Hunter. Sydney Robinson
small gap between two large oak shelves was a small workbench. There was a stack of books on each side of the bench—one that looked worn down and one that had a newer look to them.
Looking just as cramped into the remaining space as everything else in the room was a man. From her position, all Angel could see of the man was a head of mossy brown hair and a gray sweater. She entered the room, as she would have to get closer to do anything or gain any information.
As her right foot came down, the man sat back in his chair and stretched. She could faintly hear a yawn as he did so. It was now or never. Angel bolted into the room, following the path she had mapped out prior to moving. The man gave off a slight yelp as Angel brought the knife around to his throat with her right hand and braced him to the chair’s backrest with her left.
“What, what…I…what do you want?” the man stuttered out.
“Who are you?” Angel asked in a half-whisper.
“I…I’m no one, just a book salesman and repairer. That’s all, nothing important.”
“Give me a name.”
“Scott! It’s Scott McClellan. Or at least it is now. It was Hunter. But you know all about that, don’t you?” Scott’s tone changed as he spoke, realization seeping into his voice.
“What are you talking about?”
“That knife. You’re a Hunter too.”
“You can’t even see the knife.” Angel was beginning to suspect the man was crazy.
“I can see the reflection of the blade on the wall. I know that constellation and its meaning.” Scott’s voice had changed completely from panic to calm, and Angel could feel she was losing control of this conversation fast.
“What of it?” Angel asked, snarling as she did so and pulling the knife’s blade closer to his throat, breaking the skin slightly.
“You don’t know.” Shock colored Scott’s comment. “You’re from the institution then. Fresh out of the gate, not even a full Guardian yet.”
As he spoke, Scott’s hand came up and clasped onto Angel’s wrist. He pulled it and twisted her arm, sending her slamming into the desk in front of him. Angel growled in pain as her head connected with the wall shortly after the small of her back hit the table. Angel was finally able to get a good look at the man. He was taller than her, so it came as no surprise that he was able to overpower her even in a seated position. His eyes matched his hair color, hidden behind a large pair of round glasses. The combination gave him a mouselike appearance. But his face was elongated; his jaw came almost to a point at his chin. And his chin seemed to block out his throat entirely when he was upright. It was almost horselike in appearance, lined from years of frowning and a lack of smiling.
Scott, who was on his feet, pacing now, ignored all this as he spoke to himself.
“But if she’s not a Guardian, then why is she here? No team with her, so they haven’t found me. But then why is she here? She has the Hunter knife, but she could have gotten that from anyone. It doesn’t mean it was his. And he wouldn’t let her go there anyway. So what does it all mean?”
“What are you babbling about, old man?” Angel asked. She was sitting on the desk, watching him, confused. She had no idea why he was walking back and forth. That couldn’t help ones thinking, could it?
“You, who are you?” Scott asked, stopping at the far left of his track and rounding on her.
“My name is Angel.”
“Yes, but Angel what? Oh, never mind, you wouldn’t know anyways. But wait a minute, why are you here?”
“A friend of mine snuck out of the academy. I followed.”
“Academy, what academy are you referring to?”
“The one up the hill. It’s been there forever.” Angel couldn’t figure out why she was answering this man. He had no right to this information, and yet she was answering as if he did.
“The institution. That’s not an academy.”
“Yes, it is,” Angel insisted.
“Really? And how many academies have bars on the windows? Or don’t you look outside?” Scott began to pace again as he spoke. “No, why would you? A Guardian would have no need to be drawn in by outside distractions, not with the promise of freedom to go and do what they want only a few years out of reach. Soldiers, on the other hand, now they would want to look outside, look at the world around them, it’s distracting. But how and why would they look? We took away the questioning and…”
Scott stopped and looked at Angel. He walked slowly back over to her, and Angel took the opportunity to get off the table and crouched into a hand-to-hand combat defensive stance. Scott kept coming, and Angel held her knife at the ready, unsure of what this man was going to do. He was out of his mind. Something was wrong with his brain; he couldn’t be trusted. There were no answers for her there.
“Why did you say you were here again?” he asked, stopping short of where she was positioned.
“My friend—” But she was cut off.
“Hessians don’t have friends. You’re defective.”
“What are you talking about?” Now it was Angel’s turn to panic. This man knew far too much. Something was very wrong here. “My turn to ask questions, who are you?”
“I am a Guardian.” Scott deadpanned as he stopped three paces in front of her. Ice flooded Angel’s system as she began to breathe heavier and deeper. It hadn’t occurred to her that this might not have been a trap for Kelly at all but for her instead. Time seemed to slow down around her as her mind went into overdrive for an escape plan. She could feel the adrenaline about to hit her system and empower her to get away. She almost missed his next words.
“Or at least I used to be until they threw me out.”
“You’re a Rouge,” Angel muttered, dropping her guard. This man was a former Hessian who had left, abandoned the practice, and was on the run. That would, at the very least, explain why his mind seemed broken. It was a trait of Rouges these days.
If Scott had heard her, he appeared not to care. Scott seemed to look around the room for something before he continued. He reached for a wristwatch on the table behind Angel, muttering an “Ah, there it is” before looking at it.
“Good,” he commented, placing it around his wrist, “we have time.”
Scott turned and walked toward a door on the adjacent wall. It was only now that Angel realized this room had three doors—one that she had come in through in front of her, one to her left that was open a crack (and Angel could just make out a set of stairs climbing upward, most likely to Scotts living space above the shop), and one that Scott was opening now. Angel followed him slowly.
“Time for what?” she asked as he opened the door. Scott didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he began to walk down a flight of stairs into what might have been a basement.
Scott’s voice echoed back up to her as he made his way down the stairs. “You have to be back by dawn, do you not? We will need to be quick about it, but we have enough time for me to help reinstate some blocks before you go. It is what you came here for, correct?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Angel commented as she followed him down. The staircase turned halfway down at a landing, and the wall was covered in blue light dancing across its surface, almost like…
“It’s called the memory pool, or at least the original is,” Scott commented as she rounded the corner and descended the last five steps. The basement was taken up for the most part by an in-ground swimming pool. It was relatively shallow, probably only three feet deep, and it couldn’t have been more than six or seven feet across its center. Located in the center of the pool was a metal chair, partially submerged and looked like it was a reclining one. Scott was