Chapter Twenty-Six
-—-
It was inevitable and yet Anya could not accept it. She had delusional hopes that Damian would remain ignorant, that they'd be rescued before he could figure it out, which was ridiculous. She was desperate to keep her secrets to herself, to prevent Damian from piecing things together. She should have been more careful. He'd learned things over the past few weeks and she should have hampered it. But how could she prevent him from overhearing that story, from noticing her little ticks, from going out of his way to dig into, what anyone else would call, her weird personality?
She didn't know, but she should have. He wouldn't know what this place was if she had.
He'd said those six little words, unsteadily, quietly, and the impact of it was stronger than he could ever understand.
What did she do now? He was in the heart of all her secrets, all she kept hidden, and she felt as if her walls, her life, her entire being, was peeling off to lay vulnerable her dearest secrets. She found herself cold. Her layers and layers of protection were stripped away and she didn't know what to do without them. How did she defend against coming attacks when she had no more shields? How did she protect what she had left when, now, they were only veiled by a screen door?
Damian was smart. She was well aware. It wouldn't take much to tip him off to her most preciously guarded truth that she had surrounded with lies, redirects, subtle manipulations, and more lies. How was it possible she'd kept it so carefully safe for so long and now everyone held a key to the chest it was carried in to show Damian at any second?
He was ready to flee, escape on his mind, and at least she had that. The distraction of fear and franticness to halt his processes however twisted it was. He wasn't thinking clearly and if he was, he might deduce more from the situation. She just had to hold out until her parents got here. Until they were free and her secrets were safe again.
No. It wouldn't work like that. In fact it might be worse. He'd be more calm. He'd have time to sort things through, and while he might not get to the core of it, he'd discover things that even her parents didn't know. They didn't matter as much, but they still mattered.
After this, Damian would be on an escalator guaranteed to reach the top and Anya didn't think she could stop it. She was in a lose-lose situation and it terrified her.
What did she do? What could she do?
It seized her tightly, hoping against hope against hope that she could ward this off. She clung to any vestige of composure remaining before she threw herself into another panic attack and stuffed her thoughts deep, deep, down out of sight. Her chest shuddered when she breathed and her hands shook terribly. They pressed each other into her lap and then Kai yelled her name.
"ANYA!"
She jumped and nearly fell from her seat, her thoughts swept away in new fears.
WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Kai yelled as if it was the force of his words that burst the door open, and the kids collectively shrank from his enraged entrance. He gripped the doorknob as if he might tear it off, while the other braced on the frame. His fast march to the cafeteria had left him huffing angrily and she had never seen him so incensed. His eyes were dangerously wild, pinning Anya in all his wrath, and she curled protectively inwards, immediately looking away. She couldn't move as Damian did, backing down the length of the table when Kai approached, and grasped the seat's edge as if it could offer support. It didn't help the tremors much.
More than saw him, she felt Kai move opposite to her and spread his hands wide to lean over the table.
"What." He ground out, a gravelly tone punctuating each phonetic. "Did. You. Do?" He had levelled her with a glare when she peeked up and he felt very large as he occupied her field of vision. A dark cloud storming with lightning ready to crack.
Anya dared not hold his gaze and fidgeted nervously with the bench's lip. She knew what he was talking about, but he wasn't supposed to know anything about it.
Something had gone wrong. They had to be fine, they had to, they had to, they had to. They weren't regular people after all, and the director wouldn't be so angry if they weren't okay.
The thought kept her together, though she could feel herself shrivelling. She knew he would make her pay for this and he had probably already planned to. He'd just been too busy to deal with her. She prayed and prayed that that was still the case. Just a little longer. . .
"Anya." His voice grated. "WHERE IS IT?!" He shouted suddenly and Anya jolted, closing her eyes tight as his palm banged loudly on the table. The trays clattered and the plastic utensils bounced. She covered her face with her hands as if they could hide her from him.
The director's voice dipped low again and dredged every bit of fury with it, his words compacted into a quieter tone as if there was too much to contain. "You have to the count of ten." He didn't say what happened after. He didn't need to. He didn't bother counting out loud, either, as Anya hid for another moment behind her hands, because he knew she would listen.
With her vision blurred by watery eyes, Anya slowly retracted her hands and took the edge of her sleeve. She folded it back, her fingers not so nimble, up to her elbow where a strip of cloth was wrapped around her upper forearm. There was small lump, that when revealed as she took off the strip, was a small, black, square disk about the width of her wrist. Her Papa had given it to her and she didn't want to relinquish it, but she breathed deeply, shuddering a tired whimper as emotions swelled in her throat, and placed it on the table.
Kai stared at it, unmoving. Then with none of the haste Anya expected, reached for it and dragged it towards him. It slid and scraped against the old marred surface and he let his hand rest there while he considered the object he held. It tapped against the table as his hand flipped over, pinning it underneath, and he looked back to Anya. "You have been making very bad choices lately." He said through gritted teeth. "That's going to have to change." He held eye contact as he called for Fisher and only when she appeared in the doorway did it break. He pushed off the table, taking the disk with him. "Lock these two up until I can deal with them." He spat as he strode briskly to the door. "And make it quick! I need you immediately!" He demanded, already in the hallway.
Anya was lifted out of her seat before she could move and Fisher grabbed a dazed Damian's wrist. They were whisked down the halls and Agent Fisher stopped at the door that Kai had opened earlier. The wheel was turned, the lock was unlocked, and Fisher pulled on the handle.
The rush here was discombobulating and when the metal cranked, Anya found herself sweating.
They were pushed inside quickly, and the door thudded closed behind them. Anya spun at the sound, the lock system settling firmly in place, then Fisher rushing down the hall.
For a long moment she faced the door that looked identical to her previous one. The one she'd spent countless hours behind, countless mornings staring at, knowing it'd be opened soon and she'd be pulled out to "study" or "work". It'd blocked her freedom and now she almost wished it'd stay closed. She wanted to hide, turn out the lights, and believe she could be forgotten here in the dark. A hole in the ground where Kai wouldn't be able to find her.
He'd included Damian in his threats, he would get hurt too. If the director got here first. . . .what was she going to do? Wouldn't it mean her parents were hurt? Or. . . .worse. . . ?
No, she couldn't think like that. Her parents were coming, she'd be fine, they'd be fine.
She turned from the door and the room was exactly like her old one minus the window and the stool. A cot sat in the corner and a door presumably led to a washroom.
And here she was once more. It was like she never left.
She changed her mind as she looked at the door again. She wanted it to open. She didn't want to be here again. Again. Again, again, again. Why couldn't she just keep her life away from the lab?! She felt like she were cursed and every time she thinks she's escaped, it swallows her whole.
Anya took a steadying breath and clutched at her uniform. No. Calm down. Her parents were coming. They were fine, they had to be. They'd be here soon. It was all that was keeping her sane.
She fought down the tears that tried to pop up at the sight of this place and distracted herself. She stared at the floor as she paced to one side of the room and then the other. Her nose was wet and she sniffled. Her legs stung and she realized her nails dug fiercely into them. She paused and looked at them. Her uniform relaxed as she let go and stared at her hands that gripped each other.
How much longer? When would her parents come? When, when, when, when? In ten minutes? An hour? Where were they? They had to already be here somewhere if the director knew of the device she'd had. They didn't know the layout of the lab. It was different than the last one. Were they lost? Were they found? The alarms weren't going, they weren't inside the lab yet. This made her more anxious. How were they going to get inside? How would they get past those big doors? Was there another entrance somewhere? If there was, they'd find it. They'd figure something out. They'd be here soon, stop worrying, they'd be here soon, they'd be here soon. If they didn't. . .
The whip. . .
No! They'd be here soon, they'd be here soon, they'd be here soon.
She paced the room again.
"Um . . ." Damian whispered hoarsely and Anya startled upright. She had forgotten him again, so absorbed in her thoughts.
He fidgeted in place. ". . . What does he mean he'll deal with us?" And his eyes flicked nervously to her bandaged arm.
Anya had forgotten that too and her heart skipped a beat. He'd noticed. She pulled the sleeve back down and hugged her shoulders.
She couldn't look at him. It made her anxious. Uncomfortable. He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to know anything, learn about any of this. What did she tell him? She didn't want to tell him anything, but he was anxious as well. Should she mention her parents? That they were coming? No, to him they were a psychiatrist and a civil worker, he wouldn't believe her until he saw them. Because what sense did it make that two regular civilians could rescue them? What did that leave her with? How did she make him feel better? He'd been trying to comfort her this entire time and Anya didn't know how to return it.
It was weird. Half the time, she thought he hated her, and now he was making her question it all over again. She could read his mind, but she didn't understand him at all. He was confusing.
He was waiting for an answer. He was frustrated with her. She held everything he wanted to know, needed to know, and she kept it from him.
She couldn't tell him. She couldn't, she couldn't, she couldn't. Guilt had little sway over this decision, her fear and desperation were much stronger. "Um. . ." Her voice trembled at the floor. What did she say? It wouldn't be a lie to say she didn't know. She didn't. She knew what would happen to her, but Kai might punish him differently.
This wasn't fair. Sy-on boy had nothing to do with this. But since when did the director care?
"You're not going to tell me, are you?" Damian said quietly.
Anya looked up and his face was drawn. His words were edged with tired bitterness and he wanted to be angry with her, but his heart wasn't quite in it. He'd come to the conclusion that Anya would shut him out of this as much as possible a while ago and it wore on him. He resented it.
She couldn't help it and averted her gaze again. He wasn't wrong. She was at loss. She had no consoling words, no explanations she could readily give, and no help to offer. If anything happened to him, she'd be useless and that scared her too.
Damian scoffed and sat against the wall next to the door. It was his turn to hug his legs and rest a chin on his knees. He was too distressed to pursue a pointless argument.
Anya had to do something. She was being unfair and she knew it. Damian deserved some sort of explanation, but she couldn't come up with anything. Everything was either too tied to her secrets, or. . . something she could never say out loud.
She wanted to cry as she stared at her hands.
Damian wasn't supposed to be involved.
What did she do?
—
Yor had met Loid on the road, the car hardly stopping for two minutes before they were on their way. Barely a word was exchanged, the plan earlier discussed needing no recap. The trunk was popped, the briefcase grabbed, and Yor's knives were stowed away in her clothing. She didn't have her Thorn Princess get-up, but she didn't need it. She was not acting as an assassin, she was acting as a mother. Her work clothes would be fine.
Loid on the other hand had prepped everything a spy might need. His gear, extra ammo, his supplies to make disguises. He had thought of everything as he always did and his face was stern in furious focus. He had steeled himself, and Yor could see the wheels turning in his head, simulating scenarios and contingency plans, though one never really knew what they might encounter. They could never be one hundred percent prepared and Loid hated it. She could see it in his face, all the plans he cooked up, that he would most likely never use.
Yor laid the heavy duty briefcase in her lap as soon as her door closed. A matte gray container, vertically ribbed. The outside was hard metal to protect the delicate instrument within.
She opened it and pushed a button. Blinking lights greeted her and the screen bleeped as the tracking device registered.
Yor had never been so glad Loid was a spy.
They followed the signal for hours, lost in their own heads, speaking only when something occurred to them that might be useful as they were in the midst of mentally preparing for anything and everything.
They were maybe twenty minutes behind the moving dot on the screen when it stopped. There was movement, but it went from the speed of a car, to walking pace.
Yor's foot had bounced on the floor on and off the whole trip, and her jitters spread to a hand that subtly twirled a blade by her lap as if she could kill all of Anya's enemies from here. She imagined it several times as she oversaw the spy equipment, like they were on a road trip and she was giving out directions from a map as her husband focused on the road.
As they approached closer to Anya's signal, Loid slowed and they both payed attention to their surroundings. They had reached forested land and the trees grew thicker the further they went. They were guessing where to make turns and had to turn around a couple times. Eventually they found it. They reached the end of a dirt route and the rain had made it easy to follow the tire tracks leading off into the woods. Not wanting to announce themselves, they continued on foot into the rain. They were soaked in less than a minute and the precipitation aided their stealth as they followed the tracks, though they stayed off of it.
Loid blended well with the darkening woods, his black clothes a good decision, he thought. Yor was more easily seen, but she made up for it with her noiseless movements, and how she used her surroundings, shadowed corners and high branches, to her advantage. Loid wouldn't know where she was most the time if she didn't signal it. They never strayed too far from the other, keeping tabs as they slowly combed their way down the tire tracks, wary for any hostiles.
Impeded by foliage, the deluge broke here and there. Beside the relentless downpour, was the steady stream of water off of branches and even with so little light, the leaves glinted sharply from the wetness. Twilight felt he was breathing the rain in directly with how damp the air was. He could hardly hear more than the droplets pounding the earth and dead leaves at his feet, it was so present.
Yor effortlessly jumped to another bough, her precision easily overcoming the slippery grip of the bark even with the briefcase in her hand. Down below, Loid was almost hidden from her view. His training was well equipped for sneaking around and she wouldn't have seen him if she didn't know where he was supposed to be. She let him take the lead, forging a path while she watched his back. There was no telling who was out here and one little misstep could ruin everything.
They trekked for several minutes, a painstaking process of listening through the roar of rain, and straining their sights into the ever blackening woods. The clouds were thick, dark gray, and the sun had no chance of giving the last of it's light as it set.
Loid crept up where the tracks ended and a clearing lay before them. Yor was somewhere overhead and he had never experienced such intrinsic trust before. He'd been on countless missions, countless life risking jobs, and on the rare joint assignment, he'd had to rely on his partner to do their part which he'd always hated.
But Yor.
Hiding here, studying this suspicious area where the tracks stopped, he felt. . . .covered. Like if he went out there right now to investigate, he could leave her to watch his back. To watch out for enemies. Or if he was compromised, to finish the mission on her own. He had to be careful of this. It would be the height of hubris to let down his guard. She was an incredible woman, but she was still human.
. . . He was pretty sure. . .
Loid circled the clearing twice, and in a forest plagued by night and resounding condensation, he didn't glean much. If anyone was hiding here, if traps were set, he couldn't tell.
Twilight didn't like this.
He returned to where he started, where Yor had come down from a tree, and considered. A car didn't just vanish in the middle of the woods with no more tracks to follow. Unless it learned to fly, there was only one option he came to.
It went underground.
He conferred with Yor and she agreed.
He'd be taking a chance. To investigate, he'd be putting himself in the open, disclosing himself from the cover of the woods where Loid and Yor had evaded detection. If enemies lurked in the area, they hadn't seen them yet, and stepping out would most assuredly change that. He didn't know how many there were and he had to be smart. Anya was in danger and he couldn't waste time, but they wouldn't get to her at all if they both ended up dead.
So Twilight came up with a plan.
It was fairly simple.
Yor situated herself, concealed thoroughly as she waited for Loid. It was so dark, she only knew his position because he told her where it was. It was impossible to distinguish his form from the trunk of his hiding place as he was perfectly still.
Twilight took stock of his environment once more before hefting a rock in his hand. How simple. And possibly a little amateur, but if something worked, why not use it?
He flung it sailing through the rain and heard a dull thunk and slight shaking from a tree's branches.
The reaction was instant. Almost imperceptible. Yor sensed the shift of movement in a tree, the smallest scuff against bark just metres away from where she hid. The unmistakable mechanisms of a gun readying.
He didn't see her coming.
Yor was upon him before he could blink, a knife to his throat promising death if he didn't stay quiet. She held him hostage in the tree until Loid came and they had the oddest placed interrogation she'd ever been in. They attracted less attention by staying put. Hauling their new captive quietly down the tree would certainly be difficult.
They were told at least five other agents were posted in these woods and the car had indeed gone underground. He, and none of the other lab agents, could open them however. When shifts changed, they opened for them.
It was hard to hear him in this weather and Loid couldn't read his lips in the dark. He had him repeat some of it and they got every bit of info they could out of him.
And then knocked him out.
Yor would've liked to kill him, but Loid advised her against this.
They were scheming how to get inside without being noticed, when a dull, blue light blinked on the man's wristband. Loid ran a hand over it and there were four buttons. It seemed to purely be a method of silent communication.
This was bad, he decided. There was no telling what that light meant and there was no telling what any of the buttons did. But it didn't matter because the light stopped a couple seconds later.
Yor and Loid couldn't see each other's faces, but they looked to one another.
And then they were shot at.
—
Damian was too wrecked with nerves to be frustrated with Forger anymore. Too exhausted, too scared. After the first ten minutes it had melted away and was absorbed into intrusive thoughts of horrifying images and frightening ideas. Of how the director would deal with them. Of what kind of experiments were conducted here and if they would happen to him.
There was still a part of him that resented her just a little bit for not telling him. A passive begrudging that she didn't alleviate his fears. It had also crossed his mind that maybe it was worse than anything he could imagine and that's why she didn't say.
He peeked over at her where she'd taken to sitting in the corner to bury her face in her knees and hold her ankles.
His irritation melted all over again and it was annoying. His reluctant understanding of her situation crept in again and he wanted to bat it away. But every time he was mad, he felt bad for being mad. He hated that each time he looked at her, was a reminder that she knew what would happen because she had already experienced it and there was good reason she didn't want to talk about it.
His justification would feel flimsy and he had to build it up again.
Damian let go of his legs to study his hands and they still shook. He held his face in them and planted them on his knees.
Who was he kidding? He couldn't really be angry with her. He wanted to be, he wanted to blame her, he would rather be angry than fall apart. But she was only trying to cope and he didn't know what to do with that. Where did that leave him? Forger was a mess and had no answers for him, he was locked in an underground room waiting for who knew what, and Damian felt alone, fumbling blindly through nightmares and horror stories, the emotions that dug in his chest, confusing and frustrating. How did he do this on his own? How was he supposed to feel? Why couldn't he just be angry? Why did it have to make him feel bad? When it was gone, he felt helpless, which was worse, and that made him angry again. This was so freaking infuriating! What the heck did he do?! What did he do, what did he do, what did he do? He wanted to go home. He wanted his mother. He wanted his father to fix this.
His hands came wet away from his face and he aggressively wiped at his cheeks. Forger was watching him uneasily and Damian's gaze caught on her's. She broke it off as if she'd done something wrong and her hands searched awkwardly for a purpose. She seemed distressed, debating something he couldn't discern and he watched when she finally got up and came to sit next to him. She opened her mouth. Closed it. "There was a tracker on Anya's arm." She disclosed and Damian blinked.
"What?"
She glanced at him as if he might get angry with her and repeated it.
"What's that?" He asked.
"It's—um. . .so people can find us. . .She mumbled into her legs.
"Wait, what? Really?" Damian said breathlessly. "Are the police coming for us?" Damian was too hinged on the idea of hope to be mad she kept this from him the whole time. But she shook her head and it dropped like a hot potato in his hands.
"What do you mean they're not coming? Who's coming? Someone's coming right? Isn't that why you had it?" Damian rushed out and she nodded.
"Who?"
She wouldn't say.
Damian wasn't entirely surprised and slumped against the wall. If it wasn't the police, who was coming for them? The Blackbells? Did they manufacture tracking devices?
There was suddenly a piece of comfort in the back of his mind, a bit of assurance to hold onto until they were rescued, to get him through this. He grasped it tightly like a child afraid of the dark holding their most precious toy, their most comforting companion while they slept. The morning would come, it wouldn't be dark forever.
Forger did that on purpose, he thought. She knew he needed something to cling to. She was probably clinging to it herself and he felt a little less alone.
Damian checked his hands and they were still shaking. He fisted them and wrapped his arms around his stomach, leaning against his legs.
"Hey. . ." He said and Forger looked to him. "Why didn't you tell anyone about this place?" Damian needed a distraction and he'd been wondering about this for ages.
Forger looked down as if she needed to consider. She sighed shakily and played with the hem of her uniform. "I didn't think I'd need to. . ."
"But . . .at school. . .you were watching for them. You knew they were around and you still didn't say anything. . ."
She looked sharply up at him.
"Am I wrong?" He asked though he had never been so sure he wasn't.
She grimaced and cast her gaze down again. It didn't seem she would elaborate.
Damian fell quiet and let it rest. He didn't have the energy to pursue it, and he found it harder to care in that moment than he thought.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
The room felt sullenly empty, a silent grave of their spirits that rung in their ears with subdued nothingness and bated apprehension. It seeded chills on Damian's skin and fostered an anxious stillness in his mind.
He wanted this all to be over. The waiting was almost worse, the unknowing.
The quiet was strongly present and the longer it went, the less it felt it should be broken. So when the faint echo of footsteps came from the hall outside, it was jarring and harsh. An unwelcome sound as the kids tensed.
He was coming, they both thought. A shot of adrenaline. A creeping panic. Damian deciding waiting was better as they inched away from the door they couldn't look away from.
And then the person passed.
And their steps receded.
Damian took a deep breath through his nose and found his arms were shaking now too.
He wanted to go home.
"How long do you think we'll be in here?" He asked softly and Forger shrugged morosely. Damian did not find that comforting. The impending return of the director haunted him and he'd rather stay in this room until they were rescued. He didn't know what he was looking for from Forger, but he was hoping for more of a solid answer.
She turned her face away from him to rest a cheek on her knees and held a tight grip on her legs.
Damian buried his own face and took a deep breath. Another one.
His father paid little attention to him and seemed to hardly react to important events in Damian's life. Even the hijacking. He hadn't come and Damian felt the crushing dejection that he'd hold little response to this as well. Would he care? What would he say? Would he be disappointed in him for getting involved? The thought left him even more scared and a new kind of inadequacy.
Damian shivered though the room wasn't particularly cold.
How did it end up this way? He was supposed to be back at the dorms by now. He was supposed to ride the bus back to school with his friends and complain about how terribly common the field trip was for an elite private school no matter how much he'd enjoyed it. He shouldn't have gone after Forger. He should have left when she told him. He shouldn't have gone digging into her life.
The gun.
He'd have nightmares for the rest of his life.
Why did he have to stick his nose into this? What a stupid, stupid, stupid thing to do. And in the end, running after her was even more stupid. She'd had a tracker. She would've been fine if he didn't interfere. This situation wasn't worth what'd he'd learned. He regretted ever. . . . .
Damian turned his head ever so slightly to peek out at the girl who sat beside him. She had seemed so small in the mess hall when the director loomed over her. He had terrified Damian and he didn't ever want to know what it was like to have all that rage directed at him. He didn't want to imagine Forger here alone and. . . and he didn't regret it. As stupid as it was, as pointless as it might've been, he wouldn't want to deal with not knowing what had happened to her again. There was a strange, terrible peace of mind he couldn't explain. It was thin and faltering, though, wavering under what might happen to them, the things he imagined that he didn't want to see.
He shuddered and a chill seeped into his skin.
He wanted to go home.
His gaze had lingered a moment too long and Forger tensed as her shoulders scrunched. It was like a signal went off in his head and he immediately looked away.
Damian hadn't thought of it much since that afternoon, the scarily accurate sixth sense she had, and he was beginning to think she was psychic or something. How did she do it? She wasn't even facing him most the time and it freaked him out a little. It was as if she had eyes in the back of her head, could feel when he focused on her and it made him prickle when he thought on it. It didn't feel natural at all and it was as if. . .
It was as if. . .
Damian wasn't sure if he'd noticed this before.
At the school, she knew those people were there. She felt them. How? How could she possibly know that? It was way more than simply noticing when his attention on her, and Damian felt sick at a rising notion.
Damian hadn't ever thought it could be connected to the kidnapping.
And he began to wonder.