Page 6 of From the Noblest Motives
"Nothing," Damien finally murmured when they reached the start again.
They spent the next few days crawling along the heading the trails had taken before they'd ended so abruptly, stopping every half mile and getting out to cast around for any signs. Again and again, nothing. Unless someone had invented a matter transporter or a gate had opened up to some other dimension, it made no damn sense.
The evening of the fourth day, Blaze called a halt. "This isn't getting us any-fucking-where. Ready to head back?"
Damien stared at him for a few long seconds, and Blaze wasn't sure his words had gotten through until Damien shivered and shook his head. "It doesn't make sense."
"I know, Twitch. But wandering in the wilderness getting you worn out and frustrated won't solve it." Blaze cringed as soon as he said it. He knew better.
"I'm fine." Damien's eyes went hard, his chin tipped up in unconscious defiance.
"Maybe you are." Blaze rubbed at the spot on his chest where a bullet had nearly been the end of him. He hadn't meant to be manipulative. It just twinged some days. But Damien caught the movement and his gaze softened to concern, possibly laced with guilt.
"Blaze… You should've said." Damien turned him and pushed him toward the truck. "We'll go. Maybe Dr. Parma has some idea."
At least it stopped raining for the drive back, not that it helped the awkward silence during the day and the careful distance at night.
I thought we were doing all right. I screwed something up, or something made him skittery again. Half a step forward, two steps back again, just like it was when we first met.
Not quite like that, of course. Now they had history together— conversations and things they'd each done that rattled around in Damien's brain. He got stuck on odd things sometimes. Blaze knew that.
They were nearing Salt Lake City when Damien started fiddling with the truck's media unit, picking up clear broadcast signals again. Blaze left him to it until part of a name jerked him out of his thoughts.
"Wait. Go back."
Brows furrowed, Damien tapped back to the last signal, a news broadcast, and his tiny gasp confirmed what Blaze had feared. There on the viewer was Shudder, his blond halo of curls unmistakable. But this was far from the cheerful, irrepressible man they both knew. Shudder walked between uniformed guards, his hands secured in some sort of sheath cuffs, his head down and his motions awkward.
"Turn the sound up," Blaze whispered, his heart banging on his sternum.
—apprehended not thirty minutes ago.Once again, you're watching a live Channel QXP exclusive as Shudder McKenzie, the infamous variant terrorist, is being taken into federal custody on suspicion of murdering Science Minister Sheila Tapper. As we shared with you in the last hour, Minister Tapper's body was found beneath the remains of a collapsed wall on the outskirts of New Chicago.
"Oh shit. Shuds, you didn't,"Blaze murmured as they watched Shudder being shoved into the back of an armored van. He was drugged. That's why his movements looked wrong, like a puppet with tangled strings.
Damien reached over and gripped Blaze's hand, his gaze never leaving the screen. "He didn't. He never would."
"Yeah." No matter how many times Blaze had called Shudder a reckless idiot, he was too good at what he did to cause an accident like that and too kindhearted to murder in cold blood. Blaze stomped on the accelerator. "We really need to get to Dr. Parma. Right fucking now."
2
THE WHITE PRISON
"Just sign here, Mr. McKenzie." A blunt finger tapped the bottom of the page where letters scrambled over each other, refusing to sit still. Reading had always posed extra challenges, but Shudder couldn't recall the last time it had been this tricky.
He leaned forward until his nose touched the paper, but that surely didn't help. It only made his blurred vision worse, and the pounding headache moved from the top of his head to behind his left eye. At least they'd taken the cuffs off. That was nice. Too bad everything was so… so fuzzy and nothing made sense.
"Who are you?" Shudder sat back and squinted up at the man on his left. Suit jacket. Glasses. Maybe there were no eyes behind the glasses. Pleasant thought.
"Just sign the paper, Mr. McKenzie, and you can rest."
"Where is this?" No one was answering his questions. Maybe his words were too slurred. Everything was slurred. He was just one big slur. The giggle got away from him before he knew he was smiling.
"That's right." Mr. Reflective Glasses was smiling, too. "We're all friends here. Here, you can use my pen."
Silver glinted in front of Shudder when he glanced down. "Oooh. Pretty." After three tries he managed to get his fingers around the promised pen, a sleek, expensive one. Probably even wrote upside down. Reminded him of something. His mother… golden hair… perfect hands… a pen… Not hers, though. A pen. A pen. "Attorney."
"What did he say?" someone asked from across the room, the voice coming through a wall of cotton. Everything wrapped in cotton. Then nothing would hurt again.
"Attorney," Shudder repeated, trying each syllable out, pulling them out like taffy. He had the feeling they had meant something a moment ago. Not that he just liked the rhythm. With the gleaming pen held between thumb and finger, he tapped it on the tablerat-a-tat, rat-a-tat. "A-ttor-ney. A-ttor-ney. A-ttor-ney. A-ttor-ney."
