Chapter 42
Nick strode down the hall after leaving Kate’s cell, anxiety thickening in his chest until his stomach ached.
His fists were clenched into tight balls, his fingernails digging into his palms. When Nick rounded a corner, Derek’s presence surprised him, and he was thankful for the helmet that masked the tension pulling his face taut.
“What’s up, Alex?” Derek asked.
“Just finished my rounds. About to do a roof sweep before my shift,” Nick answered.
“Want some company?” Derek stood from the metal chair and dipped his hands in his pockets.
“No,” Nick answered too quickly. He took a breath and searched for words that would keep Derek from following him. “Get some sleep, man.”
“You alright? I’ve never seen you so uptight.” Derek stood in Nick’s path, looking him up and down.
“It’s just been a long day,” Nick said.
“Every day here is a long day. Seriously, what’s going on with you, Alex?” Derek clapped Nick hard on the shoulder. “You haven’t been yourself.”
The contact knocked loose what little restraint Nick was holding on to. Derek’s demeanor was full of jest, yet it sent Nick into a downward spiral of rage. He took Derek’s hand in his and bent the fingers backward. Derek moaned in pain and surprise, his body folding in on itself.
“Alex?” There it was. The doubt. He was finally catching on.
“Sorry, Derek. Alex is a meal for maggots now.”
The bones in Derek’s hand cracked like someone stepping on uncooked pasta. Before he could cry out, Nick shoved a gloved hand over his mouth. Derek panted and attempted to murmur something through the leather of Nick’s gloves—pleading for his life, no doubt.
Nick wrapped his fingers around Derek’s neck. As he squeezed the trachea, Nick could feel the power ignite within him. The tendons in each digit pulled tight as Nick’s grip closed in. Derek let out sputtering gasps as he struggled to maintain consciousness.
With clenched teeth and unmatched aggression, Nick drove a knee into Derek’s diaphragm. A gust of air whooshed from his mouth, and then Derek’s eyes fluttered closed. Before the guard’s body could hit the floor, Nick tossed Derek over his shoulders.
Nick took a moment to listen. The daytime din of the warehouse had dwindled into the silence that met his ears now. The guards would be posted out front and on the roof. Derek’s post was the halls, which would at least leave those clear.
Derek was not a small man. Though he stood a few inches shorter than Nick and had a thinner frame, Nick figured him to weigh around one hundred eighty pounds. It should have been a lot to shoulder, and yet the manipulated proteins in Nick’s body reduced the weight to a sack of feathers.
Leaving the premises undetected was certain to be a no-go, especially toting a full-sized man over his shoulder.
Nick strode down the hall past the cells and ended at a maintenance door.
When he pushed it open, a dank, rusty odor filled his nostrils.
Fuse boxes and a water heater were the first things Nick could make out in the dark.
Pipes trailed from appliances and disappeared somewhere into the concrete walls and floors.
Nick lowered Derek’s body into the darkest corner of the small room.
Only his feet peeked out from behind the water heater.
Derek’s chest moved up and down in shallow breaths.
With a sigh, Nick ran his hunting knife across the guard’s throat, ensuring he would stay in his new hiding spot.
The body could not remain there, of course, but that was a problem for future Nick.
As he squatted on the floor, his boots crimped at the toes where he leaned on them, Nick peered through the darkness at the body. Aside from the droplets of red pooling around Derek’s collar, the man appeared to be taking a nap—albeit in an uncomfortable position.
Nick admitted to himself that he could not recall what had led to the man’s demise.
The actions performed were clear, but what emotion had taken Nick to this point?
He felt like a two-way mirror. The reflection of himself was just as he had always seen, yet from the other side, something wicked watched him through sinister eyes, whispering dark and monstrous things.
Nick wondered if, when all was said and done, he would still recognize himself, or would the glass thin until he was one with the shade.