The Pretender (The Soren Chase Series Book 2) (3 page)

“No,” Terry corrected. “Those are ways that Soren has tried to kill
himself
. Skip to the end of the list.”

“‘Number forty-eight: going full suicide bomber,’” Glen said.

“Could you cross that one off for me? There’s a pen on the table,” Soren said.

“Sure, sure,” Glen said sarcastically. “Happy to help. Would you like me to add some ideas while I’m at it? I don’t see ‘boiling myself in acid’ on here.”

“That’s a good one, yeah,” Soren said. “Just add it to the bottom.”

“I was kidding!”

“I wasn’t.”

A frosty silence settled over the three of them. Glen couldn’t keep eye contact with Soren, however, and he looked back down at the list.

“How come number fourteen isn’t crossed off?” he asked after a moment.

“It turns out it’s really hard to decapitate yourself,” Soren answered. “It’s not like people sell guillotines anymore. My best idea was to stand up on a roller coaster, but all the amusement parks around here are closed for winter. I could head down to Disney World, but I’m not sure there’s a ride that would really work.”

“Right, yeah,” Glen said. “I could see how that would be a problem.”

“But hey, now that we’re buddies again, maybe you could decapitate me?” Soren suggested. “I have a really sharp sword in the closet over there.”

“Gee, Soren, I didn’t realize we’d moved to the decapitation stage of our relationship. At the moment, the offer is really tempting.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Terry interrupted.

Soren sighed. “I know,” he replied. “I cut the head off another pretender a couple months ago, and it grew back after a few minutes. Honestly, the whole blowing myself up seemed like my best bet. I’m a little lost now that it didn’t work. But I’m open to suggestions, guys. There are no bad ideas here, only a monster that deserves to die.”

The words hung in the air for a few moments before Soren finally sat down in the client chair facing the desk. He supposed it was appropriate.

“You’re not a monster, Soren,” Terry said finally.

The ghost of a smile crossed Soren’s face. “I’ve done a little reading up on Falk,” Soren replied. “I couldn’t find a lot, mind you, but I read enough. ‘Vicious, cruel, loves to play games with his victims.’ That’s how one person described me. ‘Relentless, ruthless, a perfect killing machine.’ That was somebody else. I might put that one on my business card. I think it could really boost foot traffic in here.”

Your name isn’t Soren Chase. It’s . . .

“I know!” Soren yelled, hitting himself in the face again. “You don’t need to tell me every twelve seconds.”

“But we didn’t say . . .” Glen’s voice drifted off.

Glen was looking at Terry in alarm.

“Can I ask you a question?” Terry said.

Soren opened his arms wide.

“Fire away. No, seriously, if you have a missile launcher . . .”

“When did you and John Townes first meet?”

Soren blinked at Terry in surprise. He didn’t know what question he was expecting, but that definitely wasn’t it.

“We . . . uh . . . what?”

“When did you first meet John?” Terry repeated.

“We were six,” Soren said. “I found him standing in my yard one day. He stuck out his hand and said, ‘Hi, I’m John. I’m going to be your best friend.’”

“Really?” Glen asked.

Soren turned toward Glen and nodded. “Yeah, literally, that’s what he said. I used to tease him about it. But he was right, so—”

“And how did you kill him?” Terry asked.

He had just been on the verge of smiling, but the question felt like cold water thrown in his face. “I . . .” Soren started. “I don’t remember.”

“Ah,” Terry said, as if this proved something.

“What? What’s your point?”

Terry gave him a look that suggested Soren was being deeply stupid. “You remember exactly how you met John, a memory that Soren Chase has,” Terry explained. “But you don’t remember how you killed him, something Falk did.”

“So?”

“You may have once been Falk, but in killing Soren, you’ve taken his memories, his beliefs, and his personality. Whatever else you were, you have chosen to be Soren.”

Soren laughed and it came out bitter.

“I may act like him, but I’m not him. Pretending I am would be a lie. It feels wrong even to consider it, like in addition to killing him I’d also be mocking him. Like spitting on his grave or something.”

“Would the girl you saved tonight agree with you?” Terry asked. “That’s not something Falk would do, but Soren would.”

Soren shook his head. “Nice try,” he said. “But you can’t remake me into a hero. Hell, we don’t even know that Soren would have saved anybody. I took up monster hunting
after
killing Soren. The real Soren wasn’t chasing creatures through forests. He had friends, hobbies. He was
alive
. I’m like a poor shadow.”

“I’m not trying to turn you into a hero, Falk,” Terry said, and Soren visibly flinched when he said his name. “But you can have the courage to take your newfound knowledge, and use it against those who would continue to harm the innocent. Killing yourself won’t bring back John Townes or his friends. There are enemies out there, dangerous ones. We need your help to fight them.”

Soren nodded his head and rubbed his hands in front of him.

“So that’s your play, huh?” he asked. “You’re going to tell me I’m the only one who can stop the evil schemes of the Association, or the Council, or whatever the hell it calls itself?”

“You and I both know the amount of supernatural activity in this world has been sharply increasing over the past few years,” Terry said. “I believe the Council—the same organization that ran the group you tangled with in Reapoke—is behind it. And yes, you can help stop it.”

Soren stood up. He gave Glen an almost regretful look, and turned back to Terry. “I can’t help you. I don’t want to—how did you put it?—‘take my newfound knowledge of myself’ and save the world. I don’t even know how to do that. Other than not dying and a little boost to speed and strength, I’m not any different than I was before. Besides, stopping the Council isn’t my mission.”

“Ask yourself this,” Terry said. “What would Soren Chase do? Would he turn his back on his friends when they need him?”

Soren’s smile was bitter. “That was the wrong thing to say, because if Soren
were
here, he wouldn’t care about stopping the Council or hunting monsters. All he would care about is killing the creature that murdered John Townes.”

With that, Soren walked out the door.

Soren made it out into the parking lot before realizing he didn’t have a car here. He’d left it near the abandoned Kmart, which was all the way out in Herndon. He had no way to get home.

There was a sound behind him and he found Glen standing there, a hand on his hip. “Give you a lift?” he said, arching an eyebrow.

Soren fought down the sudden urge to punch Glen, take his keys, and steal his car. He was a monster, after all, and grand theft auto seemed a lot less serious than half the other stuff he’d read about Falk doing.

Glen must have seen something in Soren’s eyes because he backed up half a step. “What the hell did I do to you?” he asked. “I didn’t make you into a pretender, Soren.”

“But you knew I was one,” Soren responded, pointing an accusatory finger in Glen’s direction. “You knew. You pulled me out of that forest and never asked me one question, because you already knew what I was. And you
didn’t tell me
.”

“I didn’t know until later, okay?” Glen said, holding up his hands. “Terry did, but he’s the master of compartmentalization. He didn’t tell me shit. I only figured it out after he sent me to pick you up in the forest.”

Soren considered this. “You had
no
idea?”

Glen opened his mouth, and Soren could see the lie on his lips. Soren wanted it to come. He waited for it with a savage glee so he could grab it and tear it apart. But Glen must have seen the expression on his face, because the lie died inside him. Soren turned on his heel and walked away.

“Where are you going?” Glen asked.

“I can walk home from here,” Soren called back.

He walked for a few moments down the streets of Leesburg before he heard a car approaching him from behind, then a window rolling down.

“Get in the car, Soren.”

Soren didn’t bother to turn around. “I’m not Soren.”

“Okay, then get in the car, oh mighty Falk, terror of the seven continents or whatever the hell you think you are,” Glen said. “Come on. It’s a ride home.”

Soren stopped, feeling silly. What was he trying to prove? That he could walk a few miles to his apartment? Reluctantly, he turned to the car.

“I’ll take the ride,” he said, “but then we’re done, okay? I don’t want to work with you, and I don’t want you following me around.”

Glen nodded, and Soren crossed in front of the car and got in. “You asked if I had any idea,” Glen said as he started driving. “I had a hint. Remember the case in Hilltop? With the leprechauns and the gorgon?”

Soren nodded. It had been his first case with Glen.

“You looked into the gorgon’s eyes, Soren,” Glen said. “Everyone else that did that got turned to stone, but not you.”

Soren started shaking his head.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Soren said. “It was the sunglasses. They . . .”

He stopped talking as the falseness of what he was saying hit home. Until then, he’d truly believed that the sunglasses had protected him from the gorgon’s gaze. But how could that be true? They had found an entire town turned to stone—and some of them had probably been wearing glasses.

The idea that his sunglasses protected him was obviously bullshit, but Soren hadn’t seen it.

“You see what I’m saying, right?” Glen went on. “The sunglasses never made sense as an explanation. So I knew it was something. But you didn’t want to talk about it and when I asked Terry, he played coy.”

Soren slowly nodded his head. He knew he’d been living in a bubble of denial. The memory loss, his exceptional speed and agility—he could explain it all. Somewhere deep down, he’d known the truth, but he’d hidden it from himself. Sometimes people can want something so badly, they convince themselves it’s true.

“And that was it?” Soren asked. “That was the only time you knew something was different about me?”

“No, of course not,” Glen said. “Once the not-turning-to-stone thing happened, there were all sorts of signs that you couldn’t just be plain old Soren Chase, paranormal detective. For starters, you wear your sunglasses all the damn time, even inside. That’s not normal, you know. And then there was the way you kept surviving. How many creatures have you killed in the past six months? Those were scary monsters, Soren, but they were scared of
you
. Every damn thing that’s gone up against you wound up scared of you.”

“Are you?” Soren asked.

He meant it as a stupid comeback, something just to make Glen stop talking. But he realized he wanted to know the answer.

“No,” Glen said.

Soren gave him a look. His glare was still intimidating. Glen looked a little sheepish.

“Okay, maybe a little,” Glen admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not your friend, Soren.”

Soren suddenly moved toward Glen, putting his face inches away from his. Glen gave him a sidelong glance but kept his eyes on the road.

“Then. Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?” Soren asked, barely keeping his voice under control.

“Would you have believed me if I had?” Glen asked.

Soren pulled back and leaned into the seat. He closed his eyes. No, he wouldn’t have believed him. He might have believed Terry, but not Glen. He would have found a way to dismiss his concerns.

He still felt mad, but Soren suspected it was just more fury at himself. What a fool he’d been. “You know what the worst part is?” Soren said. “I don’t know how to react to anything anymore. You tell me this and I see your point, and I don’t know if I should forgive you and move on with my life, or stab you in the throat.”

“I am firmly opposed to any throat stabbing.”

Soren ignored him. “I keep having to constantly second guess myself,” he said. “I start to react and then think, ‘Is this how Soren would react?’ and I don’t know. At least, when I believed I was Soren, it gave me a roadmap for responding to events. Now I don’t know what to do. I feel like somebody dropped me in the middle of a deep, black ocean and told me to swim, but didn’t leave a lighthouse or even a star to tell me where to go. Everywhere I look, it’s just an empty expanse of water with no hope in sight. And I worry it’s obvious. What if Sara will be able to tell?”

Just mentioning Sara brought him pain. Soren suddenly remembered John and Sara posing for a picture at their senior prom. Sara had worn a floor-length, red dress that accentuated her dark-brown skin. Sara’s black hair was carefully pinned up and she wore jewelry Soren had never seen before, probably borrowed from her mother. Just before the picture was taken, Sara had spotted Soren, and given him a warm smile. She was so graceful and poised; she looked like an adult while the rest of them were still playacting.

That memory had been buried like so many others until two months ago. He hadn’t known how much he loved Sara until he almost lost her.

The car stopped and Soren opened his eyes. He realized they were in front of his apartment building, and reached for the door handle.

“Soren, wait,” Glen said, grabbing his arm.

Soren brushed it away, but not unkindly.

“I’ve got to go,” Soren said. “I have to think up new ways to kill myself.”

“You’d be surprised how often I get that line.”

Soren couldn’t help it. He laughed.

Glen reached over and opened the glove compartment. He took out an envelope and held it out to Soren. Soren stepped out of the car without reaching for it.

“Take it,” Glen said. “This case is the real reason I was following you tonight. We figured you might not be watching the news.”

“I’m sorry,” Soren replied. “But I’m really not interested in some case. I’ve got to finish this, Glen.”

“You’ll definitely want to look at this one.”

Soren looked up at his apartment. He just felt exhausted.