He stepped out onto the balcony. Below him, Rover glowed softly in the growing dusk, undulating
with silent menace. If he tried to leave it would get him. His eyes went to the mountains, dark and
brooding against the fading light. Had Casey been brought back? Or had she returned of her own
accord? Slipping in like a little shadow? His gaze roved the still Village. Was she out here now?
Waiting? Waiting to kill?
He noticed it then. The peacefulness of the evening. The trees stood quiet, not a leaf stirred. The
first stars were just now visible in the darkening sky. No coming storm. If the girl were still on the
loose they would not likely grant her a dry night. It could only mean her capture or death. Or some
clever deception on her part. The uncertainty rekindled his anger. He took hold of the balcony rail
as if it were the bars of a cell. Rover rolled closer, threatening. He glowered down on it, his
mechanical warden. Night pushed in. He stared into the darkness of his prison.
Inside he paced. It was past time for the lights to go out. Past time for them to attempt to shepherd
him off to bed like a naughty child. Something was up. Perhaps Number Two was ready for their
little chat?
He looked at a camera. Through its blank eye people watched. They always watched.
"What are you waiting for?" He shouted. It only served to stir the rage. He returned to his pacing.
The hours slipped away and weariness slowed his steps. Number Two was so very patient. He
wanted to sleep. He looked at the bedroom. Thought of laying down and drifting off. If they came
for him in his sleep, he would be disorientated, off balance. It made the interrogator's work all the
easier. Best to meet them awake. If only just barely. He walked on.
Time passed and his patience flagged. He glared at a camera. Were they trying to out wait him?
Watching until he surrendered to temptation and slept? Or dropped in his tracks from exhaustion?
He went to the window and looked out at Rover. It could wait forever.
Irritably he went to the sink and ran a glass of water. Then a thought. It might be drugged. He
sniffed it. Looked at it in the light. Nothing suspicious. No way to know. Wearily, he poured it
down the drain. Behind him he heard the door open.
He turned on it bristling at the intrusion. Ready for the fight. The sight of Number Two caught him
by surprise. Two liked to abuse by proxy, sending stone faced men with billy clubs or polite maids
to spike his bedtime tea. A personal call was unexpected. He went down the steps. The man
seemed to be alone. He looked past him through the open door. There was no one. Even Rover was
absent.
"To what do I own the pleasure?" he asked.
Without invitation Number Two came in.
"A bit late to come calling, isn't it?"
Number Two regarded him with a cold air before saying, "Number Seven is dead."
It shocked him. He was quiet for a moment, considering. Number Two was not to be trusted.
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "How?"
"It seems she took a nasty fall."
He met Number Two's cool eyes. They told him nothing. "Where is the body?" He demanded.
"At the bottom of a ravine." Two said as if enjoying the thought.
Inwardly he tightened. Perhaps a convenient lie. Perhaps not. The mountains were a dangerous
place for a worn out girl. He glared at Number Two.
Number Two said accusingly. "You have no one to blame for this but yourself Number Six. You
aught to have called her down when you had the chance."
Six ignored the accusation. "She signaled." He growled. "She wanted to be found. How is it she
managed to fall off a cliff before your people arrived? Or was is after?"
Number Two repaid him the favor of dismissing accusations.
"Blind panic. She heard the men coming, tried to run and made a mistake." An unkind smile
drifted across Number Two's lips. "Or perhaps she jumped."
"She called them in." Six barked. "Why would she run?"
Two shrugged. For him the matter was settled. "Under duress people are often unpredictable."
Casey had taken a good many things from the store, a change of wardrobe wasn't out of the realm
of possibility. From far enough away, in the right conditions, a body might be faked. Might be.
Was he now giving himself false hope? Casey was young. Inexperienced. The situation
unrelentingly desperate. With no prospect of escape. She might have simply broken.
His fingers moved restlessly as he watched the man's face. There was no way to know. To be
certain of anything in this place. He hadn't seen with his own eyes. He was told what he was to
believe, by an adversary. He needed time to think. Number Two's presence was intolerable.
The man said. "There are a good many things about Number Seven which puzzle us."
"What's that got to do with me?" he snapped.
"You knew her. Perhaps better than anyone."
"Not better than The Village."
"Even we miss things. From time to time." Number Two said, as good natured as a snake before it
bites you."It would be helpful if you could bring us up to date. It may shed some light on what
went wrong."
Number Two was coming dangerously close to pushing him too far.
"You've said what you came here to say." The violence was building. "Now if you don't mind I'd
like to go to sleep."
Number Two laughed. "You are a hard man, Number Six. I almost think you really don't care. That
poor child is lying dead because you could not leave well enough alone. You had to meddle in our
business."
He shouted. "Your business is destroying people!"
"What we do is necessary." Number Two said quietly. "You would do well to accept it."
It would be so very easy to snap the man's neck. So very easy.
"You've killed her." Six said, his tone ice, "Are you satisfied?"
"I will be satisfied when you have given me what I want."
The infinite cruelty of The Village was reflected in Number Two's face. His disposable tormentor.
Tear him down and there would be another in his place. He would never be free of him.
Six turned away. There was no where to go. Number Two was behind him saying "Don't worry.
We will see that she has a proper funeral. The Village takes care of its own."
He went into the kitchen, paced the tiny space in charged silence. He needed Two gone. He needed
to be alone. He had so very little control just now.
"Quite a charming little place you have here." Two said, "I should pop by more often."
"I could put on some tea," Six said angrily, "Show you round."
"Not tonight, I'm afraid."
He wheeled on the man savagely. "Then why don't you get out?!"
"You and I," Number Two said, "have a great deal to talk about."
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Haven't you?"
"No."
There was a knock at the door. His eyes jumped to it, then back to Number Two.
"We shall see about that." Number Two smiled.
Six moved to the top of the stair and faced the door. A threat lay beyond it.
Number Two went past him and down the steps. For a moment he stood on the tiger skin rug and
looked back.
"The girl may have escaped me." He said. "But you haven't."
Six remained silent. The only movement, that fitful dance of his fingers.
Turning away, Number Two opened the door. Outside men in white, waited
The doctor was leaning over him. Six caught the glint of a hypodermic needle out the corner of his
vision. He wanted no part of it. He wanted to take the man by the throat and fling him away. But
he was unable to move. Not even a finger. His body was something he no longer controlled. It
arched back against the chair, the muscles taunt, straining against the bone. A thing of agony in
which he was trapped. His eyes were wide, staring up at the terrible blue light. He couldn't look
away. Couldn't even blink. Only stare into it. It was so cold, it burned.
"There is no need to be afraid, Number Six." The doctor said. "This won't hurt you. Only help you
to relax. Clear you mind."
He felt the bite of the needle. Felt the heat of whatever it contained rush into him.
"There now, just take it easy." The doctor soothed. "Don't try to fight it. You'll be alright in a
moment."
His breath was a tortured sob. He would be dead in a moment. The drug was clawing its way into
his brain. Fighting the light for dominance over him. They would kill him without a single question
asked.
The doctor was saying. "He's responding nicely."
Time had passed. The light was still there. But it was almost gentle now. A soft blue glow, just
holding him still. The fog in which his mind floated was pleasant. Dangerously so. This was thing
against which he must fight.
Somewhere at the edge of his awareness Number Two circled like a buzzard.
The buzzard said. "How much longer?"
"A few more minutes."
"Is he conscious?"
"Yes. He is only in the first stage. His cognitive functions are somewhat impaired by the
tranquilizing effect of the drug, but are otherwise normal."
Number Two was closer now. Perhaps looking down on him. The light still held his fascination.
He couldn't take his eyes from it.
"You think you know what this is, Number Six." Number Two said. "I can assure you, you don't.
This is a new method. Very effective."
He rather liked the light just now. It was comforting. An old friend. Number Two was forgotten
until he spoke again.
"We can push you as hard as necessary." He said. "It will be quite unpleasant for you, but there
will be no permanent damage."
He held the idea for a moment. It bothered him. Had a fail safe been removed?
Number Two spoke again, requiring his attention. "I won't be forced to temper my method to
preserve your precious brain. I can drive you until you crack. And you will crack."
Would he? The slowness of his thoughts was troubling. They were a long time coming and they
slipped easily away. Drifting off into some distant corner where they could not be found. He had
been worrying. Worrying about what? It must not have been important.
Fingers touched his face. Tipped his head away from the light. Another light shown his eyes. This
one had no power. It was only a light. It went away.
"He is entering the second stage now." A voice said. A voice he knew yet couldn't remember. The
fingers moved his head back so that he looked up at the cold blue light once again. "You may
begin anytime."
There was a sharp tone. It stabbed deep into his mind. His body jerked. The light was no longer
friendly.
"Tell me about, Casey."
He knew the speaker. Someone in whom he must never confide.
"No names here." The response pleased him. He smiled through the pain.
"You rescued her from the storm. She recognized you as a person who could be trusted."
Another tone. Jarring him. He was panting now. The light bored into him.
"She confided in you. She told you a secret. A secret about her life before she came to The Village.
What was it?"
The tone again. Harsher Still. Tearing his mind apart.
"What was it!?"
"No!" A shout, ripped out of him.
"Come now Number Six, you can tell me. The girl is dead. What does it matter? She wasn't who
she pretended to be. Who was she?"
It hit him again. A spike of pain driven deep by sound and the burning blue light. His brain was on
fire with it.
"Ask your masters." It was scarcely a whisper, forced out past the clench of his teeth.
"I'm asking you."
The voice belonged to the light. A malevolent thing, that burned and probed. Etching its way into
the hidden places where no one must ever see.
The light spoke almost softly. "Who is she?"
Yet another brutal jolt tore into him. He convulsed under it.
"I don't know!" His own voice, so alien to him he was shocked by it.
"You do know. And soon you will tell me." The light crooned. "Soon you will tell me everything."
The light spoke with a new voice. "He should be entering the final phase."
"Good. Let's proceed."
He couldn't see, not even the brightness of the light. There was no air, he gasped for it as if
drowning.
"He will need time to allow his body to readjust."
"When will he be ready?"
"When his pulse comes down. It's dangerously high."
He listened the voices. They meant nothing. Just sounds.
"How long?"
"I can't say for certain. But he must be allowed to recover."
"You assured me this would work."
The drug is preforming optimally. His mind is ready. But the shock to the body must be
considered. Push him too hard now and it could be fatal."
"It's a risk we must take."
"That's reckless. You know his value."
"Unless we break him, doctor, he is of no value at all."
"Are you trying to break him or destroy him?"
"I should be careful if I were you."
"I won't be held to account for this."
"I take full responsibility. Proceed."
Now the light pulsed. A tone pulsed in harmony with it. He was fitful under it. The reaction of
nerves. There was no sensation. No awareness. Only a great emptiness. The loneliness was
absolute.
Voices again. He latched onto the words as if starved.
"Excellent. We've reached the subconscious level. In this state he is highly receptive."
"Is he aware of us now?"
"Yes. But there will be complete amnesia unless he is instructed to remember."
There was a presents. Something cold and dark.
A voice he hungered for said. "Chambers was brought to The Village. You couldn't save him from
us. You couldn't save his daughter. You can't save yourself."
The voice fell silent. He longed for it. For a desperate eternity he waited and then it came again.
"He died you know. Buried in The Village crematory. Number Twenty Three."
"Why torment him? They'll be no remembrance."
"Mind your business. Is everything ready?"
"Yes."
"Begin."
He waited in the quiet. In the unbearable loneliness. And then at last the solitude was broken.
The voice said. "Listen to me very carefully, Number Six. You are to remember everything you
hear."
The light stabbed him.
"Tell me about our dearly departed Casey. Tell me all of her secrets."
From somewhere his own voice spoke. He listened to it. It was confessing.