Chapter 7

"I've been here before,
I've seen you before.
[And] I can't escape winding down these halls."

- Trapt, These Walls

Max clenched her jaw to fight off the haze, trying to take in her surroundings. The room was beautiful, with expensive furniture and old, leather-bound books lining the shelves. The soft trill of piano keys echoed somewhere in the distance, but Max couldn't recognize the tune.

"You're awake."

Her head jerked towards the voice, and she smothered a groan as her aching muscles screamed their protest. "What do you want?"

"That's quite easy," the man replied, stepping into her line of vision. She gasped, but she really shouldn't have been surprised to see Robert Berrisford. Though her recollections were hazy, she remembered the way he'd drugged her. "I want justice."

Max shook her head. The words were simple, but the meaning behind them was impossible to grasp. "Justice for what? I haven't—I haven't done anything to you."

"Not you," Berrisford replied, and the look on his face was almost… regretful. "I wish I didn't have to involve you. But you're his, and he has to know what it feels like feels like to have someone he loves taken away."

Did he mean Logan? Her heart jumped in her throat, but she forced her nerves to calm. She could get out of this. All she had to do was focus and wait for an opening. "I don't even know who you're talking about. You've confused me with someone else."

"No, it's you," Berrisford replied, sounding aggravated now. He began to pace back and forth in front of her. "You were with him at the party—I saw the way you two acted. He loves you."

Max swallowed hard, realizing at last that Berrisford was referring to Alec, not Logan. The transgenic had obviously done something to offend him, and now Berrisford was trying to get revenge.

"You're wrong," she said, voice hoarse. "Alec—the man you want has nothing to do with me. I don't matter to him."

"No!" Berrisford denied loudly, and the agitation she had seen earlier revealed itself fully now. "Don't tell me that! I saw you. I saw you at the party, and I saw you sneaking around Dawson's place! You're helping him, which means you're just as bad as he is."

Any regret Berrisford felt for involving her was quickly disappearing, she could tell by the furious look in his eyes. Even now he was condemning her, probably so that it would be easier to hurt her. She had seen these types before; people who rationalized their actions by loss and hurt and justice. She knew there was no arguing against Berrisford now that his mind was made up, because her words couldn't reach that cold, furious part of him that longed to see Alec suffer.

No, her best chance was to keep him talking and distracted while she looked for a way to escape.

"How did you find me?" she asked, flexing her hands minutely to test her situation. Handcuffs encased her wrists. It would take a lot of pulling to break them. She could manage it, but not without showing Berrisford what she was doing.

Berrisford's nervous energy had quieted slightly, but he continued to pace. "I didn't—not really. You said you worked for a delivery company, and I knew you were spying on the Dawsons' place. I sent packages to every local delivery service, addressing them to come back here. I hoped that, given your interest in this neighborhood, you'd see the package and want to deliver it yourself."

Max closed her eyes, stunned by how well Berrisford had played her. His plan had been completely unstable, relying on the chance that she had told the truth about being a messenger and that she would happen upon his packages. And yet, despite the unlikelihood of such a trick working, she had fallen perfectly into his trap.

"I never thought it would succeed," Berrisford continued, and she had the creepy thought that he had read her mind. "It was such a long shot, but I had to do something. I'd already hired a private detective to find you, but he said it would take months, and I couldn't wait."

"Why me?" Max asked, furious that she had been dragged into this situation when it didn't really involve her. "Why not find Alec?"

Berrisford's lips twisted, his eyes filling with disgust. "I'm assuming you mean the monster who destroyed my daughter. I want to find him, but it was more important to find you. Don't you remember what I told you? He has to know what it feels like."

"What what feels like?" Max demanded, another jolt of anger spiking through her and bringing along with it a burst of adrenaline. "What are you planning on doing to me?"

"I'm not going to kill you," Berrisford said, sounding almost like he was trying to reassure her. "And I'm not going to let you experience it—I'm not a monster. I won't torture you."

"Tell me, dammit!" Max shouted, baring her teeth and slamming her chair into the ground.

At her demand, Berrisford glanced towards the fireplace. She hadn't realized before, but the glow in the room came solely from a fire Berrisford must have recently built. He eyed the flames for a moment, and Max could see them reflected in his cold, steely eyes. Then he turned back to her.

"You saw my daughter, didn't you?" he asked, and abruptly Max remembered the girl who had greeted her at the door. Her mouth fell open in shock, and she yanked fiercely on the handcuffs that bound her.

That girl had been covered in burns.

Alec had to go back.

He had been fighting it steadily since the torturous idea had taken root inside his head, but he couldn't deny it any longer. He needed to revisit the place where everything had started. It was the only chance he had of ever finding peace.

He had been ignoring the idea because while it could save him, it could also very well destroy him. The pain was unbearable already, the guilt intolerable and the regret too heavy to carry. He had the irrational fear that all of those emotions would solidify inside of him if he went back, causing real, physical damage that he could never fix. Still, he couldn't live with this any longer. He wouldn't.

It was hard taking the first few steps to the door, but once he'd made it out of his apartment he couldn't stop. He felt himself being pulled insistently forward, and he continued in an almost trancelike state.

He had little recollection of walking through the city, but eventually he had reached the beginning of the large, fancy neighborhood. His fears doubled as he passed the spot where Manticore used to drop him off, leaving him to walk the rest of the way so as not to garner suspicion. He followed the same trail now, horrified by how familiar it was.

He had thought the chances of this being therapeutic would about equal the chances of it being destructive, but he was starting to believe he was wrong. If he continued on this crushingly familiar path, if he made it to the familiar house and walked through the familiar ornate front doors, all of this would be irrevocably real. He could no longer hide behind the possibility, no matter how slight, that it was just in his head. His emotions might not solidify, but his memories certainly would.

Still, he could not stop. He felt like he was trapped inside a speeding car, barreling full-tilt toward a brick wall. Worse, he felt like he was in the backseat of Manticore's ominous black SUV, being positioned and used like a gun or a knife.

It was too late now. The fence was in sight, the small, discreet buzzer just visible. His heart pounded heavily in his ears and his hands were slick with sweat. He hardly noticed his physical reactions, too caught up in his emotional ones. Thoughts whirled like a tornado inside of his brain, and then abruptly they went silent. A desperation took their place, one that had him running before he'd realized what he was doing.

He was over the fence and at the front door before he caught himself, but the desperation still clawed at his insides and he didn't slow. He had to see Berrisford, had to see Rachel's empty room, had to see the house set up exactly the way he knew it would be. He had to know that this was real, that he had killed her and that he was the worst kind of monster. He felt something inside of him retreat, and felt another something slide into its place. A steely determination settled over him.

He broke the door down with little thought, feeling an eerie sense of déjà vu as he entered the house. Some distant part of him realized that he could hear the soft trill of a piano.

Am I really hearing it, he wondered, genuinely unsure. Or am I just remembering it?

He half expected her to be standing there, halfway up the stairs and smiling. Instead there were guards, and Alec took them out quickly and efficiently. The frantic energy was building again, and he picked up his pace. Come on, he begged of the house. Show me what I've done. Show me what I am.

He heard the light patter of footsteps, and it reminded him so forcefully of Rachel he gasped and stumbled. But it wouldn't be her, it couldn't be—

A petite brunette woman stood at the top of the stairs. She must have heard the noise since he hadn't made any effort to stay quiet. He'd wanted them to come. His eyes greedily scanned her face, and he realized with a sickening jolt that it was disfigured by a series of terrible burns. An inkling of an idea began in the depths of his brain, but he shoved it away adamantly.

"Where's Berrisford?" he demanded, his voice lower and harsher than anything he'd used lately. He sounded cold and intimidating to his own ears, and he felt vaguely bad for scaring this poor girl.

"I—I don't—" She didn't appear to be listening. Her eyes pored over his face just as his had scrutinized hers. Finally, she began to descend the stairs. Alec tensed, every muscle coiled tightly, but she made no move to threaten him.

"Simon," she said finally, an uncertain smile cracking her rough lips. He stumbled again and reached for the banister, fingers clawing for support.

"Oh, God, no," he hissed, shutting eyes. It couldn't be her. This tragic, wounded girl couldn't be her. He couldn't have destroyed her this way.

"Simon, please—"

"I'm not Simon," he snarled, eyes still clenched tightly together. She was a maid, someone who had worked in the house while he'd been here. She wasn't Berrisford's daughter—she wasn't Rachel.

"Si—whoever you are, please, just look at me."

Unwillingly, out of control in much the same way he had been on the journey here, Alec opened his eyes and did what she asked. He immediately rejected the sight of her, but slowly he forced his mind around the block. He began to catalogue her features and compare them to the Rachel he remembered.

"No," Alec said raggedly, a shudder scraping its way up his spine. "No, you can't be—"

"It's me," Rachel said, and he struggled a moment more before accepting it. Of course it was her. He had known it the moment he had seen her at the top of the stairs.

All of the deadly purpose, the desperation and the fight drained out of him, leaving only sharp, bitter regret. He backed down the steps until he was looking up at her from the bottom of the staircase.

"What have I done?" he whispered, unable to look away from her damaged skin. It was worse than he had thought possible, and he felt sure now that it would break him. There was no hope of recovery.

"It wasn't you," she walked down the steps, moving the same way she had then, lightly and elegantly. He panicked and backed away as she neared, staring into her face with wide eyes. "Simon, I know it wasn't you. Please stop looking at me like that."

She had said it again, used his alias to address him. He couldn't hate her for it. He didn't move, didn't take his gaze away from her heartbreaking face.

"It was," he answered, his voice cracking. How could she still be naïve? How could she still believe in him? "Don't you get it? I was supposed to kill you. I set the bomb that must have—Oh, God—"

"I know," she answered, and there was something new in her voice, something that hadn't been there before. Sadness, maybe? Or perhaps it was wisdom. "You played your part, Simon. You betrayed my father and me, and you used my feelings to get to us. I know all of that. But I know there's more."

"More?" he asked. She stepped forward again. He flinched but didn't step back. "There's nothing more. I did this to you. There's no one else to blame."

"There's Manticore."

He inhaled sharply, hands reaching out convulsively as if to grab her. He immediately pulled them back, ashamed of the impulse. "You… you know?"

"Of course. Daddy always knew. It took him a long time, but he eventually told me. I had to know what happened—I had to know why you were sent here and why you set that bomb."

Alec closed his eyes tightly, wishing suddenly that he had never come. And equally wishing he could never be anywhere else. That day flooded back to him like ice water, drenching him in frozen memories. "I tried. I tried so hard—I thought I could stop it."

"I know," her eyes had an aching quality, and he hoped she wasn't aching for him. He didn't deserve that from her. He didn't deserve anything. "You tried to save me."

He shook his head. There was something fundamentally wrong with the way she said it, like she thought it was enough. Like trying and failing were enough. "I should have fought harder. I didn't realize how much—how much I—"

"What?" she asked when he didn't finish. Her eyes were knowing in a way that they had never been before. "Please tell me."

"I didn't realize how much I loved you," Alec confessed, because she had asked and he couldn't deny her.

She smiled, and for one moment she was beautiful and young and whole again. "I loved you, too."

He was momentarily stunned by the sudden light shining from her, but after a second he shook his head fiercely. "No. You never knew me. If you had—"

"It doesn't matter. Simon, I—"

A loud thump echoed from the floor above them, and both Rachel and Alec looked up. He took a step toward her on impulse, scanning the ceiling as if it would hint at some hidden danger. When he looked back down, he was startled by how close she was.

"Daddy…," she whispered, still staring up at the ceiling. Then she looked at him. "Sometimes he drinks too much and I—I can't lift him when he falls. Do you think you could—?"

He should say no, absolutely not. Berrisford would skin him alive, and Alec wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't deserve it. Then he looked into her eyes, which were the same despite her altered face, and again he couldn't refuse. He nodded and she hurried up the stairs. He followed along after her, his thoughts rushing through his head.

They reached his office, where Alec had once stolen computer files and then listened to Rachel declare her love for him. She turned the handle, but it was locked.

"Here," he said, stepping forward, but she just gestured upward.

"The doorframe," she whispered, and he quickly ran his fingers over the dusty ledge. His fingers grasped a key. "I keep it there for times like this."

He handed it to her, feeling both elated and devastated when their fingers made contact, and she opened the door. He expected to see Berrisford, drunk and rolling around on the floor. He expected anger and violence and possibly even vomit. He did not expect to see Max, lying unconscious on the ground with Berrisford leaning over her.

Everything was still for one second, and then Alec exploded.