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Chapter 5
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Amnesty.
The word reverberated through his mind.
Tom blinked and seriously considered the possibility that his former mentor was joking.
For one ludicrous second, he half expected Lewis to pull out a gun, smile a farewell, and end it all with a cheerful "gotcha."
"Of course, that decision can be revoked at any time so perhaps it is more accurate to say that you are being granted an indefinite reprieve," Lewis continued.
Tom tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Lewis was completely serious.
Amnesty?
"The Council is indulging its curiosity . . . for the time being," his former mentor further expounded.
"Curiosity?" Tom asked in a raw disbelieving voice. "About what?"
"About you," Lewis replied implying that it was obvious.
Was he lying?
The Council didn't pardon traitors. The Council issued executions, the members of the Order carried them out . . . he'd carried them out in the past.
Would Lewis lie?
No - Tom knew the truth of that. He wouldn't lie about this. What would be the purpose?
But that assurance still didn't explain anything.
"Why?" he asked in a hard tone.
Lewis' eyebrows rose and he asked mildly, "You expected to die?"
Tom's fists clenched but he forced himself to abruptly relax them. Lewis was intentionally trying to goad him.
"Is there any reason why I shouldn't have expected that?" he asked in a low voice.
The older dominant didn't answer. Lewis studied the firmly controlled violence lurking underneath the stony expression of his former student.
Tom hadn't changed so much, after all. Exceptional instincts coupled with amazing discipline.
Lewis had been right to pass off Lisa's assessment as mostly springing from petty rivalry.
You underestimate your worth, Tom. But then you wouldn't know your value, would you? Not yet. Still so young . . .
"And Sloan Parker?" Tom asked breaking the long silence that had filled the room.
"As long as she is under your protection, she will be granted the same status."
He felt his former student hesitate for an instant. He wanted to ask about the others: Attwood, Peterson, and Tate. But Tom remained silent because he knew, just as Lewis did, that they had nothing to do with this - they never really had.
It had always been about Sloan Parker.
Despite everything they still had his loyalty for now though. But how long would it last? Lewis mused.
"You align yourself with people of such narrow vision, Tom," Lewis murmured. "Humans are so short sighted. They may refuse to accept it, but their future is already written. You see that bigger picture . . . you know it's inevitable."
Lewis paused, perusing Tom again with that cool assessing gaze of his. "You understand that, you always have . . . and you accepted it. And that's not just because you've been schooled in it from birth."
The older dominant then turned and strolled to the door of the small room directly opposite the pallet. He paused in the doorway to turn his head and add, "You were expected to advance it. You still are."
It was spoken in almost an offhanded tone, but it still sounded like a threat . . . like some twisted promise to the Order or to his former student - Tom wasn't sure which as he stared at the unlocked door through which Lewis had just exited.
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Chapter 6
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From his lounged position on the bed, Ed Tate followed his best friend with his eyes as she paced up and down the small rundown motel room.
Arms folded, Sloan walked past him in a circuit from the bathroom to the motel door.
Placing her palm flat on the door, she paused to look through the peephole then took a step over to the window in order to draw the thick curtain cautiously back and peer out.
With a sigh, she then headed back in the direction of the bathroom, padding across the shaggy carpet, only to turn a moment later to repeat the pattern for what seemed like the hundredth time.
"Sloan," he said trying to get her attention. Under the circumstances, he was rather proud at how calm his voice sounded.
She didn't seem to hear him though, something that had been occurring a lot lately. She was withdrawing into herself a little bit more each day since this whole nightmare had begun.
Ed rolled into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, grimacing slightly when the springs squeaked loudly in protest.
"Sloan," he repeated, but this time forcibly.
Her hand paused on the curtain, about to draw it back, and she turned her head, wild red curls obscuring her vision slightly.
"Sit down," Ed commanded gently. "Attwood said he would come straight here as soon as the press conference was over."
Sloan looked at him with worried eyes and he could tell that a rebuttal was on the tip of her tongue, but then to his surprise she relented and took the few steps over to sit next to him.
Ed studied her out of the corner of his eye as they sat side by side in silence. Sloan had perched herself on the edge of the mattress as if ready to bolt.
Now that he had her still, Ed wasn't sure what to do. Her constant motion had been driving him nuts but he didn't think that he had any comfort to give.
"Everything's gonna be fine, Sloan," he said in a tone of voice which sounded even to his own ears as pitifully lacking conviction.
A cold fear had settled in the pit of his stomach the minute Walter had left this morning and it had only grown over the four hours since then.
Walter could be dead . . . no, they all could be dead by the end of the day if this plan backfired on them.
It was a big risk to take - to go public with what had happened - to reveal to the world that the head of the dominant peace faction had been assassinated under the orders of someone in their own government . . . and that they had been forcibly removed from the lab and were now being hunted by the same government because they knew too much and wouldn't remain as puppets in orchestrating the spark to World War III.
Not only was Attwood an open target at a press conference but releasing the facts of what had occurred may only widen the bulls-eye on their backs. As Ed had bluntly put it to Ray Peterson, it would piss off all the wrong people even more.
They had been on the run for three weeks now. Since that first night when Tom had been taken, Walter and Ray had been shuffling them from one place to another.
Walter had insisted that going to the press would do some good but, from Ed's point of view, it was a desperation tactic. There simply wasn't anything else they could do at this point.
So here they sat and waited for Walter to hopefully return to them safely and let them know how things had gone.
Glancing over at his friend, Ed saw that Sloan had her eyes resolutely trained on the door, her hand clutching the faded blue bedspread.
He slowly slid his hand over the rough fabric to cover hers.
Without looking at him she turned her hand up to clasp it tightly. It was comfort enough for now, as they both watched the door and waited.
Twenty minutes later a knock sounded and they both jumped.
Sloan ran to the door and peered through the look hole. "Walter," she sighed in relief and unbolted the door to quickly swing it open.
Attwood came in after crisply instructing someone in a dark suit to stay outside to guard the door.
"So, how'd it go?" Ed asked folding his arms.
"Didn't you watch?" Walter replied with raised eyebrows.
Ed grimaced. "The damn television is broken," he growled. "All I could get in was static."
He and Sloan had discovered that earlier in the morning when they'd gone to turn on the TV to watch things progress on the news.
He'd sat for close to half an hour messing with the antennae on the set and had ended up kicking the antique piece of crap before finally turning it off to flop back on the bed and watch Sloan pace.
Walter sighed, then reached up to take his glasses off and give them both a smile.
"I have good news. Suffice it to say, I believe it had the impact we were looking for and then some.
"Most people aren't comfortable knowing that their government is actively seeking war with the new species . . . not when there is any possibility at peace and coexistence. Some are more than uncomfortable they are outraged. Our names and faces are now linked in the public's mind to the effort to resolve this species conflict peacefully."
"We are the only connection to the dominant peace faction," Attwood explained, "and my former contact will have to be very careful in any attempts that she makes against us in the future. She can't very well openly go after us now. It would bring too many questions and too much heat if any of us just mysteriously turn up dead."
Walter paused to take a deep breath. "She'll have to be subtle," he continued slowly, "and that takes planning and time. Time in which we can work to mobilize our efforts to counteract anything she throws our way and anything the hostile portion of the new species are planning."
Ed bit back a sarcastic retort but he couldn't disguise the skeptical look that graced his face.
Right now they didn't have a chance in hell to combat whatever their own government was planning let alone the new species. And it was looking more and more like they had never had a chance.
Walter's sudden streak of darn near idealism was . . . bizarre. Not too long ago, it had been Attwood who had turned to him and openly said that there will never be peace.
Perhaps he wasn't telling them something. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd held back something vital from them.
It suddenly occurred to Ed that they were missing someone.
"Where's Ray?" he asked glancing from Walter to the door and back.
"I sent some people with him to go and remove his family to a new safe house. He'll be joining up with us later, but right now we need to move as well."
"What do you mean you sent some people with him?"
"What people?" Sloan asked simultaneously.
"We now have some level of security, but I'll explain all that later," Attwood said placing his glasses back on. "We still need to take precautions. We need to remove to someplace more secure."
Ed and Sloan exchanged curious looks. Their own security?
Yup, Attwood definitely wasn't telling them something.
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Chapter 7
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Jonas stood in the doorway to the office, one hand resting against the doorframe, and took in his colleague who sat comfortably at a desk across the room.
"I take it you have spoken with Thomas by now?" he asked.
"Of course," Lewis replied, not bothering to stop typing on the laptop in front of him or even look in the other man's direction.
The Councilman came further into the room and fixed his gaze on Lewis expectantly, waiting for him to expound. But the only thing heard in the carpeted study was the soft clicking of keys.
So Jonas began to pace, prowling back and forth in front of the oak desk where the Order's most experienced and senior member sat. The swishing of his long coat now added to the quiet of the room.
When a few minutes elapsed, with Lewis seemingly ignoring him, he stopped his motion and glared at the sitting dominant.
"Lewis, why is it always so damn hard to pry information out of you?" Jonas said roughly.
Lewis' hands paused on the keyboard and his lip twitched. He had the sudden urge to laugh in the Councilman's face for the absurdity of the comment and more so for the dark challenging emotions underlying it.
"The ability to traffic in information is part of my job, Jonas," he said in a chiding tone. "I give the Council all the information that is necessary."
Lewis cocked his head and finished in a deadly low voice, "No more, no less."
"Fuck that, Lewis," Jonas growled. "I'm not the Council."
This time, Lewis did let a cool smile show. "Hmm, I'll have to remember that," he murmured and then turned his attention back to the screen in front of him.
It was a blatant dismissal.
This old game between them could be amusing, but Lewis had no intention of wasting any more time with it.
They could banter like this all night and nothing would come of it; Jonas would make demands and Lewis would remind him, one way or another, that he was out of his jurisdiction.
In a bored tone Lewis said, "Tom is no longer here."
The tension in the other dominant evaporated instantly due to this slight concession.
"He left?" the Councilman asked hollowly.
Lewis heard feet shuffling and then a gruff, "Damn, I wanted to meet the obstinate young man."
His senses registered the Councilman's abrupt departure but his focus was on absorbing the information scrolling in front of him.
It seemed that Dr. Attwood had finally decided to strike back against his former employer the only way he could - through the press - and that he claimed to be in contact with a coexistence faction among their species.
"Interesting," Lewis murmured.
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Chapter 8
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Tom rounded the street corner and ducked into the first open establishment he came to.
Stepping into the bar, the smell of sweat mingling with alcohol and cigarettes assaulted him.
To his ill body everything was much too intense. The smells, the sounds, the emotions . . . all swirled around him in a putrid mixture of sensations.
Tom cringed from the contact when several people bumped up against him.
He swallowed heavily, repressing the nausea that threatened to rise and pulled his trench coat tightly around him.
It had to be oppressively hot in the gloomy packed bar, since it was at least eighty outside, but he still had to try to control his shivering.
The energy bed had done some good, had allowed his body to begin to recuperate, but his time resting there had been too short. His body still needed to purge itself of the concoction of drugs they had been giving him. Once that was accomplished then the outer evidence of physical torture would fade much more quickly.
But, right now every muscle in his body was sore and he couldn't seem to banish the pounding in his head or stop the cold sweats.
Tom shook his head. He couldn't concentrate on his physical condition right now.
Once he lost the tail from Lewis, then he could rest for a bit.
Spotting a glowing exit sign over the heads of the customers, Tom began pushing his way through the crowd to get to the back of the bar. Slamming the back door open he stumbled into an alley and greedily began to suck in the fresh air of the early evening.
He didn't allow himself to pause for very long though. Sensing that the two dominants that had been following him had just entered the bar, he sprinted down the ally dodging trashcans and tattered boxes.
Tom scanned the doorways he passed for an adequate get away but when not finding one, he glanced up and jumped. He gripped onto a fire escape and pulling himself up, the chameleon was easily on the top of the building within moments despite his condition.
He then smoothly moved across the roof, trying to place as much energy as he could gather on masking himself
Tom stilled when he sensed the two others down below in the alley.
A minute later they passed though, heading out to the street.
Tom let out a deep breath and continued on to the roof door that would allow him to go down through the building.
When he had been allowed to freely leave the safe house, he had expected that Lewis would tag him. But despite being injured, Tom didn't need nor did he want an escort, especially not one that would report his every move, his every breath back to the Order . . . back to Lewis.
Tom couldn't stop the bitterly ironic laugh that bubbled out of him.
This arrangement would definitely take some getting used to.
After months of looking over his shoulder and tensing at every other member of his kind which he came across, it would be awhile before he would be able to trust his own people again, let alone Lewis.
No matter what the Council said, he might never be willing to do that.
This was just too surreal to be trusted. Lewis hadn't told him everything, he rarely did. It was a well-known pattern - almost a game they played between them.
His former trainer had never blatantly lied to him; he simply deceived by omission. Tom had done the same with him . . . he'd just never told him about that young boy and his bold desperate mother who had begged for her son's life.
If Sloan hadn't been so persistent, so fierce in her insistence to fight . . . if she had backed down and disappeared like the teen and his mom, then he once again just wouldn't have told Lewis how he wasn't able to kill what was so achingly vital and passionate.
With one swift yank he broke the lock on the roof door and swung it open. Now, to find someway to contact Sloan.
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The young dominant squinted against the glare of the setting California sun and smoothly slipped a pair of dark shades on with his free hand. With his other, he held the hand of his companion in a loose clasp. He orchestrated a warm smile to the female at his side, a fellow chameleon, and she of course played her part and returned it, even going so far as to press herself more fully against his side as they walked.
To the passing pedestrians they portrayed the perfect picture of a loving couple out for an evening stroll. In reality, their curious glances at the small street shops, restaurants, and passing cars was a determined ongoing search for their missing charge.
Penetrating eyes scanned every alley, every shadow, but found nothing. Senses stretched into the buildings they passed, but still without success.
Coming to the end of the block, the two leaned casually against a brick wall, the side of a nightclub. The young female leaned forward giving him a light kiss as she pressed a cell phone into his hand. The expression on her face, although hidden from any passerby by the long strands of blond hair hanging carelessly around her shoulders, clearly said that she'd had enough of this wild-goose chase of a mission. The male returned the sentiment fully, quickly dialing a number.
It picked up on the first ring. "We've lost him," he stated, not waiting for a greeting that wouldn't come.
"Well, then I suggest you find him," was the cool reply he received before hearing the line abruptly disconnect.
Looking at his female companion darkly, they pivoted together to retrace their steps back to the bar in which they'd lost Lewis' prize pupil.
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Chapter 9
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Apparently Walter's idea of a "more secure location" was yet another cheap hotel but one with working toilets and television sets. This time they all had their own separate musty rooms with squeaky beds and gaudy curtains - but it was a bit of privacy that had been nonexistent for three weeks.
Of course this new privilege was due to the half a dozen armed guards stationed at different points around the building, which definitely made things more secure. But Sloan's mind wasn't on Walter's sudden mysterious ability to conjure up their own personal force of men in black.
Right now, she was more concerned that, after three weeks of not knowing whether or not the man she loved was still alive, she was finally loosing it.
These sudden doubts about her state of mind were due to the fact that she was almost positive she was hearing things.
A frown creased her forehead and she gave a blank look around the small table that Walter, Ed, Ray, and herself were currently congregated at. They'd all gathered in Walter's room, which was a little bit more "luxurious" than their own, when Ray had finally joined them, his family stashed away safely down the hall.
"What?" she asked in a low bewildered voice. He couldn't possibly have just said what she thought he said. So, then the only other option was that she was hearing things.
She hadn't been sleeping well - too many nightmares, too many real waking nightmares. Perhaps that could account for it.
"What'd you say, Walter?"
Walter sadly met Sloan's eyes and repeated his statement.
"I didn't mention Tom to the press."
The soft clinking of her spoon against the side of the cup, with which she was mixing her tea, abruptly stopped as she stilled.
So, she was still sane because she had heard it correctly.
"We talked about it," Walter continued slowly, "and decided that it wouldn't be prudent."
Sloan let go of the spoon and limply dropped her hand to the tabletop. She looked around at the others - Ray and Ed purposely not meeting her eye.
"We?" she asked in a low voice.
She couldn't believe this.
"We didn't think you would be able to keep . . . perspective. So, we . . ."
"Decided it wasn't prudent?" she finished for him in a deceptively calm voice, an icy streak of bitterness laced through it.
"Sloan . . ." Ed began but Sloan furiously shook her head and cut him off.
"So, which was it? Was it prudent to make this decision behind my back or was it prudent, after three weeks . . . three weeks Walter, to continue to do nothing when Tom could be . . ."
"It would have been useless to mention him to the public," Walter interrupted, "or even worse dangerous."
"Dangerous for who?" she shouted back in disbelief. "Us? How could we possibly be any worse off than we are?"
"Dangerous for Tom and for us," Ray cut in to the conversation for the first time.
Sloan looked at him in astonishment.
"If we broadcast the fact that she's illegally holding Daniels, one of two things will happen. She'll immediately kill him to eliminate any evidence or . . . the government finds some way to justify his arrest - trumped up charges or even true charges."
Sloan's eyes widened and Ed picked up where Ray left off.
"You might not like to admit it Sloan, but Tom has done things in his past that," he paused and shook his head, "well, lets just say it might not be all that hard to convince a paranoid public that holding Tom is justified."
Sloan forcefully pushed her chair away from the table, the metal scratching loudly against the linoleum, and sprang to her feet. She took several rapid steps away from the table and then stopped, shoulders tense as she absorbed what they'd just told her. After a few moments of silence she turned back to them and asked in a quiet voice,
"So, what do we do?"
"Now that we are coming into a relatively safer position," Walter began to explain, "I'll begin to send out some feelers about where Tom could have been taken to."
Sloan gave a stiff nod of her head. "And despite anything we do or don't do, Tom could already be dead," she stated quietly and flatly. She folded her arms around herself and lowered her head from the wide-eyed looks coming from the others around the table.
After a long pause Walter uncomfortably cleared his throat.
"I couldn't do anything substantive before now, but because of the positive feed back from the conference I can begin to discreetly call in some favors. If it's at all possible, we'll find him."
Sloan absently nodded her head and roughly wiped a tear away. Without saying another word she walked to the door and swinging it open, brushed past the guard to disappear down the hall to her own room.
On to When Light Hits the Gloom - Part 3