Page 71 of The Lost Zone (Dark Water #3)

Chapter Twenty

Alex

The morning after his encounter with Harper, Alex found Frances in the kitchen with a tray of delicious-smelling muffins.

“My apologies for the state of the dining room,” he said as he took his seat at the breakfast bar. “I did try to clear up.”

“Don’t worry. That’s not your job.” She patted his shoulder, and he saw the pity in her eyes.

It was so unexpected, so real and raw, that his mask almost faltered.

He’d been so pleased with how he’d survived last night that he’d suppressed the fact that he’d also endured it.

He took a long drink of orange juice to compose himself. When he’d finished, he smiled at her.

“I’ve been thinking. I learned a lot about making meals at Belvedere and I don’t want to lose that skill. Perhaps you could teach me a few new dishes, so I can improve myself?”

Frances beamed at him. “I’d have to check, but as long as it doesn’t take you away from your, um… duties, then I don’t have a problem with that.”

Alex was pleased. It might relieve some of the boredom of his existence here. He was tired of the sheer tedium, and if he didn’t find ways to challenge himself soon, he was worried that his mask would begin to slip.

He performed his workout a little more slowly than usual. Jack, who’d been impressed by his dedication thus far, was concerned rather than angry.

“Rough night?” he asked, and there it was again, that same expression of pity, combined, in Jack’s case, with a hint of disgust.

“It was a little painful, but that’s not important,” Alex said firmly.

“If your physical condition ever changes, I need to know,” Jack said gruffly.

Alex blinked several times, trying to compose himself. Concern for his welfare was a far greater threat to his mask than anger or indifference.

“You’re a valuable piece of real estate for Mr Tyler,” Jack added. “I don’t want to damage you. If you’re hurting, tell me, and I can adjust your workouts accordingly.”

Ah. Just perfectly reasonable concern for Tyler’s investment. That was much easier to bear. Alex gave a relieved nod.

His workout completed, and after he’d showered and dressed, he made his way to the living room to see if there were any new books. Surely he deserved at least that after his performance the previous evening?

There weren’t any, but there was a big box with his name on it on the table.

“What’s this?” he asked, glancing around.

“How should I know?” Marta didn’t even look up from her Sudoku, and the security guard on duty just shrugged.

Alex was intrigued but also anxious. He opened the box with a certain amount of trepidation, although he was careful not to let that show.

Whatever it was, he’d handle it. Humming his song in his head in anticipation, he opened the box, and was startled to find art supplies inside.

Pads, pencils, paints, and charcoal, and it was all good quality, the best money could buy.

He paused to process it all. He was delighted by the gift, but at the same time, he had to suppress that emotion.

He couldn’t let George Tyler into his head.

He wasn’t a child to be won over with treats in return for his compliance.

He’d been assaulted by his rapist again last night.

A few nice art supplies didn’t make that okay.

However, from the point of view of his mission, it was definitely progress.

Tyler was pleased with him, and the more that happened, the more likelihood there was that one day he’d give him enough freedom that he’d find a way to fulfil his mission.

He turned to the security guard. “Please convey my thanks to my houder for this delightful gift,” he murmured.

Sitting down by the window, he began to sketch, tuning out the sound of the reality show that Marta insisted on mainlining every day. He gazed out over the lost zone, trying to really see it, rather than just viewing it as a grey and gloomy backdrop to his imprisonment.

He noticed there were many different shades of grey in the waters – some greenish, some silver, some charcoal – and they melded seamlessly on the horizon into the grey of the November sky, with its rolling dark clouds.

There was beauty here – there was beauty everywhere, if he looked hard enough.

His pencils soon flew across the page, filling it with images.

It was the happiest couple of hours he’d spent since leaving Belvedere.

How he wished he could share the moment with someone, Gideon, perhaps, or Joe.

How was his erstwhile rescuer? Still grieving for Peter, of course, but how was that loss affecting him now, a year later?

Had the shock of that awful night receded a little, or was he still stuck in that terrible moment?

As he sketched the skyline, he noticed all the beautiful, gleaming buildings stretching out beneath him.

Vertex Tower was the tallest and most imposing building on Ghost Eye, but the floating city also shone with other examples of modern architecture.

There were restaurants, a shopping mall, offices, and homes – even a monument in the shape of a huge wave to those who’d died in the Rising.

The world was recovering some of its lustre after the long grey years of struggle.

The poor were still piled up in cubes, and the refugee wars were still raging all over the world, but there was a growing class of people who were doing better than their parents now.

Alex was so lost in his ruminations that his gaze almost passed over the sign on the building far below. There were so many signs amongst so many buildings that he’d never noticed it before. This one was some way in the distance, attached to a smart glass building.

Inquisitus

Wasn’t that where Joe worked? That was why Lars had been so angry – he’d seen Joe’s ID card when he’d reached into his wallet.

Alex’s heart skipped a beat. Was it possible that Joe was working there right now?

Was he sitting in that building, a stone’s throw away, puzzling out a crime?

Did he ever think about Ben? Alex’s pencil came to an abrupt halt, and he tried to remember to breathe.

If he wasn’t careful, his mask would slip.

He collected himself and continued drawing, humming his song like crazy in his head.

Could this be his chance? If he was ever able to run away, he would go to Inquisitus and ask for Josiah Raine. Joe would recognise him as Ben Smith, and surely he’d believe everything he told him about Tyler. Joe was the key to fulfilling his vow to Solange. He had to be.

He was getting ahead of himself. There hadn’t been the slightest opportunity for him to escape since his return, and he barely knew Joe.

Maybe his erstwhile saviour was less fond of indies since one had murdered his husband.

Besides, Joe had to be running his underground railroad in secret.

He could hardly blow his cover by going up to him and introducing himself.

Knowing that Inquisitus and Joe were right there beneath his nose did him no good whatsoever. They might as well be on the moon for all the hope he had of reaching them, and there was no knowing what his reception would be if he did ever find himself face to face with Josiah Raine again.

He shaded in his sketch of the building opposite, finding a sense of calm in the repetitive movement.

He hadn’t talked about this with Gideon.

They’d talked endlessly about the difficulty of maintaining his mask and fooling everyone around him, but they’d never discussed how he’d fulfil his mission.

It wasn’t something you could plan. He knew he’d have to be patient and await an opportunity, but he also had to be careful.

Make his play too soon, and Tyler would know he wasn’t truly reformed.

Yet it was exhausting to be always on edge, waiting, hoping, knowing he’d only get one shot at it, and if he got it wrong, he was as good as dead.

He felt a wave of claustrophobia. He was stuck here, while just over there was the answer to all his hopes and dreams. But he could do nothing about it.

“Patience,” he could hear Gideon counsel.

“Bide your time. It’s only been a few months.

” True. But would his moment ever come? And supposing he was too paralysed by his fear of getting it wrong to seize it if it did?

Supposing he was here forever, slowly eking out this miserable existence until Tyler evaded justice simply by dying of old age?

His throat constricted in panic at that thought.

He set the drawing aside. He was only making this harder for himself.

He drew on Gideon’s training, taking himself to the gym and running through his yoga practice with his song playing on repeat.

It was risky. He didn’t want Tyler knowing how important the song was to him.

But it was necessary, or he’d never survive.

It took a very long time to calm himself, far longer than usual, but finally, he was able to look at himself in the gym mirror and be satisfied that his mask was firmly in place and in no danger of slipping.

He took a shower, ruminating on what Tyler’s next move might be.

His houder was playing true to form so far – the carrot and the stick.

He’d done nothing to deserve the stick, so he’d been rewarded by a series of carrots.

The books, the yoga teacher, the art supplies…

all designed to pat him on the head for being a good little IS and showing he’d mended his ways.

Yet, the hardest challenge was still to come – meeting Tyler.

All the training in the world couldn’t prepare him for how he would feel being in the presence of the man who’d murdered his best friend, and the fact that Tyler was delaying it for so long was shredding his nerves.