Page 63 of Hunter

“Where were you?” he demanded.

Building 22, her mind screamed as all the horror of the place came rushing back over her, swamping her, choking her, making it impossible to speak.

Hunter gave her a critical look. When she didn’t say anything, he continued in a flat voice, “You asked me how to get to Building 22. Then you went there.”

When she managed the barest of nods, his hands dropped away from her arms. “You saw the tanks.”

Slowly she raised her head, hoping against hope that she had heard him wrong. “How do you know about that?”

“I have seen them. I tried not to think about it.” When she continued to stare at him, he gave a gulping swallow. “I—I . . . guess I knew what they meant.”

An involuntary shudder racked her.

“I hoped you wouldn’t go there. I knew you would feel differently about me if you saw that place,” he continued in the same strained voice. When she didn’t answer, he continued, “I can see the horror in your eyes. Now you are like the rest of them. You know I am not a real person.”

She was still in shock, still unable to think in her normally calm, clear fashion. Her mouth was dry, so that her words came out rough and sharp. “You told me you never lie. Why didn’t you tell me about Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory?”

He turned his face away from her and spoke rapidly. “That night when the storm came and we talked, you asked if I remembered my mother or my father. I said I didn’t. That was a true statement. But I didn’t want to tell you I remembered waking up in the lab. Lying on a table, cold and naked and confused.”

She sucked in a strangled breath. Her knees threatened to give way, and she locked them to keep standing. “Hunter—” she tried to speak, even when she didn’t know what to say. But the memory of that nightmare place was too vivid. She had seen things that could drive a sane person to madness.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then focused on her face. “The time with you was good,” he whispered. “Like nothing else in my life—before or after. You were my friend—and more. You didn’t laugh at me when I made a mistake—like when I thought the flowers might be part of supper. I will remember that.” She saw his hands clench and unclench. “I will remember all of the things that happened between us. The alligator toy. The steak. The sound of you singing.” His voice hitched. “Holding you. It was all good. But I understand that it will no longer have anything to do with me.” His arm lifted toward her, then fell back to his side. “For a little while, with you, I had the things you said people need.” He stopped, then went on quickly. “But at least now it will be easier to go on my mission.”

“No,” she whispered, unsure of what she meant. Yet after the shock of Swinton’s lab, it was impossible for her to respond in any kind of normal fashion. She had been stunned past her capacity to function, and she truly didn’t know what she felt.

“I can’t—” she wheezed.

“I know,” he answered. “It’s all right. I understand. I’ve been waiting for you to change.” Shoulders slumped, he turned toward the house. In moments, he had disappeared.

On legs that barely supported her weight, she tottered forward and gripped the edge of the window, somehow finding the strength to pull herself inside.

The ten feet to the bed might have been ten miles, but she made it across the vast distance and collapsed. As soon as her legs no longer had to carry her weight, her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. The shaking turned to sobs, and she pressed her face into the pillow to muffle the sound.

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He got up at the usual time. Showered. Shaved. Dressed. Neatly made his bed the way the orderly had taught him. Outside Kathryn’s door he stopped and imagined he could hear her breathing. She had been crying last night. He had heard her. Now she was sleeping. He was glad, because he didn’t want to see her now—see the look of fear and disgust in her eyes. He wanted to remember the relief and joy on her face when he came back from the hospital, but the scene kept slipping out of his mind.

Quietly he walked down the hall to the kitchen. He fixed a pod of coffee and drank it without milk or sugar as he looked at the box of doughnuts on the counter. He could eat more of them. As many as he wanted. Instead, he picked up the box and pitched it into the trash, then wiped his hands against the sides of his jeans.

Moisture blurred his vision. Like when Beckton had slapped him. But this pain was different. Not physical. Something worse.

He had thought he could deaden himself, the way he had been dead before Kathryn. But banishing the anguish churning inside him was impossible. He had told himself he didn’t care what she thought of him. Just the way he didn’t care what Swinton thought, or Beckton, or McCourt, or any of the rest of them. With them it was true. With Kathryn, it was a lie.

Quietly he walked back to his room and began to pack the clothes he had brought from his quarters. He had never asked Beckton or anyone else to do him a favor. He would ask for something now.

In the living room, he hesitated in front of the bookshelves. The green alligator was where he had left it. Before he could stop himself, he snatched it up and stuffed it under the clothing he had packed.

When the security men came to pick him up fifteen minutes later, they eyed the duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, what are you doing?” the senior one asked.

“I am going back to my quarters.”

“You don’t make those kinds of decisions.”

“Living here is interfering with my work. I will tell that to Major Beckton.”

“Oh yeah?” The man laughed. “I guess Dr. Kelley would interfere with my concentration, too.”

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