Project HALO

Chapter 9

When I see the familiar building beam in the rays of the rising sun, I hesitate, having to stop to take a deep breath. I have no idea how Mikey will react. I shake my head. Do or die, I think and break into a jog.

Mikey's apartment block is supposed to be one of the most modern and expensive apartments of the city, but the building is painted in the nastiest green-brown color you'll ever see, like a rotten avocado. Mikey used to say I should live there because apparently it matches my personality. I scoff at the memory, and my chest loosens up a little as I ascend the white marble stairs.

"Charles? Is that you?"

Beside the revolving door, the doorman takes a step forward, his eyes wrinkling as he studies me. "Certainly! I don't think I have seen you since Christmas."

I give him a tightlipped smile. "Good to see you, George. Is Mikey home?"

He scratches his beard. "I believe so. His family is on vacation, but I'm quite certain Mrs. Hedges said Mikhail would stay home. Teenagers, you know. Would you like me to check?"

"I can see for myself, if that's okay. He's expecting me," I lie.

George has known me for years, but I'm not sure how much he knows about mine and Mikey's disagreements, so I take no chances.

"A great idea," he agrees and opens the door for me. "Have a wonderful day, Charles."

"You, too," I say with a nod and step into the huge foyer. It's more like a hotel than an apartment complex with its shiny floors, lush carpets, velvet wallpaper, and several receptionists observing me with questioning gazes.

"Good morning, sir," one of them says. She joins me on my walk over to the elevators. "May I ask whom you are visiting?"

"Mike—I mean, Mikhail Talwar."

The girl gesticulates toward the buttons on the elevator. "Floor nine, is that right?"

This might be one of the stupidest things about having money. As if I can't push a button with my own finger. But I'm used to it, so I instinctively reply, "Yep. Thanks."

She pushes the button with a tight smile plastered on her face and the elevator doors open with a ping. I walk inside and listen to the upbeat elevator music, trying to lighten my mood and silence the constant war in my head.

This is a bad idea.

In spite of the cheery music, my stomach turns.

I should've gone home instead. Maybe my father did this to teach me a lesson or whatever. As if human experimentation is a normal thing, but what the fuck am I supposed to think? The best thing would be that my father doesn't know anything about this, but I can't bring myself to believe that. He is the CEO of the company, and he loves any inch of control he can get.

The elevator stops and I pinch my shoulder blades together, inhaling. I don't want to think about what happens if Mikey says no. I don't want to think about Dr. Pratt or the guards or my father or anything. I want a drink.

The deep purple carpet is soft under my soiled shoes. Streaks of dirt are left behind from my dragging steps. The thought of seeing Mikey makes me irrationally nervous. It's just Mikey, I scold myself. I stop in front of his door and push the doorbell.

No answer.

Maybe he joined his family on vacation this year after all. Or, since he normally goes to bed when everyone else awakens, he might be asleep. I push the doorbell once more. Then again, faster and faster for each passing second. Finally, I hear someone move, sounding like they're running down the stairs. I close my eyes in gratitude.