28. Xander
CHAPTER 28
XANDER
V.A.N – BAD OMENS not even the internet filters can block it. Looks like it was deliberately leaked from Blackwood Institute.”
My mind churns. “What kind of footage?”
“I don’t know.” Rae raises a slim shoulder, her nose scrunched like she bit into a lemon. “Some kind of basement place. Full of cells and some weird-ass torture stuff. Blood everywhere. I think it’s from the riot.”
Well, I’ll be damned.
“Do you know what that place is?”
“Few do,” I reply absently.
If evidence of another Z wing has leaked to the press, this tinder box is about to blow. Rumours are one thing. Video evidence is another, whether or not Incendia plays it off as doctored or part of some smear campaign.
Looking around, I can see all the warning signs. Patients conspiring in small groups. Furtive glances and death glares shot at overzealous guards. A real-life plot is unfolding before my eyes.
“Where is Ripley?” Rae pulls my attention back to her.
“She was taken.”
She licks her lips while rocking from foot to foot, clearly uneasy. “Do you think she’ll come back?”
Staring down at the wraithlike creature, I study her tell signs. Glistening eyes. Twitching fingers. Lips puckering and red from being chewed. She’s battling concern or fear, but I don’t know which. Ripley should’ve never allowed a customer to get so attached.
I shrug her off. “Not a clue.”
Rae watches me leave, her tears spilling over. I don’t care to offer any shred of comfort. Tension is growing fast. Like an invisible storm, there’s an electrical charge in the air and madness in each and every mind. Something is going to erupt.
I stride past gathered patients, trading gossip faster than even management can suppress. Walking inside the reception, several guards are gathered too, nervously glancing from side to side. Snippets of conversation float over me.
“Media shitstorm… press… protest.”
“Here?” someone asks.
“Incoming.”
I pick up my pace, not slowing until the medical wing is in sight. A handful of cubicles are full, the curtains drawn to conceal their occupants. There aren’t any staff behind the nurse’s station or in the corridor. Injuries incurred during the storm must still be keeping the medics busy.
Inside Raine’s cubicle, he’s curled up on his side. A strange pair of aviators are balanced on his nose so I can’t see his eyes, but he perks up the moment I walk in. The man’s like a damn bloodhound.
“Xan?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
Drawing his curtain, I stride over to the small window to the left of his hospital bed. A quick peek outside doesn’t reveal much. I may be paranoid, but I feel better, having my sights back on him.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit, studying the institute’s grounds. “Some press video is circulating. Everyone is all riled up after what happened to Noah.”
“Have you heard from Ripley or Lennox?”
“Still no sign of them.”
“Maybe they’re just in solitary,” he guesses.
“You really believe that?”
I watch Raine rub his temples. He isn’t stupid. As soon as I relayed the whispers I’d heard yesterday, it was clear he knew. Both of us did. Neither of them are coming back anytime soon.
“We have to help them, Xan.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Then what are we still doing here?” He winces, trying to sit up quickly.
Rubbing my face, I sigh wearily. “Because it isn’t that simple. I don’t even know where Harrowdean’s Z wing is. No one does.”
“Then we have to find out!”
Sitting upright now, he tugs at the needles and wires still attached to him. I grab his wrists to halt his movements.
“You’re going nowhere.”
“Don’t start getting all protective just because Lennox isn’t here to do it. We both know you don’t care.”
“I do care!” I hurl back at him.
Raine freezes, his wrists still caught in my grip. I clear my throat and look away, not that it makes a difference. He can’t see the terror that admission has provoked inside me. But he can sure as hell sense it.
“I… I thought I was just a nuisance to you,” he admits quietly.
“You are.” My stomach flips. “A nuisance I care about.”
Raine’s mouth hangs open. He doesn’t have a response. I don’t blame him. I’ve spent my entire adult life not giving a flying fuck about anyone or anything including myself. This is new for me too.
“That’s why you’re going to lay back down in the goddamn bed, and let me handle this.”
“I can help,” he baulks haltingly.
“They both made this mess. But I’m going to fucking fix it.”
“Xan—”
“Stay here, Raine!”
Cringing back into his pillows, he summons a reluctant nod. I pluck his plugged-in mobile phone from the bedside table then shove it into his hands.
“I’m going hunting. If any trouble starts, call. Got that?”
“What kind of trouble?” Raine’s forehead wrinkles.
“I honestly don’t know. But something’s coming.”
I quickly check around the medical wing, ensuring it’s secured. Nina is on-duty again in the small office, preoccupied by her crossword book. She pays me no attention as I stride past.
I spend the next few hours systematically picking the institute apart with my all-access pass. Checking every last locked door, storage cupboard and floor. There seems to be no security around for me to beat any clues from.
After breaking in, I’m picking through the filing cabinets in the warden’s office, searching for records of any admissions to the solitary wing, when I hear approaching voices. Slamming the cabinet shut, I duck behind a thick curtain.
“It began as a handful of reporters, sir.” Elon’s annoying voice is unmistakable. “They’re gathering outside each of the remaining institutes across the country.”
“The corporation has released a statement,” Davis responds.
“It appears the crowds are growing by the hour. The negative response to that leaked video is escalating fast. Security reports a large protest gathering at our front gates.”
“Goddammit! Handle this, Elon.”
“It’s a rather large mob,” he says uncertainly.
“I don’t care. Send every man and woman we have out there. Go too. I will not be intimidated in my own institute.”
“I believe Sir Bancroft intends to address the crowd himself. The leaked video is likely the work of Sabre Security. A distraction technique, perhaps.”
“Then Bancroft can clean his own fucking mess,” Davis spits.
Trouble in paradise?
The warden sounds less than enthused by his superior’s actions. I haven’t had the misfortune to run into Bancroft again since he agreed to our release from Priory Lane’s Z wing. But I’ve heard whispers of his presence in Harrowdean.
“What about the patients?” Elon asks. “News has already spread. They’re restless.”
There’s a thunking sound like Davis has slammed his forehead against his desk.
“Hold a skeleton staff back to keep the peace. We’ll declare an emergency lockdown for good measure. Send everyone else out to hold the crowd back.”
“Yes sir,” Elon acknowledges.
When I hear retreating footsteps and the office door close, I peek around the curtain. Davis is sitting at his desk, staring into space. I slide the pocketknife from my back pocket, creeping up behind him.
“Argh!” he startles as I press the blade to his throat.
“Warden. Where are Lennox Nash and Ripley Bennet?”
“Step away from me.”
“No. Answer the fucking question before I make this throat a gaping smiley face.”
“Think about what you’re doing,” Davis attempts.
Pausing, I take a moment. “Alright. It’s thought about. Now answer.”
“They’re dead by now!”
Pressing the blade in, I feel his skin begin to part. “You continue to underestimate us all, Warden.”
I can feel a weak tremble running over him. The mighty warden of Harrowdean, sweating like a pig in a butcher shop. Men like him shouldn’t have power. Yet they always seem to covet it.
“Where is the Z wing?”
“You’re on camera,” he gasps. “Walk away now, and I won’t report this.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” I slash deeper into his throat. “Oh, wait. I did. The moment I cut the CCTV camera’s power supply.”
“Please…”
“Where is it?”
“I can’t tell you! I won’t!”
“Then what use do I have for you?”
“Please,” he tries again, holding up his hands.
“Still begging, Warden?” I lean closer, scenting his sweat and fear. “Didn’t you know I have no humanity to appeal to?”
His throat cuts like warm butter left out in the sun for too long. I ensured to sharpen my blade as I plotted overnight, preparing for whatever price finding Ripley and Lennox would demand.
The glinting steel slashes him wide open like a fucking pi?ata. Warm blood gushes forth in a hot, sticky spray. It pours from the deep wound and splashes all manner of paperwork, framed photographs and incident reports.
No doubt forged documents that are all dipped in the blood of Harrowdean’s stuffed suit. His essence now stains the lies he’s been paid to perpetuate.
Holding him close despite the spray, I watch every last droplet. Each satisfying spray and gargle. The agonal breath of a dying soul. Holding Davis as he bleeds out stirs some internal bloodlust that only grows.
When I release him, he thuds against the desk with an audible smack. Eyes blown wide. Mouth hanging open. Face waxy and a yawning gap where his throat should be. I can’t help but stare for several peaceful moments.
The sound of distant shouts breaks my reverie. It floats through the stained glass window, emanating from the institute’s gates. From the warden’s office, I have a better view of what’s unfolding.
A quick look outside reveals something I never expected to see. Elon’s description was a gross underestimation.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
He was right about one thing—it sure looks like a protest. Reporters and press vehicles blur with the enraged general public. Placards are being waved, accompanied by shouts and screams.
Harrowdean’s security is struggling to hold the protest at bay. Heading down the paved path beyond the gates, I recognise Bancroft’s shrivelled form with Elon and a multitude of guards in tow.
He’s dolled up in a fine suit, silvery hair slicked back and game face on. The crowd’s rage only heightens at the sight of his approach. My attention is pulled from him as the emergency alarm blares.
It shatters the still air of the office and slams me back into reality. Davis’s corpse is slowly cooling. But his orders still stand. A lockdown has been called.
Taking one last look around the office and its deceased inhabitant, I duck into the corridor. Emergency lighting flashes on repeat, reminiscent of an epileptic fit. Still, the silence is eerie.
I almost startle when my phone begins to buzz.
“Raine?” I answer hastily.
“What’s that alarm, Xan?” His voice is high pitch.
“Everyone’s going into lockdown. Hold tight.”
“I can hear shouting. Sounds like patients.”
“I’m coming now.”
Hanging up the call, I keep the blood-slick blade poised in my hand as I enter the spookily empty corridor. Not many staff are around on weekends anyway, but it’s deserted now the guards have been directed outside.
As I near the reception, doors are flung open. Chairs upturned. Brochures scattered. The sounds of screaming and yelling emanate from outside where the witching hour has fallen.
A quick peek outside reveals the growing commotion. With the majority of Davis’s men sent to protect the institute’s perimeter, few remain to hold the tension at bay. And damn, has it exploded.
All hell has broken loose. At first glance, it looks like Harrowdean’s patient population has turned on itself. There are dozens of scraps taking place, fists flying into faces and blood spraying in all directions.
As I squint through the darkness, I can see the true reality. Beyond a few random fights, they’re actually targeting the guards. Patients rally together, taking down black-clad brutes and stealing their weapons.
Guards are being tasered and cuffed. Pummelled with fists at every available opportunity. The mob is growing as sides are drawn. In the gloom, violence rules. And it’s growing by the second.
This is an uprising.
A fucking riot.