Page 43 of Take You Home (Redwater Demons #3)

H uh,” Obie says, his eyebrows steadily climbing higher as he flips through the stack of files on his desk. Chester’s desk, technically, but nowadays, Chester can’t think of it as anything but Obie’s. “Sawyer and Naomi really did get around.”

Chester squints at him. “What?”

“They mentored a lot of hunters back in the day,” Obie says, leafing through one of the folders. “Turns out they really did know most of the Redwater Sanctum. I thought they were just posturing last month.”

Chester snorts out a laugh, lounging more comfortably across his bed.

“Well, they were definitely posturing, but they also weren’t lying.

Sawyer knew basically all the purebreds?—I’m convinced that ninety percent of being a purebred is just schmoozing with other purebreds?—and Naomi had most of the mixed breeds covered.

Together, they really did know pretty much everyone. ”

“Huh.” Idly, Obie moves on to his next file. “Doesn’t make them any less pretentious, though. ”

Chester grins. “Oh, not in the slightest.”

Obie smiles back. Right now, the two of them are holed up in Chester’s room, working their way through the documents that Chester has been steadily sneaking out of the library over the past few weeks.

Specifically, working through documents from twelve and six years ago?—the year of the Jackson–Locke murders, and the year of Strike Team Kappa’s final exam.

Obie wanted to just dump all these records on the Conspiracy Fam and move on to their next haul, but Chester dug in his heels this time.

The two ex-hunters and their resident demons are suspicious enough of Obie’s mysterious source without Obie dropping obvious Sanctum library folders into their laps.

Now, he’ll be able to give them a smaller handful of relevant files, not an enormous stack.

Plus, it’ll be easier for Chester to slip their reject pile back into the library, deflecting attention away from himself for as long as possible. Much as he wants to leave this place behind him forever, he wants to find the evidence to burn it to the ground even more.

Burn it to the ground, and convince Bryant to leave its smoldering ashes behind them.

“Found Sawyer’s and Naomi’s accounts of Kappa’s final exam,” Obie says, tossing the folder onto their “accept” pile. “I doubt there’ll be anything new in there, but it never hurts to check.”

“Maybe,” Chester agrees, skimming through yet another strike team report from twelve years ago. There isn’t nearly as much activity as he expected from around the time of the Jackson–Locke murders, and he’s starting to get the sinking feeling that he might be approaching a dead end.

Those dead ends have become frustratingly common lately. Chester supposes that they had to exhaust their list of leads at some point, but he didn’t think it would happen this quickly .

Even Obie has been striking out. He finally managed to sneak into the prison’s purebred-only wing during the overnight shift two days ago, and while Chester barely slept that night from anticipation, a baffled Obie rifted back into his room the next morning with the revelation that he’d found absolutely nothing.

As in, every single cell in the wing was empty, and most of the purebred interrogators were just doing paperwork.

The news was disheartening and confusing in equal measures.

If there are so many cells available in the purebred-only wing, then why are they allowing overcrowding in the main prison?

What happened to all the demons and dissidents that Chester has personally seen wheeled through those doors?

What do the purebred interrogators know that everyone else doesn’t? Why??—??

“Huh,” Obie says again, and this time, he sounds honestly surprised.

Chester shoots him a frown. “What is it?”

Obie’s eyebrows are furrowed down at the folder in his hands. “Did you know that Nostrand gave you full marks on your final exam?”

Chester almost starts with surprise. He knew that he passed his final exam, of course?—he wouldn’t be here otherwise?—but he didn’t realize he got a high score. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Obie says, his gaze flitting over the rubric. “I thought he would’ve tried to fail you.”

Chester shakes his head. “That would’ve reflected badly on him as my instructor. And the entire interrogation was recorded, so if the Council realized he lied, he would’ve gotten in trouble.”

“Makes sense,” Obie says, flipping to the last page. “At least he was good for??—?”

Abruptly, he stops dead, staring down at the file. His eyes move across the lines of text once, then again, like he’s trying to make sense of them.

Trepidation creeps down Chester’s spine. “Obie?”

Eventually, Obie looks up at Chester. His expression is concerningly blank. “Why is JJ’s name on here?”

All the blood rushes from Chester’s head at once, leaving him dizzy in its wake. “Oh,” he manages, a horrified roaring starting up in his ears. “He… didn’t tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me?—??” Obie shakes his head sharply, holding up the folder. “Chester, am I reading this correctly? Was your final exam to interrogate JJ?”

Chester’s breathing feels shaky. He looks down at his hands. “Yes.”

For a long moment, there’s silence.

Or maybe it’s a split second. Maybe it’s ten minutes. Chester can’t tell.

However long it is, though, it’s more than enough time for Obie to reevaluate everything he thought he knew about Chester. Reevaluate all of the camaraderie and companionship and fondness they’ve found with each other.

And Chester doesn’t think he can survive losing that. “I thought you knew,” he blurts out, bile rising in his throat. “You?—you said you’d been in JJ’s head. I thought you already knew, I thought??—?”

Unexpectedly, the mattress shifts underneath Chester. Startled, he looks up to see that Obie crossed the room and eased himself down on the bed next to Chester, his concerned eyes focused on Chester’s face. “Chester,” he says softly. “Breathe.”

It’s like something snaps in Chester’s chest. He sucks in a sharp breath, burying his face in his hands. “I?—I thought you knew already, and if you were going to find out, I didn’t want it to be like that, and??—? ”

“Hey.” Unbidden, Obie wraps his fingers around Chester’s wrist, his voice twining through Chester’s head. It’s okay, puppy. This doesn’t change anything.

All at once, the band of tension around Chester’s lungs eases. He swallows hard, chancing a glance at Obie. “Yeah?”

“You know I can’t lie through the bond,” Obie says, shifting backward so he’s leaning against the wall.

His fingers stay wrapped loosely around Chester’s wrist, his thumb tracing a gentle pattern on Chester’s skin.

“I’m confused, though. Why did you interrogate JJ for your final exam?

He wasn’t a dissident yet. I mean?—?” He hesitates.

“When I was in his head, I saw that you… interrogated him back in February, but I didn’t go back further than that. Didn’t see a need to.”

Taking a deep breath, Chester peels his head off of his knees, leaning against the wall to match Obie’s pose.

“Interrogators aren’t like strike teams. With strike teams, their very first assignment in the field is their final exam, but probationary interrogators have usually had dozens of supervised interrogations by then.

That means our final exam is either a high-profile demon, a high-profile dissident, or?—or a hunter who pretends to be a dissident.

Someone who volunteers to test their mettle under torture. ”

Obie’s face is unbearably sad. “And JJ volunteered?”

“I…” Chester looks away. “I think so? But I’m pretty sure the Council asked him to. And JJ and I?—?” Bitterness snakes through him. “We weren’t in the business of denying requests from the Council. So that’s probably what happened.”

“That’s… probably what happened?” Obie repeats, and briefly, his fingers tighten around Chester’s wrist. “You’ve never talked about this with anyone, have you? Not even with JJ and Roma and Bryant?”

Chester’s stomach churns. “Not really. The four of us debriefed right after it happened, but…” He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I don’t remember a lot from that day. I didn’t black out during the interrogation, no t like I do nowadays, but?—but my memories are blurry.

” He barks out a short laugh. “I think my nightmares are probably accurate, but the memories themselves are blurry.”

Suddenly, Obie’s thumb pauses its soothing rhythm on Chester’s wrist. “Do you want to remember?”

Chester frowns at him. “What?”

“Do you want to remember?” Obie releases Chester’s wrist, holding out his hand with his palm facing up. An invitation. “I’m the Memory-Keeper, remember? I can walk through your memories. We can walk through your memories. Together.”

Chester’s heart stutters. “Obie??—?”

“It can help.” Obie’s voice is soft. “Sometimes, if you don’t have a safe place to process your memories, they can start to control you. Talking about them, rationalizing them, it can…” He trails off. “It can help.”

Chester’s throat feels like sandpaper. He swallows hard, hoping Obie doesn’t notice how badly his hands are shaking.

Does he want to remember? Of course not. That was the worst day of his entire life. He doesn’t want to see that, to remember that, to relive that.

But, whether he wants to or not, he usually relives it at least once a week anyway, waking up in a cold sweat with the sound of JJ’s screams ringing in his ears.

Dread coils around him whenever he glances into that particular interrogation room, whenever he resharpens the blue-handled knife he used, whenever he registers a prisoner on the computer between Rooms 16 and 17.

He used to think about it every time he saw JJ’s face, the living reminder of his guilt looking back at him every single day during training or meals.

And even though Chester knew there wasn’t any condemnation in JJ’s eyes, he felt it in his bones anyway.

Sometimes, the accusation seemed so thick that it felt like he was drowning in it .

So maybe it does make sense to walk through what happened. To talk about it and rationalize it, like Obie said.

Maybe that’ll make it easier for Chester to sleep. Maybe??—

Maybe Obie can be Chester’s safe place. He takes a deep breath. “What would I have to do?”

“Just take my hand,” Obie says, extending his fingers. “I’ll be right here the whole time, okay? And we can stop whenever you want.”

Chester’s heart feels unsteady. Slowly, carefully, he settles his hand into Obie’s.

Obie lets out a quiet breath, closing his eyes. Chester feels the faintest tingling build up between his temples?—not like the tingling from the soul bond, but something else, something different.

The sensation of Nostringvadha sifting gently through Chester’s memories?—through his life? —to find what he’s looking for.

Eventually, the tingling settles into a soft, continuous buzz. Lightly, Obie squeezes Chester’s palm. “You ready?”

“No,” Chester says, but he squeezes Obie’s hand back. “What now?”

“Now,” Obie says, “you tell me where to start. You’re controlling this process, Chester. I’m just facilitating it.”

“I…” Chester drags his teeth over his lower lip, thinking back to that day. “I guess we’d start with Room 11.”