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A few hours later, Bauer's sanity made another guest appearance. I was ready. Plan two: Be more empathetic. While I found it hard to work up much sympathy for someone who'd done this to herself, somewhere deep in me there was a faint, fluttering urge to empathize. Bauer was another female werewolf, likely the only one I'd ever meet. Remembering the horror of my own transformation, I understood what she was going through. Winsloe had asked if I'd ever done anything like Bauer did to Carmichael. My reply hadn't been entirely honest. Back when I'd escaped from Stonehaven, my already demon-plagued brain had plummeted into uncontrolled madness and rage. I'd killed two people before Jeremy rescued me. Unlike what Bauer had done with Carmichael, I hadn't known my victims and I hadn't tormented them or torn them to pieces. Yet I had done one thing I would never forget. I'd eaten my victims. Was I that different from Bauer? I hadn't shot myself up with werewolf spittle, but I'd fallen in love with a man I suspected was dangerous. I hadn't killed a friend, but I had killed innocent people. As much as I resisted, I understood Bauer. And I wanted to empathize.
The question was: Could I empathize? As my awkward episode consoling Savannah had proven, I was not a naturally empathic person. Pushing past my doubts, I stationed myself by the hole and looked into Bauer's cell.
"How're you doing?" I asked.
Bauer spun to face me. "How the fuck do you think I'm doing?" She inhaled sharply, eyes closing as if in pain. "This isn't me. This body, this personality. It's not me. I don't use this language. I don't throw tantrums. I don't plead for my life. But do you know what's worse? I'm still here, trapped inside, looking out."
"Your brain is still accepting the transformation. It'll get--"
"Don't tell me it'll get easier."
I knew what I had to say, what I had to share, but the words caught in my chest. Biting back my pride, I forced them out.
"When I was first bitten, I--"
"Don't."
"I just wanted to say--"
"Don't compare yourself to me, Elena. We have nothing in common. If I gave you that impression before, it was only because I wanted something from you."
"Maybe so, but we have something in common now. I'm--"
Her voice went cold. "You're nothing, Elena. A nobody who became a somebody by accident. Becoming a werewolf was the defining accomplishment in your life, and you didn't even take a hand in it. Your money, your youth, your strength, your position, your lover, they're all yours only because you were the only female werewolf."
"I--"
"Without that, what are you? A no-name part-time journalist whose annual salary wouldn't cover my wardrobe."
With that, she wheeled around, stomped into the bathroom, and started the shower.
You know, empathy really is a two-way street.
At seven the guards brought my dinner. As usual, one carried the tray while the other stood watch, gun at the ready. I ignored them, having given up hope of bringing a guard over to my side or gaining any valuable information from them. Best to treat them as deaf-mute waiters. I had other things to worry about.
When they came in, I was on my bed, thinking up escape plans. After a moment, I noticed the tray-bearing guard lingering at my table, looking at the photos of Clay. He nodded at his partner and nudged his attention to the pictures. "It's him," he mouthed.
"You know him?" I asked.
The guard started, as if the bed had spoken.
"You know him?" I repeated. "The wolf in the photos?"
Both men looked at me as if I'd joined Bauer in her private asylum, probably thinking I should be the one who'd recognize a werewolf, not them.
"Tyrone dropped those off," I said, still on my back, feigning all the nonchalance I could muster. "He figured I might be able to ID the guy, but I couldn't. Seems he caused some hoopla at a motel."
Now they were definitely looking at me like I was ready for a straitjacket.
"You don't recognize him?" the one by the door asked.
I stifled a half-yawn. "Should I?"
"Isn't this your mate?"
"Clay? No. He'd never leave the Alpha--our leader."
"Then why--" The guard stopped, turned to his partner, and lowered his voice. "Does Matasumi know this?"
