Captivated (Talented Saga #3.5)

  “No,” Erik shook his head, “the kind that is madly in love with his girlfriend.”

  Erik

  The heavy cell door slammed shut with a loud clang. I counted to ten, summoned every ounce of my remaining strength, and tried to stand. The jolt of pain that shot through my right knee made the task damn near impossible. I gritted my teeth and swore under my breath. If I ever got out of Tramblewood, I was going to kill Danbury “Mac” McDonough. That wasn’t an idle threat, not a figure of speech. I fully intended to end his life with my bare hands if I had to.

  I crawled to the stone wall, dragging my injured leg behind me. My fingers shook as I grabbed hold of a stone and pulled myself upright. Crawling all the way to the bed in the back corner of the cell was too humiliating. I would rather endure the pain than give my captors the satisfaction of seeing me reduced to that. Even using the wall for support, the ten feet that separated the door and bed took forever. When I finally collapsed on the thin mattress, I was as exhausted as if I’d run ten miles.

  It took two hands to hoist my hurt leg over the edge of the bed, a feat made harder by my swollen – likely broken – fingers. The physical torture had pretty much ended several days ago, but I would be sporting the affects for days, if not weeks, to come. Director McDonough had finally realized that beating Talia’s whereabouts out of me wasn’t going to happen. That didn’t stop him from kicking my bad knee or grinding his elbow into my injured fingers or even smacking me across the face when he thought I was being a smartass. While it was actually happening, I barely registered the physical pain anymore. From the moment the guards pulled me from my cell to the moment they shut me back in, I plastered on the best smug smile that I could muster. Sure, I knew it irritated McDonough that was why I did it. With few ways to rebel at my disposal, annoying the big bad Director gave me a small amount of satisfaction. If I ever got out of here, or saw my reflection, I might regret my obstinate actions, but for now it was all that sustained me.

  No, that wasn’t entirely true. She sustained me; thoughts of Talia were what kept me going. The knowledge that she was safe, that my family was safe, that Alex was safe, was what made all of this worth it.

  While McDonough no longer used me as a punching bag for hours on end, the torture continued. The tactics were different now, though. Every day guards escorted me from my cell to meet with Dr. Wythe, a small man with a high-pitched, child-like voice. Then, a woman in a white lab coat came in – a morbid excuse of a doctor – and injected me with…something.

  Dr. Wythe would sit across from me at a plastic table, and wait for the drugs to take effect. It never took long, minutes at most. Once the chemical haze set in, Dr. Wythe slid a notebook full of blank pages in front of me, along with a crayon. The first day he’d given me a pencil, but he’d learned his lesson after I used it to stab him in the hand. McDonough usually joined us at this point, and they would alternate asking me questions about Talia.

  The questions were oddly worded. One would ask, “Where do you see Natalia now?” and then the other would chime in with, “What are her surroundings like?” They never simply asked, “Where is she?” But even stranger than that, was that when they asked, my mind immediately conjured images of her in unfamiliar settings.

  During our first session, I’d seen her sitting at the kitchen table in a house I didn’t recognize. Frederick and Alex were with her, and all three were eating chicken. The urge to draw the scene seized me, and I sat on my hands to prevent that from happening. I wasn’t sure how I knew that drawing the scene was a bad idea, but the fact that Dr. Wythe and the Director provided me with a pad of paper to do just that was enough proof that I shouldn’t.

  “She’s in a house with a blonde man and a little boy,” Dr. Wythe had informed the Director when I failed to answer their questions. That was when I realized that the doctor was like Talia, a very strong telepath. The drugs made my brain fuzzy and me compliant, but I was strong willed and had enough wherewithal to block my mind after that.

  The first session like this had lasted until I passed out. I couldn’t recall being brought back to my cell that day, sometime later I’d woken up back in the dingy confines alone and exhausted.

  Each subsequent session went much like the first, except I hung on to consciousness a little bit longer each time. While I was with Dr. Wythe and the Director, I thought of everything besides Talia. The chance that my mind would inadvertently give away her location was too great a risk. I ran through state names and capitols, important dates like Festivis and my brothers’ birthdays. When I was desperate, I resorted to counting the freckles on the doctor’s face.

  But once I was alone again, I thought of nothing but Talia. I replayed our first meeting at her tryouts for the Hunters. Thinking about how confident she was, how fierce and determined to beat me she was, brought a smile to my face even now. That was when I first knew she was special, when I decided that one day she would be mine. She would never admit it, but she knew it too.

  One of my favorite memories was the first time we kissed. Her lips were so soft, her hair silky between my fingers. No kiss with any other girl could hold a candle to that one with Talia. Of course, being a guy, my absolute favorite memory was the first time we slept together. She was so nervous at first, but like with everything Talia did, she didn’t hold back. The images of her were so vivid in my mind, causing warmth to spread through my entire body and ward off the chill in the cell. I pretended I was back at the Hamilton, holding her, winding her long curls around my fingers while she pressed her small body against me.

  The chemical cocktail they injected me with every day had lingering effects, though. And sometimes the images of Talia weren’t memories at all. They were more like visions, similar to the ones I had during my first session with Dr. Wythe. The images felt real, so real in fact that I could pick out every detail down to the color of the coaster sitting next to the bed or the scene outside the window she was sitting near. But I knew they were fabrications.

  Only two days before – or was it three? – I’d imagined Talia standing next to a blue couch, staring at her reflection in a bay window. She started pacing, agitated and fidgety. Then, she transformed into a small black wolf. Not long after the wolf vision, I’d imagined her flying, literally flying through the air, over homes, forests, and even the ocean. But the one that solidified the fact these images were fabrications of my delusional mind was the one I had this morning before the session with Dr. Wythe.

  Talia was sitting in the sand, hugging her knees to her chest. Wind whipped strands of her hair across her face while the ocean’s spray misted her skin. She was watching the sun set on the horizon, a beautiful orange orb slowly sinking into dark blue water. The scene was beautiful, romantic even, but Talia was crying. Her purple eyes were ringed with red, tears poured down her cheeks, and she let them roll down her chin and fall onto her chest. The sight of her so upset made my chest ache. I wanted to go to her, put my arms around her, make the pain stop.

  “Tal? You down there?” a female voice called, barely audible over the crashing waves.

  Talia wiped her face, smearing tears and sand across her cheeks, but didn’t respond. She didn’t turn her head as a tall, thin redhead emerged from a winding path in the bluffs behind her. Shock at seeing a dead girl made the vision waiver, and I had to concentrate to hold on to it. Seeing Talia sad and crying, even if it were all in my head, was better than nothing. I wanted to be on that beach with her so bad it hurt.

  “There you are,” Penny said, walking over to where Talia sat close to the water’s edge. “Dinner is ready. We don’t have to eat with everyone else if you’d rather not.”

  “I’m not hungry, Penny,” Talia mumbled.

  Penny sighed and sank down next to Talia. She wrapped one thin arm around Talia’s shoulders and hugged her. Talia leaned into her, resting her head on Penny’s shoulder as her small body shook with sobs.

  “We’re going to get him back, Tal,” Penny told her. “Uncle Ian think
s our chances of retrieval are high. We have sources inside Tramblewood. They say he is holding up well, considering the circumstances.”

  This caused Talia to cry harder. “W-w-w-what if we are too late?” she stammered through her sobs. “What if Mac kills him?”

  Penny didn’t offer Talia platitudes or false assurances about the fate of person she was crying over, which was strange. The Penny I’d known, the bubbly girl who talked a mile a minute, wore outrageous makeup, and succeeded in bringing Talia out of her shell, that girl would have told Talia she was worried for nothing. Then again, the Penny I’d known was dead. This Penny was a figment of my imagination, so I supposed she was acting the way I wanted a friend of Talia’s to act.

  Unfortunately, I never did find out who they were talking about or why Talia was so upset. Two guards barged into my cell and marched me to my daily meeting with Dr. Wythe and the Director.

  Now that I was alone again, I concentrated on the beach, trying to conjure the image of Talia in her cutoff shorts and too big sweater sitting in the sand. But when I saw the beach in my mind’s eye, only sand and ocean were there – no Talia. Even Penny, or Penny’s ghost or whatever, was nowhere in sight. I concentrated harder, the way I’d seen Talia do countless times before when she was trying to control someone’s mind. I figured what I was attempting was sort of like mind manipulation; I was trying to control my own mind, invent images that some part of me thought real.

  Instead of the beach, I thought only of Talia. I recalled the way her small hand fit so well in mine, how her cheeks turned bright red when I made a sexual joke, and how her hair always smelled like vanilla. Soon, I saw her. She was in a small room, sitting on a couch with a croqueted afghan covering her legs. Penny was curled up on the opposite end, sipping steaming liquid from a white mug.

  Two men were with them. The older of the two stood by a window, gazing at the outside world. From the back, I didn’t recognize him. His close-cut hair was salt and pepper, and he stood ramrod straight, his posture suggested he’d spent time in the military. A much younger guy with dark hair and piercing green eyes perched on the edge of a recliner to the left of the couch.

  “The first wave will arrive by sunrise,” the younger guy said. “I warned Marin that she would be busy with so many extra people around.”

  The older man turned, and my blood froze: Ian Crane. What the hell was in that drug that was causing my imagination to run in this direction. Why was I imaging my girlfriend curled up in the dragon’s lair? Okay, so maybe I didn’t believe Crane was the devil incarnate or anything – that title was reserved for Danbury McDonough – but Talia sitting within spitting distance of the man who’d tried to kill her, terrified me.

  Maybe the point of the injections was to give me nightmarish hallucinations, I thought. Dr. Wythe and the Director were trying to drive me insane. First I imagined Talia talking to a dead girl, now I imagined her sharing cocoa with the same dead girl and a man who tried to kill her. Well, if they wanted me to lose my mind, they were about to succeed.

  “Thank you for taking care of that, Brand,” Crane replied. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the window frame. “I’ll hold a briefing tomorrow evening, once everyone has arrived. We should be able to organize the troops to move the day after.”

  “That’s too soon,” Brand protested.

  “Too soon?” Talia interjected. Her eyes were dry now, but still bloodshot. She wore the same cream sweater I’d seen her in previously. Her dark curls were wild, making the glare she shot Brand frightening. “Erik’s living on borrowed time as it is, Brand. The day after tomorrow isn’t too soon, it might be too late.”

  Hearing her say my name almost undid me. Her voice broke at the end of her rant, but fierce determination shone in her eyes. This was the girl I’d met in the arena. The one who refused to shake my hand after our match was declared a draw. The one who demolished a cheating boyfriend’s cabin. The one who kidnapped the Director’s grandson.

  “Seeing as you are not part of the Coalition, you don’t get a vote,” Brand shot back. There was no love lost between Talia and this guy. I hated how relieved that made me. Being jealous of a hallucination was just pathetic.

  “Without me, you will never be able to pull off this mission,” Talia hissed.

  “Without you, we wouldn’t even be going on this suicide mission,” Brand yelled, jumping to his feet.

  In the blink of an eye, Talia was off the couch, and Brand’s back was slamming against a wall next to a fireplace.

  “Enough, enough,” Crane said, lazily sauntering across the room to stand between them. “This is not a democracy. No one gets to vote on anything. I have made my decision, and we will all have to live with the consequences.”

  Penny, who’d been watching the fight with the indifference of someone who’d seen it before, finally spoke. “Our people at Tramblewood are ready and waiting for your word, Uncle Ian.”

  “What’s the boy’s status?” Crane asked, gesturing Talia back to her spot on the couch, and Brand to his recliner.

  Penny glanced between Crane and Talia before answering. “He’s alive,” she said slowly. “Our sources confirm that he has been meeting with Dr. Wythe twice a day.” Penny shuddered when she said Dr. Wythe’s name, and rubbed her right arm. She was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, but the shirt moved up her forearm when she rubbed it. Tiny, red dots lined the blue vein running from her wrist to the crook of her elbow.

  A hollow feeling filled my gut that had nothing to do with the fact I’d had little more to eat than stale bread since coming to Tramblewood. The pin pricks on Penny’s arm were identical to the ones on mine. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure these visions were hallucinations.

  “Do we know whether he’s divulged her whereabouts?” Crane asked. His tone was all business, but his dark eyes were sympathetic when he glanced at Talia.

  “Erik would never do that,” Talia said defiantly.

  Again, my name on her lips was almost too much. The air in my cell seemed to thin, making it hard to catch my breath. Longing to see her in the flesh, to touch her smooth skin, nearly pulled me out of the vision. But I didn’t care whether the visions were real or not, being able to see her like this was what kept me going and I wasn’t ready to break the connection.

  “No, of course not,” Penny said quickly. “But the drugs they are giving him are supposed to make him suggestible.”

  Talia’s eyes narrowed to slits, all of the color drained from her face. “What drugs are they giving him?”

  No one answered her. Impatiently, she repeated her question.

  “The creation drug most likely,” Crane finally said, heaving a huge sigh. “They are likely giving him a version of the creation drug with a viewing talent signature so that they can use him to track you. Given the fact that you two are so close, it would be easy for him to see you.”

  The look of horror and disgust on Talia’s face after hearing Crane’s declaration matched my own. She doubled over, clutching her stomach, and I worried she was about to be sick. Then I worried I was about to be sick.

  I rolled on to my side, dry-heaving over the side of the bed. This isn’t real, this isn’t real, I chanted over and over again in my head. Please don’t let this be real.

  These visions weren’t hallucinations at all. Talia was actually sitting in a room, in a home on the beach, with Crane, Penny, and Brand – whoever he was. Penny was alive. Talia had gone to Crane for help – help rescuing me.

  “I don’t care what they do him, Erik will not break.” Talia’s voice pulled me back to the room. With my eyes open, I saw the scene with Talia and Crane, but instead of the crystal clear view I had moments before, now my cell was bleeding into the image. I saw them both at the same time, like two pictures overlaid one on top of the other. It made my head hurt.

  Talia and the room began to fade as my cell became the dominant image. I wanted to scream, cry out to her that I was okay and would never betray her. That would have been
pointless, though. Even if the visions were real, I was merely an observer; I could hear them, see them, but not the other way around, like a one-way mirror.

  The cell door creaked open, bright white light illuminated the ancient stone wall, and Talia was gone. A guard, Rigsby, stepped inside. Rigsby was one of the better ones; he always brought beef jerky and cheese to go along with the stale bread. And he was the only guard who didn’t serve me dirty water.

  “You have a visitor, Kelley,” Rigsby said in a gruff voice. His tone caused my muscles to tense and my adrenaline to spike.

  “Who is it?” I asked, my own voice sounded scratchy from lack of use.

  “Mr. McDonough.”

  My hackles were up as I swung my legs over the side of the mattress. The Director hadn’t paid me a personal visit in my cell since my first day at Tramblewood, and the encounter hadn’t been pleasant. The pain that shot through my knee made me wince, but I gritted my teeth and stood anyway.

  Rigsby stepped farther into the cell, allowing Mr. McDonough enough space to squeeze in behind him. To my utter astonishment, Mr. McDonough was Donavon. He was dressed in a dark business suit and tie, a younger version of his father.

  “Thanks, Rigsby, you can wait outside,” Donavon said in a low voice. He kept his eyes on me while he spoke.

  “Are you sure, sir? We’ve had some trouble with, um, the prisoner,” Rigsby said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. His unease was for me, not Donavon. In my weakened condition, he feared I would not be able to defend myself if Donavon decided to take out years of hatred and animosity on my face.

  “Kelley and I will be just fine,” Donavon cracked his knuckles, “won’t we, Erik?”

  Hysterical laughter bubbled up in my throat. Donavon was trying to intimidate me, really? After everything his father had done to me, Donavon was the least of my worries. Besides, I could hold my own if push came to shove; the fight wasn’t out of me yet.