“The big deal is his last name, Merc. The Coutures are Company royalty. His grandfather ran the entire…whatever it was. The hunt. The auction. The breeding program. Maybe not that last part. There was a science facility for that. But he definitely ran the pedigree book.”
I shoot Sasha a look over my shoulder. “That’s… gross.”
She puts her hands up. “Hey, I’m not defending it. I’m just stating facts. Donovan Couture is someone important. That’s what the big deal is.”
“Maybe,” I half-heartedly concede. And then I step forward towards the bed and mumble, “But then again, maybe not.” When I reach the end of the bed, I pick up his chart and open it up. There’s not a lot of light in here, but enough to read the basics, which are typewritten and not longhand.
“Donovan Couture. Age thirty. Six foot one, hundred and seventy-nine pounds, hair brown, eyes hazel, blah, blah, blah.” I scan down. “He’s allergic to…” I snicker.
“What?” Sasha whispers. “What’s so funny?”
“Do you know what this asshole is allergic to?”
Sasha makes a face of ‘who gives a fuck.’ It comes with exaggerated hand gestures.
“Visine.” I actually laugh out loud.
This makes Sasha nervous like she wants to slap her hand over my mouth, but then she can’t help herself. She chuckles too. “That’s not even funny, Merc.” But the whole sentence comes out as a whisper-laugh.
“Oh, man.” I sigh out another snicker. “Sometimes it feels like there’s someone pulling strings. Some puppetmaster with a really fucked-up sense of humor.”
“Ten or twelve of them, more like it.”
“Exactly. And they’re all lookin’ down on us laughing their asses off. Fucking with us like we’re their own little personal ant colony to step on.”
“Visine.” She chuckles again. “Would it be wrong to bring that up to Harper at the Labor Day picnic?”
“Do you think it’s a joke?” I ask. And I’m serious.
“Why would his medical history be a joke?”
“I dunno. Visine.” We laugh again. Then I point to her. “I would not bring this up to Harper. Are they really coming for the Labor Day picnic this year?”
Sasha snorts.
Then, before I can stop it, I guffaw.
Then we are grabbing pillows and holding them over our faces to stifle our now inexplicable, uncontrollable outbursts.
It’s really not that funny. In fact, it’s actually kinda sick. Harper Tate poisoned thirteen high-ranking Company men with Visine on her eighteenth birthday because one of them came to the party to marry her, and she wasn’t sure which one it was. So she was like, Fuck it. I’ll just kill ’em all.
We laugh again.
We are definitely going to Hell for this.
The lights come on with a snap and we both turn to find Doc in the back breezeway doorway, scowling at us. “Wanna let me in on the joke?”
He’s an old fart. I’m talkin’ old fart. At least mid-eighties. But he’s got a look to him that says he’s seen way too much and if we cross his line, he’ll get the best of us in the end.
I don’t doubt it. I can only imagine what this dude has done in his lifetime of Company servitude.
I clear my throat. “Sorry. It was… an old, inside joke.”
Doc eyes us for a moment, like he’s waiting for me to explain the joke. Finally, he must decide there will be no explanation and moves on. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Case?”
“It’s Merc. No one calls me Mr. Case. It’s not even my name at this point.”
Doc doesn’t reply. He waits me out.
“We were just checking on Donovan,” Sasha says. “We were curious, but we’re going back—”
Doc interrupts her. “What do you want to know?”
Well. Since he’s here, and he asked, I say, “Have you ever met the… second?”
Doc nods. “But only the once. When he woke up a couple weeks ago.” He looks at Sasha. “Have you ever met Carter?”
Sasha doesn’t answer out loud, but she does shake her head no.
“How about you?”
“Nope. I never even met the first one. I’m here because I was summoned.”
“Who did you train under?” Doc asks, eyeing me warily.
“Garrett McGovern. Ever heard of him?”
Doc sighs. “Unfortunately. Wish I hadn’t.”
“You and me both.”
“He trained you? Who was your father?”
“I’m not Company.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You wouldn’t know him.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he wasn’t Company either.”
Doc lifts his chin up a little. A gesture that maybe asks, Is that what you think? Alternatively, it might say, Then how did you get here?
I don’t answer either of his possible implied questions. Instead, I add a little more about Garrett. “He and I served together. Garrett, I mean. We were military PSYOPS.”
“Were you now.”
“And then… then I was hunting down runaway women and children for them.”
“I see.”
“My wife killed Garrett about ten years ago.”
“Hmm.” Doc ponders this.
“It was either him or us,” Sasha says. “He had control of Sydney Channing at the time.”