Chapter 18: The Monster in the Book Room

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CONNOR

My bad arm hits the floor first, and that whole side of my body goes numb. I still force myself to my feet and hold out an arm to get Cat behind me as I step backward. She pushes me away.

Killoran is standing a few paces inside the room, watching, a crooked smile on his face. Light shines around him in grandiose rays, nearly silhouetting him. A few of his men file into the room. They stand along the wall near the door, pistols down in front of them. Something tells me that Killoran has a better plan than his goonies popping a bullet in each of our skulls.

Then the door swings slowly and closes with a thunk.

Once again, we're in a void. Killoran doesn't say anything.

As the room lights red, I look at Kye and see his face, see his expression. And I close my eyes to blot it out. I remember that exact look on my mother's face every time my father came for her. I remember myself standing there, watching, or running away crying. But never intervening. Never helping.

Just like I'm doing now.

Coward.

I nearly jump out of my shoes as Killoran clears his throat behind me. The red pulse reveals him to be at the wall to my back, taking a book from one of the lower shelves.

He turns slowly. "Welcome to my library."



KYE

"Of a sort," Killoran is saying, but it sounds like a dull hum in my ears, like I'm eavesdropping on a conversation through a wall.

Killoran tucks the book under his arm.

"I don't foresee you nice people giving me any trouble." He glances at his guards as the lights go red and nods. "Perhaps that makes me foolish. Nevertheless, I like to show a certain amount of trust." He nods again to his guards, who glance apprehensively at one another before shuffling from the room, closing the door behind them.

"All I ask is for a certain amount of trust in return."

Through the red light, I can see him smiling to each one of us, as though this is a party and he's making casual conversation.

When none of us say anything, he opens the book, removing a pencil from his inside coat pocket.

As the lights alternate between red and pitch darkness, Killoran walks, writing or drawing in the book as he goes, and makes his way to the center of the triangle that Cat, Connor, and I are standing in.

He doesn't even seem worried that we'll rush him.

Trust.

Killoran looks up from the page and walks over to Connor.

I find myself breathing heavier and my palms sweating more with every motion Killoran makes in Connor's direction. The pulsing lights only make it worse; I can't keep my eyes on the situation.

Killoran is looking down at Connor's arm, at the thick slice, at the red blood oozing from the wound. As Killoran puts his hand over the wound, cupping it, I see Connor's limbs tighten.

The room plunges to black.

Three light cycles go by, and Killoran is still standing there, eyes closed, hand on the wound, nose held slightly in the air.

This is our chance. Why am I not doing anything?

Killoran's face is twisted in concentration. I think I can see his lips moving, his face sweating.

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