42. Delilah
Chapter forty-two
The doors of the barn are wide open as I sit on the threshold, watching the trees sway in the breeze.
The sky is full of low-hanging, grey clouds, no blue to be seen.
It’s been threatening rain for a few days, but the most we’ve had is a light drizzle every now and then.
The air is starting to turn chilly, and I snuggle into the fuzzy blanket shirt Cross gave me, pulling the hood up around my ears.
It’s been almost a month since the team pulled me from the facility, and over a week since that package showed up at the house.
And the shift from that first week to this past week has been profound.
I cook when I want to, not because I have to, these days.
And I’m finally sleeping restfully, the dark circles under my eyes fading noticeably every time I look in a mirror.
Physically, I’ve never felt better. But mentally…
My head snaps around as the crack of a branch fills the air, my heart kicking in my chest. Nothing emerges from the tree line, but I still retreat a few feet back from the open doors. After several long minutes, I let my shoulders drop.
“Can you come over here for a second?” Siren calls out from behind me.
I whip around and clear my throat before scuttling away from the door toward their computer station.
Siren doesn’t look up, typing furiously as I stop just outside of arm’s reach.
I drop into the rolling chair I’d pulled up a while ago, turning around and pulling my hood and hair out of the way to expose the back of my neck.
We’ve done this several times as Siren tries to hack the encryption on this fucking tracker, with varying degrees of success.
I don’t know if it’s just been the forced proximity that’s softened Siren to me, or if there’s something else going on in their head.
But thankfully, the open hostility has ceased.
There are still lingering glares every now and then, but I’m not going to break the fragile truce by asking about them.
I can only manage my behavior and try to be the least intrusive into their life as I can be.
When they lift the scanner, the cord stretching back into the computer, the now-familiar beep fills the near silence.
I hold my breath for a moment, waiting until Siren puts the scanner down before letting my hair cascade down my back again.
I look over my shoulder tentatively, eyes flicking between Siren and the screens.
“Well, that’s something new,” Siren mutters, almost to themselves.
I turn more fully, trying to see what they’re seeing. But the screen is a mess of numbers and characters, none of which look like words.
“Good new or bad new?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
“Good new. Very good new. I think…hold on. Let me just run this through…”
Siren trails off as their fingers fly over the keys, pulling up another program, moving data around, all at breakneck speed. A moment later, lines of code appear in a pop-up window, and Siren lets out a whoop of excitement.
“Fucking finally!” they shout, turning to me with a wide smile.
I smile back softly, more confused than anything, but going with the flow for now. Not that Siren notices, as they turn back to the screen, their blue-green eyes flicking back and forth as they read the code.
“Okay, so yeah. This is good. I’m not seeing anything that reads like a detonation sequence, so I don’t think there’s any explosives in there,” Siren says, chuckling at their own joke.
“You would know what a detonation sequence looks like?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Siren shoots me a mischievous grin, and I feel the corners of my mouth lift a little in reply.
“I’ve made a few electronic detonators for Joker before, so yeah.
But I didn’t think there was anything like that in there.
Even with the gaps in your memories, that sort of device would require surgery and you definitely would have noticed that sort of lump long before now.
Honestly, it just looks like the type of chip you’d get from a vet. ”
I hum a little at that, my brow furrowing.
Something in the back of my mind is trying to give me a signal, but it’s hard to discern exactly what my instincts are trying to tell me.
It’s not panic, that’s for sure. More like…
I’ve forgotten something but I can’t remember what.
It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. I used to get it all the time during therapy sessions when the facility staff were trying to make me remember things.
But none of those attempts made my instincts bristle in warning like this.
“If I’m reading this correctly, there’s a registration number along with location pinging data. If this is the manufacturer, then I should be able…”
Siren trails off again as they start typing on a different screen.
A clinical-looking website with stock images of dogs and cats appears, Siren bypassing the security measures without even batting an eye.
They copy and paste the number from the source code, and after a second, a profile appears.
And it only takes a glance for my stomach to drop and my blood to turn to ice.
“What the fuck…” Siren trails off, disgust painted heavily over the words.
I stare at the picture on one side of the screen, a candid shot taken of me right when I joined my pack. It was only a few years ago, but I look nearly two decades younger and happier. My name, birthday, a description of all my scars and birthmarks, even my scent are written out beside the photo.
“Who’s Tyler Dunne?” Siren asks, tripping over the last name, overpronouncing the first vowel.
“Dunne. Like bun. Tyler Dunne,” I rasp, eyes going wide.
I shove back roughly from the computer station, heartbeat in my ears. That name. His name.
Conjured from my memories, his face flashes across my vision every time I blink.
His scent—burnt dragon blood incense, bay leaves, smoke—fills my nose, as if he were standing right in front of me.
Without thinking, I’m on my feet, staggering away from the computer and the door.
Siren’s voice sounds a thousand yards away, trying to call me back.
But I can’t think, can’t process anything around the stomach churning panic coursing through my body.
My shoulder hits the side of the van painfully, giving me enough clarity to find the door to the med bay. My hands shake as I scan my fingerprint and key in the code, slamming the door behind me, engaging the lock before Siren can follow me.
My head pounds as memories flood back, one after another. Years of my life reappearing, shoving their way into the blank spaces in my brain. I drop to my knees and hold my head, tears streaming down my face. I can hear knocking, which only drives me deeper into the room, away from the noise.
I find a cabinet and open the door, shoving the contents aside until I can squeeze inside and close the door, my head buried in my knees and my hood pulled over it. I try to breathe, to do anything except remember, but in the dark of my hiding spot, there’s no escape.
His face, his sinister smile, his too-perfect teeth.
The sneering comments about my weight dropped into casual conversation.
His iron grip, the smothering hand over my mouth as he took what he wanted.
The flash of lightning that illuminated his silhouette in the dark, his face and clothes covered in my alphas’ blood.
Someone is pounding on the door now, hard enough to rattle it in the frame.
I muffle my sobs with my hands all too easily, knowing better than to make a sound when there are angry alphas around.
I let my instincts come forward, retreating into my head rather than facing what is coming when he finally finds me.