THE TITAN EXPERIMENT

CHAPTER 7 - Red Riding Hood

Wolf exhaled.

Sarah rolled her eyes as she dried her wrists with paper towels, tossed the soiled ones in the garbage, and used fresh towels to cover her wounds.

When she turned around, he said, "Don't go thinking I sympathize with you, or feel sorry for you."

"Wouldn't dare."

"I told you, there's nowhere to run. What were you thinking?"

"I don't know." She scowled back at him. "Maybe I didn't want to be held captive?"

"This isn't a normal train, Sarah. We're deep underground. You should know that since you were awake when we boarded."

"I had a sack over my head."

"But you saw us descend."

"But the windows?"

"The windows are fake. They're for aesthetic purposes and they help with the claustrophobia. That's all. So, you might as well ease up a bit."

Sarah cupped her hand over one wrist, holding the paper towel in place. She folded her other hand around the backside of her other wrist. It was awkward, but manageable since it was a temporary fix.

She raised her arms and pointed toward the door. She didn't have to speak. Wolf—it irritated her to call him that—ushered her out of the cabin and into a narrow hallway. Why he seemed to be worried about her, she didn't know, but she had experienced worse, like their first encounter in Sydney, Australia sixty years ago. She had seen a darker side of him then. Considering his current milder alter ego, she suspected he was taking meds to combat his fits of rage. The primary clue was his dilated eyes, and that he was far more docile now than he was then, if she could consider him docile at the moment.

Wolf guided her into another cabin, much different from the one they came from. This one reflected a blurred image of them from its stainless-steel walls, floors, counters, cabinets, and a large table that occupied center stage, with two floor drains on either side. A faucet with the nozzle of a retractable hose protruded from the wall.

Sarah suspected this cabin had a history of blood.

The smell of disinfectant permeated from every inch of the room—so much she wanted to pinch her nose.

Wolf pulled a stool over and gestured for her to sit, which she did with her elbows on the table. "You shouldn't have done that, Sarah. He won't be happy to hear I've damaged the merchandise."

"So, that's what I am?" She met his gaze. "Merchandise?"

"You're a lot more than that, but to the project, you're a means to an end. A very significant one. Vital. Indispensable in my eyes." The thin rim of his chocolate irises combed over her. It felt weird and disturbing, yet in some far out, strange and ridiculous way... caring.

Wolf walked to a cabinet above a deep well sink and removed a case. He stepped back to the table, set it down, and flipped the latches. He picked out a roll of gauze, a small pair of scissors, and a stack of wipes. From beneath the sink, he retrieved a metal bowl, placed it under her arms, and positioned her wrists to catch the excess blood.

"This shouldn't take long," he said.

The floor beneath them rattled. Sarah detected slight movement, and then the vibration dissipated.

"As I told you before, this is not your average train." Wolf turned again to remove a gallon jug from a cabinet. "I'm not sure you can call it a train, period. It's shaped more like an underground rocket laying on its side, minus the exhaust. It's propelled by a magnetic field. They call it The Bullet. Pretty neat if you ask me, but I'm sure you don't care what I think."

He peeled away the paper towels from her wrists to reveal the bleeding had slowed. "This is water." He held up the jug. "No need for alcohol or any other type of cleansing agent. Because we both know you don't need it."

He poured water over the gashes in her flesh and washed away what blood remained on the surface. With the napkins, he patted her skin clean, taking care not to cause unnecessary pain. Then, one wrist at a time, he wound the gauze around several times, making a neatly layered bandage. After he finished securing his handiwork with tape, he tossed the bloody wipes in the bowl and set it in the sink.

"Someone else can clean up after us." Wolf looked at Sarah, noticed something, hesitated, and then took a napkin, wetted it, and before she could react, he gently wiped it across her chin.

Their eyes met.

Sarah beheld him from a clinical perspective, her cheek drawing tight to one side, brows straightening into observation mode like a scientist studying a rare species. Wolf was difficult to read with so many variables. Honestly, he was intriguing. His entire demeanor and personality turned the rotating wheels and cogs in her mind.

He winced like her observation made him nervous and even caused him pain. Finally, he refocused on cleaning the smeared blood from her face. His hand quaked. He seemed determined not to look her in the eye again. When finished, he closed the case, returned it to the cabinet, and leaned against the sink with his back to Sarah.

Her attention seized on the dart gun tucked in his waistband. "Don't even think about it," he said.

"Are you psychic or something?"

"No, but I know how targets think when they get abducted."

"Now I'm a target?"

Wolf faced her. Cleared his throat. Intertwined his fingers, cracked his knuckles, a specimen under a microscope. "We both know what you are, Sarah."

"And I know what you are."

"You know nothing." His eyes widened, nostrils flared, and his lip curled up on one side. The look of a predator. He tilted his chin. "I may be what you see, but I'm not what you think."

Sarah shook her head. If she ever came close to smiling of late, this would have been an opportune moment, but it passed, as all other chances to express joy had in recent years. The desire to do so just wasn't there. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We don't have time." He paused, inspecting her from head to toe, which became uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by. She couldn't tell if his interest was in protecting an asset, or something more. "You'll need a change of clothes. Your sweater has blood all over it. We'll find you something."

A thought occurred to Sarah. "Why did we stop the train? If that's what it is."

"A supply station."

"Underground?"

"Yes, underground. You ask too many questions, and I don't have the patience to answer all of them. But there is something you should know. It's important."

"Okay? I'm listening."

"Our next stop. It's an observation facility."

"Underground?"

"Yes, underground." His nostrils flared out. "You know, if you keep up with the stupid questions, I'll zip tie you again."

"My questions are not stupid. I'm curious."

"Curiosity killed the—"

"I seem to have more lives than a cat." Sarah grew tired of him hovering over her like a nurse with an angry twitch. She rose from the stool, her forehead coming to about nose level with him. "Our next stop, you were saying?"

"We found something related to Arcturus. Proof of life."

"What are you talking about?" Sarah's face flushed with warmth.

He bit his lip like he was thinking about telling her something else. "Video proof."

Sarah's breath caught in her throat. Her pulse quickened. With Wolf's grave expression bearing down on her, she sensed the room spinning, her vision blurring. The dark corridors of the space station came into focus. The monster wreaking havoc. Her last kiss with Jake. It felt so real.

She was sinking into another trance when Wolf reached out to brace her. "Sarah, the admiral wants you to go back. He has a mission for you. He has a plan."