Resonance - Erica O'Rourke Page 0,23
doors opened on a sterile, echoing corridor. Two more guards were positioned at the short end of the hallway, a few feet to my left. To my right, the corridor stretched at least a hundred feet, windowless doors spaced evenly along both sides. Unlike the regular security force, the guards here wore unrelieved black. Everything else here was blindingly white—white tiles, white walls, white doors. The only sound was the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. The icy, overprocessed air stung my nose.
Lattimer appeared through the door opposite the elevator. Upstairs, his suit had appeared black—here it seemed to absorb light, an aura in reverse.
“Randolph,” Crane said. “I believe everything is in order.”
He closed the door behind him. “It is.”
“I’ll leave her to you,” Crane said. She and her escorts stepped back onto the elevator, departing swiftly and silently.
“Hello again, Delancey. I’m so glad you came,” Lattimer said, with a smile that was meant to be warm but only made cold sweat bead along my spine. “Let me take your things.”
I handed over my coat and bag to one of the guards, who took them into the control room while I inspected the hallway. The corridor stretched away from us in an unbroken line—no intersections or corners, every door visible. I counted eight on each side, a total of sixteen. Small, for a prison. “These are the oubliettes?”
“In a manner of speaking. The oubliettes are located in an Echo; we’ve manipulated the fabric of the target world, unraveling all threads not directly related to the cell itself. Then we create a single pivot in and out, leading to the room you’re about to enter. It allows us to transfer food and other necessities between the oubliette and the Key World, and we can remove the prisoner if we need to converse with him. Each Echo is monitored to ensure that no further pivots are created. It’s the perfect prison.”
I’d known oubliettes were Echoes, but I hadn’t realized they’d physically altered the world itself. I couldn’t fathom that kind of precision, but Eliot might. I’d have to ask him.
“Don’t the prisoners get frequency poisoning?”
“We choose Echoes with a pitch similar to the Key World, for minimal exposure. But to be perfectly honest, most inmates aren’t here long enough for frequency poisoning to become an issue.”
Apparently a lifetime sentence meant a short lifetime, not a lengthy sentence.
“Which one is Monty?”
Lattimer pointed at a door halfway down the corridor. Suddenly I was grateful I hadn’t had dinner yet.
“Each cell is outfitted with recording equipment. I’ll be monitoring it from the control room,” he said, as if this was a comfort. “I’ll be able to see and hear everything that happens while you’re inside.”
Since I’d come here to make sure Monty didn’t tell anyone about Simon, I was less than comforted. “What do I do once I’m inside?”
“Be encouraging. Empathetic. Let him unburden himself to you, no matter how outlandish his claims.”
“Outlandish?”
“He’s a cunning old man, Delancey. His confession will be short on remorse, and long on excuses.”
“It’s all going to be lies? You said this was urgent.”
“It is. But if he knows that, he gains the advantage. For now, let him talk. Let him believe you forgive him. He’ll be more receptive to your questions.”
“What questions?”
“Ask him about the Free Walkers. What they’re planning, where they’re hiding. How they communicate. Ask about Rose, and the weapon they were working on before she vanished. Even the smallest detail helps.” He handed me a tiny beige earpiece. “This will allow me to feed you more questions during the interrogation.”
So much for pleasant conversation. I slipped the earpiece in and let my hair fall forward. “He’s not going to tell you anything.”
“Not me. You.”
“What are you going to do with those details?” I asked. “Chase Free Walkers?”
“If that’s where he leads us, certainly.”
I wound my fingers together, trying to keep from shaking.
“He’s already inside and restrained,” Lattimer added, escorting me to the cell door. “There’s nothing to fear.”
People kept telling me not to be scared, but the more they insisted, the more I doubted. But I wasn’t going to let Monty see it. I lifted my chin and opened the door.
The room was as white as bleached bone and smelled like fear. Monty sat on the far side of a long, narrow steel table. His face split in a broad smile, though his lips were chapped and raw-looking. Gray cotton scrubs hung limply from his frame, and his arms looked spindly. But his eyes were keen as