Dark Matter(14)

Was I hurt?

Did someone attack me? What if I was brought here? What if these people, despite how nice they seem, are in league with the person who did this to me?

I touch the side of my head, feel the damage from a second blow.

“Jason.”

I see a geisha mask.

I’m naked and helpless.

“Jason.”

Just a few hours ago I was home, cooking dinner.

I am not the man they think I am. What happens when they figure that out?

“Leighton, could you come down, please?”

Nothing good.

I need to not be in this room anymore.

I need to get away from these people.

I need to think.

“Amanda.” I drag myself back into the moment, try to drive the questions and the fear out of my mind, but it’s like shoring up a failing levee. It won’t last. It won’t hold. “This is embarrassing,” I say. “I’m just so exhausted, and to be honest, decontamination was no fun.”

“Do you want to break for a minute?”

“Would that be okay? I just need a moment to clear my head.” I point at the laptop. “I also want to sound mildly intelligent for this thing.”

“Of course.” She types something. “We’re off the record now.”

I get up.

She says, “I can show you to a private room—”

“Not necessary.”

I open the door and step out into the corridor.

Leighton Vance is waiting.

“Jason, I’d like you to lie down. Your vitals are headed in the wrong direction.”

I rip the device off my arm and hand it to the doctor.

“Appreciate the concern, but what I really need is a bathroom stall.”

“Oh. Of course. I’ll take you.”

We head down the corridor.

Digging his shoulder into the heavy glass door, he leads me back into the stairwell, which at the moment is empty. No sound but the ventilation system pumping heated air through a nearby vent. I grasp the railing and lean out over the core of open space.

Two flights to the bottom, two to the top.

What did Amanda say at the start of the interview? That we’re on sublevel two? Does that mean this is all underground?

“Jason? You coming?”

I follow Leighton, climbing, fighting through the weakness in my legs, the pain in my head.

At the top of the stairwell, a sign beside a reinforced-steel door reads GROUND. Leighton swipes a keycard, punches in a code, and holds the door open.

The words VELOCITY LABORATORIES are affixed in block letters across the wall straight ahead.

Left: a bank of elevators.

Right: a security checkpoint, with a hard-looking guard standing between the metal detector and the turnstile, the exit just beyond.

It seems like the security here is outward facing, focused more on preventing people from getting in than getting out.

Leighton directs me past the elevators and down a hallway to a pair of double doors at the far end, which he opens with his keycard.

As we enter, he hits the lights, revealing a well-appointed office, the walls adorned in aviation photographs of commercial airliners and military supersonic jets and the engines that power them.

A framed photo on the desk draws my focus—an older man holding a boy in his arms that looks very much like Leighton. They’re standing in a hangar in front of a massive turbofan in the midst of assembly.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable in my private bathroom.” Leighton points toward a door in the far corner. “I’ll be right here,” he says, sitting down on the edge of his desk and pulling a phone out of his pocket. “Shout if you need anything.”

The bathroom is cold and immaculate.

There’s a toilet, a urinal, a walk-in shower, and a small window halfway up the back wall.

I take a seat on the toilet.

My chest feels so tight I can barely breathe.

They’ve been waiting for me to return for fourteen months. There’s no way they’re letting me walk out of this building. Not tonight. Maybe not for a long time considering I’m not the man they think they’re talking to.

Unless this is all some elaborate test or game.

Leighton’s voice pushes through the door: “Everything all right in there?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know what you saw inside that thing, but I want you to know I’m here for you, brother. If you’re freaking out, you got to tell me, so I can help you.”

I rise.

He continues, “I was watching you from the theater, and I have to say, you looked out of it.”

If I were to walk back into the lobby with him, could I break away, make a dash through security? I picture that massive guard standing by the metal detector. Probably not.

“Physically, I think you’re going to be fine, but I worry about your psychological state.”

I have to step onto the lip of the porcelain urinal to reach the window. The glass appears to be locked shut by means of a lever on each side.

It’s only two feet by two feet, and I’m not sure if I can fit through.

Leighton’s voice echoes through the bathroom, and as I creep back toward the sink, his words become clear again.

“…worst thing you can do is try to manage this on your own. Let’s be honest. You’re the kind of guy who thinks he’s strong enough to push through anything.”