Defying Terror

Chapter LXVI

September 8th, 2030, 9:49 pm

I propel the glass door to the backyard, forth into the saturated darkness of the night. The only source of brightness comes from a shivering floodlight over the entrance. For an evening in early September, the air beds itself under the hairs of my arm, seeping into the caves of my bones.

I stand in the center of the glow on the grass, awaiting a most hated figure. The moment Craig told me he didn't remember anything from Friday night, I knew that it wasn't his fault. How I didn't pick up on what really happened is beyond me. I understand what it's like to be accused of doing something that I don't recall doing, especially if the same person was behind the whole thing.

The Medo can't comprehend when enough was enough, can they? How many more of my closest friends will have to suffer at the hands of Rodney Roarke until he realizes that I have given all I can give? I have taken his deal, I listened to his bullshit stories, let him give me powers of the Medo, and I have allowed Grayson Irons to stalk me. Plus, Roarke still torments me in my dreams, so much so that I can't sleep on account of the Medo nightmares.

If he hates being in the Medo so much, why must he insist on making my life hell under his control?

Last Wednesday, he almost took the Captain from Celestine and I. I never saw the blade enter Brian's shoulder, but I stood on the splintered platform and watched as his fellow officers swarmed him. For a minute, I believed that I lost him. If Roarke had been careless and killed the Captain, I have no idea where I would go. He would be dead, I would hate the Medo too much to commit to them, and my mom would think I was a murderer again.

But now Roarke has taken advantage of my next ally, Craig. Craig Larsson as an ally seemed inconceivable a month ago, yet I know more about him now than anyone ever has. Roarke has chosen to exploit him with the same methods he used with me, except I don't know which exact methods those are.

A grind of gnashing spits from the darkness that surrounds the small glow on the backyard. A vicious bark rings through the night, digging my feet into the grass and tightening my legs. The sound of metal clashing drowns under the roars of the hidden, shadowy hound.

"Nic, the guards are trying to sleep; you'll wake them. Silence your dog." The leader of the Medo emerges from the dusk, hugged by a brown leather jacket.

His head is turned to a leaping canine, teeth bared at me once entering the light. Its coat is all black, save for a few copper spots around the face and pointed ears. It stands at my belly button with bulky legs and a broad rib cage. Though, when it jumps, it could reach the hairs on top of my head.

The chain leash stretches up to a woman, who grips the cord and yanks. "Petra, sit," she scolds. The dog obeys, but it foams at the mouth at the sight of me.

Roarke acknowledges me, and he retains a neutral composure. No smile, no spark in the eyes. "Slater, do you know why we are here?"

I tuck my hands under my arms. I need to be strong. Brian said I can't let him control me anymore. "I get the idea."

"No, I don't think you do," he derides. "We last spoke on Friday, and since then, I believe you have become quite the character. Falling in love with your former rival, crying to your new family about your problems, showing your powers to members of the Imperial Guard, and confronting your aforementioned lover and realizing your worst fear has returned. It's been interesting to watch, but I can't say that I'm pleased."

"Well, instead of dancing around what you want to say, just say it." I free my hands and drop them by my hips. "I'm just trying to live my shitty life here, so excuse me if I don't please you."