Chapter 22
JEREMY IS LED INTO THE visitation area midmorning, wondering what kind of nonsense they will waste his time with today. He almost doesn’t look up as he is brought through the door, but when he does, he sees they aren’t there yet.
He settles into the seat as the guard shackles him to the floor. He waits there, watching the minutes tick by on the clock, wondering what is taking them so fucking long.
“If the teacher is ten minutes late, we get to leave,” he says to the guard, who sneers in response.
Tough crowd.
As time drags on, Jeremy feels himself getting more and more agitated, and that’s when it hits him: That’s the point. They are trying to get him good and angry before they walk in so they can try to trip him up or pull some other bullshit to make up for their lack of ingenuity.
Finally the door clicks open, and John Leroux and Wren Muller both walk in looking like they did something far more impressive than piss him off with their tardiness.
It’s interesting, because Wren looks him right in the eyes.
There’s a confidence in her expression that he hasn’t seen in a while—not since they were lab partners, in fact.
Detective Leroux’s calm demeanor is equally perplexing to him. He sits back in his chair with his arms crossed. John Leroux always has a certain smugness about him, but today it feels like he’s turned it up to eleven.
“Hope we didn’t keep you from anything,” Leroux says, suddenly leaning forward to greet him.
Jeremy smiles, a forced gesture that’s getting harder to fake the longer he sits in what amounts to an oversized rotting casket. “Of course not. I figure you two need all the help you can get,” he says, settling back into his seat.
Wren doesn’t say a word, just looks at him, seeming to study his face. It’s the most eye contact she has sustained with him, and he matches it, fixing her gaze silently, seeing how long she will hold it.
He looks for a twitch or a tremble, but she’s stone in front of him, an unrecognizable presence who doesn’t flinch under his scrutiny.
That unnerves him. He doesn’t show it, because he never shows it, but he feels it.
Something has shifted, and when she refuses to drop her gaze or speak first, his curiosity gets the best of him.
“All right, lay your desperation on me,” he says, getting as comfortable as he can in the hard seat, his chains scratching against the floor.
“We don’t need anything from you, Jeremy,” Wren says, her voice cool and calm.
Leroux smirks. “Yeah, desperation is actually the last thing we’re feeling today.”
They are clearly tickled by the anticipation they’re trying to build, relishing whatever power they think they have taken hold of. He doesn’t buy it.
“So are we just here to identify different emotions?” Jeremy asks flatly.
“Sure. Why don’t you identify what emotion you’re feeling right now?” Leroux answers, unable to stop another grin from stretching across his face.
Jeremy breathes in through his nose, using every bit of restraint he can muster to keep himself in his seat. “Well, right now I’m feeling like I want to cut your throat until I hit bone,” he says, his voice never rising or falling, a steady threat delivered with the purest of intentions.
For just a second, Leroux’s glee falters, a bit of anger flashing in his eyes as they fix on Jeremy. It’s over before it can take hold, though. “See? You’re always overzealous. That’s what gets you in trouble.”
“Oh, I sure wish I had come to you for advice before.” Jeremy gestures around them mockingly. He’s already bored with whatever mystery they are trying to hint at here.
“We found her,” Wren says, almost whispering the words.
He snaps his head in her direction, then quickly reminds himself that reactions are a sign of weakness. Keeping his body language noncommittal, he feigns indifference. “There’s a lot of ‘hers’ in my past, love,” he purrs, making her visibly uncomfortable.
She shifts in her seat, glancing at Leroux, who barges into the conversation with his usual lack of grace.
“Wyatt DuPont gave it all up,” he says, that grin still plastered on his face.
Jeremy’s heart picks up its pace, but he silently urges it to steady itself. He stops the rise of heat from making its way to his cheeks, not wanting to show any sign of upset, any sign of irritation, even though he feels it all.
“Oh?” he asks, looking down at his hands, examining them like they are brand-new.
“You really overcommitted to that one, huh?” Wren asks, a sudden burst of bravado surging out of her.
He weighs his options quickly, flipping through every possible outcome in a blink. The only avenue is to take control of the situation, like he knows he can.
“I just showed him his potential,” Jeremy says, leaning back in his chair.
They look at each other, a new irritation palpable in the air. He chose the correct response; he knew it would chew right through their arrogance and sense of authority. They crave the feeling of watching him squirm, and they really thought they had it here.
Wren chews on her lip and shakes her head, seemingly unhappy with his response. He keeps his eyes on them, watching their expressions change and seeing their exhaustion begin to set in again. It’s wonderful.
Then Wren surges forward, nearly slamming her hands down on the table in front of her. Her eyes bore into his, and in them he can see the glossiness of unshed tears, a tale of grief and desperation playing out right in front of him.
“You didn’t prepare him well, Jeremy.” There’s a measured anger in her voice. She pulls her hands together into a ball, squeezing them. “He fucked up, just like you did.” She jabs her finger at him, emphasizing the indictment.
He’s seen this tactic before. She’s trying to get him to fall into the ego trap, make him seem pathetic so he feels like he has to prove he’s as good as he thinks he is.
He’s unimpressed by this, especially coming from her.
This shouldn’t be what she falls back on: stupid lowball tactics made to trick a lesser mind.
She knows better. He isn’t going to dance for her.
“He doesn’t care,” he says, calmly.
“What do you mean, ‘he doesn’t care’?” Leroux says. His voice raises slightly, almost to a yell.
Jeremy laughs, blowing a piece of hair from his eye.
The length of his hair has become a nagging issue for him lately.
It’s a constant reminder of confinement, and he doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s starting to get to him.
Some of the guards—the ones who refuse to fall into line—seem to realize that he’s struggling with maintaining his clean-cut appearance, and so they relish making it difficult, confiscating any form of grooming product he’s able to get his hands on.
“I mean he’s a willing sacrifice, John. They all are.
” He knows his response will send them on a spiral to desperately try to uncover more of the secrets that only he can—but won’t—reveal.
As soon as he gives them even one sign that they are on the right path, the hunt for the truth will start to consume them both.
It’s in each of their natures to become ensnared by the unknown.
They would follow anything into the darkness of a labyrinth, and all their curiosity requires is the whisper of an invitation.
“Listen,” Leroux starts, sighing and rubbing his temple. “We were giving you a chance. I don’t know why.”
Jeremy scoffs. “A chance for what?”
He’s rarely confused, but here he sits, confused as hell and getting more irritated by these two as the hands on the clock tick by.
He always expected Wren to piece together the truth about Wyatt eventually, but he was really hoping for a more extended run.
Wyatt was wildly creative, but the guy didn’t plan one step ahead; he just dove in headfirst, reckless.
In their communication, they had discussed a slow, sickening burn of chaos and fear.
The end was always supposed to be a self-sacrifice, a curtain call to allow for another act to come through town. But Wyatt’s time was too brief.
Before he can ponder it further, a guard barges into the room—one of his tormentors who takes a lot of joy in upturning his cell weekly, then making him put it all back together.
His name is Rex, but the inmates have appropriately dubbed him “Vex.” Jeremy fantasizes daily, almost hourly, about what he would do to this stain on the human species if he was given just one moment alone with him.
Sneering like the cat who got the canary, Vex slaps a small stack of envelopes onto the table. Jeremy recognizes them immediately as the letters Wyatt has sent him for the past couple of months. He can feel his heartbeat quicken not out of fear but out of anticipation for what is to come.
“Recognize these?” Vex asks, clearly relishing his moment in the spotlight. Jeremy watches his eyes flick over to Wren and Leroux briefly, as if looking for approval.
Jeremy’s eyes bore into Vex’s, a stream of hate passing between them. “They aren’t handing out gold stars, you know.”
“You never drop that shit-eating grin, huh? Even when it’s clear that you’re the rat in a cage here,” Vex says.
Jeremy scoffs, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair. The chains softly clink together, unfortunately adding credence to Vex’s words.
“You know, for someone named after a dinosaur, you really are sharp.” Jeremy smiles pleasantly, tilting his head as Vex’s face turns red with anger.
“Kids, settle down,” Leroux says, waving his hands. “I have to say, these letters are pretty damning.”
“Yeah, Wyatt’s a pretty fucked-up individual,” Jeremy says, turning his attention to Wren. “Are you literally broken? Why can’t you ever detect deception?” He grins, barely holding back a chuckle.
Wren blinks a few times, clearly trying to maintain control. She clears her throat. “You can’t deflect this time, Jeremy. You’re caught.”