Page 46 of Take You Home (Redwater Demons #3)

“Yeah.” Chester’s smile is wistful. “Sometimes, I want to strangle her, but?—but at the end of the day, I know she always has my back.”

“Just like you always have hers.” Obie bumps his shoulder against Chester’s. “You want to watch the reunion in the dining hall?”

Chester hesitates. “Actually, can?—can we see something else instead?”

“Of course. Which memory?”

“I…” Chester swallows hard. Carefully, he slides his hand back into Obie’s, his voice winding through Obie’s head. Skip ahead six years. To the second time I interrogated him.

The words jolt through Obie. “Are you sure?”

“No,” Chester says. “But I?—I think I want to see something.”

Obie’s heart feels heavier than usual. “All right,” he says softly, and he slips into Chester’s mind again, sifting through his memories.

He catches a glimpse of the one he’s looking for?—a flash from down in the prison back in February?—and coaxes it out, breathing light and motion and sound into it.

Instantly, a new memoryscape with a new Memory Chester blossoms to life in front of them?—a Memory Chester who looks startlingly similar to the Chester sitting at Obie’s side. Same height, same lines in his face, same edge in his eyes??—

He’s not quite the Chester who confronted Obie in Redwater Bowl’s parking lot, and he definitely isn’t the Chester who shook Obie’s hand for the cause of destroying the Sanctum together. But he’s close.

JJ was in Room 7 this time .

Chester was trying his hardest to stay away from that room?—to stay away from that entire hallway, really?—but he wasn’t always successful. Right now, he was hunched at the computer outside Room 9, typing as quickly as he could.

It’d been a few hours since he last heard JJ’s screams through the walls. At this point, he was counting that as a win.

Familiar footsteps strode down the hall. “Locke,” Nostrand said, his voice curt and clipped. “You’re going back on interrogation duty early. Council’s orders.”

Chester turned around, frowning. “What? Why? Did we get another influx of neophyte demons?”

“No.” Nostrand jerked his head at Room 7. “The Council seems to think you can get a confession out of Jackson.”

All at once, it was like the world tilted sideways around Chester. “No,” he croaked.

“Yeah. Nasir just reached out. Your shift starts at two p.m., right after Chaganti leaves for the day. The spellcasters will let you know when the room is ready for you. Understood?”

For a long moment, the only sound Chester could hear was the roaring of his own heartbeat. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out.

He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t??—

Nostrand’s jaw twitched. “Understood, Locke?”

Suddenly, Chester felt like he could breathe again. Before he could lose his nerve, he straightened his spine, meeting Nostrand’s eyes. “No.”

Nostrand’s eyebrows shot up. “No?”

“No,” Chester repeated, setting his jaw defiantly. “No, I’m not doing it.”

Pride?—and another emotion that Obie doesn’t quite want to define yet?—surges through him. “You… refused?” he whispers, turning to Chester.

Chester’s eyes are fixed on his hands. “Initially, at least.”

Nostrand’s eyes darkened. “Don’t be na?ve, Locke,” he snapped, and Chester flinched.

“This isn’t your final exam anymore. Jackson isn’t your friend anymore.

He’s conspiring with the enemy?—has been conspiring with the enemy for weeks?—and according to our strike force, he was very prepared to leave you behind.

” He leaned forward. “No one has trusted neophyte hunters from the start, and this is the final nail in the coffin. Jackson is dead to us, and you?—you’re on thinner ice than ever. ”

Chester’s hands were shaking and his lungs felt far smaller than they should be. Face hot, skin cold, hands clammy.

He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t??—

“Now,” Nostrand said, “before you do something that’ll embarrass both of us, I’m going to tell you again: your assignment is to interrogate Julian Jackson. Do you want to change your answer this time?”

“I?—?” Chester’s voice cracked. He looked away. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“Good. Two p.m.,” Nostrand repeated, and he turned on his heel and strode away without another word.

“The second time.” It’s Obie’s Chester?—the real Chester?—who speaks now, his haunted eyes still locked on his trembling past self.

“The second time, I?—I was actually a little relieved. Because if JJ really was bad from the beginning, then I didn’t do anything wrong when I tortured him the first time, right? ”

The self-loathing in his voice is thick enough to taste. Obie’s chest aches. “Chester.”

But Chester, apparently, isn’t done. “Looks like nothing really changed in six years, huh?” he says bitterly. “It’s just like you said from the start: I’m not worth saving. Never have been, never will be.”

White-hot fury burns through Obie. “Don’t you dare, Locke,” he snarls.

Chester’s eyes snap up to him, startled. “Obie??—?”

“You think I’m judging you for this?” There’s a roaring in Obie’s ears. “For doing what you had to do to survive? You think I don’t understand just how badly the Council played you, how badly they traumatized you?”

Chester’s expression wavers. “Obie??—?”

This time, though, Obie is the one who isn’t done. He snaps his fingers, rewinding the memoryscape back sixty seconds.

Back to the exact moment when Memory Chester stood up straight, looked his former mentor in the eye, and said, “No.”

“This!” Obie says, gesturing sharply at the scene.

“This is who you are, Chester! You did what you had to do to survive, but this is who you really are.” Impulsively, he wraps his fingers around Chester’s palm, squeezing tightly.

This is who you are, Chester. This is who you are, and you are worth saving. You always have been.

Obie doesn’t expect the words to go unheard, but a wave of relief still washes through him when Chester’s breath hitches. For a long moment, Chester stares at him, like he can’t wrap his head around the fact that Obie still respects him?—still cares about him?—after seeing those memories.

And then his face crumples. Choking back a strangled noise, he pulls his hand out of Obie’s and buries his face in his knees, his shoulders shaking with grief.

Obie’s heart damn near shatters. “Oh, Chester,” he whispers, letting the memoryscape fade as he pulls Chester into his arms. Puppy, I know this hurts like hell right now, but you’re winning, okay?

This is how you win against the Sanctum.

This is you fighting back. You’re not weak. You’re stronger than all of them.

JJ said he was proud of me. The words whip through Obie’s head, taut and shaking. He said he was proud of me after I tortured him. He said that?—that I did a good job.

Obie tightens his arms. Of course he was proud of you.

You passed your final exam, and he helped you get there.

And just look at you now. The Sanctum wanted a perfect attack dog, but they ended up creating their own worst nightmare.

I’m?—I’m proud of you, too. And I really think you should be proud of yourself.

Chester doesn’t answer. Gradually, his wracking sobs fade into sniffling and his tears give way to trembling silence, but he doesn’t let go of Obie, so Obie doesn’t let go of him.

They end up sitting there for a long time.