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“I know you’re angry with me. Just let me explain.”
“Explain how you’re a sociopath? Or possibly a robot?” he asked.
I glared at him. “We’re in this together whether we like each other or not,” I said. “And I have Abby’s camera. If you want to know what happened to you two, you’d better let me in.”
He stared at me for the space of three quick heartbeats, then simply turned and walked inside, leaving the door open. I followed him in, shutting the door behind me. And, after a moment’s consideration, doing up all three heavy locks.
Liam’s room was at the back of the house. There was just enough space for a small desk, a bookshelf, and a bed. In typical teenage fashion, he hadn’t unpacked, and a large suitcase filled with unevenly folded clothes sat crammed in the corner. A few books—science fiction, mostly—were stacked on top of the bookshelf, but the only other hint of personalization was a line of collected objects on the windowsill—seashells, stones, and yet another little carving, this one of a deer. Mikhail’s work.
Liam had sat on the bed, hands laced around one knee. “All right,” he said. “Let’s see it.”
I took out the laptop. “You’re sure you want to?” I asked.
“Don’t you?”
“Yeah. I’d rather know. But it should be your choice.”
“I want to see,” he insisted.
I sat beside him and started the video.
VIDEO EVIDENCE
Recorded by Abigail Ryder
JUNE 30, 2018, 8:22 AM
Abby’s breath is loud as she follows Liam into the bunker. The change in light is too much for the camera, and the scene goes dark for a moment until she switches the settings. Now the scene is lit in eerie shades of green. Liam has paused in the middle of the main room, head cocked to the side as if listening to the music that emanates from somewhere below.
ABBY: Liam appears to be under some kind of compulsion or other effect.
Ms. Ryder is clearly trying to remain professional, but it is impossible to forget in this moment, with her voice vulnerably raw, that she is still only seventeen.
ABBY: His hand is coated with a substance—I can’t see what it is. I’m going to try to snap him out of it.
She approaches cautiously.
ABBY: Liam? Can you hear me?
She mutters something unintelligible, then reaches for his shoulder.
ABBY: Liam, you need to—
Her fingertips brush his shirt. He jerks, turning on her, and backhands her. We cannot see theimpact, but Abby—and the camera—fall backward. Abby swears loudly.
ABBY: My arm—damn it, I’m bleeding. A lot. Shit.
She doesn’t sound frightened yet, just angry. The camera, resting on the ground, is trained onher as she examines the outside of her upper arm, where a piece of metal has ripped opena nasty gouge. Blood flows freely from the wound. She covers it with her palm and looksup, presumably at Liam.
ABBY: Liam. Snap out of it.
LIAM: He’s waiting. We have to go.
ABBY: Who’s waiting?
LIAM: The lord with six wings. The prince of many voices. The one who is shattered.
ABBY: Oh, in that case, no problem.
