Page 11 of The Darkest Half

Vara reaches down and grabs one orderly by the elbow, and she pulls him to his feet.

“Tell her what you told me,” Vara instructs.

He hesitates, and Vara shoves him in the back to help him along. He stumbles forward a bit and then straightens himself up.

“The woman,” he begins, “Lysandra, is that man’s sister.”

“Niklas’?”

He nods.

“Lysandra shot and killed the man’s mother,” the orderly explains. “And some other woman. Jackie, I think he called her.”

My heart sinks into my toes.

“Where did they take Niklas?” I ask after a moment.

“I-I don’t know,” he says. “We just look after the patients here. They don’t let us in on the particulars.”

I believe him on that account, but I know he’s holding out, too. He has to know something more—someone here has to know something more.

Hmm. The patients.

I look to Vara and Rayna.

“If this place has been used to hold family members of The Order, then someone here has got to know something.”

Vara and Rayna nod in unison.

My gaze falls on the orderly standing before me, and he shakes his head.

“How closely do you work with the patients?” I look for a nametag, but there isn’t one, and he understands.

“Charles,” he answers.

“Charles,” I say, “what is the nature of your job here?”

He shrugs. “Not much different from everybody else. I clean and make sure the patients stay in line.”

“Do you talk with any of them?” I ask.

“Sometimes. But with most of them, I wouldn’t call it conversation.”

I pace around Charles in a slow, methodical circle.

“Do any of the patients talk about anything that could be related to what we’ve discussed here tonight? The Order? Vonnegut? Victor Faust?”

“Faust?” he asks, but I realize it wasn’t a question for me. He had only remembered hearing that name. His eyes narrow in concentration, and then he looks at me. “Actually, there is someone…”

Rayna stays behind to ensure the other hostages don’t leave the room while the orderly escorts Vara and me upstairs to the third floor with a gun at his back. His hands are not zip-tied.

“He’s in the last room in this hall,” he says, nodding in the direction just up ahead. “The patient’s name is Joseph Bilk. That Lysandra woman has visited him a few times in the past year, so he must not be any ordinary patient.”

We continue down the hall, and my nerves are split in half. Vara is on high alert too, but then again, she is always on high alert.

“I’ve heard this guy mention the name Faust before,” the orderly adds.

“Who was he talking with?” I ask.