Synth, p.16
Synth, page 16
I would probably never know the answers to those questions, so I shoved it all aside with the rest and returned to the boardroom. I updated my missing persons map with the old files Hakim had given to me, then submitted six more background checks on known human rights activists flagged as potential threats to the farming facilities and started combing through the crime scene photos on the newest Jane Doe. I was just setting out the photos from several of the case files to look for patterns when my cell phone started to ring.
It was Grace, and I hesitated, debating letting it go to voicemail again. I had been ignoring her text messages all shift thus far, but even I knew I was pushing it. Groaning in submission, I grabbed the phone and answered it on the last ring.
“Gorski.”
‘Valya.’ The flat-toned response echoed in my ear. She was pissed. I could tell. ‘Why have you been ignoring my texts?’
“I haven’t been ignoring your texts,” I said, closing my eyes and dropping my head into my hand. “I’ve just been busy, Grace.”
‘Grace?’
“I’m working, Lexie,” I sighed, knowing that she had probably taken the night off to get an even longer long weekend. “I always call you Grace at work.”
‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘Look, I just wanted to know if you could come by a bit early to help me set up?’
“Come by early?” My brow creased, and I glanced over to the boardroom door to double-check that it was closed. “For what?”
Silence echoed on the other end, and I felt my skin prickle.
‘It’s Friday the 24th – my anniversary party, Valya,’ Grace said, and her tone made me cringe. ‘You promised that you would come before I went on vacation, remember?’
“Shit,” I breathed and closed my eyes again. “Grace, I’m so sorry – I’ve been completely swamped with these cases, and I—”
‘Yeah, I know,’ Grace spat. ‘Look, I get that you want to be a detective, but is it really worth it if you have to kill yourself over it and never see your friends? What kind of life is that? And don’t blame it on Detective Hakim, either – he can’t make you work more than the standard approved hours, especially after what happened to his last partner. That’s illegal, and you could complain if you wanted to, but you don’t. You’re choosing to do this. And if you want to choose not to show up, then fine, but–’
“I’ll be there,” I cut her off, pinching my eyes shut tighter. “I said I would be there, so I’ll be there. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve gotten so caught up in everything I haven’t even asked you about your trip. Look – I – I’ve managed to get almost everything done. I just need to fill out two requests for file transfers, but I can be there at 7 am. Is that okay?”
‘Fine,’ Grace said after a moment of silence. ‘And don’t forget the dress is semi-formal.’
She hung up, and I dropped my phone to the desk in defeat. Beneath it were the pictures of battered-looking women—maps, notes, a scrawled list of unanswered questions, and a small pile of coroner data I had yet to look through. My heart sank as my eyes traced over the victim’s faces. I couldn’t see the difference at all anymore, between these girls and that woman who’d knocked me into the river—which lifeless eyes were which…
“It all just looks the same,” I whispered as my throat started to burn.
“Thank you so much for coming!”
“Oh my goodness, your home is beautiful.”
“Thank you. We just had the floors redone.”
“Well, they look great! Did you get this catered by Heather?”
“Yes! Isn’t she the best?”
“I cannot wait to try the food – everything looks so incredible.”
I stared at the woman who had just entered Lexie Grace’s home. She was wearing a light red dress. Her long brown hair was flawlessly curled, and her nails were manicured to perfection. Her teeth shone pristine white as she smiled, her well-practiced social laugh ringing out through the room like little wind chimes. She had pale skin, like everyone else in this room, and her eyes were a milky shade of blue. Her husband was placing their blackout helmets on the rack by the door. His hair was brown, as were his eyes—but they felt colourless.
Dull.
Boring.
Nothing like Warren’s.
Borderline lifeless looking now that I had seen the vivid shades of green and brown that humans had to offer. Ours looked washed-out in comparison. Like pastel paintings faded in the sun, which was ironic given that we couldn’t stand in the sun. My eyes shifted down to my own blue dress, and suddenly, I hated the shade. It was too chalky. Too pale. Too empty. I looked like a bland morning sky, and I wished I was back home in my comfortable standard-issue CPD shirt and black pants.
The clink of glass rang out to my left, and I turned to watch an elegant-looking woman refill her wine glass. The contents were dark. Red. Like the blood that had poured from that woman’s body. Red. Like the blood that had coated my hands as I’d opened that foothold trap for Warren. I swallowed, glancing down at the tiny plate of untouched food in my left hand. I had been all but obligated to take it. Grace and her husband had ordered catered appetizers, and each dish was divine, according to the other guests. Yet, when I looked at it, it just made me feel sick.
If this hors d’oeuvre had come from Warren—would I eat it?
The question had haunted me since the moment I’d returned from setting him free. It was the reason I had been consuming nothing but synthetic gelatin cubes all week, even though I had tried to deny it. Humans were not what I had thought they were. They were not stupid, useless animals too weak or incompetent to use tools, and knowing that now, the idea of eating one…
I fought the urge to gag as I stared at the unappealing dish. The small appetite I had gained after a long night of rushing around the boardroom so I could make it here to help Grace set up before the party started was gone, disappearing the instant the thought crossed my mind.
I didn’t want to eat it.
But more than that, I didn’t want to be here.
My gaze shifted back up to the room, taking in the polite, happy smiles and other washed-out clothing. The fragrances of different shampoos and perfumes mixed and lingered in the air. It felt fake.
How could they be talking so calmly? Discussing movies and weather and home design without a care in the world. My mind was filled with images of dead bodies, blood, and frail human beings curled up against metal bars—meanwhile, their biggest concerns were getting another set of Ridgeback boots and who would be voted off in the next episode of The Matchmaker.
I finally understood.
This was why Hakim was so cold. This was why most detectives had no families or social lives. This was what Captain Mallick was trying to warn me about.
The disconnect.
I watched a particularly beautiful woman with blonde hair swallow a small peach pate, and my stomach curled. If not for the paleness of her eyes and the colourless tone of her skin, she would look exactly like the woman who had bled out at my feet during the hunt. My eyes scanned around the room once more, and the pressure in my chest grew.
How could they eat this food and not care?
Did they simply not know any different? Did they not ever think about it? Had they never once wondered where it came from?
I hadn’t.
Those two words stopped my questions and sank like a stone in my chest. How could I stay here and talk to these people and pretend as if I cared about the latest trend in furniture upholstery when women were dying on the eastside and humans, who could speak, read, and think critically just like us, were being hunted alive?
These people should know what’s happening in the world around them, and they should care. I should tell them. I should tell them that humans are intelligent and make them care—but even considering it filled my mind with doubts and made me sink deeper into the corner of the room.
I watched a group of three make their way over to the food table to refill their plates, my own growing heavier in my hand.
All this week I had been struggling. I still wanted to be a detective. I still wanted to help. I still wanted to make a difference, and yet I was finding it increasingly difficult to reconcile those goals with what I was seeing because everything in my life felt like it was being ripped apart. The law was there to protect people, and I was struggling to see how I could view Warren as anything other than a person.
We should care that they’re hunted and killed like animals.
We should care that they’re being kept in cages.
We should care that they can speak and think and reason.
My hand started to tremble, and the tight sensation in my chest grew so painful I couldn’t breathe. All the chatter around me blurred into a dull thrum. My muscles started to twitch. With each second, the horrible feeling grew, my heart thudding in my ears until the pressure became so unbearable I couldn’t stand it—and I felt it snap.
A burning wave of sickness scorched through my body as my eyes started to sting, and I tasted bile at the back of my throat.
I cared.
I cared so much it made me sick and I wanted others to care too, but more than that, I wanted to do something about it, because the idea of continuing on like I had been was impossible. I couldn’t. Not anymore. Not like this, not knowing what I knew and having seen what I’d seen. A swarm of emotions burned through my veins. My legs moved before my mind could follow, rapidly carrying me across the room. I dropped my plate on the bar top counter, then made my way to the door as I blinked my eyes clear.
“Valya?”
I nearly grimaced at the sound of Grace’s voice as she called after me. She was trying to be quiet, probably hoping to avoid the attention of her other guests.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, fighting to control the waver in my voice. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing her close the distance toward me. “I have to go.”
“But the party only just started,” Grace said, lowering her voice even further as a smile strained across her lips. She moved closer, watching in confusion as I grabbed my gloves and started putting them on. “You didn’t even eat any of the food, and Mark and I haven’t opened any gifts yet.”
“I know.” I nodded but avoided her eyes. I knew she was angry, but this was happening, and I couldn’t stop it. “I’m so sorry, but Hakim just texted me, and I need to leave. We can talk next week.”
I grabbed my helmet off the rack and jammed it onto my head. I heard her say my name once more, but I didn’t stop as I grabbed my jacket and tugged it on, barely getting it zipped up before I made my way through the double doors and out into the early morning sun.
My heart raced as I drove home, a million thoughts muddling my mind, all of them sounding more and more insane than the last. I didn’t slow as I made my way up to my apartment. I barely managed to shut the door behind me before I started stripping off my dress and tights and kicking off my heels. I threw the pale blue fabric into my laundry basket, knowing that I never wanted to wear it again, as I stormed my way to my closet and ripped open the doors. I tugged out a pair of old pants. Then I grabbed an old tank top and nondescript long-sleeved shirt before moving to my dresser to fish out a pair of socks.
My hands shook as I pulled everything on, braided my hair into a French braid down the back of my head, and then stormed my way back to the living room. I tugged on my boots, put on my vest, covered it with my long-sleeved shirt, then grabbed my firearm, map, compass, gear bag, helmet, and gloves before marching right back out the door. It took me twenty minutes to drive to the sketchiest end of Carneth, stopping at a bank machine to withdraw more cash before driving another half hour away to the most run-down twenty-four-hour convenience store I could find.
I bought every medical supply they had, and filled my basket with acetaminophen, water, batteries, and alcohol wipes. I bought a small bag, then I drove to the next store and the next, stocking up on any supplies I could get my hands on and any preserved foods that didn’t contain blood or human products until I ran out of cash. Then I drove to the highway, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly that by the time the familiar country road came into view and I slowed to a stop I could barely unclamp my fingers.
I parked behind the same thicket of trees I’d used when I’d first come out to help Warren, ensuring that my vehicle was fully hidden from the road before strapping my firearm to my hip and repacking my bag. Then I put on my helmet and gloves and set out into the woods.
Finding the rock formation was easier this time than it had been the first, but tracking Warren’s trail was much more difficult. The rain had done a good job of washing away the blood. I could still smell it in the rock cutout where I had tended to his leg, but it was unlikely anyone would notice it unless they crawled inside.
I headed off in the direction he had limped, tracking what I could from his remaining trail and making assumptions based on the land. I walked for hours. Hours and hours until the sun started to go down, and the night crept in. I backtracked twice, stood in silence looking at my map and compass before crawling around on the ground, looking for any hint of a print to point me in the right direction. Then, after several long minutes of debate, I finally decided to head northeast instead of northwest. Hakim’s sensor set footage implied that the perpetrator was headed east in his examination of the facility, which would suggest that he had come from the west, which would explain why I had found him in my section to the east, because it was probably at the end of his route and he would then turn around and return home to the west after scoping out the fenceline.
But Warren was smart.
I had learned that the hard way.
Surely he knew we were investigating the damage. So even though he hadn’t known about the sensors and cameras, he must have been covering his tracks. The Norhaven Wildlife Reservation was to the west and extended up to the north, and that was far too obvious. East headed into thicker trees and rocky terrain. There were lakes and small rivers up there, plenty of places to hide and plenty of places to camp out in areas most Reborn never ventured. Whatever Warren was doing, whatever his plan of attack was, I doubted he would run it from his home in Norhaven—assuming he came from the reserve at all. He would probably be working as far away from it as possible while keeping close enough that he could manage the surveillance of the facilities by foot and travel home without too many issues.
I knew that when I found him, if I found him, it would be out of luck. And I knew that I would never find him if I underestimated him. I had to stop thinking of him as weaker when he clearly wasn’t. He had proved that point rather succinctly when he’d pinned me to the ground and completely disarmed me. His mind was easily just as cunning as any Reborn’s.
If he was still alive and still in this area, he would be to the northeast. His base of operation would need to be within half a night’s walking distance to the facility, and it would be hidden. Far from the city limits of Carneth and thus far from the notice of Reborn.
I knew it would take me longer than half a night to find it, but I knew I couldn’t quit until I did.
I stopped searching for the night just shy of 7 pm, marking my location on my map and crossing out the areas that I had already covered before running back to my car. Exhaustion hit my body as I climbed inside. It was unfamiliar and unnerving. I was barely able to breathe as I started the engine and made my way out onto the main roads.
I drove home, forced myself to eat, and slept for my usual three hours. Then I worked at my kitchen table until it was light enough to avoid morning traffic and headed back out again Saturday midmorning. I ignored Grace’s text messages, drove into the country, and parked my car in the trees off a side road that was as close to the direction I wanted to go as possible. Then I set out once more and repeated the process to no avail.
When I got back home from searching all day a second time, I crashed before I could even change my clothes. When I woke up six hours later, it was still dim, so I forced myself to send a few emails before choking down more gelatin cubes and packing up once more.
I was running out of time, and I could feel the stress increasing with each passing minute.
I wouldn’t be able to search during the day while working this week. It was impossible. Hakim demanded too much of my time, and slacking wasn’t an option because I needed to keep my job. My thoughts had continued to circle as I’d searched through the forest in my blackout gear, but the longer I’d spent in the trees, the more clear things had become and the more sure I was in my decision.
I was going to help Warren.
But the only way I could do that was if I remained a detective and maintained my access to the case file. If Hakim kicked me back to Patrol and Street before I found Warren and told him the details of our investigation, he would eventually get caught. I wouldn’t be able to give him warnings about our actions or purchase supplies for him, which meant that I had to find a way to convince Hakim that I wasn’t completely useless.
I had to perform better.
I clenched my teeth hard as I pulled off onto the familiar exit, determination burning through my veins. I was going to find him. I had to. This might very well have been the stupidest decision I had ever made in my life, but I was going to do it anyway.
I parked my car in the bushes, off a side road next to the northern woods and much closer to my desired location. Then I packed up my bag and headed out into the trees. The terrain was terrible. It took hours to navigate when looking for signs of trails or regular movement. I followed my map, checking out the areas I had flagged in advance as potential hideout locations. It was nearly dusk when I reached my third search area, and my heart caught in my throat when I saw a smear of dried blood against a rock. The rain hadn’t reached this far north last weekend, and I found a second smear a few feet away from the first.
His bandages must have come loose after fighting through the underbrush—or maybe his stitches tore. I wasn’t sure which it was, but I found my concern starting to grow. What if he had died? What if he didn’t make it? Did I care? Would that change anything?
