Page 92 of Agency
“Yeah, what do you think I should do with them? I kind of wish I could keep them. Seems a little morbid, though.”
“Well, one of them has been a part of you for a long time.”
“Gross.”
I shrugged. “But it’s true, isn’t it?”
“It is.” She sighed. “But, tempted, or not, I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“No, they’re still running, at least for now. And destroying them isn’t an option, since that means you’re both going to stop showing up, but…” I trailed off as something tickled at the back of my brain.
“What?” she asked, looking to me.
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’ve got a look, that’s all. You’ve got an idea.”
Chuckling, I leaned back in my seat. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Not sure if it’s a good one, though.”
“Why don’t you just tell me, and I’ll determine whether it’s good?”
“Fine,” I said with a grin.
And so I told her.
“You’re smarter than you pretend to be, aren’t you?” she asked when I’d finished.
“Nope,” I said with a grin, “not really. I’m just here as eye candy and to make the other two look good. But there’s sometimes a glimmering flash of hope.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ambyr
“Geez,” I groaned, coming awake to the smell of stale cigarette smoke still lingering in the deep, artificial warmth of our not-even-really-new-to-us Dodge Durango. “What time is it?”
“Not late,” Andrew replied from the seat next to mine as I began to struggle out of my hoodie. Temperatures had been in the mid-seventies when we’d been stopped off in Kansas for some light clothes shopping, and Morgan had been blasting the air conditioning when I’d fallen asleep. Now, though, I could feel the slick damp of sweat at the small of my back.
“Twenty-one hundred. We’re almost there.”
Twisting my head around and trying to loosen the stiff muscles of my neck, I winced as I felt the dull, aching twinge of pain from Alice’s precise surgical slices. The local had begun to wear off soon after getting our cash-car, and the prescription-strength ibuprofen had been desperately trying to take the edge off, since. Unfortunately, sometimes your best just isn’t good enough.
How long had we been in the car? Seven hours? Eight? I looked out through the darkly tinted windows to the perfect, orderly rows of corn as they rushed past. The Cornhusker State. If I’d thought St. Louis was the low point in my traveling career, I didn’t even know what to think about the Nebraska sticks.
With a clenched fist, I held back a yawn–but immediately regretted my action as my neck and shoulders tensed and a sharp wave of pain radiated out from my incision. The wound throbbed with a dull ache, and I could feel nausea creeping around the edges.
“You okay?” Andrew asked. “Why don’t you take some more pain killers?”
“Because they’re barely doing shit, and I’m already sick to my stomach.”
“Take some anyways.”
Sighing, I found the bottle Dr. Thorne had given me and popped the lid. I shook a couple pills into my hands. “You know,” I said as I grabbed a half-empty water bottle, “you’re pretty naggy for such a happy-go-lucky guy.” They were those real horse pills without any coating, and I had to take two mouthfuls of water to wash them down. The lukewarm liquid did nothing to help the nausea.
“I’m kind of hurt.”
