Chapter Fifteen
Consciousness came slowly to Harry, and at first he fought it. Oblivion was so much better than the pounding agony in his head, the penetrating cold, and his queasy stomach. When he finally became aware that he was pinned on his back, he fought blindly against whatever held him.
It took several moments to gain a better understanding of his situation.
He was naked and bound by thick leather straps to one of the metal tables in Swan’s lab. A thick rubber gag filled his mouth so he could only grunt, and a bright light hung directly overhead, bringing tears to his eyes.
John was fastened to a nearby wall, held in place by metal bands at his throat and wrists. Perhaps around his legs as well, but Harry couldn’t see from his angle. Not only was John naked and gagged. The worst thing was a bloodless gaping wound in his chest, which looked to be a long and deep slice from a blade.
John, his face a mask of sorrow, watched Harry.
Harry knew it was hopeless, but he fought his bonds until his breath came in desperate snorts and sweat sheened his chest. The effort served no purpose other than to bruise and tear the flesh near the straps. He stopped moving and stared at John, wishing he could somehow communicate his regrets and apologies. Townsend should have known better than to send an idiot on a mission, and Harry should have known better than to accept. He never should have brought John here; they should have stayed in the car and just kept driving. Sure, the Bureau would have tracked them eventually, but it was a big country with so many places to lose oneself. They could have had more days together before they were found. John could have been free a little longer.
Time passed. Harry’s sweat dried, leaving him shivering. He took a closer look around the lab, as much as his position allowed, and he didn’t like what he saw. Trays of glittering blades. Bottles full of murky liquid. Pieces of bone that might have been human. The cloying stink of the room seemed to grow worse, insinuating its way into his nose and throat and lungs. Fearing he would otherwise choke, he fought to not vomit.
Sometimes John emitted low noises through the gag or made a small movement that caused his chains to rattle softly. He never stopped looking at Harry.
If only Harry could touch him—just a brush of fingertips against skin. It would mean so much.
Then John shifted his gaze beyond Harry, and a door opened and closed. The odor of cigarette smoke reached Harry even before Swan stood beside him, glass and cigarette in hand. He’d changed out of his expensive sweater and now wore a white lab coat with a white shirt and black tie visible beneath. He watched with amusement as Harry renewed his struggles and grunted frantically.
“You have a choice.” Harry stilled at once. Seemingly satisfied that he had Harry’s attention, Swan continued. “I’m going to kill you. That part is non-negotiable.”
Maybe Swan thought Harry would make a fuss over that, but Harry waited for more. His own death didn’t frighten him—he wanted to know Swan’s plans for John.
Swan apparently enjoyed an audience. He took a drag on his cigarette, followed by a sip of bourbon. “Still, you have an important decision. I can kill you now. Not quickly, I don’t think, because I rarely have the opportunity to play. Or you can remain alive a short time longer—until I’ve finalized my research. Then I will kill you quickly and resurrect you. You’ll be my first success.” He stroked Harry’s bare hip. “You’re pretty enough to keep around in that capacity.”
Someone else walking around in Harry’s body—that was an odd idea. And actually, it didn’t disturb him. Perhaps the new creation would be smarter than him, like John was. Perhaps he’d find a way to escape Swan’s clutches and maybe even take John with him.
John rattled his chains, but Swan ignored him.
“So what do you think, Harry? Would you prefer the second option?”
Harry nodded vigorously.
“Excellent.” Swan petted Harry’s hip again and then, smiling, moved his hand to Harry’s groin and fondled his soft cock. Harry growled and John rattled more loudly.
“I’m glad you wish to cooperate, because if you didn’t, I might start by removing this.” Swan squeezed firmly. “That would be a shame, wouldn’t it? But you’re well enough endowed that I might preserve the organ for potential future use.”
If Swan thought he was intimidating Harry, he was wrong. Not that Harry wanted to be chopped to pieces. But he couldn’t bring himself to care much about his own fate when John hung there with his chest slit open.
Swan withdrew his hand. “All right. If you wish to avoid that destiny, you must simply do one thing. Tell me the name of Mr. Lord’s attorney.”
Harry almost laughed. In fact, when Swan set down his drink, stubbed out the cigarette, and unbuckled the gag, Harry did laugh. This son of a bitch thought he was so fucking clever, but he still hadn’t figured out that Harry’s story was bullshit.
“You’re amused? Do you believe I’m joking?” Swan looked slightly rattled, which Harry figured was a good thing.
But what to do next? Harry could confess that he’d fabricated everything, but then he’d end up tortured to death and John would remain captive. Harry suspected that if Swan learned the truth, he’d be enraged, which would lead to bad things for John.
Harry could make something up. Create a name. That would buy him a little time but not much, because Swan would rather quickly find out that no lawyer existed. In fact, he’d probably realize that Lord was a fiction too.
Then Harry remembered something: Townsend knew Harry was meeting with Swan tonight. When Harry didn’t check in within a reasonable amount of time, wouldn’t Townsend investigate? It might take him a while to act, especially if none of his agents were in Portland, but surely he would act eventually. Harry didn’t want John back in the Bureau’s hands but figured he was better off there than with Swan.
Okay then. Continued lies were the way to go.
“I’ll tell you his name,” Harry said. “But can’t you let John go? You don’t need him if—”
Swan cast a quick look at John. “You named it?”
“He named himself. He’s a good man, he really is. Set him free. You’ll still have me.”
Swan laughed. “I don’t think so.”
Harry hadn’t expected him to listen, but no harm in trying. “I get that you lost someone you loved and you want to do something about it. But there’s no reason to harm an innocent person in the process, and John is innocent.”
“That creature is irrelevant to you. What is the attorney’s name?”
“Robert Dunn.” That had been a farmer who, when Harry was sixteen or so, gave him a job for one season. Funny how that was the name that came to him now. “He has an office in downtown LA.”
“Robert Dunn. Very well.”
Harry expected him to run off right away. Instead, smiling, Swan walked behind Harry. Metal clattered against metal, and John became agitated again, making desperate sounds and pulling against the manacles. Harry understood when Swan returned.
He held a scalpel.
“You said—”
“I know what I said, Harry. And I will keep my promise—I won’t kill you tonight. But it’s too late to make inquiries about this Dunn fellow, and I’m feeling restless. It won’t hurt your value as an experiment if I make some modifications now.”
“You sick motherfucker! You piece of shit, you—” He went silent as Swan grabbed Harry’s balls and poised the blade inches away. Maybe I’ll bleed to death. Or die of shock. Either would be a mercy.
Harry turned his head to look at John. “I’m sorry, John. So, so sorry. Don’t forget the man you truly are.”
Unable to face either John or the scalpel, Harry closed his eyes.
Swan squeezed Harry’s scrotum more tightly—
And then a mighty roar shook the room.
Harry’s eyelids flew open just in time to see John rip the manacles out of the wall and tear the metal collar from his throat. He charged toward Harry and Swan.
Screaming, Swan let go of Harry and backed away, holding the blade in front of him. Harry screamed too, shouting John’s name. But John flew around Harry’s table and, heedless of the scalpel, launched himself at Swan. They fell onto the floor, where Harry could see only flashes of arms and legs.
Swan’s shrieking grew loud enough to hurt Harry’s ears. And then it abruptly stopped.
A moment later, John stood and staggered over. Several fresh wounds marred his torso, but the blood on his skin wasn’t his own. He bent over Harry and, after unfastening the straps with some difficulty, helped him to sit up.
The first thing Harry did was take the damned gag out of John’s mouth. “Jesus, he hurt you! What can I do—”
“I killed him.” John’s voice was heavy with anguish.
“You saved me. You were— Fuck.”
“I murdered someone. Just like Frankenstein’s monster. Just like—”
Harry caught John’s shoulders. “No. He killed out of hate and revenge. You did this because you….”
“Because I love you,” John whispered.
“I love—”
And the door to the lab crashed open.