Chapter 80

They spread over the manor like a web. Some of the agents are outside, too, searching the rest of the property and talking to the gammas stationed at the perimeters for security.

They collect statements from everyone. My interview seems to last forever. I struggle to collect the finer details of my memories while they question me. The more they poke and prod, the worse it gets. Hopefully, I haven’t made matters worse for Ansel.

When they’re finished with me, I go and wait outside of Ansel’s office.

Eventually, he and two agents walk out.

Ansel’s eyes are closed and he’s rubbing his head like he’s in pain. “This has sent me into migraine territory,” he says, as the agents make their way back down the hall.

“Ansel,” I say. “I just want you to know that I told them you didn’t have anything to do with Ethan’s accident, and that I wasn’t trapped here, or anything like that.”

Ansel glares at me. “The things you left me for, I think. Nice to know you see it differently now.”

“Some things,” I say.

“Oh, really?” He laughs. “Hmm. What lies - from your obsessed fan, mind you - are you still hanging on to?”

“Do you really want to get into all of that again? Right now?”

“Try me,” he says. He stares at me.

I force myself to hold Ansel’s gaze, but then a noise catches his attention. He whips around. I look over, in response. Behind us, Charles looks like he’s about to walk into Henry’s office a few doors down. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was trying to sneak into it.

“Um, Charles,” Ansel says dryly.

Charles startles. He lets go of the door knob like it’s on fire.

“Henry’s not in there,” Ansel says.

“Right. Sorry, Sir.” Charles looks pale and clammy. He pulls out a handkerchief and dabs his forehead with it.

“Everything alright,” I ask.

“Fine, Lady Karin. Thanks. Today’s just been rather… intense. No waterboarding, though, so all’s well.” He laughs nervously and stuffs the handkerchief back into his pocket.

“Waterboarding is the WIA.” A tall agent walks up to us with a wry grin. “Derrick Cooper,” he says, holding out his hand to Ansel. “We’re about ready to wrap things up, Sir,” he says. “We’ll be in touch, but there’s nothing further for now.”

Ansel nods tersely. “Thank you,” he says, with all the warmth of an icicle. He waits until Agent Cooper is out of earshot, then turns to me. “Shall we?”

“Go see Doc, you mean?”

“That’s what we’re here for.” His jaw is clenched.

“Yeah. Let’s get it over with.”

Ansel side-eyes me.

Before we walk back into the medical office, I stop Ansel at the door. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“I forgot to tell you.”

It’s probably not attorney-approved, but I’ve folded up our contract into a small enough square to fit into the purse slung across my chest.

“I showed the NBI this, too.” I unzip my purse and take it out. “The contract,” I add, at his quizzical look. “I’m surprised they didn’t collect it for evidence, or something. They did get a picture, though.”

“Okay, good,” he says. “And, I’m not surprised.”

“You’re not?”

“No. This is all just a formality. A giant, pain-in-the-ass, formality.”

He opens the door. Doc is jotting some notes in my chart.

“Oh, good,” he says. “I’ve got everything ready for you. This has been a day!”

Since Ada and I were severed, I’ve got to work through things more logically. There’s less gut to go off of. I ready myself for both possibilities.

Doc laces his fingers together. “It’s a ‘no,’ I’m afraid.” His tone is empathetic and he wears a slight frown. “I’m sorry.”

Ansel’s face gives nothing away. He glances over at me, maybe checking for my reaction.

“You’ve been trying, mostly naturally, for about five months now,” Doc says. “We’re at that juncture where you may want to consider helping things along more. There are other options at our disposal, so don’t worry.”

I start going through how I’ll respond when Ansel asks me to try again. I glimpse over at him. He looks like he’s lost in his own thoughts.

“Talk about it,” Doc says. “I’ll come back and we’ll discuss a plan.”

After he leaves, Ansel takes a moment, and then he stands up straight. “Follow me,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow at him, but he ignores me. He takes me round to a back staircase I hadn’t paid much attention to before. It’s a little dark, and was probably originally intended just for the servants.

I expect us to go down, but he climbs up, instead. We reach the top floor. Ansel pulls open a heavy wooden door. Sunlight streams in.

I step through and squint my eyes as they adjust.

“The roof?” I look out across Ansel’s vast estate. The NBI cars are still parked down below.

“Last I checked,” he says.

“Why’d you bring me up here?” I fold my arms across my chest. The wind’s picked up and there’s a chill in the air now.

“For a dramatic flare.” Ansel takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over my shoulders.

I don’t really want his chivalry, especially since it comes and goes in bipolar swings, but I’m shivery and covered in goosebumps. I put my arms through the sleeves and pull his jacket tight around me.

“Thanks.”

“Give me the contract,” he says.

I wrinkle my forehead. “Okay.”

I take out the folded pieces of paper.

He carefully smooths them out, and seems to be reading them through again. It’s a four page long document, with lots of tiny, lawyerly print and stipulations. Ansel hands me the last two pages of it, where our signatures are.

“Are you ready,” he asks.

“For what?”

“To rip it into shreds.”

My hands freeze over the papers, but Ansel’s already tearing his up, letting the pieces scatter.

I close my eyes.

Am I giving up on Dad?

A blip of a memory emerges through the haze. I’m ten years-old. Dad meets me after a ballet performance with a bouquet of flowers. There are tears in his eyes.

It’s just a tiny moment and it quickly slips away.

I channel my inner Spock. After a few moments of hesitation, I come to an answer.

I tear my pages in half, listening to the ripping sound of the paper. I tear it in half again. And again. And again. And again. Ansel is still shredding his, too.

I’m watching the breakdown, the unfolding in my hands. I’m doing the breaking. We are. Not emotionally, not knee-jerk, not trauma-induced. No wolves are pulling strings. No fathers, politics, or kings. We are decisive. We are in control of our own destinies.

Ansel and I stand near the roof, in the sun. We watch the promises we made to each other catch on the wind and take flight.

When we’re ready to leave, Ansel opens the door and we step back into the dim stairwell. We linger for a few seconds at the top of the stairs. There’s more to say, but neither of us says it.

There’s both a sadness and a longing in Ansel’s eyes, but then he smiles.

Later, I try to memorize the moment - etch it into my mind, so maybe it won’t get lost in the fog.

I slip off his jacket back and hand it back to him. We walk down the stairs together.