Page 62 of Freedom
He and Jake stepped out of the car into the cool fall air to switch places, and Tobias gave him a long look before he got into the driver’s seat.
Jake didn’t rush him. He let Tobias sit and breathe and finally adjust the mirrors to the slight difference between their heights, then touch the controls and name them one by one.
“If you just want to sit here today, Toby, that’s all you got to do,” he said, and Tobias shot him a look before gripping the keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life underneath him, and Tobias took a few more deep breaths.
Slowly he began tapping the accelerator and the brake, experimenting with how much pressure was needed to inch forward and to come to a quick stop. Then he tried the steering wheel, gingerly rotating it one way and then the other. The Eldorado shifted in slow angles, nowhere near enough for a ninety-degree turn.
Jake sat calm and at ease next to him, like there was nothing at all dangerous about putting a freak in charge of any large steel machine capable of high speeds, let alone his precious car. Like there was nothing wrong about him being in shotgun seat instead of Tobias.
But Tobias knew how to focus. He had learned harder lessons under worse conditions before. He put his mind to the task, gripped the wheel at ten- and two-o’clock positions, and asked, “What’s next?”
Chapter Eleven
Victor Todd pausedoutside the Director’s iron-enforced door and took a steadying breath before knocking.
He was very aware of the camera at the corner of the hall. He would have composed himself somewhere without observation, but after the Director’s most recent push to seed the facility with CCTVs, the places a man could have a hundred percent chance of privacy had sunk to a handful, tops, and even those had... specific uses.
Safer to steady himself out here, where at least nerves were understandable and the odds that he was being actively observed (and that the observer would note his sign of weakness and care) were low.
Though not completely zero.
The Director’s clear “Enter!” came almost immediately, and Victor stepped into Jonah Dixon’s office.
The place was larger than a usual office, with a corner that was at least half library and had every item in its proper place, down to the Director himself. At his desk, files were stacked neatly on the edge closest to the guest chair, and others were scattered over his desk, along with various sheets of paper crumpled and piled haphazardly in some system that Victor couldn’t parse without staring too long.
“Mr. Todd, please take a seat.” He gestured at the padded chair before his desk, and Victor sat gingerly and kept his hands on his knees. He might have been watching too many late-night horror movies, but he could imagine restraints springing from the armrests that would lock him up tight as a freak in interrogation. Paranoid? Yes, but if anyone could make it happen, it was the man in front of him.
“Of course, sir,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
The Director gestured at the files nearest Victor. “How would you evaluate this selection of freaks?”
Victor glanced into the Director’s cold brown eyes and then picked up the files.
They were heavier than they should have been except for the occasional souvenirs pasted onto the pages: a coin, pendants, bits of bone, or other small artifacts. The numbers ranged from 95UI8398 to 20WI7182 and included a large variety of species. Day-to-day, Victor didn’t usually think of the freaks as numbers, so it took him a minute with each photo to realize who he was looking at. 97VP2378 was Sucker, the vampire who looked about ten and was probably the biggest blood-slut in the entire mini-nest, willing to do just about anything for a couple drops of O neg. 20WI7182 was Screamer, the newest witch arrival who hadn’t shut up from the moment he got dragged out of the van until his voice wore down to a broken thread (Victor thought he was with Karl even now). All of them were young or appeared young, but as far as Victor could tell, they had nothing else in common.
“Evaluation, sir?” Victor said, trying to put the question in his voice without actually asking it.
