Page 83 of All Saints Day
This catches Martin off balance, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly ajar.
“Why so surprised, Uncle Marty?” I laugh mercilessly. “Sounds like you've seen them too. You knew about the fated mates, didn’t you? You knew about everything.”
“Louise, please, I don't expect you to understand, and I certainly don't expect you to forgive me. God knows I’ll never forgive myself, but you saw what they did—what they created? What they subjected you—their own daughter—to!”
I force my eyes to stay open even though all I can see are my blurry tears.
“What would have happened, Louise—if you hadn't been the cure? You would have died. All of those children would have died, and for what?” Martin presses his palms together, as if in prayer.
“So that those dogs in the military like you and your Department of Reproduction could have the serum the Pennys were trying to create,” Sébastien snarls, advancing on Martin.
“I swear to you, Louise, before my promotion I knew nothing about your parents' work. If I had known about the suppression melters, the false scent markers, the Zeitnot, or the super serum, I would have done everything in my power to stop it, but I didn't know. I didn't find out until I was promoted, until I was given top security access. By then it was too late. They had already gone too far.”
“So what? You decided to take matters into your own hands to spill your brother's blood!?” I scream, taking another several steps forward—my gun rattling in my hands.
“I tried to go through the proper channels, but you already know the corruption of the Windmill runs deep, and nobody was interested in hearing what I had to say. They were all too fixated on finding their miracle drug—on creating omegas and alphas who would lead a new, brighterfuture.”
“You didn't even try talking to them? Your own fucking brother and sister-in-law?” I howl.
“Of course, I tried talking to them, Louise! Your mother was close to hearing reason. After they had so nearly lost you, she was unwilling to gamble with your life again. It had been a long overdue wake-up call that she and my brother had been playing god.”
“And so then you decided that it was your turn? That you would play god, judge, jury and executioner, all on your own?” I accuse him with fiery hatred.
“Don't you understand, Louise? My brother, your father—he had become obsessed with the idea of a new, more perfect designation. It’s not a coincidence that a side effect of the cure ended up switching designations.”
I feel bile rising in my throat.
“Even though your mother didn't share that part of your father’s vision, she loved him too much to deny him.”
Another slash of the knife, a cold emptiness in my chest where my heart should be.
“I begged him to stop. I told both of them that I would help them get away—that I could shield them at least from the DPR—that we could find solutions to help keep them safe from the Windmill too. By then, you were already tangled up with Susan Lowry—she had taken a shine to you. While it was hardly optimal, I knew that you were safe, even if only for the moment.”
“You knew about Susan being part of the Windmill!?” I hiccup, my body shaking with my sobs.
He nods, his eyes closing with the pain of the admission.
“Since she was grooming you to take her place, I made the plea to your parents to let me help them—for them to trust me to keep an eye on you, to keep you safe.”
“Well, Uncle Marty,” I choke out a bitter laugh. “Sounds like you went and fucked everything up.”
At this, he finally caves in on himself, face in hishands as he sobs, falling to his knees in the pine needles and dead leaves. He looks up at me with a tired smile on his face.
“You're right, and now you can get what you wanted. You can take your revenge on me and go out into the world with your revenge exacted—no need to look back. You just keep running, Louie. If you run fast enough and far enough, the Windmill will never catch you.”
“Who says that's all I want?” I growl, my limbs becoming more solid as I stride toward Martin, the muzzle of my gun dropping so that when I come into contact with him, the barrel presses against his forehead—just below his receding hairline.
“I don't know what else I can give you,” he sobs—hands palm up on his knees.
“Revenge isn't all I want. The Windmill still has one of my fated mates.”
Uncle Martin just shakes his head.
“There's also the matter of the Zeitnot virus. While my parents may have developed a cure and even a vaccine for the original strain that they released in the control group containing myself and Quentin as children, the Windmill has been hard at work on their own strain—one that we do not yet have a developed cure for.”
Martin's eyes widen with horror as understanding dawns on him.
“They know that you're the key,” he gasps.
