Page 104 of Ugly Truths
In a blink, Cill buries the knife into Brenden’s thigh. His scream slices through the speakers and bounces off the walls. Elena jolts, her eyes going wide. Silas’s hand lands on her knee with a reassuring squeeze.
“You don’t have to watch this,” he offers, though the words are nearly lost under all the shrieking. The top of Brenden’s tan pants is already soaking through, red flowing around the knife. A stain of piss forms around his groin. I grimace, watching Lloyd’s boots take the brunt of both.
When Elena doesn’t answer, I peek over at her. Her eyes stay locked on the screen, but her hand now circles Silas’s wrist, thumb gliding over his skin in silent reassurance.
“It’s a shame,” Cillian says, drawing me back to the show. “I always liked you. We were all upset when we saw your name on the Sierra Blanca and Deming server files,” he lies easily, twisting the handle.
Brenden howls. The blood trails over top and under the fabric, down to where his thighs meet the chair. Cillian’s always careful to miss major arteries, but this one might be cutting it close.
“I–I shouldn’t be!” Brenden croaks, his voice breaking through a mess of tears, snot, and blood. “I barely knew about them! Wi–William handled those! H–he didn’t t–trust me.”
Bingo.
“He trusted you enough to tell you they existed,” Cillian counters, looming over him. “And to have you keep tabs on Davey while he audited the servers. I’d say that makes you one of his more trusted confidants.”
He presses his palm into the knife’s hilt, driving it deeper into Brenden’s thigh. With a wail, Brenden tries to lurch forward to stop him, but Lloyd and the rope binding his body hold him still.
“You’re really willing to die protecting a dead man?” Lloyd asks, incredulous. “William would’ve thrown you to the wolves like he was doing to his own son. All he ever cared about was keeping you useful.”
Cillian hums in agreement and finally lifts his hand from the blade. Brenden exhales shakily, relief loosening a fraction of tension in his shoulders, but he’s still tightly coiled.
“Things would just be easier if you complied,” Cillian says, taking a small step back. “It doesn’t have to be so… painful.”
Though Cill does nothing in particular, panic splits across Brenden’s face like a fault line finally giving way.
“I knew about them,” he gasps. “I knew what was h–happening, but I wasn’t involved. I swear to G–god, I wasn’t part of it!”
Lloyd leans over the top of Brenden’s head, grip tightening in his hair. “Then who was?”
“William!” Brenden nearly shouts. “He handled e–everything himself after Shaw. Said he c–couldn’t trust anyone.”
Cillian tilts his head. “Why?”
Brenden swallows hard. “I d–don’t know. When Shaw resigned, he said that segregation was safer. F–fewer eyes on each part.”
“Who managed logistics?” Lloyd asks, arms crossed now. “Transportation? Procurement?”
“William. He worked with m–many teams,” Brenden admits, his breathing hitching. “But in Deming, Shaw ha-handled it. He had his own resourcesto find the k–kind of patients they needed for the research.”
Cillian’s voice sharpens. “What kind of resources?”
“I don’t know,” Brenden insists, voice cracking when Cillian moves toward the knife again. “I don’tknow. Whoever it was, t–they could create fake identities, forge d–documents, clean up leaks. If someone tried to go public, they disappeared. If a patient started talking, they were relocated or h–handled.”
“So a fixer.”
Brenden nods frantically. “Exactly. That’s what it w–was.”
Next to me, Elena goes eerily still.
In the glow of the monitors, her free hand trembles. She lifts it to her mouth, covering it. Her eyes are glassy, disbelief flooding every inch of her face as something clicks together in her brain.
“Lena,” Silas says, voice sharp. He takes her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Talk to me. What is it?”
With unsettling calm, Elena reaches forward and presses a button on the keyboard in front of us. The red light on the microphone flashes on. Across the screen, Cillian lifts his head at the unexpected cue, the earbud he’s wearing now visible.
Then Elena speaks. Her voice is low but clear. Stronger than it has any right to be, given the way she’s shaking.
“Ask him if he knows Peter Lynch.”
