Breaking Point (Article 5 #2)(92)

Tucker walked straight up to the front door and pulled it open, allowing me to step into a brightly lit lobby with a black-and-white checkered floor. A Sister of Salvation sat behind a glass window, smiling in a plastic way. She had a broad forehead and flat hair, pulled back in a pencil-thin braid. By the time we reached her, my nerves had settled into that same eerie calm I remembered from my escape from the base. I was glad for it. I needed a clear head now.

“Welcome to Horizons Physical Rehabilitation. How may I help you?” she chimed.

“Patient transfer,” said Tucker.

“I’ll need a copy of your orders, please.” She reached her hand under the bottom of the glass expectantly.

My fists clenched. Tucker hadn’t said we’d need paperwork.

“Is Sprewell here?” Tucker asked irritably, as though he couldn’t be bothered with this girl and her silly rules. I wasn’t entirely sure the sentiment wasn’t genuine.

“Um … yes, sir. Do you have an appointment?” she asked, her mouth now drawn tight at the corners.

“We’ll wait.”

He stared at her until she stood up and walked away.

“You don’t have to be so rude,” I whispered.

“Not now,” snapped Sean. Tucker smirked.

The Sister returned and sat back down. “Sergeant Sprewell will be with you in just a moment.”

“Thank you,” said Tucker, not particularly kindly.

Church of America music was piped in through the speakers. The soprano singing struck a note that gave me the chills. I nursed my sore wrist and tried to focus on relaxing the bundled muscles in my neck, but the Sister kept staring at me.

“We’ve met, haven’t we?” she finally asked.

I dropped my chin and looked away. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” she said. “I recognize your face.…”

For several blank seconds the words caught in my throat and I seriously contemplated running. Then I remembered what Beth had said about the arrival of the Sisters in Louisville.

“Dallas,” I said. “I trained at the center in Dallas.”

“That’s it,” she said. “I trained there, too.” She smiled again, in her hollow way.

An atrocious buzzer sounded and I jumped to attention. A moment later, a ruddy-faced guard with beady eyes—SPREWELL, according to his name badge—pushed through the locked door on the left side of the check-in window.

His eyes drew to me first, with a look so slimy I felt the need to take a shower. I instantly despised him.

“Still guarding cripples, huh, Sprewell?” chided Tucker.

I bristled at the word cripple, thinking of the Chicago fighter that Mags had shot. Then I held my breath, praying that Tucker hadn’t been too bold. Thankfully the guard recognized him and laughed.

“Miss me that much, Morris?”

Something in his mannerisms reminded me of how Tucker had been at the Knoxville base. Cocky. Too clever for his own good.

He shook Tucker’s hand, and Tucker smiled, like he belonged in this world. I shifted, moving closer to Sean and the handgun in his belt.

“What brings you back this way?” asked Sprewell.

“Transfer. The Sisters put in a request to bring one of your girls to their order in Knoxville.”

“So that’s why you’re in mixed company.” The guard’s brows went flat with indifference. “Any gimp in particular?”

“Her name is Rebecca Lansing,” said Sean, sweat beading on his forehead.

I tensed. My heart hammered against my ribcage.

Sprewell’s chin lifted. “This a pal of yours, Morris?”

I was done talking to Sprewell. I wanted to see Rebecca now.

“Ms. Lansing is to set an example for the other Sisters,” I said. “To steer them away from a life of sin.”

Truck had said this is what they’d done to that poor Chicago soldier with the broken neck. Toured him around the base. I hoped it wasn’t too unreasonable that the Sisters of Salvation would do the same thing.

Sprewell glanced at Tucker, as if to verify that I’d spoken out of turn. I hid the irritated sigh that threatened to sneak out. It seemed men could only address men these days.

“They’re a little bold down south, aren’t they, Morris?” he said with a ghost of a smile. “The ones here are … what’s it called … like those bugs that don’t have any male or female parts. Asexual, that’s it.”

“We are on a time crunch, Sprewell,” said Tucker.

He sighed. “Fine, all right. Come on back and we’ll run your IDs.”

The three of us froze, refusing to look at one another. Had Tucker forgotten this crucial step? Was this an accidental omission, or a deliberate one? I looked out the front window, seeing the van still parked on the curb. There was still a chance to run for it.

But I couldn’t run. Any doubt that Rebecca was here had been erased. Anyway, I wouldn’t make it ten feet before Sprewell had shot me in the back.

I followed the boys through the locked entry. There was no turning back now.

*

ON the opposite side of the door was a long counter, where a Sister sat beside a young soldier doing paperwork. He had a strained look on his face, and averted his eyes from Sprewell, out of fear or aversion, I didn’t know.