Page 64 of The Lost Zone (Dark Water #3)

Chapter Eighteen

Alex

He longed for his song, but at least the familiar poses helped to relax and calm him.

It hadn’t been so bad – the experience itself had been perfectly fine – and yet, he felt as if some part of his soul was slowly being worn away.

He pushed that thought aside. Solange had done this for years, and she hadn’t once complained.

It was what she’d needed to do to survive, and he had to toughen up and do the same.

Still, he had to recite his song over and over again in his head as he worked his way through his poses, and it took the entire hour for him to ground himself again.

Jack arrived at eleven. He was his usual surly self but, much to Alex’s surprise, he agreed to his request to access the gym’s sound system.

“Can I choose any songs I like?” Alex asked, confused about this change of heart.

“Yup.” Jack shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

He created two playlists – an up-tempo one for his workouts with Jack, and a calmer one for his yoga practice, including his song. He hoped he was hiding his special song in plain sight; as one of many, it surely wouldn’t look as if it held any special meaning for him.

He was surprised, a few days later, when Rebecca made a reappearance. Perhaps Tyler hadn’t had his pound of flesh from her yet. Or maybe she’d done him some favour and was being given a reward.

Alex treated this assignation differently.

She wanted romance, so he took her to the gym, which had the best views over Ghost Eye, and showed her the table he’d arranged to be laid there.

The lights were turned down low to keep reflections to a minimum and they ate as the sun set over the water.

Later, when it was dark, he put his arms around her and pointed out the constellations that were slowly winking into existence in the clear night sky.

She was breathless, captivated. She knew what to expect this time, and she was excited.

Later, as they lay in bed, she pressed her lips against his ear and pretended to nuzzle.

“Did he hurt you for telling me to get away from him last year at the conference?” she whispered.

Alex froze. Would the smartwall pick up her whisper?

How should he respond? He had no intention of breaking his cover so soon, but one day, he’d have to trust someone enough to enlist their help.

How could he tell if he was passing up on a bona fide opportunity, one that might not happen again anytime soon?

She seemed so nice. She was nice, but that didn’t mean she could be trusted, or that she could help him.

Even if he stayed in character, how did the perfect IS respond to such a question?

He decided to say nothing, pretending he hadn’t heard.

She kissed his neck and repeated the question in a slightly louder voice, making it impossible to pretend anymore.

“Shh.” He placed a finger over her lips. “I was misguided last year. I misunderstood the situation and leapt to the wrong conclusion. Of course my houder didn’t hurt me. That’s against the law.”

“Oh, I’m glad.” She heaved what sounded like a genuine sigh of relief and rested her head on his chest. “I was so worried about you, especially when you disappeared for ages. But…” She rested her chin on her hands and gazed at him sadly. “You have those scars on your back…”

“I was in a bad duck accident,” he told her. “A long time ago. You probably read about it.”

“Oh, yes,” she exclaimed. “Of course, they’re old scars. I should have remembered that.” She looked upset. “Oh, you poor thing. That was such a tragedy.”

What would she have done if he’d told her the truth?

Would she have even left the suite alive?

He didn’t want another dead woman on his conscience.

No, this was not the opportunity he was looking for…

and that thought filled him with despair.

When would there be an opportunity? His life before had been constrained enough, but now Tyler had far more reason to keep him under lock and key.

He kissed her passionately to stop her gazing at him from those sad brown eyes. She reminded him of Neil, Bax, and every person who’d been more in love with his damage than with him.

The next day, he couldn’t wait for her to leave. He longed to kick her out with a lazy drawl and some spiteful comment about her size, to see the hurt in her eyes. Yet he couldn’t do any of that. Instead, he composed his mask, kissed her goodbye, and murmured how he hoped he’d see her again.

It wasn’t even as if it was Becky he was hiding his true feelings from.

He couldn’t run around the apartment when she’d left, punching things and screaming his head off, which was what he wanted to do.

He couldn’t even take a long shower and stare blankly at the wall, with tears running down his face, in case it gave too much away.

He could only hum his song inside his head, take a brief shower, and get changed for his session with Jack as if nothing was bothering him.

He hoped Jack would push him hard, so he could lose himself in the heat, the sweat, and his raw, panting breaths.

He was so lost in these thoughts that he was brought up short when he entered the gym to see a supple, petite lady with a long blonde ponytail waiting there, next to Jack.

“This is Samara Price,” Jack said, jerking his head at her. “She’s a yoga teacher.”

“You can call me Sammie,” Samara said perkily.

Alex stared at her, stunned. It hadn’t been that long since Jack had told him, unequivocally, that he’d receive no help on that front, but now here was what looked like an archetypal yoga teacher, full of toothy enthusiasm.

Sammie turned out to be lovely. She’d been teaching yoga for years and clearly knew her stuff. She was able to teach him so much more than the basics he’d learned from Gideon.

The days passed slowly. He tethered his resolve to the daily workouts, to taking his work seriously, to reading from the paltry bookshelf in the living room, and to performing his yoga.

Yet, as closely guarded as he kept his feelings, his body still betrayed him.

Sometimes, he woke at night screaming from his nightmares.

They were never the same, but always involved him staring into the eyes of a dead person.

Sometimes Solange, sometimes his mother, and sometimes Peter.

So many dead people littered in his wake.

Surely he must be the common denominator?

All those people would probably be alive if not for him.

The weight of guilt almost crushed him, and yet he couldn’t do anything with it.

He had nobody to share it with, nothing to help alleviate it.

He must learn to dig deep and shoulder it alone.

Maybe his current imprisonment and degradation were the penance he should pay for it.

That thought made it easier to bear the endless tedious days and nights inside the suite, and the use of his body by the steady stream of guests that Tyler sent.

It became a matter of pride to him to send each of them away happy.

It was the one thing that was still in his control, and he exercised that control to the utmost.

The weeks turned into months, and he longed to be able to turn off the part of his brain that was aware of each interminable day dragging by.

He stepped up the yoga whenever he felt particularly claustrophobic, but as the days passed, it felt harder to keep his mask in place.

Shouldn’t it become easier with practice?

Gideon couldn’t have understood the reality of his situation when he’d offered him this solution.

Surely not even Gideon could maintain the facade of IS perfection in the face of such utter, mind-numbing tedium.

It was one thing to be kept busy serving as an IS and quite another to be kept idle.

How Alex longed to be cooking, washing, ironing, and arranging some wealthy houder’s bags for a trip.

Anything other than his endless dreary existence inside this prison, punctuated by the occasional appearance of strangers requiring his sexual services.

He ran out of books to read, so started in on the one he’d read when he first arrived.

It relieved some of the monotony, but a panicked voice in the back of his mind wondered if he’d still feel the same way on the tenth read – or the one hundredth.

He’d surely go mad if this was all his life was forever.

Maybe this would end with Tyler admitting him to a mental hospital, his mind completely shot to pieces.

At first, he’d dreaded seeing Tyler again, unsure if he could maintain his mask in the presence of his nemesis, but now he started to long for it, just for something different.

Why did Tyler keep away? Did he even bother watching the footage of him these days, or had he forgotten about him completely?

Not all the people he was required to service were strangers. Three months after his return, as rain poured down the windows and painted Ghost Eye City in various shades of grey, a familiar face returned.

“Alexander! Dearest boy. You’re back.” Martin Bagshaw kissed him on both cheeks, then held him at arm’s length to gaze at him.

“You look better now. Rested. George said you’d had a funny turn and needed some TLC.

I can see you’ve had that now. You’re looking very well.

Very well indeed.” He pinched Alex’s cheeks as if he were a cherubic child, which was, Alex supposed, what he wanted him to be.

Andrew had dressed him in a lavender suit and a baby-pink shirt, without telling him why.

Perhaps he should have guessed. Andrew hadn’t showed him the usual holofile outlining Bagshaw’s biography and preferences – that should have been a clue, too.

Yet clearly, this surprise had been sprung upon him for a reason.

He felt a surge of adrenaline. Finally, a challenge!