The Decaying Empire (The Vanishing Girl Series Book 2) (11 page)

CHAPTER 8

E
mber, it is so good to see you,” said Debbie, the Project’s psychologist, as I walked into her office later that day. She’d been sitting behind her computer, but now she stood. I took a step back when I realized she was going to hug me. Debbie got the message and stopped short.

“Is it good to see me?” I asked.

At my words her head tilted and her brows furrowed. Quizzical. That was the expression she wore. “Why wouldn’t I be happy to see you?”

Because the Project you worked for almost killed me. Because everyone involved rightfully believed I was a traitor.

I let those reasons hang unspoken between us. That was the thing about reading people. If you knew how they would react, you could predict the scenario you might find yourself in. The one I imagined unfolding right now would lead me somewhere I didn’t want to go.

I sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.” I brushed past her and dropped onto her couch.

Almost gingerly she followed me, grabbing a pen and notepad and taking a seat across from me.

I slung my arms over the back of the couch, making myself comfortable.

“So how are you doing?” she asked once she’d situated herself.

“How do you think?”

My response already had Debbie scribbling away in her notebook.

I could imagine her notes.
Patient shows signs of aggression, especially toward the Project. Probably stems from a repressed need to be in control of her world.

All would be true.

Debbie lifted her chin, her expression carefully neutral. The look came off as superior. “Why don’t you tell me?” she said.

I picked at a loose thread on the couch. “What if I don’t want to?” I said, not looking at her.

“You cannot deal with what you don’t acknowledge.”

“Did you steal that from Dr. Phil?” I asked.

She didn’t respond, and the silence stretched on. My surliness morphed into the first tendrils of anger. I knew exactly what she was doing. People had a horrible aversion to awkward silences, so they’d rush to fill it in. She was hoping I’d do just that.

I didn’t.

When it became clear I wouldn’t, Debbie broke the silence. “What can I do to make this process more comfortable for you, Ember?”

“You can let me go.”

“We both know that’s not possible.”

I shrugged. “Then this will just have to be uncomfortable.”

Another silence descended, this one much longer than the first. I couldn’t for the life of me understand this tactic. People didn’t
willingly
open up when they felt the oppressive silence weigh upon them. This didn’t put me in the sharing mood. No, I’d already begun letting my thoughts drift.

“Are you angry, Ember?”

I’d been staring off to the side of Debbie, but now my gaze swiveled back. I focused on her for so long that she began to fidget.

“Why would I ever want to vent to you, Debbie?” I asked, narrowing my eyes and leaning forward. “You’re not my friend and you’re not family—you’re not even some maternal figure in my mind. Why would I ever choose you to confide in?”

“
That’s
why,” she said, and I could hear something close to relief in her voice. She must think it a small victory, getting me to talk. “Because I hold no significant relationship to you, you can unload your issues on me.”

“Wrong,” I said, and now the anger that had been brewing from the moment I’d walked in here finally spilled out. “You work for the people who tried to kill me.” My voice wavered at the end of the sentence. I hadn’t meant to say this; I hadn’t wanted to. I’d let my emotions get the better of me.

“That’s what you believe?”

“That’s what I
know
.”

She didn’t bother denying it. “They also healed you when you were broken. They created you.”

At that I snapped. “And somehow that makes it right?”

“Is planned treason right?” she countered.

I stood up. “Fuck you for putting this on me. I didn’t ask to be born, I didn’t ask to be mutated, and I sure as hell didn’t ask to be kept here like an animal.” This was why I’d meant to avoid the confrontation. This was the ending I knew it might lead to. I bet Debbie was having a field day recognizing and cataloging all the messed-up parts of me.

“Ember, you might not believe it at the moment, but this is good. I want you to get angry. I want you to process what happened. This is a safe environment.”

My mouth curved into a vicious smile. “Please, let’s not even talk about ‘safe environments’ here.” I eyed her. “You’re the psychologist, so you should know what a load of crap that is. You disclose all of these sessions to Richards.”

She didn’t react, didn’t fidget, didn’t tighten her grip on her notepad.

I shook my head and headed for the door.

“Our session isn’t over, Ember.”

I stopped and swiveled to face her, letting her see just how dead my eyes were. “I don’t care.” And then I exited her office, slamming the door on my way out.

Sprawled on my bed, I was still fuming an hour later when the door opened.

“You.”

I turned just in time to see Caden kick the door shut behind him. I closed the book about edible plants I was reading. “I do have a name.”

“Yes. It’s angel when you’re good, and puss-puss when you’re bad,” he said, sauntering toward me.

I chucked the book at his head. He caught it with one hand. Show-off.

“Has anyone told you it’s not nice to throw things at people?” he said, tossing the book aside.

“We went over how I felt about ‘puss-puss.’”

The corner of Caden’s mouth inched up, but he didn’t respond. He crossed the room and began opening my drawers.

“What are you doing?”

Instead of answering he threw a T-shirt at me, which hit me square in the face, then a pair of leggings. A sports bra and his favorite black thong followed. “Put those on.” He nodded toward the clothes. “You’ve got five minutes.”

“Until what?”

“Until I collect your ass, angel.”

Caden had gotten awfully bossy since I’d come back. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

He snagged the computer chair and straddled it backward. “You want to know what we’re about to do?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips. His dimples dipped in, even as his eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, close enough to really distract me.

“Vacation’s over, angel. Time to train.”

I shifted my weight from foot to foot as Caden and I faced off.

“You going to just stand there, or are you going to actually fight?” Caden taunted, his gloved fists at the ready.

It was the wrong thing to say.

I didn’t react immediately; that would’ve been too predictable. Instead I attacked two seconds later, right about the time Caden assumed that his taunt hadn’t worked.

Caden’s eyes widened infinitesimally, the only indication that I’d surprised him. And then I made contact.

I threw a punch to Caden’s stomach, followed by one to his side just to distract him. While he blocked the blows, I kneed him in the crotch. He moved at the last minute, deflecting the attack. I jumped out of reach before he could throw a punch. It didn’t matter. I might have the moves and the muscle memory, but my reaction times were slower and my hits weaker.

Caden swiped my feet out from under me. I tripped and fell, hitting the floor hard. A moment later Caden’s torso pressed against mine.

No sweat dotted his brow; no ragged breaths tore from his lungs. This hadn’t even been a match. Caden had gotten even stronger and faster while I’d languished.

All I had done was surprise him. And I’d barely done that.

“Whoa, angel,” he said, “you nearly neutered me.”

“I wasn’t even close.”

He pushed off me and removed his gloves and helmet. “Praise Jesus for that,” he said, tossing the items off to the side. “Your form is phenomenal, and you’re obviously not afraid to try new,
below-the-belt
moves.” He assessed me. “That’s good when you’re fighting an opponent.”

He sat down and patted the space next to him. I removed my gloves and helmet and lowered myself to the floor.

“Your muscles have atrophied, and your reflexes aren’t as quick—hopefully both of these things are temporary. But you’re not afraid to be vicious—that makes you much more dangerous.”

I glanced at Caden as he spoke. His eyes looked remorseful.

He grieves what I’ve become.

“I did worse to those people who got in my way,” I said. “The doctors, the nurses, innocent bystanders. And I didn’t hesitate. Not a single second.”

Caden turned his head to face me, his expression inscrutable. “Why tell me this?”

So many, many answers flittered through my head.
Because I’m a bad person, and I want you to know. Because I’m afraid I’ll only disappoint you. Because I would rather scare you off on my own terms than have you leave me on yours.

But I said none of this.

I shook my head. “Why spar with me if you don’t want me to go on missions?” I asked, deflecting his question with another.

By the way Caden’s eyes flickered, I knew he’d seen right through my ruse. He paused before he spoke, weighing his words. “What do you fear most in the world?”

I paused. “My loss of freedom.”

He nodded. “And how do you get your freedom back?”

Escape. I couldn’t voice that here, so I simply stared at him.

“And how do you do
that
?” he said, his voice low.

Plan. Prepare.

My eyes snapped to him, and he inclined his head, giving me a small, secretive smile. “I haven’t forgotten my promise.”
To escape.

My body thrummed with excited energy at the thought.

“We do this, angel, then we do this right.”

I stood in front of a glass case, my gaze falling on its contents before I could even register where I was.

A gleam of dark silver caught my eye. I bit my lip when I realized what I stared at. Lodestones.

It took me another second to realize something was on my face. I reached up, noticing I wore gloves, and touched the material. A mask, one that hid my brows, nose, and cheekbones. I dropped my hands, the action causing my hair to brush against my jaw.

But that couldn’t be right. My hair was longer than ever at the moment. Which meant that I was wearing a wig.

I glanced down at my outfit, my mouth parting open in surprise.

What the . . . ?

Leather clung to my body in a way that was more suggestive than functional, especially the busty top.

I looked like Catwoman. Not cool.

A holstered gun rested against my waist, and a note rested between my breasts. I removed the note, frowning.

Retrieve the lodestones. Flush them down the toilet.

I rubbed my forehead. Down the toilet? Why would someone . . . ?
My hand stilled. To smuggle them out of the building of course. A person wouldn’t fit through a pipe, but a stone as small as the ones in front of me would.

My eyes roved over my surroundings, then returned to the note. Was this
. . .
a simulation? It wouldn’t be the first time the Project threw me into a practice mission underprepared.