There’s a pneumatic hiss, and the drawer opens. The container looks more battered than the others I’ve seen, its handles rubbed smooth from frequent handling. Pale gray mist pushes against the glass like it knows I’m here.
My stomach turns over, but I force myself to pick the thing up. Jesus, it’s heavy. Nico makes it look so easy. The port on the base that connects to the control panel is scratched, the threads worn and partially stripped from age and use. I grunt as I attach it to the control panel, double-checking that I locked it incorrectly because the last thing I need is to make Billy Lundby’s day and accidentally release him into the room.
I flip the right switch first. Nico always does the right one first. Then I adjust the dial to the third setting. The lights turn on around the dome’s base.
Sliding the goggles over my face, I close my eyes and go to my stage. I position myself right next to the control panel, my hand hovering over the big button labeledEND,so I can pull the plug if this goes sideways.
Here goes everything.
I pushTRANSFER.
The system hums to life. The temperature plummets. Cold cuts through my clothes, raising goosebumps across my arms, but in my theater, I’m warm under the spotlight.
“Well, well.”Billy’s voice slides through the speakers of my mental stage, as oily and smooth as the first day I met him.“What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Hi, Billy.”
Movement flickers in my peripheral vision. I turn my head, and there he is, sitting in the front row of my audience with easy confidence, wearing a turtleneck sweater.
“I see you’ve come alone,”Billy says, twirling his finger to gesture around himself.“Does Nicholas know you’re here?”
I take a couple of seconds to consider my words. “You and Nico seem to know each other well.”
“We have known each other for a very long time,”he says, crossing one leg over the other.“He likes to visit me. Late at night when he can’t sleep. Which is often.”
“What do you guys talk about?” I ask.
“Oh, the usual tedium. Donald Dellman has a bureaucratic questionnaire he’s asked poor Nicholas to use. ‘How do you feel about your crimes?’ ‘Do you experience remorse?’ Terriblydull stuff.”He uncrosses his leg, leaning forward over his knees.“What is your interest in our conversations?”
I can already feel Billy’s presence pushing against my outer walls, testing for weak spots. My time is limited. I need to get to the point.
“I know what you’re doing to Nico,” I say. “And it has to stop.”
“What is it you think I’m doing?”he asks, amused.
“Nico’s not going to let you out of here, if that’s what you’re hoping for.” I force the next words out even though they make me feel gross. “He’s not your fucking pet.”
Billy laughs.“You think he’s my pet?”
“I don’t know what you think you’re trying to accomplish by manipulating him, but I know you’re trying to hurt him, and if you don’t stop, I’m going to tell Donny,” I say.
I’m not sure if Donny suspects Billy is messing with Nico, but if he does, I’m sure Billy would have figured that out. If Donny suspects something, maybe Billy will brag that Donny knows and is doing nothing about it, and if Donny doesn’t, Billy might brag about that instead.
“Nicholas is so easy to hurt,”Billy purrs.“So emotional. He feels everything so deeply.”
A warning bell goes off in my head. He sounds like he’s savoring a private joke I’m not in on.
But I can tell he wants to tell me. He’s running his tongue over his bottom lip like he’s tasting whatever he’s about to say. In my experience, manipulative men can’t resist showing off how clever they are. They need you to know how much control they have.
I’m totally right about him manipulating Nico. I just need to figure out what his goal is and if Donny knows.
“Nicholas and I have a special relationship,”Billy says.“You could say I know him quite… intimately.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Billy smiles ear-to-ear.“You really don’t know?”
Obviously I don’t know anything. “Don’t know what?”
