Burn (Pure #3)(75)

“She can’t afford to age, especially now that she’s single again,” Iralene says matter-of-factly. “But she’s been out for all of the memorial services and our date.” She puts her hand on the door. “I won’t go back, though. I made her promise that I could be free now.” She tilts her head. “Well, as free as I can get.”

They move on down the hall.

This place is hauntingly dark and cold and dismal. Bodies exist behind every humming door. Bodies held in time—for how long? Damn it. Weed was right. If he can get them free, up for air, what the hell is he going to do with all of them?

“Dr. Peekins!” Iralene calls down the hall.

They hear the scuffle of shoes. Peekins turns a corner and stands with his hands on his wide hips. He’s a short, duckfooted man of Partridge’s father’s generation. “Iralene,” he says.

“Hi,” she says warmly.

The two hug.

Iralene says, “Dr. Peekins was the first face I saw each time I came up for air.”

“And I had to put you down sometimes too, which was unpleasant when you were little, before you fully understood.” Unpleasant—it’s the kind of euphemism that people in the Dome use when something is awful, unconscionable… Partridge can only imagine what it was like to put Iralene under as a child.

Iralene tilts her head and says, “You told me bedtime stories, remember? The baby in a basket in the woods who grew up to be strong and beautiful.”

Peekins’ eyes are wet. Was he a father figure for Iralene? “Of course I remember.” Then Peekins turns to Partridge. “And this must be the young man himself!” Peekins holds out his hand. Partridge shakes it. “We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting, but of course, I know who you are.” For good measure, he shakes Beckley’s hand too, which Partridge likes. A lot of people ignore Beckley.

“Partridge needs your help,” Iralene tells Peekins.

Peekins’ eyes dart up and down the hall. He takes a step closer, lowering his voice. He seems to know that helping Partridge might be dangerous. Has Foresteed told Peekins that he’s in charge? “Does this have to do with Weed?”

“Has he been here?” Partridge asks.

“He’s sent word. The Hollenback baby,” Peekins says softly. “And now Belze.”

“Yes,” Partridge says. “Odwald Belze. Can you help?”

Peekins rubs his eyebrow. “I’m not supposed to…”

“It’s important,” Partridge says.

“Yes, but there are conflicts, you know.” He scratches his chin. “Things beyond my control. I can only do so much.”

Iralene touches his shoulder. “Please. Can you try?”

His face softens. “This way.” They follow Peekins down one hall and then another. “Belze is an older man and a wretch, and he’s been kept under for a long time. The deep freezes are much more complex than the short ones, as Iralene would know—kind of the way it works with anesthesia.”

“Can you bring him up carefully?” Partridge asks.

“I’m always careful,” Peekins says, and he stops in front of a door marked ODWALD BELZE. “But there are risks.”

“The other alternative is to never bring him up for air—never even try it?” Partridge asks. “What’s the difference between permanent suspension and death?”

Iralene nods. “Every time I went under, I wondered if I’d be forgotten.”

“I’d never have forgotten you,” Peekins says. “You know that.”

Peekins opens the door. Iralene and Partridge follow him into the small room. Beckley stays in the hall, standing guard.

And there’s a six-foot capsule, its glass foggy and iced gray. Partridge feels a chill—from deep inside of him to the surface of his skin. Peekins wipes the glass, revealing an old man’s frozen face. His expression is stiff and pained. He has a long dark pink scar running down his neck, bisected a third of the way down like a cross. Pressia’s grandfather.

“Where’s his leg?” Iralene asks.

“He came in that way,” Peekins says. “It’s a kind of fusing actually. Something from the Detonations. There’s a clump of wires at the stump. From what exactly, who knows?”

Partridge remembers being with his half sister when their mother died—the murderous blood filling the air. They’ve both lost so much. And yet, here’s this man who took care of her all her life, the only father figure she ever knew and whom she thinks is dead, and Partridge can return him to her. It’s the greatest gift he can think of. Love, returned. “I want him treated very carefully,” Partridge says.

“Of course,” Peekins says. “I can only try. No promises!”

“Don’t tell Foresteed or Weed or anyone else in power.” Even though Glassings vouched for Weed, Partridge isn’t sure. “I’m asking you directly. Okay?”

Peekins nods. “Yes, yes.”

“There’s something else he’s here to see,” Iralene says.

“I think I know what’s brought you,” Peekins says.

“What’s that?” Partridge asks.

“You’re not the first person to come down and ask about it. Anything that’s locked up that tight must have been of incredible value to your father, right?” So he knows that Partridge wants to be let into the chamber. Who’s come before him? Probably Foresteed. Maybe Weed. Did members of Cygnus try to get access?