Feeling the fever of resolve flush through me, I veer off at the next exit. Kane won’t be happy with me, but that’s a stale song. Finally, I’m doing something. Something that will make a difference. All I have to do now is convince an old friend that that difference is worth the risk of his freedom.
22
KANE
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Wednesday, July 14
I press my back against the door, the solid weight of it anchoring the anger that threatens to fly across the room at Amy. Strewn all over the floor are the shredded remnants of the books and pamphlets I gave her, the confetti trail making a mockery of my concessionary gesture.
I told you so, I imagine Nolene whispering.
It’s not the waste which gets to me, it’s the absolute contempt Amy is displaying right now. I’ve given up so much, risking even imprisonment, for the sake of my convictions. And here she is, effectively spitting in my face.
It’s several minutes before I trust myself to push off the door and walk through the mess to stand in front of her. Amy is sitting on the bed, legs dangling over the edge, a casual stance that doesn’t quite hide the fear stamped all over her face.
“The lab animals in those books deserved a hearing,” I tell her. “You should’ve given them the courtesy of reading about their wasted lives, their lonely deaths.”
“I can explain,” she begins, fumbling for the words.
“Don’t,” I growl. I haul her to her feet, her face so close I glimpse the widening of her pupils. I thrust her away from me. “Clean it up.”
Amy obeys without complaint, as if realizing she’s pushed me too far. I lean against the wall, my arms folded, watching in silence while she picks up every bit of paper.
“You missed some under the bed,” I point out.
Oh, she wants to say something. I see it spark across her face. My stomach tightens in anticipation, almost hoping she’ll give in to the urge because I’m itching for a fight. But she grits her teeth and crawls under the bed to retrieve the paper.
As soon as she’s finished, I grab her arm and tow her out of the room.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Another cage waiting for me?” she asks bitterly, straining away from me, making me work to move her.
I yank irritably on her arm. “That lesson was for your father. This one will be just for you.”
I propel her down the stairs and into my client’s entertainment room. I watch her take in the windowless surroundings, the corner sofa, the screen dominating one wall, the projector suspended from the ceiling. I watch her body sag with relief at the absence of syringes and steel cages.
I point to the couch. “Sit.” She sits. “I’m coming back in five minutes. If you move from this position, I won’t be held responsible for the consequences.”
Locking the door behind me, I quickly fetch what I need. When I return, she’s still sitting there, worry and confusion scrambling across her face.
I position a straight-backed chair in front of the couch, facing the screen. Approaching Amy, I withdraw the rope I concealed in a bag. I manage to loop one of her wrists before realization strikes. She cries out, struggling wildly. My anger, however, overrides her desperation, but it still takes me awhile to tie her arms behind the back of the chair and to bind her feet to its legs.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asks, breathing like she can’t get enough air into her lungs.
I don’t bother answering her, my forearms stinging from the nasty scratches she’s carved into my skin. I underestimated how hard she’d fight back.
“I’m sorry!” she shouts. “I’m sorry I tore up your precious books.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it right now.”
“You kidnapped me,” she says. “You’re the one in the wrong here.”
“And two wrongs get us to where we are now.”
