the man out of the way.
The screams deafened and assaulted. The blows weakened us with every step.
Still there was something else, something much more sinister, which ran beneath the surface. Something that the video technicians quickly edited out.
It stood at the edges of the wild crowd. Passive and cold and calculating.
While some of the parents reacted with violent, out-of-control anger, a larger majority of them stood back, silent, almost numb. A familiar expression on their faces. One I immediately recognized.
Apathy.
These children hadn’t been kidnapped: they were dead. There would be a legal death certificate in the mail in a few days.
These children could be replaced.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Angelique:
In typical mug fashion, I got slammed together with all the suspects in the case. Didn’t matter that I was probably innocent. The fact that my arms had been burned from the liquid light should have branded me as a victim here. And although I still couldn’t remember exactly what happened, I had a vague memory of pulling two of those kids into the bathroom and blocking the door. Just chalk it up to another good deed that went awry.
New body. Same old story.
Skellar shoved us single file down a narrow passage, hands cuffed behind our backs. For a few harrowing moments I was blinded by the VR strobe lights; in that instant the surrounding catcalls grew louder, more oppressive; the gauntlet corridor narrowed, transformed into a Mephistophelian birth canal that didn’t want us to survive.
Meanwhile, the parents of the dead children loomed over us, arms waving, faces red with fury, shrill voices barking and howling and shrieking as we stumbled forward, step by step. Suddenly somebody grabbed me by the hair. I screamed and fell backward, staggered to catch my balance.
I collapsed on top of someone else, my body pressed against his, my face against his chest. I felt it immediately—a horrible familiarity: his smell, the touch of his skin, his voice when he spoke to me, softly, beneath the cacophonous layers of the crowd. When I struggled to lift my head, my lips accidentally brushed against his cheek and his eyes met mine.
Russell.
In that moment I remembered everything. How he loved me. How he killed me. How his hands knew every inch of my body. How those same hands had closed around my throat in a death grip, pressed against my windpipe, crushed my bones—
“Russ.” His name came out like a hiss. I blinked, tried to pull away, couldn’t breathe.
An electric shock flowed between us, an instant, silent, deadly communication.
He whispered. So soft no one else heard it. Maybe he didn’t even realize he said it out loud.
“Ellen?”
He recognized me. He knows who I am. That murdering monster saw through my disguise before I even had the sense to hide.
I pulled away, forced my legs to stop trembling, turned my gaze away.
“Move along there, sister!” one of the mugs shouted as he pressed his palm against my back.
I ducked my head instinctively as someone swung a chair over our heads and slammed it down on Pete with a blood-soaked thud. He fell to his knees, cried out. Chaz tried to shelter him, managed to push him to the end of the corridor, then he turned back.
I could see Chaz looking at me through dark, twisted shadows. His mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear him. I nodded. Pretended I understood.
“I’m coming,” I said as I tried to push my way through.
But all I could hear was Russ calling me Ellen and I knew. It was time for me to get out of here. Time for me to run.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
October 13 • 5:35 A.M.
Chaz:
Shadows melted; clouds shattered; stars fell from the sky. The world became a barren landscape, painted in muted shades of gray and brown, a scorched horizon of broken glass and barbed wire. An invisible minefield surrounded by a poisonous moat. My throat felt like I’d been drinking fire, while my left hand melted and evaporated in the lava-bright heat.
Gone. Everything recognizable was gone.
I was empty. Tired. My blood had been drained out by some vampire and now there were ten more lining up, waiting for a drink. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to sleep longer than five hours. I wanted to close my eyes and lose my identity. Plunge headfirst into a Rip Van Winkle coma.
More than anything, I wanted to sleep without that nightmare.
“What nightmare?”
I lifted my head, stared unblinking into Skellar’s Mongoloid face. I grinned. He was so ugly he was an insult to Mongoloids