Page 25 of Connected
“You’re saying that if I join you, I’ll be able to reshape reality?”
“In a small way, yes. But my god, man, it’s so much more than that.” Miller hopped down from the table and walked over. His eyes were still like looking into an abyss, but his face had settled into softer tones, and for the first time, Owen had the sense that Miller was entirely sincere. “You’ll never be ill, you won’t age, and you’ll live far longer than humans do. I was born in 1856, and look at me! All of those stupid things that vex you now—rent, taxes, traffic, annoying neighbors, pesky family—will be irrelevant. Right now, the world is your prison, but it could become your playground.”
“He’s telling the truth.”
Owen’s head turned so quickly that it hurt. Miller spun around, and both of them stared at Keaton, who was now wide awake.
“Keaton—” Owen began.
But Keaton spoke over him. “What’s he trying to get you to join? Because he’s not lying to you, but you don’t want to have anything to do with him. Believe me.”
How long had Keaton been pretending to be unconscious? He was an actor, after all.
Miller obviously found something about Keaton unsettling. His scowl was back when he turned to Owen. “Who is this man to you?”
“Nothing. He rented me a guest house for a couple of nights.”
That produced a snort. “Airbnb hosts don’t generally follow their guests into abandoned coal tipples in the middle of a thunderstorm.”
Owen tried to calculate whether things would be better or worse for Keaton if Miller learned that he was an empath. But he just didn’t know enough about Miller’s goals. No matter what, Keaton’s future looked grim.
“Whydidyou come here?” Owen asked, giving up any pretense that they were nothing more than nodding acquaintances.
“I got worried. Justifiably.”
“But you can’t…. What the hell did you expect you’d be able to do?”
“Nothing. But I couldn’t just sit there. I’ve been doing that for way too long.”
Owen would have liked to point out that this didn’t make logical sense, and that Keaton was stupid, and that the entire effort had been useless. But Keaton already knew that. And besides, a tiny part of Owen was pleased. Someone… not just anyone, but Keaton… had cared enough about him to risk his life.
Keaton, who must have sensed what Owen was feeling, gave a small smile.
“This is a lovely reunion,” said Miller, raising his hand. “But I have other things to do.”
“Are you trying to make him be like you?” asked Keaton, not showing any fear.
“Yes.”
“You won’t. You can’t. His inner self isgood. Yours is putrid. You are literally rotten to the core.”
Miller waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not rot. You people think in simplistic terms. Black and white. Good and evil. That’s not the way the world works.” He did his hand gesture.
Keaton was still screaming when Miller turned the gesture on Owen as well.
CHAPTER 11
Keaton didn’t have anywhere near a full understanding of what was going on here, and the pain echoing through him didn’t clarify matters. But he got the gist of it. This motherfucker in the suit had sold his soul to the devil, or something like that, and now he had superpowers. And he wanted Owen to follow his lead.
Although Keaton tried to block their captor’s emotions as much as possible, some seeped through. They weren’t nice. And they were also entirely human. The guy had a wide sadistic streak and was smug about getting his claws on Owen. But he really,reallywanted Owen to join him. He was desperate about the whole thing. And underneath everything, despite his confident façade, he was afraid. Keaton wished he knew what of.
As for Owen, he was at the end of his rope but holding on tight. He was worried about Keaton and pissed off that Keaton had gotten himself into trouble, which was fair enough. Owen was resigned to his fate. Almost. He still had a spark of resistance.
And somewhere, unseen, a third party was chiming in. Sending out tendrils of encouragement, as if that person knew that Keaton would sense them. That incentive came from thesame person who was in deep despair—but not entirely buried in it, apparently.
But dammit, Keaton didn’t have time to figure all of this out. That son of a bitch with the scary-ass eyes was looking pensive.
“Do you know what, Agent Clark? I think you care about this man. If you decide to join me, the first thing I’ll ask you to do is to hurt him. Torture him. Kill him.”
