“You’re wrong,” Chancellor McCullough sneered. “This one doesn’t belong anywhere.” The whoosh of aluminum cutting through air, the crush of bone, silenced any retort.
Silenced Carter.
Voices nearby. One pleading, one angry.
The argument drew Carter out of the darkness, beyond the searing pain in his head and arm, and toward consciousness. The warmth on his face and side—sun, he thought, more directly than before, was he outside?—cautioned against opening his eyes, the threat of more splintering pain on the horizon. So he remained still, eyes closed, listening to the voices and the soft lapping of water from the other direction—the lake, outside, yes—and fighting the urge to curl over his broken arm, though something he couldn’t quite piece together yet told him he couldn’t.
“It’s over, Ryan.” The pleading one.
Carter knew that voice. His brain churned around and through the pain.
The chief. Larry.
“The feds know it’s you,” Larry said. “They’ll be here any minute.”
A flash of clarity—stark and bright. Lincoln was coming for him.
“Because you told them!” Ryan, the chancellor, the angry one.
The sneer. The truth. The bat.
Pain spiked through Carter’s arm, his side, his head, where Ryan had delivered his blows. His heart. Darkness threatened again. He struggled to resist it, to understand what was going on around him. He had to. This was his job. Had to prove himself to Lincoln. Lincoln was coming.
“He and the professor agent figured it out,” Larry said. “But if you’ll turn yourself in, maybe I can?—”
“What can you do, Lawrence? Nothing. I have to finish this.”
“Why didn’t you just leave? After the last time. After Jeff. Why didn’t you just leave like I told you to?”
“I was getting better. Going longer. I might not have ever needed to escape again if Jeff hadn’t gone and ruined it. If you hadn’t lied to me. I just needed to finish my work.” Except Jeff had interfered, had exposed the lie—that Ryan was covering up his true self, his fears—and now the ordered Dr. Fear was at an impasse. “Now I have no choice,” Ryan said, dark and ominous.
“What are you going to do?” Larry asked. “Why’s he in a vest?”
Was that what was holding him up? That extra weight around his middle? What kind of vest? He’d try to sneak a peek through his lashes except his eyelids were still heavy, the sun still threatening, and the voices had moved closer, growing louder in volume.
“Escape, for good,” Ryan said.
“You’re leaving?”
“One way or the other.”
The smirk in his voice was evident. The expression on his face must have been devastating—deadly—because Larry returned to pleading, desperation heightened. “Ryan, no, please.” His words shook, and Carter would bet the chief was on the verge of tears. “We can make this better. I can help somehow.”
“Aww, Lawrence.” The light slap of skin on skin, as if Ryan was patting his best friend’s cheek. “Always trying to do right, no matter how much the world continues to shit on you.”
“You’re family, Ryan.”
“But I’m not. Not really.” Footsteps approaching, the sun dimming, someone—Ryan—blocking its rays. “Just like this one will never be anyone’s family. Never good enough.”
Carter couldn’t suppress the jolt at the spoken truth. The footsteps ceased. Ryan was close enough that Carter could hear him breathing.
Fuck.
“You should be with your family, Larry.” Ryan descended to his level, the last word spoken right next to Carter’s ear.
“Ryan, no!”
And then he was gone, Ryan hollering, “Get off me!”
