Page 63 of All Saints Day
Chapter 23
Quentin
Early morning and I find myself once again on my own, out at the edge of the lake.
I can't help but keep replaying snippets from the interrogation over and over in my head, trying to see if there was something we missed—an avenue we could have accidentally turned into a road untraveled—but it seems as if we've gotten everything that we could out of Frank. Like it or not.
Some part of me had been holding out hope that it was something other than Frank's own mind that had caused the fracture—though I’m not sure what that might have been. Though, I suppose it's a bit of a comfort in and of itself to know that Frank—as broken and damaged as he may be—he’s still just a man.
Of course, there's the matter of whether to bond him. He is still one of our fated mates— just now we have a fuller picture. We know that the reality is Frank is not just Frank Stone, or even Francis Stone. He is Francis Castle, son of the late, hired-muscle tycoon, Patrick Castle. He is also Rook, brutal inquisitor and trigger man for the Windmill. For all we know, there may even be others that we haven't met; more splinters that may not have yet split off from the core.
Even though we’ve learned a lot in the past few days, none of us is ready to make the decision yet.
How much time will be allowed for us to make such a delicate decision remains to be seen.
With the information we gathered from Frank, we know the Windmill is planning on releasing the augmented Zeitnot virus with or without a cure. Since the Windmill never got positive confirmation that Louise is definitively part of the solution, it is likely that they will continue on under the assumption that they can create their own cure along with their own preventative vaccine if given enough time.
However, from what we can tell of Seb and Doctor Perla's research, Louise is the keystone to the Zeitnot virus and any other potential iterations. Without her, there would be no cure—no hope.
Now that we have Louise back, and knowledge of the Windmill’s plans, our priority has shifted to reconnecting with Doctor Perla in order to prepare for the Windmill’s release of the augmented Zeitnot virus.
With all the Saints and Louise bitten into the pack, we're in the best possible position to take these next steps.
For now, the plan is to drag Frank along with us, keeping him drugged up so that he can't do any harm to himself or anyone else—at least until we reach a point where we can decide more definitively what to do with him.
I've been in touch with the old CI contact who allowed me to use this cabin along with its prep-tastic fallout bunker—to endure Frank’s rut and Louise and Quentin’s dual heat.
Kindly, Ytzhak volunteered to help us to our next destination. Our next step is to rendezvous with Doctor Perla in Paris and travel by train back to her laboratories outside of Florence in Italy—keeping us far away from the FBI’s jurisdiction and the long-reaching arm of the Windmill.
I hear the gentle clicking of pebbles behind me, and I don't need to turn to know that it's Dennis. I can feel the gentle, resonant hum of his enjoyment as he looks at me, silhouetted by the sun rising over the glittering lake before us.
“Are they all still asleep?” I ask.
“Every last one of them—all still in the cabin sawingwood,” he chuckles, stooping to the ground beside me to find a long, flat rock.
“Fine, let them sleep; they need the rest. We've got a long journey ahead of us, might as well let everybody have the rest of today to get their strength up.” I sigh, watching as Dennis picks up the rock and turns it over in his hand, deciding it's not what he wants before he reaches down to pick up another.
“The container ship we’ll be taking—you said it's your buddy's boss who owns it?” Dennis reviews the plan, finding a dark blue stone—wide and flat, almost as large as his palm.
“Yeah, he works for a real proper ‘businessman.’” I make air quotes around the word, giving Dennis a knowing smile. “Nobody will be looking too closely at the cargo on that ship,” I assure him.
“Perfect. Nothing to worry about,” he scoffs sarcastically, nodding slowly before he pitches the rock out over the glassy surface of the lake—the stone skips several times before disappearing beneath the water.
“I've made the necessary arrangements for Frank. We'll have plenty of night-night juice to keep him under for the duration of the journey. He shouldn't be an issue while in transit. Of course, we're going to have to find a more long-term solution than keeping him doped up and unconscious, but that’s a problem for later. For now, the goal is to get to Florence and Doctor Perla in one piece,” I explain calmly.
Before I know what I'm doing, I reach into the space between us for Dennis's hand. I don't need to say anything. He reaches for me and clasps my hand in his, squeezing tightly as the two of us look out over the glittering water in silence.
I'm trying to find the words. To express my gratitude to Dennis. Not just for everything he's done for the Saints—for our pack—but for being an invaluable source of support for me, a pillar that I can lean on.
I can feel my heartbeat under my tongue, a blush rising in my cheeks. I'm almost worried that Dennis can hear the low, steadythumping of my heart in the quiet between us—when I realize that the low, steady thumping noise that I hear is not in time with the beats beneath my tongue.
Both of us turn to face each other, holding our breath a split second before I realize that low rhythmic thumping—is the sound of helicopter blades.
By the time the two of us spin back around to get eyes on the cabin, the unmistakable form of the chopper—like a massive black insect buzzing against the pale morning sky—confirms our worst fears.
My stomach clutches as I see men begin to emerge in a low, crouching run from the trees; encased in shining black goggles, helmets and body armor—like a swarm of ants descending upon the cabin.
Dennis and I are in motion before we can say a word—both of us sprinting for the cabin with our pack mates still inside.
