Page 23 of Irreversible

I’m trembling, but not from fear. Usually, I’d be ten steps ahead of the situation, prepared for anything, and now I’m just…fumbling in the dark.

Pisses me off.

Under the protection of a cover, I’ve always felt free to do whatever needs to be done. I’m me, butnotme. And as it turns out, Nick Ford is no less mortal than Isaac Porter.

Now that death seems imminent, I find I might actually care.

Go figure.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Nicholas? Are you there?”

Oh, right. There’s a woman on the other side of the wall. And since I’m in no mood to deal with people, she’s about to become the lucky recipient of my frustration. “I’m chained to the floor, what do you think?” My throat feels like I’ve swallowed glass.

“I just wanted to?—”

“I’m not interested in talking,” I snap.

It’s quiet for a long time before I realize that I’m an idiot. That woman over there is a resource, and since it’s unlikely my captor will be forthcoming, she might be all I’ve got.

Shit.

I’m going to have to be fucking charming, aren’t I? Where’s Tanner when you need him to interact with civilians?

It takes a rough couple of minutes to get to my feet, but I manage to drag myself a few steps over to the bare wall. After staring at it for a moment, I knock. “Hey.” There’s no answer, so I wait a minute and try again.Nicely.“If I scared you before, I’m…sorry.”

The last word sticks in my throat.In my opinion,sorryshould be reserved for those rare moments when you genuinely commit to changing your behavior. Otherwise, it’s meaningless.

Since I hate commitments, it doesn’t cross my vocabulary often.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk.” Wariness laces her tone.

“Yeah, well, if you knew me, you wouldn’t take that personally.”

“It’s fine. No one’s in a good mood when they wake up over there.”

That brings up a lot of questions. And because I’m me, I don’t think before launching into full-interrogation mode. “Exactly how many people have woken up over here?”

“Um… I don’t know. Too many.”

“Are you with him?” I wish I could see her, so I’d know if she was lying.

“What?”

“The man who just left. Do you work with him?” There’s a reason I always played “bad cop” in the partnership.

“N-no. I don’t. I’m not…”

“Who are you, then? What are you doing over there?”

Silence.

I’ve probably given her whiplash.

With a long exhale, I put my back to the wall and slide to the floor. This is why I never dealt with witnesses.

“I’m not working with him,” she finally answers. “I’m just like you.”

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