"Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to tell me why you're here?" Christine said casually from her desk. She glanced up at a weary Ted Brown. He'd been working for the company several years as the lone surgical specialist in charge of implanting new workers with tracking devices. Since the company didn't have an interrogation unit, Christine had requested he take the lead, using his sadistic mind to extract the information. He was sick and twisted, one of the worst humans Christine had met. He was also one of the few in the company without a tracker of his own.
Ted Brown refused to look at Christine. His hair was wet with sweat, and his white bodysuit had bloodstains on the sleeves. "We got an address," he mumbled quietly, almost ashamed.
"That's great news," Christine replied, looking up from her computer. She felt a slight rush of adrenaline run through her. It'd been a long few days of waiting, and they'd finally broken through. Quint had warned her Ted wasn't the man for the job, but she had ignored his warning. She wasn't worried about being humane, she simply wanted out at any means necessary, and this man had done it. "I'm no longer a part of the force, though. You'll need to report this to Quint directly. He'll be handling the situation from here on out."
She scanned her desk. How long would it take to clean? Would they really let her out after this? Would she truly be free from this hellhole at last?
"I wanted to let you know first," his voice was shaking, scared.
Christine scanned him up and down. This wasn't the triumph she was hoping for. It was possible he was simply upset the process was over. She half expected him to of had the information several hours ago and had just continued for his pleasure.
"Thank you for letting me know, but you can tell Mr. Morton now," Christine said.
Ted gave a short nod. Tears were swelling in his eyes. He stood still for a moment before bursting into a fit of tears catching Christine by complete surprise.
"Mr. Brown—" she started to sympathize, what a twisted—
"It's not him," Ted managed in a choked, raspy, wet voice, "It's not him," he said again, softer using the desk as a means of supporting himself.
"What are you talking about?" Christine stood, "What happened?" She hurried around the desk. Ted's jumpsuit stuck to his body. When she approached him, he collapsed onto her wrapping his arms around her tiny body sobbing into her shoulder. She immediately pushed him off, grabbed his left wrist, and pulled him to a waiting chair where she forced him to sit. He slumped his face into his hands.
"Take a breath," she tried to say calmly, "Now tell me what happened?"
"That's just a kid," Ted said through his hands, "He's seventeen. I tortured a kid."
Christine's body stiffened as she tried to breathe. It couldn't be accurate. She'd seen him; he was young, but not that young.
"That's not right," she finally spoke, "We confirmed it. You told me he admitted he was Gary two days ago. He's just holding out on you again..you just need to push harder, that's a man who's done terrible things, he's just holding out on us again. You can't—"
"That's not him!" Ted stood to his feet, "Everything he said initially was true!" Pure rage filled his eyes. His sudden change in demeanor caused Christine to stumble a few steps back.
"But he gave us information only he would know." She tried to rationalize what she'd done.
"We fed him the information!" Ted yelled, taking a step towards her, "He wanted me to stop, so he repeated back what he thought I wanted to hear." Ted's eyes began to water again, "He was just a kid," he repeated.
"How do you know?" Christine demanded, "He's a professional. This is what he does."
"No, he's not. He gave us three addresses" Ted started, "The first two were fictional. The third was a real place. I had a plier to his front tooth, and he spit it out. It was real. We checked it out, an hour later he could repeat it forward and backward."
"What was wrong with the address?"
"It's his family's home. The kid begged me I wouldn't harm his family," Ted said.
"That doesn't necessarily mean—"
"It's twenty miles west of Moose Pass in Cooper's Landing." Ted stopped, "He's local, just like he said. We checked the house, and his legal name came up. He was adopted, but goes by his pre-adoption name, which is why we couldn't find him before."
Christine nervously ran her hand through her hair, trying to piece together a way this could still be right. "Why wouldn't he just tell us his real name?"
"He told us several names, his legal name was included, but we never ran them, he didn't have an ID on him," He glared at Christine, "On your orders, I turned my attention to getting an address and his involvement. I nearly killed him, and for what?"
"Is he still in there?" Christine asked.
Ted nodded.
"I'll talk to him. There's no way we could've known. We'll make it right," she said.
"Don't lie to me. We know that won't happen." Ted shook his head. Hot sweat streamed down his forehead.
Christine turned and made her way down the long hall. She cut through a door onto the main workroom balcony. Employees on the ground level were shuffling throughout the room frantically, trying to finish the workday. She made her way to the third door. She slid a key into the hole and opened the lock.
The humidity hit her just before the smell. The kid was tied up to a surgical bed, his head held in place with two leather straps. A metal tray sat against his chest. He had dry bloodstains on the front of his light blue gown. His eyes were purple and swollen, and his body shook weakly at the sound of Christine's footsteps.
"It's all over," she whispered fighting back tears, "Rodney? That's your name, right?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His mouth was missing four teeth that laid bloody on the metal tray next to a half-filled syringe and pliers. A large chain with wrist clamps swung gently from the ceiling.
"Rodney, I am so sorry…" She began to whimper but stopped. An apology was unnecessary. No words could fix this. "I need to know about the man that hired you," she said. "The real Gary," she continued her words slow and choked, "You said a man paid you to walk into the woods with that rifle. He's a bad man. He's done terrible things," she croaked, "Everything that's happened to you is because he made us believe you were him," she hated herself for being in there, for doing this. But he had to know something. He was the only one apart from Michael that had seen the ghost of a man.
"I'm Gary," Rodney managed shakily. His body shivered, "I'm Gary," he repeated.
"We know that's not true," Christine answered, "Please, this is all over we won't harm you again. What did the man look like?" She asked.
"I'm Gary," Rodney was hysterical. His lips began to part in a horrible smile showing off his bubbling red gums. "I'm Gary."
Christine turned from the bed. "I'm so sorry, Rodney." She spoke, "I don't know if you'll understand this, but I want to be honest with you," tears began to roll down her cheek, "I don't think you'll make it out of here today," she blubbered, "But your family will be safe. I can't make this right, but your family will never be in need again." She sniffled. "I want you to know that." She turned to face this kid. He looked younger than when he'd arrived. Maybe he'd always looked that young, but she'd been too obsessed with getting out she chose not to see. "I'm sorry, Rodney."
She closed the door behind herself and collapsed onto the balcony crying. The noise in the room muted her sobs. The workers were too busy closing their shift to notice the scene above them. She bit into her sleeve and let out a hushed scream. This was her fault; she'd made the call. She had chosen to overlook the visible signs in hopes of getting out. What had she become? She hit a fist against the concrete wall trying to release every ounce of emotion at once.
She sat for several minutes, draining every tear from her body. Slowly she pulled herself to her feet and sauntered back across the walkway, through the door, and back down the long hallway. Ted was back in the waiting chair, pale-faced, staring blankly at the desk.
"Ted," Christine said coldly. He snapped from his gaze and looked up at her, "I need you to take care of him."
"That is not my job." He protested. "I can't."
Christine closed her eyes to gather herself. When had her morals decayed below those of Ted Brown, the man who voluntarily worked for the company?
She opened her eyes, "Just take care of it."