just give in... Maybe I should just give in.
But that answer burned betrayal in his blood. He could not back out now. He had made that promise to himself and to so many others suffocating in silence. For what had been done, and what would continue to be done. He had to be prepared to throw himself into the fray, to risk suicide or sacrifice or slaughter. Anything was better than inaction. Anything was better than quietly submitting to that fate, no matter what came of it. He was done with that life.
He tried to push Melissa aside.
"Let me through. Maybe I can find something - maybe I can -"
"Nobody's here, Norman," she said quietly.
He could feel his vision blurring with rage. He needed to destroy something, to confirm the certainty of his own existence, to remind himself that he had agency and purpose and power. He would not submit. He could not. He would walk this path as far as it went.
"Norman. Norman," his partner was saying. "It's going to be okay. We have to leave, but everything is going to be okay. Trust me."
Then the world became a mess of light and noise and movement.
First came the light. It shone into the hallway from everywhere all at once, bathing Melissa for one split second in an intense colourless glow so sudden and absolute it was like apotheosis.
Then came the noise and the movement. Before either of them could comprehend what was happening, there were yells and the sound of feet on stone from beyond the front doors. Time seemed to slow down. Norman had his back to the entrance but Melissa was looking past his shoulder, and he saw the shock sculpted in her mouth and eyes, saw her hand reaching to her thigh for the gun visible under her jacket. He heard the shouting without comprehending the words. He felt sound exploding around him as bullets tore through the air, as one passed him by and grazed Melissa's arm and hip, saw the grimace spread across her face. Black liquid blossomed through the shoulder of her tattered jacket.
Other figures, clad all in black, joined them in the hall, and surrounded them in a ring. They had assault rifles and masks and dark glasses. Norman tried to get to his pocket, but before he could a sharp force at the back of his knees knocked him to the ground. Melissa was yelling. Her weapon had been removed, and her arm hung limply at her side dripping crimson red onto the floor.
Someone was grabbing her, tearing her away. Norman could make out what she was screaming now. It was his name, repeated over and over in the strange cacophony of silence. All he could see was the thick carpet and a slant of silver light falling in through the door. He tried to get up but that same force pushed him down again, shoved his shoulders to the floor and delivered a stern blow to the back of his head. Melissa was being led away. Her strained voice got quieter and quieter in the taut air. He wrestled to get free and suddenly found that he could stumble to his feet. He glanced around him many times, his shuddering brain trying in vain to comprehend. Everything was dark again. There were no figures in the hallway. He ran to the door, but there was nobody there. His car was still in the driveway. The street was still and deserted.
Norman turned back. Nothing in the hallway appeared to have been touched. It would have been impossible to tell they had ever been there, save for the puddle of blood seeping slowly into the carpet.
He felt his pockets. His glasses and vial of Triptocaine were untouched. Even his gun remained, cold and guilty, by his side.
The dark hallway trailed away from him, long and unknowable. The wide empty silence stretched around and above and all about him. He was utterly alone.