22. Grayson

22

GRAYSON

I ce cold water slaps into my face and body, dragging me back to the realm of conscious thought. The chill deluge causes a cut on my cheek to sting. I’m not surprised when I try to move and I can’t. I can feel paracord digging into my wrists and ankles, and bare metal framework against my back.

“Wakey wakey, Mr. Spook.”

I look in the direction of the voice, and see it’s a muscled up performance artist with his nose bent to the side. His eyes say it all–he really wants to make me hurt, like I made him hurt.

“You don’t expect me to believe,” I say, working the soreness out of my jaw as I speak, “that a steroid-abusing freak like you is a member of the Aegis Order?”

His face twists into a scowl.

“There’s nothing in Order dogma that goes against being in good shape.”

“Dogma?” I sputter, before letting out a mocking laugh. “Dogma? Just listen to yourself. You really are in a cult.”

The big man moves toward me, but another voice cuts him off.

“No Glen. Wait until the Supreme Leader arrives. He’s not to be touched until then.”

“Yeah, Glen,” I say as snidely as I can. “Wait for the supreme leader. Who was that again?”

I take in more details about the room I’m in as my mind wakes up fully. The man who spoke isn’t a bodybuilder, but I do recognize him as one of the men in the rec room last time we visited Wyatt’s villa. He pushes his spectacles up on his nose and regards me with apparent apathy.

There are two other big men in the room, both of them showing signs of our struggle. I don’t even remember roughing them up this much. I guess I really gave them Hell before they finally took me down. That makes me glad, at least.

The man with glasses, who seems to be ostensibly in charge, sits beside a big battery charger, one of the types with its own rolling cart attached. I don’t have to follow the wires to know they terminate in clamps attached to the bare bed frame I’ve been tied to.

I’m not looking forward to the torture, but I’m more worried about Charlotte than I am for myself. I need to find a way to ask about her without seeming like that’s what I’m doing. I don’t know how, though.

I didn’t plan on this. I thought I could handle whatever I ran into in Wyatt’s manor. Clearly I underestimated the Order’s resources…not to mention their presence here in the villa. If Wyatt’s not aware of them, then someone who is close to the man surely is.

I suppose I’ll find out when this supreme leader finally shows himself.

I can only see one other exit to this room. No windows, bare cinder block walls. We must be in the basement. Wyatt would never stand for his party guests to see something so spartan and bare. I’m sure that there’s soundproofing or some other means of making sure no one upstairs hears my cries for help…or screams of agony.

I try not to think about it. I keep assessing my surroundings, trying to get a feel of what I have to work with. Other than a tarp on the floor, there are no other features in the room.

I decide to try and stall. Cult types are usually pretty chatty. They love to proselytize. Especially to a captive audience…in this case, literally.

“Where are the cameras? I thought you cultists loved an audience.”

The bespectacled man gives me a thin smile, devoid of emotion.

“When necessary to further our goals, we can make public displays. In your case, however, there's little to be gained from televising your impending and, I assure you, most unpleasant demise.”

“Yeah, I guess threatening influencers on the internet gets a lot more attention.”

He offers a non-commital shrug.

“If you like.”

He’s not as chatty as I had hoped. I press a little more.

“Where’s that punk ass McCloud got off to? I should have known he was setting me up.”

The bespectacled man’s smile returns.

“I assure you, that clumsy attempt to extort money was NOT the work of the Order. McCloud has paid the price for sullying our good name.”

He bends over and flips up the tarp. I’ve seen a lot in my days, and I’m hard to shock. But the sight of McCloud’s bloody, battered form is enough to make even me squeamish. The poor bastard didn’t die easy.

“Who are you, anyway? You act like you’re in charge here, but you keep talking about the Supreme Leader. Are you his flunky? His bitch boy? What’s the deal?”

The man takes off his glasses and smiles at me. It takes me a moment to put it all together, but now I know where I’ve seen him before…and not just at Wyatt’s party.

“You…you were the one following us the other night. The paparazzi…”

“In the flesh.”

He offers a small bow.

“Thanks for not brutalizing me in that spillway. It turns out, your instincts were correct all along.”

I let out a scoffing laugh.

“Somehow, that seems like cold comfort at the moment. So how long do I have to wait for this supreme leader? I don’t suppose I could get a beer while I wait?”

The bespectacled man starts to respond. His mouth is half open when the door suddenly flies open. Relief floods me when I see Malloy standing there.

“Knock knock, mother fuckers,” he says. I wait for Malloy to pull his gun, or start throwing punches, something. Instead, he just stands there. After a long moment, he starts to chuckle, then bursts into full blown laughter.

“It’s hilarious,” he says, wiping away tears. “You’re sitting there, waiting for me to start kicking butt and save your ass. You still haven’t figured it out, have you?”

My heart sinks.

“You’re working for the Order. You son of a bitch. I never took you for a cultist.”

Malloy shrugs his shoulders.

“I’m not, really. You know I give less than a shit about ideology.”

I shake my head, utterly revolted.

“So why are you doing this? For money? Really?”

Malloy’s face twists into a sneer.

“I’ve got three alimony payments a month, plus the damn government keeps raising the property taxes to the point where my house costs more every year than the original mortgage. It’s not fair, Gray. The CIA hung us out to dry, with a crappy pension and a watch.”

“Don’t try to lump us into this together, Malloy. I never stabbed a friend in the back.”

Malloy scoffs.

“Friends? We were never friends, Gray. Associates, sure. People who helped each other out on difficult cases. But I never made any friends at the Agency.”

It’s my turn to scoff. “Obviously, neither did I.”

Malloy’s gaze snaps away from me to something I can’t see beyond the door. I hear Wyatt’s voice, and the sound of stumbling footsteps.

“Get moving, you vapid bitch!”

Malloy steps aside, allowing Wyatt access to the room. Wyatt’s not alone. I almost laugh with relief when I see that he has Charlotte with him. She’s alive, and apparently unhurt. I want to ask her if she’s all right, but considering Wyatt gagged her with a bar towel, I don’t think it’s an option. Her hands have been bound with more of the paracord holding me to the bed frame.

But she’s alive. And as long as she’s alive, there's hope.

“Wyatt, you son of a bitch,” I snarl. “I should have listened to my gut. You were behind this the whole time.”

Wyatt no longer has the glazed over look in his eyes. Neither does he stand like he’s on the verge of falling over. He played me, as surely as I’ve ever been played.

“Grayson, Grayson, Grayson…” Wyatt says with a sigh. “You’ve been most suppressive of our vision.”

“Your vision? What is that, exactly?”

As long as I can keep him talking, I can keep myself and Charlotte safe.

“You’ve seen our Proclamations.”

“Proclamations?” I snicker. “Is that what you call those cheap, grade B video packages? Please. The most pathetic desert-based terrorist outfit can do better with half the equipment. I still have no idea what the Order stands for. You’re against people making money off the internet…I guess?”

Wyatt arches his brows. He turns to the bespectacled man and nods. I tense up as I see him reach for the switch.

“Wait!” Charlotte yells. Apparently she managed to spit out her gag.

“I’ll stop posting on social media. I’ll leave your Order content on my feed. Please, don’t hurt Grayson.”

Wyatt considers Charlotte. Then he stuffs her gag back in her mouth.

“It’s too late for that.”

My whole body seizes up as electricity arcs through the bedframe into me. It hurts, but I can take it, clamping my jaw shut on a scream to avoid scaring Charlotte. It doesn’t work. She makes a muffled wail and tears well in her eyes.

I hate her watching me being tortured more than actually being tortured.

“Okay, enough,” Wyatt says. The switch turns off, and I sag against the bedframe in spite of myself. I can taste coppery blood in my mouth. I must have bit my tongue while they were shocking me.

“Are you sure he’s suffered enough, Supreme Leader?” asks the bespectacled man.

“Oh, he’ll suffer plenty when we execute Charlotte.”

A flash of rage hisses through me.

“Why Charlotte? There are plenty of other influencers out there, ones with a lot more followers and fame.”

“She’s a symbol for the weakness infecting modern culture–”

“Bullshit.”

Wyatt closes his mouth. The bespectacled man reaches for the switch, but Wyatt waves him off.

“You might not agree with our goals or our methods, but we speak the truth no one else wants to admit,” Wyatt says, sounding like he’s up on a pulpit. “Influencers don’t deserve the power they wield over our culture. Only people with the proper intelligence and credentials should be allowed to have so much influence.”

“People like you, right?” I say.

He shrugs.

“Why not me? I’m a world-renowned artist, who has kept this stinking cesspool of Hollywood relevant for the past forty years. And when they have no more use for me, they just write me off? I don’t think so!”

“None of this explains why you targeted Charlotte.”

Wyatt clears his throat.

“She made herself a target when she accepted the LA Points of Brightness Award, even though she did nothing to deserve it. Such an award should go to, to…to someone who truly deserves it.”

I’ve got him now. I start laughing, both as a distraction and because I legit find this funny.

“You’re kidding me. You mean, you sicced your cult on Charlotte because she won an award and you didn’t? That’s quite a swerve from targeting tech companies to an internet influencer. There’s not even a cash prize that goes with the Points of Brightness award.”

“It’s the prestige!” Wyatt bellows, his face turning red. “I deserve recognition for my contributions. Instead, the world turns all of their attention on people like Charlotte, who are only dragging us down as a species. Why, if I…”

He frowns, tilting his head to the side.

“What is that sound?”

“Oh, that would be gunfire,” I say, my heart hammering like mad in my chest. Charlotte’s eyes glisten with renewed hope.

“G-gunfire?”

The look on Wyatt’s face is utterly priceless. I’d shock myself ten more times just to see it.

“That’s right, asshole. I’m not always the brightest bulb, but I do learn from my mistakes. This time, I called for backup…and you are all so, completely, fucked .”